“Did you find out about his father’s novel?” Ginny asked.
“Yes. It was what I thought. He saw Kay buying copies in the bookstore.”
“And?”
“He thought it was funny.”
“Did he ask you out this weekend?” Mia asked. She was always one to get right to the point.
“He’s trying,” I said.
“What’s that mean?” Kay asked. “Trying?”
“He wants either to come to my house to pick me up or have me meet him at the mall Friday night when we all meet to go to Jason’s party and maybe just be with him.”
“So why is that trying?” Darlene asked. “Sounds like a clear invitation to me.”
“I didn’t say yes yet.”
“To which one, him picking you up or meeting him at the mall?” Kay asked.
“Either.”
“You mean you might not want to be with him at all?” Ginny asked, her voice soaked in incredulity.
“I’m not sure. That’s all.”
They all wore the same amazed expression now.
“The one girl he chooses has to think about it,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “Maybe he’s not as sharp as we think.”
The others nodded. I could see that made them feel better about not being the one Summer had gone after first. We started walking again. I remained a step or two behind, struggling to foresee where all this was going. Now I was sorry I had wished I didn’t have a third eye. Maybe, because I was ungrateful, it had disappeared, and I was just as vulnerable as the others.
Peter and Danny were talking just outside the classroom. They were arguing about a new smartphone app. They paused when I broke away from the girls and stepped up to them.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” Peter said. “We saw you with the new guy. What’s he like?”
“Don’t you know? You helped him with where we are in history class.”
“Huh?”
“Didn’t you?”
“I have yet to exchange two words with him,” he replied. He looked at Danny, who shrugged. “What’s this about?”
I turned and looked for Summer. He was lagging behind with some of the boys. They paused when a senior boy, Ned Wyatt, came hurrying up the hallway past them. He was a good fifty pounds overweight and often bullied by other boys. They called him a mama’s boy and had made up a song about him to illustrate how overly protective his mother was. They often tracked behind him and sang: “Ned cannot play hardball; softball yes, hardball no.” It usually drove him to tears.
I saw how they were all looking at him now, smiling as Jason sang the song. I was surprised to see Summer join in with them. Ned tried to ignore them. He looked back once, and then his legs inexplicably twisted as if they had turned to rubber, and he fell forward, his books splashing on the floor, his glasses leaping off his thick nose, and his pens and pencils rolling away. There was a roar of laughter from everyone in the hallway. He struggled to get up, but it was as if the floor beneath him had turned to ice. He slipped and fell repeatedly. Other students stopped to watch him, until Mr. Hardik, who was about six foot four and easily more than two hundred pounds, came out of his science classroom and literally lifted him up. Mr. Hardik shouted at the others to get to class.
I looked at Summer. He smiled at me as if he expected I would be just as amused by what had happened as everyone else seemed to be. It gave me a chill. I went into the classroom and got to my desk quickly, trembling a little from the confusion I felt. Someone who had suffered so much emotionally should have more compassion for others, I thought, but then again, maybe the tragedy had embittered him and he was just good at keeping that hidden most of the time. I wasn’t sure whether I should feel sorry for him or annoyed at him.
He didn’t try to explain anything when he came into the room. We didn’t talk; in fact, he didn’t look at me, and he was with the boys again between classes. By the time I arrived at chorus class, he was at the piano, playing as beautifully as yesterday, only now he was running through the numbers selected for the performance as if he had been playing them all his life. Mr. Jacobs stood by watching him and listening with more wonder on his face than I had ever seen on anyone’s face. It was as if he had stumbled upon a true prodigy who was only his to employ and enjoy. He had found gold.
I took my seat quickly and observed how every other girl in the class was just as mesmerized. Again, for reasons I couldn’t understand, I was more annoyed by it than pleased for Summer. He looked like he expected no less than adoration, and that arrogance was starting to wear on me. My girlfriends would never understand.
When we got up to sing, I was shocked when Mr. Jacobs said he wanted to make a change with two of our numbers. His change was to replace Jan with me to sing the solo parts in both numbers. I looked at Summer. He held a tight smile. I started to protest, but Mr. Jacobs insisted I do it, and we began. Jan looked devastated. Afterward, when we were leaving the room, I told Mr. Jacobs it wasn’t fair to replace Jan so abruptly.
He had started to chastise me for telling him how to run his team when I fixed my eyes on his and, using the same concentration I had when I willed my father’s file drawer to close, willed him to stop. Suddenly, he did stop lecturing me. He blinked his eyes rapidly and then looked at Jan, who had lingered behind, despondent. He nodded to me.
“Yes, well, maybe I’ll have you do a solo in a different number, one that we’re not using a solo for yet,” he said.
“Thank you,” I told him. Jan had overheard and was smiling again.
When I looked at Summer, he seemed furious for a moment and then smiled and shook his head at me.
I turned and started away.
“You can be very convincing when you want to be,” he said, catching up to me. “Are you always that successful so quickly?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, a little nervous, because I, too, was impressed with what I had done.
