by Kim Zarins
“Jeff,” Mr. Bailey says, “we’re going to take you to the hospital.”
No, I mouth. I hold out my hands to stop him, then pull them back. I’m shaking, which looks bad, but I don’t have the energy to tell Mr. Bailey it’s just the meds, not my asthma. Everyone stares like I’ll turn purple or shake into some sort of epileptic fit.
I just breathe and command myself not to barf as the bus dips and curves its lumbering way.
When the bus takes the next off-ramp, I know I have to speak out loud, very distinctly.
“I’m fine now.” My voice whispers whether I want it to or not.
Mr. Bailey wipes sweat from his forehead. “I can’t risk this. You’re shaking.”
“Albuterol. It’s strong.” Suddenly, I wonder how he knew to get the albuterol and not the Diskus. Or where I kept the meds in my pack. Just lucky, I guess. “They’d only give me albuterol. It works fast. Some water, a snack, and I’ll be fine.”
“I want you up with me. Can you walk?”
He makes the bus driver pull over. Mace abruptly stops the back rub. I turn to give him a little nod. He shrugs and looks out the window. For some reason it hurts that he won’t look at me. Maybe I’m too freaky.
Everyone stares while I walk like an invalid on jittery, woozy legs. Mr. Bailey leads me, practically holding my hand.
He puts me next to him, in the front. Reeve’s row, but the other side.
I kind of leak tears as I finish up shaking.
Mr. Bailey gives me the mother lode: tissues, a water bottle, his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, pretzels, and a lollipop. A green one, which is my favorite since toddlerhood.
I give him a teasing look. “A lollipop?”
He smiles, and his eyes go nostalgic. “I have a five-year-old.”
I tilt my head. Maybe it was the episode and the side effect of being hyper that make me blurt, “You do? I didn’t see any signs at your—”
I stop. I put my hand to my heart, close my eyes, and fake cough, knowing that I’m betraying myself with this gesture, knowing he has to know I was in his house for senior prank. A house with no signs of family, not even a girlfriend, which is odd, because Mr. Bailey may be teacher-poor, but he’s kind, smart, young, and as funny as a normal adult can be. Handsome, too, in an intellectual way. But his house was definitely not one with a kid bed or toys on the living room floor. The tiny spare room was his office. I know because I may have sort of hacked his computer from there.
“Jeff, are you okay? Jeff?”
He rubs my back, not nearly as well as Mace did, and I surface from my fake coughing fit. I feel so tired, yet hyper, so maybe I’m not playacting sick all that much.
“Sorry. Five, huh? Your kid?”
“Yes. Five.” He looks at me carefully, either because he’s unsure about my lungs or my honesty. Maybe both.
There are some murmurs of goodwill from the back of the bus, but they sound distant. I’m in a bubble all by myself. Inside this bubble of downtime, I breathe and I snack and I chill.
I also give Mr. Bailey a full recap of how I stupidly sat in a place that I knew would cause trouble and ignored all the danger signals. He wants to know why I did that, and it’s pathetic to explain to an adult how hard it is to fit in, so I just say I didn’t want to interrupt all the stories and stuff, because teachers understand things like a student sitting quietly in his seat.
“Interrupt next time,” he says, almost angry. “Promise me that.”
I nod.
We’re not going to the ER. I’m hoping he won’t bring up calling home, and I know I’m golden when he lets Cece tell her story.
There was this girl in Florida who had a boyfriend and was headed to the same college he was going to, the University of Michigan. Lily and Brandon were prom queen and king, and she thought she knew what lay ahead of her: a life with this guy. She’d miss the Florida Keys, where she lived right on a dock slip and had her own little Boston Whaler. She loved the ocean more than any other place, but love is love, right? And an ocean is just an ocean. Most of the time, she didn’t even notice it. It was a backdrop to her life, that’s all. But Brandon was the focal point of her life.
One day Lily’s mom barged in on Lily and Brandon while they were “studying,” but she didn’t even bat an eye as they rearranged their clothes. Instead, Lily’s mom screamed with excitement, “There’s a dolphin outside!”
