Now she’s playing with her sweater, pulling it lower. “I wish I’d worn something else. Something that shows les boobies more.”
I make a face. “Sari.”
Grinning, she turns around and shakes them. “Boobs, tits, ta-tas …”
“Hello, you’re being gross.”
“Breast,” she says grandly. “Bust. Cleav-age.”
“Cleavage?” I laugh. Primarily, because it makes me think of a line from Hollow Planet: With a single blow, Rana cleaved the enemy’s skull like a melon. You think of breasts as being a pair, but I guess cleavage really means the part in between. The separation.
Sari spins around. “Well?”
“Gorgeous beyond belief,” I say.
As soon as we’re out of the bathroom, she gives me a quick hug and hurries off. Over her shoulder, she says, “I’ll call you later.”
I say, “Good luck,” but she doesn’t hear me.
Which is just as well, because I’m not sure I meant it.
I decide to walk home through the park. I need some time to think.
Kicking leaves and dead branches out of my way, I try to sort out all the voices in my head.
My Nice Self says, Sari’s your friend. You should be happy for her.
My Rotten Self says, Yeah, well, guess what? I’m not.
Why not? The question starts echoing in my head, won’t quit until it gets answered.
Why not? Why aren’t you happy for Sari? What’s wrong with you?
Are you jealous?
No, that is absolutely ridiculous. I am totally not jealous of Sari in any way. What on earth do I care if David Cole likes her? The fact is, David Cole is a jerk.
I think this like I’m saying it out loud, but it sounds wrong. I try it again: David Cole is a jerk. But it still sounds strange. False.
The fact is, I’m not so sure David Cole is a jerk.
I mean, he acts like a jerk. A lot. But I’m not so sure that’s absolutely who he is.
Which makes no sense at all.
What’s better? I ask myself. Sari going out with the David Cole who is a jerk or Sari going out with the David Cole who’s not a jerk?
Somehow, the first. Sari going out with the David Cole who’s not a jerk makes me feel small and weak and sad for some reason.
The thing is, if Sari starts going with David, she will start being that person I hated so much at Erica Trager’s party. And not only would I not want to hang around with that person, but that person would definitely not want to hang around with me.
But does David really like Sari? How can he? Why would he dump Thea Melendez, who is gorgeous and popular and … The same questions keep going through my head, like some dumb commercial that comes on every five seconds.
I try to switch my brain off, make it go black like the TV, but it won’t turn off. Then all of a sudden, I hear a branch snap behind me, and I become completely still inside.
My mom always tells me to be careful in the park, no matter what time of day. She tells me, “Stay on the path.”
I still am on the path, but in this hidden, woodsy area. Look around, all you see are trees. I’m not sure that if I scream, anyone will hear me.
Start walking, I tell myself, just start walking.
Then I hear, “Hey, Jess. Wait up.”
I turn. And see Danny.
He’s all out of breath. Like he’s been chasing me forever.
He pants. “Didn’t you hear me calling?”
I shake my head.
He takes a step forward, then stops. He’s nervous. He should be.
He says, “So, hey.”
I say nothing.
“Haven’t really seen you around.”
I give him this look, like, That was not an accident.
“Well, anyway, I wanted to say I’m sorry. About New Year’s. And thanks for …” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
It occurs to me that Sari never said she was sorry after the party. Instead, she said I shouldn’t have left.
I say, “Well, I’m glad you got home all right.”
Danny smiles. Really smiles—like it means a lot that I’m not mad at him anymore. And then I figure out something weird: that you can be important to someone who doesn’t mean much to you. But that once you find that out—that you mean something to them—it’s hard not to feel that they mean something to you.
Which is not to say that Danny isn’t still a numbnut. Because he is.
He asks, “Did you get the article I left you? They’re filming in Australia.”
“I knew that already. After that, I heard they’re going to Sri Lanka.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. For the palace scenes.” This is not true. I don’t know why it is, I can’t resist lying to Danny. Seeing what he’ll believe, what I can get away with.
We start walking. It’s a nice day, cold but very clear. It’s quiet because there aren’t a lot of people in the park. Branches and leaves crunch under our feet. You could be in the woods somewhere—as long as you don’t look up and see the huge buildings everywhere. It feels a zillion miles away from Eldridge.
As we talk about the movie, I realize that Danny is very comprehensive in his knowledge. He remembers details better than I do. Like I forgot that the director had started out doing Anime, although I pretended I hadn’t.
We start talking about classes, who sucks, who’s kind of okay. We seriously trash Barry. Danny does an imitation of him, and amazingly, it’s not that bad.
I find myself wondering if Danny is a geek only within the Eldridge environs. Like, if the walls have some strange biological effect on him. Then once he’s away from Eldridge, he’s freed from the evil spell and actually not this horrible, boring guy at all, but someone who’s … okay.
Before I know it, we’re on my block. I say to Danny, “I didn’t know you lived around here.”
“Oh …” Danny looks down the block. “I don’t really.”
I want to ask why he walked all the way to my house then if he didn’t have to.
But I stop myself from asking—just in time.
