Stop, Don't Stop

by Jonah Black

  “Well, I want it to be fun,” I said. I appreciated the fact that she was being honest, but I was also embarrassed.

  “I know you’re up to something,” she said. “I just don’t know what exactly.”

  “Up to something?” I said. “What am I up to?”

  “You’re trying to stop him,” she said, very quietly.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn’t know what to tell her. So finally I just said, “You think I can?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I wish you would. Everyone wishes you would. At least those of us in the first half of the alphabet.”

  I thought about this, and then I got this kind of sick feeling.

  “You mean he . . .” I started to say, staring at Betsy.

  She kind of pulled into herself, like a turtle. “I just wish you’d stop him. He’s a creep. Sophie doesn’t deserve to have it be like that.”

  “Listen, can I ask you something? Why doesn’t she just say no to him? Why doesn’t everyone just say no?” I said.

  She shrugged. “He’s very persuasive,” she said. “He knows stuff about you. He finds things out. It’s really psycho, the way he works. It’s horrible.”

  “Then why doesn’t someone tell Mr. Plank?” I said. Mr. Plank was our headmaster.

  “You think people haven’t?” she said.

  We were getting near the Great Hall now.

  “Listen,” Betsy said. “You do what you have to do. I just wanted to say I’m glad you asked me to the dance. It’s nice to go with you, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said.

  So we walked into the dance and we danced and stood around and drank fruit punch and then we danced some more. The band was this group of really old guys called The Secret Life. It was like dancing to a band with your grandparents playing in it.

  While I was dancing, I wished that I liked Betsy more than I did, because she was really a cool girl.

  Sullivan the Giant and Sophie were dancing, and if a song was at all slow, he’d hold her close to him and grope her. It looked like he was eating her or something, it was horrible. Everyone was looking at them, and a lot of the girls were looking at Sophie with this expression of total pity, especially the ones whose last names were in the first half of the alphabet. The guys, meanwhile, were all just looking at Sullivan like he was the greatest lover in the universe and they wished they knew his secret. It made me sick to my stomach.

  At one point, while the band was taking a break, Betsy came up to me and said urgently, “Listen. Mr. Stubbs took his coat off.”

  I stared at her, and for a second it seemed like her freckles were blinking on and off, like Christmas lights.

  “Yeah?” I said. I wasn’t sure why I should care about Mr. Stubbs’ coat.

  “You know how he has that Peugeot?” Betsy said.

  “Yeah.” Actually, everyone knew about Mr. Stubbs’ Peugeot. It sat in front of Zlatin Hall all day like a tourist attraction. It was this sleek, new silver car. Mr. Stubbs polished it every single weekend. It would be hard for anybody not to know about it.

  Betsy hugged me suddenly, and it felt good to feel her arms around me. Then she pressed something into my hand, and I looked down and there was this car key and an emblem on the ring that said: PEUGOT.

  The band started playing again, and I put the key in my pocket, and we started dancing again. A plan started taking shape in my head. I knew Sullivan would be taking Sophie to the Beeswax Inn, which sits on a bluff overlooking the Schuylkill River. It was just a matter of time.

  I saw Sophie and Sullivan leaving the dance. Betsy gave me another hug. “Good luck, Jonah,” she said.

  I followed them out of the Great Hall. When I got outside, Sophie was leaning against a wall, waiting for Sullivan to come and get her. She was wearing a navy-blue dress and lipstick so dark red it was almost black. I wanted to say, “Don’t do it, Sophie,” and grab her hand and run away with her to safety. But then Sullivan pulled up in his Saab, and opened the door. Sophie hesitated for just a second, and then she stepped into Sullivan’s car and they drove away.

  Mr. Stubbs’ Peugeot was down a little hill in the parking lot between the gym and Zlatin Hall. I ran over to it, and the next thing I knew I was on my way to the Beeswax Inn.

