When I get to photo, I don't expect to see Marissa.
To my surprise, though, she's there. "Hi," she says.
"Hey." I take my stuff out of my backpack.
I know I should ask what happened with her mom, but I really don't care. I don't want to waste a single breath talking about her. I'm glad to see Mariss, I just don't feel like rehashing another drama. I'm still hip-deep in my own drama; I have no energy for anyone else's.
Marissa doesn't bring it up, either. After a minute she leans over and says, "Anything new with Shannon? Is she talking to you yet?"
I make a bitter sound. "No. That ship is sunk."
She makes a sympathetic face.
"I'm sure I'd feel much worse if I weren't so heavily sedated," I add.
A small smile lifts the corners of her mouth. "Spinal Tap?"
I feel a similar lifting at the corners of my mouth. I nod.
"I got called a slut today," she announces.
Ow! My smile slides off.
Marissa shrugs and says, "It's worse for girls. No one is calling you a slut, are they?"
No.
The next day is bitterly the same.
A crushed-looking Shannon. Twittery girls and scowly faces. Riley banished from my presence. Marissa gray and silent, sagging under the weight of gossip. By the end of the day, she's in tears. Apparently her friend Bree got into some kind of shoving match with another girl who called Marissa a word much worse than "slut."
I see her rushing away from school as I leave to catch the bus. I feel a tired kind of sadness. But I'm all out of wanting to help.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
If memory card is accidentally swallowed, contact a doctor immediately
—Mitsu ProShot I.S. 5.3 camera guide, 2007
"Look, it's time to stop this," says Cappie.
My heart smacks against my rib cage. Holy crap! When did she get here? Why is she always suddenly appearing out of nowhere like some special ops agent?
"Time to stop what?" I say, pressing a hand to my chest to keep my heart attack from going systemwide. I sit up from where I've been lying on the couch watching Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy.
She narrows her eyes, pacing back and forth in front of me. "Time to get over yourself. Let the healing begin, my brutha!"
I don't speak crazy, so I don't answer.
"I made you a playlist," she says. "Actually, two."
She hands me her iPod. "You can borrow it for a couple of days. Go to the playlists called 'Blake's Broken Heart 1 and 2.' I didn't know if you were mad-sad or sad-sad, so I prescribed music for both conditions."
"Mad-sad? What are you—"
Do you feel like crying or breaking stuff?"
"I—"
"Never mind, just listen to both," she says. You think you invented heartbreak? Check out my man Hank Williams, brother Sam Cooke, Roy Orbison. And you want tragedy? Remind me to tell you about Patsy Cline."
I've never—" I say.
"Exactly!" She stops and points at me. "You've never heard of those people. But they've already said it all, and they said it decades ago. I mixed in some modern stuff, too, because I was afraid you might choke on the classics. But you listen as long as it takes until you realize that you're not feeling anything new. Okay? I'm tired of your pitiful face. Now where's Caveman? We're going bun-gee jumping."
I almost crack a smile. "Heh. Good one."
We are." She heads out of the room. "Don't worry, you're not invited. No one expects you to do anything risky."
***
Since it appears that I will not be allowed to drop out of school, no matter how heinous my social crimes, I should probably do some homework.
Biology ... hate. History ... yeah, yeah, Ms. B. (Borden? Bar-den?) said there's a test next week, I should study. Why aren't there any funny historical people? That would make it more interesting. English ... I'm way behind on the reading and the journal entries. Not to mention that I'm a little late for writing about things that really matter.
I take out my photo stuff.
I don't have any ideas for what to enter in the photo contest. In fact, all of my work looks like crap right now. Crap photos taken by a craptastic human being.
Looking through my portfolio makes me remember something. I go out to the backyard and stand beneath the tree where Marissa found the bird's nest. It's still there.
