by Denise Vega
“Told you.”
I looked up. Serena was standing next to me, holding her lunch tray. “Told you, told you, told you,” she said. You’d think she’d be happy, rubbing this in my face. But she looked like she was about to cry.
“Yeah,” I said, surprising myself with the lack of irritation in my voice. “You told me.”
She’d told me once when she was at the window, and then again yesterday at play practice. Jilly had been late, coming in with her hair all messed up. Serena had taken one look at her, rolled her eyes, and said, “She’s disgusting. He’s disgusting. Can’t they find a janitor’s closet somewhere?”
I didn’t want to think about them doing what I only did with my pillow.
“I know,” I said, before I could stop myself. Omigosh. I had actually agreed with S.W. out loud. What did that mean?
“You don’t know anything,” Serena said, rebraiding her pilgrim braid over her shoulder. I watched Mr. Trubey rifling through his music. We were going to start any minute.
“I know you’re jealous,” I said. “You wish it was you in the closet with Mark.”
“And what about you?” Serena sneered. “You’ve been drooling over him since the first day of school! He’s, like, the only one in the entire school who can’t see it.”
I remember freaking out when she said that, wondering if it was true. Wondering if —
“Just ignore her,” Rosie said, bringing me out of Freak Out Mode and back to the cafeteria. I watched Serena weave her way to another table. It was weird, but I almost felt sorry for her. At least Mark and I were friends. He still wouldn’t even talk to Serena.
Rosie and I got to the bus at the same time that afternoon and climbed on. She automatically took the seat in front of mine, knowing I was saving it for Jilly. I thought that was pretty cool. We were real friends now and it didn’t bother her that I sat with Jilly most of the time.
“Save the spot next to you,” I said. “I have a feeling she’s going to miss the bus again.” Before I left her at her locker this morning, Jilly had asked me to save her a seat.
“I always do,” I said, not pointing out that yesterday that spot was empty because she’d missed the bus because she’d been doing I-don’t-want-to-imagine-what with I-can’t-say-his-name. I had a feeling it would happen again today.
Rosie sat backward so she could see me, her head resting on the back of the seat in front of hers. I sat with my back to the window, my feet hanging out in the aisle. I did not want to catch a glimpse of anything that might happen out there.
“Here she comes,” Rosie said. “Looks like she’ll make it.”
I bit my lip. Don’t ask, don’t ask. But my tongue seemed to have a mind of its own. “Is —”
“Yeah, he’s with her,” Rosie said, totally knowing what I was going to say. She gave me a tortured look. “Maybe you should read or something until she gets on.”
“Why?” I said, wanting to look but not wanting to look. “Are they holding hands?”
Rosie nodded slowly.
“Are they …”
“Do you really want to do this to yourself?”
I sighed. “No. I just need to face it. I need to accept it. He’s still my friend, right?”
“Right,” said Rosie. “But accepting it doesn’t mean you have to have a front-row seat to their … stuff.”
“Right,” I said. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Rosie brightened. She got on her knees and draped her elbows over the back of her seat. “You’ve got to come over and see my new computer — it’s got all the latest stuff on it.”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” I said. “My mom’s is totally the latest and greatest, but the computer for me and Chris is, like, two years old. Ancient.”
“A dinosaur,” Rosie agreed.
“Hey, guys.” Jilly stood in the aisle, nudging my feet. I swung them to the floor and she plopped down beside me. I remembered in one of the romance novels I’d read how the woman glowed when she was in love — gag, gag, double gag. What a bunch of poopola. At least that’s what I thought, until I saw Jilly’s face. It glowed. And it wasn’t that greenish-white glow-in-the-dark color we use at Halloween. This was a soft pink, eyes alight kind of glow. It made my heart sink to my stomach.
“Everyone find a seat,” said the bus driver, his hand gripping the handle that closed the door.
“Wait!”
