by Ann Aguirre
How’s the song coming? I type. He’s been working on a new one since Thanksgiving but he won’t play it for me yet. I’ve only caught strains and snippets.
Almost done. Trying to have it ready by Valentine’s Day.
God, I hope that means he’s writing it for me. Sweet. Bed now. Talk tomorrow?
Definitely. Dream of me.
This is possibly the most romantic text ever. I push out a happy breath and fight the urge to hug my phone. If I was watching my own behavior, I’d probably find it ridiculous. But when I fall asleep, I do dream of Shane, and he keeps the monsters away.
Before we leave, I go shopping. It’s cheating to buy Shane’s present after the holidays, but this isn’t a marked-down item. The one benefit to Aunt Helen’s apartment is that she lives a lot closer to shopping. Though this isn’t a city by New York standards, compared to Farmburg, it’s a bustling metropolis. And it doesn’t take me long to find the perfect gift for Shane. Well, it’s a complement, actually, to something I already have.
By the time the visit ends, I don’t hate Great Aunt Helen, but I’m tired of her cats and relieved to head home. We pack our things, say good-bye, and take the bus to the train station. It’s a lengthy trip, which ends in us walking almost two miles from the bus stop to our house. Joe offered to pick us up, but Gabby knows I won’t go.
“Sometimes your principles are a pain in my ass,” she mutters.
That’s annoying. She can go with Joe; it’s not like I mind. “Call your boyfriend. I can go home alone.”
“It’s fine.” But her tone says maybe it’s not.
And I’m afraid of making her mad, but I’m also unwilling to change. This is one thing I can control. So I’m scared and trying not to get upset, as we drag our suitcases up the sidewalk. “You should get a ride. Seriously, it’s not a big deal.”
“If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t both be walking.” She sounds a little snappish, tired from traveling, probably, and so am I.
Hunching my shoulders, I get my phone out.
Aunt Gabby makes an effort to smooth things over. “Texting Shane?”
“And Lila and Ryan,” I mumble, though I was, in fact, telling Shane I’m home.
“Is he working tonight?”
“Yeah. I probably won’t get to see him until tomorrow.”
“I admit, I was a little worried about how fast you two got together, but you handled the separation well.”
My prior irritation flares stronger. “Is that why we left?” I demand.
Does she think that I can’t function without Shane? I miss him. I might even … Do I love him? I have no idea. There’s no precedent. But … he matters a lot.
“No, it was so my aunt wouldn’t be alone. She can’t travel anymore, and she’s lonely.”
“Your good deed just happened to test how well I cope?” I’m tempted to get mad, but I back off the feeling. I can’t get angry. It’s Hulk-ish, and bad things happen when I do. So I wrestle the feeling into submission and summon a teasing smile. “Anyway, she seemed to enjoy having us.”
“Definitely. And she loves meat, so it was a sacrifice for her to agree to a meal without it on Christmas Day.”
The first thing I do when we get home is get on the Internet. I didn’t bring my laptop with me, so I haven’t checked e-mail and Facebook for a while, and I’m behind on my YouTube channels and Web comics. This is why I don’t miss cable TV. We had it at the group home, where I had no computer and no privacy, but I much prefer controlling what I watch and read. Since my friends talk to me on my phone, I don’t really have any e-mail but I catch up their status updates. Ryan in particular is great about posting funny, stupid things. I take a picture of myself making a weird face and then just type cheese log, and tag Lila with it.
Shane texts me late. Sorry I couldn’t come over tonight. Done with overtime now. Have tomorrow off.
What time can you be here? I send back. It will be Sunday, which means school starts the next day. I feel like a miser, hoarding this one final day of winter break. The snow is thick on the ground, so it’ll be hard for him to get here—they don’t always plow out where he lives—but he must think I’m worth it.
Ten too early?
Nope. My dominant feeling is yay! Though I’m not sure if that qualifies as an actual emotion. So I’ll call it excitement. The prospect of seeing Shane is more thrilling than Christmas, even though I got a few cute shirts and a new pair of jeans, as well as a gift certificate for an online bookstore. I guess that means he’s better than all presents combined.
