The Tension of Opposites

by Kristina McBride

  “Oh, please,” Noelle said. “Don’t be such a prude. It’s not like I’m going to have sex with him.” She tipped toward the mirror and pressed her lips together, making sure her gloss was evenly distributed. “I just want to see if he’s interested. I swear he was checking me out when I was looking through those dresses.”

  I laughed. “You were practically mooning him when you bent over in that skirt,” I said, flipping up the back of her mini. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. And trust me, I’m totally not interested.”

  Noelle turned around and shook a finger in my face. “You’re wrong. And I’m going to prove it.”

  As she sauntered from the dressing room, I peered around the corner, watching, my heart beating quick-quick-quick as the hot guy stopped folding jeans and ran a hand through his ruffled hair. My eyes darted from Noelle and the guy to the entrance of the store. Our mothers had gone to the food court for a drink, and I could just imagine their expressions if they saw the way Noelle had leaned herself against the clothing display.

  Noelle turned in a slow circle, modeling herself more than the outfit. The guy nodded, answering some question she’d asked, and she struck the Confident-Girl Pose she’d refined by practicing in front of the full-length mirror in her room. When he walked around her, grazing her side, and moved toward the register, Noelle turned and smiled wide, giving me two thumbs-up. Score, she’d mouthed.

  “So,” my father’s voice boomed, bringing me back to the car, the rain, and the darkness. “What’s up with the guy who came over the other night?”

  “Way to be subtle,” I said with a laugh.

  “Give him a break, honey,” my mother said.

  “Hey, I did it your way, my dear.” My father tilted his head toward my mother. “If we keep waiting for Tessa to tell us on her own time, we might be a hundred and ten before we learn anything besides his first name and the fact that they’re in photography class together.”

  I leaned forward into the light created by the instrument panel. “His name is Max Kinsley, and he’s a junior. His family moved here this past summer from Montana.” I plopped myself against the door, hating that Max’s smile had wriggled back to the forefront of my mind.

  “That’s it?” My father rotated in his seat, looking back at me.

  “Road,” my mother said, tapping the dashboard.

  My father turned, facing forward again. “But that’s all I get?”

  “He’s got brown hair, brown eyes, and an olive-toned complexion,” I said, trying to use an official reporter voice. “He’s approximately six feet tall and probably weighs between one hundred sixty and one hundred seventy pounds.”

  “Does he have any tattoos?” My father’s voice was strained, his words pulled tight. “Piercings?”

  “Dad.” I rolled my eyes at the rearview mirror.

  “I’m serious.”

  I started to chew on my thumbnail. “No tattoos or piercings that I’m aware of.”

  “Your father’s just nervous because that boy had his arm around you.” My mother didn’t turn around, but I heard the amusement in her voice.

  “Were you spying or something?” My words flung through the air, hitting my father in the back of the head.

  “Tessa, it was Halloween. The doorbell rang every three minutes, and the two of you were sitting on the curb in front of the house.”

  “Yes,” my mother said with a nod, “he was definitely spying.”

  “Nan!”

  “Well, you were.” My mother playfully smacked my father’s shoulder.

  “You didn’t have to give me up so fast.” My father tipped his head toward my mother. “I’d never tell her that you called her photography teacher to check up on this young man.”

  “Mom,” I said. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “Sorry, honey.” My mother shrugged and slid down in her seat. “You can never be too careful.”

  “It’s not like anything’s going on with him.” My hand found its way back into the bag that held my new shirt. My fingers counted the buttons. How long would it take Max to undo them?

  “Good,” my father said. “His hair was too long.”

  “What’s wrong with his hair?” I asked.

  “Is it long?” My mother looked back at me.

  “It’s long ish.” My lips betrayed me and pulled back into a smile. “He’s got these great curls.”

  “He’s cute?” My mother was smiling, too. It was the first time we’d ever talked about a boy like this.

  “Cute?” My father’s voice was way too loud for the car. “You’re not supposed to encourage her.”

