“Are you okay?” Bubba asked when I reached the landing. I snapped back to reality.
“Define okay,” I replied acidly.
We sat at a small table in the corner of the courtyard. “Jane—”
“Don’t you mean Gabriel, Bubba?” I shifted so that I was sitting sideways, turning my head to glare at him over my right shoulder. I crossed my arms and smirked with false casualness.
“Okay then, Gabriel…this is what happened.” He paused, as if he wasn’t sure where to start.
I jumped in. “I can’t wait to hear, and it better be good.”
His eyes met mine, making my heart lurch. “Remember the day you asked me to the dance?”
“Yes, Sharp…I mean Bubba…yes, Bubba, I remember. We all have our moments of desperation. What does that have to do with this?”
“You stacked your books with my sheet music on top of my saxophone case. Remember?”
“Not really. Not exactly the highlight of my life, you know…where I put my school stuff. Slackers like me don’t concern ourselves with such trivialities.”
“Well, your stuff was piled with mine, and when you picked it up you left your folder with my music books.”
“Crime of the century? Big deal. Call in the National Guard.”
“It wasn’t a crime,” he said softly, as if my sarcasm offended him. “Just a forgotten folder.”
“So?”
“I didn’t realize it was there. I wasn’t exactly thinking about folders. I was thinking about going out with you. Excited about going out with you. I’ve always liked you—ever since I can remember.” I rolled my eyes just like Demonseed rolls his Rs. Sharp looked away, then back at me. “Later that night, when I went to practice my pieces, I saw it there—that blue folder. And it had ‘Bubba, Letters to my Imaginary Enemy’ written on the front. I thought it was Chord’s. Maybe some assignment for his creative writing class. I opened it and started reading those letters. That’s when I knew it was actually your folder. Your letters.”
“Which you kept reading?” I accused him. “You’re worse than Carmella and Harmony.”
“I did keep reading. Wouldn’t you have? I know you would.”
“Maybe,” I admitted grudgingly.
“Anyway, I thought it was really cool that you’d written all those Bubba letters over the years. I liked the way your handwriting matured, and your rages, too. And then I thought about how you always called my family weird, because of Elliot’s projects and stuff, and I was glad you were kind of weird, too.”
“You’re calling me weird?”
“Well, it is a bit weird, Jane. Having an imaginary enemy. Writing letters to him.”
I tossed my head. “Oh, and who are you to judge?”
“That’s what you don’t get—I’m not judging.” His voice was quiet, almost as if he was talking to himself. He leaned closer to me. “I liked it. It made me more attracted to you than ever. Like you weren’t the conventional girl you pretended to be. That’s why I was so turned on by what you wore to the dance. It exposed the artist in you.”
“Artist? I’m no artist.”
“In the broad sense of the word you are.”
“Whatever. You still shouldn’t have read my letters.”
“I couldn’t not read them, Jane. But here’s the odd thing: I was jealous of Bubba.”
I became aware of his hands on the tabletop, fidgeting nervously. “How could you be jealous of Bubba?” I asked incredulously. “He doesn’t exist!”
“But in a way he does. As much as any other intangible.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I said in exasperation.
He continued. “So I went next door—you weren’t home. I hung out with Zander and Jazz, and snuck into your room to stash your folder back with your stuff—”
I turned to face him squarely, my eyes aflame. I expected him to flinch, but he didn’t. “What? You snooped around my room?”
“No. I didn’t snoop. Just put your letters on a pile of stuff. Then last week, I did it again. It was easy. Your folder was sitting on your bed with your French book. So I read the new letters you’d written to Bubba and planned this meeting.”
“You make rank amateurs of our snoopy little sisters. You invaded my privacy.”
At least he had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I was intrigued. It didn’t seem so awful at the time.”
“All that still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here dressed in some funky coat pretending to be my imaginary enemy.”
Sharp inhaled. “Remember how Harmony and Carmella told me you only asked me out to get back at your boyfriend? I wrote those Bubba letters to you to…I don’t know why…to get your attention, I guess. And share a secret with you. But then, at the dance, it was so nice being with you, and you said you liked being with me, and I wasn’t sure what to do. But I’d already asked you to meet me, so here we are.”
I raised one eyebrow a bit, wishing I could knock him down a few pegs by doing a full-fledged Mrs. Perkins.
He reached across the table, grabbed my hand, and looked into my eyes. “Is it really so bad? What I did? Didn’t you kind of like it? The mystery? The magic? The risk?”
“You invaded my privacy.”
“Yeah, I did. But by accident. Only because your stuff got mixed up with mine. It’s not like I went digging through your closet or something.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“And I had no evil intent. I wanted to tease you, maybe. Entice you. But that’s it.”