And he’s writing me a song.
I’m up by eight and in the shower, which is extreme. Usually I stay in bed, read, or watch something on my laptop. Not today. I waffle over what to wear, going back and forth between a couple of outfits, then I remember what Shane said about taking me with no top on, and that makes me laugh. Then I put on jeans, a camisole, and a white hoodie with silver writing. I leave my hair to dry naturally while I have breakfast, then I put on a little makeup, omitting the lip gloss.
Shane’s fifteen minutes early, but I’m smiling as I throw open the door. He hugs me hard, drops a kiss on my mouth, then we step into the house. My aunt’s still asleep. He’s got his backpack, and I peer at it. Surely we’re not spending the day on homework. I had plenty of that while I was gone.
“I brought your present,” he explains. “Since we weren’t together on Christmas.”
Oh, wow. I’ve never gotten anything from a guy, unless you count the valentine I got in second grade. “Yours is in my room. I’ll be right back.”
He looks surprised, like I’d fail to get him a gift. I bring the wrapped package out and we swap them. “You first.”
Shane seems like he might argue, but in the end, he tears open the paper. It’s two things, actually: my iPod, loaded with songs that I think he’ll like … and a package of printed sheet music, so he doesn’t have to draw his own. “Whoa. This is too much.”
“It isn’t if you like it.” I can listen to music on the radio and online. He doesn’t have either option at the trailer.
He kisses me sweetly, until I forget I’m supposed to open my present, too. “Your turn.”
I feel like a little kid as I pull off the wrapping paper to reveal a little white box. When I removed the top, there’s a delicate silver chain with a finely made musical note for the pendant. I think that’s the eighth note, the one with the single flag, and I totally get this present. It’s as if he’s giving me part of him to keep with me always.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “Put it on me?”
The odds are excellent that I’m never taking this necklace off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
January is usually a blah month, but this year it’s kind of magical. Shane and I have become a couple that people pay attention to. They yell, “Sup, Shage,” when we walk past; we’re a smush name now. Most days this strikes me as a good thing. I’m not sure why, but they’re not calling me Princess anymore, though I’m still writing pink Post-its in purple glitter pen, and I love that Shane’s not embarrassed by this. Sometimes he even points people out to me who could use some cheering up, a long way from the boy who wouldn’t look anyone in the eye at the beginning of the year.
I manage to bring my grade up to a B− in geometry and my aunt is delighted. She cooks Shane and me a special Italian feast to celebrate. If I read her right, she likes him a lot and no longer worries that we’re too attached. But I make sure we spend an equal amount of our time with Ryan and Lila, so they don’t feel left out. It’s cool that we’ve all gotten to be friends, and I’m not the only glue holding our group together.
* * *
At the end of January, we all eat lunch at Mel’s house because she’s been bothering her mom to have us over. In other words, I have a social life. It’s so weird.
We cruise toward Valentine’s Day, and I’ve almost forgotten that Dylan Smith exists. Until he reminds me. He m
ust think he’s safe—that I probably won’t repeat what I know about his mom—and I catch him hassling Shane. It’s early, before most other students are around. Dylan and his crew have Shane hemmed in outside. Shane looks like he wants to start swinging, but there are too many, and I can see him reminding himself, No more trouble. His fists uncurl.
That’s more than I can take. I overlooked the thing with my bike, but this? No. I quietly go and get Mr. Johannes. “Some guys are bothering Shane outside. Do you mind? It’s really unfair, six on one.”
“No problem. I think I left something in my car anyway.” He winks.
From my vantage, I glimpse how the jocks spring away when Mr. Johannes steps outside, giving Shane the chance to slip into the building. When he sees me, he says, “You sent him?”
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah. Better than a punch in the face. I don’t know what that guy’s damage is.”
I do. But this is a battle between Dylan and me. He might have lost interest in Shane if I hadn’t stood up for Lila. So I intend to enlist her aid in teaching the asshole a lesson. At our lockers, after Shane heads to his first class, I tell her what went down.
