by Leah Scheier
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that it was the beginning of our relationship. And I thought that you and I could just catch up later. I didn’t mean to ignore you, I promise.”
She shrugged. “I’ve had news to tell you too, you know. I was going to call you tonight. And then I read all that stuff online and I thought…”
“Yeah, I know. You thought ‘what the hell?’” I interrupted. “You said that already. Kris, you have to believe me. Everything’s fine between Jonah and me.” I hesitated for a moment and leaned forward confidentially. “Actually, it’s better than fine. I’ve been meaning to tell you about it. I was saving it for this Saturday, in fact.”
“Okay, so what happened?”
I hesitated. “It’s what’s going to happen. Our relationship has gotten pretty serious.”
“And?”
“I think—I think he’s going to tell me he loves me.”
I’d been hoping for a squeak, a smile, some sign of encouragement. But she just crossed her arms. “Does he normally yell at his girlfriend before telling her he loves her?”
“That was nothing!” I exclaimed. “He was just trying to help me. Cora and her gang have been torturing me, and he has this plan to make her stop. So he’s pretending to break up with me. Just for a few days.”
Her expression softened a little. “Oh. So you were in on it, then?”
“Not at the beginning,” I admitted. “He explained the plan to me…afterward. I was a little upset at first. But I’m fine now. We straightened it out.”
“How sweet.”
This was not the reaction I’d hoped for at all. “I’m really happy, Kris.” There was a defensive edge to my voice. “I wish you’d believe me.”
“I do,” she replied after a pause. “I’m just a little worried.”
“About what?”
“I’m worried he’s going to hurt you.”
“He would never do that!”
“So why didn’t he tell you what he was planning to do until afterward?” she demanded. “You must have been so embarrassed when he yelled at you in front of everyone.”
“I was. But like I said—”
“I know you think you’re in love. But I’m just telling you to be careful,” she persisted.
“You’re not exactly the expert on guys, you know,” I countered angrily. “Since when have you ever been careful?”
“I didn’t need to be. I’ve never been in love with any of them.”
“So what are you saying? That it’s a bad thing to care about someone?”
“I’m just telling you to be careful. Look, this is all happening pretty quickly, right? So I’m just saying, take it a little slower.”
I shook my head. “Whatever. I have to do my homework.”
She got up off the sofa. “Fine. Just think about it, okay?”
Chapter 15
The vague tapping on my door
Is enough to wake the dead
The birds chirping by the window
Is like screaming in my head.
I had plenty of time to think about it, because the next four days were the loneliest and most miserable of my life. Jonah played his part without a fault. Not once did he even look in my direction. I had to watch as he flirted shamelessly with Cora. It didn’t help that I trusted him. When Cora sidled up beside him and snaked her arm around his waist, acid burned my throat. I’d like to say that I channeled some of my pain into my music, but I’m not sure how anyone actually does that. I mostly just wet my keyboard with my tears and wrote tuneless lyrics about birds.
But then, on Friday afternoon, just as he had promised, the game was over. Jonah met me at the lockers and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “I missed you, baby,” he murmured into my ear. Cora was standing in a corner glaring at us, and Jonah turned me around to face her. “Cora has something to say to you, April.”
She swallowed and glanced around the hallway miserably. A crowd had begun to gather. Teenagers can sense a brewing scandal like sharks sense blood in water.
Cora’s apology was barely audible at first.
“Louder, so we can all hear you,” Jonah ordered between his teeth.
“I’m sorry, April,” she moaned weakly.
“Okay, good. Now tell her what you’re sorry for,” he prompted.
She was trembling, her face crimson with shame. I felt bad for her. All the cruelty and pride had drained away, leaving behind a miserable, desperate little girl.
“It’s fine, Jonah,” I said. “That’s good enough.”
He looked vaguely disappointed but shrugged his shoulders at the crowd, as if signaling the end of the show. They melted away as quickly as they’d come, whispering excitedly to one another. I smiled, linked my arm through Jonah’s, and walked with him to the bus stop. Everything seemed suddenly bright again, and I slid in beside him and leaned my head against his shoulder as the bus pulled out of the parking lot.
“Well, Mr. Mysterious?” I asked him when we got to his house. “Are you going to tell me how you managed that?”
He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “Nothing magical. Just used a little old-fashioned blackmail.”
“What do you mean? What’s on the phone?”
He flipped to his “video” folder and clicked Play. Cora’s voice rose from it, shrill, whiny, and abusive. She was complaining about Tessa and calling her a traitor and a whore for flirting with Miles. Then she moved on to Miles, and then Robby, and then half a dozen of her closest friends. There was an hour of trash and gossip on his phone, but we only listened to the beginning before turning it off.
“How did you get her to say all that?”
He chuckled to himself. “I have a lot of boyish charm apparently.”
“Jonah!”
“What? I’m serious. I can be very persuasive. Poor thing just needed someone to talk to.”
“That’s all you did? You listened to her?”
“I swear. Come on, stop glaring at me like that. Okay, maybe we should talk about something else. How about this: I have a surprise for you. A special present. Do you want to see it?”
