by Sarah Dessen
By the sound of it, it would be a few minutes, so I wandered back into the dining room. The door to the stairs was open, despite what the tattooed guy had been told. When I went to shut it, I heard Opal talking and started toward her voice instead.
“What this really is,” she was saying, “is an opportunity for you, as citizens of this town, to get to know the center of it in a way you never would otherwise. Street by street, corner by corner. House by house. It’s like you’re mapping your own world. So that’s cool, right?”
There was no answer to this, other than a cough and some shuffling. Once on the landing, I could see Opal, facing a group of about twenty or so teens and near-teens, all of whom looked about as excited as if they were attending a root canal. Opal herself, wearing a black dress and her cowboy boots, her hair piled up on her head, was flushed, clearly nervous.
“And the great thing is,” she continued, talking a bit too fast, “with this many people, doing even a couple of hours a week, we should make really good progress. I mean, according to the directions.” She waved a stapled packet of paper she was holding in one hand. “It’s pretty basic, by the looks of it. Once we get the base down and put it together, it’s just a matter of matching the pieces to the numbers.”
Crickets. And silence.
“So, um,” she saidis ’m really glad so many folks showed up. I mean, I know some of you didn’t have a choice. But if you stick with this, I think you’ll find that we’ll have a good time and do something worthwhile for the community.”
Nothing. I watched Opal’s shoulders sink as she sighed, then said, “Well, I guess that’s all we have time for today. We’ll plan to be back here on Wednesday at four. So if you want me to sign your time sheets . . .”
Suddenly, the entire room was in motion, everyone coming to life with a flurry of movement. Within seconds, Opal was mobbed by out-thrust hands and fluttering pieces of paper.
“Okay, okay,” she said, “one at a time, I’ll get to everyone. . . .”
I stepped around the mob, walking into the room, which had been cleared out and swept, the boxes now lined up against one wall. A few large ones were labeled with big black numbers; the rest had letters, all jumbled up and out of order. I thought of Tracey’s crossword, all those words fitting and not fitting, as I scanned them, another puzzle unsolved.
By now, we’d been in town for three full weeks. It was the longest I’d been Mclean—or at least called myself that—in two years, and I still wasn’t quite used to it. Even hearing Jason say it, moments earlier, had been jarring. It probably said something that my own name sounded weirder to me than the ones I’d chosen to take on over these last few years. But the truth was, I still wasn’t sure who this Mclean was, here. I kept waiting for her to turn up, falling into place as easily as Eliza and Lizbet and Beth before her, but so far it hadn’t happened. Instead, I still felt unformed, like a cake half baked with edges crisp, but still mushy in the middle.
Part of this was because in the last three towns, I’d quickly decided on a set persona: perky rah-rah girl, black-clad drama queen, student government joiner. Faking all of these things was easy, because I could plan them out, selecting the friends and activities that best suited whomever I’d decided to be. At Jackson, though, it was not so cut and dry. I didn’t pick Mclean’s friends. Somehow, they kept picking me.
That day at lunch, I’d come out to the courtyard, planning to take a place along the wall. I wanted to look over my Western Civ notes because there’d been subtle hints at the possibility of a pop quiz, and I hated surprises. I’d just gotten settled and started reading when a shadow fell across my notebook. A gum-popping shadow.
“Got a minute?” Heather said when I looked up at her. She was wearing her fake-fur coat and jeans, a big, red wool knit cap pulled over her blonde hair. Before I could answer, she said, “Good. Come on.”
She turned, clearly confident that I’d follow this command, and started over to the picnic table I now knew was her and Riley’s daily lunch spot. Sure enough, as I watched her go—not having moved an inch—I saw Riley on one side, sipping a Coke and twisting her hair with one hand. Across from her was Dave Wade. It was the first time I’d seen him since I’d decked him with the ball, which probably explained why I felt a sudden rush of embarrassment.
“Hello? ” Heather said from about five feet away. She sounded impatient, as if I had actually agreed to something. “Are you coming or what?”
