by Jonah Black
“Congratulations, Dad,” I said. “That’s awesome.”
“Well,” Dad said. I could tell he was surprised by my hug. “Thank you, Jonah.”
Then Dad poured milk into his bowl of Raisin Bran and opened his newspaper. I know Dad well enough to know that that meant our conversation was over.
I went back upstairs and plugged my laptop into the jack in my bedroom, or the room that Tiffany has tried to make feel like my bedroom. It’s sad, she has no idea what sort of things I actually like. The walls are papered with blue sailboats on a light blue background and the rug is dark red. On the bed is this red, white, and blue patchwork quilt. She’s put Philadelphia Eagles pennants on the wall, and a framed picture of me diving at Masthead last year. It’s not a bad room, actually, it’s just weird that it’s supposed to be mine when I’ve never really lived in it.
I logged on to AOL and there was a bunch of mail.
The first one was from Betsy Donnelly:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Jonah, I am sorry I didn’t get a chance to write you before now. I went on the Masthead trip to Russia over Christmas so I’ve been away for almost five weeks. I got a TON of e-mail while I was gone and now I’m actually getting back to everyone. Sorry it took me so long.
Listen, nobody here knows what’s up with Sophie anymore. The people in Maggins won’t let anybody in to see her. What I heard is that she’s really not all that sick, they’re just keeping her in there just so she can kind of get some rest and perspective. If that’s true it’s pretty horrible, because Maggins isn’t the kind of place you’d rest very well or get any decent perspective.
I want to know more about what happened over Christmas break. Sophie said she was going to see you in Orlando and that you were going to stay in this hotel or something, but then right after she got back she went into Maggins and nobody knows what happened. Did she freak out or something when you were together? You really have the touch! : )
Anyway, I can’t WAIT to graduate. Mr. Woodward made sure we all had our applications out by the fifteenth of January and now everyone is waiting for their college acceptance letters.
The only other thing I should tell you is that Sullivan is back at Masthead. I guess he only had to do a semester away and now he’s back, and supposedly he’s reformed. It’s really creepy. He’s gone around to all the girls he took advantage of and apologized to them. When he did it to me he definitely didn’t seem like he was for real. He’s just saying he’s sorry because he has to, not because he really IS. But now we have to look at Sullivan all the time, walking around like he’s turned over a new leaf and he’s all sensitive now. It bothers me even more than when he was just a jerk because I think he might be up to something.
I know he went to Maggins so he could see Sophie, but don’t worry, they wouldn’t let him in. They have pretty hardcore security there, and he’s not on the clearance list. That’s actually pretty impressive because I think Sullivan’s dad is on the board at Maggins. Anyway, Sullivan says he hasn’t given up trying because it’s really important that he apologize to her. Personally I think he has other plans. She’s the only girl who got away from him, thanks to you.
Anyway, enough trivia. I hope everything is going well down in Florida. I wish you would come up and visit some time. Really!!!
Love,
Bets
The next e-mail I got was from Molly:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Jonah! Where are you?? I am SO SORRY. I was acting like a bitch yesterday and I bugged you and now nobody knows where you are and I am SO SORRY and I don’t know what to do. I have never really felt like this about a boy before and I think that’s what has made me act like such a bitch. It’s like I’m really afraid I’m going to mess this up and so I act like a bitch so I won’t have to feel like we’re serious. But we are serious, at least I am. And I’m sorry I’ve been acting so bizarre. Does this make sense? I think I’m saying that the reason I’ve been so awful is because I really like you, and that scares me.
Will you write me back please and let me know what’s up? Elanor Brubaker says that Thorne said you went to PA to see that girl Sophie. Please tell me that’s not true!
WRITE ME NOW!!! IF YOU DON’T, WHEN YOU GET BACK, I’M GOING TO PUNCH YOU!!!
