by Gaby Triana
nothing 2 say. we’re just frnds u and me, ur not looking for anything out of this world, remember????
Grrr…
whatever shithead
Seventeen
I’ve waited and waited all day. Unless Gordon’s phone died, as did his computer, and he’s being kept prisoner by a group of rabid monkeys, he should’ve called by now. I need to talk to him so he can explain what relating vapor pressure has to do with concentration of solvent vapor pressure. Fine. I just want to hear his voice.
I eye my phone. You will ring. Gordon, I know you can hear me. Please call so I know we’re okay. I need to know that you’re not just ignoring me. Ring…ring…
My phone rings. Not.
Siiiighhhh.
So, how do I use the relationship between osmotic pressure and solution molarity to predict the molecular weight of a solute? What’s that, Lolita? By purchasing a slice of Ricardo’s world-famous flan? How smart you are! Let’s go get one, then!
Lolita takes me places. Not just to Ricardo’s or school, but far, far away. For example, instead of poring over my studies in my room, she has brought me to the Murphys’ dock once again, where I diligently wait for my life to fall into place.
Which maybe I should stop doing and make it happen myself.
But how? I can’t make Gordon call me, and I can’t all of a sudden become an intelligoid and pass chemistry. One thing I can do is pull this folded piece of paper from my jeans pocket and see what it is. “Demoting Pluto,” the article that Rock gave me last night. You know, when Rock is not being a horse’s backside, he can be pretty thoughtful.
I read the article and find it utterly amazing how quickly things can change in this world. We learn things in elementary school that later are disproven, like Columbus not actually discovering America and Pluto going from planet to dwarf-planet status all because less than five percent of the world’s astronomers think it should be that way. It makes me wonder: why should we get used to anything when nothing is permanent? Even people. Why should we put our hearts way out there for them when they’re only going to die on you one day?
In the grand scheme of things, that may be a pretty stupid way to think, but it’s true. Why should we invest our time and our energy in people if ultimately, they’re not going to stick around? Case in point: Why would I set myself up for more hurt by trying to locate my birth mother? She didn’t want me then; she’s not suddenly going to want me now. Is my need to satisfy my curiosity important enough to put up with that?
I think it may just be.
In the distance, dark gray clouds slowly roll in. The wind picks up, and the saw grass performs a blustery ballet. No matter how hard I try, I cannot get into this stupid chemistry book. I keep reading the same paragraph over and over. My caramel flan did not inspire me as well as I’d hoped it would. I try calling Rock again.
“Yes?” He answers, voice husky and full of sleep.
“Uh, hi, is this the immature oaf who can dish it but can’t take it?”
“That depends. Is this that sexy biker who thinks her tutor is the answer to her nightly prayers?”
“We only went to the party together, Rock. Big deal.” I can totally imagine him on his back in bed, arms behind his head. What if there’s someone with him?
“Only the party? Is that why you didn’t call me back until this morning? Who do you think you’re fooling, Chlo? Besides, you were looking more dolled up than I’ve seen you in a while. I may be stupid sometimes but not that stupid.”
“Fine. Maybe I do really like him. But what sucks is that I don’t feel I can tell you that. You’re changing our dynamics, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“You can tell me anything. You know you can.”
“No, I can’t. Because you’ll get jealous, and you’ll say things to embarrass yourself.”
“Why don’t you try me? You haven’t even given me the benefit of the doubt.”
I sigh into the phone. “Okay, let’s try it. Gordon is not the selfish geek you think he is. He’s incredibly nice to me, even though we argue sometimes. He’s different, and I like him. There.” I wait.
“Different. Right. Mm, hmm.” I hear his TV on in the background, and his low, reassured laugh. “That guy doesn’t care about you the way you think he does, Chlo. Guys like him…something always takes precedence. But keep talking…you’re cute when you’re naïve.”
“See? I knew you couldn’t do it. And you’re not one to talk. All you ever date are sluts like Amber.”
