Nice Try, Jane Sinner

by Lianne Oelke

  BONNIE

  I’m so pumped. You have no idea.

  JS

  Yeah, it might be fun, I guess.

  TOM

  Don’t sound too excited to celebrate with us.

  BONNIE

  It’s gonna be awesome. I promise.

  TOM

  Do you have a date? I mean, have you found someone to go with?

  JS

  You mean, in the last five minutes? No. But if you look out the window, you’ll see the boys come running. Any second now.

  Tom laughed, loudly enough to turn heads in the coffee shop. It’s not easy being so hilarious.

  The fourth episode aired tonight. We all squished together on the couch to watch, as usual. This time, AP focused on R and me. We’re both way more cautious than Chaunt’Elle and Marc, but somehow AP found the pieces to put a friendship together. Kind of cool to watch, but it makes me nervous. Alliances make good targets.

  R and I had a private strategy meeting later. We debated what we should do about our alliance, now that the cat’s officially out of the building. We talked about playing up our friendship to generate public support as the only sane people in a house full of batshit. The implication neither of us was brave enough to admit was a showmance. I’m not okay with pretending to be in a relationship to get people I don’t know to like me. I have principles, even if I don’t know what they are. He does too, but I’m pretty sure he values honesty for its own sake. I value honesty as a means to an end. I told him yeah, there’s no point denying we are on the same team. In a way it’s us against Chaunt’Elle and Marc. He said yeah. So we didn’t really figure out a new game plan. But we did eat donuts and talk about television.

  R

  You all right, Jane? You seem a little distracted.

  JS

  Hmm?

  R

  Everything okay?

  JS

  Oh. Yeah. It’s nothing.

  R

  You know, you can tell me. I’m on your side, remember?

  I could tell him. I hadn’t really considered that option before—​my secrets are my business, not anyone else’s. But he already knew about the whole suicide situation. No one else from HOO knows about that. What if R knew about my high school situation, too? I decided to tell him before I overthought it and lost my nerve.

  JS

  Well, Robbie—​the thing is, I’m still in high school. Not in high school, obviously—​I dropped out a couple months ago—​but I’m taking high school courses here. To finish my diploma.

  R

  Shit. Does Alexander Park know?

  JS

  No.

  R ran his fingers through his hair. Agitated.

  R

  Shit, Jane. You can’t just—​you can’t just lie about that. To everyone. And expect no one to notice.

  JS

  Well. No one did notice.

  R

  That’s kind of messed up, you know? Don’t you see that?

  R wasn’t the first person to call me messed up, and he won’t be the last. But since when did he have the ability to make me feel like I’m in trouble?

  JS

  Yeah, I get it. I know this is fucked-up. And now everyone is graduating next week, and they want me to go to grad, too. I said I would, even though I’d rather stab myself in the eye than watch everyone I know graduate without me.

  I wanted R to yell at me so I’d get angry too. But he didn’t yell.

  R

  I’m sorry, Jane. That must suck.

  JS

  A little.

  R

  What if . . . would it help if . . . I go with you? As a friend? So you don’t have to go through it alone.

  I had to pinch my arm under the table so hard that my skin broke in order to keep from tearing up. I couldn’t stop the tiny smile, though.

  JS

  That . . . would be great. Really. Thank you, Robbie.

  R’s smile was much more generous than mine.

  ThuMay26

  AP called a meeting tonight to announce the next immunity challenge.

  It’s fucked-up.

  Simple, but fucked-up.

  We’re all getting into a van tomorrow. The last person to leave it wins.

  That is all.

  The only conditions are staying within city limits and not doing anything illegal. The challenge will continue as long as it takes. Hours. Days. It will be streaming live on the HOO website, 24/7.

  AP

  And besides immunity, the winner will receive five hundred dollars cash! Thanks, Chrysler!

  Once upon a time I used to read novels and run around in the sunshine and watch substandard television programming and draw pretty pictures. Now I sit at my desk in my basement room and read academic articles by artificial light, and all my previous social behaviors have been reduced to distant memories.

  On the bright side, I get to live inside a van tomorrow.

  I can hear Jenna and AP argue in the kitchen right now. She’s been popping in and out of the house lately. Sometimes to see me, even when AP isn’t here. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I’ve never seen either of them less than composed before. I feel like I’m eight years old, listening to the parents bicker when they think I’m asleep. I thought Jenna might have told AP about my age, but she wouldn’t do that. And why should I assume they’re arguing about me?

