by Tara K Ross
He flips through the pages and takes note of an off-white sketch paper folded just the way he left it. “Well, um, yeah. Thanks, I guess.” He stuffs it next to the textbook and leaves.
Gavin’s attention momentarily shifts to Evan, and his shoulder takes a broad pass in his direction. Evan doesn’t even seem to register the covert jab.
I scan my mind and the hallway for some logical excuse to escape. Jade has moved on to Lennox, using him as her own decoy to avoid a premature encounter with Evan. Ashley is nowhere to be seen, and no one else understands how awkward this conversation will be. I lower my head and pretend to be searching for something else in my bag.
The sight of Gavin’s Vans and the slam of his shoulder into Evan’s closed locker force me to raise my eyes from the sole-streaked linoleum floor. Nervous energy pours out in the form of sweat that undoubtedly carries the stank of teen fear. I can’t believe I’m surveying his body on my reluctant trip up to his face. Stop ogling, Thea. He is just surface candy, like a gumball that only tastes good until the hard, sugary surface is chewed away.
But his posture. His pose. His voice.
“Hey, Thea,” he murmurs with a low smooth coat of candy perfection.
I search his face for the overt signs of attack I saw just moments before. Nothing remains but cool and collected. He even appears to hold concern in the angle of his perfectly curved eyebrows.
“Hey, Gavin.” I paint on what I hope is a sincere smile. “I didn’t think you would, um, want to talk to me, after, well, you know …”
“You don’t need to explain.” His defined forearm reaches out, and his knuckles run against my arm, sending the hair on my neck skyward. “Jade helped me to understand the whole thing, so we’re cool.”
“Jade? What did she say?” I struggle to maintain my composure, but my fingers give me away. I brush them through my hair to tame their tremors.
“I didn’t know the guy who ran out after you was”—he leans in—“from your therapy group.”
I shoot daggers at Jade. “But, I’m not—”
“It’s okay. I think it’s cool that you are taking care of your”—he lowers his voice to a whisper—“addictions.”
Now, this is getting comical. I narrow my eyes at Gavin and pause, biting my bottom lip. He knows the story is a farce. He’s going to great efforts to get a rise out of me. I decide to go along, see who is the better actor.
“Did she tell you w-w-what”—I stutter for nervous effect—“what the addiction was?”
He glances up and down the hallway, as though he’s preparing to share secrets from my diary. “Yeah, but don’t worry. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about them.”
Them, eh? I nod slowly and hunch inward.
“She said that you have had addictions to all kinds of things, like, you know—drugs. Alcohol. Sex ...”
This is too much. I push my finger into his chest. “Nice try, but you can stop now.” I square my shoulders and march away as confidently as I can manage. But when I go to speak again, my mouth is dry and my words get stuck. For real this time. “S-s-see you at practice.” With my fake cool sputtered away, I don’t dare look back.
“Come on, Thea, give Jade some credit for trying,” Gavin says, his voice rising. “Being an addict works better for you than being a massive tease.”
I stop in my tracks and pivot so fast I almost cause another tea calamity. “I was not trying to—”
“Whatever. Go back to playing the prude. You’re better at that anyway.”
Despite the fact that I have not spilled on anyone, the hall goes silent again. Primed now for something juicy to unfold. I sweep my gaze around like a lost child, desperate to find Jade or anyone who can act as my shield from the overwhelming shame of the collective stares. No one emerges from the crowd. Where is Jade?
I should just laugh it off. But his words hit too close to home. Who am I kidding? I am a complete fake. An epic failure, even with acting, the one thing I thought I had some talent with.
Silently, I beg for the rush of white light, the blurring of my surroundings, anything to offer me an escape. But there is nothing. I wait for my verbal defense to formulate in my brain. Silent and still, the hall waits. But I have nothing to say.
