Jonah took Latin, the one language class exempt from performing holiday skits. Instead they did a parade of Caesars on the Ides of March, or something.
“You don’t have to do it with them,” Jonah said. “Why can’t you be in Harlan and Sphere’s skit? Or some other geek’s?” Harlan and Sphere were doing Harold et Kumar Vont à White Castle à la Veille de Noël, or “Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle on Christmas Eve”—two stoners get the munchies for candy canes, and White Castle is all out.
“I was assigned to Garber’s group,” I said. The disgusted look on his face told me that he sensed this was not the complete truth.
Garber looked surprisingly cute as Dawn Davenport, in his pencil skirt and bouffant wig, kicking down the Christmas tree and attacking his horrified parents, played by me and Walt. “Mais qu’est-ce que c’est? Je veux cha-cha heels! Où sont mes cha-cha heels? Je vous déteste!”
“Cut,” Anne said. She owned the video camera, so that made her the director. “Beatrice, you’re too stiff. You look like a mannequin. Loosen up!”
I wasn’t trying to be stiff; I guess I just came off that way on camera. Garber defended me. “She’s playing the mother. The mother is a stiff. Leave her alone.”
Anne sighed. “Whatever. Let’s go again.”
The real problem—besides my innate physical stiffness—was the contrast between the way Garber and I played the scene. I was playing it straight, to honor the spirit of the original. Garber hammed it up as Dawn, telegraphing this is a joke with every girlish sashay. That was the wrong approach, I thought, but I knew he wouldn’t change it for me. The skit was supposed to be a joke; it was just a stupid school project, anyway. It wasn’t worth arguing about.
“You’re doing Female Trouble?” Jonah said after catching a glimpse of my script. “I can’t believe you. I told you about that movie, and now they’re desecrating it.”
“We translated all the dialogue into French,” I said. “That gives the scene a totally different feel.”
“They’re desecrating it,” he repeated. “You’re desecrating it.”
I felt like a traitor. But why should I? What did Jonah want from me? Was I supposed to flunk French on principle, just to avoid people Jonah didn’t like?
“Why are you so jealous?” I said. “It’s not like you’re my boyfriend or anything. Are you?”
A shocked glare from Jonah. Then he looked away. I couldn’t believe I’d let those words out of my mouth. They rang in my ears, pushy and demanding, the questions of a conventional girl, something Anne or AWAE would say, not me.
“Boyfriend is such a stupid word,” Jonah said. “No, I’m not your boyfriend. I thought we were way beyond that. What we are cannot be described with trivial words like boyfriend and girlfriend. Even friend doesn’t come close to describing it.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Look, do what you have to do,” Jonah said. “I’m sorry I’m being a prick about it. I really don’t care.”
Maybe that was the problem—I wanted him to care. But he didn’t utter another word of protest about Trouble Feminin, even after we screened it at Assembly to laughs and cheers. Jonah and I kept up with our nightly radio rituals and our search for Matthew as if nothing had changed. But something had. I could feel it in my clanky metal joints. Somehow I had let Jonah down. He was starting to treat me like I was just another person.
I was one of them now.
We still hung out. I still tried to help.
“This is it.” Jonah slammed the Walla Walla, Washington, phone book shut. The muffled thud echoed through the monumental hall of the Enoch Pratt Library. “If Matthew is not being held captive at the Walla Walla Home for Invalid Boys, he is not in the continental U.S. And why my father would bother sending him to Europe or Hawaii or somewhere just to strap him to a bed and feed him mush three times a day, I don’t know. Though maybe the institutions in Mexico are cheaper.”
“I’m sure they’re taking good care of him, wherever he is,” I said.
“I’m sure they’re not,” Jonah countered. “No one would take care of him like I would.” He thumbed the flimsy white pages. “I could swear she had a Baltimore accent, just a touch of one—” I knew he meant Mrs. Trevanian, the woman from the home who’d called his father about Matthew back in September. “He’s probably somewhere nearby, maybe Virginia or Pennsylvania—”
“But we’ve called every institution in the area five times,” I said. “They won’t tell us anything. It makes sense, Jonah. You wouldn’t want just any random caller to know your business—”
“I’m not a random caller,” Jonah said. “I told them I was family, but it didn’t matter.”
