Todd’s eyebrows knit together, then clear almost as quickly.
“That’s okay, Trevor. I will give her a kiss for you.”
Trevor and I both freeze at Todd’s innocent words, while Jeff, Tamara, and Rob all guffaw out laughs that they quickly cover with coughs as they receive glares of warning from Carol and my mom.
“Uh, it’s your turn to bowl, bud,” Rob tells Todd, patting him on the shoulder.
“Okay.” Todd happily skips forward, unaware of the silence he leaves in his wake. He picks up his ball, walks up to the line, and swings his arm back and forth until he releases the ball. Once the ball hits the pins—knocking four of them down—he turns back to get his usual positive feedback from Trevor. Trevor sits silently, unaware of Todd for the first time since I’ve known him.
“Good job, Todd,” I call, standing and high-fiving him on my way up to bowl, myself.
Todd grins at me, then high-fives everyone else—except Trevor, who’s still silent. I throw my first ball—a strike, the result of my many nights of bowling with Trevor and Todd.
“Did you see that, Trevor? Jen-Jen hit them all!” Todd cries excitedly. “Give her a high five!”
Trevor, who is now standing, pulling on his bowling glove, looks at me, and in that glance, I see the torture. My heart contracts. If there is one thing I don’t want, it’s for Trevor to be in pain. So I smile, the same as I would if he were Jane or Brian, and hold my hand up. He leaves me hanging for a long second while he stares at me, trying to read me.
“Good job, me,” I say wryly with a shrug.
He nods once, tightly, and finally lifts his own hand, slapping it lightly against mine. I pretend there isn’t an electric tingle that flows down my arm from the point of contact.
One thing I learned from Trevor and Todd, if I learned nothing else, is that bowling is a game of cheering on your teammates—as well as the opposing team—and lots of hand slapping. Even though I can feel the tension coming from Trevor and to a lesser degree from his mother, I stick to the unwritten nerd rules and play the part. I’m having fun. I’m behaving—no tricks or games to try to pull Trevor in.
I’m sure it’s my imagination that each time I high-five Trevor—and it’s often because our turns come one right after the other—he holds my hand just a second longer than necessary, his fingers curving around the edges of my fingers, eyes intense for one private moment. This is only between us—no one else seems to notice—and is probably mostly my hopeful imagination. Because we’re acting semi-normal, the others are able to relax and enjoy themselves.
Trevor walks to the snack bar and buys a couple of pitchers of soda. He returns with those and a stack of cups, asking each person what they want and playing host as he fills the cups and hands them out. The only person he doesn’t ask is me. He simply fills a cup with diet and hands it to me. Only instead of it feeling like the first time when he simply knew what I wanted, it feels more like he just doesn’t want to have to talk to me more than necessary.
“You’re doing really well, Trevor,” Tamara purrs, sitting next to him and patting his thigh with a big grin. He tenses and leans minutely away from her. Tamara has been flirting shamelessly with Trevor, to my delight and to his utter annoyance. I’m not worried about it because I know she isn’t serious with it, but of course he has no idea. It sets him on edge, I can tell, and I almost call her off. Almost—until he glances at me to gauge my reaction. So I let her go.
“Hey, sis,” Jeff says to me. He’s taken to calling me that since the adoption became legal, and though I roll my eyes at him every time he does it, I am secretly pleased at his easy and full acceptance of me as his little sister. He treats me as if I have always been.
“I rented that movie you told me about. I have to tell you, I don’t get it.”
“Which one?” I ask. I actually gave him a list of movies that I told him to see.
“Blade Runner.”
“Ah,” I answer. “That’s one of my favorites. What did you think?”
“I liked it,” he sounds surprised. “But it sure doesn’t seem like the kind of movie you would like.”
“Really?” I ask, tipping my head as I ask him. “What kind of movies do you think I would like?”
He shrugs. “You know, scary movies, vampire movies. Goth-type things.”
I laugh. Jeff never misses a chance to goad me about how I looked when I first came to live with the Grants, no matter how many times my mom tells him to knock it off. I think she’s still a little afraid he’ll offend me. I’m not that soft though. I’m made of a lot tougher stuff than even I had thought.
“Well, I did like A Nightmare Before Christmas.”
“That sounds about right,” he says as Kari elbows him in the ribs.
“If you liked Blade Runner, then next you need to rent Minority Report.”
“Another sci-fi movie?”
“I’m partial to the sci-fi stuff,” I tell him.
“Oh yeah? Why is that?” he wonders. Suddenly I realize how this must sound to Trevor. I glance at him and see that he watches the whole exchange with a look in his eyes that I can’t place. Would he think I set this up, having Jeff question me to show him that I’m still wrapped up in the activities that we did together? Honestly, though, while he did introduce me to them, I really have come to love all things sci-fi. A geek girl myself.
Jeff waits for an answer, so I give him a partial truth.
“I have friends who are into that, and they hooked me.” I dare a glance back at Trevor and see that he no longer watches me, but his jaw ticks, lips clamped tightly together.