  “Oh, Ted, stop. It’s not like the kid’s an ax murderer.”

  “And you know this for a fact?”

  My mother laughed, a high-pitched sound that threatened to shatter the windows and let the rain stream in.

  “Look, he doesn’t have to be a murderer or a drug dealer. He’s a boy. And he seems to be interested in Tessa. That scares me enough right now.”

  “Tessa’s teacher was very impressed with him.” My mother looked back at me and reached between the two front seats, patting my knee. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

  “You’re not going to meet him,” I said. “There’s nothing going on.”

  She just smiled and nodded. I could tell by the way her lips parted that she wanted to say more. But instead, she clicked on the radio, flipping it to her favorite light-rock station.

  Sheryl Crow’s voice purred through the car, asking someone to lie to her, and promising she’d believe. My mother hummed along with the slow strumming of the guitar.

  I looked out the window and counted raindrops, wishing they could wash away everything that complicated my life.

  Wednesday,

  November 18

  12

  No Fishing

  “Don’t think the ride means we’re all BFF again,” Elle said without looking at me as we walked through the crowded hall.

  I’d nearly exploded with excitement when she’d called me the night before, asking if I’d pick her up for her first day back to school. And watching her now, as she faced all the stares with her shoulders pulled back, her chin jutted forward, and her hair tucked behind her ears, I felt like making up some cheesy cheer routine. Go, Elle!

  “I know,” I said, narrowing my eyes at a girl pointing Elle’s way. “You didn’t want to ride the bus. And you’d rather die than have your mom drop you off. I get it.”

  “No way,” Elle said, sounding for two seconds like my old friend.

  Around us, people spun the dials on their lockers, tugged at the little metal doors, and shoved backpacks into the small openings.

  “Was that Lisa Albers?” Elle leaned into me, half whispering.

  I looked over my shoulder and saw the profile of a girl wearing a very tight sweater, the stretched cotton clinging to her sultry curves.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Those can’t be real.” Elle pressed the three notebooks in her arms against her chest. Pulled the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. “What’d her parents do, give her D cups for her last birthday?”

  I laughed, silently thanking Lisa for this moment of normalcy. “Actually, she had a pretty major growth spurt during eighth grade.”

  “I guess,” Elle said, her voice softer as she studied the faces of people passing us.

  It seemed like everyone was staring but in a way that showed they were trying not to. A few people smiled and nodded at Elle; others slowed a bit when they saw her, then stepped twice as fast to make up for the blunder. I was getting jostled in the traffic more than usual, too, like people wanted to brush up against Elle to make sure she was real.

  “You have Mrs. Frazier for English,” I said as we neared Elle’s first-period classroom. “She’s all about the art of answering an essay question; you’ll have, like, three a week. Couple of novels, a few papers, but nothing too difficult.”

  “You had her last year?” Elle asked as we
stopped at the open door.

  I nodded.

  “Score. Maybe you could hook me up with a paper or two?” She raised her eyebrows, and I looked into the classroom, where Mrs. Frazier stood behind her desk, tucking loose strands of dirt brown hair into the bun twisted on top of her head.

  “Want me to introduce you?” I asked.

  Elle rolled her eyes. “You really think that’s necessary?”

  “I just thought that maybe—”

  “I can handle this,” Elle said, her chest puffing up with a deep breath. “I really can.”

  I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince me or herself.

  As she stepped through the door, I called after her, “I’ll be here when the bell rings,” and held the pass the counselor had given me in the air. I was Elle’s official welcome committee, her tour guide through her first day of high school.

  She turned and nodded once, then walked right up to Mrs. Frazier with a smile on her face. It was fake, I knew, because the deep dimple in her left cheek was missing.

  Later that morning, I rushed down the hall trying to make it to my locker before the bell rang. I was permitted to be late, since I was taking Elle to all her classes, but I’d forgotten my homework for history. Besides, my teacher was kind of scary, and even if I was allowed to be late, I really didn’t want to stand out in his classroom for any reason.

