“You must be new, then,” he commented. “I’d remember you if we’d met before.”
All of a sudden, his face went totally blank.
“I cannot believe I just said that,” he said. “That is easily the world’s oldest line.”
“If it isn’t, it’s the cheesiest,” I said.
He winced. “I’d ask you to let me make it up to you, but I’m thinking that would make things even worse.”
“You’d be thinking right.”
This time he was the one who laughed, the sound open and easy, as if he was genuinely enjoying the joke on himself. In retrospect I think it was that laugh that did it. That finished the job his smile had started. You just didn’t find all that many guys, all that many people, who were truly willing to laugh at themselves.
“I’m Alex Crawford,” he said.
“Jo,” I said. “Jo O’Connor.”
At this Alex actually stuck out his hand. His eyes, which I probably don’t need to tell you were this pretty much impossible shade of blue, focused directly on my face.
“Pleased to meet you, Jo O’Connor.”
I watched my hand move forward to meet his, as if it belonged to a stranger and was moving in slow motion. At that exact moment, an image of the robot from the movie Lost in Space flashed through my mind. Arms waving frantically in the air, screaming, “Danger! Danger!” at the top of its inhuman lungs.
My hand kept moving anyhow.
Our fingers connected. I felt the way Alex’s wrapped around mine, then tightened. Felt the way that simple action caused a flush to spread across my cheeks and a tingle to start in the palm of my hand and slowly begin to work its way up my arm. To this day, I’d swear I heard him suck in a breath, saw his impossibly blue eyes widen. As if, at the exact same moment I looked up at him, he’d discovered something as completely unexpected as I had, gazing down.
He released me. I stuck my hand behind my back.
“Pleased to meet you, Jo O’Connor,” he said again. Not quite the way he had the first time. “Welcome to Beacon High. So, where are you from, if you aren’t from around here?”
“Pretty much all over,” I said, retaining just enough presence of mind to give my standard, non-specific reply.
“O-kaay,” Alex said, drawing out the second syllable as if trying to decide whether or not to ask more.
From across the street at the school, the warning bell that signaled the imminent commencement of classes trilled sharply.
“Sounds like we’d better get going,” Alex said.
“Uh-huh,” I responded.
He stepped back and made a gesture as if ushering me forward. I walked beside him toward my newest school, trying to convince myself that the reason I suddenly felt so dizzy and lightheaded was that I’d contracted some bizarre Seattle flu bug.
Three
You know that phrase, everywhere you go, there you are? Well, my first day at Beacon provided me with the inspiration for a variation:
Everywhere I went, there was Alex Crawford.
Following our surprising encounter in the carless-column parking lot, I’d done my best to return to my normal blending-in behavior, an endeavor which was aided by the fact that first period English was a class Alex and I did not have in common.
I’d timed my arrival at the first classroom with my usual attention to detail. I wanted the room full, but not too full. Then I’d entered calmly and taken a seat about three quarters of the way back.
This is the seating chart equivalent of the no-extreme-fashion-choices concept, just so you know. All the way at the back says troublemaker to the teachers. Too far forward and your fellow classmates think teacher’s pet.
The inevitable announcement that there was a new student brought the equally inevitable several minutes of unwanted attention. After which, when I did nothing further of note, my new classmates were content to relegate me to the same category as white noise. A thing that was perfectly fine with me. By the time first period was over, my head felt back to normal, and I was well on my way to congratulating myself on my quick recovery from my encounter with Alex Crawford.
Right up until the moment I walked out of the classroom and straight into his arms.
It was hard not to. He was standing right outside the door.
His hands came up to grasp and steady me at the same time as he flashed me that mind-numbing smile. How on earth did he get here so fast? I wondered.
“Hey, Jo O’Connor,” he said.
“Hey, yourself,” I mumbled.
At that moment, I made a snap decision, a thing I usually avoid. My usual new school adjustment techniques just didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere, at least not with Alex Crawford. If at first you don’t succeed, try try again. Only a fool tries the same thing twice, though. If fading into the background wasn’t going to work, maybe standing out by being obnoxious would.
“What did you say your name was, again?” I asked.
Alex laughed. Oh, nice move, O’Connor, I thought. It was the same kind of laugh he’d given before. Open, easy, unself-conscious. A laugh that softened all my defenses and pretty much made my heart want to melt like one of those little pats of butter you get at Denny’s, left out in the sun.
It also got the attention of anyone nearby who had somehow miraculously failed to notice the extra attention Mr. BMOC was paying to the new girl. Assuming there had actually been anyone.
“Not to be rude or anything,” I said as I took a step back. This forced Alex to let go of my arms. Unfortunately it also resulted in me stomping on the feet of whoever was trying to get out behind me.
“Hey, watch it,” I heard him say.
“But I believe it’s traditional to let the first-period students exit the classroom before the second-period ones go in,” I went on.
“I’m not going in,” Alex said simply. “I’m walking you to your next class. History, right?”
Right, I thought. Right before I thought, This has absolutely got to stop. If I couldn’t nip whatever was happening with Alex Crawford in the bud, there was no telling where I’d end up, though it seemed a pretty safe bet that making a fool of myself would somehow be involved.