“Maybe you should ask your father one more time,” I said. “Maybe he’s changed his mind. Maybe he’ll tell you this time—”
The lids dropped over his eyes, like steel doors slamming shut.
“He won’t. I’ve begged him. I’ve knelt on the kitchen floor in front of him and pleaded for him to tell me where Matthew is. I grabbed his ankles, trying to stop him from going to work, swore I wouldn’t let him leave until he told me, but he jerked his legs away. Now he won’t even admit that Matthew is alive. He tells me I must have dreamed that phone call.”
“He’s gaslighting you,” I said. Mom and I had watched Gaslight many times back in the pre-crazy days. It was an old Ingrid Bergman movie about a husband who tried to convince his wife she was losing her mind.
“I don’t know what to do,” Jonah said. “I don’t want to give up. But I can’t find him. I can’t find him. I can’t find him.”
“We’ll find him,” I promised. “There must be someplace we haven’t looked. Some secret place in your house, maybe—”
“Stop it,” he snapped. I was afraid if I touched Jonah’s hand at that moment, my skin would stick to it and tear off, like a tongue on a frozen rail. “You’re making me crazy. Why do you even care about Matthew? He’s my brother. But you keep saying, We can do it, if we just stick together and wish on a star…”
My breath caught, trapped in my lungs. “I’m not like that at all,” I said. “Anyone who knows me even a little bit knows—”
“I don’t care,” Jonah said. “I can’t think with you around. Leave me alone.”
“What? Jonah—”
“I said leave me alone!”
“Shhh!” The librarian, a chubby bald man, glared at us from behind the checkout counter.
“Jonah,” I whispered, desperate to make him hear me.
“Give it up,” he said loudly. “You can’t help me. Why don’t you go to your real friends, Anne Sweeney and those people. That’s who you belong with.”
“Why are you saying this to me?” Now my breath was heaving and damp, the tears fighting their way to the surface. “I don’t deserve this.”
“Go away.”
“It was a school project. I couldn’t get out of it. But it’s over now—”
“Go away.”
He dropped his head on top of the phone book. The marble floor screeched under my chair as I slowly stood up, my eyes on Jonah. I picked up my coat, my book bag. But I didn’t walk away yet. I waited.
He didn’t move for ten long seconds. At last he looked up. “What are you waiting for?”
I glanced at the librarian, whose eyes were shooting death rays at us. Why didn’t he pick on the bums sleeping in the periodical stacks? I had more to say to Jonah, but I wanted to say it without making noise. So I stiffened my torso and bowed from the waist, jerking my arms the way I had over Goebbels’s dead gerbil body.
Jonah scowled. “What the hell is that?”
“I’m yelling at you,” I said. “In Robot.”
He pushed to his feet so fast his chair fell backward, clattering on the floor. “You want to learn a new language? Here’s how you say Go to Hell in Ghost.”
He walked away. His shoes squeaked on the floor. The door moaned as he opened it, then slammed shut, the crash echoing thr
ough the hall.
The mid-December days dragged without Jonah. Every night I listened faithfully to the Night Lights, hoping Ghost Boy would call, but he didn’t. Myrna read a poem about how excited she was about the upcoming Christmas luncheon, Larry from Catonsville played old Frank Sinatra carols on his record player, and Dottie reported that she got the blues worse than ever this time of year. I worried about the luncheon, if Jonah would still go with me, or if I had the courage to go by myself. I didn’t think I did.
“How come I never see you with Jonah anymore?” AWAE asked the week before Christmas break. We were in gym, camped on the sidelines during a basketball scrimmage. Our gym uniforms consisted of boxy blue mini-dresses that snapped down the front, with poofy matching bloomers underneath. We looked like dowdy flight attendants on the Starship Enterprise.
“Did you finally realize he’s not worth it?” Tiza said.
“No,” I said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I told you, you can’t depend on him,” Anne said.
