by Donna Cooner
“He will choose her,” I say, nodding to the girl in the corner. We both watch as she sits up and begins rummaging through her bag again, finally pulling out a tube of EOS sparkle lip balm. She swipes the gloss across her lips, then buries her head back in the book, oblivious to her starring role in my story. “He won’t remember my name, but he’ll ask for her number.”
Under his breath, Jesse says, “That’s a sad experiment.”
“If there is one thing I like about chemistry, it’s that reactions are predictable,” I say. “Every time.”
Jesse looks skeptical. “I don’t think you like this experiment of yours all that much.”
I sigh. “It’s the way the world is made.”
Jesse watches me, his face unreadable.
I shrug and try to make a joke of it all. “Hydrogen doesn’t look at oxygen and think, Yeah, you’re just not that attractive to me. I think I’ll go combine with someone else and make some water. But I’m sure you have a great personality. You know. On the inside.”
Jesse doesn’t laugh, but he leans over and taps a finger on my forehead. I jerk away from his touch. “What is it like in that brain of yours? I’m thinking it’s really, really crowded in there.” He pauses, then adds, “In a cool way.”
I look down at the table, flipping the pages of my notebook, but I can feel him smiling at me. My control is slipping away. This Jesse is too much like the Jesse I’ve been talking to on ChitChat.
He taps his pencil on my drawing of the fairy. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re insanely talented?”
I shrug, feeling a deep flush move from my chest up my neck. “Most people have lots of friends. I have lots of drawings.”
“You should share them online so others can see them.”
“Maybe,” I say, surprised at the suggestion. “I might not be able to cope with the huge onslaught of rabid fans.”
Jesse grins. “Do it for the people who want to see you fail.”
I turn the page to my chemistry notes, covering the drawing from prying eyes. “I don’t like showing people this stuff.”
“Well, guess what? You just showed me,” he says, like that settles things.
I scowl at him. “It was an accident. You weren’t supposed to see it.”
“You showed a sketch for your Lexi Singh audition.” He reaches out and flips back to my initial sketch of the fairy. “But this one looks different. The style is … bold. Raw. I like it.”
Jesse watched my ChitChat application?
“My sister’s an artist,” Jesse is saying. “Not like that. She used to paint landscapes. Watercolor, mostly,” he says. “She was really good, and I hope she goes back to it one day.”
“Why did she stop?”
“After the baby …” Jesse sets his jaw and stares straight ahead. He looks uncomfortable and he’s not smiling. “I guess she just didn’t have the heart for it.”
“You’re an uncle?”
“I was. He was three months too early.” There is no cocky self-assuredness in his tone. It is unsettling and makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know what to do with this Jesse Santos.
I’m afraid to ask, but I do. “Was?”
“He was a fighter, but he didn’t make it.” His jaw twitches. Then he blinks and looks back at me. “His name was Jesse, too. After me.”
I don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” He gives me a sad smile. “Okay. Enough talking. We need to get this done because I have a thing I have to be at in an hour.” He says it like he has an appointment to rush into a burning building to save a puppy.
“What thing?” I ask, but of course I know. He’s going to the hospital to volunteer. I cannot let on that I know that, though. I can’t let any piece of Sienna slip through.
But was he even telling Sienna the truth? It still seems like a stretch that Jesse would lie about something like that. But then how well do I actually know him?
He makes his face all scrunchy and says, “A secret thing.” It’s like a joke, but I know it’s not.
“Where are you going for this secret thing?” I mimic his tone and exaggerate the word secret.
“Oh, no. I’m not giving you any info. You’d be just the type to stalk me.” He laughs like that’s funny, but my stomach tightens. It’s all too close to the truth.
I nod, and we get back to work.
When Jesse leaves the library, I follow him in my car. He takes a right turn onto Timberline, then a left at the light. I don’t get too close. There’s not much traffic, so it’s easy to follow from a distance. When he turns into the Poudre Valley Hospital parking lot, I pull into a nearby lot and watch him go in the main entrance. He doesn’t look up from his phone.