We all looked up. Mark bounded up the stairs, stopping briefly as he scanned every face before spotting the glowing one sitting next to me. He strode down the aisle, leaned over, and kissed Jilly full on the mouth. I was so shocked, I just stared at them, their lips pressed together, their heads turned so their noses nearly touched.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi.
I had to turn and look out the window for four Mississippi. I didn’t know if they would have gone on to five or not because the bus driver started yelling over the “wooooooooo” of the crowd cheering them on.
“None of that on my rig! You on this bus, kid? No? Then hop off before I take off.”
“You should just come home with me,” I heard Jilly whisper. Mark chuckled. Then I heard another sound that was probably a quick peck and Mark’s footsteps moving rapidly down the aisle, clunking down the stairs.
Jilly sighed beside me, but I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t look at anything because for some stupid reason, my vision was blurry.
Saturday, November 9
Ok…so remember when I said I was lucky when Chris saw Amanda kiss that guy? Well, FORGET IT. CHRIS was the lucky 1. He was a good 50 feet from where Amanda and that guy were mashing. I was like 5 INCHES from Jilly when Mark planted 1 on her. I thought I would die right there on the bus.
I’m living a nightmare…keep seeing their lips pressed together in my mind, like a song that I’ve put on continuous loop…playing over and over and there’s no Stop button in my brain and I’m about to scream. What happened to Mr. Shy and Blushing??? What happened to the guy who kept asking if I thought she’d go out with him??? Where did this Mr. Cool, I’ll-Kiss-You-in-Front-of-the-World guy come from???
I tried to avoid Jilly today…didn’t think I could look at GFKG (Glow Face Kissing Girl) without bursting into tears or some other stupid thing. But she said she had a homework emergency and could I please come over right away. Even though it was hard, it was harder thinking that if I kept this up, we wouldn’t—couldn’t— be friends. I had to figure out a way to deal with this. Homework…Ok, I could talk about homework.
I should have known better.
I only helped her with 2 math problems before she started talking about Mark. She goes, have you seen his ears? Like, duh, I sit behind him in 3 classes. She starts saying stuff about them being “attached” and wasn’t that the cutest thing? I couldn’t help it, I go, attached? Like, to his head? She ignores me and goes off on his earlobes, how some people have attached earlobes and some are detached and that her sister Molly told her all about it. I guess Molly learned it in her genetics class and was sharing this incredibly exciting information with Jilly, who acted like they were having a discussion about hairstyles or clothes, not EARLOBES. How could she be talking about EARLOBES? That is so stupid. And what does this mean, anyway? They were talking about genes. Were they getting married or something?
That thought just about sent me over the edge, so I took off. I couldn’t bear to hear about another of Mark’s body parts and what Jilly may or may not think about it.
Strange and Mysterious Things
Tyler left a not-so-anonymous note in the slot in my locker. I knew it was from him cuz there was a smear of hair gel that smelled just like his head. Carla was dying to know what it said—she found it and knew exactly who it was from, too—but I didn’t show her…too personal. But I will share it here cuz I want to remember it in case I lose the original:
If you ever slowed down
long enough to see
<
br /> what is right in front of you,
you might be amazed
to find out who thinks you are
beyond beautiful.
—An Admirer
Beyond beautiful. No 1 has ever called me beautiful, let alone “beyond beautiful.” Well, my dad has (beautiful, without the “beyond”), but he doesn’t count. Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone has ever called me pretty or even cute. It’s a pretty good poem for a geeky nerd-type guy. Hmm. That makes me wonder if he copied it from somewhere. I bet he did. He could never come up with something that good, could he?
He’s got nice eyes. But that hair? It’s got to go.
chapter 19
Mixed Messages
“Mom says we have to get our shoes today.” Chris walked toward me, his basketball smacking back and forth in his hands. It was Sunday afternoon and I was supposed to be cleaning my room. But I had too much to say to myself on my personal, private, no one-will-see-but-me web page.
“Okay.” With a click the web page disappeared and I was back at the desktop. I logged off and turned around. “You’ve got a booger.”
