“Gina is out sick. Orlando quit. That other boy—what’s his name? Ishwan? He broke his arm and just got back from the hospital, and he refuses to come in. You’re my last hope!”
“Nice to be first on your list and all, but there’s no way I’m working tonight.”
“I’ll pay you overtime.” This is an offer Pretzel Boss has never made anyone.
Even in my whacked-out, beaten-down, exhausted state of depression, I’m starting to realize the opportunity here. This man is desperate. Now that I have no boyfriend, no girlfriends, and nothing at all going on in my life, a career in pretzels seems about right. I should think twice about quitting my job. Plus, how could my day possibly get worse?
“I might come in”—I pause dramatically—“under one condition.”
“Name it!”
“Overtime. Plus, I get Thanksgiving Friday off, as in the day after Thanksgiving.”
“What? THE day? No way!”
“Nice rhyme,” I say calmly. “But my sister has a game I can’t miss. So that’s the deal. Today or THE day.”
Someone’s shouting in the background. I think I hear Robbie yell “Help.”
“Okay!” Pretzel Boss screams into the phone. “Just get down here now!”
On the drive to the mall, I can’t even celebrate this small victory over Pretzel Boss because I’m on my way to Hell’s Kitchen, home of the twisted pretzel and the three-cornered hat. Some victory.
When I turn into the mall, I can see why Pretzel Boss was so freaked. I’ve never seen the Springmill lot this full on a weeknight. I circle the whole complex before taking an illegal spot on the grass.
When I get to The Twisted Pretzel, the line snakes all the way to Nordstrom’s.
“Hey! Line forms back there!” barks a four-hundred-pound woman, pointing a stubby finger.
The last place she needs to be is at the front of a pretzel line, but I refrain from telling her so as I slip behind the counter.
“Gloves! Hat! Hurry!” comes the warm greeting of the Pretzel Boss. “You and Robbie both need to wait on customers. I’ll cover the oven.”
Robbie looks like he’s been wrestling alligators. His hat is crooked. Strands of hair hang over his forehead, and he’s covered in pretzel dough.
I don’t ask.
I get to work, and although I’d never admit it in front of a firing squad, it’s good to be this busy with mindless labor. Keeps me from thinking about Jackson. Okay. Keeps me from thinking about him every single second.
Amazingly, I make almost no mistakes in the next hour, and the line dwindles to a dozen or so.
“Your cell’s going off again!” Robbie shouts. The mall has piped in Christmas music to drown out the crowd noise, but I’ve been hearing the intermittent ringing of the national anthem coming from my coat pocket since I arrived. I’ve chosen to ignore it.
“Let it ring, let it ring, let it ring!” I shout, in tune to the “Let It Snow” music of the moment. If it’s Jackson—and it’s probably not, because he’s undoubtedly moved on to other side dishes—I don’t want to talk to him. I have no friends to call me. The only other possibilities would be the football team or maybe the math club. Who needs ’em?
The night wears on, and the screaming, complaining customers help take my mind off Wicked Witches of the West and men like Jackson House, who need a brain, a heart, or a strong dose of courage on their way through Oz.
Finally, Pretzel Boss shouts, “Closing!” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy. He even thanks me for coming in and wishes me a good night.
I’m hanging up my hat and gloves when Robbie comes up behind me.
“Do you want to go out with me tonight?” he asks. But he sounds so tired, I doubt he’d follow through if I said yes.
I don’t risk it. “No, Robbie. Thanks for asking.”
He shrugs and puts on his orange quilted parka that would come in handy if anybody ever decides to hunt deer in the mall.
I put on my coat and duck under the counter. When I come up on the other side, I’m standing face-to-face with Jackson House.
“Go away,” I tell him, even though my heart is pounding holes in my chest.
“I have to talk to you, Mary Jane,” he says. He’s wearing this long black wool coat that makes him look older and—
“No!” I will not fall for this again. The voices in my head are reminding me how much this guy hurt me, although M.J. is whispering that he looks so darned good in that coat.