She’s scowling. “What is his problem?”
“You know one of them.”
That’s mean, I tell myself.
But Shadow Sage is stirring in her shallow grave, raking the earth and whispering in my ear. Since I’m holding a figurative sword over Dylan’s head, I have to decide what to do. I could retaliate for him picking on Shane, but I’m not ready to ruin so many other lives. Yet he shouldn’t get away with hurting people. Someone needs to show him how it feels. Only I don’t want to drag his mom into it, let alone the principal, his wife, and his kids.
Lila snickers. “I never knew you could be so bitchy.”
“It’s a closely guarded secret.”
Then she sighs, watching Dylan and crew sweep past. “I wish we could bring him down a peg or two.”
Tall and fit, dressed in jeans and letterman jackets, the jocks are untouchable because being good at sports makes them the next thing to royalty at this school. None of them got punished for underage drinking out the Barn, unlike the rest of the student body. I hate that they get away with everything. In particular, there are no consequences for Dylan. He flattens people like a steamroller but nobody ever brings the fight to him.
“Give him a taste of his own medicine, you mean?” An idea takes shape, though it’s absolutely the inverse of being the Post-it Princess.
“I wouldn’t say no,” she whispers.
Her eyes are deep and hurt; she’s still not over the way Dylan trashed her reputation. Once people think you sleep around, it doesn’t much matter if you do or not. So I let the idea develop fully before speaking. It’s deliciously awful, and I put away my misgivings. He’s earned this. And if we’re careful, we can get away with it.
“Do you know where the spirit squad stores their supplies?” I ask.
Lila nods. “Why?”
I tell her. And her smile is both wicked and luminous.
After school, we raid the closet and take poster board, balloons, and streamers. Since the girls sometimes decorate players’ vehicles, at first glance, nobody will realize there’s anything wrong with Dylan’s truck. But wait until they read the messages. Giggling like mad, we sneak into an unlocked classroom after school and get to work. We have to be fast since the team’s at practice now.
Lila scrawls half the messages and I cover the rest. Most of them are childish, taunts about his habits and personal hygiene. I’m a nose picker. I eat them, too. I wet the bed until I was 12. My favorite porno mag is Grannies Gone Wild. I’m afraid I will die a virgin. But I save the best for last, writing in huge block letters: I CRY WHEN GIRLS TOUCH MY WIENER.
Since we don’t care about neatness, it doesn’t take long to finish up. In stealth mode, we creep out to the parking lot, which is deserted at this hour. The teachers are gone except for those who sponsor afternoon activities. Students in clubs haven’t come out yet; the rest are on the way home. I forgot how good it feels to be bad. This is a rush, but I remind myself why we’re doing this. The justification definitely matters.
Lila and I keep watch while duct-taping the signs, balloons, and streamers all over Dylan’s black truck. I cross my fingers that someone sees it before he and his buddies arrive. But still, just humiliating him in front of his teammates is better than nothing, more of a comeuppance than he usually gets. One of his asshole friends drove Jon Summers to his death. Dylan didn’t lead that witch hunt, but he didn’t stop it, either.
“We should get out of here,” Lila says.
“Agreed.”
We take off before anyone spots us and I’m on pins and needles all night, wondering about that asshole’s reaction to our prank.
The next morning, I’m locking my bike up when Dylan’s truck screeches into the lot. The evidence is gone, but people are still laughing like crazy when he parks.
One kid yells, “Maybe you’d like wiener touching better from a dude, bro!”
I glance over, and he’s waving his phone. Even at this distance, I glimpse a photo of our handiwork. A few seconds later, my phone pings, as Kimmy’s forwarded the picture. I guess that means everyone knows, because I hear text tones all around me, and the laughter gets louder. To make matters worse, Dylan’s given his mom a ride to school; she looks so confused and upset, especially when she hears what the guy said. She touches Dylan’s arm and he shrugs her off, looking mad as hell. Since Shadow Sage was running the show, I didn’t think about how he’d feel about his mother’s reaction. I’ve given him the shittiest Valentine’s Day ever, and … I feel crappy.
