by Jonah Black
At the end of the session he started asking me about Posie, which was funny because I don’t even remember telling him about Posie.
“Who’s a better friend to you, Posie or Thorne?”
“I don’t know. They’re different. You relate differently to your guy friends and your girl friends.”
“A lot of boys your age don’t have girls for friends. Do you think you’re unusual having a close friend who’s a girl?”
“I don’t know if I’m unusual or not,” I said. I thought it was a pretty dumb question. I mean nobody walks around thinking about how unusual they are, do they?
“Well, I think you are unusual, Jonah,” Dr. LaRue said. “I talk to a lot of young people, every day. They come in here and they complain about their friends. You don’t do that, Jonah. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think it’s because you’re loyal. And you put other people’s needs before your own.”
“I guess,” I said. It sounded like he was just repeating stuff from last time.
“Do you think it’s silly, for a person to act that way?”
“What way?” I said.
“Putting other people’s needs ahead of their own.”
“Yeah. I guess. I mean, it’s a good thing to do,” I said, thinking about it. “But it can hurt you.”
“Is that what happened at Masthead? Did you get hurt because you were looking out for Sophie O’Brien instead of yourself?”
I thought about this a long time. I wasn’t sure how to explain what had happened. And I wasn’t sure I was ready.
“That might have been part of it,” I said. “That, and bad luck. I mean, what happened at Masthead was really an accident.”
“What part of it was an accident?”
I kind of smiled, even though I didn’t think it was all that funny. “Well, the part of it that was an actual accident was an accident.”
“What do you mean, an actual accident?”
“The part where I drove the car through the motel wall was an accident.”
I heard Dr. LaRue’s pencil scratching against his yellow pad. He was writing down a lot now. From next door I heard the whine of the dentist’s drill.
“What do you think . . .” Dr. LaRue said, and paused. He was trying to choose his words carefully. “What effect did this car accident have on you?”
I thought for a long time. I thought about getting thrown out of school, and leaving Dad’s house, and moving back in with Mom and Honey, and having to repeat eleventh grade.
“The most important effect it had on me?” I said.
“Yes.”
“I lost my driver’s license.”
Dr. LaRue sighed, like this was the wrong answer. I don’t know, maybe it was the wrong answer, but maybe it’s not. I think the fact that I can’t drive is a huge thing. It totally sucks. Even if I were a senior, I’d still be riding my bike around Pompano Beach like a little kid.
“All right,” Dr. LaRue said. It sounded like he’d given up. “I think that’s enough for today.”
Oct. 17
I’m sitting here at First Amendment Pizza, waiting for the pizza to cook so I can deliver it. Oh, the Swedes are all happy again, giving each other little kisses and smiling, like they just started going out or something. It’s strange how people can hate each other one week and then be kissing the back of each other’s necks the next.
I talked to Thorne today in the weight room. I’m doing this really hard-core workout these days, because our first meet is tomorrow. Anyway, I’d nearly finished my routine—bench press, bicep curls, tricep curls, lateral pulldowns, leg curls, leg extensions, and squats—when Thorne came over and sat down on the bench next to me.
We hadn’t talked since I saw him at Posie’s house, and I’m still kind of pissed at him. I think he knows this.
Anyway, he handed me a piece of paper.
“What’s this?” I said.
Then I looked down and saw the words—Sophie O’Brien. 17 Hemlock Point. Kennebunkport, ME 04906. (207) 555-8749.
“Jesus, Thorne. You found her.”
I couldn’t believe it. I stared at the printout. My forehead went cold.
“Yeah, and it wasn’t easy, either. I think her father is CIA or something, man. The address is totally unlisted. It was like trying to uncover a state secret. I mean, what’s the story with this chick, anyway? You ever going to tell me?”
I wasn’t even listening to him. I was thinking about how fall break was soon. Masthead would close for a week and everybody would go back to their parents’ houses. I imagined the phone ringing in her house. Sophie picks it up. Her father looks at her suspiciously.