Then, a letter from Northgirl:
To: JBlack94710
From: Northgirl999
Jonah, everyone says you’ve left town, but nobody knows why. There are a lot of very funny rumors, including one that you have to appear in court because you’re being tried for arson. Something to do with what went down when you got kicked out of school. There’s another story that you got some girl pregnant.
I think I know you better than to believe that.
Anyway, I hope when you come back you’re feeling better about life. I guess it’s good that you’re doing what you’re doing. Assuming you’re doing what I think you’re doing, which I bet you are.
In my life—which I know you care oh so much about—I have a new boyfriend and I think we are going to have sex this weekend. I can’t wait.
My only regret is, I wish it was you instead.
And the last one was from Sophie:
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Jonah—Here I am all alone in a world of crazy people. I’m not crazy but if I stay in here much longer I will be. Why do people think I’m crazy? I will tell you. It’s because I love you, Jonah. You are the only person who ever sacrificed himself for me. I still can’t believe you got kicked out of school so I wouldn’t get into trouble. Except now I’m in trouble anyway. Do you hate me now? You don’t write back. I don’t even know if you know I’m alive. But I am alive, Jonah, and I am so alone. The other girls in here are schizophrenics and anorexics and they are really scary. This one girl said to me today, “I was just like you when I first came here. I thought I was getting out. But you get over that.” Then she showed me her wrist where she’d cut herself. Jonah I am so scared and I don’t think I’m going to make it. You probably won’t even get this. Good-bye Jonah. Just remember I always loved you, okay? I never got to tell you like I wanted, or to show you. But maybe I should stop thinking about you. I can’t even see your face anymore.
I hit reply and tried to send her a message back: I’m closer than you think, Sophie. Hold on. But the message kept coming back to me, Address Unknown. Must be some Maggins security thing.
I just read her e-mail again, and now I’m really upset. More than upset. I’m feeling totally sad and crazy and out of control.
I think I’m about to do something I’m going to regret later. But I’m going to do it anyway. I have to.
(Still Jan. 31, 11 P.M.)
Okay, here I am back in bed in this great bedroom of mine, writing about what turned out to be a very strange day. There’s a lot to get down so I’m probably not going to be able to cover it all before I crash. But I better get started.
Anyway, I went and did the stupid thing I thought I was going to do, which turned out—big surprise—to be stupid. I stole Dad’s Mercedes and drove it to Maggins.
Dad was in his bedroom with Tiffany and Cuddles when I came down the stairs, and I’d already decided I had to see Sophie immediately. I didn’t want to ask for a ride and have to answer tons of questions from my dad about who I was visiting in Maggins, I didn’t want to call a taxi for the same reasons, Honey had already taken off in her Jeep, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to take the SEPTA bus down Lancaster Pike, which would have taken about a hundred years and stunk to hell. So I went downstairs and got the keys off the hook, and about two minutes after I read Sophie’s e-mail I was in Dad’s Mercedes driving down Conestoga toward Maggins.
I don’t know why I don’t have a license. My driving really isn’t that bad. It’s only when I kind of forget about what I’m doing and start thinking about Sophie that I drive in the o
ther lane, or go through stop signs or whatever. Driving with a truly terrible driver like Molly really put things in perspective. I mean, the worst thing I’ve ever done is drive the dean’s car through the wall at the Beeswax Inn when I rescued Sophie from Sullivan. I’m sure Molly has done worse than that.
My arm isn’t completely healed though, and driving makes it hurt. I’ve been doing the bicep curls with the can of crushed tomatoes but it still aches sometimes. I wonder if it’s always going to hurt, like an old war wound. Something to remind me of Sophie forever and ever.
As I drove I turned on the radio. It’s funny how radio stations can remind you of old times. WMMR is the big rock-and-roll station in Philly and just hearing the voice of the DJ reminded me of being at Masthead. But they were playing all this old stuff so I switched to WXPN, which was playing some nu-metal—no doubt one of Honey’s bands. The song matched the mood I was in exactly.