This was beginning to look kind of true, but I still didn’t want to admit it.
“You don’t have to tell us what happened,” AWAE said, and I swear I saw specks of foam in the corners of her mouth, so eager was she to hear the dirt. “Just know that we’re here for you now.”
“Thanks.” I’d never admit it, but I did feel a little lonely. I’d gotten used to having someone to talk to, someone to go out with, a reason to leave my disheveled tomb of a house. The Christmas video was finished, so I’d drifted away from Anne and Walt and Tom Garber, hoping to appease Jonah. I called him instead, but he never answered. I pictured him glaring at the old black dial phone in his room as it rang. I approached him at school, but he ghostwalked away. I even showed up for a yearbook meeting, but he didn’t. Nina told me to tell him that the job of Art Director could not be done from home, and, if he didn’t show up next time, she’d try to get him fired. I wasn’t too worried about that happening, since I doubted Nina could find anyone else who’d want the job.
If he didn’t want me, he didn’t want me. I had to find other ways to fill my time.
When gym mercifully ended, I followed the rest of the blue-bloomered herd downstairs to the locker room. My face was sweaty, my hair flopping out of its ponytail holder, and I had pit stains under my arms. Loitering outside the girls’ locker room was a freshly showered Tom Garber.
“Stop, in the name of the law.” He blocked my way with a halt gesture. I stopped.
“What law?” I said.
“The Law of Nature,” he said. “The Law of Thermodynamics. The Law of the Divine. Pick a law, any law.”
“I wouldn’t dare break the law,” I said. “What do you want?”
“I would like to invite you out for pizza,” Tom said. “Have you been to Alonso’s yet?”
“No.”
“Then you’re obligated by law to accompany me there this Friday night.”
“What law is that again?” I asked.
“A local statute of the City of Baltimore. Alonso’s is a neighborhood institution and every Canton student must eat there at least once before graduation. You can go downtown to City Hall and check the books.”
“I believe you,” I said. He smelled like tea-tree-oil shampoo.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Okay.”
He breezed away, and I pushed through the locker room door, dazed, as if I’d had the wind knocked out of me. I checked my pits for BO. Yecchh. I hoped he hadn’t gotten a whiff of that.
Anne, half dressed already in her kilt and small white bra, smiled knowingly. “So, what was all that about?”
“Did he ask you out?” AWAE asked.
“Just for pizza,” I said. “No big deal.”
“I told you he likes you.” Anne tugged on the hem of my gym uniform. “Any guy who finds you attractive in this outfit deserves a chance.”
“I guess.” I stumbled, still dazed, to the bathroom for a quick shower, and wondered what Jonah would think if he found out I was going out for pizza with Garber. It would probably only make him hate me more, I decided.
But what could I do?
It was the law.
CHAPTER 11
“Sit on my side,” Tom said. “Next to me.”
I moved over to his side of the booth, and the Prince of Roland Park rested his arm on my shoulders. It was just another Friday night at Alonso’s, a cozy old tavern near Hopkins, where high school and college students ate pizza and downed beer by the pitcher. The waitress, a ponytailed blonde, said, “Something to drink?”
“Ginger ale, please,” I replied.
“Make it two,” Tom said.
“Why aren’t you having a beer?” I expected lacrosse players to drink beer at every opportunity.
“Why aren’t you having a beer?” he asked back.
“I’m trying to keep my wits about me.”
“Well, I’m trying to keep my wits together too.” Tom smiled. “So you can’t take advantage of me.”
The waitress sighed. “Nobody’s having anything if you keep this up.”
“Ginger ale,” Tom said, smooth as vanilla pudding.
“Back in a minute,” the waitress said.
Tom glanced at the menu. “Pepperoni okay?”
I nodded. “Or mushroom.”
When the waitress brought our sodas, Tom ordered a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza. He removed his arm from my shoulders and played with the pepper shaker. “Are you going away for Christmas?”
“No,” I said. “Are you?”
“Vail,” Tom said. “Do you ski?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Do you play any sports?”
“I like to swim when it’s hot out,” I said.
