by Cheryl Klam
“Because I got the part in Drew’s play?”
“She’s used to being the star of the show. And now you’re the pretty one.”
“Don’t say that,” I say quickly.
“Why not? It’s true,” Simon says. “In fact, I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
Amazingly enough, I’m no longer cold. In fact, I’m so warm I’ve begun to sweat. I fiddle with the napkin in my lap. “So what should I do about George?”
“Maybe you should accept a date to the fall festival with someone else. He’ll get the message.”
“That’s an idea,” I say. I stick the lite fruit cocktail back in my bag, untouched.
“What about Drew?”
I have thought about this, of course. I have thought about this a lot. But although practice has been coming along really well and we always have a great time together (at least, I think so) and my kissing had improved dramatically (at least, I think so), I still can’t tell if he’s really into me or not.
“I’m not sure how much Drew likes me. A little bit at least, but then he and Lucy are going to see that play at the Kennedy Center tomorrow, so I don’t really know.” I have discovered they’re going to a matinee, not an evening performance, which makes me feel a tiny bit better since it doesn’t seem so date-ish. But still, just thinking about it is enough to make my angina flare up.
“So maybe you should go to the dance with me,” Simon says casually.
My heart begins thwacking. “Oh, Simon,” I say, with a little forced laugh as I clutch my chest. “I made you take me last year. You should ask someone you really like.”
“I just did: you.”
I laugh a little louder, as if by sheer force of will I can turn this whole thing into a harmless joke at no one’s expense. “No,” I say.
“You know what I mean. Someone you like-like.”
He’s not laughing. In fact, he’s not even smiling anymore. “I just did,” he says softly. “You.”
In addition to my worsening case of angina, I now have emphysema. No, no, no…
Simon sighs and says, “Last week, when I told you I needed to work some stuff out? Well, I wasn’t exactly honest when I said it didn’t have anything to do with you. It didn’t have anything to do with anything you’ve done or said…it’s just that, well, my feelings for you have changed—developed.”
But you’re my friend, I want to say, my best friend.
“I’ve tried to ignore it, but I, well, I can’t. I want to be more than friends.”
For the second time in five minutes I’m unable to speak.
“I know how you feel about Drew, but, I mean, you don’t really know him. And, well, like you said, Lucy likes him. Maybe if you gave us a chance…you might be able to forget about him.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as I stare at my lap.
“Do you…do you think you could see me as more than just a friend?”
Simon. My Simon. “I want things to be like they were before the accident,” I somehow manage to spit out. “I want you to be my best friend.”
“I can’t keep doing this, Megan,” he says. “I don’t want to be just friends anymore.” He picks up his lunch bag and crumples it into a ball. “I just want you to give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. Come to the fall festival with me. As my date.”
“I…I…” What can I say that will make this all better? “I can’t.”
Simon’s eyes fill with tears. “I have to go,” he says quickly. “My contacts are bugging me.”
I sit still, watching him walk away from me, heading back toward school. Only then do I realize that my nose is running.
I’m so miserable that I’m tempted to blow off play practice. It’s not that I don’t want to see Drew, it’s just that I’m so upset I doubt I’ll be able to concentrate. And I’m right. Within the first few minutes of practice, it’s obvious that I made a mistake in coming. Even though I’m supposed to be off script, I’m not even remembering the most basic of words, like “yes” and “no.” After only the second page of dialogue, Drew says, “Are you okay?”
“Sure,” I say with a subdued laugh.
“You seem a little distracted.”
“I, well…” I desperately blink back tears as I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. I can’t allow myself to cry. Not in front of Drew. “It’s Simon.”
And suddenly I feel guilty for even mentioning Simon’s name in front of Drew. How can I tell Drew what happened at lunch without breaking some unspoken trust between Simon and me?
“It’s not just Simon…it’s, well, everything. This year has just been weird, that’s all.”
He’s silent for a minute, just looking at me. “Maybe we should call it quits for today.”