Maggins is all the way down on City Line Avenue. It took about a half hour to get there, but it went by in a blur. The next thing I knew I was walking toward the front door of Maggins.
Maggins is in a big old three-story Victorian building. Originally it was a private home, the home of Dr. Maggins, who went crazy. So they put him up in the attic and hired all these nurses to look after him. Over the years some other people moved their nutty relatives in with him, and pretty soon this kind of private arrangement had become a well-known psychiatric hospital for rich people, especially troubled teenagers and young adults who come from wealthy families who don’t know what else to do with them. It’s very exclusive. Getting into Maggins is even harder than getting into Harvard (although I’m sure Honey could get in without a problem).
I opened the door and walked in and there was a receptionist sitting at a wooden table in what looked like someone’s living room, which I guess is what it once was.
The receptionist looked at me over the tops of her glasses. “Can I help you, sir?” she said.
“I’d like to see one of your patients,” I told her.
“Who did you want to see?” she asked. There was this odd little smile on her lips.
“Sophie,” I said, and for a second I choked on her last name. I never think of her as anything other than “Sophie.” There was a long silence, and finally I added “O’Brien.”
“Ah,” said the receptionist, as if the fact that I was looking for Sophie explained everything about me. It was like something went click in her mind, and I knew she wasn’t going to let me in.
“What is your name, sir?”
“Jonah,” I said. “Jonah Black.”
“Mr. Black, Sophie is on restricted visitation. Only individuals who have been cleared by Ms. O’Brien’s doctors have security clearance to see her.” She looked at her computer screen. “And your name is not on the list,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She smiled thinly. “I’m sure you understand that we need to do what’s best for Ms. O’Brien. Unexpected visitors can set back her treatment, you know.”
“I’m not unexpected,” I said. “She’s been asking for me. I’m her . . . her hero.” When I said it out loud, I sounded like the biggest idiot in the world. I couldn’t believe I’d said something so dumb. “I think she wants to see me,” I added, trying to sound more confident. “She sent me these letters.”
The receptionist laughed. “Oh, Mr. Black,” she said. “Don’t you know how many letters like that Sophie sends out each day?” She took her glasses off to wipe her eyes, as if this were the funniest thing in the world. Her name was on a brass nameplate on the table. Mrs. Redding, it said. I hated the way Mrs. Redding was laughing at me.
“But Sophie and I have a—” I didn’t know what to call it. “A history,” I said.
Suddenly Mrs. Redding’s eyes got small. “Oh,” she said. “You’re that Jonah.”
I couldn’t believe it! The way she said it, it was like I was a well-known escaped convict.
“I’m what Jonah?” I said.
“Well, now,” Mrs. Redding said, smirking at me. “I think we all know your history with Sophie, Jonah. Obviously, it would not be good for Sophie to see you at this time.”
“How can it not be good?” I said, my voice rising. A door opened, and a very large guy with a shaved head came into the reception area and stood about ten feet away from me looking threatening. Mrs. Redding probably had some way of calling security, like a secret footswitch or something. It was kind of cool that she thought I was that much of a threat.
I took a breath and tried to calm down so Mr. Clean wouldn’t grab me by the scruff of the neck and throw me out the door. “Could you just tell me,” I said, “who I would talk to in order to be given security clearance to speak with Sophie?”
“That would be Dr. Margano,” said Mrs. Redding.
“Well, may I speak with him, please?”
“I’m afraid he’s not in at the moment,” she said, with a kind of smile of victory. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t waste my time. Your name is specified here in our records as someone to keep away from Ms. O’Brien. I’m sure you understand. Now, is there anything else I can do for you today?”
“But what did I do?” I said. Mr. Clean started walking toward me. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Jonah,” sighed Mrs. Redding, as if she had lost all patience with me. “If it weren’t for you, Sophie wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s a lie,” I said. “Who told you that?”
