Anyway, there’s something about that scared look he had that’s familiar. It’s probably the same look I get when people try and force me to talk about things I wish I could just forget.
I get my iPod and turn the light off. This is my favorite part of the day, either just before I fall asleep or just lying here like this, listening to songs that remind me the most of him and replaying my favorite fantasies a zillion times. Like the one where we’re at school together and everyone knows and it’s okay. Instead of it being against the rules that someone who had obviously never been in love made up.
CHAPTER 8
Tuesday
HIS APARTMENT IS dark except for a lamp in the corner.
I tug nervously on my skirt.
I say, “I’m not that young.”
He looks up from the papers he’s grading at his desk. He drops his pen. He stands up. He stands there for a while, considering.
But then he walks over. Slowly. Making me wait.
My breath is raspy. I’m breathing like I’m running, instead of just hanging here in his living room. Could this mean he wants me, too?
And then he’s right in front of me. I want this so badly I’m shaking.
He reaches out and puts his hand on the back of my head. He slides his fingers through my hair. He couldn’t be any closer to me.
I see what’s going to happen before it happens. His eyes give everything away.
I stare at his lips. And then he’s kissing me.
And that’s when my alarm clock goes off, shattering the dream.
Half an hour later, I’m out of the shower and exhausted but also wired like I’ve been chugging the Jolt. I’m excited and nervous and I don’t want to lose that intense dream feeling. But I don’t really have much of a choice, because it’s called Welcome to Reality.
I picked up the phone like ten times last night to call Ree, but I couldn’t do it. It’s just not the kind of thing you do over the phone. Or in public or . . . yeah, I know, I’m making excuses, but I so don’t want to do this.
But I have to do it. So if Ree gets to school before first period, I’ll take her into the bathroom or somewhere away from everyone, and I’ll tell her. Only, she usually sleeps late, so that’s probably not happening. But sometimes she’s online in the morning, so I could try IMing her and tell her to meet me before first. So I turn on my laptop and get into my e-mail, and there’s a new message from Ree.
who i am
rhiannon ferrara to me
hey, nic.
the good news is, we know he’s waiting for me to
do something ☺
the bad news is, i have no idea what to do ☹
and no, i don’t just want to talk to him. that’s exactly
the type of boring thing someone who’s totally not
exciting or spontaneous would do.
so i’m trying to figure out the most amazing way to
prove who i am.
xo—
ree
p.s. the roses are gorgeous.
Okay. Don’t panic. She doesn’t even know what she wants to do yet. And if she comes up with something and it sucks and you know it won’t work, just tell her that it’s not a good idea and then tell about Gloria so she doesn’t do it anyway. But if it sounds like it might work . . . then don’t tell her about Gloria—and hope she doesn’t find out by the time she does whatever it is—and let her try it? Because if it’s good, it might work?
I forget what I decided before. Everything’s all confused. The last thing I want to be is the person who stands in the way of them getting back together, if that’s even possible. But I also don’t want to be the best friend who knew this whole time and didn’t tell her.
Anyway, she’s not online, so I’m about to shut down my computer when a new e-mail from Danny pops up.
cruller and thinking
Danny Trager to me
Nicole—
I’m leaving for school in a minute. Will pass by Krispy Kreme and grab a cruller, your favorite. I’ll be eating my cruller and thinking of you.
—Danny
When I see Sheila come in gangsta late to math, I know she’s on the road of no return.
Here’s the thing. Sheila was my good friend up until a couple months ago. Not that she’s not my friend anymore, but now it’s all about Brad. So our friendship isn’t what it used to be.
I get that he’s hot and all, but what I don’t get is why she’s doing this to herself. Like, how can they have anything in common? I mean, I know love makes you do crazy things, but this is ridiculous. Sheila is the one person who’s totally put-together every day and super cheerful even early in the morning and always has her projects done like two days before they’re due, and now she just walked in looking like a truck ran her over.
Mr. Farrell is going in for the kill. He’s all types of heated when you’re late like that. It’s pretty much the only thing I don’t like about him.
He’s all, “Ah, if it isn’t Mr. and Mrs. Punctuality.”
Sheila totally looks like she’s about to burst into tears, and I know it’s because she’s never been late in her life and she’s mortified and she knows that Mr. Farrell isn’t going to leave it alone until he’s sure they’re both embarrassed to the max.
Sometimes I don’t get him. It’s like he’s two different people. Like right now he’s talking about Sheila as if she’s not even here, saying things about her to Brad like how she’s his questionable companion of impeccable taste, which is just a nasty way of completely dissing both of them simultaneously. And the whole time Sheila is just sitting there, dying. But what else can she do?
So after class I grab Sheila and drag her into the bathroom and I’m like, “What’s going on with you?”
And she just starts crying and saying how she never thought it would get this bad and she had no idea and how did her life get this messed up? And even though mascara’s running down her face and she’s obviously been sleeping over at Brad’s because she’s wearing one of his ratty old Cult T-shirts that’s all wrinkled, she still looks pretty.