I wavered for a moment; I didn’t want to prolong the argument, because I really did believe him, but I didn’t want him to think that he could get away with anything just by dangling a present in front of me.
“Okay,” I agreed grudgingly. “But we’re going to come back to this later.”
“Nope. I think we’re finished with this subject. Come on. Your present is hidden in my studio.”
“Your studio?” My pout evaporated. “It’s finally ready then?”
I’d been waiting for this all month. Of course I knew what he was going to show me. He’d hinted for weeks about a new painting. I hadn’t been allowed in his studio since that first time, even though I begged repeatedly to see it. “No one watches me paint,” he explained. “It isn’t safe to show until it’s done.”
There was a new canvas standing in the corner by the window. It was covered with a sheet like all the others, but he’d cleared a space around the bottom, and some of his supplies still lay on a little rumpled mat beneath. I hurried over to the easel, lifted up the cover, and threw it back.
The painting was absolutely stunning. I’d tried to imagine how it would look. I’d even guessed the background from the streaks of blue under his fingernails. But I wasn’t prepared for this.
He’d painted me, of course. I’d been expecting that. Over the last few weeks, I’d noticed him staring at my features, as if he meant to memorize everything about me. But seeing my face now lit up in color was not what took my breath away. It was how he’d drawn me.
I was beautiful in his portrait. It was the first thing I noticed when the sheet fell back—the vision of a pretty girl standing on a hilltop. But then I stepped back in disbelief. I recognized
myself: pale face, hazel eyes, thick brown hair. But I was also seeing myself for the first time, seeing myself as he saw me. And I loved the girl he’d captured in the painting, not just because she was pretty, but because she looked hopeful and at peace. I’d never seen that expression on my face before. When my reflection stared back at me in the mirror, there was usually a wrinkled forehead and critical, narrowed eyes. I’d never really liked the April in the mirror. But he’d washed all my insecurities and doubts away.
He’d drawn me standing on a grassy hill, surrounded by a stormy ocean. Near the horizon, palm tree branches poked their leaves up between the waves, but I was dry and warm, untouched and unaware of the flood around me. I wore a simple navy dress, and my hair was loose around my shoulders; there was a delicate golden necklace around my neck. Nestled in the bend above my elbow, a small white bird peeped out from the wrinkles of my sleeve. I didn’t really see the little bird at first, because its body was mostly hidden by my dress and I was too excited by the beauty of the portrait to wonder at the tiny creature in my arms. It was much later, in the privacy of my room, that I noticed that its wings were torn and its little body was crushed and soaked in mud. But at that moment, I wasn’t thinking about birds or symbolism; I couldn’t take my eyes off the beautiful girl in the painting.
Jonah was watching my reaction closely. He must have heard me catch my breath, but I’d been completely speechless for a few moments. I didn’t know what to say. Finally, I turned to him and threw my arms around his neck. “Can I take it home with me?” I asked him. “Please, please, can I keep it?”
I felt his body stiffen in protest. “No, April, I’m sorry.”
I begged and pleaded. I held onto him like a little girl. I kissed and teased him. He was obviously pleased with my persistence, but there was something bothering him that he couldn’t share with me. We bargained and argued for a long time until he finally gave in to me. There was one condition, he insisted, as I danced around in victory. I had to promise him that I’d hide the portrait in my room and make sure that no one saw it, not even my mom.
“I don’t understand,” I said as he wrapped the canvas in paper. “You must show your drawings to other people. What about the teachers at your art school? They must have seen your work.”
“They did,” he told me simply. “But everything is different now. Things have changed for me. I can’t explain it. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
I shrugged as I tucked my prize under my arm. “You’d better get over this shyness soon. I’ve been working really hard to get ready to audition at your art school. But there’s no way I’m going without you. It was your idea. You were the one who lectured me about self-confidence.”
“You’ve really decided to go for it? Because of what I said?”
“Well, if you can spend hours painting me, then I can spend a little time practicing on my keyboard for you. Not that I think it will make any difference. But I promise you I’ll try.”
Chapter 16
I really did try—I went from playing several minutes on the piano to banging away for hours every day. My music teacher noticed the difference right away and complimented me on my progress. My mother hovered near my door, listening and dropping little whispers of encouragement. “I’m proud of you. You’re so focused now.”
And I was, for the first time in my life. The truth was that I was working hard for Jonah, to make him proud of me. I was scared that he would pass on to his gilded path without me and that I’d be left behind. I saw it as my only chance to follow him, and I was determined to do it, no matter what it took. I would play better, be more confident. I’d mold myself into a real artist. I would change for him.
But, as Jonah had hinted, something else was changing at the same time. It was before Christmas break that it became obvious to everyone, but I think I started feeling it right before Thanksgiving.
When was the first real warning sign? The first instance of unusual behavior? That’s what everyone wants to know, it seems. When did it all begin to come undone? I don’t tell them about the episode after our first kiss, of course. There’s no reason to tear that memory apart. The first warning sign, I tell them, was in history class, sometime near the beginning of November.