“Please?” he begs. “I’ve been trying your cell all night. I tried your house, and your mom finally told me where you were.”
Robbie comes up behind me. “Everything all right here, Mary Jane?” he asks. I can tell he’s trying to make his voice sound deeper. “Is this guy giving you trouble?”
I turn and look down into Robbie’s pimply face, screwed into his best tough-guy frown, and I wonder if this is what it feels like to have a little brother. “Thanks, Robbie,” I say, with feeling that’s real. “I appreciate that. I really do.” I turn back to Jackson. “But I can handle this guy all on my own.”
I think Robbie makes a relieved sigh. “Well, if you’re sure, then.” And he walks off, taking time to glare back over his shoulder at Jackson.
I think I love that kid.
“I’m leaving now, Jackson,” I say, buttoning my coat. I’ve put the wrong button in the wrong buttonhole and have to start over. “Better run along. You don’t want Star to catch you.”
“I deserve that,” he says.
“And much more,” I agree. “Unfortunately, I just don’t have the time.” I move past him toward the mall exit. The lights inside the mall dim. The only thing open is the cinema at the other end of the mall.
“Mary Jane!” Jackson calls after me. “Wait!”
I wheel on him then. “Wait? Guess what, Jackson! I’m done waiting!”
Yes! Let him have it! Plain Jane cries in my head. He made you feel like pond scum. And if you’re going to get dumped, which of course you already are, you might as well try to take a little dignity with you.
“What am I anyway?” I shout, stomping back to him. “Somebody you sneak out and kiss when nobody’s around to see? Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”
“It’s not like that,” Jackson protests. “It was never like that.”
“Maybe and maybe not,” I say. “But it’s not going to be like that anymore!”
Exactly! You tell him! M.J. cheers, even though she still thinks he’s totally hot in that coat.
“And another thing!” I shout, charging at him, wagging my finger. “The next time I have a date with a guy, he’s going to invite me to a movie, right out in the open! Not to his car for a secret kissing session behind his girlfriend’s back!” I am on a roll. I am woman. Hear me roar. “What do you have to say to that, Mr. Jackson Look-At-Me-I’m-So-Cool House?”
His eyes narrow, and the corners of his lips turn up. He stands up straighter and says, “Mary Jane, will you go to the movies with me?”
“Oh, sure. All you—” I stop. “What did you just say?” My mind is getting fuzzy. The voices in my head are mute.
“I invited you to go see a movie with me,” he answers.
"What? When?” I know there are other questions I should be asking. I just can’t remember what they are.
“Right here. Right now.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because I am a free man. Because I have officially broken up with one Miss Star Simons. And because I think I just might be falling in love with one Miss Mary Jane Ettermeyer.”
“Huh-uh.”
He grins. “Uh-huh.”
I stare at him and replay what he just said. He’s free. He broke up with Star. He’s falling in love with me. These are the three best reasons anyone has ever had. For anything. I have no answer.
Cautiously, he puts his arm around my shoulder and starts walking, pulling me with him. “So let’s see what’s playing.”
I’m
not sure I’ve said yes to the movie idea. I’m not sure my legs are moving. But we’re gliding toward the other end of the mall, toward Cinema Seven. We’re walking together, in step, synchronized.
“It’s a school night,” I offer lamely, as if anything as ordinary and frivolous as school could have any relevance here.
“I’m aware of that. I’ll get you home by ten. Your mother took the time to fill me in on curfews.”
My mother? He talked to my mother?
“I don’t think she likes guys calling your house,” he observes. “So we’ll jump in the middle of a movie that gets over in time to get you home. Deal? And it still counts as a movie date. Right?”
He’s conversing without me. This is a good thing because I can barely form words in my head, much less let them out for public consumption.
I have to get a grip.
A small line is in front of the ticket booth, and I recognize a couple of guys from Attila.
“Aren’t you worried someone will see you?” I ask. "See us?”
“Nope. Quite the opposite.” He guides me into the ticket line. “Hey, everybody!” he shouts.