So I say, “Why are you letting him ruin your life like this?”
And she says, “He’s not.”
And I’m like, “Um, not to be rude? But I think he sort of is.”
So Sheila goes, “No, I mean . . . it’s all my fault.”
I go, “Are you serious?” Because Brad is a pothead and a burnout and he’s totally failing everything and he’ll probably be a super senior, one of those lowlife kids who never gets it and is still sitting in a desk that’s way too small for him when he’s like twenty-five, and why is she wasting her time with such a loser?
Sheila looks at herself in the mirror and rinses her face off and there aren’t any paper towels. So she stands there with her face dripping all over the ratty Cult T-shirt and tells me how Brad is totally not her type but she loves him anyway.
She says, “But a few weeks ago he started smoking more pot. I don’t even know why. It’s like . . . I knew he smoked, but before it was just to spark up at a party or whatever, nothing heavy. And now he’s wasted all the time. Like he can’t even get through a day without smoking.” She wipes her cheek. “And plus he’s drinking hard-core and . . . his temper keeps getting worse. One minute he’s fine, and the next he’s furious over the most minor thing. I don’t even know who he is anymore.”
So I’m about to ask if there’s anything I can do, but Sheila keeps talking and she says how her mother doesn’t approve of Brad and how she’s neglecting her family and that they never see her anymore. And they got into a horrible fight two days ago and Sheila just packed her stuff and left, and she’s been staying with Brad ever since. Which is a disaster, because he never lets her have time to do homework, and she’s so depressed it’s like she doesn’t even care anymore. She’s too tired to fight it. And he stays up way late, so just getting to first period is like this major challenge.
“And then there’s this thing with my pills
,” she says.
So now I’m thinking she’s about to tell me that she’s on Zoloft or something, but she goes, “I’m on the pill now.” Which is news to me. I wonder how else she’s changed since we were close.
Sheila’s like, “I forgot to pack them when I left home, and I just remembered about them today. So I snuck home to get them, but by the time I took one I’d already missed taking the one for yesterday. And even with the one today . . . it wasn’t at seven o’clock when I usually take them.”
I go, “I’m sure you’re fine,” even though I really have no idea about being on the pill. She’s just so upset.
Sheila goes, “But when I started taking them, the doctor at Planned Parenthood told me I have to take them at the same time every day or they won’t work. And there’s no way you can skip any or they definitely won’t work.” So now on top of everything else, she has to worry about being pregnant.
And I’m watching Sheila tell me all of this, and I can barely remember the girl who used to have it all together. Not that it was that long ago. And I remember what Max said about warning Sheila to not go home with Brad anymore or she could get hurt. But I’m also not supposed to tell her I talked to him, so I say, “Maybe you shouldn’t go over to Brad’s anymore.”
And Sheila’s like, “I know. I know I have to stop. But that fight with my mom was so bad, Nicole. And I can sleep over at Brad’s anytime.”
I’m like, “Doesn’t his dad care?”
She goes, “Not really. It’s not like his dad’s even there at night anyway. He’s a security guard for Con Edison, and he works the night shift.”
I have to think of another way to convince her. So I go, “I know you love him, but why are you still with him if things are like this?”
And she’s like, “It’s not that simple. Everything’s different now. At first it was just about acting out this bad-boy fantasy thing, you know?”
I nod because I can totally relate. How cool would that be? Like the fantasy where you’re swept away by this hot road-trip-motorcycle guy who’s all rugged and living on the edge. But something like that would only be fun for a little while. Then I’d want to go home and sleep in my own bed.
Sheila explains how at first everything was exciting and adventurous and she’s always wanted to experience something like that for real, and now it was finally happening to her and she fell for him so hard. And then she wipes her hands on her jeans and goes, “But now it’s too much. I know I need to go back home, but I can’t face my mom. But I can’t keep doing this either. I’m—” And she starts crying again.
So I’m like, “Is there anything I can do?” And I’m wondering if my mom would let her stay at our place.
And Sheila says, “Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”
But I wonder if that can ever be true when you’re in love with a boy who hates himself so much. Because anyone who treats their body like it’s garbage the way he does isn’t exactly in the best place to love someone else.
Danny’s doing another one of his Random Hallway Polls. He’s taken over the area next to the water fountain and the bathrooms, and he has poster boards on the wall and a whole bunch of pencils I know for a fact he “borrowed” from the main office because they’re all labeled PROPERTY OF DEPT. OF ED. But that’s Danny. He did service credit in the main office in ninth grade and so he knows all the secretaries and school aides, and of course they all love him because he’s smart and charming and it doesn’t matter that they’re old. Or maybe it works on them especially because they’re old. So the secretaries totally trust him, and if he wanted to he could manipulate files or print things out or find teachers’ private info or whatever.
Kids crowd around Danny, reading the posters and filling out ballots. I watch Danny laugh and joke with everyone. Which is so easy for him since he’s one of those people who can get along with anyone. I’ve always admired that about him.
