by Jonah Black
“I kept hearing Sophie asking for my help,” I explained. I knew I couldn’t lie to her, because she’d figure it out. I hate the way Molly always knows what I’m thinking, or at least thinks she does. We haven’t really even started going out yet, but I have a feeling that the longer I know her, the more this is going to bother me. There’s nothing wrong with keeping some things to yourself.
We’d stopped right in the middle of Federal Highway. People were driving around us, shaking their fists at us or giving us the finger. Molly didn’t seem to care. She just sat there behind the wheel, her slightly dirty-brown hair tucked behind her ears, her little gold seashell earrings reflecting the Florida sunlight, looking smarter than everyone else in the world. She really is kind of cute.
“Stop it,” Molly said.
“Stop what?”
“Stop imagining me with my clothes off. I’m trying to have a fight with you.”
“Sorry,” I said.
She turned off her hazard lights, put the Expedition back in gear, and started driving toward my house again.
“So, she was asking you to help her?” Molly asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you were in this little trance, how long?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Long enough to screw up one of the math sections.”
“Jesus, Jonah. I thought you’d concluded that Sophie was a fruitcake. I thought you were over her.”
“I am,” I said, although I admit it sounded kind of weak.
“Then how come you were thinking about her in the middle of your SATs?” Molly challenged.
I watched the palm trees waving in the warm sunshine. We passed the airport. Then we passed the hangar for the Goodyear Blimp, but the blimp wasn’t there.
“Because she’s in trouble,” I explained. “Because she’s in this mental institution or whatever. Because she wrote me a letter asking me to come and save her.”
“So what are you going to do? You can’t go all the way up to Pennsylvania and rescue her. You don’t even have a driver’s license. Besides, what would you do when you got there? Like, break into the nuthouse, overpower the guards, and do it with Sophie on top of the electroshock table or something?” Molly said. She rolled her eyes. “Please.”
“I don’t know,” I said, looking out the window again.
“Man,” Molly said. She sounded incredibly disappointed in me. “Man.”
“Listen, I know Sophie’s nuts,” I said. “It’s just that when I got that letter from her, asking me to save her, she said I was the only person in the world she could go to for help. It’s just hard to get a letter like that and to do nothing. I mean, what would you do if you got a letter like that?”
“What would I do?” Molly said. She was driving down the middle of the road, straddling the yellow line. “Good question. I’ll tell you what I’d do. I’d realize that this girl has some serious problems. I’d realize that a mental institution is probably the best place for her. I’d figure out that the problems Sophie has are not ones I can solve. I’d let the professionals help her, and I’d stay out of it.
“You know what else? I’d realize I could be about to hook up with this incredibly intelligent, beautiful girl named Molly—that’s me—and I’d start concentrating on her. Because if I don’t, Molly might throw me out of her Expedition and break my other arm.”
I shook my head. “You know, Molly,” I said. “We haven’t exactly hooked up yet.”
“You mean, we haven’t had sex, right? Oh, no. We’re not going fight about this, are we?” Molly asked.
“I don’t want to fight with you about it,” I said. “I just wish you wouldn’t dismiss it so quickly.”
Molly laughed. “Oh, Jonah. Sex isn’t important.”
This is what annoys me the most. Molly claims she’s had sex lots of times before and it’s really no big deal. But if that’s true, then what’s the big deal about doing it with me?
“If it’s not important, then why can’t we do it?” I insisted.
“Jonah, believe me. You’re not missing anything,” she said. She flicked on the squirter and wiped the windshield clean. She was driving so slowly now, I was worried we were going to get arrested for going under the speed limit.
“I wish you’d let me decide that for myself,” I said.
“I’m serious,” Molly said, turning into my driveway. “Sex is overrated.”
“Whatever,” I said.
Molly missed the driveway completely, crushing one of my mother’s azaleas.
“Okay, Mommy’s waiting to make you lunch,” she said. “You better go in there and tell her how you screwed up your SATs.”