I pull my feet from their virtual cement blocks and tread down the hallway, alone. Away from what I so desperately thought I needed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The rumors travel through the school like a viral YouTube video. Ashley and Jade keep me in the loop with texts during the period changes. Nothing as horrendous or distorted as Jade’s failed attempts at making me a recovering addict. Just a slightly embellished version of the truth. If I wasn’t so obsessed with good attendance, I would have skipped out after first period to avoid the progressive smirks and stilted laughter. Instead, I compromise and take Ashley’s invitation to burrow at her house after school, with the solace of fresh baked goods. We will skip rehearsal and all possible interactions with Gavin. At some point, I will need to plead for mercy from him, but I’m not in the right headspace to go there. Not today.
My books and pencil case are packed five minutes before class ends. With the first sound of the last bell, I race ahead of the crowds and take cover within the lesser-traveled stacks of the school library. Only when the smell of decaying National Geographic magazines hits its peak do I stop. I text my location to both the girls and wait for their planned arrival.
Within seconds, Jade texts back, “Talking to Evan. Be there in a minute.”
I can’t imagine that conversation only lasting a minute. But Ashley hasn’t responded at all, and it could be equally long if she stops to talk with Ethan. I stare at the floor and wait.
A path of light shimmers downward from the last window, and I stay just beyond its touch. Like the specks of dust on a downward descent, each of my previous joys that made school bearable seems to settle into darkness. Every social aspect of being at school will suck now. No more chance Day-Two moments. Lunch in the gossip-laden cafeteria will be out, and I’m going to have to quit drama club. I sniff and hold back a sneeze. If these archaic study carrels must become my new refuge, I’ll have to pack more tissues.
My phone vibrates. A text from Jade. “Where are you?” Here I was thinking she was the library expert. I wander down the far row of shelves until I reach an even more ancient section of atlases and travel books. Jade skips down the aisle, waving a folded pile of off-white papers in her hand.
“I’m assuming Evan agreed with your letter?” Any decent friend would try to mirror her obvious relief. But I’m willing to admit my failures in the friend-and-compassion department today. I attend to the school’s outdated collection of Lonely Planets, refusing to give her even fake cheer.
“Everything.” She nods with a ferocity that looks painful. “He even deleted the digital copies from his phone while I was there. He wants to work things out with Nora and admitted that he never should have asked for the first picture. He even apologized to me. Can you believe that?”
“Well, at least one of our lives is no longer ruined.” I push travel destinations into the depths of the shelves, one after another. London, Milan, Paris.
She places her hand on my shoulder. “Yours will not be ruined either. We will go to Ashley’s and devise an equally perfect plan.” She slides her fingers onto my backpack strap and pulls me away before I can drop Venice into oblivion.
Jade escorts me through the halls as though I’m an actual YouTube celebrity, walking slightly ahead of me like security. Not my first choice for a bodyguard. We avoid most of our social groups by walking through the grade nine hallway, but even there I cringe with each set of whispers. They are likely boasting about how they have succeeded with more sexual advances in their mere three months of high school than I have in my two years and three months here.
Jade must notice my worsening posture with each passing group. “Don’t worry, Thea. This will be old news by tomorrow.” She wraps her arm around me, whic
h makes me feel even more pathetic.
“Easy for you to say.” My tone is thick with a bitterness cultivated from her sloppy attempts to cover for me. Not to mention her horribly-timed disappearing act. And after all I did to help her with her own social faux pas. The coldness in my voice seems to nail her easily targeted guilt button.
“I said I’m sorry like a hundred times.” Her intonation mimics that of a pleading toddler.
I huff stray curls from my brow. I’m not giving in. Even if she is a pathetically loyal toddler who would do anything for me, including travel through the hall of a thousand sneering noses. I glare down at the mismatched linoleum tiles. Argh. Despite my not wanting to admit it, this is not the first time she has acted as my social buffer while I was staring at speckled school flooring.