“I don’t want to go home,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’m not going to go home.”
“I have to run an errand,” he says. “Do you want to come with me?”
“With you?” I ask.
He nods.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing my coat. I don’t even ask where he’s going. It seems irrelevant, somehow. We’re both silent as we leave the school, walking side by side to the parking structure. Even though I’m fulfilling a fantasy by spending some one-on-one time with him away from the school, and should therefore be totally, absolutely over the moon, I’m not. I’m too numb to be excited. The whole Simon thing has left me feeling like a wet noodle.
We walk up the stairs to the second floor of the lot, where he stops beside a brand-spanking-new and shiny BMW.
“Nice wheels,” I say, after I climb inside. Then I cringe. Who says wheels? Whenever I try to be cool, the words come out all wrong. But fortunately, Drew doesn’t seem to notice.
“Thanks,” he says. “It’s my stepfather’s but he lets me use it. He’s a lawyer for some big law firm. Actually, his office isn’t too far from here. He works in the Legg Mason building.”
“My mom’s a lawyer, too. She works in a renovated town house down the street from the Legg Mason building. It’s totally trashed but…she loves her job, which I guess is good because she works twenty-four seven.”
Drew’s quiet as he drives out of the structure. I notice he’s suddenly got a little crinkle in his brow, like he’s forgotten how to get where he’s going or he’s suddenly regretting asking such a clinically depressed person to join him.
“So where are we going?” I ask, trying my best to sound cheerful.
Drew grins as if he’s happy to know something I don’t. “You’ll see.”
As we drive through the Inner Harbor and head up to Route 83, we sit in nervous silence until Drew clears his throat.
“So,” he says finally. “Do you, ah, want to talk about whatever got you so upset today?”
“It wasn’t that big a deal,” I say quickly, not sure if I want to burden him with the details. Plus the last thing I need is to find out that underneath it all Drew is alien, like everyone else I know.
But then he raises his eyebrows and gives me a sweet smile. It’s all the encouragement I need.
“It’s Simon. He’s been my best friend since my first day of school here. Until my accident, we did everything together. But lately, well, he’s been…going through a hard time. But it’s not all his fault. I mean, I have, too.”
Drew keeps his magnificent eyes on the road. “With good reason. Look at what you’ve been through.”
He’s right. I have been though a lot. If anyone deserves to be miserable right now, it’s me. “Well, I always thought life would be easier, you know, if I looked like Lucy and lived in the spotlight. But now that it’s all real, a lot of it isn’t the way I imagined.”
Drew turns down the volume of the car radio. It’s as though he wants to be listening only to me. “What do you mean?”
“Before my accident, I thought if people just got to know me that they’d like me, but they never got past my face or body. Or that’s what I told myself. I believed things would be different
this year. I thought I’d have a ton of friends and everybody would like me…” Oh, man. Wa-wa-wa. What a cry baby. If Simon were here, he’d be having a field day. “Poor baby…it’s so hard to be beautiful…” “I know it sounds conceited,” I say, just in case Drew’s having the same thought.
“It actually sounds a little sad.”
I blink away the extra water in my eyes as I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. Must be my nonexistent allergies.
“Look, Megan, I’m no expert, but it seems to me that anyone in your shoes would be out of sorts right now.”
Drew has a point. After all, less than a year ago Simon and I were arguing over who got to be Luke Skywalker.
“And as far as what the other people think or don’t think of you…,” he continues, “so what? You can’t worry about other people. You just have to be who you are.”
“What if I don’t know who I am anymore?”
“Luckily I know who you are.” Drew takes one hand off the steering wheel and places it on my knee. “You’re fun, you’re smart, you’re interesting to talk to. And I want to know more.”
The words came out of him just like that, as if they were indisputably true. I’m not used to cute guys saying nice things to me—or touching me!—and although I have the feeling I’m supposed to say something really sweet back to him, I’m not sure what that might be.
“Thank you.” The words squeak out of me in a quiet little voice. I’m not even sure Drew hears me.
