“Thanks, Dad. I’ll study extra tonight.”
I did try. But my mind kept drifting to various disaster scenarios. Dad’s distracted attitude didn’t help. My grades would normally require a thirty-minute discussion, so this disease was definitely on his mind. I rechecked the news about Maryland several times throughout the evening, but there wasn’t much new information, only a rehash of what I’d already read.
At least the local news was uneventful. The town news site, Portico Press, profiled the bird-banding extravaganza Mom had missed, complete with a photo. In the group shot, I recognized a few of Mom’s environmental friends and Dad’s assistant, Angela. I emailed Mom the article link and reassured her that Dad and I were not malnourished.
Giving up on academics, I texted Megs.
Me: Want 2 meet 4 din?
Megs: U come here? Pizza homework?
Me: Nerd. C u soon.
I gathered my books and left. Two blocks from Megs’s house, a girl with long black hair crossed the street in front of me. My stomach lurched. It was Kayla. Before turning the corner, she glanced over and registered my presence. Then she looked away, as if I were a stranger. She and Megs were the trusted allies who knew what happened in the fall, the two friends I had painfully confided in.
Only Megs had believed me.
The night before my dreaded return to school, Megs and Kayla visited me, both squishing onto the end of the bed.
“You look like crap,” Kayla said. “But I’m glad to see you.”
“Thanks, I think.” Nervous, I tried to smile, but my mouth felt stiff.
“Not contagious anymore?” Megs asked. Mononucleosis was my cover story for missing school after Mr. B.
“No.” When I wasn’t pretending to be sick, there were secret meetings with the principal, the school superintendent, my guidance counselor, and a therapist. Dr. Gwen had encouraged me to be honest about what happened, whenever it felt safe. It had been harder to lie to my friends than to Ethan. It was time to let them know.
“I was never really contagious,” I said. “The mono-thing was, um, not exactly true.”
“It’s something really bad, isn’t it?” Kayla asked.
I nodded.
“Oh my God. A terminal illness?” Megs grabbed my hand. “You don’t have something life-threatening, do you?”
I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. The whole situation was so absurd, yet incredibly painful.
“No, it’s not medical.” I took a deep breath, trying to summon my courage. “Something . . . something happened after school last Friday.”
They waited through my long pause.
“With Mr. B.”
Kayla sucked in her breath.
I told them, in halting words, what he had done, what he had tried to do, skipping most of the physical details. Numbness settled over me as I spoke, as if it had happened to someone else, to another trusting girl.
Megs squeezed my hand. “That’s horrible.”
“You two are the only friends who know. You can’t tell anyone. I’d die.”
“You reported it to the police?” Megs asked.
I nodded. “I didn’t talk to your mom, though.”
“How come this isn’t all over the local news?” Kayla sounded upset that she hadn’t known about it sooner.
“I don’t know the details exactly, but my dad said it is being kept out of the press while they investigate. To protect me, I guess, or maybe to protect Mr. B until they figure out if they have enough proof to arrest him. It’s kind of my word against his, so he’s on some type of leave while the police try to gather evidence. But at least he’s not teaching.”
Kayla finally spoke. “That’s awful.”
“I know. I’m doing better, though.”
“No, I mean, he’s such a talented teacher.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “He’s a total creeper.”
“Everyone knows he’s hot. If you didn’t want to be with him, all you had to do was say no.”
Her words stunned me. She couldn’t be serious.
“I would have said no if he had bothered to ask instead of . . . instead of groping me. There wasn’t a lot of conversation going on, Kayla, before he shoved his hand up my skirt.”
She stood. “Well, maybe he misinterpreted, thought you were interested—”
I stood, too, straightening out my pj top, smoothing the wrinkles with great care, as if that would stop the anger from consuming me. “Then he could have asked me on a date and I could have stopped it right there. Why are you interrogating me?”
“I think—” Megs started.
“I’m not interrogating you,” Kayla said. “I just have trouble seeing it play out like that. I’ve been in meetings with him, been alone with him for a whole year. He’s never tried anything.” She flipped her long hair.
I had been prepared for questions, sympathy, and hugs from my two best friends. Of all the possible reactions, disbelief was not one I had anticipated. Kayla doubted me, choosing to side with our teacher instead.
How could she? How dare she? My face flushed. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“No, I don’t think you’re lying exactly—”
The shock of betrayal surged through me. That’s when I slapped her. I’d only seen it in movies, but it felt damn good.
Megs gasped.
Kayla raised her hand to the cheek where I’d hit her. She grabbed her bag and left without another word.
Megs was typing on her computer when I arrived. I could tell by her grin that she wasn’t doing math homework.
She looked up and must have caught the expression on my face. “What’s the matter?”
“I saw Kayla on the way over here.”
“And?”
“She pretended not to know me.”
Megs frowned in sympathy, motioning for me to take the stool next to her.
“Something’s been bothering me,” I said.
“The fact that our former BFF lacks a brain?”
“Seriously. Do you think I could have somehow, unintentionally, brought on the whole situation with Mr. B—given him the wrong idea?”
“No way.”