Grade nine was not my favorite year of life. A trifecta of pubescent nightmares aligned for our first week of high school—a ravenous collection of facial fiends, my first full-blown period, and my yet-to-be-tamed armpit hair. Mom failed to educate me on how to use the lovely pink BIC razor she provided for my middle school graduation gift. And Malory Stricken was all too happy to share her wisdom on the matter. Of course, this was after she announced to the change room that a small rodent was living under my arm. It was Jade who voluntarily admitted to having equally fuzzy armpits. She even pulled back her own T-shirt sleeve to offer the distracting evidence.
It really isn’t her fault, but I need somebody to blame for my stupidity, for thinking I could transform in one night into a bold, flirtatious she-lion. Like I had the supple prowess to pull off a runway entrance. If I looked like Jade or Ashley maybe.
Wait. I should be saving my claws for Ashley. It was her perfume that started my false confidence. She also coerced me into wearing her ridiculous top. And if it hadn’t been for those stilt-boots, I could have run straight home without a second dose of Gavin to officially ruin the rest of my life.
Pounding booties thunder toward us. And not just any booties. The sound of those patent black deathtraps will forever be etched in my ears now. Ashley must possess telepathic abilities.
Jade glances back to confirm my hunch. “I didn’t know she could move that fast.”
“Hey, wait up.” Ashley arrives out of breath. “I thought … I should … give an excuse for us … not being at rehearsal today.”
“Did you tell them that I have a recovery meeting?” I speed through the exit doors, not waiting to hold it for either of them.
“Really, Thea?” Jade says.
Ashley hustles to get in front of me in a graceful, look at me, I can jog backwards in heels while my hair flows perfectly in the wind kind of way. “If you care to know, I said you had a bronchial infection.” She ping-pongs her gaze between Jade, me, and an audience of less-than-subtle Vapers’-Alley eavesdroppers. She lowers her voice. “Safe enough for you, Drama Queen?”
The heat of a not-so-dormant volcano rises from my chest to my face. Barely pursed lips are all that contain a spew of emotional regret.
“Come on, Thea. This is not a big deal,” Ashley says, clearly oblivious to the combustible effect of her comments. “Every kid in this school has had bad press spread about them at some point or another. It’s about time you had something rumor-worthy said about you anyways.” She almost seems vindicated in her mini-rant as she slides a piece of gum into her mouth and saunters ahead. “You come across as perfect. Miss Perfect Attendance. Miss Extracurricular. That’s just asking for people to find something wrong with you. Do you have any idea what it is like for people with real problems?”
Real problems? She doesn’t have a clue.
To heck with the onlookers. The pressure inside my head reaches tipping point, and I explode. “Perfect, eh? If I’m so perfect, why did you jump at the chance to change everything about the way I look? Like I’m a social experiment on the edge of failure. Is that what you think of me?”
She twists around, grinding her gum as if it were a piece of gristle.
It is. I am a burden on her now. I reach into my hair and then shake my hands down. “You know I’m screwed up. And this was some pity project to help fix me. Wasn’t it? So I can be worthy of your social status? Wouldn’t want to ruin your attempt at becoming Queen Bee.”
Ashley inhales sharply, as though stung by an unexpected actual bee. She says nothing. Following one slow, strained swallow, she turns her head away and her body follows. I search Jade for any signs of sympathy. But her gaping expression screams shock. She parts her lips, and I prepare for my scolding. But, nothing. She exhales, and a trail of her breath is all that is left as she jogs ahead. She is loyal but not impartial. What did I just do?
A heaviness fills my feet; the guilt is like quicksand. My only motivation to press onward comes from the rosy-cheeked bystanders blatantly rubbernecking my newest breakdown. One even has a phone out to record my plummet into social ruin. My heart quickens within my chest. Sweat gathers under my arms. I reach for my hair. But no one is left to help this time.
Except maybe ...
I lower my hand, hair intact. Khi’s words pound through my head: Show compassion for yourself.
But how? I’ve messed up. Again.
