According to Jane

by Marilyn Brant

  “We’re coming up here again to house hunt next week,” Aunt Candice stated. “We’ll make sure to drop off Angelique by seven or seven-thirty.”

  “Oh, make it six,” our mother said. “Then she can have a nice dinner with us. Maybe pizza?”

  Angelique looked thrilled, Di victorious.

  Jane whispered, Une tragédie, n’est-ce pas?

  I sighed. You’re not kidding.

  “Angelique, play us something on your cello,” Aunt Candice commanded. “Mozart or Beethoven or one of those dead Viennese guys.”

  Une idée terrible, Jane commented.

  Enough already with the French, I said.

  My cousin retrieved her instrument from the car, readied it and glowed her warmest grin at us. “Mozart’s ‘Eine kleine Nachtmusik.’ A Little Night Music,’” she translated primly. “In G major.”

  Her fingers flew impressively across the neck of the cello. Her bow danced. For me, painful memories intruded.

  I thought of the flute I’d failed miserably to master in seventh-grade band. The piano lessons I didn’t have the aptitude for, even at fifteen. The time I broke two strings on Terrie’s guitar when she tried to show me how to tune it. Despite my passionate love of music, my playing was horrible enough to deafen the ears of small animals.

  So, I envied Angelique her musical gift, resented her for having her life together, but mostly I was ticked off because I couldn’t hate her. She might be on the intense side and, yeah, more than a little annoying, but she was so damned nice to me.

  I sighed.

  Why was it that I couldn’t be loved despite my flaws? Why couldn’t I be “quirky” in a “cute” way? Why couldn’t I excel at anything? Okay, correction: Why couldn’t I excel at anything anyone valued?

  No one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with, Jane remarked. Your cousin, though, is rather accomplished, she added, which only made me feel worse.

  Yeah, I know.

  Of course, your abilities are equally…well, perhaps even more desirable.

  I saw my dad squinting at a black, Rorschach-like smudge on the otherwise pristine family-room wall. It looked like a frantic butterfly, trapped in its 2-D prison. I longed to set it free. Sure they are, Jane.

  Pray, do I detect disbelief?

  Now you’re thinking, Sherlock.

  There was a long moment of silence. Then she asked, Who?

  Never mind, I said as Angelique continued on to the second movement. Just tell me what you mean. How could my abilities, such as they are, be considered desirable? And before you say it, getting good grades doesn’t count. No one cares.

  Without an instant of hesitation, Jane answered, You are more imaginative than any of them. Your cousin. Your siblings. Even your schoolmates. They have talents, to be sure, but beyond an intelligent mind there must be a creative spirit. It is not enough to absorb mere facts. True invention is in the application of vision. This you have in grand measure, far beyond your years and experience.

  I don’t know what came over me. Tears sprung to my eyes at her kind words. My aunt, misinterpreting as always, whispered proudly to my mother, “See how touched Ellie is by Angelique’s performance. My daughter is a musical prodigy.”

  Mom bestowed a sage nod upon her. “It’s as we always say, Angelique is a genius.”

  Jane said, Ignore them, Ellie. Your turn will come. They will all appreciate you someday.

  I seriously doubted this, but hope was a powerful thing. For a moment, it trumped skepticism, and it buoyed my spirits in spite of myself. And I loved that Jane could do that for me. I loved that her wisdom, so evident in her most famous novel, seemed to shine through and illuminate the character of each person I met and, most impressively, of the people I knew best.

  She single-handedly made me feel less like a loner. She made me believe it was okay that I was nothing like my Bad Girl Sister, my Dismissive Brother or my Genius Cousin. With Jane in my head and in my life, I could just be me, and this gift helped me deal with the worst of my adolescent high school existence.

  The day of the game, however, I stood at my open locker, counting down the seconds until Angelique arrived and the solidification of my total lack of coolness was complete. I jammed my books into my straining backpack while, two lockers to my right, Jason Bertignoli stuffed his backpack with similar items.

  Barnett.

  Bertignoli.

  Which left — guess who?

  Blaine.