  I’m not sure I knew exactly what I was going to do once I got there. I think I had some idea of bursting into the Beehive Suite and yelling at Sullivan and picking Sophie up in my arms and carrying her to safety. But since I hadn’t even had the courage to talk to Sophie before this, I’m not sure that I could have done that. Maybe I could have gone up to the front desk and told them something was wrong in the Beehive Suite, and had them send in the cops or something. Maybe I would have gotten there and just sat in the parking lot, unable to do anything but sit there like a loser.

  In fact, if I hadn’t had the accident, that’s probably exactly what would have happened.

  Except that I did have the accident. It’s not that hard to explain it, actually. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw two shadows against the curtains in the Beehive Suite and instead of hitting the brake I must have stepped on the gas. I plowed Mr. Stubbs’ Peugot straight through the bay window and the next thing I knew glass was breaking and the air bag in the car was inflating and people were screaming and the horn of the Peugot went off and wouldn’t stop.

  There was a brief period of time between when I drove the car through the window and when the cops showed up. For some reason, I didn’t have a scratch on me, unlike the Peugot, which was totaled, so I got out of the car and walked through the hole in the wall, into the Beehive Suite. The door to the room was standing open, and on the bed was Sophie’s purse, and a bra.

  I could hear people yelling and I knew there was about thirty seconds left before people started pouring into the room. If they found Sophie’s purse they’d realize she’d been there, and Sophie would get connected to this whole disaster which was now, somehow, my fault.

  So I grabbed her purse and I stuffed the bra into my pocket and then I ran outside and threw the purse into the Schuylkill River. I heard the splash.

  Then a cop car drove up and two cops got out. They surveyed the situation and shone a flashlight in my face and said, “Is this your car, son?”

  As I heard myself saying, “No,” I realized for the first time exactly how much trouble I was in.

  Mr. Stubbs was a real sport about the whole thing. He didn’t press charges for auto theft, although Dad did have to pay a huge insurance bill. Also Mr. Stubbs made sure I was expelled from Masthead, and I was forbidden to ever set foot on the property again. Plus, I had my license revoked by the police. Oh, and Dad also had to pay the Beeswax Inn for repairs, not to mention the $59.99 it turned out I owed them for the room because Sullivan, on top of everything else, had rented out the room in my name. I guess he thought it would be funny.

  Speaking of funny, they also found the bra in my pocket, which is why my mother was convinced that I had some sort of issue with girls’ underwear. That’s partly why she insisted I go see Dr. LaRue after I got back to Pompano.

  None of these disasters especially mattered to me, though, because the last thing I saw before I got hauled off in the cop car that night, was Sophie O’Brien running down the street, still wearing her navy-blue dress, while Sullivan stood on the corner yelling at her to get back in his car. She’d escaped! As the cops drove me past I looked at Sophie and she looked back at me and for just that instant she seemed to be thinking, Hey, I know you.

  All right, so this is what I told Thorne, more or less. We sat by Federal Highway for a long time. Thorne didn’t finish his hot dogs. Finally he said to me, “And she doesn’t know what you did for her?”

  “I don’t know what she knows,” I said. “I got thrown out of there that night. I haven’t been back.”

  “Why don’t you call her then, and tell her what you did? You’re like, her hero, man,” he said.

  “She doesn’t even know who I am,” I sai
d.

  “You think?”

  “Anyway, if I was too chicken to talk to her before the night of the dance, you think there’s any way I’m going to be able to talk to her now?”

  Thorne suddenly got this weird look on his face. “You know what, Jonah? Your worries are over.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “You leave it to me. I got an idea,” Thorne said.

  “I don’t want to leave it to you. I don’t want you to have an idea,” I pleaded, beginning to panic. I could tell Thorne was cooking up one of his schemes.

  “C’mon. I owe ya,” Thorne said, and he stood up. “You just have to trust me.”

  I looked at Thorne, and knowing what I know about him, those were some of the funniest words I’d ever heard him say. But me and Thorne have been friends forever and ever, and after today I felt like maybe we’d risen to a new level of friendship or something. Anyway, at that second, I did trust him.

  “Okay,” I said.

  Nov. 18, 6 P.M.