“Hello? Sophie? I’m not sure you remember me? But my name is Jonah Black, and—”
“Hello?” Thorne said.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“Yeah, well, listen, Jonah, I’m getting kind of tired of this ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ thing. Are you and me friends or what?” he said.
I took a moment to think this over. I think Thorne giving me Sophie’s address was his way of making it up to me for being all cuddly with Posie when he knew I was the one who wanted to be with her. I didn’t completely forgive him. But no matter what kind of crap he pulls, I feel like I’m stuck with Thorne, the same way you’re stuck with your family.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re friends.”
“So you better tell me about this Sophie then, because it’s pissing me off,” Thorne said.
“It’s hard for me to talk about, all right?” I said, getting irritated. It was like someone getting in your face and saying, “Tell me right now how you feel about your dad dying. Come on, tell me!” or some such bullshit. It really wasn’t right.
“Okay,” Thorne said. “You don’t have to tell me right this second. But sometime soon, all right? I mean, you’re making me feel like an idiot.”
“Thorne?” I said.
“Yeah?”
“You are an idiot.”
Thorne laughed. He looked relieved, like he’d really been worried that I was mad at him.
I put the piece of paper in my pocket. I felt like I’d just put a check in there for a huge amount of money. I was already worried about losing it.
“I’ll tell you about it sometime. I promise,” I said.
Thorne slapped me on the shoulder. “Okay. And maybe I’ll tell you some of my secrets sometime.”
I don’t know what he meant by that, and guess what? I don’t want to know.
(Still Oct. 17, 9:15 P.M.)
I’m back in my room with a pile of homework that is not worth doing anymore. I think I can probably coast through this whole year now and get Bs without trying too hard. I’m not feeling especially motivated. It’s just too depressing.
When I got back home, Mom was sitting at the kitchen table looking like she’d just swallowed the canary. She’s going on a six-week national tour, she said, to plug Pillow Talk as well as Hello Penis! Hello Vagina! While she’s away Honey and I are going to be on our own, and she wanted to know if we can accept the responsibility. In particular she wants to know if I’ll look out for Honey.
“Honey doesn’t need looking out for,” I said. “She looks out for herself.”
“Well, you’ve seen her, locked in that room of hers,” Mom said, filing her nails with an emery board. “She studies too much. She needs to get out and have a little fun.”
She wasn’t even kidding. What about Honey roaring off in her Jeep at all hours of the night to visit the football team, or Smacky Platte? I guess Mom really and truly believes that Honey is helping them study. She probably thinks Honey studies all the time. I guess it would be hard to understand your daughter, who skips grades without even trying, if you had a son who was repeating grades and failing them.
“You’re right, Mom,” was all I said.
She kept filing her nails until her cell phone rang.
“Hello?” she
said. She pulled her Palm Pilot out of her purse. “Well, I’m sure we can get together while I’m on tour. Haven’t you been talking about going to New York?” she said, her voice all girly. She covered the receiver with her hand, “I have to take this,” she told me. And then she got up and walked into her bedroom.
(Still Oct. 17, midnight.)
I was just wondering if I should burn this journal like I burned the others. I mean what am I writing this all down for anyway? I’m certainly not going to want to look back on all these days in my life. They’re too pathetic.
I spent a lot of the night just sitting on my bed looking at Sophie’s address and phone number. I picked up the phone once, listened to the dial tone, and dialed all except for the last number. I just looked at my finger, knowing I could push that button, and talk to her. But I couldn’t do it.
So I went over to see Posie instead. I had to talk to someone. So I climbed on my bike and headed over there.
But then, parked in front of Posie’s house, there was Thorne’s VW Beetle. I decided not to go inside.
So now I’m back in my room, trying to get a grip. I just got off the Internet. I was trying to IM Northgirl. But now AOL says Northgirl999 is not a valid username. I don’t get it.