“Uh, I want sluts. I doubt, however, that you are actively seeking assholes.”
“How do you know he’s an asshole?”
“See, you admit it.”
“Augh! You’re being judgmental. Some might say you’re an asshole.”
“I don’t care what some might say. Would you say that?”
“No,” I say quickly. I wouldn’t. Sure, Rock might be hard for some people to take, but once you realize that he’s not mistreating anyone and that the girls he hooks up with are just as interested in him as he is in them, it’s hard to call him an asshole. He’s not deceiving anybody, and the only person I can think of that he’s ever hurt is himself.
“Well, I’m glad to know I still have your loyalty,” he says. “But if you ask me—”
“Which I have not…”
“You still shouldn’t be seeing that dude. You should be with me. Because at least you’ll know where you land on my list of priorities—numero uno, baby.”
“Of course you’d say that, because you’re incorrigible.”
“Thank you, and you’re hot.”
“Shut up. When are you going to help me fix that leak already?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Whenever you want. I’m always here.”
“Yes, but never alone, so you have to come to my house.”
Suddenly, I hear gravel crunching behind me, back on the road. I sit up quickly and turn to look. I see Lolita, but nothing else. The grass and bushes block my view.
“What are you doing?” Rock asks, yawning.
“Nothing. I gotta go.”
“So go,” he says.
There’s definitely a vehicle back there. My heart speeds up a bit. Nobody ever comes out here. Could it be Gordon? “Rock, I’ll call you back.”
“Later.” He hangs up.
I close my phone and stand to get a better look. “Hello?”
A car door slams shut. Feet crunch over the pebbles, and for the first time, in all the time I’ve been coming here, I feel unprotected. Suddenly I feel stupid for hanging up with Rock.
“Hello?” a male voice calls back. “Who’s there?” A man appears from around the tall grasses in a red polo shirt with some white lettering and a logo, pencil over his ear. Who dares invade my sanctuary?
I don’t answer. My heart pounds in my ears. He looks twentysomething, brown hair underneath a baseball cap with a county patch on it. “You okay?” he asks, looking around like there might be someone with me.
“Yes. I’m just doing homework,” I say, pointing to my book. Why did I tell him that? I don’t have to explain myself to a stranger.
“Is that yours?” He gestures to Lolita.
“Yes.”
Pause. Confused look. He nods, checks Lolita out, then looks back at me as if trying to match the rider with the bike. He shrugs. “Cool. We’re just going to measure out here. You don’t have to go anywhere.”
“Measure what?”
“The property, the easement, the whole lot.”
I get a sinking feeling in my stomach that ends in a tight knot. “For what?”
He turns and looks at the Murphys’ old house with its broken windows and leaning chain-link fence. “This is coming down. It’s all going to be razed and rebuilt.”
“What do you mean? Why?” Who would want this land in the middle of nowhere?
The county worker looks annoyed with me now. I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise that someone wants to move here next t
o the estuary. I try to imagine who might’ve seen this area on a map and decided they like it as much as I do. Have they even been here to check it out? I’ve never seen anyone. “It was auctioned off. You won’t be able to hang out here too much longer. We’ll probably get started soon.”
“What?” I ask, hearing panic in my voice. Where am I supposed to go? This is my place! “Who bought it?” I demand, feeling sick.
“The county? A private owner? I don’t know who. I’m just here to survey.” He waves, indicating the end of our conversation and heads back to his truck. More voices come. More men to steal my dock with their measuring tapes and clipboards.
I can’t believe this. No one has cared about this place for years. I look at the water, trying to imagine a new family moving onto this land, completely tearing down the Murphys’ house to build another McMansion complete with patio and dock. I will no longer be welcome here.
“How long do I have?” I call out, but the man has headed toward the other side of the property. The clouds are almost overhead now, the humidity already sweetening the air. Time to move on, the clouds seem to say. Time to go.
But I won’t.
I’ve already been asked to let go and move on once this year.
This is my place, my refuge. So if a bulldozer has to run me over and then scrape up my flattened body to get me off the property, so be it.