The poll has to do with the lacking administration in this school. There’s been a whole bunch of issues lately that everyone’s unhappy about, from minor to major. Like how we don’t have enough books, so Ms. Portman has to copy book pages and no one wants the copied versions because the copy machine is always broken and the papers come out all smudged. Or how one kid threatened a teacher and he wasn’t even suspended. And Tatyana told me how she was supposed to meet with the principal about this peer-mediation thing she wanted to set up, and when she got to the office for the meeting his secretary said he had to reschedule because he was meeting with parents at the moment. But Mr. Pearlman didn’t close the blinds all the way on his office window, and Tatyana could see in and he was sitting at his desk reading the paper.
Because of incompetent people who are supposedly in charge around here, things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be. We’re pissed because we deserve a better school.
So on the top poster it says: IS THIS SCHOOL’S ADMINISTRATION EARNING ITS SALARY? And below that are the average salaries for principal, assistant principal, and teacher in the New York City public school system. It’s absolutely appalling that to get paid as much as a new principal, a teacher would have to work for like fifteen years. When everyone knows it’s the teachers who do all the work.
I watch Danny some more. It’s addictive, in a way. My mom says he has charisma and that’s why everyone wants to be around him.
Okay, the truth? Is that Danny has these soulful eyes and he gives me these soulful looks across the hall or street or wherever and they get me every time. Every time. So when he catches me staring at him now, and his eyes lock into mine with one of those looks, I can’t break away from him. And I remember what it felt like to be with him. And the reason we’re not together isn’t clear anymore.
When I see Steve at the vending machine, it doesn’t matter about Ree wanting him back. All that matters is how he treated her and how wrong it was.
I go right up to him and say, “How can you do this to Ree?”
And Steve’s like, “I’m not trying to hurt her.”
So I’m like, “But you are hurting her.”
And he’s all, “That’s not my fault.”
And I’m like, “Well then whose fault is it?”
Then he says how it’s no one’s fault, it just happened, and I swear that it-just-happened line is the flimsiest line in the Book of Excuses for Lame Boys.
“Nothing,” I tell him, “just happens. You either make it happen or you don’t. There’s a reason it happens in the first place.”
He’s like, “Look. It’s not like I hurt her intentionally or anything. Things weren’t really working out with us anyway.”
And I go, “Since when?”
He’s all, “We’re just . . . different people.”
I’m like, “What are you even talking about? You’re not even giving a real reason.” Because this is news to me. I know for a fact they had a lot in common. And right now? It sounds like he’s just throwing out any excuse for breaking up with Ree and he doesn’t even know why.
I can’t believe this is the same boy.
I’m like, “And what about the roses?”
He goes, “Huh?”
Oh. So now he’s going to act like he didn’t give Ree those roses yesterday? He’ll probably deny smiling at her in lunch, too.
That’s it. I just can’t with him.
I’m the only person in the whole school who actually looks forward to tutoring.
But unfortunately I’m running late because I just spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom dealing with my hair. It’s funny how my hair always looks great when it’s totally unnecessary or like when I’m hanging out at home all Saturday afternoon and no one’s going to see me anyway, but when it actually matters, I can’t do even the simplest thing with it.
When I get to Mr. Farrell’s hall, Rhiannon’s walking away from his room. So I’m like, “Where are you going?”
And she says, “I’m leaving. No one showed up.”
“Um, excuse me, but who am I?”
“What for?”
She glances around to see if anyone’s listening and whispers, “Operation Steve.”
I go, “Oh, um. What’s that?” And I’m thinking that maybe I should just tell her now and get it over with. But then she says she can’t talk about it anywhere in school because the walls have ears and she’ll call me later. And then she’s running down the hall, and for some reason, I don’t run after her. I still think it’s better not to tell her here.
I get to his room and stand in the doorway and look in with my heart beating so hard I can hear it in my ears. Mr. Farrell is bending over a stack of papers on his desk and doesn’t even see me. But then I guess he feels my eyes on him, because he suddenly looks up and says, “Come on in.”
So I go in and put my bag down on a desk and I’m like, “Hey,” and I try to act all casual and he’s like, “Hey,” and I’m pretending that it’s just another typical Tuesday, when in reality this is the first day all year that I’ve been alone in here with him. Like this.
So he says how my tutor left and no one else showed up, but I’m welcome to stay and go over some Regents problems, and I can’t believe he’s going to tutor me individually! He always has kids tutor other kids because he thinks that’s the best way for everyone to learn, and that since he already explained everything in class, it’s better to have other people explain to get a different perspective going on. So of course I feel totally special and I’m so jacked up on nerves and adrenaline that I’m shaking and I have no idea how I’m going to make my hand write with my pencil in any way that results in even remotely legible numbers.
I’ve only wanted to be alone with him like this all year. There were tons of times when I walked by his room after school and I wanted to go in, but then I was like, what if he’s solving some really important equation or something and I’m all walking in with a personal matter? How unprofessional is that? But finally it’s just the two of us. And this time, I’m not dreaming.
Take Me There Page 9