I’d almost forgotten how beautiful her emerald-colored eyes were since it seemed like forever since we’d been this close.
She didn’t remove her hands from her pockets when she pushed up on her toes to reach my lips with hers. She seemed to keep her balance like a ballet dancer. Her kiss was as passionate as I had remembered on the top of Lorne Tower or in the electric storm of Level Seven—the kiss that had distracted me from Anna thereafter. Her tongue was soft and playful. And just as I was about to embrace her, she pulled away, rolling back on the balls of her feet.
“There, happy?” she said, turned, and walked back up her driveway.
“No,” I called after her. “I want to help, but I can’t do that when you won’t talk to me.” I was beginning to understand how Anna had felt when I was refusing to open up to her—but that had been a different situation. I couldn’t open up to her because she wouldn’t understand. Desiree didn’t have that excuse. “I’m here for you. You say you trust me. Then tell me what happened. No more hiding. No more lies. No more B.S. I won’t say a word. I’ll just listen.”
Desiree stopped. She turned around again, gazing down at the pavement, and met me back at the entrance of her driveway.
“The truth,” she said and wiped away another tear. “Okay, Oliver.”
Desiree & TJ (D)
Desiree awoke to a pitch-black room, except for the neon glow of the time on the alarm clock, which read 5:30 a.m. She shakily sat up in bed, trying to recall the last thing she could remember. The lit numbers on the alarm clock did not match the ones she had in her room. The sheets felt extra soft against her skin. Was she still at the hotel? And then she felt the presence and heard the steady breathing of someone sleeping beside her.
Hazy images from the previous night came back in bursts. Then nausea and the taste of stale alcohol crept up her throat and she quickly threw a hand over her mouth to hold it down.
Desiree tossed the sheets aside and her foot slipped on something smooth and slippery on the floor as she stumbled out of bed. She couldn’t remember where the bathroom was in the darkness and she staggered around the room with her arms outstretched. She opened the first door she found and light poured into the room from the hallway, which luckily helped her find the bathroom just in time. No sooner had she knelt down and lifted the toilet seat did the remnants of last night’s partying erupt from her aching stomach.
It was a wretched feeling and she threw up so many times she lost count—so many times there was nothing left to expel but bile and phlegm. Her nose ran wildly, her eyes watered, and her stomach was still churning, but she felt like she might actually survive.
Desiree wiped her dripping face with torn strands of toilet paper and flushed the wretchedness away. She sat back against the wall, still not ready to stand. Her eyes and the stabbing pain behind them slowly adjusted to the light, and the tears had subsided. Her stomach, thighs, and butt were strangely sore. Massaging her cramping thighs, she looked down at her crumpled body and finally had the awareness to notice that she was naked except for the wristband she’d received downstairs. Desiree immediately wrapped her arms across her chest like there was someone staring at her and pulled down a towel from the metal rack on the wall to cover up her body as best she could. Then the tears began to flow again.
She remembered being curled up on the bed in her prom dress, TJ lying down beside her, and how wonderful it felt to kiss him. Her memory of the night faded after that. TJ wouldn’t take advantage of her. He wasn’t that kind of boy. But she was sitting naked on the bathroom floor of a hotel room nearly six hours late for her curfew. Desiree pulled the bath towel more tightly around her body. Tears were gushing uncontrollably down her cheeks and she gasped for air, not knowing what she was going to do when she reopened the bathroom door.
A light knock startled her.
“Are you okay in there?” TJ asked.
She didn’t know what she was feeling, let alone how to respond. She mouthed a few phrases inaudibly.
“Do you need anything?”
“Just a minute,” she finally said aloud.
Desiree knew she couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. She’d have to face TJ sooner or later. There were no clothes in the bathroom to allow her to emerge with any shred of dignity. All that was accessible to her was the towel. And she had no idea how she was going to explain any part of last night to her mom.
She finally found her last bit of strength to stand and retied the towel around her body, repositioning it several times to cover-up as much as possible.
“TJ, can you please turn around? I’m coming out,” Desiree said with as much confidence as she could gather and slowly opened the door.
14
Yearbook
Desiree wasn’t in chemistry the next morning. Leslie strolled into class after the lecture had already started. Instead of walking up to her usual desk in the front of the room, she took the empty seat next to me.
“Hey, Oliver. Where’s your girlfriend?” she whispered.
“Desiree’s not my girlfriend,” I whispered back. “And I don’t know.”
“Hopefully, she doesn’t show up so I don’t piss her off by sitting here.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” I wasn’t as hypnotized by her beautiful blonde hair, sparkly eyeliner, tight jeans, and low-cut blouse anymore. I was desensitized to her womanly wiles. But I had to take a few sidelong glances just to make sure.
“Would you like to study together for the test we’ve got coming up?” Leslie asked after a few moments of listening to Mr. Clayton’s lecture.
Before I had a chance to respond, Desiree walked between us, first looking at Leslie and then at me, and then marched up to the front of the classroom. She plopped down in Leslie’s usual seat and loudly rustled around in her backpack.
“Do you have a note from the office, Miss Behring,” Mr. Clayton asked, abruptly stopping his lecture to pose the question.