  Three lockers down from Jason stood Sam, of course. (And can I tell you how much I hated alphabetical order?) He leaned against the gray metal and sent me an indecipherable look. He seemed about to speak, but then Jason waved and said a jovial “Hi, Ellie!”

  I said “Hi” back.

  Sam’s neutral glance turned to one of exasperation. I figured this was because he and Jason had just finished the last day of their villainous volleyball rivalry and Sam, who did not take defeat graciously, lost in the final match.

  I expected him to walk away, but he didn’t. He just stood there, arms crossed, watching us.

  Jason, proudly wearing his basketball jersey and looking very hot in it, said to me, “So, are you going to the game tonight?”

  I nodded.

  He grinned. “That’s totally rad. I’ll be starting.”

  I returned the grin. I already knew this. “Are you? Well, good luck. I’ll be cheering for you.”

  “Cool.”

  Jason, whose back was still to Sam, didn’t see the gagging motions Sam made behind him.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you tonight then,” I said to Jason.

  “Yeah. You going to the dance?”

  “Yep.”

  “Will you save one for me?” he asked.

  I shot him a sharp look to see if he was kidding. He wasn’t.

  I nodded, my heart thudding at a frantic pace. Oh, my God! Jason Bertignoli asked me to save him a dance! Then, just in case he missed my meaning, I shrugged and said, “Sure.”

  “Great.” Jason shut his locker. “I hope the music doesn’t suck.”

  Sam’s jaw dropped and he flipped Jason the bird behind his back. Ever the music lover, Sam led the student council committee that chose the tunes the DJ would spin at the dance. I knew this. Jason, evidently, did not. He’d unknowingly made an enemy for life.

  I laughed. “We’ll see, I guess.” Then I waved goodbye to Jason, who walked away, still oblivious to Sam’s fury.

  “That new guy is an asshole,” Sam spit out the minute Jason rounded the corner.

  “Funny, he said the same thing about you.” I paused, pretending to think. “Hmm. Who should I believe?”

  “Screw you, Ellie.”

  “Not in your wildest dreams, Sam.”

  I don’t know why I said this exactly, other than that it was the standard teen reply. I didn’t consider it a particularly nasty retort nor did I suspect blatant foreshadowing.

  But Jane said, You are being unpardonably coquettish.

  And Sam looked taken aback, almost hurt.

  For a long moment he and I scowled at each other, our eyes locked in a stare-down. The latest in our battle of wills, and one I presumed was indicative of why I needed to avoid him, despite my hormones telling me otherwise. He’d fight me on this, or on anything, not because I mattered to him, but just to win. Sam seemed to like me best as an opponent.

  Finally, he stalked off. And I left.

  Three hours later, though, Angelique arrived on my doorstep and, after dinner, Di dropped us off at the gym entrance for the basketball game and dance.

  “Hope the social is fun,” Di said with feigned sweetness.

  “Thanks,” our cousin said brightly.

  Di rolled her eyes at me. “I’ll pick you both up at eleven. Don’t do anything stupid, geek.”

  The tires screeched as she zipped out of the parking lot and went to do whatever High School Bad Girls did on Friday nights in November. Angelique and I wa
lked into the school, and she eyed the two thousand students in the stands with amazement. “C’est formidable,” she murmured behind me.

  I swiveled around and stopped her right then and there. “Listen,” I told her in my most patient voice. “Your French is great. Really. But here, in this gym, it’s not a good idea to use it interchangeably with English. Okay?”

  “Why not?”

  “Well…” There were so many reasons, I didn’t know where to begin. Because it was annoying? Because I already had enough problems? Because French was such a freaking pretentious language? Take your pick. But I said, “Because the goal of this evening is to be social, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So, people can’t socialize with you if they have no clue what you’re saying.”

  She thought this over for a second. “Oh. Okay.”

  I felt a surge of relief. “Okay. Now, let’s find a seat.”

  We met Terrie at my favorite spot in the bleachers, admired Jason’s perfect free-throw form and watched our team get soundly crushed by the visitors. And, though Angelique totally got into the game, even she knew the real event was yet to come.

