“Fine. But come with me.”
I followed him into the hall and down a quiet corridor. Classes were in session all around us, and the place looked deserted.
“I can’t believe you turned in my letter. I thought you could help me in private. Why’d you have to drag them into it?” His red face almost matched his red hair.
“Bruce, I’m not allowed to answer questions about abuse and stuff like that. This is serious. You’re getting hurt.” I had noticed the way he winced when he grabbed me. “You need to get checked out—I bet that rib is broken.”
“Shh!” He glanced around and then brought his gaze back to me. “Coach is already mad enough that I sat out of practice yesterday. And I’ve had broken ribs before—this is different.”
“You can’t keep this quiet forever.”
“Well, I’m going to try. And you had no right to sic Mr. Leffert on me. He asked me all kinds of questions, if I wanted to press charges against my dad . . . and he said he had to call the cops.”
“He does. It’s the law. If he finds out there’s been abuse, or if he even suspects it, he has to report it. It’s to keep you safe.”
“No, it’s to ruin my life.” Bruce brought his face within inches of mine, and I could smell the onions he’d eaten for lunch. “You don’t get it. You have the perfect life, everyone likes you—not a care in the world. And then there are people like me who have to fight for what we get, carve it out of the mud. We don’t have it so easy. We don’t have all the answers.”
“I don’t have all the answers either, Bruce.” I didn’t know what was happening to me—I was usually so sure about myself, that what I was saying and doing was right, but here was a guy in real need, and I had no idea how to help him.
“Yeah, I can see that now. Coming to you was a mistake—I bet you’ve never had a serious problem in your entire life.”
My parents’ faces flashed through my mind. “Now, that’s not true. I’ve had a lot of bad stuff happen to me—”
“Save it. I don’t want to hear about the day you got a stain on your favorite skirt.”
Bruce strode off down the hall, his arm tucked in against his side. I knew I’d done the right thing by turning in the note, but it also felt like the worst decision I’d ever made.
Chapter Five
The rest of the day was a total waste, as far as concentrating went. Amanda was mad at me, Bruce was mad at me, and I didn’t know how to fix any of it. When I got home, I told my mom I wasn’t hungry, and I stayed in my room the rest of the evening with my iPod up high and my school books spread out in front of me. My life had spun out of control—I needed to think about something else, something that wouldn’t slip out from under me, like English or anatomy. I wouldn’t wake up tomorrow and find out that the heart no longer controlled the flow of blood—that was a constant, something I could rely on.
I should have been excited when I got to school the next morning. It was Friday, and that’s the day the newspaper comes out. We do a smaller paper once a week—a single sheet, printed on both sides—and then a larger edition once a month, like this time. The larger paper has four pages. We didn’t used to print weekly, but Colby has a one-track mind. When he was made editor-in-chief, he suggested the smaller installments and got permission. Something about school unity. My column, being one of the most popular, gets room on the second page every single time.
I grabbed a copy and skimmed it on my way to first-period chemistry. It looked good. I nodded with satisfaction as I took my seat. Advice to the lovelorn—that was me. That’s where I shone. I’d leave this whole serious-problem business to the professionals.
Two girls walked into class, giggling over their copies of the paper. As always, I wondered if one of them could have sent me a letter, and then I made myself think about something else. As tempting as it was sometimes, I wasn’t supposed to play detective to figure out who wrote to me. And then Bruce popped back into my head. Sheesh! No matter what I did, my brain was just going to keep circling back around to Bruce. I knew I’d done the right thing—why couldn’t I stop thinking about it? I was driving myself insane, and I couldn’t get rid of the heavy weight sitting on my chest.
Dylan plunked down behind me and leaned forward. “Hey! Great column. I can see why you’re so popular around here.”
“Popular?”
“Yeah. You know, the Dr. Jill posters and stuff. Everyone knows who you are.”
“That’s not a sign of popularity. That’s someone’s idea of bullying.”