Maybe I should read Hello Penis! Hello Vagina! Maybe it really does have all the answers. Or maybe I should just tie it to my leg and jump in the pool and let myself sink.
Oct.18
Today was the first preseason swim meet of the year. Don Shula’s team kind of stinks, and Wailer and Martino and I were the only divers. But we gave it our best shot. We were competing against Fran Tarkington High School in Ft. Lauderdale, and those guys really have a squad, like six guys doing diving alone.
It was the first time I’d seen Wailer since the blowup with Posie. I tried to talk to him about it before the meet, but he just waved me off and said something about needing to focus. I let it go. And actually, he was right. Coach Davis would be furious if he knew I was trying to have it out with Wailer right before the meet. Besides, what was there to say?
We got into the pool and did our warm-ups and then we got out and waited around for the meet to start. While I was waiting I looked up at the crowd in the stands. For a preseason meet the place was pretty packed. Some of my teachers were there, like Miss von Esse, and Mrs. Perella, and Miss Tenuda, and Mr. Bond. A man in a wheelchair with an oxygen mask strapped over his face was sitting next to Miss Tenuda, and I wondered if maybe he was our principal, Dr. Chamberlin. Maybe he was very sick and that’s why we never saw him.
Thorne was sitting with his arm around Posie. She looked so beautiful and I could almost smell her hair just by looking at it. We made eye contact and she smiled at me and waved. I held up my hand to wave, and Mr. Davis looked up at her and then at me and I knew he was worrying whether or not some girl was going to make me lose my concentration.
In the row in front of Thorne and Posie were all these girls I knew. Cecily LaChoy and Shanique O’Reilly. Cheese Girl, sitting by herself. Rosa was sitting with this huge guy who goes to Ely High School. Luna Hayes. Dell Merriwether. Even Posie’s little sister, Caitlin, was there.
An old man was sitting all alone in the top row. It was Pops Berman, wearing a black windbreaker and his Red Sox hat. I had almost forgotten about him.
Honey was sitting off in a corner near the back, surrounded by the guys from the football team.
The only people missing who I would’ve wanted there were Mom and Sophie. And Watches Boys Dive. I looked all around for her, but she wasn’t there. I missed her. It made me nervous, her disappearing like that.
Mom wasn’t there because she was in Pittsburgh, doing a morning talk show and signing books at a Waldenbooks in some mall. Hello Penis! is on the “Top Bestsellers of the Year” list of the South Florida Sun-Sentinel. Unbelievable.
And Sophie wasn’t there because she had no reason to be there. She was probably just arriving back at her family’s house in Kennebunkport, Maine, for fall break. I already had her phone number memorized, and I was trying to decide whether or not to call her. It was something I wanted to figure out before I did my dive.
The officials called me to the board. I had signed up to do a pretty straightforward dive, a double somersault. But all of a sudden I didn’t want to do that dive anymore, I wanted to do something impressive.
So I’d decided to try the back two-and-a-half somersault with a one-and-a-half twist. The one Mr. Davis said not to do unless I was physically and mentally ready.
I felt ready.
The whole pool and the bleachers got really quiet as I walked out to the end of the board. Then Pops Berman growled out, “Go get ‘em, Chipper!”
I wanted to look up at Pops but instead I just shut out the world. I stood at the edge of the board on my toes with my heels sticking out into empty space. It was so quiet, that same quiet of an orchestra just before the conductor raises his hand. All of a sudden I realized I was putting myself in real danger for no good reason. If I did the dive wrong my head could hit the board. I could even die. It wasn’t a good thing to think at the time.
But I shut out the world and the only thing I could hear was my own heart. I pressed down on the board with the weight of my whole body, then I raised my arms up over my head and pushed off. In a moment I had left everything behind and was flying through the air. I did the somersaults, one, two, two and a half, and right at the apex of my dive I saw Sophie again.