People turn around and look at us.
“This is Mary Jane! She’s my girlfriend!”
The Attila guys grin and nod. An older couple ahead of us laugh.
Jackson shouts it even louder. “Mary Jane Ettermeyer and Jackson House! Together! No secret here!”
I elbow him because everybody in line, including the ticket takers, stare at us like they’re considering a call to mall security. “Okay,” I whisper.
“Okay?” he shouts. “Okay! She said okay, everybody!”
Two girls who look like they’re in sixth grade and have no business being out on a school night turn around and clap.
The voices in my head are going postal:
M.J.: Sweet! This is so fly! You are a girlfriend!
But Plain Jane refuses to give in to the celebration: Careful. He’s saying this now. But what’s Star saying about it? You are so going to get hurt again.
I shut out Plain Jane as Jackson buys two tickets to the only movie that ends before ten. Then we walk into the theater hand in hand. Girlfriend and boyfriend.
20
The Girlfriend
I love everybody. As I put on makeup Tuesday morning, concealing the dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep, I hum Christmas carols.
I am The Girlfriend. The Girlfriend of Jackson House.
Sandy and Mom stop in the hallway outside my room.
“Marwyjan’s happy girl!” Sandy announces.
I grin at her and wink. She looks adorable, in purple stretch pants, purple sweater, a purple headband, and thick purple socks.
“Mary Jane,” Mom begins suspiciously, “we heard you come in last night.”
“I made the curfew.” This was only because Jackson made sure I did.
“I know,” she says. “I take it that boy found you, then. Jack? Was that his name? Did you make it to a movie?”
I nod. She has entirely too much information. I work very hard to keep my home life and school life separate and unequal.
“How was it? The movie?” she persists.
“Good,” I answer, although I didn’t see much of it. Mostly we just kissed. Sometime I’d like to be with Jackson someplace where there’s no stick shift or armrest.
It feels as if I’ve been away from Jackson for weeks instead of hours as I pull Fred into the school parking lot. Then I spot Jackson’s Jeep Cherokee a few cars over. He gets out and meets me by my car. Jackson House has been waiting for me. I can hardly believe this is happening. And it’s not even in the middle of the night. Ta-da!
Lauren shoots us a few evil glares as Jackson and I walk in together, but I honestly don’t care. I want everybody in the whole world to see us together.
We go to his locker. Together. Then we stroll to my locker. Together. Because that’s what girlfriends do with their boyfriends.
Tim walks by with Jill Sweeny, and my stomach does its knot-tying trick. But they just smile at us and keep going.
The word is out.
A couple of guys say “Hey” as we thread the halls to English class. Nicole is already in her seat, and I can tell by her fake noninterested expression that she knows.
We take seats next to Sean.
“Hey, man. Mary Jane,” Sean says. “Did you hear Brett got new wheels? Some of the guys are going by the garage to check it out after school. You guys can come if you want.”
We are already getting couple invites! Finally the grapevine is twisting my way.
“Thanks, man,” Jackson answers. “We’ve kind of got plans. Later, though.” He winks over at me.
I didn’t know we had plans. But I’m so grateful that I’m not sure I can refrain from jumping on my chair and launching into a cheer.
Schram, just for me, I’m sure, begins a new section in our lit book, the Romantic Poets. He reads a couple of poems out loud, and my face burns because it feels like he’s reading to Jackson and me, although Jackson just takes notes like he always does, and I can’t tell if other kids in the class are taking in the true, Mary Jane-plus-Jackson meaning of the words.
When Jackson and I have to part and go our separate ways to separate classes, he kisses me. I watch him walk away and feel a lump in my throat. I know it’s a cliché, but there it is anyway.
“My locker. Lunch. I want to hear everything.” It’s Cassie, and she’s snuck up behind me and whispered these words. She squeezes my arm, grins, and then hurries off.
I am getting my life back. And then some.
