And then she turned her head and we were gone.
This ice water’s running right through me.
Keep talking. I’ll be back.
Chapter 15
Blair
You know what’s interesting?
Well, besides that full feeling I got from paying back Kimmer. It never actually left, you know; it just went dormant until I got mad again and then there it was, as big and powerful and fearless as it had been the first time.
What do I really think it was? I mean, is?
I think it’s a gift. I do. Something good, coming out of something bad.
Maybe it sounds stupid, but I think it was there all along, only not totally formed yet, like an embryo sitting around gestating. Feeding on everything that happened, just like a fetus feeds off its mother. I think it was waiting to be born until I could handle it.
Because it’s smart, you know? When something pisses me off and I’m all hot and raging, it’s coolly and calmly calculating the most effective way to make my point. So I guess I have the best of both worlds now.
But that’s not what I meant when I brought up something interesting.
What I meant was that for a while, Ardith actually thought I didn’t mind the slut rep. Don’t get me wrong, I did like the sudden attention, even if they were only ninth grade babies, but I definitely could have done without the slut thing. Nobody likes being called cheap and easy, especially when they’re not.
But that was the chance I took when I got Kimmer, right? It was a calculated risk and it served its purpose, so I had to live with the fallout. The important thing was that it cleared Ardith’s name and provided a spectacular distraction from that stupid rumor.
And, of course, that I couldn’t get into any official trouble for it.
It’s just weird that my bluff fooled Ardith, too. Normally she would have seen right through it, but this time…
I don’t know, maybe she was so stressed that she wasn’t really paying attention. Or maybe going out with Gary was getting to her, because it was definitely getting to me.
I never expected her to like him.
Chapter 16
Ardith’s Story
Gary falls into step beside you after school. “Crazy day, huh?” he says, glancing down at you. “I hear you got suspended.” His hands are wedged deep in his pockets and his tone is noncommittal, just in case Blair was wrong and you don’t like him. You can tell his nonchalance is taking effort, though, because he keeps licking his lips. “That’s beat.”
“Yeah,” you say, shifting the stack of books in your arms. Your teachers haven’t been shy about providing you with tomorrow’s homework assignments in advance.
“Here, give me some of those.” Without waiting for your answer, he reaches over and appropriates most of the books. “Better?”
“Yeah, thanks.” You don’t look at him when you say it, but are surprised you let him take them. You’re used to carrying your own load. You glance at his worn work boots and gauge his stride. He’s slightly pigeon-toed.
“So you’re gonna be out of school tomorrow, huh?” he says, shifting toward you as a jostling group of seventh graders surge past. They bump him instead of you and shrink away, calling, “Sorry!” Gary waves them off. “I mean, it’s just a one-day suspension?”
“Yeah,” you say and inadvertently brush against his arm. His altered position has thrown you off balance and invaded your personal space. You hug your notebook to your chest but the slim binder is sparse camouflage.
“That’s gonna be weird. I mean, you never miss school.” He blinks and looks away, his cheeks tinged pink.
The awkward silence stretches but doesn’t break. Your jacket swishes as you walk beside him. You think of the times you’ve passed in the halls or caught him staring at you across the cafeteria and realize chance alone was not what sent him to the darkened football field on the night of the swim dance.
And you don’t know what to do with this understanding, now that you have it.
The history classroom’s door is closed. Gary catches hold of your arm and draws you into the alcove created by the break in the lockers. He scans your face. “So, uh, you want to go out, or what?”
Your back is to the cinder-block wall. Gary is between you and the hordes of students flowing toward the exits, and the armload of books are between you and him. The distance reassures you. “Okay,” you say, surrendering.
His eyes are hazel brown.
You notice that as he’s leaning in to seal your new partnership with a brief, surprisingly soft kiss.
“Cool,” he says, straightening. He grins and slides an easy arm around your bulky, jacketed shoulders. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your bus.”
You go with him. The crowd parts and flows around you, but gazes widen and the air stirs with whispers as this new development is noted and passed on.
You made a diorama once, back in fourth grade. Set a shoe box on its side, lid off, and painted dozens of blurred humans with black-hole eyes and circular, red mouths on the walls. Made cage bars out of wooden shish kebab skewers and set them halfway into the box, then glued the snarling, slinking, plastic tiger on the outside near the opening.
The art teacher gave you an A plus. Said the overwhelming humanity in the background made the lone tiger more vivid, made it stand apart from its surroundings, a stranger in a strange land, unable to effectively hide or blend, but protected from the gawkers by the same bars that imprisoned it.
She saw far more in that diorama than you did and now you wonder if it’s become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Awareness makes you unnatural. Your limbs are clumsy, your face hot and huge. Even your thoughts are disjointed. You know you should put your arm around Gary’s waist but you’re afraid he’ll think you mean it. You can’t just leave it dangling between you both, though. That’s lame.
So you hook it around his lower back. Feel his muscles flexing beneath your moist palm. Beads of sweat crawl like spiders down your spine. You glance up and find him studying your face. He seems pleased.
You can’t deal with this. There’s nowhere safe to look. Are you smiling? You don’t think so, and you should be. You have to, if you want this to work.