But when I feel his hand squeeze my knee, I can tell he did.
Drew takes an exit off 83 and soon we stop on a slightly war–torn looking street, just like a million other streets around Baltimore. “We’re here,” he says, nodding toward the building beside us.
“Green Alien Comics?” I say, reading the sign above the beat-up glass storefront.
“The owner is one of my best friends. I showed him your Batman and he was really impressed.”
“Really?” I can’t believe Drew was talking about me to one of his best friends.
Drew grabs the door for me and holds it open. He smiles at me as I walk inside.
The store is divided into three big and shabby-looking rooms. Neat rows of comics line the dirty pale yellow walls, intermixed with stands displaying comic dolls and assorted comic-related accessories, such as a Wonder Woman hairbrush and a giant Xena doll.
“Hey, Fred,” Drew says.
A scrawny, studious-looking man in his twenties with small wire-rimmed glasses (and wearing a T-shirt heralding the last Superman movie) jumps off his stool behind the cash register and bounds over to us. “Drew!” he says, and gives Drew a high-five. “Good to see you, dude.”
“Likewise. Fred, this is Megan,” Drew says, nodding in my direction. “She’s the one I was telling you about.”
“The Batman girl,” Fred says with a wink. “You’re awesome.”
I can’t believe this. I’m actually blushing because the comic book guy called me awesome.
“Big news, guy,” Fred says to Drew. “Look what I got.” He holds up a comic book wrapped in what appears to be layers of plastic.
Drew takes a step back and gasps. “Is that what I think it is?”
Fred stands perfectly still, a slight smile creeping up his lips. “A D copy,” he whispers.
“How much?” Drew says feverishly.
“Two-six-five,” Fred replies. Once he sees the confused expression on my face, he is kind enough to translate. “That’s two hundred and sixty-five dollars.”
“For a comic book?” I ask.
“Not just any comic book,” Fred says solemnly. “Part of the D collection.”
“The D collection because they belonged to a collector who handwrote the letter D on his comic books,” Drew explains. “He started collecting in the thirties, and when he died, his family put his entire collection up for auction. This one is from the nineteen fifties.”
“You want to see it up close?” Fred asks, once again as excited as if he’s offering us a chance to see a treasure from Tutankhamen’s tomb. “I’ll let you view it in the back where there’s more room.”
Drew takes my hand in his. “Lead the way.”
I follow along behind him, thinking about how amazing his skin feels against mine. But soon I remember that tomorrow Drew and Lucy will be at the Kennedy Center together. I get a sick feeling in my stomach that spreads everywhere in a matter of seconds. I just know Lucy will use on him that weird power she has over men and he’ll have no choice but to hold her hand, too.
twenty
typecast (verb): to cast a performer in a role that requires characteristics of physique, manner, personality, etc., similar to those possessed by the performer.
“Were you up here all night?”
It’s seven-thirty in the morning and I’m on the roof, wearing my coat over my pajamas, covered in sawdust.
Lucy is standing in the doorway. She looks exactly like the Valentine’s Day Barbie I got from Aunt Shelley in third grade. She’s wearing the outfit she and Marybeth picked out for her date with Drew: red velvet jeans (that she has dry-cleaned) and a tight pink turtleneck, topped with a fuzzy white shrug and long, dangly rhinestone earrings.
“I couldn’t sleep.” In fact, I have been up since four. I tossed and turned for a half hour before grabbing a large shoe box from the back of the closet, taking out the chinchilla-trimmed boots that Lucy bought on eBay last year for a hundred and fifty dollars, and heading up to the roof. Since we don’t have a basement, my dad built a little shed for my equipment and that’s where my mom prefers me to work on my projects, especially the big messy ones.
Lucy goes to the edge of the balcony and glances toward the harbor. “I don’t know how you can stand to be up here at night by yourself. It would creep me out.”
“It’s kind of nice,” I say.
“What are you working on?” she asks, motioning toward my diorama.
