Zoe leaned across the aisle and muttered, “Were you able to study for this test?’
“Yeah. During the day.” While Calvin was at church and studying for his own exams. In her heart she’d been tempted to invite him over so they could study together. But she didn’t want to risk hearing another gentle lecture.
One more week. And then maybe she would have proved to him that she was okay and he would go back to being her boyfriend instead of her self-appointed savior.
The bell rang and Mr. Emerson loudly tapped a stack of papers against his desktop to straighten them. Desks and sneakers chirped on the tile floor as people settled into their seats.
Breathe. Focus. Be strong and in control. “Ugh. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Seriously? Are you, like, really sick or is it just—” Zoe straightened as the teacher moved to the front of her row.
Mr. Emerson handed tests to the person in each front desk. Stacey accepted a stack from the guy in front of her, took one copy for herself, then swiveled to hand the remaining copies to Kenny sitting behind her. She wrote her name on the cover sheet. When the tests were all distributed, Mr. Emerson told the students to begin. Stacey flipped over the cover sheet and stared at the first question. Multiple choice. Her eyes blurred over the words and a sick headache throbbed at her temples. She drew another deep breath and bent closer to the paper.
1. Ternary acids commonly contain which of the following elements?
A. Hydrogen and oxygen
B. Hydrochloric acid and hydrofluoric acid
C. Hydrogen, a nonmetal, and oxygen
D. Hydrogen, a metal, and oxygen
Stacey blackened the circle for answer C and rubbed her eyes with her left hand. At that touch her headache intensified. Acid gurgled in her stomach. Was there a question on the test about the composition of stomach acid?
She grimaced and moved her pencil down to the next question, read it, and answered A.
Sick, sick … she shouldn’t have stayed up so late last night. She could still smell the odor of white glue that permeated the air of her bedroom.
Question eight didn’t make sense. It should make sense, but the words ran out of her head as soon as she read them.
8. Identify the symbols of the formula used in indirect calorimetry: q=mcT.
A.Heat, mass, and internal energy
B.Energy, mass, specific heat, and temperature change
C.Energy, mass, calorie intake, temperature change
D.Quantity, mass, calories, temperature
Her brain buzzed. The test paper drifted away. Her body felt distant, yet thick.
Zoe’s pencil tapped out a beat beside her. The room smelled of pencil lead, chemicals, and Kenny’s aftershave lotion. Stacey focused on these tangible things.
C. No, B. The answer had to be B. She blackened it in.
She needed water. And Tylenol. Ten minutes with her eyes closed would be a good thing. No way would Mr. Emerson give it to her.
Stacey pressed on and managed to get to page three. She counted the remaining pages of the exam and looked at the clock on the wall. Getting through the test on time would take a gargantuan effort.
Ten minutes with her eyes closed. She’d be golden after that.
She glanced at Mr. Emerson, who was busy at his desk with some other papers. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if she rested for just a moment. Stacey folded her arm on her desk and lay her head down. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of her breath against the desktop. Her skin felt clammy.
Something nudged her foot. She lifted her head to look at Zoe.
“Hey. You okay?”
Stacey slowly straightened and nodded. She puffed air through her nostrils. What energy was being expended to create the heat she felt? Maybe the heat migrated out from the churning brain cells and thumping hearts and sweaty palms of twenty-two students in the classroom.
“You look like you’re about to puke,” Zoe whispered.
Mr. Emerson lifted his head sharply. “Ms. Bernetti, is there a problem?”
Zoe jolted. “Stacey doesn’t look good.”
“Shh!” Stacey whipped her head around to glare at her friend.
“I’m sorry! But you’re all sweaty and pale.”
“I’m fine.” She slumped in her seat as more heat rose to her face.
Mr. Emerson leaned forward, his head tilted and his left eye squinting. “Stacey, do you need a pass?”
“No, Mr. Emerson. I’m okay.”
Eyes turned toward her, every student in the classroom taking a peek to see her perspiring like a slob. Maybe they thought she was on drugs.
Don’t look at me!
She bent over her test. Plowed through the questions. Blackened circles, one after another. Fought the throbbing pain and the heat. Control. She needed to be in control.
At last she finished and slogged up to the teacher’s desk with her exam. Mr. Emerson crooked a finger to urge her closer.
“Stacey, are you ill? You know you can arrange make-up exams.”
“I didn’t get enough sleep last night, that’s all. May I get a drink of water, please?”
The teacher rolled his lips inward. “Perhaps you should go to the nurse’s office, just to be on the safe side.” He pulled a pad of hall passes out of a drawer and scribbled information on one.
Stacey didn’t argue. She accepted the pass, and after gathering her books and purse she nodded to Zoe and left the classroom. No way was she going to the nurse. The woman would send her home, and that would be a disaster.
She stopped at a water fountain and drank her fill. It helped. With the hall pass visible in her hand, she walked past the administrative offices and gently pushed through one of the double doors of the media center. The librarian at the checkout desk was zoned in on a computer screen and didn’t look up. Stacey snuck over to a table in the corner, putting a rack of books between her and the librarian. She quietly took a seat and folded her arms over the top of her books.