Eighteen
Test Day.
Problem is, I can’t stop thinking about the Murphys’ dock coming down. I can just see the wooden planks splintering into a heap of junk underneath metal jaws. I feel violated, the way Mom might feel if my birth mother suddenly came careening into our house, demanding she wants me back. Would she have the right? After Mom has loved me more than anyone else?
The memories of Saturday night’s bliss don’t help either. I try to focus, shake off the thoughts, but Mr. Rooney’s clock ticks painfully loud, and I can’t concentrate on anything I’m supposed to.
Mr. Rooney wears his pink lab coat today. He resembles upside-down cotton candy on a paper stick with his white hair all sticking up in the back like that. Also, because his eyesight is dusty, he has chosen Alejandra as a lookout, which means she’ll take her test when we’re finished. She sits on a special stool, vigilant and indifferent at the same time. She is a minor geek, meaning she is the smartest in the class but still has friends and a reputation to think about, so she really has no intention on ratting out any cheaters. Pedro makes sexy faces at her to try to make her laugh.
On my test, the hieroglyphics laugh at me. Ha! they say. You’re funny, Chloé Rodriguez, to think that you could attend a party, have a near-sex experience on the hood of a car, ride Lolita most of Sunday afternoon, and still believe you could pass this test come Monday morning. You silly girl!
Some of the hieroglyphics do not laugh. Some of them like me and present themselves as comprehensible to my puny brain, but there aren’t enough of them, and I will certainly plunge to my academic death after today. But I won’t tell my parents. I will find a way to make up this setback, even if I have to wear a tiny lab coat, knee socks, and pigtails to get on Rooney’s good side.
Gross. I cannot believe I just thought that.
Still, if I have to, I will.
I rush out of Rooney’s and let out a giant sigh, then I bolt down the stairs toward second-period English. But instead of turning right, as usual, I turn left, taking the long way so I can avoid Marraine’s classroom. The last thing I need right now is Marraine asking me how the test went.
In the hallway, I pause to lean against the wall and let the facts slowly sink into my consciousness. You have one and a half grading periods left to pull that grade up to a C. Which means I’ll have to get an A or B on every test for the next four months if I want to keep Lolita. Every test!
I am doomed like a duck at a croc’s dinnertime.
I see Amber blazing down the hall in a huff. Trailing her is Vince. He catches up with her and tries putting his arm around her shoulders, but she elbows him in the ribs. Ouch. Trouble in paradise already? I scan the hallway for Gordon. Will he be back to the old Gordon, acting like I’m a waste of his time? I have to wonder, since he didn’t call me yesterday. My heart is doing flips, cartwheels, roundoffs, and backsprings, just thinking about it.
I kick off the wall and quickly head to my class. Then I see Gordon, talking to Ms. H in Hallway A. She nods and smiles at him as he speaks. It amazes me, the effect Gordon has on the faculty. Does he even have to try at all? Or does he always have carte blanche?
I stand against a column, prepping myself for when he turns and notices me. I’ll smile and wait. The ball is in his court.
Ms. H pats his arm—good boy—nods some more, and gestures to her class. She waves bye-bye and disappears inside. Gordon smiles, clearly pleased at another successful teacher-student interaction, then looks at his watch. He turns and starts walking in the opposite direction from where I’m standing.
“Psst,” I beckon him.
He looks over his shoulder with this madman-on-a-mission face and slows down. Something about the way he does it makes me feel like I’m keeping him from more important things. I push that idea aside.
“Hey, Chloé,” he says, running a hand through his hair. He gives me a weak smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. I got tied up at home.”
“That’s okay. I know you have your calculus test today.”
“Yeah.” He pauses uncomfortably.
Are you going to mention Saturday night? We kind of bared our souls there, Gordon.
“What about your chemistry test? How did you do?” he asks.
“I think I did all right. I studied on my own yesterday, so we’ll see.”