33. Na-nu, Na-nu
Because of my new calm, my center of peace that at least keeps my heart from completely deflating, I decide that I have put off long enough something I should have done from the first day that Trevor found out about the bet. I kept telling myself that Trevor’s anger would keep him from listening, that I needed to give him some time to calm down. And maybe that’s true, but the bigger truth is that I’m a coward and haven’t wanted to do it.
But here I go.
I watch him more closely now, waiting for the opportunity. I’m determined to see this through and not talk myself out of it.
I take a deep breath when I see Trevor standing alone for once, near a locker that’s not ours but the one that he now shares with someone else. I shove away the thought of just who that someone might be, along with the feelings that accompany it, and walk toward him.
Another deep breath for courage.
“Hey, Trev . . . I mean, Trevor,” I say nervously and pretend not to notice how he stiffens at the sound of my voice. He turns his shuttered gaze on me, and I nearly lose my courage. No time like the present, though, right?
“I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I have something I want to say to you, if that’s okay.” I hate the wheedling tone coming out of me, but I’m helpless to stop it. He turns back to the locker, where he continues placing his books, neatly stacking them according to size. He might be dressing much cooler, but he’s still Trevor to the core.
“All right,” he murmurs so softly I almost don’t hear him. He sounds resigned.
“I want to tell you I’m sorry for what I did.” I take another breath and plunge on. “I want to say that, but it would be a lie. Because I’m not sorry.”
He looks at me again at that, one brow raised curiously, lips tight with anger.
“I am sorry that I hurt you. I don’t have the words to tell you how sorry I am about that.” He turns away again, but his hands are still now, clenched at his sides, no longer stacking books. “I would do anything to take that part away. I would do anything to change the hurt I know I caused you. But I can’t be sorry about making the bet with Ella and Beth because if I hadn’t done that, I would never have gotten to know you.”
Trevor lifts one hand into his locker, but instead of continuing with his book arranging, he leans it against the shelf, and I get the impression he’s using it as suppor
t. His clenched jaw ticks, but I don’t let his anger deter me. This might be my only chance to tell him what I need him to know.
“I know you have no reason to believe anything I say now, but I’m telling you the truth when I tell you that I wouldn’t change one minute of the time I had with you. Well, maybe a few things, like taking you to those parties.”
“Why did you do that?” His voice startles me, though his question is spoken quietly.
“Because I was trying to turn you bad, to make you be like me.” He looks at me, surprised, then away again. “Stupid, I know. At the time it made sense to me. I had this fantasy that you would come with me, see how exciting and fun partying was, and turn into someone like me. But I’m glad it didn’t work, that you stayed who you are.”
He pushes off the shelf, closing his locker, and turns fully toward me for the first time. His gaze sweeps my mouth, and like a clichéd heroine from a romance novel, my pulse races and my breath stutters to a stop.
“You didn’t get your lip pierced. Wasn’t that the prize?” His voice is harsh and sarcastic. Not Trevor-like at all. I finger my lip self-consciously.
“I don’t want that anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve changed. You had something to do with that. You had a lot to do with that. You made me want to be better, to be more like you. To be the kind of person you might choose to be with. But I guess I’ll never be Mary Ellen.”
“Mary Ellen?” He jerks in surprise at the mention of her name.
“It kills me to—” I stop short, clamping my lips together. I can’t tell him what it does to me to see them together. It doesn’t matter anymore. “What I mean is, I really do want you to be happy. With . . .” I swallow my jealousy. “. . . whoever.”
Trevor crosses his arms, fists clenched, mouth pressed tight again. I think I’ve underestimated just how angry he still is with me.
“I just wanted to tell you that, you know, I’m sorry for hurting you but not for the rest. I know there’s no hope for us to . . . well, you know. I just really hope that someday you might want to be my friend again. And I know it doesn’t matter, and it will probably only make you more angry to hear this, but I still love you, and I guess I always will. For whatever that’s worth.”
Trevor nods tightly at my words, not relaxing his stance at all, and my heart crumbles beneath his uncompromising stare.
“Na-nu, na-nu,” I say with a wry grimace, holding my hand up in a Mork salute. I turn away, determined to keep my head held high until I am out of his sight. Then I fall apart.
⊕⊗⊕
For the last three days I have been powerfully aware of Trevor, even more so than before. I made myself vulnerable to him—again—and was rejected. My center of peace has shifted just a little and my heart is bleeding again, but I’m dealing with it.
The thing I’m having a hard time dealing with is the looks I receive from Trevor, because he watches me more intensely than he has since Beth first blew my story. He alternates between staring at me angrily, fierce looks that would burn me where I stand if he had that power, and watching me curiously, as if I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. Those looks actually set me on edge more than the angry ones do.
I’m walking down the hallway, looking out for him and feeling jittery, not knowing what I might get from him, when the mouse materializes in front of me.
“Hey,” she says softly. I jerk to a stop in surprise.
“Hey,” I echo automatically.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?” She could have said King Kong stood behind me, and I wouldn’t be more startled than I am at her words.
Of course, there are plenty of kids at this school who sometimes act like primates, so maybe it wouldn’t be that shocking.
“O . . . kay . . . ,” I say slowly.
“I just want to say I’m sorry,” she says sincerely.
