Would this song never end? We get it! You’re stupid! And so am I for coming here!
Another go round and they were there again. Her head on his chest with her arms wrapped in a strangle hold around his neck. He looked down, his nose barely touching her shoulder. His eyes were open. Was he looking at the floor? Or her butt.
The floor. I decided. Definitely the floor. It was nice carpet. With both hands clasped over her lower back, he still hadn’t looked up. I strained my eyes as we turned until they hurt. With my back turned, my imagination ran wild. And Sarah singing my misery for the whole room to hear, didn’t help at all. Why the hell had I agreed to come, anyway? It was a thousand times worse than I thought it would be.
Suzie looked up and putting her fingers in Jakes hair, pulled his head down till their foreheads touched. The fake illness began to turn into a real one.
“Hey,” Sam whispered. When I looked up, he kissed me without warning. Obviously not opposed to passionate displays of affection, he really got into it, wandering hands and everything. Unlike the other times when his kisses could wipe the thought of Jake from my mind altogether, this time I was completely stunned and self-conscious.
I wedged my fingers between our lips. He gave me a delirious smile and then feeling eyes on us, looked past my shoulder. Jake was staring. Hard.
Angry? Hurt? Surprised? I couldn’t tell what he was feeling. But I watched in horror as he lifted Suzie’s chin and slowly kissed her just as passionately. I didn’t want to watch, but I couldn’t help it. I was screaming inside my mind and barely noticed that I had Sam’s shirt clutched in my fists. He ended the kiss, opened his eyes and raised his head to look directly at me. I made no mistake as to the message on his face.
I pushed Sam away. “I’m gonna throw up.” I shoved people out of the way. Only this time I wasn’t daydreaming and I bolted for the door.
Chapter 10
I ran down the icy steps into the night, sidestepping a few trick or treaters. The angry walk was a casual stroll compared to what I was doing now. I pulled the beret off my head and threw it into a puddle. I had forgotten my coat but didn’t care. I would go back tomorrow and get it while apologizing to Sam for being the world’s crappiest girlfriend. Or ex-girlfriend. I doubted Sam ever wanted to talk to me again anyway.
I ripped off the smock, tossing it into a bush and threw the palette as hard as my skinny arms could. I held on to the paint brush. Just in case.
A warm hand grabbed my upper arm. I yelped and swung around, surprised to see Jake. Alone and coatless, he stood over me, staring.
Anger. Yeah, I think it was safe to say he was angry. I stared right back.
“Why are you leaving the party so soon?” he asked in a tight, terse voice.
“I’m nauseous,” I growled back. “I’m going home.” I turned but couldn’t go far. He was still holding my arm.
“End this bullshit right now and just say it.” he demanded.
“Say what! There’s nothing to say! She. Makes. My. Skin. Crawl. Sorry if I don’t want to watch you two get it on in the middle of the room.” I jerked my arm away and turned to leave.
“Well, maybe I don’t want to watch you and Sam, either!” he yelled.
“That’s different!” I whirled around, furious. “You kissed her just to make me…just to…you kissed her on purpose! Sam kissed me!”
“Oh, it’s hardly different.” And pointing it out didn’t help by the looks of his body language.
“Go back to your girlfriend, Jake. Just leave me alone.” I shook my head, pleading and dangerously close to tears.
“I don’t want to leave you alone! I want just the opposite! But you’re too stubborn to see that!”
I stared at Jake, ready to hurl another Suzie laden insult at him as the next song came echoing from Sam’s house. The one I didn’t want to hear. My heart begged my legs to run.
“Jake!” Suzie called from Sam’s porch and her tone wasn’t entirely happy. He looked back at her, slowly. I watched the profile of his face in the moonlight and without warning, my heart stopped.
It might have been the music echoing from the house, or from somewhere deep in my own mind, I wasn’t sure, but I heard clearly the whispered words, I love you.
And it hit me. Like powerful, relentless waves washing over me. I realized everything I had been fighting inside.
Turning back to me, he sighed. After a cold silence he leveled his head. “You know what? I had to.”
“You had to what?”
“I had to go out with her. I had to kiss her. I had to see if what I felt for you was because I was right about us, or because I simply needed more. I tried to be subtle about it. And then it got crazy and I’ve been doing whatever the hell it would take for you to see what’s really going on here. I’ve barely tolerated Sam and I’ve given you your space and hoped you would figure it out. And now I see that no matter what I do, you aren’t going to. Even if you do, you won’t admit it.” He sighed heavily and looked up at the night sky. “I didn’t want to admit that I’ve been wrong about this all along. I was wrong about you. I was wrong about us. Let’s just forget any of this ever happened. I really want to forget it. I don’t want this to change anything. Not any more than it already has. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“But, Jake—”
“Night, Meg.” He walked away. He went back to her and I stood with my heart churning in a violent sea of questions.
♥
The next day at lunch, I had a hell of a decision to make. Either hide in the library or face Jake at lunch. I decided to hold my head up high. I sat across from him without a word and began eating.