Just ten minutes with her eyes closed …
“Excuse me. Excuse me! Shouldn’t you be in class?”
Stacey gasped and jerked her head up. The librarian, Mrs. Patterson, stood over her, one hand planted on the tabletop. Blobs of light and dark morphed into shelves, books, tables, and chairs. A clock on the wall read 10:15. No, 11:15.
Where was she supposed to be?
Art class. Oh no! The one class she wanted to go to!
“I’m late.” She pulled her books back into a neat pile. “I have to go.”
“I don’t think so. You’re going to need a pass from the office, and they’re going to want to know why I caught you skipping class.”
“No, no, I’m not skipping. I fell asleep. I don’t feel well. Please, can I just go?”
Mrs. Patterson’s face blurred, distorted, looked like someone else. Stacey pressed the heel of her palm into her right eye.
“Your teacher won’t let you come to class late without a pass. Go to the office.”
“Fine.” Stacey loaded her books into her arms and trudged back into the halls. Her involuntary nap hadn’t done any good. She swayed as she walked, and her eyes kept going out of focus. Summoning all the strength she possessed, she filled her lungs and stretched her neck, then walked through the open door to the administrative offices. She marched to the counter and looked straight at the secretary. “I need a pass to get into my class, please. I was studying in the library and lost track of time.”
She arrived at the start of the critique session. Stacey handed Mrs. Chandler her pass, along with a mumbled apology, then pulled her art project out of her cubby in the supply room, where she’d tucked it before school that morning.
Fearing that the image wouldn’t qualify as an actual drawing, much less a self-portrait, Stacey had used oil pastel to lightly render the features of her face and form. She’d made the decision last night, and the project she should have finished in two hours took six.
The teacher moved on
and called everyone to gather around the first easel standing along the walls of the classroom. They were to critique the work of their fellow art student, and those pieces receiving the most favorable responses would be awarded a space in the display case outside the classroom for the start of next year.
Zoe grabbed Stacey’s arm and hissed in her ear. “Where were you? I thought you were going to miss this.”
“Fell asleep in the library. Can you believe it?”
Friends supported friends. And although no one said anything bad about another person’s drawing, it was clear by the volume of comments the pieces received which ones would go into the display case. That is, if Mrs. Chandler didn’t overrule the voting and make her own choices.
Stacey pointed at Zoe’s image, her neck stretched back and hair cascading over one shoulder. Fashion model pose, of course, from a picture Zoe had taken with her cell phone. “I like how her lines fade in and out. Your mind finishes the line. And it’s stylized. Graceful.”
Ms. Chandler nodded. “Good assessment. Anything else?”
“Um, you can really see Zoe’s personality in the drawing.”
“In what way?”
In that she did the least amount of work she could to get the job done. Ohh …
“She intentionally leaves things out. She’s mysterious.”
“I am?” Zoe whispered.
Stacey cast a sideways glance at her and didn’t answer.
Ms. Chandler hummed, like she wasn’t sure she agreed. “All right, then. Let’s move on. This is Stacey Varnell’s work. To start us off, I must say, this is quite unlike anything I’ve seen you do all year, Stacey. It’s much more abstract than your usual work.”
“It’s not really a drawing,” someone said.
“It doesn’t have to be realistic to still be a drawing,” another person argued.
“I’m not saying it isn’t good, but it’s a collage, not a drawing.”
“I think it rocks,” Noah said. “Like, who says a drawing has to be ink or lead? Stacey used pieces of paper as her primary medium. But you can see, she placed all the colors so that they replicated the form, creating light and shadow, just like she does all the time with a pencil or charcoal. She almost didn’t need the lines she drew on top of the pieces of paper, but that she put them in, that definitely makes this a drawing. But her drawing isn’t just a self-portrait, even though you can tell it’s her face in the image. She’s making a statement. It has meaning. It really says something about her as a person.”
Zoe touched the backs of her fingers to Stacey’s arm. Stacey couldn’t look away from the dark angel spreading his blessings upon her work.
“She’s creative, with strong feelings about the world,” Noah went on. “About what’s right and wrong. She’s not afraid to lay herself out there if it can make a difference.”
“Oh, he’s good!” Zoe muttered.
Very. Didn’t matter that his assessment wasn’t exactly right. He probably thought the whole exercise was bogus anyway. Still, Stacey wanted to giggle with joy at his glowing words.
Ms. Chandler’s brow wrinkled in surprise. “Well done, Noah. Thank you.”
He stepped back and slanted a glance at Stacey. “See, I’m not so useless,” he muttered.
“I never said you were.” Ms. Chandler lifted her chin. “Anyone else want to comment?”
No one did. Apparently Noah had settled the debate, or no one thought it was worth the effort to argue with him. As the students moved to the next easel, Stacey made eye contact with him and mouthed the words, “That was awesome!”
He nodded, his eyes narrowing and his lips curving into a smile. Stacey edged toward Zoe, but her hand went up to twirl her hair, and she tilted her chin down to return his smile.
“Shhhh-oooh,” Zoe breathed. “Is it getting hot in here?”
Stacey smacked her friend’s arm.