So Lily ran outside and saw the dolphin. It was right there in their dock slip, spy-hopping. Lily sat on her dock and watched the dolphin, and the dolphin watched her. After taking pics for a few minutes, Brandon went back inside, but Lily and her mom stayed on the dock. I mean, how do you just turn your back and go inside when there’s a dolphin in your own backyard, looking right at you?
Just to hear it breathe was heaven.
The dolphin—a she, Lily decided—stayed over an hour. The up-close experience at her own dock slip gave Lily such a rush. She went into her bedroom and found the book on dolphins that she used to spend hours reading. She’d stopped obsessing over dolphins once she started middle school and discovered boys, but the memories of that first passion all came rushing back.
And the dolphin came back too. Every day. And every day it came closer and closer to Lily’s feet dangling over the dock’s edge until, one day, the dolphin nudged her foot.
Pure magic.
Lily and her parents guessed this dolphin must have been separated from her pod and was looking for a new one. Maybe it thought Lily and her parents would make a good new family.
Lily had been adopted by a dolphin.
What would you do if that happened?
Well, for spring break, Lily’s family had paid for a trip to the Grand Canyon. But they canceled what reservations they could and ate the losses. If they’d left, the dolphin would have moved on.
Lily and her mom shared the obsession. Lily’s mom made sure she was around during the school day, and Lily took over every afternoon. Her dad filled in when he could. They bought nicer patio furniture so they could hang out there more comfortably. And they bought lots of pool toys too.
Lily would go out with Brandon only after nightfall.
At first Brandon thought the dolphin thing was cool, until Lily started opting out of watching his baseball games. It didn’t help that after he’d play, and shower, and pick her up for dinner, she’d be glowing from all her time spent with Angel. That’s what Lily had named her dolphin. She didn’t care if it was a childish name or not. To her, it fit. This creature had wings. Or, maybe, this creature gave Lily wings.
Anyway, that summer, Lily told Brandon she was going to withdraw from Michigan. She just couldn’t leave Angel in the fall.
That was it for Brandon. “You’re choosing a dolphin over a human? Over me?”
“I guess so.”
“We’ve been seeing each other for five years. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Yes . . . but . . . this is a dolphin. At my house!”
“Don’t you want to move out of your parents’ place?”
Brandon and Lily had planned to get an apartment and live together for the first time. They’d both been looking forward to it. But if you could choose, would you rather shack up with a hot boy or swim every day with a dolphin in your backyard?
So Brandon stormed off to Michigan, and Lily stayed with Angel.
Lily and her mom, and less often her dad, kept the rotation going. Lily took classes at her community college. And the dolphin stayed.
I could skip ahead to Lily’s later work in cetacean research, but when she looked back on her life, this is the story she’d describe as her turning point. Following her Angel made all the difference.
“So what do you think of her choice?” Cece asks everyone.
Girls smile from ear to ear. Guys fidget in their seats.
“Swimming with a wild dolphin every day . . . ,” Reiko says dreamily. “Who wouldn’t want that?”
Frye looks warily at Reiko, like he�
�s seeing some kind of rejection in his future. “You wouldn’t want to follow your sweetheart to college? Live together?”
Reiko tips her head back and laughs. “Duh, it’s a dolphin!”
The girls are eerily unanimous. Except the prom queen.
“I couldn’t,” Briony says.
“Come on, Bri!” Mouse chides.
Franklin gives his girlfriend a sideways glance and wears one of those ugly frowns that show all his front lower teeth. He’s been wearing versions of this uncomfortable look during this entire debate, as if suddenly realizing that his massive house, fit body, and fancy car are worthless compared to a pair of flippers.
“It is a fact universally acknowledged, that a young, unmarried woman is in want of a dolphin,” Mari says, getting a laugh from everyone in AP English.
Briony shakes her head. “I mean, I love dolphins, but I love Kai more.”
They aren’t sitting together because of the whole bed swap thing, but Kai reaches across and touches her hand. “And I love you, babe, and I wouldn’t break up with you over a . . . I don’t know, whatever the dolphin equivalent is for guys.”