“You know, you didn’t tell me how you did on the SATs,” I said.
“Are you kidding?” Molly said. “Easy. Hey, you know what I’m going to do when I get out of college?”
“I don’t know. Teach driver’s ed, maybe?”
“No way,” she said. “I’m gonna write SATs.”
“I think you’d be a better driving teacher,” I said.
Molly grabbed me by the back of the head and kissed me on the mouth. Her lips tasted like pencil eraser. “Aw,” she said. “You’re just saying that.”
“Yeah,” I admitted.
“Can I ask you a serious question?” she said. “How come you never fantasize about me when you have these little breakdowns? Why do you have to fantasize about that mental case? I mean, you’ve got me, Jonah Black.” Then she whacked herself on the forehead. “Duh! I guess I just answered my own question.”
I was thinking, Maybe if we had sex I’d fantasize about you all the time. But I didn’t say it.
I got my backpack and opened the car door. “Okay,” Molly said. “Don’t forget to tell your Mom she’s a phony.”
“Okay. Want me to call you later?” I said.
“You’d better,” said Molly, and then she drove off. There was a huge tire mark across the flower beds.
I went inside and found Mom and my history teacher on the floor in these weird yoga positions. They were kind of standing on their heads, with their knees bent and their feet touching.
“Rommm,” chanted Mr. Bond.
“Rommm,” Mom chanted in response.
“Hi,” I said.
“Sshh,” said Mom. “You’re disturbing the poon.”
“Aahh . . . Aahh . . .” said Mr. Bond, like he was about to sneeze.
“The what?” I said.
“The poon,” said Mom.
Mr. Bond suddenly fell over and lay on the floor, looking dazed.
Mom came down from her headstand and sat up.
“It’s a kind of energy,” Mom explained. She stroked Mr. Bond’s cheek. “Are you okay, Robere?”
“I’m all right,” he said. “Boy, was I tranquil!”
“You think I can use this one in my book?” Mom asked. She picked up a stack of Post-it notes and started writing on one.
“Definitely,” Mr. Bond said. “Poon energy is kind of hard to describe though. It’s like a spiral that gets wider and deeper the higher you go.”
My mother nodded thoughtfully and took more notes.
“You’re still writing a new book, Mom?” I said.
“Of course I am, Jonah,” Mom said. “It’s called Hello Pleasure! Dr. Judith Black’s Guide to Being Nice to Yourself.”
“Sounds like another best-seller, Mom,” I said.
Mr. Bond looked down at a chart he had opened on the floor. There were lots of drawings of nude people in weird positions. “Now this next one is called Tannggh.”
“Tannggh?” Mom said, looking at the chart.
“Okay, first I put my hands on your schmeng,” said Mr. Bond.
He put his hands on Mom’s breasts.
“That’s called schmeng?” I said.
“It’s an energy field,” Mom explained matter-of-factly.
I could not get out of there fast enough. Mom and Mr. Bond are like explorers, in a way. Every time I think they’ve gotten a
s weird as they’re going to get, it’s like they discover a whole new territory of strangeness. They’re like the Lewis and Clark of weirdness.
I went into the kitchen and got a bag of Doritos and a glass of Coke and went into my room. Honey was lying on my bed, looking up at the ceiling. She was wearing her metal-studded dog collar, a black bra, and overalls, and she was listening to her Discman.
“Honey,” I said.
She looked over at me.
“Be with you in a minute,” she said. She looked at her nails, which were painted black.
“Honey,” I said again.
She took off the headphones. Loud music sprayed out of them. It was Mudvayne, I think. Seriously hard core.
“What?” she said. She looked annoyed.
“What are you doing in my room?” I said.
“I don’t know. I like it in here,” she said. I noticed that on my dresser was a weird assortment of objects: a skull with a candle burning in it, a balloon tied to a string that went around the neck of a doll with no arms or legs, and a ruler balanced on the edge of a glass. Way up on a high shelf was a plastic cup of soda with a string tied around it.