I must not have looked convinced.
“Did you like him like that?” Megs asked gently.
“No.”
“Did you ever think, ‘if only I was older?’”
“Never.”
“You can’t blame yourself. And what he did was wrong—illegal—no matter how you analyze it.”
“But . . . why do you think Mr. B . . . I mean, why did he pick me?” I weaved my fingers together, forced them to rest quietly on my lap. I watched them carefully as if my hands held the answers. “Kayla thought he walked on water. There were prettier girls and certainly more willing ones. . . . I don’t understand why. Maybe if I knew that, understood what I could’ve done to prevent it, I could let the whole thing go.”
She reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “I don’t think there was anything you could have done. It was a bad situation, but not something you could have seen coming.”
“But do you think I seemed weak or something? Like an easy target?”
She shook her head.
“My parents won’t talk much about the investigation, but I know it’s taking longer than they thought. That can’t be good. If no one else comes forward and he starts teaching again—”
“Don’t think about it.”
“Well, I never want to be the victim of any more bad situations. If that means keeping an emotional distance and stocking up on canned food, so be it.”
“We’ll never understand what he was thinking. But you’re one of the strongest people I know.”
I met her eyes, checked for judgment. But there was only support. “Strong? I can’t even open the pickle jar,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“You have inner strength. Remember when I broke my wrist? And the bone was pushing out of my skin?”
�
��I told you the plank wobbled too much to make a good balance beam.”
“You didn’t even panic. You wrapped my arm in your sweatshirt and brought me to my mom,” she said. “Give yourself a break, Lil. You’re strong and good-hearted and giving. Maybe he wanted to corrupt that somehow.”
I breathed deeply, considering what Megs said. “Do you think I can ever walk around like a normal person without having flashbacks? The memories ambush me out of nowhere.”
She swiveled her stool back and forth. “I don’t know. Maybe the feelings take time to fade, like grief. You still have the sadness with you, but it recedes into the background more. You never forget, but you function. At least that’s the way it was with my dad dying.”
Megs’s dad had been a great guy, the kind who made up games to play with us in the backyard. Her swing set could turn into a spaceship or the Amazon jungle when he was around. It was when he died unexpectedly that I first tried to negotiate with the universe: my Goodness in exchange for my family’s safety.
But I hadn’t counted on Mr. B.
“You’ll be OK,” Megs said.
I wasn’t so sure. Could I be physically comfortable with someone again? Maybe with someone familiar, like Ethan?
I made an effort to smile, then gestured to the computer, needing a change of subject. “Are you chatting again?”
“Yeah. He seems amazing. Smart, funny.”
“He’s the most perfect guy you’ve never met.”
“It feels like I do know him. We’ve covered favorite novel, worst subjects in school, and bad habits. He smokes, which I’m not crazy about.”
“What did you say your bad habit was? Flirting with online disaster?”
“Puh-lease.”
I wanted to support her, wanted Megs to find love, but I wanted it to be with someone safe. Not a stranger, someone unknown, possibly dangerous. “OK. But I’m an unwilling accomplice.”
“I know.” She paused. “I was trying to think of a flaw. Nothing that would turn him off, maybe something intriguing.”
“You’re going to make one up? Why not tell him something true?”
“I want him to like me!”
“Right. Because it really matters what stranger-boy thinks.”
“Are you going to help me make up a good bad habit or not?”
“Fine.” Megs was my best friend. Actually, my only real friend. I wanted her to be happy. “Maybe you could smoke, too.”
“I’m not an idiot with a death wish.” She scowled in disapproval.
“Right,” I said. “Drinking problem?”
“No. That’s too serious.”
“Perfectionist?”
“Too phony.”
“Straight A student?” I asked.
“That’s not a fault! But it’s too geeky. He might not like that.”
“Don’t be such a pessimist. Maybe he likes smart chicks.”
“Ahh, that’s it! I’ll tell him I’m a pessimist.” She started typing. “You’re a genius. Then I can say something flirtatious, like, ‘The pessimist in me fears our relationship can’t go much further.’”
“Yeah, then what?”
“He’ll offer to meet me.”
“Megs, you can’t. I know you’re having fun with this, but meeting a stranger is insane. And unsafe. And other cynical stuff.”
That’s the thing about Megs. Whenever we played truth or dare, she was a dare-girl all the way. While I preferred truth, she was a fearless risk-taker.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I have a plan.”
CHAPTER 6
Worrying about influenza is as stupid and time wasting as worrying about global warming.
—Blue Flu interview, news commentator
During the week, I carefully followed the Maryland virus in the news. The authorities had performed a biosecurity check of nearby labs and had conducted other investigations deemed too secret to publicize, so most reporters concluded the link between the illness and bioterrorism was ludicrous. A few continued to argue for a conspiracy theory. Whichever it was, the flu-like disease wasn’t waiting for anyone’s verdict. It continued to spread at an alarming rate.
But I didn’t need a news feed to tell me that the situation worsened. I could tell by looking at Dad. When I stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast on Friday, he was making coffee. Dark circles underlined his eyes and his posture drooped.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Huh? Nothing, really. I’m fine. Preoccupied. Things have been busy.”