  Terrie said, “Well, we lost, but at least we had the game’s best scorer on our side. Number forty-five. That new Jason guy.”

  I grinned. “Yeah. He was good, huh?”

  My friend squinted at me. “What’s that smile mean, Ellie? You don’t like him or anything, do you?”

  Always, always deny.

  I made a face. “No, of course not. But this afternoon he asked me to save him a dance tonight.”

  Terrie’s eyebrows rocketed upward, and Angelique looked at me as if I’d just recited a flawless, accent-free verse by Sartre.

  “It’s no big deal. He probably already forgot about it.”

  My friend whooped and grabbed my hands. “C’mon, Ellie! We’ve got to get you ready before the dance starts. I have makeup with me.” She tugged at me until I stood. “You, too, Angelique. Let’s pretend we’re hot girls on the town tonight, okay?”

  Angelique answered with an enthusiastic, “Okay!”

  A half hour later, with faces adequately freshened, we entered the second gym, the one we lowly underclassmen used daily for PE.

  I felt the usual pit-of-my-stomach nausea just walking through those doors but, I’ll acknowledge, the place had been transformed. Where there’d been floor mats and tubs of volleyballs, now stood a DJ with giant stereophonic speakers, two turntables and four boxes of LPs and cassettes. Where nets had been, there were now snacks, streamers and colored lights. The gym looked almost inviting.

  The dance started in the usual way: Kids milling around trying not to meet anyone’s glance as they plunged their hands into bowls of pretzel sticks or corn chips. The lights flashed and the music blared frantically, pushing me into a state of fuzzy sensory overload. The moment I saw Jason strolling toward us, though, my attention became laser-focused.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi,” Terrie and Angelique said together.

  “Great game,” I said. “You scored a lot.” Then, when his smile brightened, I wanted to shoot myself.

  But Jason wasn’t Sam. He didn’t fire back a rude retort like Yeah, but I’d like to score some more. Jason only said, “Thanks.” Then he turned to Angelique. “Are you new to the school, too?”

  She shook her head. “I’m Ellie’s cousin.”

  He nodded once. “Cool.”

  And that was our complete, unabridged conversation.

  As my heartbeat raced in time to The Cars, we munched on Doritos. The DJ played Blondie, Styx, Asia, REO Speedwagon. We drank Dixie cups of Pepsi. The tempo slowed to a moderately paced Elton John song. Terrie nabbed four stale brownies and passed them out to us on little cornucopia napkins.

  None of us looked each other in the eye. Not once.

  I noticed Jason surreptitiously checking out Angelique, and I could tell he approved. In his defense, my cousin was not — objectively speaking — unattractive. She just had a bad habit of saying screwy things. In French. My new fear was that, though Jason wanted to start the night with me, he might decide he wanted to end it with her.

  I glimpsed Sam and one of his buddies across the room, conferring with the DJ about the tunes. I couldn’t hear a word of their exchange, but lots of hand-waving and head-nodding resulted.

  A couple of guys from the basketball team greeted Jason with a wave. He returned the friendly gesture. A Journey ballad began to play, and Jason’s teammates pulled two girls onto the dance floor to get the ball rolling. I sighed.

  “How ’bout that dance now?” Jason asked.

  I waited a second to make sure he was talking to me and not to my cousin. “Okay,” I said.

  He grinned and reached for my hand. It was just so, to use a Jane word, chivalrous.

  Jason held me loosely as we danced. We grazed against each other in a stream of bodies that soon grew to be a sea of teens. He tightened his grip, and the other people — like the popular guys, the cliquish girls and even Sam — faded into the backdrop.

  When the song ended, he leaned in as though he might kiss me, but he didn’t. “Thanks,” he whispered. “I really liked that.”

  I looked up at him, mute, and nodded.

  He squeezed my arms and went off to join the other basketball jocks. Then all three guys promptly disappeared into the night.

  I didn’t mind their departure, though. One nice dance was all I’d been hoping for, and I hadn’t yet learned to demand more from men. But, despite my low expectations, what happened next blindsided me.

  As I walked back toward Angelique and Terrie, foolishly meditating on how satisfying the evening had turned out to be, something slammed into me. Hard. Sam Blaine.

