So I tell him about what Gloria said in the bathroom and what she did to me in math and how she can’t keep treating people like this. He’s all, “I wish I’d been there.”
I’m like, “What would you have done?”
He goes, “I would have defended you. It makes me so freaking pissed that she said that stuff to you.”
And I can tell he really means it. Danny would have definitely protected me from her evil ways.
He’s like, “And Gloria’s so fake. That whole Jackson thing? How’s she gonna front like she’s above it?”
I’m all, “Huh?”
He’s all, “You know. How she liked Jackson.”
And then I step right in this huge puddle. I’m like, “Jackson Smith?” Because there’s no way an image-obsessed prom queen like Gloria would ever be into anyone even remotely geeky. And especially not Jackson, mega-geek extraordinaire.
It’s really raining hard and plus it’s windy, so even with Danny’s huge umbrella we’re still getting wet.
He goes, “Do you want to get a coffee?”
We’re passing Joe, which usually has zero free tables. But since it’s a weekday afternoon and most people are at work, there’s an empty one. And my whole sneaker is soaked and the subway is half a block from here and I want to hear about Jackson. So I say, “Sure.”
After we get set up, Danny tells me this whole thing about how when he used to hang with Jackson freshman year, Jackson and Gloria went out. On the DDL, of course. So Danny’s in Jackson’s room one day while this is going on, and Jackson’s sworn to secrecy by Gloria not to tell anyone. But naturally Jackson’s giving Danny the play-by-play because, hello, if you were Jackson and Gloria liked you, wouldn’t you be renting a billboard about it?
And then Jackson told his parents about Gloria after she was over one time. They just assumed he was helping her with homework, and even after he told them they didn’t really believe him. Supposedly, Jackson’s parents don’t care about anything if it doesn’t have to do with school. And there’s all this pressure for him to get into Harvard like his dad, and he never wanted to be such a nerd. He wants to be badass and edgy, because that’s how he really feels inside and that’s the part of him he wants everyone to see. Plus, it’s like the only way his parents would pay attention to him as a real person is if he acted like a real kid.
Danny’s like, “Maybe if he got in trouble like normal kids, then his parents would wake up. Realize how miserable he is, just studying all the time.”
I’m all, “That’s heavy.”
“Yeah. Um. So how did I get on this again?”
“You were talking about how his parents didn’t believe it about Gloria—”
“Exactly! So a few weeks ago, we were sitting next to each other in the computer lab.” And then he says how this note falls out of Jackson’s binder but he doesn’t even notice. So after Jackson leaves, Danny picks the note up off the floor, and it’s this total love letter from Gloria! It’s from back when everything was going down between them. And it’s all mushy and like how Jackson is so special and she loves him so much and what they have is too personal to share with the world and yadda yadda hoo-ha.
I’m like, “Whoa.”
And Danny’s like, “Seriously.”
“Do you still have it?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe.” He thinks about it, and then he goes, “Wait. Yeah, maybe I do. Because I remember using the back of it to take notes on this stuff about Easter eggs.”
“Um . . .”
“No, DVD Easter eggs. They’re like these hidden clues where you can click on different things when a DVD is playing to get special features.”
“Really? Like what?”
“You can get Memento to play backward.”
“Word?”
“No lie.”
“Wow, so . . . you might still have it?”
“I have to check.”
“Can you bring it in tomorrow if you find it?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I think we could use it.”
“Oh!” Danny grabs his head like his brain’s about to explode. “Oh, that is so righteous! You’re on fire!”
And then there’s this kind of awkward silence, because did he mean I’m on fire like I’m just having really good ideas? Or I’m on fire like I’m hot?
But I guess it’s the idea one because then he’s like, “You know what? I think I still have it! Because I think I found it the other day when I was going through this pile of papers.”
So I go, “Yeah. I can definitely relate about piles.”
And he’s like, “I know.”
And then there’s another awkward silence while we just sit there, looking at each other for a while. Trying to figure out what the other person is thinking.
Then we finish our coffees and the rain is a little better, so Danny walks me the rest of the way to my subway stop. And I just feel like I miss him. I miss him not being a bigger part of my life, the way he used to be, when I could never imagine my life without him.
The first thing I do when I get home is flip open my laptop and look up his address. And of course he lives like seven blocks from me. And of course I have to go see his building and figure out what window apartment 1B is and hope it’s facing the street.
So I put on my black hoodie and escape without Mom trapping me for a round of Twenty Questions I Really Don’t Feel Like Answering Now But Thanks Anyway. And on the walk over my heart is pounding really hard and my hands are getting sweaty and I’m so nervous that he’ll see me and I’m so nervous that he won’t and if he sees me I will die of embarrassment because when am I ever on his block?
