I'm Not Her

by Janet Gurtler

  “Of course.”

  “Tell Devon first. Before anyone else. I want him to hear it from you. First.”

  She blinks fast. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. “I feel kind of bad about, you know…I kind of used him.”

  “I think he’ll survive. He got to have sex with you, right?” I keep my voice light.

  Kristina turns her head and stares out the window. “Do you think he brought me a rose because he thinks I’m going to die?”

  “Jeremy? No. God, no,” I say. “He bought you a rose because he has the hots for you.”

  Kristina spits out a weak giggle and then reaches up and strokes her hair. “He doesn’t have the hots for me. He knows I have cancer.”

  “So? That means he can’t have the hots for you?”

  “Pretty much,” she says.

  “Sorry. He wants you bad. Cancer or not. I can see it in his eyes—Kristina trance.”

  Her hand smoothes over her face and then her fingers linger for a moment on her lips. “Do you like being smart?” she asks.

  I nod slowly.

  “I liked being pretty. You know? That’s so vain, right?” She closes her eyes again. “I’m really tired,” she mumbles and almost instantly her breathing slows down and she slips away into sleep. I lean closer to make sure her chest is still moving and watch as she breathes.

  A few minutes later Mom and Dad walk into the room, clinging to Styrofoam cups of coffee like life preservers, their faces betraying their guilt. Mom walks over and stands beside my chair, staring down at Kristina.

  “Did you get a chance to talk to her?”

  I nod.

  “She took it okay?” Mom asks.

  I want to be mad at them for leaving things to me, but I just nod, not missing the irony that I’m the one sitting in the middle.

  chapter nine

  In the morning I open my eyes, and for one wonderful moment my mind clings to a dream I had about Nick. With kissing. I sigh, but my brain refuses to go back to the dream, the only place I’ll ever get any action. Gah! I sit up and peer at the clock. I’m later than usual. I’ll have to skip the shower and dress quickly to make it to school on time.

  I slide my feet to the floor and head to my dresser to pull out clean underwear. Yanking off my pajamas, I toss them in a heap by my bed. My parents’ voices buzz in the kitchen. I can’t make out what they’re saying but it’s obvious they’re arguing. My warm and fuzzy feelings from the dream completely disappear. All too clearly, I remember the days when Kristina would be downstairs already, fully dressed and made-up. Mom would be too busy asking Kristina questions and living vicariously through her to argue with Dad.

  “Tess has her own life to live too!” My dad’s voice travels up. “She has goals. She wants to make the Honor Society and that means volunteering and getting involved with school functions and learning to show leadership qualities. It’s about more than marks.”

  Hmm. Thanks for noticing, I feel like calling down, but my mom says something nasty about both of our snobby intellectual sides. His reply is lost in the walls.

  I hear the door slam as I pull on comfy jeans and an old T-shirt. I grab a pair of striped toe socks from my drawer. The big toe has a hole but they’re wearable, so I pull them on.

  When I go downstairs, Mom is sitting at the kitchen table, cradling her coffee mug and staring into space.

  “Hey,” I say, when she doesn’t seem to hear me entering the kitchen. “It’s me. The smart one.”

  She looks at me and her eyebrows press together. “You’re wearing that to school?” she asks, ignoring my dig.

  I shrug. “Apparently.”

  Her face contorts, but she doesn’t seem to have the energy to fight me. “Did you at least brush your teeth and hair?”

  I nod as I head for the pantry. I may be a bit of a slob but I’m not gross. When I reach up to the cereal shelf, my hand stops midair. Instead of Bran Flakes or Raisin Bran, there’s an unopened box of Cap’n Crunch. My all-time favorite, banned from our house years ago. I wonder how on earth it got there, but decide to go with my good fortune and reach to pull it out.

  I pour a heaping serving in the bowl, glancing sideways and waiting for Mom to have an emotional breakdown at my breakfast choice. Nothing. I grab milk and a spoon and then dig in. Nothing.

  “Dad bought it for you,” she says as I crunch the cereal, not enjoying it as much as I usually would. “It’s a treat, so don’t get used to it.”