I just looked at her, not sure how to respond to this. Finally, I said, “I have a pop quiz this afternoon.”
“Come on,” she said, and before I could stop her, she’d come back, grabbed my hand, and was pulling me to my feet. I barely had a chance to reach for my bag before I was being dragged over to the table, where she deposited me, my notebook still open, on the bench beside Dave Wade. As he glanced up, I had a flash of him hitting the pavement again, and my face flushed, deeper this time.
“You know Mclean, right?” Heather said, plopping down across from me, beside Riley.
“We’ve met,” he said, keeping his eyes on me. As I shifted beside him, trying to organize my notes in my lap, I realized that really, this was the most mundane encounter we’d had: no secrets kept, police chasing, or flying basketballs. Yet, anyway.
“She’s graciously agreed to be our tiebreaker,” Heather told him.
“Oh, God.” Riley rubbed a hand over her face, and I realized her eyes were kind of red. She’d been crying. “Just when I didn’t think this could get any more embarrassing.”
“We’re all friends here,” Heather told her. “And besides, so far you’ve gotten completely conflicting advice. There’s mine, which is actually, you know, what you should do. And then there’s his”—she cocked a finger at Dave, who raised his eyebrows—“which is not.”
“Would you believe,” Dave said to me, “that this is her actually trying to be unbiased?”
“Okay, here’s the situation,” Heather said, ignoring him. “Riley’s been seeing this guy, and she just found out he cheated on her. He says he’s sorry. Does she hear him out or kick him out?”
I looked at Riley, who was now directing her full attention to picking at a spot on the table. “Um,” I said. “Well—”
“I said she should give him the boot. Like, literally and figuratively,” Heather explained. “But Eggbert over here is telling her to be all codependent.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dave said, holding up his hand. “Actually, what I said was she should get his reasons for doing what he did, and then proceed from there.”
“He cheated on her,” Heather said flatly. Riley flinched, picking harder. “What reason could possibly make that okay?”
“People do make mistakes,” Dave pointed out.
“Look,” Riley said, waving a hand between them, “I appreciate this town hall approach to my problem. But I can handle this, okay?”
“You said that last time, though,” Heather pointed out.
Now Dave looked surprised. “Last time? Wait, he’s done this before?”
Riley looked up at him. “Well . . . yeah. There was this other thing, a couple of months ago.”
“You didn’t tell me about that,” he said.
“You were. . . .” Riley glanced at me. “Busy. At the time.”
“Oh,” Dave said.
“He got arrested,” Heather explained to me. Now Dave flinched. “What? It was one beer. I got busted for that in middle school, it’s so basic.”
“Heather.” Riley’s voice was a bit sharp. “Remember when you said I should tell you when you’re crossing the lines of what’s conversationally appropriate?”
“Yeah.”
Instead of replying, Riley fixed her with a flat, hard stare. I could almost feel the weather changing around us, it was so severe. “Fine,” Heather said after a moment, picking up her phone. “Make your own choice. It’s your funeral.”
We all just sat there for a second, nobody talking, and I looked longingly over
at the spot on the wall, where I’d been able to sit alone and worry about something small and easy like the whole of western civilization. I was just working up a way to get back over there when Dave said, “So. Mclean. How’s the entry been?”
“Entry?” I repeated.
“To this,” he said, gesturing with a flip of his hand at the courtyard. As he did so, I noticed for the first time the tattoo on his wrist. It was a black circle, in the same spot and the same shape as Riley’s. Interesting. “Our fine educational establishment.”
“Um,” I said, “it’s been . . . fine, I guess.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said.
“Of course it helps,” Heather said, tugging her hat down over her ears, “that she fell in with the right crowd.”
“And who would that be?” Dave asked.
She made a face at him. “You know, there are actually people who would love to have the chance to hang out with me.”
“Oh, right. How is Rob these days?” he said.