“I made it almost on time. Isn’t that enough?” Desiree said sharply.
“I guess if you leave now you’ll just be that much further behind. Next time, bring a note. Actually, next time—be on time. Moving on…” And Mr. Clayton continued with his lecture.
Desiree sank low into her seat, crossed her arms, and propped her feet on the metal mesh below the chair in front of her.
“What do you say?” Leslie whispered. “Do you still have my number? You can give me a call as to what time you’d like me to come over.”
“Sure. We’ll work something out,” I said and gave her a weak smile. I may have been desensitized to her womanly wiles in class—but alone at my house, I wasn’t so sure. Now, the problem arose as to how I was going to get rid of Jeremy. He was never home because he was always out with her, but if he wasn’t with her then he was sure to be home. Jeremy hanging around our study session would certainly be uncomfortable for everyone involved—except Jeremy.
Desiree stayed after class to talk with Mr. Clayton.
Leslie slipped me her phone number on a piece of scratch paper and said, “Just in case.”
My head was reeling from the thought of Leslie coming over to my house to see me—insisting on it, actually. It wasn’t like the study session was my idea. I started by waiting for Desiree to finish up her conversation with Mr. Clayton, but after a few minutes I just left so I wouldn’t be the one late to my next class since I had to make it across campus.
I thought about Desiree throughout the morning, paying as much attention to my classes as I usually did—no more, no less. But thoughts of Leslie kept creeping in between. Desiree was real and I had real experiences to pull from, but Leslie was still a fantasy and I could only imagine what it would be like to make out with her. It didn’t matter that she was Jeremy’s girlfriend. Thoughts didn’t count. And I had seen her first; I had dibs. That had to count for something, which, the more I thought about it, sounded like something Jeremy would say. Maybe I was learning something after all. It just took time to realize it.
In gym, I ran the mile this time. Coach Andrews acknowledged that I was finally starting to live up to my potential. He had no idea. Also, all my walking to and from school since the semester started seemed to be paying off because I ran it in the best time ever.
I went into the locker room feeling pretty good about myself. I didn’t care about my time in the mile per se, but just accomplishing something released a surprisingly good feeling. Logan was already on the far end of the row, almost finished changing.
I changed and gathered my belongings at a casual pace. There was no rush to get to lunch anymore. It was time I still spent by myself. I looked over as Logan picked up his backpack and disappeared around the far corner. But he left something behind, sitting on the bench near his locker.
I walked down to the end of the row to see what Logan had left behind. It was some type of a tablet computer. The markings on the edges were foreign to me—a few shapes and designs on each of the four sides. It didn’t look like any tablet I’d seen before. It was nearly paper-thin, making it look extremely fragile, but something about it made me think it was stronger than it appeared.
It somewhat reminded me of the tablet Darius had shown me at the café in Provex City, but that wouldn’t make much sense.
I looked around to make sure I was alone and picked up the tablet. There was no brand name on the front, just the shapes and symbols (even though I guessed one of them could have stood for a brand name I was unfamiliar with) so I intended to flip it over to see if there was anything on the back.
And just as I did, Logan appeared around the corner and immediately reached for his tablet.
“Sorry,” I said as he grabbed it from my hand. “I didn’t mean to be nosy.”
“No worries,” Logan said. “I don’t want to lose all of my homework.” He stuffed the tablet in his backpack, said nothing else—not even a thank-you—and walked off.
I shook my head at the strangeness of the interaction, went back to my locker, gathered my things, and went out to the quad.
Anna and Eli still ate lunch by the science building. I saw them sitting together in my peripheral vision. But they didn’t notice me this time, which was just as well.
I was on my way to the humanities building where I had been eating my lunch in the hall since returning from holiday break, when I was stopped by Blaine.
“Hey, Oliver,” Blaine said. He was sitting in a group of five other people, none of whom I knew by name, but several looked familiar. “You got anywhere to be?”
“Not really,” I said.
“I’ve noticed you’re not sitting with your typical crowd lately.”
“Yeah...it got complicated.” As I spoke I noticed myself fidgeting. I tried to stop it immediately, but one shutdown tick only led to another.
“Are you interested in joining us for lunch?”
I looked around at everyone in the group and they all seemed to agree with Blaine’s request. I relished the thought of not sitting alone for one lunch hour, so I said “sure” and took a seat next to Blaine.
“How’s Desiree doing?” he asked me.
I didn’t know where to begin. I shrugged. “She’s hot and cold.”
“Yeah, it should get better. Oh yeah, where are my manners? Oliver, this is my girlfriend—”
“Let me guess,” I said immediately. I had read about her in TJ’s journal and felt like I already knew her, but I obviously couldn’t say that. With a sudden surge of excitement, I said, “Jillian?”
Blaine stared at me and the accepting, friendly expression drained from his face. The blonde girl next to him, whom I could only assume was the girlfriend he was referring to, looked immediately sore and offended.
I could feel myself already turning red and beginning to sweat.
“No. Jillian’s my ex-girlfriend. Why would you say that?” Blaine asked, but didn’t wait for a response. “Never mind. This is my girlfriend, Samantha. But, I don’t know, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.”
