Along Came Jordan

by Brenda Maxfield

  "Sorry," I said, even though I wasn't. "Everyone's in a horrid mood and Sarah did something at school and Dad has a meeting with the principal and he's blaming himself and it's bad."

  Mom held up her free hand. "Give me a minute." She looked at me and must've noticed my despair, because she stopped and set her briefcase down on the cement floor.

  "Emili," she said, and I could tell her patience was ready to bolt, "I am not the savior. I can't fix everything. I'm doing the best I can. I do have plans."

  "But, Mom, Sarah won't talk and Dad doesn't seem like Dad anymore."

  "That's enough, Emili." My name was a two-hundred-pound sigh. She slammed the car door and picked up her briefcase.

  I was dismissed.

  "Fine." Anger rose in my throat. "You're not the savior. Got it."

  I marched ahead of her into the house and went straight to my room. When I got there, I realized I'd left my backpack in the living room. I wasn't about to go out and get it. I looked at my phone. I needed to talk to someone, anyone. Before, I would've called Farah. She always knew what to do, plus she could make a joke out of anything and have me laughing in under three seconds.

  Now, she was pregnant and not my friend, so the option didn't exist.

  Sally? Margo? I didn't know them well enough. Laine? There was a rich idea. My ex, Marc? He hadn't called me since I changed schools, and I didn't want to make the first move. I'd made the first move often enough in the past, and it always bit me in the butt.

  Jordan? If I called him, he'd freak. I smiled — I could see his face in my mind, all shocked and disgusted. I'd say, "Jordan, since we're practically lovers, I thought I'd call and spill my guts."

  I laughed — a real laugh, right out loud. My insides pried open and began breathing again.

  Maybe I'd survive, after all.

  Chapter Five

  Time to hang some posters.

  Mom drove me to school early, which suited me fine, because it saved me the bus ride with Sarah. I'd tried to be a good big sister, but she was a stubborn, uncooperative goat. She could wallow in her own mess, for all I cared.

  Bud stood outside the school when I arrived. "Morning, Emili."

  "Hey, Bud."

  "Jordan's inside. Laine's not here yet. She called and wanted you guys to wait, which I told her was pointless."

  "I don't mind waiting." Solitude with Jordan didn't sound inviting. Beside, he'd probably accuse me of plotting the whole thing so I could get him alone.

  "Nah, Jordan's already started. Go ahead in. I'll deal with Laine."

  "Fine." I pushed through the heavy doors and greeted the guard. "I'm Emili Jones, and I'm here to put up posters."

  "I know, you're cleared," she answered, as she tugged on her belt. The woman hoisted a piece of equipment or clothing every time someone spoke to her. Must have been some kind of power move.

  Jordan wasn't anywhere on the first floor, so I tromped up to the second. He glanced over.

  "Hey," he said and continued slapping the corner of a poster to the wall.

  I set my backpack on the floor. "Give me some, and I'll do the third floor."

  "Only one roll of tape."

  "Oh." I stood, unsure what to do.

  He sighed and held out a poster. "Here, take this. You can hold it up while I tape."

  I walked over and took the poster. The minute I got within a few feet of him, my muscles stiffened. I braced myself for the jolt of electricity I knew was coming. He stared at me, and the tingling raced through every cell. I averted my eyes and pressed the poster against the wall as high above my head as I could reach. "This where you want it?"

  "A bit higher."

  "I can't go higher."

  He laughed. "Maybe I should hold it and you tape."

  "Worse. I couldn't reach to tape it." I lowered the poster to my waist. "Why don't I sit on the floor and tape them and you put them up."

  "Deal."

  I pulled off four strips of tape, stuck them to the poster, and then scrambled up to hand the poster to Jordan, being oh-so-careful not to touch him. His aftershave smelled of outdoors and trees. One time I tried to make cologne instead of perfume, and it had smelled almost the same — a hint of spice with a base of pine.

  Jordan took the poster from me and turned to pat it onto the wall, his long arms easily reaching every corner. He twisted around and nearly smacked into me. We both jerked back.

  "Sorry," I said, searching his eyes.

  He looked away, but not before I saw the expected flash of irritation.

  The guy was made of concrete. What had his old girlfriend Pamela see in him anyway? Or what had Pamela done to make him angry all the time? Sally and Margo thought he was the hottest, coolest catch ever, so maybe he was only an unfeeling chunk of cement around me. Happy thought.

  "Come on." He motioned for me to follow him to the third floor.

  We finished taping up every poster before the warning bell rang. The halls were getting crowded, and I had to push my way back down to my locker. Sally's locker was three away from mine, and she was standing there chatting with Margo.

  "Worse than ever," she complained, rubbing the rash on her chin.

  "It's your own fault," Margo said. "Quit practicing so much."

  "Why don't you quit breathing? No, better yet, quit drawing."

  "Point taken."

  I spun my lock. "Hi, guys."

  They turned. "Emili, you didn't tell us," Sally said.

  "Tell you what?"

  "We saw the posters for the Servant Sale — brilliant. Can we be servants?" she asked.

  "You'd want to?"

  "Not exactly," Margo said. "But, let's say some cute guy bought us, and — what a shame — we'd be stuck with him for days. Sounds like a plan to me."

  "Only one catch," Sally said. "How do we get the cute guys to buy us? Emili, Jordan can buy you."

  I folded my empty backpack into a lumpy square and placed it on the top shelf in my locker. "Give it a rest. He can't stand me."

  "Says you," Margo said.

  "Ask him, he'll confirm. Won't work, anyway. We both have to be servants because we're EC members."