I follow Ashley and Jade at a distance like a dog with its tail between its legs, guilty and remorseful, yet desperate for companionship. And where else would I go? After today, they are all I have left for friends. If I still have them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Counting cracks in the cement is the only way I can drag myself in the direction of Ashley’s house. A numbness replaces the ache in my chest as the earth-filled gaps in the sidewalk between my friends and me increase. I’m so entranced by my meditation, the gentle cascade of glistening flakes doesn’t register. Not until I arrive at Ashley’s interlocked front path. The first snowfall always sparks childlike anticipation in me. As though all the cold will finally have a purpose: to cover the dismal dead of fall with a perfect layer of infinite possibilities. For a kid, that means snow angels and forts. For a teen, it means a possible snow day and a reason to buy a new hat. But this year, the first dusting is bittersweet. All the cleansing that glistening layer might bring is clouded by my growing internal storm.
Despite the cold and the emotional flashback, the tightened muscles around my neck release a little when I see Ashley and Jade. They huddle under Ashley’s covered porch. Waiting for me. Ashley’s crumpled body rests within Jade’s long, encircling arms. Through the soft white flakes, Ashley’s face lifts to meet mine; black streaks contrast against pale cheeks. She looks worse than I did Saturday night. Did my words hit something deeper? Her eyes no longer hold a bitter edge, and her outstretched hand invites me to join.
Minutes before, I was prepared to plead for forgiveness, complete any assignment of choice, buy hot beverages for a year. But none of that is needed. After several rounds of hugs and embellished apologies, we reach a status quo state of friendship. Like a diplomatic treaty to cease fire on each other’s natural resources. Or lack thereof.
After swiping away her trails of eyeliner with perfection, Ashley relocates us to the comfort and privacy of her bedroom. As soon as we drop our bags, she bounces back down the stairs, only to reappear within seconds, balancing a silver serving platter. It is filled with a cut-glass set of tumblers and a heaping pile of double-chocolate cookies. She places the tray on her desk and then returns to click the lock of her door.
She gives Jade a meaningful nod and then pivots to where I sit on her bed. “Jade and I both need an explanation.” She hands Jade and me cups filled with sweet tea. “Or three to be exact.”
Wow, premeditated much?
She sits in her desk chair and points to the first of three raised fingers. “What happened with Gavin? Who the heck is the musician? And why did he come running out after you?”
I sip my unseasonably cold tea and eye the still-steaming cookies she seems to be withholding as collateral for information. How do I summarize the last week of my life without sounding
completely insane or pathetic? These are my best friends, and I neglected to share even the highlights of what led me to this most recent crash and burn. They deserve better. So, I lead with the crash.
“Well, Gavin proved to harbor more hormones than I could handle. And he’s a jerk.”
They gawk at this admission, and rightly so. I have swooned over Gavin since the first week of high school. It took less than a minute from sighting him through the doors of our grade nine drama class to bestow upon him mega-crush status. He pulled a creased paper from his leather messenger bag and leaned against the doorway to survey his schedule. It could have been a photo shoot. With palpable confidence, he located Ms. Vosper across the room, unveiled his devilish half grin, and announced, “I may be lost. Again.” I remember praying that he was lost in the right room.
Today, within a similar minute of conversation, leaning this time against Evan’s locker, he mega-crashed off the pedestal.
If I continue to reminisce on all the days I’ve now wasted swooning over him, I’ll become a sappy mess. So, I move to the next question before they rally from the shock. The tingling sensation that Gavin used to have exclusive rights over radiates from my cheeks to my ears. “The musician’s name is Khi. I met him a week ago when getting my morning caffeine fix. “He’s from Iceland. New to Ridgefield. He knows Nadia from the café.” I pause. Do I know anything else factual about him? Nope. That’s embarrassing. I shake my head. “Saturday night, I made a complete fool of myself in front of both Gavin and Khi. I ugly cried. As you saw. Then I went into flight mode.”
“And …” Ashley finally offers me the plate of cookies like the bribe they have become.
The biggest one calls my name, and I take a bite of its warm mushiness. “Apparently, Khi has this unexplainable empathy for near strangers. He followed me out. Said he was concerned for my well-being or something equally amazing,” I mumble through gooey layers of awesomeness.