When I find his building, it has two apartments facing the street on the first floor. The window on the left side of the front door is lit, but the window on the right is dark. Which obviously means that the dark window is his, and he’s not home because he’s out with his girlfriend at some upscale bar, and later they’ll come back to his place and do it all night. And then tomorrow I’ll have to look at him knowing that he was up all night having sex with some lingerie model or one of those gorgeous businesswomen I see walking down the street around five thirty in their expensive suits and shiny hair and four-inch heels because they’re all 5’4” and 100 pounds. And I’ll have to look at him all inferior and lacking and knowing I’m 5’7” and probably 1,000 pounds, considering all the crap I was eating until recently.
Okay, but like maybe? That’s not his window. Or it is, but he’s just not home for some other reason. Like maybe he’s out with a friend or at a coffeehouse somewhere grading papers. And I’m trying to remember where there’s a coffeehouse around here, so maybe I can walk by the window really fast and check if he’s in there.
But maybe that’s not even his window. What if it’s the other one and he’s home and he’s been peeking at me in between the blind slats this whole time? How long have I been standing here? He probably thinks I’m a freak!
I go up the stairs and look at the names on the doorbell list. And there it is. My heart thumps fast. Farrell 1B. In the middle of this city, in the serious moonlight, right down the street from where I’ve lived all this time, he’s here. He walks down this street and he climbs up these stairs every day and he lives right here.
So I’m trying to figure out what to do (like obviously, I’m not about to ring his bell or hang out across the street and see if he leaves or comes home) and then suddenly someone is climbing the stairs and I have to make an executive decision. Do I follow her in as if I live here and I’m looking for my key? I start moving things around in my bag in case I decide on that option. Or do I leave and hope she doesn’t see me, so if she sees me again she won’t think I’m stalking? But she just says excuse me and I say sorry and step to the side and I have to make a decision.
And she gets the door open and kind of glances back at me like she knows I don’t live here and why am I loitering, so I decide to leave. Like, what am I going to do inside anyway?
But then the door swings closed and right at that instant I realize I should have gone in. Because then I could look for his name on the door and see which apartment is his and why didn’t I think of that before? I can’t believe how stupid I’m being.
But whatever. I have a ton of homework I haven’t even started and it’s getting late and there’s this huge English paper that’s due tomorrow and of course I haven’t even started it, because what have I been doing? Fantasizing and spending too much time on math homework trying to get everything perfect to impress him and completely not focusing on anything that doesn’t have to do with Mr. Farrell for more than three consecutive seconds, and now I’m screwed. At least I’m ready for the math test since I’ve been studying for it all week. Except unfortunately there’s other stuff going on in the world.
When I’m at home on my bed trying to read this seriously dull book for English, I’m wondering for the bazillionth time why they give us such boring books to read. The only thing that’s kept me awake this long was Danny calling to say he found the note. And then we planned tomorrow, which is so perfect it’s insane. He called James after to tell him about it.
The highlight of my night is when I go down to the deli and I’m bending down for snack cakes, and all these thoughts come rushing in at me. Like being with Danny today and how good it felt. And the weird thing is? That I even have room to think about him when all I’ve been obsessing about is Mr. Farrell. But also about Brad’s brother and what he said. And the Sheila situation. I tried IMing her, but she’s never online anymore. And she didn’t call me back after I left three voice mails about how she should call me if she feels like talking.
It’s all too much right now. And then there’s the whole thing about seeing Dr. Ribisi tomorrow. . . .
There’s this grungy deli cat that’s always half-covered in sawdust or something. He creeps around the bottom shelves with his tail swiping up against all the stuff there. Somehow, this seems immensely unhygienic. I try to walk around him on my way to pay, but he suddenly takes a spaz and darts in front of me. Not that’s it’s a black cat, but it is the grungy deli cat, so I’m hoping it’s not a bad omen and he’s trying to tell me something.
By the time it’s three in the morning, I’m only half done with the paper. Because I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow, which is already later today. And how I’m finally going to know if he feels the way I hope he does.
CHAPTER 17
Thursday
SO OF COURSE there’s this humungous zit right on my chin. Since I’m planning to stay after math and talk to Mr. Farrell and all. This zit could not be bigger. There’s no way I could hide it if I tried. I mean, okay, so I tried for half an hour with my special concealer-and-Q-tip-combo technique, but it looks worse now than when I started.
I dash into the bathroom before math for a last-minute face check. The results of which are heinous and I wish I never looked, because there’s no way I can go to class looking like this. So I go into a stall and sit on the toilet and put my feet up so no one can see that I’m late for class and possibly snitch because I have to decide if I can let Mr. Farrell see me with this thing on my face. Plus, now I also have to think up an excuse for being late, which I’m going to be in another minute.
The door bangs open and someone starts dialing their cell phone.
She’s like, “Hey, it’s me,” and I immediately know it’s Sheila. “Sorry to keep bothering you with all these calls. Everything’s been getting so much worse lately.” I hear her walking toward the stalls. I can tell she’s looking under the doors to see if anyone else is in here, so I hold my breath.
She goes, “I can’t do this anymore.” Then she starts telling the person on the other end how she finally got a chance to catch up on homework last night because she went to the library instead of to Brad’s after school.
“But when I called Brad after, he said he wasn’t studying for the math test.”
