by Jonah Black
Before I went there, I walked down to the lifeguard tower to see if Pops Berman was around, but he wasn’t. I sat in the tower and looked out at the ocean. In the distance, some people were flying radio-controlled airplanes. It was kind of cool to watch the planes doing these dives and circling around each other.
They made this high-pitched whining sound and started to have kind of a dogfight. I decided to walk up the beach and get a better look.
As I got closer I was surprised to find that the two people flying the planes were girls, wearing bikinis. One was this dark-skinned muscular girl I’d never seen before. The other was Posie. I didn’t know she was into planes, but I am no longer surprised by anything Posie does. She’s sort of changed since she started going out with Lamar Jameson and hanging out with all the kids from Ely High. She’s like, more aloof and confident.
There’s nothing geekier than flying remote-controlled airplanes, but of course Posie made it look like the coolest thing in the world. She was wearing these mirrored sunglasses and the bikini she had on was bright, bright orange. Her fingernails and toenails were painted silver. She was chewing gum with her mouth kind of open and her face was lit up with this electric smile as she watched her plane.
Suddenly, one of the planes sort of sputtered and died and went into a tailspin. A moment later it crashed on the beach, and its wings broke off.
The other girl just sort of stood there staring at it for a moment. It was her plane. Posie’s plane buzzed over the site of the crash and waggled its wings. The other girl walked over and picked up the pieces of her plane and started walking away. Posie shouted something after her, but I couldn’t quite hear what she’d said.
“Hey, Posie,” I called. “What’s up?”
“Hey,” Posie said. “You’re Jonah Black! Didn’t we used to be friends or something?”
She glanced at me for a second, then returned her gaze to the sky. She held a radio-control unit in her hands, with a long antenna that she kept pointed at the moving biplane.
“Since when were you into planes?” I asked.
Posie didn’t answer. She just kept on flying her plane.
My eyes fell upon the place at the bottom of Posie’s throat, where her collarbones met. I remembered kissing that exact place when we were going out. Then I remembered the night that we were about to sleep together and I called her Sophie by accident. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done. But Posie forgave me. She’s incredible.
“Hey, Jonah,” she said. “Hold this for a second, ‘kay?” She handed me the remote control and then she ran toward the ocean and dove under the waves. I just stood there watching her in the water. There is nothing more perfect than Posie in the surf. She went under for a second, then she surfaced and started doing a strong breaststroke against the current.
The tide was going out, leaving conches and clams on the beach. Foam sizzled on the white sand.
The sound of an engine drew nearer, and I realized I was holding the remote control without even looking at where the plane was. It was buzzing straight toward me, and I had no idea how to fly the thing.
I pushed the biggest lever up, assuming that would make the plane go up again. Instead, it went into a plunging nosedive. Posie’s plane was about to smash straight into the sand.
Then Posie appeared out of nowhere, dripping wet, and grabbed the remote control out of my hands. She pushed some levers and the plane started climbing again.
“Jesus, Jonah. Remind me never to get in a plane with you, okay?” she joked.
“Sorry,” I said. Posie was piloting the plane now. Water was running down her back. Each drop captured the sunlight and sparkled against her tan skin.
“Who was that you were with before? The girl whose plane crashed?” I asked.
“Oh, her,” Posie said. “That’s Kassandra. Lamar’s ex-girlfriend. She thought she could get in my face with that pathetic Sopwith Camel. I just had to shoot her down!”
Posie spat out her gum with a sound like phooo.
“A Sopwith Camel? What’s that?” I asked.
“World War One biplane. You know, Snoopy flies one in the Peanuts comics.”
I just looked at her, amazed.
“Oh, come on, Jonah. Like you never read the comics.” Posie laughed.
“Actually, I’m usually too busy doing intellectual stuff, like reading encyclopedias and studying for my SATs,” I joked.
“Yeah, right,” Posie said, laughing. Her teeth flashed white in the sunshine. “You mean you’re too busy chasing girls around.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I said. I liked it that she thought I was this big stud.
“So what’s up, Jonah?” she said. “I never see you anymore. Did you ever figure out what to do about what’s-her-face? The psycho chick?”