  “What now?” I said, surprised, as always, by the magnetism he projected at close range.

  “Nothing.” He glanced at Jason’s retreating form and his blue eyes iced over. “Let’s dance.”

  Before I could argue against it or come up with a good excuse not to, Sam pulled me back onto the floor.

  I pleaded to Jane with silent insistence for help. What should I say to him? What should I do?

  Let him lead you in both the dance and the conversation, Jane instructed. He will reveal his intentions presently.

  “So, what do you think of the music?” Sam said, his tone proving this was no casual inquiry.

  I listened as Don Henley lamented “The End of the Innocence,” my fingers tingling and nearly shaking from the contact with Sam’s hand and his muscular shoulder. “It seems good.”

  “It better be,” he replied sharply, but I wasn’t sure if he was directing this warning at me or at the DJ.

  I swayed ungracefully in his grasp and both of us lapsed into silence. I appealed to Jane again. Can’t you do some kind of Cyrano thing? Make me sound sophisticated for a change?

  She tsked. This is an awkward phase you are in, Ellie, but it will pass with time. As others learn to see you more clearly, so you will learn to see yourself. You are lovelier than you think and have admirers already. Albeit inappropriate ones.

  Who? Jason? I asked her. He’s friendly to everybody.

  Perhaps, but there is also Mr. Blaine. Though I urge you to discourage his attentions.

  I studied the insolent teen staring down at me, his lips rigid, his eyes forbidding. Much as I wished otherwise, I was sure he was up to no good. Sam? That’s ridiculous, I told her.

  It ought to be so, replied Jane, but I fear it is not. He appears to be capable of very little of value, but he did manage to detect your intelligence and kindheartedness. He seems drawn to these qualities in you.

  I considered this and, for an instant, I was flattered. But Sam being sincere in his admiration struck me as preposterous, and I said so. The guy only likes to fight with me.

  Jane sighed. You have much to learn about human nature, Ellie.

  Sam puffed out some air. “Are you bored or something?�
�

  “What? No,” I said to him.

  “You look like you’re really out of it. Or lovesick over that loser Jason. Or maybe high,” he added, as if issuing a challenge.

  “Well, I’m not any of those.”

  He rolled his eyes and his grip on my hand and waist tightened. “Heard you brought your cousin along tonight.” He nodded in the direction of my companions. “She’s kinda hot.”

  My throat seized up.

  “Maybe I should ask her to dance later,” he threatened.

  “Maybe you should,” I snapped back, although, like a brainless twit, the thought made me irrationally jealous.

  “Well, that’s why I asked you to dance. Figured you could give me a proper introduction.” He shot me an audacious smirk.

  Ouch.

  To Jane I said, What did I tell you?

  To Sam I said, “Fine.” I pulled out of his grasp, crossed my arms and glared at him, hoping to God I hid my emotions well enough. Sam could never be trusted with the truth about my feelings for him. He’d pounce on any display of weakness.

  He stared at me in frigid silence before pivoting on his sneaker sole and ambling toward Angelique.

  I took a deep breath and followed him.

  “Hey,” he said to her. “I’m Sam and you’re…cute.”

  Gag me, I thought, because it was, you know, still the ’80s.

  But Angelique grinned at the lame line. “Hi, Sam,” she said.

  Terrie, who stood watching this train wreck from a mere two feet away, murmured, “Watch it, Blaine.”

  Sam shrugged, then turned his highest-wattage smile on my cousin. “What’s your name?”

  Angelique glanced between the three of us and looked confused. “Angelique?” she said, her voice uncertain.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to help her out because, no matter how displeased I might’ve been about her tagging along with me that night, everything about Sam’s recent hot-cold, fake-flirting, wacko behavior displeased me more. “Sam Blaine, this is Angelique Lawson. She’s here visiting. Try to be polite for a change.”

  Sam acted as if I were invisible. He said to Angelique, “Too bad you’re not planning to stay for good. We could use a few new faces here, especially pretty ones like yours.” He grinned at her and my insides twisted. “Can I talk you into hanging around?”