“Maybe you don’t realize yet how effective you can be.”
“All I did was point out how wrong he was to replace Jan like that.”
“You’re better than she is.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think he really thought so, either,” I said. I paused and looked at him. “Speaking of convincing people quickly . . . I suspect that you somehow convinced him to do it in the first place.”
“All I did was point out the obvious.”
“Right,” I said, “the obvious.”
“I was just thinking about what’s good for the chorus.”
“Of course. I’m sure that was your only reason.”
He laughed. I continued walking, and he caught up again. “I see. You think I’m trying to endear myself to you quickly so you’ll go out with me Friday night.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Now, do you really think I’m that conniving?”
“Let’s just say I have my suspicions.” I stopped walking and looked at him with disapproval.
“What now?”
“That wasn’t nice ridiculing Ned Wyatt earlier. Looks to me like you’re being influenced by the wrong boys.”
“It was all in fun.”
“At someone else’s expense. I thought you would have more compassion and understanding,” I said.
He looked at me oddly for a moment, as if the entire idea was something he’d never expected to come from my lips. His expression changed quickly. “You’re right,” he said. “Sometimes I try too hard to make new friends. I haven’t had all that many opportunities to have friends, don’t forget, so I probably do make mistakes, compromise my values, and kiss up too much. You’re not the first one to notice. My father’s bawled me out for it a few times, too.”
Because he sounded sincerely remorseful, I walked slowly so we could continue together to our last class of the day. Something else came to mind, however, and I thought that since he was being so honest, I should bring it up.
“By the way, I spoke to Peter a litt
le while ago,” I said, before we reached the classroom.
“Peter, Peter . . .”
“Peter Murphy, the boy who supposedly clued you in on where we were in the history text?”
“Oh, right. Peter.”
“He said he never spoke to you about it. He’s hardly spoken to you at all, in fact.”
“That’s true.”
“But you said he showed you where we were in the textbook.”
“I saw where he was and figured it out, so in a sense, he showed me.”
“Cute explanation,” I said. “But you were giving me the impression you had made friends with him quickly, weren’t you?”
“Guilty.”
“Why did you do that?”
He shrugged. “I was told you liked him.”
“I do. He’s very bright and a lot more decent than most of the boys in this school.” I gave him a disapproving look, the way my mother would give one to me.
“What now?”
“You don’t have to pretend untruths to impress me, Summer. Just be honest. You’re picking up bad habits quickly in your new school. Or maybe you always had them, and now you’re passing them around.”
“Moi?” he joked.
I nodded and continued walking.
“Listen, Sage, if you really want to know, it’s Jason who’s the instigator in that group,” he said, when we saw them all pushing and shoving on the way to their last class.
He paused to watch them, so I stopped, too. I could believe what he said about Jason. I was the one who had warned Mia about him.
“If he is, he should get his just rewards,” I muttered.
“That’s possible,” Summer said. “Maybe sooner than later.”
I looked at him with surprise. He was staring at the boys with angry eyes. As they passed the stairway, Skip Lowe suddenly lost his balance, as if his left leg had turned into butter, and he hit Jason on his right shoulder with his left the way a football tackler might. The blow pushed Jason to the top step. He tottered for a moment and then fell awkwardly to his left, tumbling down the stairs. Everyone nearby screamed. I shot forward and looked down. Jason had broken his landing with his left hand, and from the way it looked and the pain he appeared to be in, I was sure he had broken his wrist. His friends shot down the stairs to help him to his feet, Skip included. He was apologizing profusely, claiming he didn’t mean it. He claimed his leg had just given out on him.
“I swear. I don’t understand it myself!” he shouted.
Jason continued to grimace in pain. Some of the other boys helped him make his way back up the stairs, with Skip following, his head down.
Summer stepped up beside me. “Happy?” he asked.
“What?”
He nodded at Ned Wyatt, who had come to see what had caused the commotion.
“Poetic justice, right? Ned Wyatt can have the last laugh.”
Teachers were rushing out to see what was happening. More students gathered. Mr. Jacobs was charging down the hallway. Jason was very important to the basketball team, and the season was going to begin in two weeks.
“Come on,” I heard Summer say. “We’ll be late for class.”
I looked back at the scene at the bottom of the stairway and then at Summer.
He smiled. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said, catching up, but deep down in my stomach, I felt as if I had swallowed an icicle whole. I felt a dark cloud swirling around me. Something very strange had just happened. I was sure of it.
The bell rang just before we entered. Half the class was still out in the hallway. The tumult wasn’t subsiding quickly. In fact, the shouting and screaming got louder. Mr. Leshner hurried to the doorway to look out and then hurried out, so those of us who had taken our seats rose to look out into the hallway, too. Nick and Ward were infuriated by what Skip had done “accidentally.” They were claiming he was jealous of Jason’s position on the basketball team and had deliberately shoved him down the stairway. Ward claimed he could see it was deliberate. Other students were standing by watching the verbal argument metamorphose into something physical.