“Sophie,” I said. “She’s in some hospital now. I am so over her.” I tried to sound nonchalant. Posie smiled at me.
“What’s so funny?” I said.
“Listen to you. ‘I am so over her.’ You think I’m gonna fall for that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just want to be over her, that’s all.”
The plane did a loop-de-loop.
“Thorne says you’re going out with some chick from St. Winnifred’s,” Posie said.
“Yeah. Molly Beale,” I said.
“Never heard of her,” said Posie. “She doesn’t surf, does she?”
“Nope.” To be honest, I felt kind of embarrassed talking to Posie about another girl. I mean, the original deal was, we broke up so I could get my head straight about Sophie. And here I was, talking to her about Molly, and my head was still not straight about Sophie. And Molly and I weren’t even really going out yet, but I didn’t tell her that.
There are some days when I wish I could trade both of them to get Posie back. But I already had my chance to have Posie, and I messed it up, badly.
“So what’s she like?” Posie asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “She’s really smart. She’s funny. She’s a terrible driver.”
“Yeah, well, you want to know what sucks, Jonah?” Posie asked me.
“What?”
“Me having to find out you’re going out with somebody from Thorne. Why don’t you call me anymore? I used to be your best friend.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s been . . . I don’t know. Weird.”
Posie looked at me. “Does she know you’re still all mental about Sophie?”
I didn’t answer right away. Posie buzzed me with her plane and I ducked to avoid getting beheaded.
“Hey, I don’t know,” I said, annoyed. “Do I have to tell everyone everything?”
Posie put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed it. “It’s okay,” she said. “There’s really nothing wrong with being mental.”
At that moment this huge, radio-controlled stealth plane came buzzing down out of the sky. It soared above us.
“Hey!” Posie said, all excited. “It’s Lamar!”
I turned around and saw Lamar Jameson, who is about the hugest guy I know, standing on top of a dune behind us. Posie took her arm off of my shoulder and waved. I thought about the times Lamar and I had competed against each other in diving meets. Since I broke my arm, Don Shula High’s team has gone completely to hell. Ely High is now number one in Broward County. Thanks to Lamar.
“I’d better be going,” I said.
“No, wait,” Posie said. “Stay. I want you and Lamar to be friends.”
The stealth plane descended straight toward me. It dove faster and faster. I ducked and covered my face with my arms.
At the last second, the plane pulled up. Lamar came down from the dune grinning this huge grin.
“Hey, Sweetie,” Posie said, and gave him this huge wet kiss. It was funny to see the two of them making out, while holding their remote-control units behind each others’ backs.
Then Lamar looked over at me and nodded. “Hey, Jonah,” he said. “How’s the arm?”
I was wishing Northgirl hadn’t written MARRY ME, JONAH on the side of the cast. It’s pretty embarrassing.
“It’s okay,” I said. “How’s diving?”
“It’s okay, man,” said Lamar, trying to be modest.
“So who do you think you’re going against in the finals?” I asked. It was either Ft. Lauderdale or Tampa.
“Tampa, definitely,” Lamar said. He looked up at his plane. “Definitely Tampa.”
“I’m so glad you guys are hitting it off!” Posie said. It was funny, until that moment we almost were hitting it off. But as soon as she said that I felt self-conscious, like we were being forced to talk to each other. I mean, Lamar’s not stupid. He knew I’d gone out with Posie—even if it was only for like, five minutes. And he knew that Posie and I have been friends since grade school. If I were him, I wouldn’t have wanted me around.
“Well, okay then,” I said. It was time to go.
“Okay,” said Lamar.
“See you guys,” I said and started walking away.
“Hey, listen, Jonah,” Lamar started to say.
I stopped walking and looked at him. He was even huger up close than he’d seemed at the end of the diving board.
“You’re good, you know?” Lamar told me.
It took me a second to figure out what he meant. He meant I was a good diver.
“Thanks,” I said. “So are you.”
“No,” he said. “I meant it. You’re—well, yeah. Good.”
I nodded. It was a pretty cool thing for him to say. And he was being honest about it. He didn’t say I was great, because I’m not. He’s great. He’s like, the best diver I’ve ever seen. Anyway, him saying that made me feel like Posie is in good hands. I think Lamar is a pretty decent guy.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I told Posie.