“Yes, you would!” Cece snaps. “Guys ditch girls for their careers all the time. Why can’t girls do the same? I used dolphins, but it doesn’t have to be a cute reason. It could be a job; it could be a banana slug. Same principle.”
Reiko wrinkles her nose. “Ew! I think you just ruined your whole point.”
“You really wouldn’t, Bri?” Mouse asks, like she can’t believe it. Mouse is one of those rare popular girls who parties hard and seems happy cruising around in Franklin’s Boxster for a nightlife of beer and sex, but at heart I think she’d rather spend her days Eskimo-kissing horses, bottle-feeding baby animals, and singing and dancing to Disney princess songs with birds flittering all around.
Briony shakes her head. “No.”
“What about . . . a unicorn?”
Briony laughs. “There’s no such thing.”
Mouse’s big brown eyes are begging in the most irresistible way. “But what if a unicorn showed up in your backyard? What then?”
“I think the Kai-man has all the horn she needs,” Bryce says, and Rooster grunts, “Good one,” and high-fives him.
Briony doesn’t answer the question.
“Mammals are dolphins, not fish,” Cookie adds philosophically as he surfaces from the back row, holding up his head on the seat in front of him. He rubs his eyes and looks around.
Saga has this look on her face like, You asshat.
“Where was I?” Cookie asks, pulling his hat over his mess of curls. “Maybe boats. You guys are tripping out on dolphins? Right on.”
“Your story time is over,” Cece scolds.
Cookie stares at her like a pouty-lipped preschooler getting cruelly booted from circle time. “What? Why?”
Saga might have just kicked him by the way he jolts suddenly. “You fell asleep,” she tells him.
“Whatever. I’m awake now.”
Cece snorts so thunderously I wonder if she’s emphasizing how liberated she is from ladylike manners. “It’s just like the patriarchy to sleep when they please, and then all the women have to shut up and listen when the men wake up again.”
Cookie squints but clearly can’t work out what is going on.
“She’s right, you know.” Lupe raises an appraising eyebrow. “You slept through your turn. Here’s what I think: If there’s time and interest, you can add to your story at the end. But it’s not really fair to waste any more time because of you.”
His puppy dog eyes get all round and sad. “But I passed out. I couldn’t help it!”
Lupe crosses her arms. “Yeah, we noticed, and then there was the Jeff Incident. Maybe you should reconsider your cookie recipe, Cookie.”
“Hey, where’s Jeff? Jeff?” he calls. Cookie looks around on the floor, like he might have dropped me.
Lupe had started off with laughter in her voice, but now she sounds almost threatening. “Are you kidding? You floated to the Happy Plant Stratosphere during your story, which was kinda cute in a stupid way, but then you gave Jeff an asthma attack, and now you want us to hear more of your crap? Forget it, Cookie. You don’t need to waste our time a minute more.”
“Chill,” says Bryce. “It’s just Cookie.”
“Just Cookie?!” Lupe rolls her eyes and turns to look at Cookie, who is poking his nose into his elbow and sniffing himself. “Just because he’s stoned doesn’t mean he’s harmless. Some of us here happen to be allergic to Cookie and—”
Mr. Bailey cuts in. “Everyone, we’ve had a great start, and there’s no reason we won’t have a great finish. Let’s get along. That’s the number one rule here: respect for all. Lupe, Cookie—can we get along?”
Cookie just sits there with this clueless look on his face, and then, unbelievably, he yawns and falls into Saga’s lap.
Lupe stares at the roof of the bus and huffs. “Whatever.” And without waiting for Mr. Bailey to select the next storyteller, she launches into her tale.
LUPE’S TALE
Okay, before I begin properly, turn to the person next to you and tell that person a secret. Not just your favorite ice cream—a real secret. One that would have consequences if it got around.
Everyone looks uncomfortable. We’re not necessarily sitting next to our best friends, thanks to Alison’s idea of musical beds. Not that I’d have told Pard anything.
But I’m in a really weird position now, sitting next to Mr. Bailey. And, boy, do I have a secret that would have serious consequences—and he’d be very, very interested in hearing it.