“Bullying, admiration—it’s a pretty fine line sometimes, don’t you think?”
“Um, sure. So, I didn’t know you were in this class.”
“Yeah, I got here a little late my first day. How’s this teacher? Any good?”
As soon as Mrs. Bates walked in, his question became moot. His eyes went right to her and stayed glued there the rest of the period—just like every other guy’s in the room. Yeah, she was pretty. She was also a good teacher, which was nice for us girls who weren’t there to admire her shiny hair and stuff like that.
Class started, and my mind started to wander. I thought about what Dylan had said. I seriously doubted those posters were a sign of admiration. Come on—what teenage girl wants her face Photoshopped on Dr. Phil’s head? He’s hardly the symbol of coolness. Although he is the symbol of smartness, which is a compliment, in a way . . . I guess if I wanted to start thinking about things like Dylan did, I could see it as a positive. But I wasn’t ready to start sipping the happy bunny Kool-Aid just yet.
“So, did you do your difficult thing?” Dylan asked after class as we gathered up our stuff and walked out into the hallway.
“What thing?”
“From yesterday.”
I must have looked as lost as I felt.
“I challenged you and Amanda to do something hard, remember? She talked to Mario, I put in my bid to play Anne of Green Gables . . .”
Oh, yeah. I remembered that. “You were going to audition for Gilbert, not Anne.”
“See, you do remember. And did you fulfill your part of the bargain?”
“I’m not sure I officially agreed.”
“That is a ridiculous argument. You can’t back out just because you got cold feet.”
“My argument is not ridiculous. And I didn’t get cold feet. I just couldn’t think of anything I wanted to do.”
“Because nothing’s too hard for you?”
“Argh!” I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. “Will everyone stop saying that?”
Dylan glanced around as if looking for help. “Um, I didn’t realize everyone was saying that.”
“Well, they are. And they’re saying that I’ve never had a real problem in my life, and so how can I give advice to other people? They just don’t know me at all.”
Dylan motioned with his head, and I followed him off to the side of the hall. “What’s going on, Jill?”
I didn’t mean to blurt everything out, but before I knew it, that’s exactly what I was doing. “My parents are getting a divorce. At least, they think that’s what they want to do. I’m positive that if they just took a few minutes, they’d realize that this isn’t the best choice. And in the meantime, some kid is mad at me for turning his letter over to my student advisor. I was just following protocol and got slammed for it.”
Dylan nodded. “So your parents’ divorce isn’t bothering you at all, but the thing with this kid has really gotten under your skin.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Your tone of voice. You were perfectly calm until you said ‘some kid.’ Then I had to duck to avoid the sharpened nails flying out of your mouth. Metaphorically, of course.”
I didn’t like it that he was suddenly analyzing me, but I shrugged it off. “I guess. But I can handle it, right? I mean, it’s what I do.”
The look on Dylan’s face said he didn’t believe me.
Amanda joined us a moment later. “Okay, Jill, I’m going to do
it.”
“Do what?”
She held up her copy of the paper. “I’m the second letter.”
“Shh!” I glanced around. “You aren’t supposed to tell me that.”
“But you’re my best friend. I tell you everything.”
I took a deep breath. She was still my best friend, even after what had happened the day before? She really was quick to forgive—always had been. I was not. I needed to take some Amanda lessons.
“Hold on. I can’t remember which one that was.” Dylan snatched the paper out of Amanda’s hand and began to read aloud, doing a falsetto version of a girl’s voice.
“’Dear Jill, I’ve had a crush on a boy in my language class ever since the start of the year. I haven’t tried to talk to him or anything yet, but I’m dying to get to know him. How do I work up the courage?’”
Amanda giggled. “I don’t sound like that.”