“Hey, so do I!” He held out his hand. I slapped it five. “What else do you like?”
“Um…I like to watch Columbo reruns.”
He nodded soberly. “I’m heavily, heavily into Columbo. I was named to the first All-City Team in Columbo-watching last year. What else?”
“Driving around aimlessly with the radio on is good,” I said.
“Way good. Hit me again. I’m loving these juicy Beatrice factoids.”
I strained to come up with something cute. “I enjoy being a girl.”
“That’s my hobby too! I’ve got the video to prove it. We’ve got so much in common. Give me five.”
I slapped his hand, but he caught it and curled his fingers around it. Maybe Anne was right; maybe Tom deserved a chance. Just because Jonah thought he was shallow didn’t mean it was true. And what was so bad about shallowness, anyway? Sometimes it was kind of a relief. I thought about Dad and how he didn’t get bogged down by misery the way Mom and I did. Maybe that was how people were supposed to be. Shallowness might be something to strive for.
The waitress returned. “Excuse me, is your name Beatrice?” she asked. I nodded. “You have a phone call at the bar.”
“A phone call? At the bar?” This had Jonah’s prints all over it. But how did he know where I was? “It must be my mother.”
Tom was looking at me funny. “Don’t you have a cell phone?”
“Guess I forgot it.” I got up from the table. “Sorry. I’ll be right back.”
The bartender passed me the phone with a wet hand. “Hello?” I said.
“Bea, I’ve got to see you.”
“Jonah? How did you find me?”
“Your mom blabbed,” Jonah said. “I can’t believe you. Alonso’s with Garber? How trite can you get? I’ll rant about that later.”
“What do you want? I thought we weren’t speaking.” Was he just trying to ruin my evening? Could he be that petty?
“I need to see you right away.”
“Why?”
“Please, just come see me.”
“Jonah, I’m busy now. Can’t it wait a few hours?”
“No. Bea, I’m sorry, it’s an emergency. It’s big. R
emember that first night we went to Carmichael’s? When I had something important to tell you?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“This news is that big. Bigger.”
“What is it? Something about Matthew?”
“Yes,” Jonah said. “I found him.”
“Oh my God!”
“Please, Bea, I’m bursting. I have to show it to you.”
“Show what to me?”
“Just come! Meet me at Fanny’s in ten minutes.”
He hung up. I stared at the phone for a second, buzzing with a mixture of annoyance, excitement, and curiosity.
He’d found Matthew. But how?
I looked at Tom in our booth, patiently waiting for me and the pizza to arrive. I desperately wanted to see Jonah. Jonah needed me. Tom didn’t deserve to be abandoned on our first date, but I couldn’t imagine staying, wondering the whole time how Jonah had found Matthew, knowing the only other person on earth who cared was me. Tom was okay, but we were just pretending to like each other, hoping that eventually, if we pretended hard enough, it would turn real. Maybe it would and maybe it wouldn’t. But Jonah was already real. Even Matthew was real, though I’d never seen him. And they made me real.
I went back to the booth.
“Everything cool?” Tom asked.
“There’s kind of an emergency. I need to get to Fanny’s somehow.”
“Fanny’s Bar? In Hampden?” Tom said. “That’s where the emergency is?”
I nodded, and he didn’t press me, even though it sounded ridiculous. “I’ll take you,” he said. “Let me get the check.”
He paid the check and told the waitress he’d stop back in a few minutes and take the pizza to go. I tapped my toes on the floor, trying to shake out the energy suddenly flowing through me. Jonah was back.
Tom and I hurried to his Saab. He opened the passenger door for me, very gallant. I felt like a wife in a TV movie, going into labor while her husband rushes her to the hospital. “To Fanny’s!” Tom cried. “I’ll get you there in no time.”
We zipped down Cold Spring Lane and across Roland Avenue into Hampden. The houses and yards and trees suddenly shrank, and Christmas decorations seemed to have snowed down from the sky. Tom pulled up in front of a grimy storefront with a pink neon sign that said FANNY’S, the Y shaped like a martini glass.
How to Say Goodbye in Robot Page 10