The hospital elevator is huge, with two doors on either side. I press the button for the fourth floor and stand toward the middle because I don’t know which side will open. The hallway is wide, with colored stripes down the white tile directing visitors to various areas. Yellow for pediatrics. Blue for post op. Green for neonatal. I follow the green line down the hall, then take a sharp right. The wall in front of me is full of windows. An older couple stand outside looking in. They hold hands and lean forward, noses almost touching the glass.
Inside, I see Jesse and pull back to the edge of the window. He doesn’t look my way, and I let out a breath of relief. He sits in a rocking chair over by an incubator. In his arms is a tiny bundle. His head rests against the tall wooden back of the rocking chair, and his eyes are closed. Nurses and doctors walk around the room, pausing at various stations and working. Jesse keeps rocking, eyes still closed.
So he wasn’t lying.
I blink. Then blink again. My Grinch of a heart suddenly feels cramped in my chest.
Then the chair stops rocking and Jesse opens his eyes, looking down at the bundle in his arms. He smiles a wide grin down at the tiny face. His lips move and I know he is telling the baby something, even though I can’t hear the words. Then he pulls the blanket a little tighter, carefully avoiding the tubes and monitors trailing from his lap, and leans back to close his eyes again, rocker reengaged.
Jesse Santos is real—with divorced parents and an older sister who lost her child. He likes jazz music and the color blue and purple Peeps and talking to a girl named Sienna. He rocks babies on Sundays.
I don’t want to know these things. I need him to deserve my deceit. It’s the only thing that makes my shape-shifting meaningful. Suddenly and fiercely, I want out of here. Everything feels sterile, strange, and confusing. I stumble off in the direction of the elevator, vaguely aware of the green line on the floor. When the silver doors slide open, I rush inside, punching at the ground floor button. My hands are shaking. I shove them deep in my pockets and step back until I feel the cold of the wall behind me.
I can’t like him.
“I decided to ask Grace to the homecoming dance,” Owen tells me proudly when we get in the car to go home from school on Monday. “It’s this Friday.”
“Yes, I know.” Everybody knows.
But he evidently knew nothing about Grace’s plan for the three of us to go together. Suddenly I feel excluded and grumpy. Two’s company, three’s a crowd.
He unzips the outside pocket on his book bag and slides out a cream-colored envelope. “I made her an invitation.”
I nod and he slides the envelope carefully back into the pocket like it’s a priceless treasure. He gives me a solemn nod. “I’m going to give it to her today.”
I never had to share Owen with anyone before. I don’t know how to do it. But most of all I don’t want to do it. Snakes of jealousy slither into the darkest corners of my brain. I think they must be lime green with razor-sharp fangs of bitterness. My fingers itch for a pencil in my hand. I would draw them twisting and curling around my skull, hissing their poison deep into my eardrums.
Ssss-see? Sssss-seeee?
Big splashes of rain spatter across the windshield. It’s not cold enough for the drops to turn to
snow today, but it’s just cold enough to make things wet and miserable. I stop the car at our bench. Grace runs up to the car, books held over her head as a shield. She doesn’t ask for a ride anymore. It’s just expected.
She slides into the back seat and slams the car door, laughing. “Do you know why you have to be careful when it rains cats and dogs?”
“Because you might step in a poodle,” I say in a monotone.
Graces makes a snorting sound with her nose, but it’s not quite a laugh. She pulls a baggie out of her coat pocket. “Cheese crisps?”
“What are you so cheery about?” Owen asks, as if she isn’t always this way. He takes a handful of the orange balls and hands a couple to me. I pop two in my mouth, chewing. Of course they are delicious, but who makes homemade cheese crisps?
Grace’s head bobs up and down in the back seat, in and out of view of the rearview mirror. “I’m so excited for this weekend. We didn’t have homecoming at my old school. It’s all so thrilling!”
“The only exciting thing is that people might get to meet with Lexi,” I say, clutching the steering wheel.
“I just know one of them is going to be you, Maisie,” Owen says. Grace’s positive look on the world has seeped into his brain.
“You’re excited, too, right?” Grace asks me.
I mumble a response that could be yes or no while driving ahead.