I put on the shy, I’m a kid and you’re a teacher face.
“Awkward, isn’t it?” he says with a chuckle. And he has this careful smile, like he has his own secret. Or maybe his secret is my secret.
“Do we have to do this?” I ask.
“I can start,” he says. He looks oddly vulnerable for a teacher, then leans forward and says in an undertone, “I haven’t seen Sam in two years.”
I give him a look. Who is Sam?
“My son,” he explains.
My jaw drops. “Why not?”
His laugh is quiet and bitter. “My ex moved to Idaho. I can go there for weekend visitation rights, but I don’t have the money for the airfare and motel. Not after child support . . .”
Everyone’s whispering—Alison and Pard are practically making out, they’re so close—and I wish I could be in on the confessions of teenage crushes and drug experimentation, not this very adult problem. It makes me realize there are lots of ways a parent can lose his kid. It doesn’t have to be the asthma attack of a teenage girl just trying her first and only cigarette behind the stands at a football game. A messy divorce can cut you off almost as much, and Sam will probably grow up thinking his hard-hearted dad never bothered to visit.
“You got screwed,” I say, shaking my head, and I feel so guilty again. He’s been screwed enough without me adding to it.
“True.” He looks at me. “How about you?”
I fight down a flutter of panic with a fake laugh. “I don’t know.”
“You have one minute left,” Lupe calls out.
Mr. Bailey looks at me, and I know I have to say something. I give him something a high school teacher might think is a big one. “I’m a social drinker.”
“I noticed.”
“Yeah.” My nervous laugh dies in shame. “I’m sorry, you know, about this morning. . . .”
“I met my wife over a few beers. Drinks, we could do. It was being together without the buzz that was the hard part. Old people like to give life advice, and mine would be to choose your partner based on how well you get along sober.”
I nod, all obedience, and I think he’s through before he adds, “That goes for friends, too. They should like you for who you are.”
That’s an odd thing to say.
“They do,” I assure him. My pretzel bag crinkles when I ball it up, but there’s no trash can.
Damn.
Mr. Bailey holds out his hand to take the bag, exactly like a parent would. When I hand it to him, I feel like such a kid. He puts it in his now mostly empty lunch sack.
It’s unfair. Mr. Bailey should be having a lollipop with Sam, not fussing over the useless asthmatic kid who can’t throw away his own trash from a mooched snack. No, lunch. He probably woke up at 5:00 a.m. to pack himself lunch, and I just ate it.
I turn around and see mischief on a lot of faces from all those juicy secrets, and Lupe’s smile is the most mischievous of all.
Now, imagine your partner spilling your secret—either the secret you told or the secret you held back and didn’t tell. What would you do to that person for betraying your secret? What secrets should be kept, and which secrets shouldn’t? When do you kill the messenger?
Here are my characters:
We’ll have Saga be the heroine, both hot and mysterious—
“And well dressed,” Briony adds.
“Thank you,” Saga says, regally.
But she was unaware of her sex appeal. Though she kept bumping into walls and spilling her juice box on herself at lunch, it only made guys want to lick the juice from her smooth, silky skin.
Saga raises an eyebrow, and everyone seems unsure where Lupe is headed with this odd description. Saga’s the opposite of clumsy, but her skin is definitely lickable.
“And for our hero . . . I need a vampire.”
“Don’t do Stephenie Meyer,” Mari begs. “Do Rainbow Rowell.”
But Lupe is unfazed. “I need an Edward.”
Reiko grins. “Obviously, it has to be Pard.”
“Right,” Briony says, “because he’s so hot.”
Mouse squeals like a fangirl, “And he’s got butterscotch eyes!”
The girls crack up, and Pard scrunches his brown (butterscotch) eyes. He’s probably missing his fedora right now, but he doesn’t hide. He fights.
“I do not look like Edward,” he says in a clipped Edwardian way. “Or any other vampire. Don’t make the comparison.”
“What do you have against vampires?” Sophie asks shyly. Sophie is a very cute, plump sort of person who speaks up only when she absolutely has to, which means she must love vampires. “They’re strong, immortal, gorgeous.”