I sat up with a gasp and looked over to see a figure standing in our flower bed, looking in through the glass. It was Drake. The clock on my nightstand said 10:32. I rubbed my eyes as I got up from my bed.
“Do you know that murderers stand in flower beds and tap on windows?” I hissed, sliding open the window and talking to Drake through the screen.
“Zombies, too,” he answered, propping his forearms on the sill. “I called your phone two thousand times. Ever heard of call-waiting?”
“Mom doesn’t answer it,” I said, neglecting to mention the time the phone spent off the hook.
I looked at him standing carefully with one foot on either side of my mom’s chrysanthemums. I was feeling guarded because Drake had been with Sandy, talking about who knows what, but I was also excited to see him. I moved the screen, reached a hand through the window and helped him climb in.
“I didn’t want to knock this late because of your mom,” Drake said, flopping down on my bed once he was inside, “and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
“Couldn’t wait?” Maybe he couldn’t wait to tell me that he made a new best friend named Sandy Firestone.
“I couldn’t wait to tell you about . . . this,” he said, reaching into his backpack and pulling out the red-and-white book he checked out of the library.
“You’re reading a book?” I asked with a profound lack of interest.
“Not just any book, Celia,” said Drake, lighting up like a summer firefly. “This book is life changing.”
I walked to the door and put my ear against it to listen for evidence that my mother might still be awake. With her wacky work hours, she didn’t have a usual bedtime. I wasn’t sure how much trouble I would get into for having a boy in my room this late. No boy had ever knocked on my window before, day or night.
I didn’t hear anything, so I walked back over to the bed, where Drake was holding the book. When I sat down, he handed it to me, its title splashed across the cover in metallic blue letters: Dream It! Do It! by Buddy Strong.
My mom got into self-help books last summer after my dad left, so I was used to “You can do it!” language, and had became increasingly allergic to the hyper-positivity of the genre. Around my house, I had found it difficult not to roll my eyes whenever I heard the word intentionality.
“When I first got back from New York, I was so depressed,” Drake said, taking off his sneakers and tossing them into the corner of the room where my shoes were already piled. “I felt like everything was over, like things were hopeless.”
“You mean yesterday?” Drake ignored my snarkiness. I turned the book over once and then tossed it onto the bed next to me.
“Yeah.” He gestured toward me like I had just made a good point. “Just yesterday I was being so negative and acting so defeated. I really took my eyes off the prize.” He crossed his legs and sat facing me. I didn’t face him back but sat awkwardly looking toward my computer. “I know this might seem really out there to you, all woo-woo and big city, but promise me you’ll be open-minded.”
“Do you think we country mice can’t get transcendent?” I said to my computer screen.
“What? No. Celia.” Drake took my hands and pulled my body around to face his. “I mean that I know this might sound stupid, but I really want to share it with you.”
It did soften my heart when Drake said he wanted to share something with me. Maybe the whole Sandy thing was meaningless. Maybe it was nothing but a Spanish project, and I was completely overreacting.
“This book is . . . I don’t know, it’s just, speaking to me,” Drake said, picking it up off the bed and turning it over a few times in his hands. “It’s like . . . it isn’t telling me anything I don’t know, but it’s saying it in a way that I can really hear it. Just listen to the introduction. Then you can decide if you want to do the exercises with me. Just promise me you will keep an open mind, okay?”
“Drake, I need to ask you something—” I couldn’t contain my curiosity about his time with Sandy any longer.
“I know, I know you have questions, but just let me read the introduction to you first. Please?”
“But there is something I need to know—”
“Just the introduction, that’s all I ask.”
Reluctantly, I adjusted myself to sit cross-legged across from him on the bed. Drake pulled open the cover on the book like he was opening a pharaoh’s tomb. I closed my eyes and tried to let my mind open, or whatever.
“Introduction: The Dream Is the Means and the End
“Too many of us spend our lives reacting to the circumstances and conditions life hands us, thinking the scope of our accomplishments is made possible by our external situation. Hi, I’m Buddy Strong, and in this book, Dream It! Do It!, I’ll show you how you can make your greatest Dreams manifest before your believing eyes! In the course of the next six chapters, you will learn how to identify your Dream, believe in it, and make it come true. Join me on this mystical, practical journey into creating the greatest life you could want for yourself. You can have anything you want when you Dream It!”
Drake raised his head and smiled. He looked like a kid at a magic show.
“Thoughts?” He closed the book.
What I thought is that it sounded exactly like the Living through Life Changes, and Making the Most of Middle Age, books my mom had on the coffee table. Still, Drake looked so happy compared with the past two days, and I really liked seeing him happy. “It sounds . . . cool,” I managed to say, despite my Darkness.
“Okay, I’m going to read more.” He looked back into the book and flipped forward a few pages. “This is the first activity.”
“No, wait. I really need to ask you something,” I interrupted forcefully, breaking Drake out of his spell.
“Okay. What?”
Now that I had his attention, I felt suddenly awkward and vulnerable. Asking about Sandy was going to make me sound possessive and clingy. I chickened out. “Did you do the science homework?”