“He’s history, not that it’s any of your business.” To me she said, “He can say what he wants, but he knows the truth. Me and Riley, we’re the best thing that ever happened to this boy.”
“Cut out the first two words of that sentence and I’ll agree with you,” Dave said. Heather rolled her eyes, but Riley looked up, giving him a wan smile.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Heather said. “I wish you two would just go out, fail miserably as a couple, and get it over with.”
“Well,” said Dave, sitting back, “it’s nice to know we’d have your blessing.”
Just then, I felt someone on my left. I glanced up, just in time to see Deb, her purse tucked tightly to her side, passing beside me. As our eyes met, her face brightened with recognition; when she saw I wasn’t alone, though, she bit her lip and kept moving.
I don’t know what possessed me to put in motion what happened next. It was impulse or instinct, the best or worst thing under the circumstances. Regardless, before I knew it, it was done.
“Hey,” I called out. “Deb!”
Beneath the table, Heather kicked my shin, but I ignored her. As for Deb, she was clearly so unused to being casually addressed at school that she visibly jumped at this, the sound of her own name, then whirled around to look at me, surprised, her mouth a tiny O shape. She was wearing jeans, a pink cardigan sweater, and a navy jacket. The ribbon in her hair matched her lip gloss, which mtched her quilted purse.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Um,” I said, realizing I had no plan past this first greeting. “How’s it going?”
Deb looked at me, then at the rest of the group at the table, as if weighing whether this was a trick or not. “Fine,” she said slowly. Then, in only an incrementally more friendly tone, she added, “How are you?”
“Do you want to sit with us?” I asked her. I felt both Riley and Heather look at me, but I kept my eyes on Deb, who looked so surprised—shocked, even—that you would have thought I’d asked her to lend me a kidney. “I mean,” I continued, and now Dave was looking at me, too, “there’s, um, room here. If you do.”
Deb, no fool, looked at Heather, who was staring at me, an incredulous look on her face. Forget borrowing a kidney: by her face, you’d think I’d offered to eat one. “Well,” she said slowly, pulling her purse a little closer to her side, “I—”
“She’s right,” Dave said suddenly, scooting a bit down from me to create a bigger space between us. “The more, the merrier. Have a seat.”
Riley narrowed her eyes, twisting the top off her water again. Meanwhile, Deb was looking at me, so I tried to convey with one look both reassurance and confidence. Somehow, though, it worked, because she came over—slowly—and slid onto the bench beside me, parking her purse in her lap and folding her hands over the top of it.
This time, I did have to say something. I’d pulled Deb into this, so the least I could do was try to make her feel welcome. But my mind just went blank, then blanker still as I began trying desperately to come up with any conversation starter. I was just about to say something about the weather—the weather!—when she politely cleared her throat.
“I like your tattoo,” she said to Dave, nodding at the circle on his wrist. “Does it have special meaning?”
I knew I was not the only one surprised that this was the topic she chose to broach: Heather and Riley were staring at her, as well. But Deb was giving Dave her full attention as he glanced down at his wrist, then said, “Yeah, actually. It, um, represents someone I was very close with, once.”
Hearing this, Riley closed her eyes, and I thought again about the matching circle on her own wrist. You didn’t just get a tattoo with someone for nothing.
“What about you?” Heather asked Deb suddenly. “Do you have any tattoos?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Really?” Heather said, raising her eyebrows. “I’m so surprised.”
“Heather,” I said.
“I would actually love to have one,” Deb continued, glancing at me. “But I haven’t found anything I feel passionate enough about yet.” To Dave, who was watching her with an attentive expression, she added, “I think it’s important that it really have meaning to you if it’s going to be a part of you forever.”
Heather’s eyes widened, and I felt like kicking her in the shin but restrained myself. Dave said, “That’s very true, actually.”
Deb smiled as if he’d paid her apliment. “Yours looks kind of tribal to me, with the thick lines and the black.”
“You know about tribal tattoos?” Dave asked her.
“A little,” Deb replied. “Although personally, the Japanese designs are my favorites. The fish, and the foo dogs. The artwork is so imperial and classic.”