Finally, I looked up—and over. “Where’s Suzie?”
“Oh. You used her name. She’s not speaking to me right now,” he said and bit the end of a fry, throwing the remainder on his tray. He looked exhausted.
“Oh.” I had a decent idea why. Any guy that runs after another girl, leaving his date standing in the middle of the room, had to cause at least a few waves.
“Where’s Sam?”
“Apparently, he stayed home today.”
“Why?”
I shrugged.
“Yeah, we sure know how to treat the people we care about, don’t we?” He glared at me and I had to look away.
“Are you jogging home this afternoon?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I walk with you?”
He stood abruptly, grabbing his tray, having only picked at his food. “I’ve changed my plans. I’m leaving for basic in June.”
“Wait…June? Why?”
“Because I can’t do this anymore, Meg. I thought I had things right in my head and I couldn’t have been more wrong. I can’t just go on pretending that everything is fine.”
“What about Suzie?”
“Well, if we aren’t broken up already, I’ll have to end it.”
“Just like that? You’ll just break up with her?”
“Yeah.”
“For the Army.”
“Yeah. I think it’s easier for me to travel light from now on.” Clearly running out of patience, he turned away. I scrambled to gather up my things and follow him.
“Jake, wait.”
“I have to go.”
I pulled on his sleeve. “I made you a drawing, like you asked.” Digging through my binder, I found it and held it out. “Happy Birthday. I’m sorry it’s late.” He glanced at it and then me.
“I don’t want it.”
“But you said—”
“I said a lot of stuff, Meg. And all it’s done is mess up everything.”
“We can still be friends. You said you wanted to forget everything and start over. We can just rewind to the first day you got back.”
He shrugged. “No, I don’t think that can be done. You’re prideful and selfish, I’m prideful and selfish and maybe all this would have been avoided if I had just come out and said what I needed to say, but I just couldn’t do that. I don’t know why. I don�
��t know who I am anymore; I don’t know who you are anymore.
“Would you please say something that makes sense?”
“I need to take a break, Meg. From us. Things are different and I can’t be best friends anymore.”
I felt like I had been slugged in the gut. It took me a minute to find my voice.
“If that’s what you want,” I said quietly.
“Yeah. That’s what I want.”
I stuffed the drawing in my backpack, not caring it was getting bent and wrinkled. When I looked up, he was gone.
♥
I walked through the rest of the week in a lost daze. As if this were a very bad dream and I would wake up any moment now. I tried to find my bearings and my own rhythm to get through the day, but all my thoughts and actions were robotic. I just shut down. I didn’t go to lunch at all and I didn’t look out the window on the way home.
Sam was absent the whole week. I heard through the grapevine that he had the flu. I should have been worried about him but I was grateful for the solitude. I found a nice, safe place in the corner of the gym, hiding beside the folded bleachers. I had begun to bring my smaller sketch pad with me and spent my lunches drawing.
Work was terrible. Jake didn’t even look at me. Most of the time, if he needed to say anything work related, he asked Daisy or Hank to pass the message. A few times they weren’t around and he was forced to talk to me, he spoke quiet and cold, never looking at me. I considered quitting.
Friday, while I was drawing and my stomach was growling angrily, it occurred to me that maybe I should do just that. I’d wanted to quit for a long time and I thought I was just miserable enough to go through with it. I gathered my things and walked to the counselor’s office. I grew more determined with every step; more sure of my decision.
I knocked on the door and the counselor, busy on the phone, nodded me inside. Waiting for her to get off the phone, I looked around at pictures of her kids and who I assumed was her husband. Her office was decorated with a lot of pink abstract artwork and paintings and a small collection of stuffed animals behind her head.
“Hi,” she said. I hadn’t realized she had hung up the phone. “What can I do for you?”
I had a harder time getting it out than I thought I would. Finally, after beating around the bush and sounding like an idiot, I just spit it out.
“I want to quit school.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why on earth would you want to quit? It’s barely six months to graduation.”
“Yeah, I know, but…” But what? My best friend dumped me and I’m miserable. I hate being here, I’m barely passing my classes and I hate not having any friends. I don’t belong here…all vitally important things in my world, but to this counselor it would seem like petty, juvenile concerns that would pass with the next hormonal flux.
“I just need to know how to go about this. Quitting I mean. Do I fill out a paper or something?”
“Well, let’s talk for a moment first.” I sighed and sunk back into my chair. She arranged papers on her desk and then asked for my student number to pull up my file on the computer. “You aren’t failing any classes, your attendance is good. Doesn’t look like you’re involved in any after school activities or groups, would that help? We might could find something with your peers you might enjoy?”
That was the last thing in the world I wanted.
“No, that definitely won’t help.”
“A schedule change perhaps?”
I thought for a moment, wondering if getting a different lunch period might help. Then at least I could eat. No, I’d still see him in the halls and I’d still have to deal with all this juvenile crap all day.