  Posie was competing in the Pompano Triple-A Meet, and there was a big crowd of people out on the dune, watching. I felt so proud, standing on the beach, watching her surf. Every time I see her, I can’t believe she’s actually that perfect. Posie gives the whole universe a sense of balance when she surfs.

  I climbed up on the lifeguard tower to watch her, and I got a little sad. I was thinking about how Posie’s going to graduate pretty soon, and then she’ll probably be leaving, either to go to college or maybe to surf the pro circuit. Either way, I’ll get left behind. Stuck in Mr. Bond’s homeroom at Don Shula. That is, assuming I ever become a senior.

  While I was up there, Pops Berman climbed up the tower and sat down next to me. It’s amazing how Pops always magically appears when I’m there. It’s like he’s enchanted or something.

  Pops hacked into his fist and pounded on his chest.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him.

  “I got a chest full a mucus,” he said, and spat. “I’m fine.” He looked over at me. “How you doin’, Chipper?”

  “I’m good.”

  “You get over that dream girl now that you got a real one?” Pops said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess.”

  Pops looked down at his feet and sighed loudly. Actually it was more like a growl. “Oh, no,” he said. “No, you don’t.”

  “What?” I said.

  “You’re not over her. I can’t believe it. And here I was so sure you’d stopped being a lunkhead,” he gasped, wheezing.

  “I’m over her. All right? I’m over her,” I said, trying to sound more sure of myself this time.

  “You’re not. Something’s happened. Come on, Chipper, let’s hear it. What’s the story?”

  “There’s no story. I’ve just been thinking about her recently. Yesterday I told my friend Thorne about what happened with Sophie at boarding school, and it’s the first time I’ve ever really told someone the whole truth. I guess it just stirred some things up, that’s all,” I told him.

  “You see that girl?” Pops said, pointing at Posie with his cane. She was walking through the surf carrying her board under one arm. She looked like some kind of sea goddess.

  “Yeah.”

  “Now you treat that girl nice, you love her like there’s no tomorrow, and you concentrate on the job at hand, Chipper. You don’t have any reason to stir anything up. You treat that girl like she’s an angel. Or so help me God I’m going to whack you on the head,” he said, gasping for breath.

  He coughed into his fist and then he started climbing down the tower.

  “Pops, where you going?” I said.

  “I’m going home. I’m too angry,” he snarled.

  “Pops—”

  “Shut up, Chipper,” he said, storming off. “You’ve got me all pissed off now.”

  Sophie comes riding out of the ocean and up to the tower on her horse. She slides off the horse and climbs up the ladder and I think, Oh, yeah, that’s what she looks like. Her face is clearer than ever. I can see the sun reflecting off the ocean spray in her hair and she sits down next to me and kisses me softly, her emerald-green eyes shining. She looks out at Posie, who is riding a big wave, and says, “Hey, Jonah, who’s that?” but at that exact second I can’t remember Posie’s name.

  Nov. 19, 4:30 P.M.

  When I got home from school today, I saw the weirdest thing. Thorne’s car was pulling out of the driveway.

  I thought maybe this was part of Thorne’s Big Plan, whatever that was. But all I could imagine was that Thorne was trying to sleep with my sister. Or my mother. I don’t know which one would be more disgusting.

  When I got inside, I said, “Mom, what was Thorne doing here?” and she looked at me like I was crazy. “Thorne? Your friend Thorne Wood? Thorne wasn’t here, sweetie.”

  “Okay, fine, whatever,” I said.

  But then Mom said, “Jonah, would you sit down? We need to talk.”

  Oh, no, I thought.

  “Sure, Mom,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I wanted to ask you something,” she said.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “Well, what I want to know is, do you believe in love, Jonah?” She cocked her head to one side like a basset hound.

  “Love?” I said. I felt like this must be a trick question, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Yes,” Mom said.

  “Do I believe in love?” I repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, I do, Mom,” I said. “Sure I do.”

  “I’m so glad! I’ve often worried that you’d find it hard to believe in love, after your father and I separated,” she said.

  “No. I still believe in it,” I assured her.

  “Well, good,” she said. Then she got up. She put some water in a teapot and got out a bag of chamomile tea.