At lunch, Cassie leads me to the cheerleaders’ table, and The Girls gather around me. Even Nicole listens as I give them the highlights in the Jackson and Mary Jane Story. Nicole doesn’t join in with appropriate girl noises, like Cassie and Jessica and most of the others do, but I can tell she’s taking it all in. I think she’s still an ambassador.
I finish the story with Jackson waiting for me in the parking lot. Then I turn to Nicole. “Have you talked to Star, Nicole?”
This silences the table, and all eyes are on Nicole now. It’s a big moment. She could go for the Star sympathy factor and make things hard on me again. I’m starting to wish I hadn’t asked her, at least not in front of The Girls.
Nicole shrugs and takes a sip from her bag of milk. “She’s okay.”
I’m relieved. Not that I wouldn’t ordinarily enjoy seeing Star suffer. But I’m too in love to wish sadness on anybody, even the Wicked Witch of the West.
“I heard she has a date with John this weekend,” Cassie offers.
I’m amazed. And then I’m not. I suspected her “love” for Jackson didn’t run so deep. If Jackson and I ever broke up— which we won’t—I would never have another date for the rest of my life.
I wonder if Jackson knows about Star’s date with John. I wonder if he cares. I try not to wonder anymore.
The rest of the school day barely counts because I don’t see Jackson. And a world without Jackson? Barely a world. As soon as the bell to freedom rings, I grab my stuff from the locker and hurry to meet my boyfriend.
He told me he’d be waiting for me at the main exit, and there he is, true to his word. The man is beautiful inside as well as outside. His eyes get bigger when he sees me, and he waves, and I want to feel like this forever.
I keep waving back because I want to be sure that everyone in the halls knows that Jackson House is waving at me. Waiting for me. His girlfriend.
He turns his head as if he’s heard something from the east hall. I look, too.
There, halfway up east hall, coming toward Jackson, is Star Simons. She’s smiling and waving at him.
He waves back, though not as enthusiastically as he waved at me.
I hurry down the hall, feeling like I’m in a race with Star.
“Jackson!” she shouts. I hear her over the clamor of the crowd. “I need to talk to you for a minute.” She is a train, bearing down the tracks, head
ed straight for him.
Jackson looks at me. He glances back at her. We are both trains, speeding toward him.
My stomach is churning. I will not go through this again.
I reach him first and stare him straight in the eyes. “Jackson House,” I say firmly. “Don’t you dare.”
He glances at Star, who’s just a couple of feet from us now, trying to shove her way through to him, to wedge herself between Jackson and me one more time.
Then Jackson puts his arm around me, and we race out of the building as if it’s on fire.
I’m laughing so hard by the time we reach the parking lot that it’s a good thing we’re both piling into Jackson’s car. I’d never be able to maneuver Fred through the school exit maze.
We snap our seatbelts, and he grins over at me before starting the Jeep.
“Good choice back there, House,” I say.
“I thought so,” he answers.
We drive around for a while. Then he stops at the DQ for Cokes. He pays. We’re a couple.
“So,” he begins. “I want to learn all there is to know about Mary Jane Ettermeyer. I know you have a mother. We like to chat on the phone occasionally about curfews and unwanted boy callers.”
I laugh and wish I had a tape recording of their conversation. “Was she mean to you?”
“Not after I convinced her I wasn’t one of the many boys calling to bug you.”
I think about asking him how he managed to convince my mother of anything. But before I can, he has another question for me.
“Who was that who answered the phone?”
The choices are limited. “Deep, male, lawyer-type voice? Man of few words?”
He shakes his head.
“Sandy. My sister.” It seems weird that he doesn’t know Sandy, like the two people I love the most don’t even know each other. “You have to meet Sandy. She’s amazing.”
“She is, huh? I didn’t know you had a sister. Older or younger? Does she go to Attila?”
“She’s older but younger, too. Sometimes I think she’s like this angel living in our house. She goes to Roy Dale.”
“The special school?”
I nod. “And she plays basketball on a Special Olympics team. You have to see her play.”
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