“Okay, see ya, Jonah,” she said, looking up at her plane. I walked away down the beach. From behind me I heard the sound of two planes, circling each other.
Jan. 14, 10 P.M.
I had a feeling Molly was going to call me, and I really didn’t feel like talking to her, so I logged on to talk to Northgirl so the line would be busy. Molly never calls after ten because she thinks it’s rude. I guess she’s just trying to be polite, but no one in this house goes to bed before midnight anyway.
AMERICA ONLINE
INSTANT MESSAGE FROM NORTHGIRL999,
1-14, 9:41 P.M.
NORTHGIRL999: Hi, Jonah!
JBLACK94710: Hey, Northgirl. How have you been?
NORTHGIRL999: I’m all right. I think I have a new boyfriend.
JBLACK94710: I’m sorry to hear that. I thought you were waiting for me.
NORTHGIRL999: I am waiting for you, you bonehead. When you figure out who I am, I’ll drop this guy and start things up with you that minute. Deal?
JBLACK94710: Okay. Can you give me any new clues about who you are?
NORTHGIRL999: I don’t think so.
JBLACK94710: Come on, just one? It’s driving me crazy!
NORTHGIRL999: I’m glad it’s driving you crazy. Now you know how I feel, sort of.
JBLACK94710: You won’t even give me a hint?
NORTHGIRL999: Well, tell me what you know.
JBLACK94710: What do I know about you? Well, you say you’re somebody I see all the time.
NORTHGIRL999: Right.
JBLACK94710: And you know practically everything about me.
NORTHGIRL999: Yup.
JBLACK94710: And you’re a girl. You PROMISE me you’re a girl, right? I mean, you’re not like Mr. Bond or something?
NORTHGIRL999: You mean, Robere?
JBLACK94710: See, look at that—you even know Mr. Bond’s stupid first name.
NORTHGIRL999: Jonah, everybody at Don Shula knows Mr. Bond’s stupid first name.
JBLACK94710: WAIT. YOU GO TO DON SHULA???
NORTHGIRL999: Of course.
JBLACK94710: You never told me that before. That is a huge hint.
NORTHGIRL999: Okay, so who am I?
JBLACK94710: Um. Well, first let me decide who you’re not. You’re NOT Posie Hoff.
NORTHGIRL999: I am definitely not Posie. Puh-lease.
JBLACK94710: And you’re not Kirsten, or Cilla, or Cecily.
NORTHGIRL999: Cold, colder, coldest.
JBLACK94710: And you promise me you’re not my sister, Honey?
NORTHGIRL999: Eww, gross!
JBLACK94710: But you’re somebody I see all the time.
NORTHGIRL999: Yeah, somebody you totally IGNORE.
JBLACK94710: Um . . .
NORTHGIRL999: Somebody who thinks you’re totally HOT. Somebody who would do it with you in FIVE SECONDS if you asked. Somebody who thinks about what you look like with your clothes off, all the time. Somebody who goes to all your diving matches just so I can see your pecs.
JBLACK94710: Can I ask you a question?
NORTHGIRL999: You can ask me anything you like, Mr. Wooden Head.
JBLACK94710: When I finally meet you, how am I going to know it’s you?
NORTHGIRL999: You will, Jonah. I promise, you will.
Jan. 16
When I got home from school today, there was a package waiting for me. It was postmarked Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, and at first I thought it was from Dad. But then I realized the handwriting wasn’t his—it was Sophie’s! On the outside of the box it said PRECIOUS AND FRAGILE, which are the words I’d use to describe her, if I had to.
I took the box into my room and opened it up. There were lots and lots of rolled-up newspapers protecting whatever it was. The newspapers were all Philadelphia Inquirers. I didn’t even know they were allowed to read newspapers in Maggins.
I kept pulling out the balls of newspaper and unwrapping each one. They were all empty. I started thinking, well, it wouldn’t really surprise me if Sophie sent me a present that contains nothing.
Finally I unwrapped a big ball at the bottom of the box, and inside it was a small Ziploc bag. And inside that was a dead hummingbird. There wasn’t a note or anything.
