I considered ditching and heading back to my dorm to take a nap, but then Mr. Funt might have Chuck do an emergency intervention or something. Nope. The only way out of this was to stay calm.
After waiting for the hall to clear of other students, I walked back to the door for Health and Student Services and pushed it open. Linda, the secretary, sat at her desk, shuffling papers. Behind her loomed the door to Chuck’s room and the door to the nurse. A radio on Linda’s bookshelf droned light rock. The muffled sounds of someone talking leaked through Chuck’s door. Linda probably kept the radio on to drown out the counseling sessions.
“Hey, Linda.” I leaned against the post near her desk, attempting to play it cool. “How’s it going?”
“Busy.”
“I like your earrings,” I said. It was the sort of thing Dickie would say.
Linda touched her earrings to remind herself what she was wearing. The dangly clumps of bright beads clashed with her necklace and striped shirt.
“They’re bold,” I added. “They go well with your necklace.”
“Thank you.”
“Amber’s my favorite stone. If you can call it a stone, since it’s not really, is it?”
“I think it’s tree sap,” she said.
“Okay. So amber’s my favorite tree sap.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “What can I help you with?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to say hello. Oh, and I’m supposed to see Chuck.”
“Really?”
“Yup.” I leaned forward and pulled my hair back to give her a good look.
“Oh, my,” she said, reading my forehead. She slid out a sheet from her files and frowned at it. “I’m not sure what category to put that under.”
“It’s not meant to be an insult. One of my friends snuck into my room and elfed me.”
“Elfed you?”
“Wrote on my face while I slept,” I explained. “Like elves do mischief in the night.”
“You kids,” she said. “You’re so funny.”
“Mr. Funt didn’t think it was funny. That’s why he sent me here.”
“Well, Mr. Funt . . . he’s dealing with a lot right now,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Yeah. His divorce.”
We both nodded.
“It’s not our policy to force students to talk with a counselor,” Linda said. “So is there anything you’d like to talk with Chuck about?”
“Nope. I’m feeling pretty sane today. In fact, I’m the sanest person I know, appearances aside.”
“I try not to judge by appearances.”
“Then is it okay if I leave?”
She shrugged. “I don’t see why not. But if ever you do need to talk with someone . . .”
“Linda,” I said, “I always want to talk with you.”
“You’re such a charmer.”
“Oh.” I turned back, as if I’d just remembered something. “If Mr. Funt stops by, will you tell him I was here?”
“No problem.”
“Great. Don’t work too hard.”
I headed for the exit. So far, so good. No one had seen me here, and Linda would cover for me. I was about to make a clean getaway when the door opened and I ran into the Ice Queen. She sidestepped, trying to get around me, only I stepped in the same direction and we collided, chest to chest. It would have been comical if it wasn’t so embarrassing.
“Excuse me,” she said, sounding annoyed. “I need to get a Band-Aid.”
“Sure,” I replied. My face burned, and my stomach did flips. All the cool drained out of me.
The Ice Queen gave me a strange look. I had this overwhelming desire to impress her, while at the same time I wanted to ignore her because she couldn’t care less about me. And beneath all that, there was something else — a sense of déjà vu that kept me frozen in place. We’d stood this way, blocking each other, before.
“Forget it,” she said, turning. A wisp of her blond hair fell across her blue eyes. She hurried off, keeping her head down, the way movie stars do when they want to avoid being photographed.
I tried to tell her to wait, but no words came out. It suddenly hit me why the situation seemed familiar. It had happened last night.
The Thief in my dreams was Ellie.
O God! I could be bounded in a nutshell,
and count myself a king of infinite space,
were it not that I have bad dreams.
— HAMLET, ACT 2, SCENE 2
THE COLD CAME QUICKLY. Leaves fell from the trees until the branches stood black as cracks against the sky. Winter at ASMA was a lonely, exposed affair. The nearby cornfields were all cut down, leaving nothing but frozen mud and dead stalks, while overhead the pale sky loomed oppressively large, with no hills or leaves to challenge its emptiness. Winds swept through campus, blowing icy snow and dust into muddy drifts against the dorms. Nothing about it looked pretty.
The worst part was that daylight practically disappeared. By December, it was dark at seven in the morning when I first shuffled to school for breakfast, and dark at four in the afternoon when I got out of my last class and headed back to my room. The lack of windows in the main building meant I pretty much went for weeks without seeing the sun.
Everything blended together. The dark of the day merged into the dark of my dreams. Asleep, I wandered the city, not daring to descend into the burrows again since I feared losing control. But after a few weeks of binding demons, the surface streets stood empty. There were only the Nomanchulators, watching hungrily from the shadows, filling the silence with their deadening buzz.
To pass the time, I swigged cough syrup. It wasn’t a great high, but it tweaked things enough so I could get through the dreary winter days without driving myself insane. And when the dreariness became too much and the deadening buzz of the Nomanchulators started to creep up on me, I’d cut myself. The bright hot pain always drove the deadness away.