  Then she drops her cup on the floor and swears as it shatters. I jump and knock the bowl of cereal in my lap. Milk covers my jeans and shirt.

  “Great,” I say.

  Mom stands and goes to the pantry to grab a broom. “Sorry. Listen, I’ll drive you to school today.”

  I don’t answer as I go back upstairs. The only clean things are the jeans Mom bought. I still haven’t taken them out of the bag. I hesitate and then pull them on, embarrassed to be wearing such a trendy pair of pants. I pull on the shirt she bought for me too. When I go back downstairs, Mom has a fresh cup of coffee. She looks up and smiles but is wise enough not to say a word about my outfit.

  “Do you have a busy day at school today?” she asks.

  “I have a couple of tests. One this morning, one this afternoon,” I say as I pour myself a new bowl of cereal. “I stayed up past midnight studying.”

  “Can you miss your afternoon test?” she asks.

  My spoon stops in the air. It’s completely obvious I am eating a bribe. She’s allowing me sugary cereal so she can make me do what she wants.

  “Uh, it’s a test, Mom. In science. My mark goes toward my GPA. It’s kind of important.”

  “I’ll call the school and explain it’s an emergency. You can do a rewrite another day and your mark will still count.”

  “Uh…” I stick another mouthful of crunchy cereal in my mouth, buying time. I want to tell her no. I want to go to school. I don’t want to miss the test. I studied hard for it.

  “I’d really like you to come with me to the hospital this afternoon to bring Kristina home.”

  I want to take the test. I want to ace it. I want to lose myself in the adrenaline-rushing place I disappear to when I take exams.

  “Please, Tess. Your sister does so much better when you’re around, and she’s coming home today. I could use your help. It might be a tough day for her. I’d like you to be there.”

  “Um…” I chew another big mouthful of cereal. Methinks Mom doesn’t want to deal with it alone. Doesn’t want to be in the house alone. The rest is just an excuse. But how do I say no to that?

  “Thanks,” Mom says as I think. As if my silence is a big resounding yes. She stands up and goes to the sink, pouring the last of her coffee down the drain.

  I clear my throat. “I’d really like to take my test today. I studied all night and I’ll lose some of that momentum if I do it later. I need this mark for the Honor Society. I’m not a sure thing.” Especially with my attendance lately and my other grades not being as good as they should be. I need to hold onto it. Some normalcy of my own.

  “Oh, come on. You? You’ll be fine. I’ll call your school and arrange it. Since you’re going to let people know today, I can tell them you’re needed at the hospital. I’ll talk to your principal. They’ll be fine with it. I’ll drop you off and then pick you up at noon.”

  She opens the dishwasher and places Dad’s coffee cup neatly on the top row. She likes her dishes stacked just so. I rarely bother putting dishes away since she restacks them anyway.

  “Finish your breakfast and brush your hair and teeth properly and I’ll drive you.”

  I fume silently as she goes to the phone and dials the school number from memory. I sigh and stare at my cereal, which is getting soggy and is no longer appetizing. I push it away, leaving it on the table for her to clean up.

  Instead of going to my room, I walk into the living room and log on to the laptop, blatantly disobeying her rules. I log on and click onto the Internet.

 
I type Nick Evonic’s name into Google search and find his Facebook page. I can’t see his profile without a Facebook page of my own. Without thinking about what I’m doing, I start typing. I put in my personal information and open up my own account. I stare at the screen. I’m officially on Facebook.

  Quickly, I read through Nick’s profile and then send him a friend request. I scour his wall posts and begin to officially cyberstalk him.

  When Mom calls for me, I log off the computer. On the short car ride to school, I don’t speak to her. When she pulls up to the front of the school, I grab my backpack from the floor by my feet and yank off my seat belt.

  “You’re going to talk to Kristina’s friends today?”

  I nod and my stomach flutters. I have to find Devon. And then Gee. Once I tell Gee, the entire school will know and my work will be done.

  “Thanks.” Mom smiles. “I appreciate you, you know.”