“How do you even know where it is?” I asked, my tone aggressive. “What if it’s nowhere near where you have to be?”
At this, the student behind me decided he’d waited long enough. He gave a quick shove. An action that sent me right back into Alex Crawford’s arms.
“It doesn’t make a difference,” Alex said.
My brain struggled for most of the rest of the day, but even then, I think it knew that my heart had won.
“You’ll like Drama,” Alex promised a couple of hours later. We were walking across a wide swath of green lawn that separated the school’s Little Theater from the main classroom building. “Mr. Barnes, the teacher, is great. He makes the whole thing really interesting and fun. Even the performing part isn’t too humiliating.”
“Gee, that’s a relief.”
On the far side of Alex, I heard a snort of amusement and knew it had come from the third member of our group, a girl named Elaine Golden.
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of Elaine. She’d shown up with Alex a couple of times as he’d walked me from one class to another. I had to figure either Alex had asked her to do this, hoping we’d become friends, or she’d tagged along of her own free will, determined to keep an eye on him. It was obvious they were tight, though equally obvious that they weren’t a couple. The vibe between them just wasn’t quite right.
If ever there was a person whose name suited her perfectly, it was Elaine. Everything about her was sort of . . . golden. She was tall, with hazel eyes and a head of softly waving gold-blonde hair. Even her skin looked vaguely tan, at a time of year when practically everybody else in Seattle still looked like the inside of a mushroom.
“Actually, Alex is correct,” Elaine said now. “Even if he expressed himself in a completely pathetic way.”
Alex made a
face at her. “I get no respect,” he sighed.
“Who ran your incredibly successful election campaign?” Elaine asked sweetly.
“Who ran unopposed?” Alex inquired.
“Oh, that,” Elaine said.
One of the things I’d discovered during the course of the day was just how big a BMOC Alex Crawford truly was. He’d been class president every year since he’d been a freshman. As a senior, he was considered such a shoe-in for student body president that he’d run unopposed. After graduation, he was expected to follow in his father’s footsteps and study law at Harvard, or so a girl with the unbelievable-yet-apparently-true name of Khandi Kayne had informed me at morning break.
This was right before she further informed me she was taking Alex to the girl-ask-boy dance that Friday night. A thing which went a long way toward explaining why my strong instinct had been not to turn my back on her.
“Just so long as you’ve finished the unit on Shakespeare,” I said as Elaine, Alex, and I neared the theater door. We’d go in through the lobby, Alex had explained, but class was actually held in the auditorium.
“I had an English teacher my sophomore year who used to make us read it aloud in class. I was completely hopeless. My tongue kept getting all tangled up.”
“In that case, I really hate to break this to you. . . . ” Elaine began.
I stopped short. “Please tell me that you’re joking.”
“I’m joking,” Elaine said obligingly. “Unfortunately for you, I’m also lying.”
Fabulous, I thought, just as Alex opened the Little Theater door and ushered us through it with a definitely Shakespearean bow.
My first Drama class at Beacon was either:
a) not so bad, or
b) worse than I could possibly have imagined.
Depending entirely on which portion of the period we’re talking about.
It started off just fine. The class was doing scenes from Shakespeare, a thing you’ve probably already gathered by now. The bad news was that Mr. Barnes made it clear from the outset that, since I was now a class member, I’d be expected to participate right along with everyone else. Beginning now.
The good news was that the class was working “on book,” a term that means with scripts in hand. This meant I wouldn’t automatically be at a handicap because I didn’t already have something memorized.
I could see right away why Alex and Elaine liked Mr. Barnes. He wasn’t stuffy or pretentious, though he did dress sort of preppy, like he’d originally come from the east coast.
But his whole approach was simple and straightforward. What did the words mean? Why should we care about them in the first place? Why give a rip about Shakespeare after all this time? That complicated high-flown language couldn’t possibly be expressing things we’d understand, maybe even go through, could it?
As far as Mr. Barnes was concerned, the answer was, “Duh.”
To illustrate his point, Mr. Barnes had chosen scenes from a variety of Shakespeare’s plays, all with the same thought in mind: to demonstrate that the emotional content was current, even if the language wasn’t. Romeo and Juliet was a particularly good example of this. I assume I don’t have to explain why.
During the course of the period, I’d watched students enact conflicts between best friends and bitter enemies. I’d heard Romeo talk about his latest girlfriend, knowing perfectly well he was going to forget all about her a few scenes later when Juliet came along.
I’d even read Juliet’s lines myself, in a confrontation with her father, and gotten so carried away with trying to make the guy playing Dear Old Dad see my side of things that I’d forgotten all about my previous bout of getting tongue tied.
After each scene, Mr. Barnes prompted the class discussion. What seemed real to us? What didn’t? If we suddenly found ourselves in a similar situation, how might we respond?
Then Alex and Elaine got up. They were to be Romeo and Juliet themselves. Not in the famous balcony scene, but the much shorter scene where they first see one another, literally across a crowded room. A crowded dance floor, to be precise.
Alex faced the class, while Elaine stood with her back to us, her face turned in profile. Romeo/Alex then gave his first impressions of Juliet/Elaine.