  My brain was in overdrive, so I almost didn’t see him.

  But obviously that radar you get when you like someone had already kicked in, because I caught something familiar from the corner of my eye and swung my gaze in his direction.

  It might have been the comfortable posture that caused him to stoop forward like he didn’t care what people thought about him. Or the deep green of his fleece jacket. I guess it even could have been pheromones, drifting toward me on a current of air kicked up by the bodies churning through the hall.

  None of that really matters.

  What matters is what I witnessed. And how it made me feel.

  I glanced so quickly the scene was reduced to three snapshots in my brain.

  First: Max leaning into a bank of lockers, smiling and reaching toward a girl with long blonde hair and a short little skirt. She was pulling something out of his reach in a very flirty way, her giggles vibrating my heart.

  Second: A close-up. Her French-manicured hand batting at his chest, gripping the zippered edge of his jacket and pulling him closer.

  Third: Shoes. Mine. Other people’s. And the alternating black-and-white tiles of the floor.

  I ducked into the nearest restroom and rushed into the corner, tucking myself against the wall and sliding down, wishing, wishing, wishing I could jump into the large trash can beside me and ride down into some rabbit’s hole that would take me far away from my life.

  “How’s your day been, Elle?” Max asked.

  I stuffed a french fry in my mouth, glad to have Elle at our lunch table for more than the obvious reason. After seeing Max and that girl flirting in the hallway, I needed Elle for a distraction.

  “Okay, I guess,” Elle said, glancing around at the people sitting nearby. “Except all my teachers are totally annoying. Acting like I’m some move-in and not the kidnapped girl with a nationally known background.”

  Max asked, “What do you want them to do? Ask about it?”

  “You sound like my shrinkette.” Elle lowered her gaze and narrowed her eyes. “But you make a good point.”

  After three more french fries, I realized my stomach was too agitated to deal with food. Thinking about that girl’s hand on Max’s chest made me feel like I was going to throw up. So I sat there without eating and avoided his eyes.

  Coop stopped by our table a few minutes before the bell and punched Elle on her arm. She punched him back—hard, I think, because he winced.

  “Give us the scoop, Poop,” Elle said as she pulled her hair back into a barrette. “When was Teddy Brown hit with the ugly stick? He used to be so cute.”

  “You’re awful, Elle.” Coop crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s on some meds for the acne. It’s actually getting better.”

  “Wow.” Elle looked toward the table where Coop had eaten lunch, glancing again at the topic of their discussion, and waved. A red-faced boy whose chin was tucked against his chest waved back, a thin smile parting his lips. “If that’s better, I’d hate to have seen him before.”

  As they spoke, Max caught me looking at him. What’s wrong? he mouthed, reaching for my hand. I yanked my arm from the table, slapping it down in my lap, and shook my head.

  Coop propped a foot on the seat next to Elle as she pulled a compact mirror out of her purse and started glossing her lips with a tube of pink-tinted stuff that smelled like cotton candy.

  Coop grinned and patted Elle on the head. “Who’re you trying to impress?”

  “Get offa me, Pooper!” Elle swatted at his arm, then checked to make sure her barrette was still in place and that the perfect number of wisps framed her face.

  “Seriously,” Coop said, “you look different. It’s nice.”

  Elle threw the compact and lip gloss into her purse and turned her face up to her brother. “Thanks,” she said.

  When the bell rang, we made our way through the tight crowd, past the rows of senior lockers, and stopped under the circular glass ceiling of the atrium.

  “I’ll be a few minutes late to photography,” I said to Max, kind of waving him away. He didn’t get the hint, though, and kept standing there. I felt like shoving him. But I just took a deep breath and glanced at Elle, who was looking over my shoulder. She was seeing many old faces, reacting differently to each one, so I didn’t even wonder who was behind me.

  Until I saw that dimple.

  And the way she ran her fingers through her thick blue-black hair, tilting her head down slightly so she was looking up through her eyelashes.