We’re riding horses on the beach near her family’s place in Kennebunkport. The wind blows her long blond hair in her eyes and she pulls back Angel’s reins and we stop. The horses’ legs are ankle-deep in water. We jump off and leave the horses standing there, and just leap into the surf. She’s wearing her red bikini, but I’ve got all my clothes on. I can hear the thunder of the waves and feel the spray on my cheeks and Posie’s eyes glow with the warm pink light of sunset.
“Come on, Jonah, let’s go surfing,” she says.
And I say, “I don’t know how.”
“I’ll teach you,” Posie says. “Don’t worry, it’s fun.”
And I say, “I’m scared.”
So she takes me by the hand and this big wave surges up and we dive beneath it. Now Posie and I are underwater and we are swimming like fish and diving deeper and deeper below the surface and there on the ocean floor below us is an amazing place—flickering sunlight and coral and schools of glowing fish and seaweed swaying in the current. The school of phosphorescent jellyfish is above us, glowing green and orange, and I can’t believe we are finally here together in this beautiful place. And Posie says, without speaking, “It was down here all along.”
And then I thought, Posie? What’s she doing here?
Then I realized I have a choice to make. There’s Posie, my friend, who has always been there, who I love. And then there’s Sophie, the girl I gave up everything for, my dream girl, who I also love in a different way. She’s standing outside the train station on the day that I left Masthead wearing her yellow dress and red fishing hat and she’s watching my train pull away. She raises one hand as if to stop the train, but it starts to move down the tracks. The wind knocks her hat off and she stands there with her blond hair blowing around in the sunshine.
How can I leave her behind?
I heard Coach Davis swear because at that exact second I lost my center of balance. If I didn’t do the two-and-a-half twist exactly right while correcting for my mistake I was going to hit the board and break my neck.
I was operating in slow motion. I knew I was in trouble, but it was still possible that I could pull it off. A person is capable of all sorts of miracles. I think maybe believing in them is what makes these miracles possible.
I heard the crowd gasp as everyone realized something had gone wrong. All the while I was spinning and floating through space.
And suddenly I knew exactly what to do.
Above the crowd I thought I heard a girl’s voice.
“Jonah!”
&n
bsp; I closed my eyes. Something hurt, a lot, like I’d been struck in the neck with a harpoon. I was falling.
Then I was underwater, surrounded by mermaids and jellyfish and coral and light. The world seemed very far away.
I felt the sea floor beneath me, and I lay on my back on the bottom of the ocean like I was sleeping in my own bed. It was peaceful down there. I looked up at the distant light coming from the other world and wondered if I’d ever float back to the surface.
WILL JONAH CALL SOPHIE?
WHO IS NORTHGIRL999?
WILL JONAH EVER KISS POSIE?
AND WHY WAS JONAH EXPELLED
FROM BOARDING SCHOOL?
FIND OUT IN THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF
JONAH BLACK’S JOURNAL . . .
The Black Book
[DIARY OF A TEENAGE STUD]
VOL. II: STOP, DON’T STOP
Oct. 2
Thorne caught up with me after my workout today. I was headed out to my bicycle when he whistled, and there he was, leaning against the hood of his Beetle.
“Your friend, Sophie,” he said. “Turns out she’s harder to find than I thought.”
“Yeah?” I said, pretending I’d forgotten all about him finding her number. Which I definitely haven’t.
“No known listing for the parents in any city in Maine. No e-mail addresses. No phones. Even your fancy prep school doesn’t have a home address for her.”
“You contacted Masthead?” I said, getting panicky.
“Don’t worry, they don’t suspect anything. I was very professional. I just want you to know I’m working on it. It’s a bitch, though. It’s like this chick doesn’t even exist,” he said.
I didn’t say anything, but I felt my ears getting hot. It pissed me off that he’d say that.
“Blackman, tell me the truth. This chick does exist, right? I mean, you’re not trying to get me to find the address of some imaginary friend of yours or something, are you?” he said, laughing.