Yeah, there’s always fallout to being bad. Always.
He comes over to me, smiling, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know you did this. And I’m going to make you sorry you were ever born.”
I meet his gaze, trying to seem calm. “Good luck with that.”
Inside school, I see flyers posted all over for the rose sale the student council sponsors to help fund the prom. I’m not part of that committee, and I figure Shane won’t be interested in a school dance. He does romance in a different way; I touch the eighth note at my throat.
Later, the delivery people delight in interrupting class, and Mr. Mackiewicz is particularly perturbed by the delay. But since they have permission to do this, he can’t complain. He harrumphs and stomps to his desk while they circulate, handing out roses. I can see which people expect to get one by the way they watch. Others pretend to work on their geometry, and I’m one of the latter, until the guy taps me on the shoulder.
“For you.” He hands it over with a flourish.
“Thanks.” I glance over at Shane, who’s watching me with a faint smile.
The sun’s shining through the window, brightening the classroom. Everything seems more vivid. All around me, girls are smiling like goofballs because they got a red rose. A few of them have no idea who it’s from and they’re whispering with their friends, trying to figure it out. Mine has a card attached. I smile as I fold it open and read: You’re the one who makes me whole. I recognize that as a line from the song he’s been working on.
Mackiewicz puts us back to work as soon as the roses are handed out, so I don’t have a chance to talk to Shane until after class. “Thanks. But you didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
At lunch, I learn that Lila got a rose from a secret admirer, and Kenny sent one to Tara, who apparently isn’t sitting with us anymore. I guess she finally realized how much he likes her and took steps to make her disinterest clear. It sucks to have your dreams crushed on Valentine’s Day; even his Mario hat looks sad.
In the afternoon, teachers have a hard time getting us to focus, so we mostly watch videos. Then they show they have souls by choosing not to give us homework. I cheer along with everyone else, then go meet Shane, who’s already at our locker, waiting.
“I’m cooking for yo
u. I switched my shift so we could be together tonight. Are you up to a ride out to my place?”
“Really?”
He nods. “I hope so. Everything’s set up.”
“Absolutely. Let me text my aunt.” I’m sure she’s going out with Joe anyway.
They’ve been seeing a lot of each other, like her trip to see Aunt Helen made him realize how much he missed her. That could have been part of her strategy, actually. My aunt is smart. Gabby replies quickly that it’s fine; she’s going to Rudolfo’s with Joe.
“Called it,” I say, climbing on my bike.
The trip to his house doesn’t let us talk much, and Shane rides faster than I do. I’m a little out of breath when we turn down the weed-choked drive. I’m surprised all over again. I haven’t been out here since I brought him soup and his homework assignments, thinking he was sick. He prefers for us to spend time at my place or somewhere else in town. Honestly, I don’t blame him. This trailer’s a reminder of how poorly his dad’s doing at taking care of him. Shane would argue that his father was relieved of that responsibility when he walked out on them years ago.
I disagree.
It feels good to get out of the wind when we head into the trailer. He’s fixed it up quite a bit—oh. Shane flips a switch, so that the whole room glows with white twinkle lights, and he’s woven white silk flowers along the wiring, turning this into a magical bower. It looks like springtime and love in here. Just … wow.
“This is great,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“I love it.”
“There’s more.” He indicates the slow cooker with a flourish. From the warm, inviting smell, I can tell he’s made the veggie soup he promised me. “I know it’s not romantic, but I can’t do champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries.”
“It’s perfect.”
“The soup won’t be done for a while. But I made some other stuff.”
Wow, what time did he get up this morning? The other stuff turns out to be a cheese and fruit plate, simple but I can see how much time he devoted to this. We sit down on his old couch and dig in. Shane’s telling me about a music college that he heard about, and I can hardly keep from asking how far it is from Maine. I hate that this won’t last forever.