  She was giving someone her Flirty-Girl Look, which she had perfected during the spring of seventh grade, posing for hours in front of the mirror to make sure she had it just right. This was back when she was obsessed with Jack Dorsey. It took one week of using the Flirty-Girl Look during science class, and finally Jack started to get all tripped up when he spoke to her. Soon after, over a starfish they were dissecting, he asked her if she wanted to hang out. Later that day, when I asked if it had worked, she tossed her head back and laughed. Of course it worked, she’d said. And he’s bringing Trevor Ryan, so you’re coming, too. Our park. Midnight Saturday.

  “Tess, did you hear me?” Max asked, placing a hand on my arm.

  I shook him off. “No, I—”

  “Hey, you,” Elle said in a voice I hadn’t heard since before she’d gone missing. She was still looking over my shoulder. Part of me was dying to turn, but the rest of me hardened to stone to keep my body in place. Especially when I saw the look of shock that washed over Max’s face.

  “S’up?” a deep voice asked.

  Max nodded and then stepped forward to give the owner of the deep voice space to walk around us until he was standing beside Elle.

  I almost laughed. But there really wasn’t anything funny about watching Chip Knowles fling an arm around Elle’s shoulders. Or about how Elle looked up at him and batted her lashes (not in the bitchy way, but in the I’m-so-into-you way).

  “You guys know Chip?” Elle asked, reaching up to brush something off his lips. “Crumb,” she said to him.

  What. The. Hell?

  “Um, yeah,” Max said, pinching my arm. “You guys had a great season.”

  Chip shrugged and tipped his head forward, as if he were even a slight bit modest.

  “Thanks, man.” His skin was puffy below his brown eyes, like he hadn’t had enough sleep. There were little pricks of stubble on his chin and lower cheeks, and his golden hair was mussed all over. I wondered if he’d showered that morning and carefully constructed the look, or if he had just rolled out of bed and swiped some product along the top of his head. My eyes moved from his face (d
evoid of expression) to Elle’s (dangerously excited) and back again.

  “How do you two …” I didn’t even know how to form the question that was screaming inside my brain.

  “It was kinda funny,” Elle said with a giggle. “We ran into each other one night at the park in our neighborhood. You know the fountain?”

  I nodded. I knew the fountain all right.

  “He was fishing at like three in the morning. Fishing!” Elle tipped her head back and laughed.

  “And this one came up and scared me half to death.” Chip goosed Elle from behind, and she jumped forward a step, swatting at his arm while a squeal erupted from her mouth.

  As all of this played out, I realized that the girl standing before me was much more like my old friend than I’d realized. She’d always craved the attention of guys and was used to getting exactly what she wanted. The thing was, I’d expected her to be different. More guarded and aware. But the only change I noticed was that her actions seemed to be fueled by a deeper level of recklessness. And that freaked me out.

  “I didn’t even know there were fish in that dirty old pond,” Elle said. “Did you?” She looked at me, her eyes wide.

  I nodded. “Aren’t there no fishing signs all around the edge of the water?”

  “Puh-lease tell me you’re not still a total goody-goody.” Elle’s eyes pulled into narrow slits as she looked at me, daring me to say more. Then she held two hands up and spread them wide. “I swear he caught one this big! Don’t go all PETA on him, though. He threw the slimy thing back in the water.”

  About this time, I noticed Chip’s eyes roaming off to my left. His lips curled up slightly in this wicked smirk. It didn’t last more than a second or two, but I was certain of what I’d seen. I also knew exactly what I would find when I turned. I didn’t want to, but this time, my body just took over.

  Jessie Richards sauntered past us without even looking, her long legs swinging in a perfectly even stride. Her face and body showed no sign of emotion. She was good, I had to give her that much, because everyone else in the atrium and the four attached halls that spread out like spider legs was staring openly, their mouths agape, their fingers pointing. Not even Jessie’s entourage, Kirsten Holmes and Tabby Lock, could hide their wide-eyed shock.