“O! She doth teach the torches to burn bright. It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a showy dove trooping with crows as yonder lady o’er fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand and, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”
Then, as if the measure, the dance that Juliet was engaged in during this speech, had ended, Alex moved to Elaine and Romeo began to act on the strength of his first impressions.
One thing you can definitely say about Romeo: That boy did not waste time. The first meeting between Romeo and Juliet is actually incredibly short. But, before it’s over, Romeo has managed to get in two kisses.
Actually, Alex-as-Romeo only managed one.
You could have heard a pin drop—the auditorium was so quiet as Alex and Elaine came to the crucial moment. Slowly, as if testing both her nerve and his, Romeo/Alex leaned in. Juliet/Elaine stayed perfectly still. Softly, almost tentatively, their lips touched.
I wonder what she’s feeling, I thought as I felt my own lips begin to tingle. I think that was the moment I acknowledged the truth. I had fallen, hopelessly, for Alex Crawford.
Romeo/Alex eased back from the kiss. He and Juliet/Elaine stared at one another. The air seemed to hum with a funny sort of tension.
These guys are really good, I thought. Then Juliet/Elaine broke the spell. In the scene, instead of melting at Romeo’s feet, Juliet makes a snappy, teasing comeback. Maybe Mr. Barnes was right about this Shakespeare-is-relevant thing after all. Not to be deterred, Romeo tries for kiss number two. Elaine waited until Alex’s lips were a breath away before providing a snappy comeback all her own.
“I don’t think so, pal.”
Alex jerked back with a strangled laugh, just as the rest of the class joined in. The two sat down to a round of raucous applause.
“So, what do you think?” Mr. Barnes asked when the class had quieted. “Is what Romeo and Juliet experience love at first sight? Is true love possible after only a few moments, or should we just write off what these two teenagers experience to raging hormones?”
“Is there a difference?” a guy named Matt Kelly quipped.
“In the case of some people, probably not,” Mr. Barnes responded calmly.
“Does it make a difference?” I heard a voice say over the laughter that followed. “I mean, is whether or not love at first sight is possible even Shakespeare’s point?”
“Okay,” Mr. Barnes said at once. “What is the point, Jo?” Now you’ve done it, O’Connor, I thought as I realized the voice had been mine. I’d gotten so carried away with my own inner-monologue, I’d spoken my thoughts aloud.
“The point is that they believe in love at first sight,” I said, somewhat haltingly as every eye in the class turned toward me. “Romeo and Juliet believe that they’re in love. They believe it so much they’re willing to die to prove it. I’m thinking that’s a bit extreme, even for hormones.”
A ripple of quiet, appreciative laughter traveled through the room.
“And what about you?” inquired Mr. Barnes.
“What about me what?” I asked. “My hormones are fine, so far as I know.”
“Thank you for sharing,” Mr. Barnes said over another round of laughter. “What I’m asking is: Do you believe in love at first sight?”
I opened my mouth to say of course I didn’t. To say that just because I could believe in Romeo and Juliet’s love at first sight didn’t mean I had to believe in my own.
That was the minute that Alex Crawford turned his head. Just as they’d done first thing that morning, his blu
e eyes met mine. Alex’s eyes were almost expressionless. There was no challenge in them. Instead they seemed incredibly patient, as if they were waiting for something. Looking into them I found I couldn’t do the thing my brain was urging. I simply could not bring myself to lie.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” I said.
Then, much to my relief, the bell rang before I could say any more.
Four
The rest of the day passed in a blur, with me trying to recover from what I had done. Instead of blending in as usual, I’d fallen in love. Not only that, I’d as good as admitted it in public.
The day had not gone as planned. At all. A thing which resulted in it being the case that, for the very first time in my entire life, I was actually happy when P.E. rolled around. Not only was it the last class of the day, it was the one place I could be absolutely certain Alex wouldn’t try to tag along. Not only that, the class was doing a unit on track and field events.
For reasons I assume I do not have to explain, running was sounding like a pretty good option.
The only potential drawback was that I shared the class with both Khandi Kayne and Elaine Golden. For obvious reasons, I decided to stick close to Elaine.
“For crying out loud,” she gasped now as she tumbled to the grass at the side of the track. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, you win. I give up.”
We’d been running for a solid forty-five minutes. Not all that long, of course, if you’re a marathoner. But I’d have to be the first to admit I’d set a pretty brutal pace. It had taken all of the time Elaine and I had been able to keep going for me to figure out that, no matter how fast I went, I wasn’t going to be able to outrun myself.
“I never asked you to pace me,” I said as I flopped down beside her, breathing hard.
Elaine sopped sweat from her face with the hem of her T-shirt, propped herself up on one elbow, and glared at me.
“I’m trying to be friendly here, New Girl, in case you hadn’t noticed. What is your problem?”
I’m not entirely certain what happened then. I think it was some variation of Nothing Left to Lose Syndrome. Absolutely nothing that day had gone the way I’d thought it would. How much worse could things get if I simply admitted the truth? Especially since it was incredibly obvious.
How Not to Spend Your Senior Year Page 2
