by Jonah Black
The Black Book
[DIARY OF A TEENAGE STUD]
VOL. IV
Faster, Faster, Faster
JONAH BLACK
Contents
Jan. 11, 9 A.M.
I looked over at Molly, and she stuck her tongue out at me.
(Later)
“Let me guess,” Molly said, as she drove me home in her Dad’s Expedition.
Jan. 12
Today I went to the hospital to see Pops Berman, but when I got there they said he’d been released.
(Still Jan. 12, 11 P.M.)
I just got off the phone with Molly. I think she was feeling bad. . .
Jan. 13
I went down to the Dune after school today, just to look at the ocean. . .
Jan. 14, 10 P.M.
I had a feeling Molly was going to call me, and I really didn’t feel like talking. . .
America Online
Instant Message from Northgirl999, 1-14, 9:41 P.M.
Jan. 16
When I got home from school today, there was a package waiting for me.
AMERICA ONLINE Mail
To: [email protected]
Jan 17, 4:30 P.M.
I’m lying in my room eating Cocoa Puffs out of the box. . .
Jan. 18
Awesome news!!! The cast came off today.
Jan. 23, 9:30 P.M.
Today was the swim meet against Ely, which I watched from the bleachers. . .
Jan. 24, 5:30 P.M.
It’s after school and I’m sitting here looking at this huge pile of homework. . .
Jan. 25
I’ve been canceling my appointments, but I finally met with Dr. LaRue today.
Jan. 26
Today I went over to First Amendment Pizza to talk to Mr. Swede.
(Later.)
Just got off the phone with Molly. We’re going out on an official date on Friday.
Jan. 27, 5:15 P.M.
Honey is leaving on her Harvard road trip tomorrow. . .
Jan. 28
Well, today was a pretty big day. I had that date with Molly. . .
Jan. 29, 1 P.M.
On the road with Honey, North Carolina. We’re back in the car and driving north
(Later. Somewhere in Tennessee.)
I’ve been doing my arm exercises while we drive north. . .
(Later. Fort Mitchell, Kentucky.)
Okay, let me just say the Museum for Retired Ventriloquists’ Dummies. . .
Jan. 30. Ohio.
Another crummy motel last night, although this one was nowhere near. . .
(Later. Outside Brook Park, Ohio, heading east on the Ohio Turnpike.)
Okay. The World’s Largest Monopoly. . .
Jan. 31. Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania.
This is really strange. I’m writing this in my bedroom in Dad’s house. . .
(Later.)
Whoa! Okay. A lot has happened in the last hour and a half.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
To: JBlack94710
From: Northgirl999
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
(Still Jan. 31, 11 P.M.)
Okay, here I am back in bed in this great bedroom of mine, writing about
Feb. 1
Weird morning. So far I’ve just been lying around, watching television. . .
(Later.)
Since Tiffany and Dad took the Volvo, I decided to have an adventure. . .
Feb. 2, 5 P.M.
Okay, it’s the next day, but I still need to catch up on yesterday. . .
(Later.)
Well, it’s late now, but I might as well write down the last major thing. . .
Feb. 3
I’m just about to head over to Maggins to see Sophie.
To: JBlack94710
From: Northgirl999
Feb. 5
Two days later. I can’t believe I haven’t had the time to write in my journal. . .
(Still Feb. 5)
Okay, back to meeting Sophie at Maggins. “Yeah, it’s me,” I said. “Hi, Sophie.”
(Later.)
Okay. So we got in the car. I drove down City Line toward the Beeswax Inn.
(Later.)
Man oh man. This is hard to write. So there we were. Sophie was sitting. . .
(Still Feb. 5, even later.)
Okay. So here’s what happened: “Oh, damn,” I said to Sophie. . .
(Still Feb. 5, later.)
Well, that’s pretty much the whole story of what happened in the Beeswax Inn.
Feb. 9. Baker, Tennessee
We’re stopped here at a Motel 6 for the night.