I hesitate. I’m not sure if Lucy knows about Drew’s Batman obsession or not. One thing is certain. If she does, she’s going to know in a second what I’m up to. “A…cave. You know, for Batman.”
“For Batman? As in the comic books?”
The knowledge that I know something about Drew that she obviously doesn’t gives me a little thrill.
“Graphic novels,” I say authoritatively. “They’re not just for kids anymore. Some go for as much as, well, two hundred and sixty-five dollars.”
Lucy just shrugs and heads toward the door.
“So what time are you guys leaving?” I ask, before she can escape. I don’t really want to know, of course. But I just can’t help myself.
“At lunch.”
I hear a horn beep. Marybeth just got a new car and I overheard Lucy and her making plans for her to swing by and pick her up early so they could get some coffee and discuss her “strategy” for her date with Drew.
As Lucy leaves, I think about her and Drew sitting in his stepfather’s fancy car, just the two of them. I think about the romantic walk through the glitzy lobby of the Kennedy Center. I think about them sitting side by side in the dark theater. I think about the ride home, the big dramatic moment when the music reaches a crescendo and Drew turns toward Lucy and realizes she’s the girl of his dreams, his real-life Valentine’s Day Barbie.
I wipe my nose on my coat sleeve and turn my diorama back around. It really wasn’t that elaborate, at least, not yet. I had painted the inside of the box black and was in the process of building a computer console and elevator. The diorama wasn’t nearly finished but I suddenly wondered if it was even worth the effort. Although I thought it a great idea a couple of hours ago, it now seems a little sad (in a really pathetic sort of way). What was I thinking? That a little extra credit might win Drew’s affection? A Batman diorama was not going to make up for me not having my sister’s innate sensuality, or her ability to morph into whatever person someone might want her to be.
Somehow I know that a diorama will not win Drew’s affection. I
gather up all the pieces and head back inside. I walk to the kitchen, yank out a black Hefty bag, and stuff it in. I tie it up, walk it out the back door, and toss it into the trash. And then I go upstairs to get cleaned up for school. I forget all about my promise to be true to my old self. Intent on looking good today, I’m determined to give Valentine’s Day Barbie a run for her money.
In production class I barely hear a word of Mr. Lucheki’s discussion on the importance of properly miking the actors. I’m too busy thinking about how Drew had taken my hand in his at the comic book store, and how he’d used the word we, intimating that he and I were actually a real couple. Sitting all by myself in the front row, I couldn’t feel more lonely if I was stranded in the middle of the Sahara.
After class, I wait until everybody has left before I exit the auditorium. It’s almost twelve o’clock, time for Drew and Lucy to leave on their big date. Even though I had gotten all dressed up just so I could purposely run into Drew before he left and attempt to distract him from my sister, I don’t go to the cafeteria. (It just seems too pathetic.) Instead I head toward the Cross Street Market to stake out a table for myself. But on the way there, I start to feel worse. I keep thinking about Lucy being alone with Drew and wondering what’s going on between them at that very minute. I’m so upset that I stop walking and call my mom. But once again, she doesn’t pick up. Her not being there so annoys me that I slam the phone shut before leaving a message. I gnaw on my finger for a minute before doing something so desperate it surprises even me. I call my dad.
He picks up on the third ring. “Hi, Megan.” I can hear the clanging of pots and loud voices in the background and I know immediately that he’s in the kitchen of some Lucky Lou’s. “Is everything okay?”
“No, not really.” My voice is cracking as I step away from the busy sidewalk, taking refuge in the doorway of an abandoned building.
“@#$%!” he screams, causing me to jump straight up in the air. “Check the temperature on those next time! Ugh! @#$%!” I catch my breath as I listen to my dad yelling out instructions to the unlucky kitchen staff. “Sorry ’bout that princess,” he says finally, once again talking in a normal voice. “Dealing with idiots over here. Anyway…let me go somewhere more private.” I can hear the background din grow still. “All right, so tell me. What’s wrong?”