I sat there for a moment holding the bird in the plastic bag, just looking at it. Then I got angry. This whole time I’d been hoping that there was some sort of gift inside the box that would acknowledge what I’d done for her; the connection that we have. I was hoping she’d sent me—I don’t know—a ring, or an arrowhead, or a stone from the beach in front of her house in Maine, or a horseshoe from one of her horses. Even a nice long letter from her would have been good. In fact, that would have been best of all. It was about time Sophie wrote me a nice long letter explaining why she cried every time we were about to have sex, or why she painted that picture of herself about to jump off a cliff. That explained . . . I don’t know. That would explain her. Instead, I got this. A dead bird. I guess she really is nuts.
I looked at one of the pieces of newspaper. It was the horoscope page. One of the listings, for Gemini, was circled. You will find yourself pulled in many directions. Avoid making any decisions now. I’ve never really believed in astrology, and I’m not a Gemini, I’m a Cancer, but the horoscope seemed to describe exactly how I feel about Sophie.
Then I got scared. I’d been so wrapped up in thinking about how mad I was, that I hadn’t even thought about Sophie. She’s reached the point in her life where she is sending people dead hummingbirds? What the hell is wrong with her???
I wanted to call Sophie on the phone, tell her I love her, ask her if she’s okay. But the more I thought about it, the more I was like, whoa. She sends you a dead hummingbird and you’re wondering if she’s okay? I think this is a question I already know the answer to.
What I can’t stop thinking about is how Honey is going up there, to Pennsylvania. I could go with her. I could go see Sophie.
AMERICA ONLINE MAIL
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Hey, Betsy. I’m sorry I didn’t write you back when you wrote me before. That was like, December, I guess. I appreciate
you trying to warn me about Sophie. Maybe you know she and I got together between Christmas and New Year’s. She came down to Florida with her family and the two of us met in a hotel in Orlando. It was all pretty weird, actually. She kind of freaked out on me and ran off. This was in Disney World. Then I got a letter from her a week or two later and she told me she’s in Maggins now. It was this really sad letter, and she was begging me to come rescue her. Since then I haven’t heard from her, except yesterday I got a package from her in the mail—she sent me a dead bird. It’s kind of giving me the creeps.
The weird thing is that I still think about her all the time. Do you think that means I’m crazy? Did you ever have that feeling, like you couldn’t stop thinking about someone, even though you knew you shouldn’t?
I guess I feel sorry for her. I feel like maybe in some bizarre way I’m the only person she trusts.
Well, anyway . . . How is everything at Masthead? You must be waiting to find out where you got in to college. Where do you want to go? My sister, Honey, is already in at Harvard. She’s going up there in a few days to visit the campus and meet some professors and I guess do whatever she can to make sure everyone there regrets they ever let her in. : ) (This would make a lot more sense to you if you ever met my sister, who is pretty strange.)
Anyway, I also wanted to say that I’m glad you tried to stay in touch with me, even though I didn’t write you back right away. I feel bad. You were really nice to me when I was at Masthead, and I always kind of wish we’d gotten to know each other better. I’m sorry if I let you down or anything. You’re a great girl, Betsy. If I could do Masthead all over again, I wouldn’t spend all my time obsessed with Sophie!!! Well, you know what I mean. I hope so, anyway. And I hope you aren’t offended by any of this. You’re just a cool girl, and I should have told you last year when I was around. Thanks for looking out for me.
Maybe we could talk on the phone sometime.
Jonah
Jan. 17, 4:30 P.M.
I’m lying in my room eating Cocoa Puffs out of the box, which makes me feel like I’m about six years old. Honey is going through this whole Cocoa Puffs phase right now; it’s all she eats—three meals a day. Mom says she isn’t worried. She says that sugar is “our way of saying hello to our own energy.” Honey fills her cheeks with them so she looks like a hamster, then she pushes her palms against her cheeks and crushes the Cocoa Puffs against her teeth. Then she washes them down with Coke. Last night I watched her doing this, and she said, “You should try some, Octopus Face. They make everything taste like a frigging chocolate milk shake.”