Do you want this to work? You hesitate, confused about what it is, and then remember why you’re going out with him in the first place.
You try to match his loping gait as he slows for your shorter one and you both end up hopelessly out of step.
“Hey, we’ll get it right,” he says, grinning and squeezing you.
You look up again and he drops a quick kiss on your mouth.
People watch as you pass and you can’t make them stop.
Three kisses from Gary.
How has this happened?
You walk into the teeming courtyard. Your bus isn’t there yet.
The thin wind whips and whirls through knots of gathered students.
“You don’t have to wait,” you say, offering him a chance to leave. Chill air invades the back of your collar, freezing your seeping sweat and coating your feet in ice.
“No problem,” he says, tucking you closer to his body. “I figured I’d take your bus with you and just head home from there.” He smiles. “Okay?”
“Gary…” It’s the first time you’ve said his name with no animosity attached and it sounds strange to your ears. “It’s really cold and I’m gonna get in trouble because of the suspension when I get home…” Does he understand that he can’t come home with you? That he can have no real access to your life? You feel a sudden surge of panic, and only the relentless gazes of the kids monitoring your progress as a couple keeps you wedged in the shelter of his arm.
Well, that and the fact that he’s blocking most of the wind.
“Yeah, I figured,” he says, nodding as your bus rumbles into the courtyard. “That’s why I’m just going to leave you at the corner. I don’t want to make it any harder on you.”
“Oh.” You don’t understand th
is. Who is he, anyway? Not who you thought he was and his improvement is unsettling. Guys who yell, “Nice tits!” and tell people you’re a gay whore don’t see you home when there’s nothing in it for them. Guys like that sit around your TV room every night, drinking and being gross. “Why are you being so nice to me?” you ask abruptly.
He draws back, startled. “What, you want me to be shitty or something?”
“Well, no, but…” Confusion knots your words, which might be a good thing as you weren’t sure what you were going to say next anyway. “Forget it.” You move out from under his arm and head for the bus. Glance back over your shoulder. “You coming?”
He doesn’t move. “You still want me to?”
He’s leaving it up to you and you wish he wouldn’t. You wish he’d just bulldoze you along so you could sleepwalk through the week and, when it’s over, wake up having invested nothing more than your physical presence.
You didn’t want to have to think and you absolutely didn’t want to see him as more than an asshole.
Gary’s nose is red, but yours is running. You sniffle and wipe it on the back of your free hand. “Yeah.”
His head dips once and he follows you on to the bus.
The driver quirks an eyebrow, forcing you to proclaim in front of the world, “It’s okay. He’s with me.”
You find an empty double seat and slide into it. Gary drops in next to you. The heater has fogged the windows so you make a big deal of cleaning yours off, top and bottom.
The busywork ends when the bus lurches forward and you plop back into your seat. “I can take my books now,” you say, glancing sideways at him.
“They’re okay,” he says comfortably, bumping his shoulder against yours.
And then he asks for your phone number and gives you his, too, even though you lie and say you won’t be able to make any calls because of the suspension.
He nods like he understands and tells you how he got grounded over Thanksgiving for denting his father’s girlfriend’s car with his skateboard.
Somehow you find yourself laughing with him halfway through the story, but stop when you see the light in his eyes.
“What?” His breath carries the fading scent of Tic Tacs.
“Nothing,” you say, and gaze out the window until your stop. You haven’t laughed with anyone but Blair in ages.
When you rise to get off, you notice a fresh Ardith & Gary scrawled on the cover of your notebook, and the sight of it tilts something inside of you.
Grinning, Gary wedges the pen behind his ear and shepherds you down the aisle.
“Well,” you say, as the bus lumbers out of sight. The sky is gray and the streetlights are already on. “My books?” You hold out your arms and he piles them full. “Thanks.” Take a step backward. How is this supposed to end? And why isn’t he saying anything?
“Well…”
“So you’re not gonna be in school tomorrow,” he says, hunching his neck down into his jacket and shivering. The wind brings tears to his eyes.
“Nope,” you say, teeth chattering. Your hands have lost all feeling.
“That’s beat,” he says, shifting from foot to foot. His gaze rests on you, flits away, returns. “I guess I’ll see you the day after, then.”
“I guess,” you say.
He bites his lip. Looks around and edges you sideways, closer to the thick stand of pine trees at the edge of the wooded lot.
You sniffle. Sniffle again. Your nose has to stop running.
His face dips to yours. His lips are ChapStick soft and his skin ice cold. He pulls back an inch, then kisses you again. This one is slow and deep.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for that,” he murmurs when it’s over, resting his forehead against yours. “But it was worth it.”
His features smudge and blur. He’s too close to be seen clearly.
“You’d better go,” he says, stepping back. “You’re freezing.” He smiles. “Maybe I’ll give you a call tomorrow from school or something.”
“Okay.” You can’t stop shivering. “’Bye.” You wheel around and take off.
It’s the first time you can remember seeking safety at home.
You burst into the family room. The heat burns your bloodless hands and sends your sinuses into an immediate thaw.