“I’m an actor—I don’t do impressions. That’s a very specific skill set.” Dylan cleared his throat, and then continued in a slightly lower falsetto. “‘Don’t be shy to show him that you’re interested. Say hello, smile, and be friendly. If you really like him, walk up and tell him. He’ll never know if you don’t come right out with it. Get his attention in a clever way—bring him a balloon with a note tied to it, or his favorite candy bar. Take a risk, and you just might be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.’” He lowered the paper and looked at me. “A balloon? Are you serious?”
I shrugged. “It just came to me.”
Dylan didn’t reply, but turned to Amanda. “So, you got ‘saying hello’ out of the way yesterday, right?”
“Yes, and I smiled at him. So now I’m ready to take the next step.” She reached out and grabbed my arm. “This is the whole ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ thing, right?”
“Exactly.” I glanced at Dylan and he nodded. “So go get ‘em.”
“Yes. Right. I’ll do it on Monday.” Suddenly, Amanda looked a little less excited and a whole lot more nervous. “And I’ll have to think about it all weekend. Why did today have to be Friday?”
I hadn’t seen Bruce all day. Ordinarily, I would have been happy to go an entire day without his annoying presence, but today, nope. Wasn’t going to think about it. My brain would just go right back into that guilt cycle, and I couldn’t do that—it wasn’t healthy for me or for him. He needed professional help, pure and simple.
When I got home, I waved to the Wheelwrights, who were sitting on their porch. Then I came in and saw suitcases in the living room by the door. My dad was carrying a box upstairs from his dungeon, and he paused when he saw me. “Hey, Jill. I’m glad you’re home.”
“So you’re moving out.” Generally speaking, I hate it when people point out the obvious. But sometimes there really is nothing to say, and so you fall back on the obvious just to keep the silence from taking over.
“I am. I know you’d like us to give it another try, and maybe we will. But your mother and I both need some time off first, time to figure out who we are and what we want. I’ll be in constant touch, Jill. I’m not going to disappear.”
I nodded. “I know, Dad. You’re not a loser, like some kids’ parents.” Dylan flashed across my mind, and I wondered just how long it had been since he’d seen his dad. He’d said it was “a long time ago,” but that was so vague. It could mean anything.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, and let’s set up some times for us to get together, okay? I know you want to see that new movie—can I take you?”
“Um, sure.” That surprised me. My dad never took me to the movies—he was always too busy with work.
“Okay, then.” He kissed me on the forehead, which was a little awkward around the box he still held, and then he walked over to the door. “Want to give me a hand loading up?”
I paused for a second, my chest tightening. “Um, no offense, Dad, but if I help you, then I’d be helping you leave. And I don’t want to do that.”
He nodded. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
I went upstairs so I wouldn’t have to see him go, but I watched through my bedroom window anyway. After he closed the trunk and shut the rear door, he stood there for several moments, staring up at the house. The look on his face was of resignation, but not of acceptance
As he put the car into reverse, I wanted to run after him and beg him to come back, but instead, I held on to the window sill and cried until I choked on all my tears.
Chapter Six
I usually love the weekend. I stay up late on Friday and get all my chores done so I can sleep in and do whatever I want on Saturday. I read, watch movies, hang out at the mall with Amanda—yeah, I really love the weekend. But not so much this time. Dad wasn’t around to make his traditional Saturday morning pancakes. Mom tried to make some and they were all right, but they weren’t the same, and she was trying too hard.
I decided that the only thing I could really do was go hang out at the library. Amanda was busy helping her mom paint the kitchen and there wasn’t anyone else to call. For a split second—just a split one, mind you—I thought about calling Dylan, but then I realized I didn’t have his phone number, and I also didn’t want him spending the day telling me that I should be chanting peace mantras or something. So off to the library I went, by myself.
I was able to lose myself there for a good couple of hours. I grabbed a cheeseburger on my way home, and then I watched a DVD. I did everything I could not to think about how quiet it was in the basement, and how the light under the office door never came on, not even once. I spent Sunday asleep. It seemed like the best choice.