“Do not,” Chris said, but he pulled his wrist across his nose anyway. “What’s that?” He pointed to the disc I had ejected from the drive.
“None of your business,” I said, running upstairs to hide the disc in my room.
Chris knew exactly what shoes he wanted and picked them out and paid for them right away. I needed more time. A shoe was very important when you had feet like mine. Not only did it need to give the appearance of a smaller ped, it had to be comfortable and sturdy. It was a very scientific process.
“I’m going to get a Coke at the food court,” Chris said after I pulled out my sixth pair of shoes. He handed me a wad of cash. “Meet me there.”
After trying on several pairs, I finally made my purchase. Swinging the bag from my wrist, I headed for the food court. I was so busy trying to swing the bag in perfect circles around my wrist that at first I didn’t notice the commotion in front of the Orange Julius. But then I heard a girl’s voice, loud and angry.
“— got to be the biggest loser in the world to punch another girl in the nose.”
I slunk behind a wall jutting out between a store and the food court and peered around it.
Amanda Worthington stood with her arms crossed, her eyes snapping. Chris was a few feet away, Coke in one hand, shoe bag in the other.
Oh, no. It was back. The PI had come back to haunt me and the entire mall. I pressed against the wall, praying no one had seen me. But curiosity made me sneak another peek.
Chris had put his bag and Coke down and was walking toward Amanda. She stepped back, her expression faltering a bit. Then she regained her glare.
“What? Are you going to hit me, too?” she asked. “Does it run in the family?”
For a second I thought he might. He clenched his fist, then released it.
“Your sister has made my sister’s life a living hell since they were five,” Chris said. He wasn’t going to hit her. Even though I kind of wanted him to, I was proud of him because he was so completely in control, keeping Amanda a little off balance. “Jell-O on her seat, stealing her homework, breaking her “Pioneers on the Prairie” diorama — which, I might add, was one of the best dioramas ever made by a seven-year-old — peanut butter in her backpack, cutting off her hair —”
Chris continued his litany, but I had stopped listening. All those times I’d run to one DEFCON or another, he had known why. He knew them all, each and every humiliation. He had been there with me and I hadn’t even known it. Maybe that’s why he always came to get me. Complaining and whining about it, but he’d always come.
“The whole thing could have been left between the two of them,” Chris continued. “But then your sister had to get her little sidekicks to put up those stupid posters all over the school.”
I cringed. I hadn’t told anyone in my family about the posters. But of course Worthlessness had blabbed it to her sister, who had blabbed it to the whole high school.
Amanda laughed. “She deserved it.”
“She never deserved any of it,” Chris said quietly. He looked around at her group of friends, some of whom had stepped a little away from Amanda. “There are a lot of things I could say or do right now that you might deserve,” he said. “But that would make me like you. And that’s the last thing I want to be.”
There was a low whistle from a couple of boys sitting at a table. A girl at the counter said, “Right on.”
Chris picked up his stuff and turned away, spotting me immediately. He strode over and Amanda stared after him, twisting up her face in a way that made her quite ugly. She shouted a few choice names at him and I heard her mutter, “Like it matters what Chris Swift thinks.” Funny, but it kind of sounded like it did matter to her. Just a little.
Chris rolled his eyes as he passed me. “Let’s get out of here.” I hurried after him, my throat tight.
“Chris —”
He waved me away. “Don’t say anything.”
“But I —”
His gesture stopped my mouth in mid-word.
“Okay, okay,” I said. I’d just have to wait until the right time to let him know how I felt.
“I am so over her,” he muttered as we got in the car.
“I think her boobs are fake,” I said out of the blue.
“Probably,” Chris said, putting the car in reverse. “Which may explain her rather poor attitude. Silicone is toxic. They probably got mixed up and put some in her brain, too.”
I laughed. “Toxic ooze on the brain.”
“A toxic ooze brain stain.” We were warming to our subject.
“A toxic ooze brain stain with no pain,” I said.