“You conspired against me with my imaginary enemy,” I accused him.
“I wouldn’t really call it a conspiracy, Jane. Bubba’s imaginary. And it’s not like the CIA and Department of Homeland Security were involved.”
We sat in silence. I wasn’t totally mad now that I knew the whole story. It was even rather funny. And Sharp was right—I had enjoyed the mystery, magic, and risk. It wasn’t as if he was ridiculing me for having an imaginary enemy. He liked it—liked me better for it. I sighed. “At least you aren’t an online pervert.”
He smiled and it melted my heart. “Well, Gabriel, do you forgive me?”
At first I didn’t say anything, due to my stubborn streak. “So Bubba,” I finally asked, “do you want to go get a soda?”
“Does that mean we’re okay with each other?”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “But from now on, leave my private papers alone, understand?”
“Yeah, I understand.”
“And when I need an enemy, you’ll be on the receiving end. Got it?”
“Got it. But please don’t call me Bubba. Unless you kiss me. Then you can call me anything.”
“Okay, Bubba,” I said mischievously.
Salt
I closed the door to the dishwasher and turned it on. My father was wiping the counters. I touched his arm. “Hey, Dad?”
“Yes, Jane?”
“Um…I…well, I’ve thought about it a lot…a whole lot…like every spare minute…and well…I think maybe they were right.”
“They who?”
“The firefighters.” I clasped my hands together. “That night…I was tired and preoccupied. I’m pretty sure I forgot to unplug the fryer. That’s what I usually do…unplug it just to be certain.”
“It could happen to anyone,” my father said softly.
“Everyone makes mistakes. But I appreciate you owning up to your part.”
“I feel horrible about it, Dad. I’m so sorry. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things better.”
“Jane, accidents happen. I’ve done similar things myself. This time the consequences were severe, but still, it could have been worse.”
“Will you ever forgive me?”
He pulled me against him and hugged me. “I love you, Janie. There’s nothing to forgive. It’s over. Done. Construction on the new building starts next week. We’ve all moved on. I think it’s time for you to do the same.
”
“I’m trying.” I closed the cabinet doors and pushed the chairs beneath the table. “So Dad, if you didn’t have us kids to mess things up, your life would be perfect.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“You love Mom, your job, you have the Annika Elise. Everything you want. But then we do stuff…like the fire, and things aren’t so great anymore.”
“Sit down, little girl,” he said. Calling me “little girl” meant he found my thinking very young.
“What?” I asked defensively as I slid into a chair.
He sat across from me. “Hmmm…how can I make you understand?” He picked up the salt shaker and rolled it between his hands. “You like to cook, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And when you bake cookies or cake or pastry, you shovel in some sweetener, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But you put in something else, too, don’t you, to balance it out.”
“What? Flour?”
“No, Jane, not flour. Salt. Without it, the cookies or cake would be too sweet. Almost every sweet recipe has a bit of salt.”
“So?”
“Well, first of all, my children are the sweet in my life. I want you to know that. But I’m glad they come with a little salt. Without it, it would be hard to appreciate the sweet things.”
“So you don’t mind when we mess up?”
“It can be hard, really hard, to watch your kids make mistakes, but everyone makes mistakes. I might not like some of the things you do, just like you don’t like everything I do, but I can accept your mistakes. I hope you can accept mine.”
“I feel really bad about that fire, Dad.”
He reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “It bothers me more that you’re sometimes unkind to your siblings, Jane. So if you need to obsess about something, consider that.”
Chord and I stood in the deMichaels’ backyard, talking quietly and occasionally laughing. He took my hand and stepped even nearer to me. Sharp’s voice shattered the moment. “So Harmony and Carmella were right about you two.” He stalked across the yard toward us.
Chord and I pulled away from each other in shock. “Sharp,” I said. I took a step toward him, but he moved away.
“And you—my brother. I can’t believe this,” he snarled at Chord.
“Sharp, just listen,” I pleaded.
“I don’t want to listen to either of you—you traitors. You cheats.” He snatched a fistful of Chord’s shirt.
“Sharp, no!” I cried. He pushed Chord, who stumbled backward. Then Chord lunged at Sharp, and the two of them were punching each other and grunting. Carmella and Harmony emerged from behind Elliot’s van, all big-eyed and frightened. At thirteen, they still believed only what they wanted to about what they saw and heard. The rest they embellished at will.
Chord escaped from Sharp’s grasp, whirled around, and tried to catch him in a stranglehold. Sharp eluded him and punched him, connecting with his shoulder because Chord attempted to dodge the incoming blow.
“Make them stop,” pleaded Harmony. She grabbed my arm. “Do something. Please.”