I go into the garage and struggle with the ladder, banging my legs as I carry it outside and set it up under the tree. I climb the first two steps of the ladder, and I can see the whole nest. And there's the ceramic angel that Marissa placed in the nest, still sitting there. Waiting all this time for someone to remember it. One of its wings is chipped. Some of the paint has worn off. And the nest is a shambles: the twigs and stuff are drooping and falling apart, so that it's a miracle the angel is still in place.
I go back into the house and get my camera.
***
Cappie walks into the house stiffly. Garrett bounces in after her, looking like he just took a turn on the Tilt-a-Whirl. He's radiating adrenaline and immortality.
"What's up, little bro?" he shouts out, all loud and proud.
"Um, nothing," I yell back. "Jeez. Why are you so pumped? And what's wrong with her?"
Cappie is easing herself down onto the couch. "Ice," she groans.
"You got it, baby," says Garrett, bounding into the kitchen.
I sit down across from Cappie.
"Your brother," she says.
"Yes?"
"Is more than just a pretty face."
"Really." I stand up. "That's so fascinating, but you know, I've really got to be going." I tap an imaginary watch on my wrist and start to leave the room.
"He did it," she says, almost like she's talking to herself. "I thought for sure he would chicken out."
I stop. What the hell.
"Did what?" I ask.
"Jumped off the bridge."
Blink. Blink. "Huh?"
Garrett enters the room with a flexible ice pack and places it carefully on Cappie's shoulder. "I'm thinking you hurt your rotator cuff when you threw your arms back like that," he says.
"Like what?" I say. "What is she talking about? What bridge? She said you jumped off a bridge."
Garrett smiles. "You told him? Oh, man. The little scrof will tell my parents for sure." But he's still grinning, practically bursting with glee.
"Caveman," says Cappie, clutching the ice pack, "you're fearless. I had no idea."
"That's right. Check me out," says Garrett, laughing.
"Will someone please tell me what you're talking about?"
We did a base jump off Blue Jay Bridge," says Garrett. "Well. I did."
What?" I say. "Why?"
"Cappie and I were going to do it together. But she—"
"Ohmygod, did you get hurt when you jumped?" I say, staring at her. She looks like she's all in one piece.
Garrett takes the ice pack and moves it to her other shoulder. "She freaked at the last second. When she threw her arms back to keep from going over, she must have wrenched some ligaments in her rotator cuffs."
I start laughing, and I can't stop.
Thank you, Chick Trickster. I needed that.
***
The Blake-is-a-Cheating-Bastard story has legs.
It won't die.
It's Monday again, an entire week later, and people are still shooting me dirty looks.
Read the newspaper, I feel like telling them. There are a lot better candidates for hatred out there. I may be a terrible boyfriend, but I'm not blowing people up or chopping down rainforests.
At lunchtime I take my sad sandwich to the cafeteria and look for a place to sit. Riley and Kaylee are together as usual. I don't see Shannon. She's been eating lunch somewhere else ever since the Incident. Maybe in the music room.
I settle at a table and pull out a comic book so I have something to do while I eat.
"Blake?"
I jump and cough, a
nd Coke actually flies out of my mouth, dribbling down my chin. It's Shannon.
I hurry to swallow. Ohmygodohmygod, is she going to talk to me? Is she going to forgive me? Will I get my old life back?
A hush descends on the tables around us.
Shannon holds out her closed fist and says, "I can't keep this."
Automatically, I hold out my hand. She opens her fist and drops the necklace I gave her onto my palm and walks away.
I sit there like a schmo for a second, then stuff the necklace into my pocket. I glance over at Riley, who looks away, embarrassed for me.
I hear someone mutter, "Burn."
I go back to eating my sandwich, but each mouthful is like a wad of wet paper towels. The blood is beating in my ears so loud I can't hear anything else.
How could she do that? Why would she do that?
Why didn't she just put it in my locker or mail it to me if she didn't want it, instead of humiliating me in front of—
—the whole school.
Kind of like I humiliated her.