  “Was that everything you wanted to ask me?” I said.

  “Yes, Jonah,” she said. “That’s all.”

  I left the kitchen and went back to my room. I didn’t feel very good about our conversation. It seemed like my mother and I had reached some sort of agreement, but I wasn’t sure what we’d agreed on.

  My door swung open and Honey was standing there. “I vant to suck your blood,” she said.

  “Hi, Honey,” I said.

  She sat down on my desk. “Guess you and Ma had a little talk, huh?” she said.

  “Yeah, what is this all about anyway? Has she been talking to Mrs. Hoff?” I said.

  “What? You think this is about you?” my sister said.

  “It’s not about me?” I said, surprised.

  “Since when has Mom ever thought about either of us?” Honey said.

  “That’s not fair. She thinks about us,” I said.

  “Clamface, Ma’s in love. Can’t you tell? She’s trying to break us in. She’s bringing somebody to Thanksgiving dinner,” Honey said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Ma? In love?”

  Honey nodded. “That’s my theory.”

  “Jesus,” I said. Honey’s theories were usually pretty accurate.

  “So what do you think? Are you all right with it?” she asked me.

  “With Mom being in love? I guess. Depends on with who,” I said.

  “Well, aren’t you open-minded. You want to know my opinion? Screw him. Whoever it is. Tell him to take a hike. I’m not cooperating,” she said.

  “Well, it looks like you’ve got it all figured out,” I said.

  “Exactly.” She lifted her legs out in front of her and looked at them. They were still pretty pale. “Listen, Frankenstein. I was thinking maybe you’re right about Smacky,” she said. “Him being a potential prison convict and everything. Maybe I should set my sights a little higher.”

  “Honey, please tell me you’re not going out with Thorne. Just tell me that,” I said.

  Honey looked like she was about to gag. “Thorne? You mean your sleazeball friend? Puh-lease, Jonah. I mean really.”


  Now I was convinced I was insane. Maybe the car I’d seen wasn’t Thorne’s. Maybe it was just someone who’d been idling in front of the house, checking a map or something.

  “Anyway, I just wanted you to know,” Honey said. “In case you see Smacky around. He’s taking it pretty rough. My breaking up with him, I mean.”

  “He is? How do you mean?” I said.

  “He’s going to join the Air Force,” Honey said.

  I laughed. “Wow. You know what, Honey? You’re all right,” I said. “Sometimes I can actually stand you.”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” she said. And then she left.

  AMERICA ONLINE INSTANT MESSAGE

  FROM NORTHGIRL999, 11-19, 7:04 P.M.

  NORTHGIRL999: Hello Jonah!

  JBLACK94710: You know what? I think I know who you are!

  NORTHGIRL999: You’ll never guess.

  JBLACK94710: You’re Watches Boys Dive, aren’t you?

  NORTHGIRL999: ???????

  JBLACK94710: You’re the girl with the long black hair that comes to all the diving meets and watches me dive. I call you Watches Boys Dive because you look Indian.

  NORTHGIRL999: You mean the chick with the waist-length black hair?

  JBLACK94710: YES!!!

  NORTHGIRL999: Who goes to St. Winnifreds?

  JBLACK94710: I don’t know where she goes to school.

  NORTHGIRL999: Wears lots of turquoise jewelry?

  JBLACK94710: YES! YES!

  NORTHGIRL999: Sorry Jonah. I ain’t her either.

  JBLACK94710: Then how do you know so much about her?

  NORTHGIRL999: Oh Jonah, everyone’s seen her. She’s another one of your adoring fans.

  JBLACK94710: You’ve seen her?

  NORTHGIRL999: Of course. If you go to any of the diving team practices, you always see her.

  JBLACK94710: Wait. You’ve come to watch me practice? You’ve sat right there in the stands?

  NORTHGIRL999: Of course.

  JBLACK94710: Um. I guess it’s a little embarrassing that I still don’t know who you are.

  NORTHGIRL999: It’s more than embarrassing. It proves my point exactly. You don’t SEE people Jonah. You look right through them. All you see is like your own little fantasy world.