“Well, anyway … thanks.” I give him half a wave.
“See you tomorrow.” He doesn’t wave or move. It’s like he’s waiting for me to promise that this is, in fact, the case. That he will see me tomorrow.
“Yeah, in English.” I cross my eyes, and Danny does his Barry imitation again.
Which makes me laugh.
But he’s still just standing there.
I say, “Um, look, you want to come up?”
Danny smiles, half shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”
The doorman smiles, tips his hat as we come in. He’s surprised, I can tell. He’s wondering, Who’s the guy? Where’s Sari? He better not make a joke or I’ll kill him.
All the same, it occurs to me that I might not tell Sari about Danny coming over.
I show Danny the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom. Then I let him into my room. For a second, he just stands there with his backpack still over his shoulder, like he’s not sure what to do. I wonder if anyone ever let him into their room before.
I’m about to ask him if he wants a soda when he sees something and frowns. Setting his backpack on the floor, he walks over to the wall where I have all my pictures up.
I cannot actually tear them all down in a single second. And I can’t really bash Danny unconscious. I want to scream, Don’t look at those, they’re crap! But it’s already too late. So I let him look.
He says, “Wow. These are amazing.”
I am totally embarrassed. I know I should say thanks, but I’m convinced I will sound ridiculous.
Danny’s moving down the line of pictures. He looks at one, then steps back to look at another. “Wow.” He keeps saying it. “Wow.”
He turns to me. “You’re really good.”
Now I can say it. “Thanks.”
“You could do this for real. I mean it.”
I feel myself smile, shrug. “I don’t kno
w. Maybe.”
“No, really.”
I’ve waited for this my whole life. For someone other than my parents to tell me I’m good. Not just better than most people, but really good. The kind of good that lets you do things. The kind of good that gives you freedom.
It feels as good as I thought it would.
Better.
Now Danny’s looking at my drawing of Nomi. I like how I did Nomi. He’s turning to look over his shoulder, and he’s got this wicked little smile.
Danny says, “Nomi’s great.”
“Yeah, I love Nomi.” I’m not sure: Are we talking about the picture or the character?
I sort of swing my arm toward the picture. “You can have it. If you want.”
“Yeah?” Danny looks at me.
“Sure. Anything for a fellow Nomi appreciator.”
“That’s so great. Thanks.”
I go over to the wall and gently unstick the paper. Then I scratch away the glue stick until there’s only this faint, faint stain on the corner of the paper. I wish it weren’t there. I’d like to give it to Danny perfect.
For a second, I hesitate. What if I never draw another Nomi this good? What if Danny loses it or throws it away? A few years from now, it’ll just be a dumb drawing to him. To me, it’s something I did. Something I did really well.
Then I remember Danny telling me, “You could do this for real.” Someone who gives you something like that, you owe them. I hand him the picture.
Danny holds it carefully, staring down at it. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
That night, I get out my sketch pad and sit on my bed, propped up by three pillows. I want to try another picture of Nomi, to replace the one I gave Danny. But when I start drawing, it turns into something else entirely, a whole other scene, and I get lost in that. So lost, I don’t really hear the phone ring, until my dad yells, “Jess? Sari for you.”
I pick up, say, “Okay,” and wait for my dad to hang up. When he does, I hear Sari whisper, “Jess?”
“Hey.” Then I remember and ask, “How’d it go?” Like I’ve been waiting all this time for her to call.
“Oh, my God.” Sari’s so excited, she can hardly breathe.
“Oh, my God, what?”
“Oh, my God, everything,” she says. “Oh, my God, I’m in love. Oh, my God, he’s amazing. Oh, my God, this has been the most incredible day of my entire life.”
“What happened?”
“Well …” From Sari’s voice, I can imagine her in her room. She’s on her bed, probably sitting up so she can give me the whole story. “We went to his house.”
Sari has been to David Cole’s house. I should say, Wow. This is a wow thing. But somehow, I can’t bring myself to say it.
So instead, I say, “Was anybody else there?”
“At his house?”
“Yeah.”
“No,” Sari coos. “It was just us.”
“Wow.”
“Definitely wow.” She giggles.
“So what then?”
“We talked … a lot. And then we played.”
From the way she says this, I have to ask, “But you didn’t …?”
“What? No. God, I would’ve told you that.”
I smile. Good. Sari still thinks it’s important to tell me things.
“So, what did he say?”
“Oh, like … a million things. We talked about everything.”
“Yeah, but …” Suddenly I can hear it, like a hum in the silence. Don’t.
I try to ask nicely. “Was he waiting until Valentine’s Day to talk to you?”
There’s a long pause. Then Sari says, “You know, I didn’t really want to get into it. It doesn’t matter now anyway.”
Weeks of torment and misery don’t matter. Okay.
Sari knows what I’m thinking, because she says quickly, “He said maybe I could come around next Thursday.”
“What’d you say?”
“I said yes. What do you think I said?”
I don’t say anything.
Then I ask, “So, what happens with Thea?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t talk about her.”
“But she has to know, right?”
“I don’t know. Whatever.”
“Won’t that bug you?”