“You okay?” Grace reaches over the seat to massage my shoulders.
I shrug her off. “I’m fine.”
“I was thinking we should all go to the homecoming dance together,” Grace announces. “We could dress up like the Justice League or something like that.”
“We’d need two more people,” I say dismissively.
“So we could be part of the Justice League,” Grace says. “If you don’t go, you know you’ll regret it. It’s time for us Froot Loops to take a stand and be ourselves!” She flips her hair over one shoulder and raises an arm up in the air.
She did NOT just call herself a Froot Loop! I feel my whole body go stiff. Even though Grace knows what it’s like to be bullied, she doesn’t know what Owen and I went through together.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say. “Right, Owen?”
Owen shoots me a look like we are co-conspirators in something.
“It’s just …” Owen’s fingers fiddle restlessly with the door handle. “I might have other plans.”
There’s a stunned silence in the car. I glance in the rearview mirror and see Grace’s disappointed face. I feel sorry for her despite myself.
Her eyes are welling up, and she wipes her right one on her coat sleeve. She looks at the back of Owen’s head and the jealousy scuttles under my skin again, slinking deeper. I recognize it, but I cannot stop it. That’s when I realize Grace likes Owen. And I know Owen likes Grace. So where does that leave me?
Grace tries desperately to recapture the mood with a silly joke. “You’re acting like a nucleus surrounded by a cloud of negatively charged ions. Nobody needs that kind of energy.”
“I think I’m moving on from humor,” Owen says from the passenger seat. “It’s time.”
“To?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
The light turns red. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the car seat. My thoughts are spinning. In a few days, I will find out if I get to meet with Lexi. I don’t even want to imagine how it’s going to feel if I don’t make it. Everyone is walking toward a cliff and they will disappear forever when we all get to the edge. Owen will step blithely off into Grace’s world, and I will be standing on top all alone.
“The light is green,” Grace says in her most helpful voice.
What am I? The chauffeur?
When we pull up to Grace’s house, she hops out and slams the door behind her, yelling good-bye over her shoulder.
Owen rolls down the window. “Grace?” She turns back to the car. “I want to ask you something.”
Oh, no. Not here. Not now.
She leans in the open car window and Owen hands her the cream envelope with her name printed on the front. She looks down at it, then asks, “Is it a joke?”
“No.” Owen blushes.
“Should I open it now?”
He glances over at me and I recognize his panicked look. “Sure,” I say, putting the car in park and turning off the engine. “Go ahead and open it.”
I make a motion with my head to encourage Owen to get out of the car. He stares back at me, confused, so finally I just say, “Get out and walk her to the door.”
He nods nervously and jumps out, slamming the door behind him.
At first, I stare straight ahead and wait. A squirrel scampers across in front of the car and then up a tree on the other side. The mail truck pulls up to the boxes at the end of the street. A jogger runs past on the sidewalk. I close my eyes tightly and count to ten. Owen still isn’t back to the car. I close my eyes again and count to twenty.
Then I open my eyes and glance sideways. I can’t help it. My heart twitches. Owen is standing so close to Grace their heads are almost touching. I blink hard. Grace wraps Owen in a massive hug and I can see his face over her shoulder. It hurts my heart. Yet I can see how much he wants this, and if I were truly his friend, I would want it for him, too. I wouldn’t be selfish and petty. I’d want him to be happy. And I do. Deep down somewhere in this jealousy-filled heart, I honestly do.
CHITCHAT DIRECT MESSAGE
JESSE: CAN WE TALK?
SIENNA: WE ARE TALKING.
JESSE: U KNOW WHAT I MEAN. I WANT TO HEAR YOUR VOICE.
JESSE: FOR REAL. ON THE PHONE.
JESSE: ???
SIENNA: …
SIENNA: I CAN’T RIGHT NOW. MY PARENTS ARE HERE.
JESSE: WHERE R U?
SIENNA: AT DINNER. MAYBE LATER?
JESSE: PROMISE?
SIENNA: NO PROMISES.
JESSE: SO WHEN CAN WE MEET UP?
SIENNA: IT MAKES ME NERVOUS. WHAT IF YOU DON’T LIKE ME IN PERSON?