“You must be getting ready for your trip tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“And following the spread of the flu?” I handed him sugar for his coffee.
“Yes, that too. It’s hard when something hits this close to home.”
“Close to home?”
He swallowed, hesitating. “There were fatalities in Maryland, hospitalizations in Delaware, and now eight people in New Jersey have been reported sick.”
My heart raced, but I made an effort to remain perfectly still. If I panicked, Dad would clam up. “New Jersey?” I asked with only the slightest tremor in my voice. “I didn’t know that. Near here?”
He stirred his coffee for what seemed like forever.
“Dad?”
“I suppose it’s better if you hear it from me. It struck Morris County. Five people from Portico are ill, plus a young couple from Madison and a man from Florham Park. It will be in today’s paper.”
“What is it exactly?”
“The CDC is working on a definitive diagnosis. They’re trying to determine if the people knew each other, or if these are isolated incidents. The victims had similar symptoms.”
Fear crept up my back on light spidery legs. “What are the symptoms?”
“Typical flu stuff, like fever, cough, fatigue, but they come on fast and fluid builds in the lungs.” He paused.
“Tell me, Dad.”
He sighed. “They’re starting to call it the Blue Flu.”
“Like when the police call in sick instead of striking?” Megs’s mom had explained that to us years ago.
“No. It’s called the Blue Flu because sometimes the lack of oxygen . . . well, in advanced cases, it causes the victims’ skin to change color.”
“Maybe I should stay home from school today.”
He tried to give his reassuring Dad smile. “It’s nothing to worry about, yet,” he said.
Yeah right. Dad just didn’t want me to become an emotional wreck with Mom away. I skipped breakfast and forced myself to get ready for school.
“Don’t forget,” Principal Fryman reminded us during the Friday morning announcements. “Tomorrow is the annual Portico Career Fair. April showers bring May flowers, so get your feet wet this weekend and help support Portico’s ‘Doorway to Learning.’ Remember, it’s our biggest fundraiser of the year. Also, the food drive is still going on. Collection boxes are located in the main lobby. It’s better to give than receive! And, we’re pleased to announce a poster contest sponsored by the Morris County Health Department promoting proper illness etiquette. Sneeze into your sleeve, wash your hands, that kind of thing. Rules and requirements are available at the office. Remember, you have to be in it to win it!”
He ended his announcement with a noisy cough that made me shudder.
I dropped off a box of pasta and three cans of peas for the food drive while on alert for other sounds of illness. I went through the whole morning hyper-aware of any possible germs around me. Each sneeze and every sniffle registered in the paranoid part of my brain. By lunchtime, I drooped with exhaustion. Megs and I ate across from each other at our usual table. The cafeteria noises washed over me and I stopped trying to distinguish the individual sounds.
“Are you all right?” Megs asked.
“Tired, I guess. Feeling anxious, too. What’s up with the illness poster contest?”
“I don’t know. It sounds dumb.”
“Don’t you find it worrisome? Why are they run
ning it now, unless they’re concerned about this flu spreading?”
“You’re spiraling again. Downward descent.”
She was right, of course. But before I could respond, Jay walked by, saying hi to me as he passed on the way to Derek and Ethan’s table. Megs almost knocked over her iced tea. “What was that all about?” she asked. “I didn’t know you guys were buddies.”
“He lives on my street, remember? And we’ve talked at the smoking corner.”
“Hmm. I can see you with someone like him.”
“He’s nice, but not BF material.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“He’s got that cool, popular vibe going on.”
“Exactly. He’s cute. Dark hair, dark eyes—”
“Girls drool over him. Not my type.”
“What’s not to like?” Megs asked. “I heard he was at a party a few weeks ago. He’s reviewing restaurants for his blog and a bunch of girls offered to go out to eat with him. Kayla practically threw herself at him and he still left the party alone.”
“Blech. My point exactly. Too much drama.”
“But he’s picky. That shows integrity.”
“Maybe I should introduce you if he’s so great.”
“No, thanks. I’ve got my online friend to occupy me for now. But you’ve got to date again sometime.” She spoke quietly. “I know you’re healing and all that, but sooner or later you’ll have another boyfriend. Someone better than Ethan.”
“Later,” I said. “Much later. I have other things to worry about.”
I tried to imagine Jay and Kayla as a couple. She didn’t seem his type. Not that I knew what his type was, exactly. So it was only out of curiosity that I searched for his restaurant reviews after school. Dad suggested Chinese or Japanese for dinner and Jay’s blog had its own section on our town website.
Portico Press
New Kid in Town
by Jay Martinez
Phantom Sushi on Main Street offers good food despite the weird name. (I kept worrying the food might disappear. Our kimono-wearing waitress assured me it would not.) I recommend the April Blossom roll if you like sushi, or yaki udon (thick rice noodles) with chicken if you’re not a fish fan. The mochi dessert comes in mango, vanilla, or green tea. Mango is good; green tea tastes like a bad jelly bean flavor. This is a nice place for a date if you’re comfortable using chopsticks.
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