  “I know.” I open the door, climb out, slam the door behind me, and start walking down the sidewalk toward the school entrance. “You appreciate that I have a purpose now. Dealing with the stuff you don’t want to,” I mutter under my breath. Mom sits idling in the car and I feel her eyes on me even though she’s oblivious to my words.

  “Dude. You realize you’re talking to yourself.”

  My cheeks heat to butter-melting degrees. No wonder Mom hasn’t moved. She’s amazed that a boy has approached and is talking to me.

  Nick.

  He’s staring at me with an amused look on his face. I grin like an idiot, trying to convince both of us that I am, in fact, sane. I don’t need him to spread the word I’m having one-sided conversations. Last thing I need is for the entire student body to know I’ve been caught talking to myself. Like I need help committing social suicide. I turn around to see if anyone saw me and then turn back to Nick.

  “Hey.” He stops and whistles softly through his teeth. “I like those jeans.” His eyes are on my butt. My entire body feels infused with pleasure and horror.

  “My sister has osteosarcoma,” I blurt out. “Bone cancer.”

  The smile disappears from his face like an Etch a Sketch shaken clear. “Are you serious?”

  Great. Both a diplomatic and caring way to deliver the news. I want to go back to elementary school and stick my head in the sandbox. I start walking quickly and he catches up to me.

  Mom toots the horn as she drives off, no doubt thrilled to see me talking to a real live boy. I don’t wave or turn around to acknowledge her. Instead, I try to convince myself it’s okay I told Nick first, instead of Devon. It’s like pulling off a Band-Aid this way, fast and painful and done. Kristina will never know the order. “Um, would you mind telling Devon first?” I ask Nick. “And Gee? Kristina wanted to keep it quiet, but…well…I’m supposed to tell people now. But I hate talking to seniors.”

  “I’m a senior,” he reminds me, but his voice is softer than usual. “And the Honor Society you so worship is full of seniors too.”

  “That’s different. This is different.” The air between us is heavy with the information I’ve given him. He runs a hand through his hair.

  “She seriously has cancer?” he asks.

  I lift my shoulder. “It’s not exactly something I’d make up, right?”

  He whistles softly under his breath. We walk up the front stairs of the school and he surprises me by stepping forward to hold the door.

  “How’s she doing?” he asks as I slip past, getting a whiff of his boy smell. He’s wearing cologne, but not too much that it’s gross. He smells older than me. Kind of yummy. My cheeks warm.

  I look around to see if anyone is within earshot, but we’re far enough away from clumps of kids that no one can hear me. “Terrible,” I tell him. I bite down on my lip. “She’s finishing her first round of chemo. She’s sick and…well…kind of depressed. She doesn’t want to see or talk to anyone.” I glance around guiltily. “Don’t tell anyone that part, okay?” I quickly add. “That she’s not doing so great. She’d hate that.”

  He shakes his head. “I won’t.”

  The way he says it, I believe him.

  I sigh heavily again.

  “Holy shit,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “Holy shit.”

  We walk together and, as we pass a group of junior boys hanging out in front of a row of lockers, I’m sure I hear my name. This, I think, is a good example of why I prefer staying under the radar. This is one of the reasons popularity scares me. When people know who you are, they talk about you and make up stories. And it doesn’t always matter whether they’re true.

  I spot Clark Trent with the group and he catches my eyes, shifts his body awkwardly, and then looks away, as if he’s embarrassed. I imagine throwing kryptonite into the circle to see if he weakens, and a giggle escapes me.

  Nick stares at me and frowns. His expression brings me back to the moment and away from the boys and what they might or might not be saying about me. A senior girl I’ve seen around walks by us, batting her eyes at Nick. He completely ignores her or doesn’t even see her. To me, her expression says jealous. I remember his reputation.

  “So, Kristina doesn’t know? That you’re telling people?” he asks, and my attention goes back to him.

  “No, she knows. She just doesn’t want the details.”

  I halt. I have to turn left, go down the hallway to my locker. I know he doesn’t go in that direction. He stops beside me.

  “At first, she didn’t want people to know and my parents went along with it. They don’t seem capable of rational thought these days.”