I took the hint and stood up, mumbled a meek apology, and continued toward the humanities building to my usual spot on the floor. How stupid could one person be? I didn’t want to know the answer to that.
I stopped for a moment where I usually sat down and then decided to continue onward. Around the corner of the hallway was the entrance to the library. I approached the counter and asked where the old yearbooks were, picked out a few recent years, and claimed a table in a secluded corner.
I first opened last year’s book and flipped through the pages of happy-go-lucky students and mass academic and extracurricular accomplishments. These books made every year look picture perfect. And I guessed years from now those were the only memories you’d want to remain, anyhow. You could look back and remember how special these times were, with all of the drama and challenges wiped from the pages of your memories.
Most Social.
Best Dressed.
Most Athletic.
Forever Freshmen.
Most Attractive.
Best Body.
Most Likely to Succeed.
Who came up with this stuff? It seemed like Desiree should have won for Forever Freshman, but she didn’t. Maybe you couldn’t be nominated as a freshman. Oh, it was only for seniors.
And then there were all the clubs and sports and groups and honors societies and shout-outs. Yearbooks made it seem like high school was the best time of your life, and maybe for some people it was. But it certainly didn’t seem like the general consensus.
I looked at Desiree’s picture. She didn’t look much different than she did now. Her hair was in a ponytail, like she often wore it, so I couldn’t tell if it had changed in any way. The V-neck sweater was one I’d seen in her regular rotation of clothes for this year. Her smile was the same. The dimples in her cheeks when she smiled were the same. She looked as playful as ever, and if you didn’t know about her and TJ ahead of time, you would have never known what she’d gone through a few short months before this picture was taken.
I exchanged last year’s yearbook for the year before. I flipped to the index to find TJ’s name—Thomas Taylor—and what pages he was included in the pictures. He was in the Drama Club, Band, the History Honors Society, and even started the Future Archeologists of America Society. He was featured prominently in all but the Drama Club picture. I then flipped to his official yearbook picture. I could finally see TJ as a student of Eastman High and not just the translucent, gray figure in my room. This picture was taken before he started dating Desiree—before he lost all hope—back at a time when his future seemed bright.
Jillian was the next name I wanted to look up. I didn’t know her last name, so I searched through the entire freshman class, but couldn’t find a Jillian at all. I then went to the sophomore class and found two Jillians. So Blaine’s (ex-)girlfriend had to be one of the two. One girl I had never seen before, but one I recognized from gym class. I didn’t know her personally and she wasn’t in my class, but she was in the same period.
I continued flipping through the yearbook to see if I could discover anything else—and then I reached the prom pictures. On the page beside the one with the prom court, there were a bunch of action shots from the dance. A small picture in the corner had what I had hoped to find—TJ, Desiree, Blaine, and Jillian all posing for a picture on the dance floor. It was the Jillian I recognized. They looked so happy and carefree. And probably drunk at that point, but it wasn’t obvious in the picture. They were just friends enjoying their special night. Desiree and Jillian were gorgeous all dressed up, and TJ and Blaine looked like the luckiest guys alive. But I knew the future of that picture-perfect moment would be short lived.
I closed the yearbook and sat back in my chair. The lunch hour had escaped me. The bell would sound any moment. I hadn’t even eaten my lunch yet, but I wasn’t hungry. I continued sitting there after the bell rang and everyone fled the library to get to their fifth periods. I held the prom picture in my mind and replayed what TJ had written in h
is journal about that night, now having the complete image of the characters in TJ’s rendition.
Desiree was already in her seat when I finally decided to go to class.
“I didn’t let anyone take your seat. You’re welcome,” she said sorely.
“Sorry, I didn’t think you were going to show up,” I answered. “The bell had already rung and you’re usually early. What was I going to tell Leslie? Sorry, but this seat’s taken?”
“Precisely. That’s what friends do for each other. I slept through my alarm, so I was a little late. We can’t all be perfect like you.”
“Yeah, I’m so freakin’ perfect.”
Mr. Gordon gave us an inquisitive look as he began his lecture.
I didn’t want to attend art class today. I had embarrassed myself enough for one day. Maybe Blaine wouldn’t be there. Maybe he’d suddenly gotten sick and went home early. If only Mr. Gordon had taught Desiree and me more about subconscious persuasion instead of telekinesis, I could have made that thought a reality. But he hadn’t taught us that yet for that very reason, so I had to face the inevitable and get through art class the old-fashioned way.
Desiree sat next to me again, apparently done with her musical stools charade. Blaine acted like nothing had happened between us at lunch today and was back to what he traditionally did, which was cordially ignore me. And I was okay with that.
I had my sketch out of the Elliott Smith cover and continued to shade in the bricks.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Desiree peeking over at my drawing.
“What?” I said after a few minutes of her focusing most of her attention on what I was drawing.
“Have you thought of doing a final copy in acrylic?”
“I was just sketching. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to use it as an official piece.”
“Why not?”
“Yeah, why not?” Andy mimicked Desiree’s question, tone and everything.
SUSY Asylum Page 16