“Yeah, while I was waiting for your phone to be unbusy. I’ll let you copy,” he said dismissively. “Now will you listen to this activity?”
I nodded.
“Chapter One: Saying It!
“If you want to Dream It and Do It, then the first step takes place on the feet of your tongue. Too many dreams are held back by negative self-talk. We fill up our conversations with reasons why things aren’t working. This first chapter helps you start telling yourself and others all the reasons why things will work!
“Before you can visualize your Dream, you have to verbalize your Dream. Our first activity is simple: state your Dream as clearly and boldly as you can. Do it out loud and do it LOUDLY.”
Drake looked up at me. “When I started reading Dream It! Do It!, I realized something powerful. I felt like things had gone horribly wrong with Japhy. But actually, he kissed me. That really happened. He’s probably just too scared to admit that he’s attracted to me, which is completely understandable in our homophobic culture.” Drake kept shifting around on the bed as he was talking. Then he stood up and walked over to the window. “A lot of people have a hard time coming out.”
I wanted to pay attention to Drake, his book, and his story about Japhy. But the Darkness was still having a carnival inside my nervous system. I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“How did your Spanish project go?” I blurted out.
“Oh, yeah, the ‘Spanish project.’ I need to tell you about that,” Drake said, still looking out the window. “That girl Sandy’s been my partner for conversación since the first day, and we’ve been talking a lot,” he said, “mostly in Spanish. So it’s pretty much a ‘¿Cómo está usted?’ kind of relationship. But then she started asking me other questions. How long am I staying in Hershey? Did I have a girlfriend in New York? Was I taking any more weekend trips back?”
Just thinking about Sandy talking to Drake this way made my fingers dig into my bedspread and my hands try to form into fists.
“I suck at Spanish, and I barely know her, so I gave her short answers, ‘one month, no girlfriend, no more weekend trips.’ Then, after school today, we were working on our photo essay about Barcelona and she said, ‘Drake, since you are new and you don’t have any friends here, I thought it would be nice of me to invite you to the homecoming dance. I could introduce you to a lot of people, and I think you should have at least one good memory of Hershey.’ Isn’t that hilarious?” Drake said, turning around from the window.
Maybe I have a poor sense of humor, but I didn’t find it the least bit funny. Sandy inviting Drake to homecoming. Sandy telling Drake he should have one good memory of Hershey. I was so stunned I could have passed out and fallen off the bed.
“I had already told her that I would still be in Hershey that weekend and that I didn’t have a girlfriend in New York, so I didn’t really have a good excuse for not going.”
The walls of the tunnel were vibrating in and out. Did Drake say yes? Was Drake about to tell me he was going to homecoming with my archenemy?
“So, I hope you’re not mad at me, but I said I couldn’t go with her because I was already going with you.”
I was still conscious and sitting on the bed. My head did not splash down on my rug.
“I know it’s not cool to use you as an excuse. You might want someone else to ask you, or you probably hate lame school dances. We don’t really have to go or anything,” Drake finished. “It was just the first thing I thought of to say.”
My brain struggled to catch up. This wasn’t bad news. In fact, it was the best news possible. Not only was Drake not interested in Sandy and didn’t want to be friends with her and wasn’t going to take her to homecoming, but also, he had just delivered into my hands the perfect backdrop for my revenge.
FORM OF
REVENGE
PRO
CON
Reveal to the school that Drake turned down Sandy for Homecoming to take me
Humiliating, public, clear to Sandy and everyone else that I am cooler than her
“Forgive me?” Drake asked.
“Totally.”
“Back to the book?” He held up Dream It! Do It!
“Yes,” I said in a voice that sounded far away, as if it came from a blimp flying over the house.
“Great!” said Drake, sitting back down on the bed next to me. “Buddy Strong says that you need to start with the first exercise immediately, as soon as possible after you read the instructions. So tonight, we both need to articulate our Dream. Don’t worry if you aren’t sure what it is you want yet. Just trust your subconscious to articulate your Dream for you, okay?”
I nodded.
“I’m going to count to three and when I get there, we’re both going to say the thing that we want the most in the world. Okay?”
I nodded again.
“Are you ready?”
Third nod.
“One . . . two . . . three . . .”
As Drake said, “To be Japhy’s boyfriend,” I went with the first lie that my subconscious drummed up. “To be a successful poet,” is what I said when Drake counted to three. But that wasn’t what I was saying out loud in my own thoughts. The Dream declaring itself loudly inside of my conscious mind was To get revenge.
CHAPTER
19
The next day was Thursday. We were two weeks into high school, and it already felt like two years. I was bouncing along beside Drake on the way to school, still drunk on his news about Sandy and homecoming, happily daydreaming about my revenge, when Drake gave me a present—an affirmation for my locker. He had drawn a comic book–style picture of me to look like a photo on a book jacket with a caption that said:
Celia Door. Bestselling Poet
“Buddy Strong recommends affirmations in chapter three,” said Drake, riding his skateboard slowly while I walked next to him. “We’ll get to it soon.”