Now I feel the need to sit down.
“You? Sorry? For what?”
“Because I haven’t been very nice to you. I was really jealous of you and Trevor. I think that he liked me at one time. I mean, like a girlfriend, sort of.”
I remember the first time I had honed in on Trevor, watched him posture for this girl at their lunch table, and I can’t argue with her.
“Anyway, I liked him also,” she continues, “but I was . . .” She trails off, embarrassed, then takes a breath and looks me in the eye, determined to give me the whole truth.
“I was playing hard to get.” She stops, defiant, and I wonder if she’s waiting for me to laugh at her. But how can I, queen of playing games that I am? When I only wait, she continues.
“I guess I shouldn’t have done that. But then suddenly you were there, and I really didn’t worry about you because I knew that he wouldn’t fall for someone like you.” She glances at me apologetically at her words. “But he did. And I was even more jealous because I thought you were just using him. And I was right.” She glares at me defiantly again, waiting for me to deny her words.
“You’re right—I was,” I tell her. Now it’s her turn to be surprised. “But only in the beginning. It didn’t take long until I wasn’t using him anymore. Until I genuinely started to like him and then to love . . .” I stop. I don’t want to say this to her of all people.
“I know.” She’s nodding. “I could see that. And even though I didn’t like you, didn’t like the things you did, I knew you loved him. And I knew he loved you. But I was still jealous. And so I was mean to you. And I shouldn’t have been. Even after . . . you guys broke up, I was still jealous because he still loves you.”
My stomach flip-flops at her words, but however much I like hearing that, I know the truth now.
“Not anymore, he doesn’t. And since we’re apologizing, I need to tell you I’m sorry too. I haven’t been exactly nice to you either. I’ve also been jealous of you because you have always been the one he should be with.”
She smiles grimly at me, shaking her head.
“No, I’m not. Maybe at one time, but not anymore. Not that I haven’t tried. But he’s in love with you, and I’m not ever going to be able to change that. So now it’s time for me to get over myself and to stop treating you so badly for something that I can’t change.”
“But he doesn’t love me anymore, Mary Ellen. He’s made that clear.”
She smiles at me as if I’m dense.
“Then you haven’t been paying attention. He’s just mad. You haven’t seen the way he looks at you.”
With a shrug she walks away, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding, hope thrumming through my veins. Euphoria can be a good thing. Or devastating—you know, either way.
34. “You Spin Me Right ’Round, Baby, Right ’Round”
So, just exactly how do you think I was voted Homecoming Queen?”
Jane gets an extremely innocent look on her face, which immediately makes me wary.
“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging.
“You don’t find it odd that I go from freak girl to Homecoming Queen in a short period of time, especially considering the general feelings for me after what I did to Trevor?”
“No, not at all,” she answers, voice full of a suspicious virtue.
I stare at her while she tries to maintain guiltless eye contact. Finally, she gives up, turning her hands up in supplication.
“I may have campaigned for you . . . but just a little, tiny bit.” She emphasizes this by holding her thumb and first finger a hairbreadth apart.
“How much is a little, tiny bit?”
“Well, you know, I just told a few people about how bad you felt and that I thought it would really help you be happier. If they told other people the same thing, you can’t blame me.” She widens her eyes as she says this, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead of either, I just shake my head. I know without a doubt that she meant well. Jane is completely unaware of her charming powers, apparently.
Though the thought of someone camp
aigning for me to be Homecoming Queen six months ago would have been beyond laughable, I’m now grateful that someone loves me enough to care about doing such a thing on my behalf.
And, taking into account the kiss gifted to me as a result of her campaign, I decide I’m not all that angry or disappointed at all.
⊕⊗⊕
“Hey, Jen.”
Simple words. Throwaway words. Words I hear a hundred times every day—okay, well maybe not quite a hundred, but a lot nonetheless. However, this time they freeze me in my tracks, where I might have stayed until the end of time if Mr. Hansen hadn’t stepped out of his room and barked at me to get to my first class—which I’m now tardy for.
No, it isn’t the words themselves. It is the source of the words. Because they come from Trevor as I pass him in the hallway. I didn’t see him until the words were spoken because I had been digging through my backpack looking for my math book. By the time I unfreeze and turn to respond, I’m watching the back of his head disappear around the next bend in the hallway.
I make it to my math class, and I’m completely stressed. What does it mean, him saying “hey” like that, like we were . . . friends or something? Okay, maybe not friends—acquaintances.
In English, my mind is fogged in turmoil. Why now? It’s been over a week since I last talked to him, when I made my disaster of an apology. Has he decided to forgive me?
I’m off-balance and a little upset while I listen to my chemistry teacher ramble on about zinc and oxygen and other chemicals that I have a hard enough time figuring out when my mind is clear. I don’t think he’s forgiven me at all. He’s messing with me, I think angrily.
By the time lunch rolls around, the anger is drained, and I’m just plain confused. I don’t know what to think of the two little words he uttered to me this morning. Just about when I decide that I’m reading way too much into it and I need to chill and not worry about it, Brian turns my way.
“So, Jen, what do you think?”
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