Wow. Who knew Shannon—sweet, kind Shannon—had a vengeful streak? Maybe I'm the first person who brought it out in her.
I would get up and leave, but I feel like I'm nailed to the seat. Quick: a joke. Defuse the drama. My brain chugs dully. Nothin'. I don't have one drop of funny in me right now.
I settle into seethe mode. She walked right up to me and held out her fist. Like she had a special treat inside. Then she said a total of four words and pretty much shat on my head. I can't believe her! I thought that maybe someday, not tomorrow or next week, but someday we might be able to look at each other like normal people. Maybe even say, "Hi, how's the family?"
Not that I give a fiddler's fart about her sloth father or her evil crone mother. Thinking about her mom gets my blood boiling even more. I guess Shannon is going to turn into a cruel witch, too. She was so sweet when I was with her, but what's that saying? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
I'm so caught up in my spiral of shame and rage that I don't even see Marissa walk up to my table.
"Blake, guess what?" she says, and I jump again.
She looks excited about something, but I can't see my friend Marissa in front of me. I only see the agent of my destruction.
"Can't you just leave me alone for once?" I burst out. I shove my lunch to the floor and slam away from the table. Even as I'm stomping away, I can't miss the expression of shock on Marissa's face.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Never subject batteries to strong shocks or continuous vibration.
—Mitsu ProShot I.S. 5.3 camera guide, 2007
First I think that she's just bailing on school. After all, that's the pattern.
But when Marissa is not there a second day, I text her:
M, where u at? Sorry I was a dick b4. Shan shamed me in front of the world. Plz call. Blakenator.
She doesn't call. She doesn't even text.
I think about the last time I saw her, and I want to dig a hole and crawl in. But I don't think the worms would even have me. They would form a special worm committee to inform me that I wasn't welcome in their neighborhood.
The next day, I finally get up the guts to call Marissa's cell, but it goes to voice mail.
By the fourth day that Marissa is not in school, I'm looking for her friend Bree, but every time I see her, she's all the way across the quad, or walking on the street while I'm on the bus, or something.
I text her a couple more times, and finally she answers:
B, got ur messages. busy w/ a buncha stuff now, but am fine. U don't have to keep saying sorry. bye 4 now, M.
Then a week goes by.
Mr. Malloy takes me aside and quietly asks me if I know where Marissa is. I guess even the school doesn't know what's going on with her. He tells me a local weekly newspaper wants to print some of her flower photos. He had mentioned their interest to Marissa before she disappeared.
That must be what she wanted to tell me the last time I saw her.
Two weeks go by. Two whole weeks.
I call and text a couple more times, but she never answers.
I even go to Pioneer Park to look for her. I make Riley come with me, because I'm not suicidal. He's a black belt in tae kwon do.
We go after school. We don't see Marissa, and in fact, there are only normal-looking people jogging by and feeding pigeons and chatting on park benches. The scary people don't show up till dark. But do I want to go back at night? Yes and no. Except for the yes part.
At school, the herd is slowly allowing me reentry. Riley hangs out with me at lunch most days, saying that if Kaylee doesn't like it, she can break up with him. Awesome. What a badass boyfriend. He's my new hero. Garrett deigns to speak to me in front of people, which goes a long way toward improving my ratings. I score an occasional point with a joke. Shannon and I keep a chilly buffer between us. I guess the whole "we can still be friends" thing doesn't apply to us; we don't even make eye contact.
But the public castigation—that word always makes me cringe a little, it's so close to "castration"—has tapered off.
On the third Monday that Marissa is not at school, I find Garrett at lunchtime and ask him for a ride to Marissa's house after school.
"Bite me," he says before I've even finished my sentence.
"Thanks for being a knob," I answer.
Ahh. Things are back to normal.
I stop at Ottomans for a smoothie after school. I see Ellie and Manny goofing around in the soccer ball beanbag and I feel my heart—I really do—I feel my heart ache.