I already knew that affirmations are positive phrases like “I can do it!” or “My thoughts are creative!” When my dad moved to Atlanta in July, my mom started seeing a therapist who recommended using them. Mom taped affirmations up in the bathroom so that every time I went to brush my teeth I read, “I am worthy of love,” or “I am safe, it’s only change.” They kept multiplying until I had to peek into a little window of mirror to brush my hair.
“It looks just like me,” I said.
“Yeah, I love illustration.” Drake shrugged. “I draw my own comic book called BlackJack.”
“What’s it about?”
“A guy named Jack is taking a high school math test when he realizes that he has the power to read minds. So he runs away to Monte Carlo where he can play cards—blackjack, obviously—read other player’s minds, and wins millions of dollars. But the money doesn’t make him happy. So he decides to start fighting crime by using his wealth and mind-reading powers. Jack is fighting his own demons because his entire family died when a boat capsized, but he washed up on shore alive.”
I held the drawing in my hands like an ancient artifact. “I should make you one, too.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to have pictures of me and Japhy in my locker,” Drake answered, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t straight people have to come out? I wish everyone knew what it felt like to make an embarrassing, public declaration about who they’re attracted to. Once Japhy and I get together, then I’ll have a reason to come out. I’d rather say, ‘Hey, everyone, this is my boyfriend,’ instead of ‘Hey, everyone, I’m gay. Anybody want to date me?’”
“If Japhy is gay, it doesn’t seem like he’s ready to come out. Do you think you guys would really just become boyfriends right away?” I asked.
Drake put one foot down and stopped his board. We were less than a block from school. He looked at me with disbelief. “Why would you say that?”
“Well, it just didn’t go so well when you tried to tell him—”
“I’m trying to banish negative talk from my life, Celia.”
“But, I mean, realistically, don’t you think—”
“Realistically! Buddy Strong says that ‘Dream Bashers’ are people who erode other people’s Dreams by saying they are unrealistic. I never thought you would be my Dream Basher.” Drake looked at me like he had caught me trying to drown a bag if puppies.
“I just think it’s a good idea to try and stay grounded—”
“Oh, I’m not grounded. Buddy Strong warned that other people would want to pull down the ropes on my hot-air balloon.” Drake shook his head and stepped back on his board.
“I’m sorry, I was trying to help you by being a voice of reason.”
“Now we can add unreasonable to the list of things wrong with me,” he said. “Forget I even told you about the book.” Drake pushed off hard on his skateboard and rode half a block before I could take a few feeble steps after him.
“Drake, wait!” I yelled, but he disappeared into a group of kids who were also making their way to the front doors.
It was probably the worst possible time for Clock to show up.
“Lovers’ spat?” His voice came from behind me. I swung around and saw myself staring back at me in his mirrored sunglasses. Clock’s dark hair was hanging to his shoulders and brushing the collar on his trench coat.
I scowled at myself in the glasses. “Join the circus and get out of my life already.”
“Relax, Weird, I was just trying to hand you the little picture you dropped. Did your boyfriend draw that for you?” Clock held up the affirmation Drake had given me. It must have slipped out of my hand when I ran after him. “Says here you’re a bestselling poet. I bet you’re real deep.”
He said the word deep in a whisper that made me flush all over. I reached up a hand to snatch the slip of paper back from him, but he pulled it away right as I went for it.
“It’s mine!” I yelled instinctively.
“But it’s such good advertising for your career as a bestselling poet,” he taunted. “I should keep this, and maybe it will be worth somethi
ng when you’re famous.” He waved it around my face as he spoke, the way you use a feather to tease a kitten.
“Give it,” I managed to spit out as I grabbed for it again.
He pulled his arms back behind his head so that my body was bumping into his as I tried to reach past him for the note. I was practically pressed against him trying to grasp it.
“Hey, hands to yourself, I thought you had a boyfriend!” he said in a loud voice. I wrenched away from him and looked around. Kids were staring at us as they walked past toward the school building. I pulled my hood up over my head and wrapped my arms around my body.
Clock reached out his hand and offered me the drawing. I snatched it so hard that it ripped in half. Then I furiously grabbed the other half and muttered, “I hate you!” before spinning around and stomping off to school.
× × ×
It was impossible to concentrate all the way through first period. I toggled between murderous thoughts about Clock and confused feelings about Drake. Sandy Firestone was absent, so at least I didn’t have to deal with the added anxiety of having her within pheromone-smelling distance. Mandy was still there, but she made a disciplined effort to act as if I didn’t exist, which was perfect for me.
I was hoping to spend the morning gloating that Drake turned Sandy down for homecoming. But did it still count if he wasn’t speaking to me anymore?
“Ms. Door, when am I going to see your revised essay on ‘We Real Cool’?” Mr. Pearson asked in front of the entire class. “I expected it yesterday.”
“Tomorrow?” I mumbled, conscious of everyone looking at me.
“Hood off and articulate, Celia. Now, when can I expect that essay?”
The Sweet Revenge of Celia Door Page 8