Ms. Lowry was talking about the Chinese Cultural Revolution. We’d opened up our books and were copying out the relevant facts and dates—Mao Zedong, 1966, Red Guards—when Jonah’s hand shot up.
“Yes, Jonah?” Ms. Lowry paused, one finger still pointing to the time line on the board.
“So you’re saying that the government arrested teachers and artists? Destroyed books and paintings? They threw professors in jail?” There was a note of fear in his voice.
“That’s right, Jonah. The revolutionaries were suspicious of anyone who was educated or creative—if they didn’t use their creativity to further the socialist agenda.”
“And what did they do to them?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Well, some were sent to rural labor camps. Many intellectuals were tortured and killed—”
“So now you’re talking about a kind of brain control.” Jonah’s voice rose, tense and sharp, cutting off her explanation. “You’re talking about national mind control.” Everyone turned to look at him; Cora raised her eyebrows, Miles was chuckling and shaking his head. Even Ms. Lowry appeared confused. She loved when her students got excited and passionate about history. But this wasn’t normal interest. Jonah was clearly scared, as if he thought the Red Guards were waiting for us outside our classroom door.
Ms. Lowry cleared her throat and slowly laid her eraser down. “Jonah, I don’t know exactly what you mean by brain control. Yes, independent thought was definitely discouraged. But that was hardly the first time that a government tried to snuff out art and science when it felt they threatened its authority.”
“No, you’re right—and it wasn’t the last time either,” Jonah declared. “They’re doing it all the time.”
There was an uncomfortable silence; several people giggled nervously. Jonah pulled out his navy spiral notebook and began scribbling furiously in the margins. Ms. Lowry gave him a long, bewildered look and quietly resumed her lesson.
When the class bell rang, Ms. Lowry caught me on the way out and motioned for me to come to the office with her. I didn’t want to go, but I could see by her expression that I didn’t have much choice. She closed the door and motioned for me to sit down.
“April, I’m sorry to bring you in here like this, but I feel that I have to ask for your input. Jonah’s little explosion today—”
“I realize it looked strange,” I interrupted. “And I was going to talk to him about it. I’m sure he’s just stressed out about something.”
“What I was going to say, actually, was that his outburst didn’t really surprise me. The fact is, I’ve been worried about Jonah for some time now. I’ve been planning to call his mother in for a conference. But I know that you and Jonah are dating, and I was wondering if you’d noticed any other changes in him recently.”
I couldn’t answer that question directly. I didn’t want to think about what she was implying. “I don’t know what you mean, Ms. Lowry,” I replied in a defensive voice. “He’s always been a little moody. Is that what you’re worried about?”
She sighed and settled back into her chair. “No, April. Moodiness is normal in teenagers. It’s his school performance that I’m concerned about. Take this paper I assigned last week about the Confucian influence on Chinese culture. He told me that you worked on it together.”
That was technically true. We sat next to each other in his room and looked up the sources together. But Jonah spent many more hours on it than I had. He was still typing madly on his laptop after I wrapped up and went home.
“But I know that he did the assignment. I watched him do it. Didn’t he hand it in?”
“Yes, he handed it in. But my goodness, it
was more than twenty pages long! And I’d only asked for three.”
“Oh. Is that a problem?”
“Well, the paper started off okay, but somewhere on the fourth page, I lost track of his train of thought. He began to ramble about conspiracies and religions trying to destroy our culture, government plots…”
“Oh, he just reads a lot about that kind of thing!” I said. “Spy novels, mysteries—he can’t get enough. He really needs to cut back.”
I don’t know why I lied to her. Jonah didn’t read novels, and if he did, he wouldn’t have chosen thrillers. But I was trying desperately to protect him, without really understanding why.
Ms. Lowry stood up slowly and walked over to my chair. “April, this wasn’t just a disorganized paper. I’m worried because Jonah stopped making sense. It was a twenty-page paranoid rant. He’s one of the brightest students in my class. I was wondering if you’re aware of any stress at home, anything I should know about before I call his mom…”
“No, there’s nothing!” I shot back. “Everything’s fine. And really, I think that you’re overreacting. I mean, if you normally call in every mother when their child writes a bad assignment or has a bad day, well, then that’s up to you. But I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. And I’m late to class now, so I’m going to go.”
She stepped aside to let me pass, and I fled the room as if she was about to tackle me to the ground and torture the truth out of me. Somehow I was convinced that if I stayed any longer in that office, Ms. Lowry might actually persuade me that something was wrong with the boy I loved. I would rather have faced the Red Guards and all their interrogation equipment than risk that.
Chapter 17
I don’t know if Ms. Lowry ever called Jonah’s mom in the end. Mrs. Golden had been acting so nervous recently that a little more worry wouldn’t have been noticeable to me. She did her best to hide her fears in front of Jonah. But no matter how phony she was or how cheerful she pretended to be, it was clear that she was becoming more and more frightened for her son. And for some reason, the only thing that seemed to calm her down was having me around. I didn’t realize this at first, but after the tenth invitation to come for dinner, I began to get the picture. So when school let out, I frequently went straight to his house and stayed there until my mother called me home.