“Are you kidding me with this?” Heather interjected, incredulous. “How do you know about tattoos?”
“My mom had a friend who had his own shop,” Deb said, either unaware of or just ignoring her tone. “I used to stay there after school until she was done at work.”
“You,” Heather said, her voice flat, “hung out at a tattoo shop.”
“It was a while back.” Deb smoothed her hands over her purse. “Very interesting, though. I learned a lot.”
Dave, on Deb’s other side, suddenly caught my eye and I was surprised to see him smile at me, like we were the only two in on a joke. Even more unexpectedly, I felt myself smile back.
“So, Deb,” I said. “Hypothetical situation. Your boyfriend cheats on you. Do you grant him another chance, or end things?”
Heather rolled her eyes. Riley, though, was watching us.
“Well,” Deb said after a moment. “Honestly, I’d need more details before I could say.”
“Like what?” Dave asked her.
She thought for a moment. “Length of the relationship, first. I mean, if it’s really early days, it doesn’t bode well. Better to move on.”
“Good point,” Riley said quietly. Heather looked at her, raising her eyebrows.
“Also,” Deb continued, “I’d have to consider the circumstances. Was it a fling, with someone he hardly knew, or a person he actually cared about? The first could be explained as a misstep . . . but if real emotions are involved, it’s a lot more complicated.”
“True,” I said.
“Finally, a lot would depend on his behavior. I mean, did he confess, or did I find out some other way? Is he actually sorry, or just mad he got caught?” She sighed. “Really, though? The bottom line I always ask myself is: if I look at everything I’ve had with this person, good and bad, am I better or worse off without them? If the answer is better . . . well, then, that’s the answer.”
We all just sat there, looking at her. No one said anything, and then the bell rang. “Well,” Riley said, blinking a few times. “That was . . . very informative. Thank you.”
“Sure,” Deb said, friendly as ever.
Riley and Heather both got to their feet, picking up their bags and trash, while on our side, Deb and I
did the same. Only Dave stayed where he was, taking his time screwing the cap onto his water bottle. When he finally got to his feet, he looked at me.
“You never answered,” he said as Deb unzipped her purse, looking for something inside.
“What?”
“The question. Stay or go. never answered.”
I looked over at Riley, who was pulling on her backpack, smiling at something Heather had just said as she did so. “I’m not good with advice,” I said.
“Ah, come on,” he said. “That’s a cop-out. And this is a hypothetical.”
Everyone was starting toward the main entrance now, Heather and Riley ahead, with me, Dave, and Deb bringing up the rear. I shrugged, then said, “I don’t like complications. If something’s not working . . . you gotta move on.”
Dave nodded slowly, considering this. I thought he might push further, or maybe counter, but instead, he turned to Deb. “It was very nice talking to you.”
“And you, as well!” Deb said. “Thanks for the invitation.”
“That was me, actually,” I said.
Dave laughed, glancing at me, and I felt myself smile again. “See you around, Mclean.”
I nodded, and then he turned, falling in beside Riley and sliding his hands into his pockets.
People were moving all around us, en route to different buildings, as Deb and I just stood there together. Finally, she said, “He’s very nice.”
“He’s something,” I replied.
She considered this, zipping her purse shut. Then she said, “Well, everyone is.”
Everyone is something, I thought now as I stood upstairs at Luna Blu, looking across all those boxes. For some reason, this had stuck with me, simple and yet not, ever since she’d said it. It was like a puzzle, as well, two vague words with one clear one between them.
Looking closer, I saw now that one of the boxes had been opened, some packing materials loose on the floor around it. Inside, it contained stacks of plastic sheets of house and building parts. There were pieces with cutouts of doors and windows, and others printed to look like brick and wooden facades. Fronts and backs of small houses, block-like stores, and longer buildings with rows of windows that had to be offices or schools. There were dozens of sheets in the box, with the parts for a couple of structures on each one. So many pieces.