I take the bus to Marissa's neighborhood and walk down the street to her house.
As I get closer, I see a Realtor's sign stuck in the lawn: FOR SALE.
The hell?
I walk up to the front door and knock, but no one answers. I peer in the window and see big boxes strewn around the room, taped up and labeled in black marker: BOOKS, BOOKS, LIVING ROOM, DINING ROOM, LINENS, BREAKABLE, BREAKABLE.
***
The next day, I text Marissa again:
Marissa, what is going on? R u moving? I tried calling your gram's number, but it's disconnected. Call me!!!! Blake
Mariss Cell is no longer in service.
***
The next Friday night finds me at the top of Tower Hill.
Milling around among the hurtlers without my bike makes me feel kind of like I showed up at a concert without a ticket. I didn't even take my camera with me.
I just need to find Gus. Maybe Marissa will be with him. If not, at least he'll know where she is.
I make my way through the crowd of people and bikes. I don't see Gus, although I do see the guy with the green spikes in his hair. I check my watch. There are at least ten minutes before the start ... I should be able to find Gus before then.
There's a group of people who look like bike messengers. Maybe they know him.
"Excuse me," I say to a woman with blond dreads pulled back in a scarf.
She looks at me.
"Do you know a guy named Gus? He's a bike messenger, and he—"
"Gus Fairbairn?"
"Yeah! Do you know him?"
"Of course."
"Do you know where he is?"
The blond woman scans the crowd. "There he is."
I turn in the direction she's pointing. "Thanks," I say.
I don't know how I missed him before, he's so big. But now, seeing him in person, I hesitate. What if ... what if Marissa told him? About us? Or what if she told him that because of me she's an outcast at school? What if he pounds me into ectoplasm?
I take a big breath.
No. I have to find out where she is. I can't worry about his brotherly wrath right now.
I weave my way through bikes and riders until I'm standing a few feet away from him. "Gus."
He glances at me, and his eyes widen. "You're my sister's friend."
"Yeah."
"Do you know where she is?"
Damn.
&nbs
p; "No," I say, closing the distance between us. "I was hoping you did."
His shoulders sag. "She left."
"Left?"
His gaze slips past me, and he scowls. "With her."
Who? I almost say. But the clench of my gut tells me.
"And her cell is disconnected now," he says. "I can't get through to her."
"What about your grandma?"
He lifts a shoulder, lets it drop. "She's tired. She can't go through it all again. She sold her house and moved into a little retirement condo."
"But how could she leave Marissa?"
"She didn't. Marissa left her."
"No."
"She did."
"She wouldn't do that."
"She did. Gramma said my ... my mother was no longer allowed at her house. So Marissa went with her."
But where?" I plead.
"They've been crashing with different people. I told Marissa she could move in with me, but she wouldn't. She left some of her stuff with me, but she wouldn't stay. She was talking about going to Seattle."
I'm out of words.
Wait.
No, I'm not. "Who is Kat?"
The bulk and muscle of Gus shrink before my eyes. His expression becomes that of a haunted boy.
"Who is she?" I say again.
"Our sister."
Is she...?"
He nods. "She's an angel now."
Oh.
God.
Somewhere in a basement closet of my heart, I knew that. But I never opened that door.
"Is that why your father is in jail?" I say.
He swallows. Tries to speak. "She ... Mariss and I were just kids. We didn't know—"
I wait.
"About dehydration and stuff. She was small. She was only two."
I feel like I'm falling, yet somehow I'm still standing.
Gus looks down at his right arm, where the inked memory of a little girl remains.
"What about your mom?" I say.
He shakes his head. "She wasn't around. She was in rehab." Now I'm out of words.
Gus straightens up. "I gotta go. Call me if you hear from Marissa, okay? Here's my number."
I take out my phone and punch in the numbers he recites. "You call me if you hear, too." I tell him my number, and he adds it to his phone.
Flash Burnout Page 20