“What the hell is all this stuff?” I demanded.
“It’s part of an experiment I’m doing, Peanut Brain,” Honey said. She picked up a pad of yellow legal paper she had on the bed. “I’m about to do an experiment. I have to take notes.”
“Do you mind doing it in your room?” I said.
“Aw, get over yourself, Flounder Nuts.” Honey turned off her music. “I was just trying to figure some things out. I thought maybe your room would be better than mine. Since you’re the big thinker and everything.”
“What are you trying to figure out?” I asked.
“What do you care?” she said. She handed me a letter she had with her on the bed. “I got this from Harvard.” I looked at it—it was a form with lots of personal questions on it. “They want to know my preferences in roommates. Like, do I want a smoker, or a vegetarian, or a lesbian, or what.”
“You can request all of that?” I said.
“Hey, big brother,” she said. “It’s Harvard. You can request whatever the hell you want.” She took the paper back from me. “Listen to this. ‘Are you spiritual? Are you political? What kind of music do you listen to? Do you have any pets?’ “
“So what are you requesting?”
“A single,” she said.
“I think that’s probably a good idea, for everybody,” I said. “That way nobody gets hurt.”
“People are getting hurt,” she said. “I just haven’t figured out who yet.”
“So that’s what you’re trying to figure out?” I asked.
“That and about a million other things. I’m multitasking,” Honey replied. She drew an X on my white pillowcase with her blue pen.
“Well, listen. Do you think you could multitask in your room?” I said. I just wanted to be left alone.”
“Jonah, I could multitask in my sleep,” she said. “Hey, you want to take a road trip with me next week? I’m going to drive up to Harvard to talk to some professors. I might stop in Pennsylvania and tell our father what a jerk he is while I’m at it.”
“You’re serious? You’re driving all the way up to Massachusetts?”
“Of course I’m serious. I’ve already gotten into college. There’s nothing to do this semester except drive the teachers at Don Shula insane. And I think we can safely consider that mission accomplished.” Honey smirked.
“When exactly would this road trip be?” I asked.
Honey sat up, put my pillow in her lap, and punched it a few times. “I don’t know, maybe leave Saturday, be up there by Monday, yell at Dad that night, then head up to Boston on Tuesday, look around Cambridge on Wednesday, head south Thursday or Friday, back home, hmm, maybe around 3:45 a.m. on Sunday morning?”
“Why don’t you just fly up to Boston for a couple of days?” I said.
“Jonah,” she said. “You’re asking me why I’d prefer a road trip to flying USAir? Like, why I’d rather be in a Jeep listening to Mudvayne instead of in coach class with somebody’s baby taking a dump in my lap?”
I thought about going with her. I wouldn’t mind seeing Dad. I hadn’t seen him since I got kicked out of Masthead Academy.
The second I thought of Masthead, though, I thought of Sophie. And Maggins. Which wasn’t more than ten minutes from Dad’s house in Bryn Mawr. I could go up there and rescue her.
“Oh, no,” said Honey, getting up. “I don’t like that look.”
“What look?” I said, innocently.
“You’re scheming. Coming up with something. I don’t even want to know what.”
“I was just thinking about the two of us on the road together. Really.”
“Yeah, right.” Honey said. “Okay, Wormhead, watch.”
Honey picked up a rubber band that was lying on my night table, wrapped it around her index finger, and shot it toward my dresser. The rubber band burst the balloon, and the quarter taped to the bottom of it fell onto one end of a ruler that she’d set up like a seesaw. The ruler tipped on the edge of the glass and raised the skull with the candle which was balanced on the other end so that the flame of the candle burned through a piece of string. When the string broke, a weight tied to the other end of it crashed to the floor and pulled the plastic cup of soda off of the top of my bookcase and onto my head.
“Christ!”
“Okay, hang on,” Honey said. “I have to write down everything you say right now. You know, as part of the experiment. I have to record it exactly.”