Pause.
“Like I was surprised? He never studies for anything anymore.”
Pause.
“Yeah, I tried that.”
Pause.
“What do you think?”
Pause.
“Exactly. And then I tried to convince him that he’s on this downward spiral and . . . like how he’s scaring me and everything, but he just blew me off. And then he said he’s going to cheat off this kid Jackson during the test.”
Pause.
“Not really. If he doesn’t pass this test then there’s no way he can pass the class.”
Pause.
“I know! I would tell Jackson, but there’s no way I can do it without Brad seeing.”
Pause.
“He’s in there already.”
Pause.
“No, because he’s being all scary, and he sits right next to Jackson. So there’s not much I can do about it anyway.”
Pause.
“Yeah . . . I know . . . Okay, I better go. Thanks, Max.” And she snaps her phone shut.
I’m having this convulsion like, Max! As in Max from film elective! As in Brad’s brother who told me that Sheila should stay away from Brad!
A tub of lip gloss falls out of my bag and rolls across the floor, under the stall door toward the sinks. I hear Sheila pick it up. Then she knocks on my door.
I’m like, “Uh . . . come in?”
She goes, “It’s locked.”
And I’m like, “Oh yeah. Right.” So I unlatch the door and swing it open, and Sheila smiles a little when she sees it’s just me.
Then she holds out my lip gloss and goes, “I think this is yours.”
So I go, “Thanks. I’m really sorry I’m sitting here like this. I totally didn’t mean to spy on you or anything, I just got caught in here and—”
“It’s okay.”
“It is?”
“You know most of that stuff anyway.”
“Oh.” And then no one says anything for a minute. I notice that Sheila’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so I’m like, “Aren’t you hot?” Because it’s supposed to be super warm today.
She’s like, “Not really.”
And I know I told Max I wouldn’t tell Sheila what he said, and if I tell there could be consequences I can’t even imagine, but I have to at least reach out to her in some way. And I think I’m right about this, and if I’m not then it’s no big deal, but if I am it could make all the difference.
So I say, “Sheila.”
And she looks at me.
And I say, “I know.”
At first I can’t tell what she’s going to do. Maybe she’ll try and act like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, or maybe she’ll just leave. But instead she does something I wasn’t expecting at all. She pulls up her sleeve, and there are bruises on her arm. Like someone grabbed her and wouldn’t let go.
I’m like, “Oh my god.”
And Sheila says, “I don’t know what to do.”
“Was it . . . Brad’s father?”
But she shakes her head. And she whispers, “It was Brad.”
So that’s why Max didn’t do anything. And he didn’t want Sheila to know we talked. In some weird way, he was probably protecting his brother. Or maybe there’s more to it. Not that it matters. The only thing that matters right now is that I can help Sheila. Because this has to stop.
So I say, “I know someone who can help you.”
Somehow I managed to only be five minutes late to math, and Mr. Farrell didn’t even notice because the whole room was in a pre-test frenzy of sharpening pencils and asking last-minute questions and cramming from the book and Mr. Farrell yelling at everyone to sit down so we can start.
After I gave Sheila the contact info for Dr. Ribisi, she went to the guidance office. All I wanted to do the whole period was kill Brad, but somehow I managed not to. I’m sure I bombed the test.
So now class is over and everyone’s gone and Mr. Farrell doesn’t have anything this period, so I go up to him and say, “Hey. I have a question.”
And he looks up and smiles right at me (and it’s like he doesn’t even see the zit the way he’s smiling) and he goes, “I have an answer,” which is so cute in a dorky, teachery kind of way.
I’m like, “Do you believe in karma?”
And he’s all, “Absolutely.”
So I say, “What if you had the chance to help someone receive the ultimate karmic retribution? Would you do it?”
He’s like, “No doubt.”
I go, “That’s what I thought.” Not that I need convincing that what we’re doing tonight is the right thing. But in a way, I wanted his opinion. Even if I can’t tell him what it’s about.
He’s all, “What goes around comes around.”
I really hope that’s true. And then it’s like evidence right in front of my face when I see Jackson on the way to my last class. Not just because of tonight, but I know about how Jackson stole Ree’s note in English, because she sent me a text during her lunch.
I catch up to him and go, “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
He’s like, “About what?” All in this tone where it’s obvious he doesn’t want to know. I can’t figure out why he doesn’t have more friends with such great conversational skills.
I go, “About that note you took from Ree in English.”
He goes, “What about it?”
I’m like, “Why don’t you give it back?”
“It landed on my desk. I can keep it if I want.”
“Um . . . she really really needs that note back.”
“I can see why.”
“Are you going to get her in trouble?”
“No. I’ll give it back to her tomorrow.”
“Or you could give it to me to give to her.”
“No. Is she going to the dance?”
“Yeah.”
“So I’ll give it to her there.”
I have no idea what Jackson’s up to, but he doesn’t have a creepy dangerous vibe or anything, so I sort of believe him. He’s just a tad lacking in the social-skills department, is all.