To: JBlack94710
From: Northgirl999
Feb. 11
I’m home after my first day back at Don Shula.
AMERICA ONLINE Mail
To: Northgirl999
Feb. 14
I came home today and in the kitchen there was a big box of chocolate hearts. . .
Feb. 15
Well, here’s the e-mail I got this morning, from guess who. . .
Feb. 16
I found the picture of our whole family on vacation. . .
Feb. 17
Today I was riding by First Amendment Pizza on my new. . .
Feb. 18
Today I got a second job working on Thorne’s dad’s boat, the Scrod.
Feb. 19
I called Molly. I know Thorne told me it was a violation. . .
About the Author
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Feb. 1
Weird morning. So far I’ve just been lying around, watching television and reading the paper. I’m not really sure what to do with myself.
About an hour ago, Dad and Tiffany went out to brunch. On their way out I said to Dad, all casual-like, “Is it okay if I take the car later?”
Dad said, “Of course, Jonah,” and just kept on moving. I can’t believe he’s completely forgotten about my little accident last spring. It’s kind of a hard thing to forget. Tiffany didn’t say anything to me, but before she left she picked up Cuddles and kissed him on the mouth. I wonder how that makes Dad feel.
On their way back from brunch, they’re going to stop at this place called Space which is some sort of high-end home-decorating store. Tiffany’s decided she’s going to redo my room.
I thought she’d already had her way with my room. Obviously she wanted to make it even weirder than it already was. “Actually,” I said. “The room is really fine the way it is,” I said.
“I think not,” Tiffany said.
“You better stand aside, son,” Dad said, winking at me. “When Tiffany decides she’s going to redecorate, there’s no stopping her!” He put his arm around her, like this was Tiffany’s most endearing quality.
I thought about what she’s planning to do to Honey’s room. “No, really,” I said. “I like it. It’s fine.”
“It is not fine,” Tiffany said, rolling her eyes. “Honestly.”
It seemed weird that she didn’t care that I asked her to leave the room alone. It was my room, after all.
“I’m just saying you don’t have to do anything special up there,” I said.
Tiffany drew her lips into a thin line and then attempted a smile. “Oh, Jonah, I think you might be surprised. You might like the improvement.” She buttoned her coat and slung her purse over her arm. “We have to go now. I’m famished.”
Dad just shook his head and winked at me again. “What did I tell you, son?” he said. “You don’t want to get between Tiffany and
her decorating.”
Then they went out to the garage and I watched Dad help Tiffany into the passenger seat of her new white Volvo. He backed out of the driveway very cautiously. I guess with a baby on board he’s being extra careful.
I guess Dad’s really in love with Tiffany. And everything she does that I think is horrible and annoying, Dad thinks is adorable and wonderful. It’s like he’s joined a cult. The cult of Tiffany, Cuddles, and rose petal wallpaper.
Is that how I am about Sophie? I mean, I think she’s wonderful, but would my friends be annoyed by her if they met her? I’m not sure.
(Later.)
Since Tiffany and Dad took the Volvo, I decided to have an adventure in the Mercedes. I drove over to Masthead.
Sunday is always pretty low key there, because it’s the day people actually do homework, at least starting in the afternoon. During the day people hang out, go to the gym, lie around the dorms. I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do once I got over there, but I had to go.
As I drove there, I started imagining what it would be like if I’d never been kicked out of school. I’d still be going to Masthead and living my life up here. The doors to the gym swing open and Sophie and I walk out into the winter air, hand in hand. Our breath gathers in clouds in the air, and we can feel the warmth of each others’ hands through our gloves. Sophie leans her head into my chest and kisses me and I put my arm around her waist on top of her long blue coat. . . . In our hands are our acceptance letters from the University of Pennsylvania. We’re going to live together, off campus, in a cool apartment on South Street. I reach down into my pocket and there is the small velvet box I’ve been carrying around for a long time. I stop walking and pull it out of my pocket. Sophie knows what is about to happen, but happy tears of love and surprise shine in her eyes. “Oh, Jonah,” she cries. I pop open the box and the diamond glitters in the winter sun. “Sophie,” I say, and I get down on one knee. I can feel the snow seeping into my pant leg where I’m kneeling. Sophie.