“Don’t drain that brain stain or we may all go insane.” We laughed hysterically. We kept it up all the way home. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun with my brother.
When we got home, we swapped high fives. “Thanks for punching Serena,” he said. “If you hadn’t, I never would have gotten to do that today.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, and we both laughed again.
“Oh, good, you’re back,” Mom said when we came inside. “Jilly’s been calling, Erin. She sounds a little desperate.” Mom looked at the clock and so did I. Four. “You can go over for about an hour and a half but then you need to clean your room.”
I had talked to Jilly at nine this morning. Of course she was desperate. She hadn’t been able to talk to anyone about Mark for seven hours. She needed to moon over him to a live body. But I didn’t want to go. I was having fun with Chris.
“Maybe I should do my room now,” I said.
Mom looked at me strangely. “I thought you would want to go to Jilly’s.”
“Oh, I do, but I just feel bad that I didn’t do my room when I was supposed to.”
Mom walked over and put her hand on my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
I pushed her hand away. “Mom.”
She laughed. “Well, you have to admit it isn’t like you to give up time with your best friend to clean up your room.”
I sighed. There was really no way out of it. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Tell me again what he was wearing Friday.”
I tried not to groan as I leaned against her closet door, hands shoved in my pockets. Jilly asked this every day, even though she saw him every morning when we all got off our buses.
“I don’t really notice what he’s wearing,” she would say. “I’m just looking into his eyes.”
Gag, gag, double gag.
“Well? Was he wearing his khaki pants?” Jilly sat on her bed, legs crossed, looking at me as if I was about to deliver news of her Academy Award nomination. I hated the way she said “his khaki pants,” like she knew his whole wardrobe and was mentally selecting clothes out of his closet or drawers.
I shook my head. “No. Jeans, Gateway T-shirt, and Asics.” I threw my leg over the ch
air at her desk, straddling it as I rested my arms over the back.
Jilly sighed and I knew she was imagining Mark in this stunning outfit.
“What did he have for lunch?”
“Don’t you talk about these things when you meet between classes and after school?” For people on different tracks at opposite ends of the school, they managed to see a lot of each other.
“No. We have more important things to do.” She grinned wickedly and I looked away. It had taken days for me to get the image of my best friend and the love of my life with their lips locked together out of my mind. I didn’t want a rerun.
“Pizza and a Coke from one of the kiosks,” I said in answer to her lunch question. Afterward he had eaten two Starburst candies — cherry and strawberry, from the original flavors. I didn’t tell her this part. Those are my two favorite Starburst flavors and I just wanted to keep this important connection between Mark and me to myself.
“So you ate lunch with him?”
“I was at the same table. With Rosie.”
“You’re getting to be good friends with her, aren’t you?” Jilly asked. I would have welcomed a subject change but not this one. Even though it didn’t make any sense, I felt guilty for having Rosie for a friend.
“Mark’s really good friends with Rosie,” I told her, deciding I’d rather be in the agony of talking about Mark than the discomfort of having another friend besides Jilly. “They’ve known each other forever.”
Jilly’s face lit up. “Really?”
Uh-oh. I could see the wheels turning inside Jilly’s head. Rosie was best friends with Mark. Rosie would know about Mark. Jilly would use Rosie to find out about Mark.
Rosie was going to kill me.
Saturday, November 16
Well, I was right. Yesterday on the bus, Jilly followed Rosie to her seat like a puppy. When she came back she was all, Rosie’s kind of snotty, isn’t she? And I’m like, no, maybe she doesn’t like to play go-between. Then Jilly goes, I like to play go-between, like that meant everyone should like it. Then she launched into how cute Mark was and didn’t I just love the way his bang fell over 1 eye like that (I noticed it 1st, on the 1st day of school. That eye and those bangs were MINE), and did I see his butt in those pants? (No, you can’t see any butt in those baggy jeans. But I’d seen him in gym shorts, so THERE, Jillian Gail Hennessey).