Your brother, Phone Dent, and Broken Nose are sprawled on the couch, eating Doritos and watching a talk show episode entitled “Men Are Afraid of My Big Breasts.”
“Brrr, shut that door,” your mother calls from the kitchen. “I can feel the wind all the way in here.”
You do, and head into the kitchen.
“Did the boys tell you the news?” your mother says, frowning down at the bowl of meat loaf mix. “Crap. I thought I had more bread crumbs.” Straightening, she wipes a stray hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. Thick, pink half moons of ground beef are packed beneath her fingernails.
“No,” you say, setting your books on the table and pouring a cup of coffee.
“Well, we had another exciting New Year’s Eve,” she says, turning back to the bowl of meat. She scoops out a handful and packs it into one of the three loaf pans sitting on the counter. “Your brother went out to get snacks for the party and the goddamn cops must have been waiting for him because they tried pulling him over again, and he just wasn’t having any of it. They chased him for almost a half hour before they caught him this time.” She stuffs the next loaf pan. “I swear, the cops in this town don’t have anything better to do than stake out your brother.”
“So he got arrested again,” you say, wondering if it happened before or after you met Officer Dave on Main Street and whether he was involved.
“Of course,” your mother says, snorting. “Nobody cuts him a break. Why should they, when they can get their jollies by harassing him?” She fills the last pan and opens the oven. “We had to go down and get him again and then go back out and get more snacks because they wouldn’t let him take his stuff when they impounded the car. Can you believe that?”
“Wow.” You gauge her preoccupation and decide to drop your own bomb. “By the way, I’m suspended tomorrow for hitting some kid in my class. It was no big deal, but we have a stupid zero-tolerance policy, so…”
“Right,” your mother says, sighing and reaching for her cosmo.
“First day back from Christmas vacation and zero-tolerance for a kid fight. The whole world’s going to hell in a handbasket these days, huh, cookie?” She drains the glass. “I think I’ll make mashed potatoes. Maybe they’ll make your brother feel a little better.”
You sneak an ashtray into your pile of books and head for your room.
Gary calls the next day during his lunch. He makes you laugh with another skateboarding story, then lowers his voice and tells you he misses you. You hang in the balance for a heartbeat, then say me, too. You feel like a heel when you hang up and get inexplicably angry at Blair for forcing you into this position. You know it doesn’t make sense—Gary’s the one who’s hurt you, so you have every right to hurt him back—but somehow that knowledge keeps slipping away.
And somehow your week of using and dumping Gary stretches on to two, then four, then more. Blair isn’t happy about it, but she has someone else now, too, a rich, spoiled new friend named Dellasandra that you have no say over, so you edit what you tell her in the few stolen moments you have alone together between classes and Gary, and reassure yourself that the growing distance between you is normal. She’s never had a real boyfriend and doesn’t understand the amount of time they take.
And during those frequent moments when you head in different directions and she walks to class alone, you remind yourself that if her mother hadn’t banned your friendship this wouldn’t be happening, anyway.
Despite all the time you’re spending with Gary, you know you’ll never risk bringing him into your house. If he doesn’t get caught up in the partying, then being exposed to your mother’s coy flirtations and your father’s touchy-feely, good ol??
? boy act will alter his opinion of you. He’ll expect things he isn’t pushing for yet and if you ever break up, the class will know all the secrets you’ve tried so hard so keep private.
You watch him when he isn’t looking and wonder what you have that keeps him around. Sometimes you resurrect the night of the swim club dance and imagine what his warm hand would feel like inside your cool, damp bathing suit top. If his hand would make you shiver like Blair’s did, and if that one awkward, blurred exploration really did mean more than you’re willing to admit, or if it was just something that happened.
You still don’t know and sometimes that troubles you.
Gary calls one night during dinner and when you’re done talking, you admit to your parents that you have a boyfriend.
“Well, isn’t that sweet,” your mother says, beaming. “You’ll have to bring him around sometime so we can meet him, cookie. Bring his friends over, too.”
“Fuck no,” your brother says, scowling. “Who wants a bunch of rugrats crawling around here, getting in the way?”
“Stop it,” your mother says. “Ardith’ll be a sophomore this fall, it’ll be her first year in high school, and of course she’ll be bringing her new friends over to hang out.”
Your appetite dies. You’ve suddenly become visible.
“Hey, that means new babes,” Broken Nose says, waggling his eyebrows. “I say bring ’em on.”
Everyone laughs and gets busy mapping out your high school years, suggesting ways to widen your circle of friends and advising you who to bring home.
“No coyote uglies,” your brother says and then at your mother’s curious look, “Means if I woke up with my arm around her, I’d chew it off just to get away without waking her up.”
Your father snickers. “Ahh, the good old days.”
“Well, I don’t mind ugly, but don’t make friends with anyone like that girl from Christmas,” your mother says, scooping up a chunk of lasagna. “That kind will get you in trouble, cookie, and I mean it. Walking around like she’s hot shit with her boobs stuck out to here…” She shakes her head, not noticing your brother’s knowing smirk. “She’ll get a bad reputation and that’s one thing you don’t need going into high school.”