Dickie and I got the Steves back for elfing us by breaking into their room and attaching a car battery to their toilet — one terminal to the water and one to some copper threads we’d taped across the floor. The Steves were such slobs, all we had to do was shove the battery behind the toilet and throw a towel over it to make things look normal. Dickie tried to persuade me to test it out, but having grown up in the sticks, I knew what happened when you peed on an electric fence. The basic mechanics of this were the same.
We hid in the stairwell near their room so we could listen to the fruits of our labor. When Steve Lacone returned from basketball practice, he went to take a leak and ZING! — twelve muscle-freezing volts coursed up the stream, causing his voice to shoot through the roof in an unprecedented falsetto. The best part, though, was that Steve Dennon didn’t believe anything had actually happened, so he used the toilet right afterward and got zapped, too. Dickie and I nearly gave ourselves hernias holding in our laughter while the Steves cursed about their shocked wankers.
Other than the pranks, I broke up the winter dullness by messing around with Jess. We’d skip class and sneak into dorm rooms or custodians’ closets and maul each other. Rumors spread about how we’d done it in the RC’s office or on the roof of the school. Although most of the rumors weren’t true, neither Jess nor I did much to contradict them. The stories fit my image. Still, no matter how intense things got with Jess, I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering. The more wild my life became, the less I felt like I was living it.
Jess must have sensed my distance. “Earth to James,” she said one night when we were in the laundry room together. “What’s wrong?”
I shrugged. “I’m sick of winter.”
She pursed her lips and studied my face. A few times, she’d asked me what I thought of Sage or Sunny. I think she suspected that I might be into someone else. Of course I denied it. If Jess left me, I’d be worse than alone. I’d be no one again.
“I got you something,” she said.
“A present?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?
”
“Thought you might need a pick-me-up.” Jess reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a silver flask with a red bow tied around it. “Surprise!”
I held the cool metal in my palm. “I can’t believe you bought this for me.”
“Don’t get too excited — I stole it from my old man when I went home last weekend. But I did fill it.”
I unscrewed the cap and flinched at the sharp smell of whiskey. “To winter,” I said, and took a swig. The whiskey burned a trail to my stomach. It sure beat cough syrup.
Jess and I passed the flask back and forth until it was almost half gone. She grew giddy and threw her arms around my neck, kissing me.
I tried to match her passion, but images of Ellie kept popping up in my head. It wasn’t like I was imagining kissing her. Instead, I saw her standing in the doorway with a disapproving look on her face. It annoyed me that I kept thinking of Ellie. I didn’t even like her. Granted, she was pretty, but she acted like a cold, elitist snob — exactly the sort of person I couldn’t stand. Why she, of all people, appeared in my dreams was beyond me.
Jess pulled back. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I lied.
She smirked and bit my shoulder. Then she slipped her hands under my shirt and dragged her nails across my back.
We kept messing around until curfew.
When I returned to my room that night and took my shirt off to go to bed, Dickie freaked. “Jesus,” he said, “were you whipped?”
“What?”
“Your back, man,” he said. “Look at it.”
I craned my neck to see my back in the mirror. Rows of red marks rose out of my flesh from where Jess had scratched me. “Funny,” I said. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
ghost44: Boo!
johnnyrotten: Hey. I didn’t expect to find you logged on.
ghost44: Thought I’d say good morning.
johnnyrotten: It’s 11:58 at night.
ghost44: And in a few minutes it’ll be morning — the start of a new day. So why are you still at a computer?
johnnyrotten: History assignment. I’m writing a report on the difference between Napoleonic and modern warfare, due in eight hours. You?
ghost44: I’m looking for lost souls to haunt.
johnnyrotten: Find any?
ghost44: Only one, and he’s a little peculiar.
johnnyrotten: What makes you say that?
ghost44: I don’t know, Mr. Eat Me, Drink Me.
johnnyrotten: That’s finally starting to fade, thank you very much. Are you still pissed at me?
ghost44: You mean am I jealous about you sleeping with Jess, the wonder girl?
johnnyrotten: I guess.
ghost44: Relax, cowboy. Ghosts are beyond such petty emotions. Like I said before, we can tell each other anything.
johnnyrotten: I was afraid you weren’t going to write me again.
ghost44: No such luck. So how are things with Jess?
johnnyrotten: Complicated.
ghost44: Really?
johnnyrotten: You sure you want us to tell each other anything?
ghost44: Out with it.
johnnyrotten: The thing is, there’s this girl that I can’t stop thinking about. I mean, I’m obsessed, but I don’t like her, and I’m pretty sure she hates me.
ghost44: You’re not talking about Jessica Keen, are you?
johnnyrotten: No. That’s why things are complicated.
ghost44: Are you going to break up with Jess?
johnnyrotten: So I could ask out a girl who hates me?
ghost44: That’s not the point.
johnnyrotten: Then what is?
ghost44: The point is, you should break up with Jess.
johnnyrotten: Why?
ghost44: Uh . . . you’re not into her.
johnnyrotten: It’s not that simple. I’d be stupid to break up with Jess. She’s cute, and wild, and fun. I should like her.
ghost44: Should?