The guys were now on the ground, a tangle of fists and elbows. I moved to pull them apart, but when I got close to them Chord reared back and nearly knocked me over. I backed away, afraid I’d get hurt. “Get the hose,” I said frantically. “That’s what you do with dogs.”
“The hose?” Harmony looked puzzled, and then ran toward the faucet. I watched her fumble with the nozzle while Carmella urged her to hurry.
Suddenly I started to laugh. I couldn’t stop. The sight of them so distraught was priceless. I clutched my sides and gasped for breath. The boys joined me in my hysterics. Soon the three of us were exchanging high fives and embracing each other to keep from falling to the ground. Carmella and Harmony stood there dumbfounded.
Sharp finally recovered enough of his self-control to call out, “Oh, Harmony. Carmella. The jig’s up!”
“Huh?” Harmony asked.
“Did you like our choreography, you little snoops?” yelled Chord.
Sharp wrapped his arm around my waist. I could feel the warmth of his hand through my shirt. The two spies shamefacedly gaped at us. “Sharp, you saw them,” said Harmony. “They were fooling around behind your back just like we told you. We saw them bunches of times. They even kissed. Jane was cheating on you with your own brother.”
“Why are you holding Jane?” Carmella asked him. “Aren’t you mad?”
“Furious,” said Sharp, laughing while he hugged me to his chest.
“But they cheated on you,” insisted Harmony, sneering at Chord and me.
“Get over it, Harmony,” said Sharp.
“We set you up, lame brains,” said Chord, catching his breath. “We found your dirty little notebook, so we thought we’d give you something juicy to write about. But you two sorry sneaks couldn’t stand it, could you? This was just too scandalous to keep to yourselves, so you turned tattletale and ran to poor Sharp.”
“To save him from us,” I added.
“You and Chord were faking it?” Harmony asked.
“Exactly. You know Chord’s not my type.”
“Or Jane mine…not that she’s not fine, but—”
“Why?” asked Harmony, totally confused.
“Why? Why do you think? We’re on to your psycho little game, and we turned it on you.”
“That was mean,” said Carmella. “Really mean.”
I couldn’t believe her nerve. “What? You two spied on us. All of us. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, you took notes! You’d best keep your big mouths shut.”
“And stay out of my way,” said Chord.
“Yeah,” said Sharp. “Next time we won’t be so amused. Next time we’ll come at you with our teeth bared. And we’ve seen you running around the neighborhood with Jason Blackshire and his pals, giggling and flirting, so we can easily file reports on your comings and goings.”
Carmella and Harmony looked at one another. “We won’t do it anymore,” said Harmony.
“We promise,” Carmella chimed in.
“We’ll burn the book.”
“To ashes.”
“Scram,” ordered Chord. “I can’t stand the sight of you.” Carmella and Harmony backed away and then dashed up the deMichaels’ steps.
“Do you believe them?” Sharp asked.
“Not for a New York minute,” Chord replied.
Imaginary Enemy
“We’re doing a show at school. Want to come?” Sharp asked.
“I’m already going, if it’s the one on Friday night. Zander’s doing a monologue.”
“I forgot about Zander. Jazz is a stagehand and Chord’s doing lights. I’m playing a song I wrote.”
“Wow. That’s impressive. What sort of song?”
“It’s a surprise. Wait and see.”
Friday evening, Mom, Dad, Carmella, and I piled into a row of seats next to Elliot, Peggy, and Harmony. Imagine my shock when, while waiting for the show to begin, I scanned the program for Sharp’s name and saw the title of the song he had written. “Imaginary Enemy.”
Sharp’s was one of the final performances. When the MC announced his name, he emerged from behind the curtain wearing black dress pants and a white tuxedo shirt. He held a classical guitar. He smiled as the spotlight focused on him. I thought he looked handsome and confident. Standing before the microphone, he said, “This song is for Gabriel.”
“Who’s Gabriel?” Mom whispered to Peggy, who shrugged, looking confused. Sharp sat on a wooden stool and began to play an instrumental I knew he’d written just for me. And even though the auditorium was crowded, I felt like he and I were the only two people in the entire world while his fingers danced over the strings.
When I got home that night, I pulled out my blue folder.
Dear Bubba,
Thanks for listening.
Your friend,
Gabriel
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
About the Author
Julie Gonzalez lives in Pensacola, Florida, with her husband, Eric, and their four children. Her previous novels are Ricochet and Wings, the winner of the Delacorte Press Prize for a First Young Adult Novel.
Also by Julie Gonzalez
Ricochet
Wings
Published by Delacorte Press an imprint of Random House Children’s Books a division of Random House, Inc. New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2008 by Julie Gonzalez
All rights reserved.
Delacorte Press and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
eISBN: 978-0-375-84638-0
v3.0
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