Summer stepped up beside me. I saw the way he narrowed his eyes and tucked in the corners of his mouth, forming a strange, wry smile. Skip broke free of the boys who had been holding him back and punched Ward in the face hard enough to drop him to one knee. Nick shot forward and tackled Skip. Everyone was shouting, some cheering them on. It took Mr. Leshner, Mr. Hardik, and Mr. Taylor to pull the three apart. They were directed to go to Mrs. Greene’s office, and the crowd was told to go to class. It broke up slowly. Mr. Leshner headed back, and we returned to our desks.
“Get in your seats,” he ordered.
“See?” Summer said.
“See what?”
“Be careful what you wish for, because you might get it,” he said, then smiled and opened his textbook.
For a long moment, one of those times when I would certainly be accused of leaving my body, leaving the here and now, I wondered if somehow Summer was right. Maybe I had done something.
Luckily for me, Mr. Leshner determined it was necessary to quiet things down by giving us an assignment of reading, followed by the questions at the end of the chapter. There was no verbal give-and-take. Everyone was into the textbook. Gradually, I came back to reality, and no one had noticed I was gone.
When the bell rang to end the day, most of the kids were hurrying to find out what had happened to Nick, Ward, Skip, and Jason. In less than fifteen minutes, more than half of the varsity basketball team was in trouble. Mrs. Greene was very strict about physical violence in the school. It almost didn’t matter who was responsible. Whoever participated was suspended for ten days and put on serious probation. Privileges like being on a team could be revoked.
“Mr. Jacobs is going to be in a state of deep depression,” Summer said when we started out. “But no worries,” he added as we stepped into the hallway.
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“Now Jason will definitely be left home and will have his party.”
“I don’t think that’s at the top of the list of things to be concerned about, Summer.”
“It’s all relative,” he said as we continued walking toward the building exit. “What makes one person happy can make another unhappy. What’s good for some is bad for others. There is no good and evil. There’s only happiness and unhappiness.”
“I don’t want to believe that,” I said.
He shrugged. “So don’t. That’s my point.” He smiled and paused. “ ‘Why, then, ’tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’ ”
“That’s from . . .”
“Hamlet,” he said, and then he leaned over, and before I could pull away even if I wanted to, he kissed me quickly on the lips. “That was good. I’ll call you,” he whispered, and hurried off.
I stood looking after him and brought my fingers to my lips.
It was as if his lips were still there, still gently touching mine and sending tiny sparks rolling from the base of my throat, around my breasts, and down to the pit of my stomach, where they gathered and filled me with the sort of warmth I had felt only in fantasies.
“What’s wrong with you?” I heard Ginny ask as she and the others came up behind me. “Did you have a fight with him or something?” She watched Summer hurry out of the building as if he was being chased. I didn’t understand his quick exit myself.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Jason definitely has a fractured wrist,” Kay said. “Marge Lungen told me Mrs. Mills took him to the doctor. He’ll probably miss the whole basketball season.”
“And he could have used that to help get him college financial aid,” Darlene said.
“Nick and Ward could be suspended for ten days, and there’s only two weeks till the first game. They might not be able to play for at least a month, if they can play at all,” Ginny said. “We saw their parents arriving just a few minutes ago.”
>
“They knew what could happen,” I said.
“Excuse me,” Darlene said. “That’s it? ‘They knew what could happen’?”
“Well, didn’t they? You guys were the ones who told me how strict Mrs. Greene could be. Didn’t you call her the Iron Lady, Mia?”
“That’s not the point,” she said. “We should feel sorry for them and for the school. Maybe you haven’t been here long enough to appreciate it.”
“You’ve got your boyfriend, so maybe you don’t care about anything else,” Kay said.
“Of course I care about the school, and I do feel sorry for them, but—”
“But they knew what could happen,” Mia mimicked.
They were just looking for reasons to go at me, I thought. Summer had quoted Shakespeare. So could I.
“ ‘O, beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on,’ ” I said, and walked ahead, leaving them behind wrapped in stunned silence.
13
From the look on her face and the way her eyes shifted from me to the school building, I could see that my mother sensed something was wrong the moment I got into the car. I knew I would be forced to explain and hoped I could get away with half the story.
“What is it?” she asked as soon as I closed the door. “What’s happened today? Something has,” she said quickly. “It’s written on your face.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised or hoped I could hide what had happened. I knew that with anyone else but my parents, I could conceal any emotion or thought with a false smile or a blank expression. There was no blood connection between my mother and me, but she was often so in tune with my feelings and thoughts that I believed our hearts beat simultaneously. It was why I always feared lying to her. No other eyes could read my every gesture, the slightest movements in my mouth, or the shifting of my gaze as quickly and accurately as she could. It happened so often that I could understand why someone would question the fact that I was adopted. The bond between us was more like the bond of a child and her birth mother, who could say, “She was part of me. I know when she’s upset, angry, or afraid.”
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