  JUNE

  WedJune1

  I’d like to say I’m a fairly resilient person, but I don’t know if I can recover from what happened in that van. Words cannot begin to describe the horror. I’ll have to try anyway, as I’d rather have these images stuck on paper than running free in my head.

  It started well enough.

  I considered myself prepared. I had my books, homework, iPod, laptop, notebooks, and enough gel pens to decorate the Sistine Chapel. I had mouthwash, deodorant, extra clothes, and pads. It was not my time of the month, thank god, but I couldn’t very well pee in a bottle. I ate a big meal the previous evening and took a big shit Friday afternoon before I climbed into the van. God, I hate that word. If I never sit in another van again, it will be too soon. But the first day was all right.

  It felt like a road trip. The four of us laughed, drove around the city, stopped at drive-thrus. We caught up with the McNugz Club, and Chaunt’Elle was pressured into completing her initiation. She finished her nugz faster than I did, but her motivation to impress Marc was significantly higher than mine.

  There were small cameras in the van and a HOOcap trailing us wherever we drove, and who knows how many people watching us from home, but it still felt like we were on our own. Robbie did an unexpected and hilarious impression of Alexander Park. He flattened his hair with his fingers and put on the perfect serious expression.

  R

  RUN. Three, two, one.

  After that, we counted down before doing anything. It really was quite funny. But maybe you had to be there.

  The first night was uncomfortable but not unbearable. We drove back to the house and parked on the driveway. Once the sun went down it got chilly, but we had blankets. Chaunt’Elle and I slept on the bench seats, and the boys reclined up front.

  When we woke up, Chaunt’Elle was gone. Normally I’d make fun of her for losing yet another challenge, but apparently she got her period. I can’t blame her for this one.

  The second day went by quickly. We watched TV shows on my laptop until the battery died. Robbie did really well, all things considered. He even peed in a bottle, wrapping a towel around himself for privacy and “to avoid splashing.” We kept the van tidy, filling a bag with garbage and throwing it out the window onto the front lawn. Alexander Park came out and cleaned it up, which for some reason we found hilarious. I think he’s trying hard to appease the neighbors and bylaw officers by keeping the outside of the house well maintained. Maybe he thinks it will make up for all the noise. After the first bag, we threw out garbage piece by piece. Robbie would count down, “RUN. Three,
two, one,” and we’d watch the HOOcaps scurry across the lawn like the boys who retrieve tennis balls during matches. Eventually the HOOcaps caught on and only came to collect the garbage when we weren’t waiting to make fun of them. Considering that we had nothing else to do, this wasn’t often. A few people came by the house to stare at us. We threw crumpled paper at them until AP came out and told us to stop. We threw paper at him when he walked away.

  We didn’t drive much that day because no one wanted to pay for gas. I took some notes from my Bio textbook, then doodled over them. Marc listened to the hockey game on the radio. Robbie sat quietly and slept. We ate a late supper in a Walmart parking lot. I didn’t eat much. By this point the van did not smell good. It smelled like old french fries, urine, feet, and unwashed boy. Just when I thought I was getting used to the smell, someone would move and I’d catch a new whiff. Marc kept farting that evening. It was terrible. We had to choose between opening the windows and staying warm. We chose to freeze. By now Robbie was very grumpy. I told him to hold on. He did, until Marc took a dump out the window. Robbie didn’t say anything—​he just got out of the van and left. Marc put his pants back on and called out, saying he’d drive him home, but Robbie climbed into the HOOcaps’ Civic without looking back. I would have taken us to a car wash, but everything was closed. Instead I drove the van to the opposite end of the parking lot. I climbed past Marc and over the back seat and fell asleep in the trunk. Then the music started.

  I hate country music. Marc knew this. In a way I’m glad that’s what he chose to play. If he had been clever he would have played a song I liked. He would have ruined Radiohead or Metric or the Beatles. But Marc is not clever and I doubt he has ever read A Clockwork Orange. So when the twanging started, I knew it could have been worse. After the fifth repeat of “Achy Breaky Heart” I was doing all right. After the tenth repeat I was getting a headache. After thirty plays, I climbed over the back seat and was ready to use violence. Marc was prepared for that. He was wedged between the front seats, staring at me. I tried to reach behind him. I tried to throw a shoe at the radio. He just laughed and pushed me back. I’m not a small girl, but Marc is bigger than me. And quite a bit stronger. I knew in my heart it was useless to fight him like that. And I didn’t want to make a bigger spectacle of myself than I already had. So I retreated to the trunk and lay there, covering my ears and humming to myself. My iPod and headphones were still up front, so that wasn’t an option. I told myself that Marc was listening to this too. It had to be getting to him. When I checked on him an hour later, he was reclining on the driver’s seat, wearing my headphones.