But I knew as I pulled into the gates of Masthead that I wouldn’t see Sophie there.
“Jesus,” I said out loud as I parked in front of Auburn Hall. I pulled the keys out of the ignition and sat there for a moment, looking up at the gray Victorian building and the teachers’ offices behind each window.
Then Dean Stubbs walked by and my heart started beating double-time in my chest. Of all the people to see first, I had to see the guy whose car I’d totaled. Dean Stubbs walked over to the faculty spots and got into his brand-new Peugeot. He started the engine, put on a pair of mirrored shades, and pulled out.
“Jesus,” I said again. “I have to get out of here.” But I didn’t go anywhere. I just sat in the car, feeling like a convict who’d dug his way out of prison. And I knew I was going to have to get out of the car and walk around if I wanted to get whatever it was I wanted out of being there. So I did.
I pulled the collar of my coat up around my neck, and I pulled my wool hat down around my ears. It was the coat I’d worn all last year at Masthead, so it wasn’t like I was very well disguised. It’s funny, I don’t even have a warm coat like that in Florida. I’d found it in Dad’s closet. Anyway, I got out of the Mercedes, which was pulled up by a sign that said Visitors’ Parking, and I started walking around.
Inside my head a little voice kept asking, Why are you here, Jonah? What are you looking for?
I knew I was taking a big risk, because when they kicked me out of Masthead they’d specifically said I was never allowed on campus again. They didn’t say what they’d do to me, but I wouldn’t have been all that surprised if they called the cops and threw me in jail. Everybody knows the security guys at Masthead are seriously uptight. They drive around in little blue vans, wearing uniforms and carrying walkie-talkies and heavy flashlights, looking for disturbances or suspicious characters, like me.
I opened the door to Auburn Hall and started walking through the hallways. Because it’s Sunday, it was nearly deserted, although the lights were still on. It felt like a ship that had been abandoned before it sank. I wondered if I went down into the basement if I’d see water leaking in.
I went upstairs.
Above me, from the fourth floor music practice rooms, I could hear someone playing the violin. It was probably Linda Sayewich. Linda was this kind of small, mousy, quiet girl who totally blossomed when she played violin. Her eyes closed and you could see them moving around behind her eyelids, like she was dancing in the world of her head in time to the amazing music she was playing.
I think the piece she was playing was called “In the Hall of the Mountain King.” I recognized it from music class. It’s a pretty spooky song.
I walked by the old art studio and stopped. There were a few easels scattered around a pedestal in the center of the room. I went over and looked at the paintings in the easels. They were all of this old man, draped in a sheet like a Roman emperor. He made me think of Pops. Pops would get a kick out of standing in the middle of a room wearing nothing but a sheet while everybody painted him.
There was a faint sniffling sound from the corner, and I look over and there she is, working on her oil painting. There’s a blob of yellow paint in her hair. She has her back turned to me. I can’t believe she’s sitting there—it’s like she’s waiting for me. I walk up behind her, and for a moment I just stand there and look at the painting. It’s the portrait of the girl on the cliff, about to jump, the one that first got my attention before I even knew her. She’s painted in the ocean. The waves are crashing against the rocks.
I’m so happy she’s back. She must have gotten out of Maggins somehow. And now she’s back where she always loved to be, sitting in the art studio, working on her painting. I’d forgotten what a good artist she was, how pretty her hair is, how perfect she is. I lean forward to kiss her on the neck. I will wait until she knows it’s me, then I’ll softly whisper her name—Sophie!
At that second, the girl looked up with frightened eyes and said, “What are you doing?”
I just stood there. I felt so embarrassed.