As they left the art studio for the final time that school year, Noah caught up to Stacey and slung his arm around her shoulders. Stacey’s feet stopped working.
He chuckled. “So, how’s it feel to know your work will be immortalized in the hallways of South Stiles High School next year?”
“Ha! Two weeks on display to impress the incoming freshmen. Hardly immortalization.”
“Is that a word? Immortalization?”
“Immortification, maybe?”
Noah chuckled. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. If anyone in this school makes it as an artist, it’ll be you. And me. Of course.” He pointed to his chest and grinned.
Stacey looked for Zoe and found her friend edging toward the opposite side of the hallway, gawking as if she stood in the presence of a rock star.
“So, you still seeing that other guy?”
Stacey blinked. “Oh! Uh …”
“‘Cause I’d really like to see you over the summer.” Noah took a lock of her hair between his fingers and gently tugged it, moving his grip lower until he ran out of hair. His hand lingered near her body.
Stacey found her voice. “Yes, I am. We’ve been together all school year.”
He dropped his hand down, but his arm stayed on her shoulder. “Long time.”
“Yes. I … we’re …”
Noah tilted his head and made a tsk sound. “Man. You got this sort of emo-fantasy look going on. I really like it. Does he like it?”
Had Calvin ever said so? After that day she’d arrived at school with her hair bleached and dyed, he hadn’t really mentioned it, other than to say she was beautiful in a general way. And then he was trying to get her to listen while he lectured her.
She took her hair between her own fingers. The pink had faded, no longer neon but a soft pastel. Which still looked really good, she thought.
Across the hall, Zoe’s gawk widened, like now she was watching a train wreck.
“Stacey?” a deep voice said.
Noah’s hand on Stacey’s shoulder fell away. “Whoops. Guess I’d better go.”
“What?”
She blinked again. The world came crashing in on her senses, and Calvin stood in the center of the flood. Oh … NO!
He froze before her like a sculpture, a curly-headed, cherub-cheeked, betrayed lover. Somehow his lips moved. “I heard you were sick. I came to check on you.”
Noah had escaped down the hall. Zoe had vanished too. Thanks a lot, y’all.
Stacey’s heart fluttered. Her fingernail scratched the side of her face rather than finding hair to push back. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah, uh, what was that all about?”
“That was Noah. He was congratulating me. Ms. Chandler is going to hang my final project in the hallway.”
Calvin’s chest rose; he was moving after all. But his face was stiff, like he refused to show any emotion. “Really,” he said flatly. “He congratulates you by touching your hair?”
“Oh. No, Calvin. He flirts with me, okay? He flirts with a lot of girls. But there’s nothing going on. I promise.”
“Really.”
“I promise.”
The muscles around his eyes pinched. “Stacey, stop—stop lying to me.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Yeah, right.” He turned away.
Three steps. Four. She gasped and forced her own feet to move. “Calvin, don’t. Please.” She reached for his arm but missed, her fingertips grazing his skin. “Listen to me. You can ask Zoe. You can ask Noah. There’s nothing going on.”
He spun to face her. His teeth flashed like an animal’s. “I came here because I was worried about you. All I do lately is worry about you. And you keep lying to me. What am I supposed to do?”
She bounced desperately in front of him. “I’m not lying. I’m not—Maybe a little, sometimes, about the food stuff. But not now.”
“I saw his arm around you! I saw him playing with your hair. Why didn’t you stop him?”
“Because, I …” Why didn’t she? Because she didn’t have the strength. “It just happened, Calvin. He never
touched me before.”
His breath came out in noisy billows. He didn’t believe her. “Were you going to stop him?” It was an accusation.
“Yes. I told him you and I are still together.”
“Still? Like, he asked you before this?”
“He—” Strength ebbed out of her limbs. If she crumbled against a locker, would he try to catch her? Would it help for him to realize how much all this upset her? “Oh …” She folded, thumped a metal door, and slid down.
Calvin stood above her, looking down, not moving. She turned blurred eyes toward him, let tears dribble down her cheeks. “I’m not lying. I love you, Calvin.” Her voice squeaked. Did he hear her pain?
Calvin sighed and reached down to her. His open hand hovered before her face. Just a hand? No gentle touch? No worried look? He started to withdraw it. She clasped it before it retreated completely and hung on as he hoisted her upward. All his strength and none of hers.
On her feet again, she tilted toward him, but he stepped back. She staggered to catch herself.
“You keep saying you’re fine,” he said, his voice thick. “I can’t take the lying anymore, Stace. So … call me after you see a doctor.”
Stacey’s gaze flicked to other faces. Staring. Intruding. Go away, people! “But—what about now?”
“I’ll be waiting. When the doctor says you’re okay, then we’ll talk.”
“Cal—”
His eyes glistened, but were motionless. Hard. His Adam’s apple moved with a hard swallow. “Don’t take too long.”
She crunched her shoulders together and pushed out a sob. It didn’t hold him. He forced his way through the circle of nosey students watching their breakup. Stacey slumped against the locker again and dipped her chin to her shoulder to hide her shame behind the veil of her white hair. Her face burned. Tears soaked her cheeks. She heard footsteps and whispers, but no one came to comfort her.
Running Lean Page 23