  Mr. Dubs was sparking interest on social media with tweets like “#houseoforange looks like #sinner and #marc could use a little more #elbowroom” and “#houseoforange really tickles the funny bone! #elbowriver.” Other faculty and students got involved too, and the replies distracted me for a while, but I didn’t sleep that night. Eventually Marc started the van and left it running for a while so the battery wouldn’t die. Around midnight he turned up the volume until my chest vibrated with the noise. I held my head and rocked back and forth. For hours. It had to be getting to Marc, too. It had to. It had to. Maybe this is what would make him crack. It had to. This is the only thought that went through my brain that night. The sun was rising when he finally turned off the music. It didn’t help much. The song kept playing in my head.

  I didn’t eat the next morning. My head was aching and I felt sick. Skipping breakfast was fine with me. I was still doing my best to eat as little as possible. I would not take a dump out the window. I would not.

  As we pulled out of an automatic car wash, AP called. He told us to be at Fish Creek Park in an hour for an interview with the Calgary Sun. Dear lord. We were not happy. It would take at least forty-five minutes to get there, which meant we didn’t have much time. Marc wanted aspirin, so he took us to a gas station. We pulled up to a full-serve pump, and Marc rolled down the window to talk with the attendant.

  ATTENDANT

  Do you want me to fill ’er up with regular?

  We were pretty low on gas, but we were also in a hurry. And cheap.

  MARC

  No. Could you go inside and get me some aspirin?

  ATTENDANT

  Sorry, sir. Can’t do that. You’ll have to get it yourself.

  MARC

  Unfortunately I can’t do that. Could you please make an exception?

  ATTENDANT

  Sorry, sir. If you don’t want gas, I’ll have to ask you to pull over. Other vehicles are waiting.

  MARC

  Look, I’ll give you money. Ten bucks. Twenty!

  ATTENDANT

  Sir, please pull over!

  Marc made a strange growling noise. He opened the window on the passenger side and leaned over me, yelling at a kid walking into the store.

  MARC

  Hey, kid! Yes, you. Come here for a second. I just want you to do something for me. I have money.

  I’m not even kidding. He yelled those things to a kid. From a van. God knows I wanted aspirin too—​I was lightheaded and still nauseous—​but I couldn’t help myself.

  JS

  Run! Run, kid! Three, two, one. Hahaha. Don’t listen to him! Tell your parents!

  The poor kid ran inside, and our tires squealed as Marc shot away.

  MARC

  What the hell, Jane?! I would have shared! What the hell! What if they tell the cops?

  At this point I was laughing uncontrollably. I hoped they did call the cops. And that the cops would ask Marc to step out of the vehicle first. I laughed all the way to Fish Creek Park. Tears were streaming down my face. As we pulled up next to Alexander Park, I realized what a mess I was. I brushed my hair with my fingers and dabbed my eyes with my sleeve, still chuckling softly to myself.

  AP

  Sorry for the short notice, guys. But it’s really great they agreed to do this. Any exposure is good exposure, right?

  Exposure. Newspapers. My parents read those. I still haven’t told them about the show. I will, eventually, but not like this.

  JS

  Look, we’ll do your interview. But they’re not printing my last name or a clear shot of my face. All right?

  AP

  Jane, it’s in the contract. I have the right to—​

  JS

  Then I’m not doing the interview. I will wrap myself in a blanket and wait it out in the trunk.

  I started laughing again as I said this. The whole situation was getting to me.

  AP

  [Sigh.]

  Fine. They won’t use your last name or face. How about you, Marc?

  MARC

  I’ve got nothing to hide.

  AP

  All right. Be honest but interesting. Talk up the show. Mention the prizes. Got it?

  We nodded.

  The interview went well. For the most part. I didn’t start laughing again, which was good. I did throw up at one point. Thankfully I had a bag handy. The journalist was so kind as to run it to the trash can for me. It’s not the sort of thing I’d want to throw around.

  We had enough gas to make it home. We spent the rest of the day on the driveway. Jenna came to visit me, bless her heart. She brought me candy and magazines. We talked for a while, through the window. AP said visitors were fine, as long as they didn’t touch the vehicle.

  Robbie came outside too. He charged my laptop and my phone. He also promised to film Sociology class for me, if I hadn’t won by Tuesday. We laughed for a good ten minutes about the gas station incident while Marc sat there sullenly.