Mr. Clean grabbed me under the arms. I felt like a nut in a pair of crackers. “Let’s go, kid,” he said.
I imagined Mr. Clean pulling my head off like the cork from a wine bottle. I decided to cooperate.
A minute later I was back in my father’s Mercedes, which was technically a stolen car. Not that I told anyone that.
When I got back to Dad’s house, everything was very quiet. I guess no one even noticed I was gone. I walked into the front hallway and looked at the chandelier hanging down overhead, and the long staircase in front of me.
“Hello?” I called. There was no response.
I walked up the stairs, past the small office off the landing where Dad pays his bills, up to the second floor, with Tiffany and Dad’s room to the right, and on the other side of the hall, their huge bathroom with the Jacuzzi and beyond that the big room with the fireplace that Dad calls the library. I don’t know what they need a library for. Dad only reads newspapers and trashy best-sellers, and Tiffany only reads magazines.
I figured dad was probably in the library doing the Saturday crossword puzzle, which was his usual routine—but instead of going in there I got stuck at the entrance to the guest room, where Honey was sleeping. There were cans of paint on the floor and swatches of wallpaper and fabric tacked to the wall. The name of the paint color was Candy Girl. One of the wallpaper swatches was printed with rose petals. Everything was dark pink. It was like Honey’s decorating nightmare.
“Which one do you think she’d like?” Tiffany asked from behind me. I almost jumped onto the ceiling.
“What?” I said. “Who?”
Tiffany was wearing a flowy lavender dress made of hemp-like fabric. It was hemmed with purple velvet ribbon. I was amazed how small she was. She can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, and at least ten pounds of that is in her hair, which is really long and bleached white-blond. Anyway, if Tiffany was pregnant, her baby was really small because Tiffany weighed less pregnant than most little girls do when they’re ten years old.
“Your sister, Honor. Do you think she’d like these colors?” Tiffany asked. “I’m redecorating.”
I smiled. “You know, everybody calls her Honey,” I said.
“I prefer not to,” Tiffany said.
I wanted to smack her. What kind of thing is that to say, I prefer not to? If Honey wanted to be called Honey, then that’s what Tiffany should call her.
“In any case,” Tiffany said. “Do you think it will be to her liking?”
I forced myself not to laugh. Everything Tiffany had chosen had
so little in common with Honey. But I had to give Tiffany credit for trying to connect to Honey on some level.
Then I thought, wait a minute, Tiffany doesn’t want to connect to Honey. If she did, she’d have asked Honey what she wanted this room to look like before redecorating it. Maybe she’d even picked stuff that would make Honey sick to her stomach on purpose. She knew that Honey would rather leave than spend the night in there.
“Well, I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, they’re pretty and all. Honey’s just not really a pink person. But I’m sure she’ll appreciate the time you’ve put into this.”
“Do you think so? You really think your sister appreciates my time and effort?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Well,” Tiffany said, shrugging this off as if what we were talking about wasn’t really important. “We need not worry what Honor thinks.”
“We need not?” I said.
“No,” said Tiffany. She reached up with one hand to lift her mass of blond hair.
“Honor has fled the premises,” Tiffany said, letting her hair fall again.
“Fled?” I said.
“Yes,” Tiffany said. “She has continued on to Harvard.” And with that she snatched the swatch of pink rose petal wallpaper off the wall and left the room. I bet she called in the order to the decorating store, now that she knows Honey isn’t a pink person.
I headed into the library. Dad was in there, doing the crossword puzzle, just as I thought.
“Hello, Jonah,” he said, taking off his glasses and smiling tightly. Again I noticed the lines on his face. I wonder why Tiffany doesn’t give him some age cream for his face. I bet she has lots of creams.
We talked for a little bit. He said Honey would be back from Harvard in a couple of days. Fortunately, he didn’t raise the issue of my stealing the car. I realize now, Dad must not remember that I don’t have my license.