He smiles, nods, looks around the emptying hallway. The electronic bell whines above us. No kiss, no going for my hand. Earth, swallow me now.
“That’s great. Maybe you won’t need me anymore, huh?” He laughs, but that’s not funny. Why wouldn’t I need him anymore?
I try to speak with my eyes and tell him that the other night meant something to me, that it wasn’t just another day in the life of Chloé Rodriguez, and that I’ve never felt that close to anyone before, that I want to see him again. But it’s not working. I’ll have to use words. “No, I think I still need you…actually.”
His smile dies down. This is it. This is where he tells me that Saturday was a mistake, that we are not a couple, he just had an episode of temporary insanity. I’m a distraction to his agenda.
“Ladies and gents…” Our security guard strolls down the hall, wagging her walkie-talkie around in the air. “Move along. Let’s go.”
“I’ll walk with you,” Gordon says, flanking me as I hurry away.
“Gordon, just…don’t. You know? I was on my way to class, that’s all. It’s okay if you’re having second thoughts. I understand.”
“That’s not it, Chloé. But I can’t make it to tutoring today. I have a paper in literature, and a test in calculus…”
But doubt still lingers in his eyes. I can see it.
He reaches for my hand, and my stomach takes a dive. “Look, I have to go right now. I only have two periods before my calc test and I should do some last-minute studying.”
“Of course,” I say, but my mind has other ideas. Come on, abandon protocol like you did the other day and cut class with me.
He stands there, playing with my fingers, and finally reassurance settles over me. His hazel eyes plead with mine. He did feel it the other night, didn’t he? Just like I did. It wasn’t nothing to him, and I didn’t scare him away. His hand gently lifts my chin, and his face slowly meets mine.
It’s the kind of kiss that makes you forget where you are. It’s so powerful, I wonder how this could possibly be anything but right.
I pull away, get my bearings. “Go, call me later. You know, if you can.”
He’s not leaving. His gaze is fixed on my face. Wheels are turning in his head, and I can tell he’s breaking down.
There comes a time when nothing can interfere with your body and heart or what they tell you. And from the way Gordon won’t move, I realize that now is one of those times.
“What’s up?” You can’t go to class, can you? I know. I feel the same way.
He pulls me along gently. “Come.”
“Where we going?”
But Gordon doesn’t answer. I try to imagine how we must look together right now. Gordon, six foot four and unaware of his hotness, tugging this boyish girl with wild auburn hair behind him. We don’t match and yet we do, and that’s what’s so beautiful. I’m so flustered, I hardly notice Marraine walking opposite of us, eyes carefully processing. Shit, I forgot about her planning period.
“Bonjour, Madame,” I say quietly, avoiding her eyes.
“Bonjour,” is all she says, not that I need more words from her to know what she’s thinking.
“That was a good accent. I take it you have Madame Jordan for a class?” says Gordon.
“Yes, but she’s also my marraine—my godmother.”
He looks at me. “No way.”
“Yeah.”
“Wow.”
“Tell me about it. This will reach my mother’s ears in no time.”
That doesn’t distract Gordon from his mission—to take me out of here. Where, I have no idea, but I’m so out of my element, I feel alive. And believe me, after the way I’ve been feeling for a while now, that’s a very good thing.
Twenty minutes later, we are in the last place I would have ever imagined: Gordon’s house. His parents are at work and we are alone in his room, which is as straightforward as his car. Desk, super-organized. Computer, clearly an expensive buy. Nothing on the walls, except for a small chart of the periodic table near his desk.
“Why would you put this up?” I laugh. “Don’t you get enough of school at school?”
“I put it up last year, and I guess I just left it. I don’t even realize it’s there anymore.”
It amazes me how Gordon is my same age, same grade level, yet in some ways, he feels so much older, it’s sick. I try to suppress my feelings of academic inadequacy. I scan the room for any posters, pictures of Sabine he might still have around, anything. There’s a lamp and remote control on his night table, and a bunch of DVDs strewn about, but otherwise, not much.