I couldn’t wait for Amanda to get out of French class on Monday. Neither could Dylan, apparently. We stood in the hall, watching for her, and when she finally appeared, we both bounced up and down a little bit.
“That was the closest call of my whole entire life,” Amanda said when she reached us. “Here.” She shoved a giant candy bar in Dylan’s hands. “For you.”
He held it up and showed off the note. I like you a lot—let’s go out and have some snickers together. “Well, I like you too, Miss Amanda. We should totally hang out together. Especially because you brought me chocolate.”
“That was for Mario.”
“I know. I’m just teasing. So . . . why did you say it was for Mario, all in the past tense like that? Is he allergic or something? I mean, my gain, so I’m not complaining. Just curious.” Dylan tore the end off the wrapper and took a bite.
“I’m so humiliated.” Amanda leaned up against the wall. “I walked up to him, all ready to hand him the candy bar and tell him how I feel, right? He was talking to someone else, and just as I got there, I heard him mention his boyfriend. Yeah, that’s right. And there go all my dreams of us being together.”
“Oh, wow. That’s too bad.” I reached out and touched her shoulder.
“I’m just so glad that I overheard that before I said anything. Think how bad it would have been if I’d blurted out my little ‘I like you’ speech and then he had to tell me. It was better this way, but still. He’s the only guy I’ve liked this whole year, and he would be completely out of reach.”
“It’s not like he was your last chance,” Dylan said. He tossed the empty wrapper into the trash can behind him. “You’re totally cute. Just look around—I bet there are tons of guys here who’d love to go out with you.”
Amanda snorted. “Doubtful. But you’re sweet.” She sighed as we started down the hallway. “I don’t want anyone to know about this, okay? It’s our little secret.”
“Deal,” I said, and Dylan nodded.
“Although, you know, it could have been worse,” she said. “What if I’d gone with the balloon instead of the candy bar? I would have been standing there, holding this dorky balloon . . .”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, so the balloon wasn’t my most brilliant idea ever. Can we talk about something else now?” Thankfully, they didn’t bring it up again, and I heaved a sigh of relief as I ducked into S
panish.
I didn’t see Bruce at lunch, and I didn’t see him in the hallways. I saw Colby . . . and worshipped Colby . . . from afar, of course, because that’s really the only way you can do anything with Colby. I spent about ten minutes trying to decide if I should just give up my obsession. After all, it wasn’t getting me anywhere—no matter what I did, he was just as oblivious as ever. I could be spending my time and my energy in much more productive ways. But as soon as I began to imagine what my world would be like without my daydreams of Colby, I almost had a panic attack. It was definitely too soon to lay that dream to rest.
When I finally did see Bruce that afternoon right before last-period government class, I surprised myself by being happy to see him. I’d never imagined that I’d experience that particular emotion when thinking about that particular person. It was a weird combination.
“Hey,” I said when he drew near. Uh oh—he did not look pleasant.
“You. Me. Talk. Right now.”
“Okay.” I followed him outside and under a tree. I was supposed to be in class in two minutes, but this seemed much more important than listening to a lecture on whatever my very lecture-happy teacher had prepared for the day.
Bruce stood in front of me, shifting from foot to foot. His clenched fists and tight jaw, along with the hardness around his eyes, gave every indication of his anger. That’s why it was sort of anti-climactic when he said, “I’m so mad at you.”
“I understand why you’d feel that way,” I began, thinking that a calm, reasonable tone and a validation of his feelings would be a great way to start off this conversation. He held up his hands.
“You don’t understand. You don’t understand anything. Child Protective Services came to my house Friday night. They interviewed us—all of us. We didn’t say anything—we told them we didn’t know why someone would think we were getting hit, and they finally left. But they said they’re going to keep an eye on us. This is bad.”
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell them what was going on? You could get help, Bruce. You don’t have to live this way.’
Take My Advice Page 4