JESSE: I ALREADY LIKE YOU.
SIENNA: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.
JESSE: THERE’S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT.
SIENNA: NOT WORRIED. JUST SHY I GUESS.
JESSE: AT LEAST THINK ABOUT IT?
JESSE: ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT IT?
JESSE: HOW ABOUT NOW?
JESSE: NOW?
SIENNA: STOP IT!
JESSE: DID YOU LISTEN TO THE SONG I SENT YOU LAST NIGHT? “IN THE WEE SMALL HOURS OF THE MORNING”?
SIENNA: IT SEEMED APPROPRIATE SINCE YOU SENT IT AT 2 A.M.
JESSE: I COULDN’T SLEEP. IT’S A REALLY OLD FRANK SINATRA SONG, BUT THE JOHN MAYER VERSION WITH CHRIS BOTTI’S HORN IS MY FAVORITE.
SIENNA: I CAN SEE WHY. IT’S BEAUTIFUL.
JESSE: SO YOU DID LISTEN TO IT!
SIENNA: *CONFESSES* MAYBE A COUPLE OF TIMES.
JESSE: I COULD PLAY IT FOR YOU IN REAL LIFE.
SIENNA: I’LL THINK ABOUT IT.
I usually dream in color, but tonight, the world is black and white. It is the white I see first—huge flakes of snow dancing down slowly from a black sky. The snow-covered path in front of the white horses is lined with dark trees, decorated in what looks like white spun-sugar icing. I’m sitting in the sleigh, snuggled into a thick fleece blanket and there is music—a single saxophone playing like a soundtrack behind the crunch of the hooves and the jingle of the harness bells.
“Are you cold?”
I jump at the sudden question. Jesse is here with me, black stocking cap pulled low over his dark eyes. I suddenly think those eyes are the most beautiful part of this magical scene.
I shake my head. “No,” I say, and it’s strangely true.
Jesse smiles, blinking one flake of snow from his long black lashes. He reaches out to cup my cheek in his hand. His eyes search my face like it’s some kind of wonderful surprise.
He whispers, “You are amazing.”
I laugh and touch his lips ge
ntly with one finger. “I am, aren’t I?”
“We should go. They’re waiting on us,” Jesse says, flicking the reins and setting the horses off at trot through the forest.
Then we are inside, in a beachfront restaurant, in the summer. The colors burst into my brain like someone flipped on a box of crayolas. Long white curtains flap at the windows, open to a roaring sea view. Outside an orange sun dips halfway into the water, as the sunset turns the sky bright pink. Vases full of roses line the tables and fill the counters—bright pink shrub roses and deep red tea roses, rich yellow-gold ones and orange blooms with bloodred tips.
The restaurant hostess is Lexi Singh. “Can I show you to your table?” she asks.
“Your roses are so beautiful,” I say.
She nods. “It’s because they are real.”
We follow Lexi through the café and out the door toward the beach. Heads swivel as we walk by and it feels wonderful. I recognize everyone here. Owen is the crow sitting at the corner table across from the Labrador.
I catch a reflection of myself in the window on the way out. I’m in my own shape and loving it. My shoulders are round and smooth in a bright green sundress. My legs are curved and bare.
I’m real, too.
Lexi sits us at a table right out on the sand and suddenly we are all alone.
Jesse leans across the space between us. “If you don’t tell me to stop, I’m going to kiss you.”
I reach up and pull his face down to mine, never so confident of anything in my life. My lips touch his, lightly. Just a brush. He draws back and sucks in a breath. Then I kiss him again and he kisses me back. The table disappears. There is no more beach. There is only us—kissing and kissing. His arms circle my waist, pulling me closer, and I don’t flinch away.
Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I pull back, feeling a tingle in my fingers. I hold my hands up in front of my face, watching in horror as my fingers start to dissolve from the tip of my nails down to my knuckles.
Jesse looks at me in horror. “What’s happening?”
My hands are gone now and my arms are shattering into invisibility. I can’t speak anymore. All I can do is watch myself disappear. The world swirls away into a snow globe of nothing.