“Get out of my room!” I shouted, throwing the empty plastic cup at her.
“Wait, you’re talking too fast,” Honey said, scribbling on the pad. “Get . . . out . . . of . . . Okay, wait, what was the rest?”
“Honey,” I said, stepping toward her. “I am about to kill you.”
“Oh, all right, Bonehead.” she said, getting up. “You know, this is what people said to Thomas Smartypants Edison, too.”
“Alva,” I said. “His middle name was Alva.”
“Right,” Honey said. “You believe that?”
She started walking out of my room but paused by the door. There was a stack of CDs on my bureau. Honey reached out and grabbed the whole stack.
“And these are mine,” she said. “Okay?”
“I just borrowed them,” I said, lamely.
“Okay, Monkey Boy,” she called, walking down the hall. “Next time, stay out of my room.”
Jan. 12
Today I went to the hospital to see Pops Berman, but when I got there they said he’d been released. Pops has always been the one person who gives it to me straight when it comes to girls, and I could use some advice. But he’s home now, I guess. I thought about going over to Niagara Towers to see him, but by then I wasn’t in the mood. The hospital was just too depressing. I keep hoping I’ll see him down by the lifeguard stand like I used to, but he doesn’t come down there anymore. I have a feeling he’s really sick, and that makes me sad.
(Still Jan. 12, 11 P.M.)
I just got off the phone with Molly. I think she was feeling bad about being so bitchy to me yesterday. When she called I was about to go online to see if Northgirl was on. I felt kind of guilty, like I was about to cheat on Molly, even thought we’re not really going out yet.
First, Molly said she was sorry.
“It’s just that I hate seeing you with your head in the clouds all the time,” she said. “There’s a lot of cool stuff down here on the ground, you know?”
“Like what?” I said.
“Like me,” she said. “We could have a lot of fun together if you’d just get real.”
“What kind of fun?” I said, flopping down on my bed. “I thought you didn’t believe in fun.”
“Oh, so your idea of fun is sex, is that it?” Molly asked. She sighed loudly, like she was sick of me already. “Is there like, a law or something that says we have to fight about se
x at least once every time we talk?”
“I just think it’s weird that if you like me so much you’re not even thinking of us doing it. Doesn’t that seem weird to you?”
“No. You know what that’s called?” Molly said impatiently. “It’s called common sense. You know what happens if we sleep together? You dump me.”
“How can I dump you if we haven’t even started going out yet?” I asked, frustrated. I scraped at the place on my pillow where Honey had drawn the X. It didn’t look like it was going to come out.
“Jonah, we’re not having sex, okay? At least not yet,” she qualified.
“Whoa,” I said. “So that means there’s a chance it might actually happen?”
“Maybe,” Molly said. “First we have to find out if we’re compatible.”
“How do we do that?”
She giggled. “You’ll see.”
I think this was supposed to be funny, but something about it really annoyed me. Molly can be so full of herself. And she seems to get off on toying with me. I hate it.
“Uh-oh. Now you’re mad,” she said.
“I didn’t say anything!” I said, picking up my pillow and throwing it across my room. It bounced off the sliding glass doors that lead to the pool. Honey was out there, tanning herself in her black bathing suit. She’s been trying to get a tan for weeks, but she’s still really pale.
“Well, if you weren’t mad, you would say something,” Molly insisted. “I think you’re mad.”
“Whatever,” I said.
“Fine,” she said back.
All of a sudden I was really tired of talking to her. All she does is play games. But then she said something that made me laugh.
“So, what are you wearing?” she asked, out of the blue.
“You’re crazy,” I told her.
“Exactly,” she said.
Jan. 13
I went down to the Dune after school today, just to look at the ocean and try to think some things over. When we were in ninth grade, the Dune was the coolest place to hang out in Pompano, but when I came back this fall it was different. Nobody really goes there anymore. It’s weird.