The girl held up her paintbrush as if to stab me with it. The end was covered in yellow paint. The painting she was working on wasn’t of a cliff, it was just a still life, some yellow flowers on a table.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and backed away. “I thought you were somebody else.”
I turned and headed out of there, hoping she wouldn’t think I was some psycho stalker. Behind me I heard the girl following me out into the hall.
“Jonah?” she called. “Are you Jonah Black?”
I ran down the stairs and went back outside. I should have gone straight back to the car and home to Dad’s. But I never do what I’m supposed to.
I still had this feeling that I hadn’t found what I’d come looking for, even though I didn’t know what I was looking for. I walked through the quad, past the sundial in the courtyard. Snow was starting to fall, and it gathered on the collar of my coat. The face of the sundial was covered up with snow, but underneath the snow I knew were engraved the words: Grow Old Along with Me. The Best Is Yet to Be.
I walked through the courtyard to the gym and went inside. In the main foyer, in huge glass cases, were the hundreds of awards and trophies that Masthead has won since 1884. I paused by the shelf holding the ones for the swim team.
There on a plaque at the bottom of a large golden cup was the inscription: Jonah Black, Interac Diving Champion. It was from last year.
I couldn’t believe it. I remember winning that meet for Masthead, but I didn’t know there was a trophy for it. They must have handed it out on Ivy Day—which was the day before graduation. By that time, I’d already been expelled.
I wondered if it had bugged the headmaster that the Interac Conference had awarded this trophy to me when I wasn’t even one of Masthead’s students anymore. That made me feel good, like I had something on them.
I walked down the stairs and onto the viewing balcony above the pool. The smell of the pool remind
ed me of the old practices. The sound of the coach’s whistle. I could almost feel my eyes stinging with chlorine.
Somebody was swimming in the pool, a really scrawny-looking guy with moles all over his back. He was probably a ninth grader.
I wondered if the girl who had seen me in the art studio had called security. I had a feeling it was just a matter of time before someone caught me and asked me to leave.
I left the gym and went outside. The snow was coming down harder now. I walked across the quad. Every single thing I looked at sent me into this spiral, back in time. Like, over there I was sitting with Betsy Donnelly, eating potato chips before German class. Over there I was playing Frisbee with Brian Wittenberg and Mr. Franko. Over here I was running in my gym shorts, doing the two-mile loop on the off-season. And over there, and there, and there—everywhere I looked—was Sophie, walking in her gray skirt, her hair shining in the sun.
The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of Whittaker. My old dorm.
I could hear music playing inside, even with all the windows closed. People were going in and out. I looked up at the third window on the second floor, and there was Sophie looking out at me. At first she doesn’t recognize me, but then she remembers. She opens the window and leans out.
I want to call out, Careful Sophie, don’t lean too far. But Sophie leans even farther. I’m scared she’s going to fall. I walk closer and open my arms to catch her. Sophie leaps out into the winter air and falls very slowly, like her skirt is a kind of parachute. All I can do is stand there with my arms out, waiting to catch her.
Someone pushed open the doors of Whittaker and lumbered down the steps. It was my old roommate, Sullivan the Giant.
He stomped past me in the snow and headed across the quad. He seemed even bigger than before, and he has a buzz cut now, from spending last semester at Valley Forge Military Academy. He even moved in this kind of robotic, murderous way, like he was still a soldier. Just looking at him sort of scared me, but I followed him anyway.
The snow was falling heavily now, and I watched the flakes gather on the shoulders of his black wool coat. They melted as they hit his hair, and I could almost imagine a soft tsssss sound as the cold flakes hit his hot head.
As I followed Sullivan I remembered lying in our dorm room, listening to him boast about all the girls he’d taken advantage of. How he’d gotten information from his trustee father about each girl and blackmailed them, one by one, into doing what he wanted. One day in the spring, Sophie O’Brien was next on his list. I could still hear his disgusting voice describing what he was going to do to my Sophie once he got her naked at the Beeswax Inn. I remembered lying there in my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking, I have to stop him.