  “Kind of understandable, I guess,” he says, his voice concerned.

  I shake my head and start walking and he stays beside me, heading toward the freshman lockers. I’m both thrilled and horrified that he’s being seen with me. In public.

  “Kristina wants to tell Devon first?” he asks.

  I wonder if he’s jealous and then tell myself to quit being stupid and it doesn’t matter even if he does.

  “They have kind of a thing,” I say.

  “Had. They broke up right after school started.”

  I give him a sideways look and stop at my locker. I note the freshmen kids taking in the senior standing with me. I wonder what Melissa will say. I twirl my lock and try to keep my cool. “Um, I think they might have gotten back together.” I swallow. Actually I have no idea what Devon and Kristina are, and neither does Devon. I shove my backpack inside the locker. “I mean, they’ve stayed friends and he’s worried about her. And she does want him to know first. Can you talk to him? Before Gee.”

  “Really?” He sounds surprised and maybe a little disappointed.

  I remember the way he watched Kristina at the freshie party. Like he wanted her for a snack. I slam the locker door shut.

  “Yeah, they definitely got back together.” I wince even as I say it. I’m not sure what they did except have sex and I’m acting like a jealous girlfriend. Which is insanely stupid.

  “Sure,” Nicks says. “I’ll let him know.”

  “Thanks.” My cheeks burn. Kristina made it clear she has no desire to see Devon. What if I’ve caused even more problems for her with my insinuations to Nick?

  Nick keeps walking with me until we’re a few feet from my classroom. I slow down as we approach, dragging my feet.

  “Actually I’m not sure what Devon and Kristina are, so don’t mention that part,” I blurt.

  He smiles and his cheeks dimple in a cute way. “No big deal, Tess. I won’t say anything.”

  I sigh with more relief than necessary and wait for him to leave. I don’t really want to be seen outside the class with Nick. People are talking already. As funny as it should be, me worrying about my reputation, I know it’s hard to get rid of rumors. I read Story of a Girl.

  I look longingly toward my classroom but am too chicken to tell Nick to go. He grins as if he’s read my mind, not in the least concerned.

  “Listen, I know it’s not a good time for you…�
�� He licks his lips and for a moment looks nervous. “But I have a favor to ask,” he says.

  I hold my breath and have a tiny out-of-body experience.

  He stares at me and then he blinks quickly and shakes his head. “Nah. Never mind. It’s not a good time. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  He lifts his hand in a wave and turns and walks off. I watch as he leaves, all, what? Um, what did you want to ask me?

  He glances back over his shoulder and lifts his hand and makes a peace sign. My heart swoons for a second, forgetting and then remembering with a jolt. My sister. Cancer. The school is about to find out.

  I spin and run into my classroom.

  Clark Trent gives me a boy nod as I hurry to my desk. His chin dips just once. He looks serious, as if he’s focused on kicking my butt on the exam. I lift my hand and wave an acknowledgment and sit down, bending my head and focusing on my hands folded on my lap.

  A throat clears. Surprised, I look up.

  Clark stands in front of my desk, looking down on me. I feel like an ant on the sidewalk the way he looms over me. “You okay?” he asks softly.

  I frown. “Fine. Why?”

  He lifts his shoulder. “Just wondered. You look…sad.”

  There’s an awkward pause then, and I feel obligated to try and fill it. “Uh, how’s Jeremy?”

  “He’s at the hospital,” Clark says.

  I nod and look around but we’re being ignored by everyone in the classroom. “Yeah. He told me, uh, about his mom.”

  I wait for him to say something more, but he just stands there.

  “Is everything okay?” I prompt. “With Jeremy’s mom?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. He doesn’t say much about it. He’s been at the hospital a lot lately.”

  “What about his dad?” I ask.

  “His dad died a long time ago. When Jeremy was six. His mom’s best friend is staying with him while his mom is at the hospital.”

  The bell rings then and I let out a deep breath as Clark walks to his desk and sits. Test papers are handed out from the front row. Mr. Pepson chants directions at the front of the class. Soon everyone settles and the class quietly works on the test.