“No, thank you. I just want this over. I can take the GED. I have every intention of going to the community college. They don’t care if you have a GED or not.”
“So, you’re not abandoning your education. It’s important to you?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah. It is.” It’s my only way out, I finished in my head.
“Well, then I would hate to see you throw everything away so close to graduation. Let’s see if we can find a way to help you.” She smiled and I wondered where the hell she had been for the last four years as I wandered these halls an outcast. Why did she suddenly care now? She must have a quota or something.
She clicked through the computer tabs, getting an electronic idea of who I was. I could see it on her face as I imagined her reading, “from broken home…poor as dirt…average intelligence…no friends…
“Tell me about your friends,” she said, looking up.
I looked away, ashamed, and twisted the corner of my sweater.
“Meg, it’s completely normal to feel isolated and alone during the high school experience. That’s why it’s so important to get involved and find others like you, to help you along.”
I had someone like that. And I blew it. A strong ache twisted my heart and my throat tightened.
“I’m just not really a people person,” I said. “Please, just tell me what I can do to…”
“What about a boyfriend?”
I shook my head tightly. I felt the sting of tears threatening. There was no way I would cry in front of this woman. I reached for my backpack.
“It looks like there was an incident in the hall a while back. Do you want to tell me about that? Are you getting any harassment as a result?” I shook my head again. She glanced back at her computer. “Looks like you had a friend who took up for you. Do you want to tell me about him?”
I stood. “No. I’d like to leave now.” I heaved my backpack off the floor and the cloth bottom ripped out, spilling my books and papers all over her office floor.
Aggravation and embarrassment pushed the tears to the surface. I shook with the effort of holding them back.
“Oh! Let me help you with that.”
She dashed around her desk and bent down. I kept my body and eyes turned away to keep from revealing myself.
“Meg.”
“What?” I asked tersely.
“Did you do this?” she whispered.
I turned and to my horror, she was holding one of my drawings. I swiped it from her hands and stuffed it in the middle of one of my books.
She watched me quietly, squat down on the floor, as I tried to rig my backpack to hold and arrange my things.
“Hold on, I’ll go get something to fix that.”
I sat cross legged on the floor, holding my things on my lap. Expecting her to return with a loaner backpack from the lost and found, she held a spool of thread and needle.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m going to sew it.” She held her hand out for the empty backpack and sat down in her big, leather office chair. I hoped she’d be quick about it. The bell rang and I glanced at the door.
“Don’t worry, I’ll write you a pass,” she said with her head bent down, sewing painfully slow.
“Tell me about your art,” she said quietly.
“I don’t talk about it really.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. It’s special. I don’t think anyone would understand.”
“Hmm.” She nodded slowly. “See that?” She pointed to an abstract black and white painting wedged in between some twisting ceramic statues. “I did that. Along with all the pink statues.”
I looked over at it. “It’s….” I tried to come up with an adjective that fit, but nothing did.
She laughed. “I named it ‘confusion’. Which is usually the response it gets.” I looked closer and could see why she named it that.
“Would you tell me what you think of that painting?” she asked, ignoring the backpack in her lap.
I took a deep breath. I thought for a moment before I spoke. “The two colors seemed to conflict and fight on the canvas. They looked beautiful together but they battled each other for your attention.”
“Exactly,” she said. “You are the first person to accurately
depict what I was feeling when I did that.” She smiled. “I majored in Social Science in college, but minored in art. It’s always been a side passion of mine.”
I nodded in acknowledgment and then focused my eyes on my backpack, hoping she’d hurry. She went back to sewing slowly.
“Have you thought about taking an art class? Not that you need one, mind you. What little I saw of yours was breathtaking. But as an outlet. To receive critique and praise?”
“Ah, no. Critique is the last thing I want.”
“People aren’t mean about it. It’s just their opinion; their perception of your work.”
I shook my head, praying she would drop it.
“Can I give you my perception of the drawing I saw?”
“You only saw it for a moment.”
“I know. But it still made an impression on me. Of course it would help if I could hold it again. I could give you more detailed feedback.”
I looked down anxiously.
“Meg, I will be kind and professional. I promise.”
I decided to let her hold it, since I was still intent on walking out of this place today and never coming back.
I handed it over reluctantly. Her face went through several shifts as she studied it, thinking.
“I like charcoal,” she said abruptly. “I’m not good with it, but you use it wonderfully.” She went back to her studying.
I heard the clock ticking loudly and wanted to run away.
“You have a unique style. I like how the images become more uncertain the further from the center you go. The detail is exquisite. You portrait well. Are these people you know?”
“No. It’s just…nobody.” It was the picture I had drawn for Jake. The meaning was only ever meant for him.
I began to relax as she held it comfortably in her hand, taking care not to smudge or wrinkle it. I thought it ridiculous at first; it was already wrinkled beyond hope from my cramming it in my backpack. I realized she was treating it with respect, not wanting to damage it further. I relaxed marginally.
Simply, Mine Page 10