“No.” Sari’s voice is definite, like she’s been waiting for the question and knows just what to say. “It’s totally none of my business.”
How do you tell your best friend you think she’s lying?
“But there is one thing,” says Sari.
One thing? Try a million. “What?”
“You cannot tell anybody about this. About David and me. I mean, nobody.”
“I’m not going to.”
“I mean it. Not a living soul.”
Yeah, I think, because then a living soul might tell Thea.
“I won’t.”
“Swear.”
“I swear,” I tell her, feeling moronic. “I will tell no one.”
There’s a long pause while, I guess, Sari tries to decide if I’ve sworn enough. Then she says, “So, the Book was right. That’s kind of cool.”
“What’d it say?”
“About someone new in my life, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” I feel tired. Like I don’t really want to talk anymore.
Sari asks, “So, uh, what’d you do today?”
I look at the wall where Nomi’s picture used to be.
“Nothing.”
9
—Hollow Planet: Thorvald’s Hammer The Alliance was troubled. The parties were quarreling and fragmented. Rana surveyed the Great Hall frowning. Where would it all lead? How could they hope for victory when they conspired at their own defeat?
As far as Eldridge Alternative is concerned, David and Thea are still the perfect couple.
They still sit together at lunch. They still grab each other under the table in history class.
Thea David BIG TIME is still on the third-floor bathroom wall.
David still sneaks up on Thea in the hallway. Thea still screams and acts annoyed when he tickles her. She still kisses him and says she forgives him.
David and Sari never, ever speak at school. I don’t think they even look at each other.
But every Thursday, after school, they get together at David’s house.
And that’s how it’s been. For almost a month.
It’s weird—you look around the lunchroom, and it’s like nothing has changed. There’s David and Thea and their crew, over at the big table in the corner where they sit whenever they deign to eat in the cafeteria. Near them, there’s the Drama-holics, the theater group; over there, the hard-core cyberheads; then the Harvard-bounds—everyone in their own little spot in the universe.
The lowly ninth graders form the outer ring; we get jostled and bumped by everyone looking for a place to sit. Right near us, Erica Trager and her Pradettes are yakking away. They keep looking over at David and Thea’s table. No big surprise. That’s what David and Thea are for: to be looked at, talked about.
But Erica Trager’s not the only one staring at David and Thea. Sari’s also got her eyes fixed on them. She has this little smile on her face, like she’s the only one who knows how this is all going to turn out.
Here’s what I don’t get: How can you be madly, psychotically in love with someone and only see them on Thursdays?
How can you stand that they’re still seeing someone else?
How can you not feel humiliated?
I’m dying to ask Sari. But I don’t dare.
Sari’s “in love.” And apparently, when you’re in love, you don’t mind being in love with someone who pretends you don’t exist except on Thursdays.
A chubby computer guy trips on his way back to his table, and the soccer crew cracks up laughing. Roaring, clapping, stamping—the whole bit. Their superiority has been vindicated, and they’re just way too happy. Sari’s smirking too. I want to say to her, Yeah, you�
��re not sitting over there with them; you’re down here with the rest of us freaks and losers.
I ask her, “What do you guys do when you get together?”
She gives me a sly sideways look. “I don’t think you want to know. I think you might be shocked.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, don’t you ever want to do anything else?”
Sari looks scornful. “Like what? Go to a movie?” She says this like going to a movie is the most moronic thing you could ever do.
I say, “But doesn’t it bug you, watching him and …” I nod my head toward Thea.
“No.” Sari glances over her shoulder. “I kind of get off on it. It’s like a big joke.”
Now David has his arm around Thea, and he’s chewing on her ear. I know that’s supposed to be wildly sexy, but it looks gross to me.
I can’t even imagine what Sari feels like, watching this.
I say, “We can go if you want to.”
Sari laughs, says, “Puh-leeze.”
“Puh-leeze” is Sari’s new favorite word. It’s something Thea and her friends say.
David is still crawling all over Thea. Thea shrieks, pretends to push him away. “… all hands, my God.”
He grabs for her hair, but she pushes him away again. This time, it seems like she means it.
And Sari just keeps smiling.
While all this is going on, I keep my head down, pretending to be insanely involved in my book. I don’t think David notices me sitting next to Sari, and I don’t want him to. I don’t know why, but I don’t.
Well, I do know why. Partly. It’s because of what happened last week in art class.
But that’s not something I want to think about right now.
I still haven’t told Sari about it.
When it’s time for class, we get up and walk out of the lunchroom. Sari picks up her bag. It’s new, a Tornado.
I head directly for the door. But Sari deliberately walks around David’s table so that he has to see her. I stand by the exit and wait for her to catch up. I notice: When Sari walks by, David doesn’t even see her; he keeps right on talking to his friends.
Once she sees he’s not looking, Sari speeds up a little. She has this look on her face, and I can tell she’s upset.
We leave the lunchroom, and Sari doesn’t say anything. She just stares straight ahead, biting her lip.
It’s sort of hard to look at her; I keep thinking of what I want to say, and I’m scared it’ll show on my face.
The True Meaning of Cleavage Page 9