johnnyrotten: Anyway, Jess and I aren’t even “going out.” We don’t exactly call each other boyfriend and girlfriend.
ghost44: Oh, please. I see you two together all the time. You’re going out, and that’s what’s sad.
johnnyrotten: Why’s that sad?
ghost44: Because. She’s not the right girl for you.
johnnyrotten: Then who is the right girl? You?
ghost44: You can’t date the dead, James. Besides, did you ever stop to consider that I might already be going out with someone?
johnnyrotten: Are you?
ghost44: Not really.
johnnyrotten: But you like someone?
ghost44: Maybe.
johnnyrotten: Who?
ghost44: It doesn’t matter. I’ll never be with him.
johnnyrotten: Why not?
ghost44: Because I can’t be with him.
johnnyrotten:?
ghost44: Look, I used to believe that if only I got the right guy to like me, everything would be okay. I’d feel whole again. And then I’d stop fading away.
johnnyrotten: And you don’t believe that now?
ghost44: Nope. Now I know better.
johnnyrotten: Meaning what, exactly?
ghost44: Meaning I know things won’t work out, and then I’ll lose the only hope I have left. I’d rather be alone than do that.
johnnyrotten: How do you know that’s what will happen?
ghost44: Because that’s what always happens.
johnnyrotten: It doesn’t have to be that way. It might be different this time.
ghost44: Trust me. It wouldn’t be.
johnnyrotten: But it could.
ghost44: Not for me. It’s simple math — anything times zero is zero.
johnnyrotten: You’re not a zero.
ghost44: The funny thing is I keep trying to be.
johnnyrotten: Huh?
ghost44: Good night, James.
johnnyrotten: That’s it? You’re not going to explain?
ghost44: Sorry. Even ghosts need to sleep.
JESS CALLED ON FRIDAY NIGHT to coax me over to her dorm to “study.” Finals started the next week and everyone was frantic about preparing for exams. I could have used a break, but the prospect of spending another hour in a laundry room making out with Jess made me anxious. I figured I needed to be alone to get my head straightened out, so I told Jess that I had to meet with my chemistry group.
“It’s Friday,” Jess said. “You can study tomorrow.”
“I’m supposed to meet them tonight,” I lied. “One of my lab partners is going home for the weekend, and we need to trade results.”
Jess paused. “That bites,” she finally said.
When social hour arrived, I threw on my coat and headed out to walk the pond and sip some whiskey. I didn’t worry too much about Jess catching me. The campus looked empty. Because of finals, and because of the cold, almost no one else was outside. Pausing beneath the willow tree, I threw back a swig.
“Nice night,” someone said.
I scrambled to hide the flask. The person had been standing so still by the tree’s trunk that I hadn’t seen her. When she moved, I recognized her slender silhouette.
“You can see a lot of stars tonight,” the Ice Queen said.
I looked at the sky, then back at her, confused. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m walking,” she said.
“Alone?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
I glanced at my dorm, but I didn’t want to head in yet and it would have been awkward to walk away from her. “Can I walk with you?”
“You don’t have to. I can handle being alone.”
“I want to,” I said. Then I realized how desperate I probably sounded. “I mean, I was going to anyway. That’s why I came out here — to walk around the pond. Here.” I got out the flask. “Want some?”
Ellie took the flask and sniffed it warily.
“It’ll warm you up,” I added, tryin
g to sound suave, only as soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. It was such a sleazy line. She probably thought I wanted to get her drunk so I could bust a move. “Forget it,” I muttered, reaching to take the flask back. “Don’t let me corrupt you.”
She glanced at me and drank a swig before passing it back.
We followed the path around the pond, walking in silence. After all the time I’d spent obsessing over her, you’d think I could have come up with something interesting to say. But nope. Nada. My brain stayed blank as snow. I threw down another swig, then Ellie took the flask and drank without wiping the top.
“Do you have many finals?” I asked, even though it was the dumbest, most cliché question in the book.
“Mostly papers,” she said. “And the physics exam on Monday.”
“Sorry. Lame question. I don’t really care about finals.”
“Oh.”
“I mean, good luck on the physics exam.”
Ellie grinned. “Thanks, I think.”
I clenched my jaw and glanced away. We were almost to the far end of the pond, near where Sage Fisher’s dad had thrown the picnic. I thought of how I’d tried to introduce myself to Ellie after that, and how she’d ignored me and said she wasn’t impressed. That’s how I always felt around her — unimpressive.
The silence between us thickened. In another few minutes we’d be by the dorms again, and then we’d go our separate ways and she’d always think I was this quiet nobody.
I took a drink. The whiskey made my head light and warm. “What was it like?” I asked, looking at the pond.
“What was what like?”
“The Mark Watson triathlon. You know, having him run out here, and swim the pond and punch out some guy.”
She smirked. “Embarrassing.”
“But he did it for you.”
“Trust me: that’s not the way to win a girl’s heart.” Ellie kicked a frozen dirt clod. It slid along some thin ice near the edge of the pond, then plunked into the open water in the middle.
The Secret to Lying Page 9