  "We'll buy him." Margo's eyebrows shot up, and her eyes gleamed. "You and me, Sally."

  "How could that work? He'd have two masters."

  "Are you arguing? It's brilliant, we'll both get him."

  I shook my head. "You guys are nuts, and we're gonna be late."

  "Hasta luego, see you," Margo said and dashed off.

  "She's the nutty one, not me," Sally said, marching ahead of me into English.

  ****

  I found out later Laine had been at home puking while Jordan and I put up the signs. It must've killed her not to be there supervising. All I knew was she dragged herself to school right after lunch, and her face was still a strange shade of green.

  We planned the Servant Sale for Friday after school, complete with a professional auctioneer — thanks to Laine, who knows everyone in town. But the eleventh grade history teacher Mr. Saines found out and pitched a fit, saying the whole thing was way too similar to a slave auction. So we nixed the auctioneer and decided to handle the bidding ourselves. We figured that would appease Mr. Saines.

  Bud did the honors. On Friday afternoon, the whole school seemed electric. I never dreamed there'd be so much excitement over buying a servant. Everyone crowded around the stair landing where we were lined up. Kids were pushing and shoving for a better view. The blood rushed to my face. It was like being in a sideshow at a circus. I didn't remember feeling so naked when we did it at Bates. Sally and Margo were front and center, hoping to get Jordan. They'd pooled their money for a grand total of thirty-five dollars and twenty cents. If everyone brought that much money, we'd get more than four hundred bucks, easy.

  Everyone in EC lined up in front of Bud. I ended up standing next to the griping blonde. I still didn't know her name, but I'd caught a glimpse of her class ring the other day, so I knew she was a senior.


  She sneered at me. "Don't think anyone's forgotten this was your brilliant idea."

  I shuffled as far away from her as I dared. She turned to face the mob of kids and pasted a huge smile on her face. She was a knockout, and I was sure she'd go first.

  Bud raised one arm like a Greek performer and bellowed into the bullhorn. "Friends, fellow citizens, and avid environmental caretakers! This wonderful group of energetic, hard-working EC members is here to become your servants. As you know, there will be no cheating on homework, bullying, or abuse of any kind. If you even think about it, you lose your servant. Servant duties are to be done during the day in plain view. Am I clear?"

  The student body cheered and hooted. I saw Mr. Saines standing against the wall of the office with his hands on his hips, and the look on his face would have scared a Marine.

  "Up first is Melinda Strobel," Bud continued.

  So, her name was Melinda. She stepped forward, took an exaggerated bow, and then looked hard at someone in the back.

  "Twenty bucks!" a guy in the front yelled.

  Some muscle guy — had to be a football player — shoved his way to the front. His shoulders bulged and the students parted for him like cheerleaders at the beginning of a game.

  "I'll give twenty-one for her, and the bidding is closed." Nobody dared argue.

  Bud smiled, took the money, and motioned for Melinda to step down. Melinda winked at the football player, jumped down, and put her arm through his.

  "Next, we have Jordan Lawman. Who would like to donate for—"

  Bud was cut off by Mr. Saines yelling from the back. He elbowed his way forward and grabbed the bullhorn from Bud. "Give it to me," he barked. "These shenanigans are over."

  Bud's face wrinkled in confusion. "We got permission. We're good to go."

  "And now you're not. Give Matt his money back." He turned and bellowed into the bullhorn, "Break it up, party's over."

  Mr. Saines bulldozed his way to the office. The crowd started boo-ing as Mr. Oakes emerged into the area, looking like he'd crawled out of hibernation. The noise increased, and I saw his lips mouth, "What's going on?"

  Mr. Saines took his arm and his head jerked back and forth with whatever he was saying. Mr. Oakes nodded and nodded then turned to all of us.

  "Folks, there's been a mix-up. We're going to have to postpone or possibly cancel the event."

  "He can't do this!" Laine cried. "LaShawna got permission."

  LaShawna put her fist in the air. "I got permission."

  Bud faced her, his hands on his hips. "Who said we could do this, LaShawna? Looks like Oakes didn't have a clue."

  "I turned the request in to the office. Mrs. Atterbury took it. I figured she'd give it to Oakes."

  Bud threw up his arms in surrender. "Great, just great. Obviously, she didn't."

  It didn't matter. Everyone realized it was over, and they jostled for the doors and the stairs. I jumped out of the way and fell into Jordan. He hit the stair rail and pulled me into him, steadying us both. Hot fire raced through my body.

  "S-s-sorry," I stammered, but I don't think he heard.

  Once it was obvious neither of us would fall, he thrust me forward. Our eyes locked, and the annoyance I saw in his face made my heart cold. He jerked around and began up the stairs. I stepped back against the banister as the crowd swarmed up the steps toward their lockers. Some kids laughed, but mostly they complained — loud and furious. I heard snippets of, "Lame," "Stupid," "What a rip-off," "Who started this," and a few other choice words.

  Great.

  Ahead, Laine was talking. "Don't blame me, Janae. Emili started the whole thing. It's not my fault it blew up in our face."

  I stopped and tried to shrivel into nothingness. Laine kept climbing the stairs with her booming voice announcing to anyone listening that the whole mess started "because of Emili". The crowd on the stairs began to thin, so I headed to my locker to grab my backpack. When I was almost to the second floor, Bud met me on his way down.

  "Sorry, Emili. What a mess. You okay? Man, I should've double-checked on LaShawna. That was my fault."

  "It was a dumb idea."

  "No, it wasn't a dumb idea. It was stupid Mr. Saines. Oakes didn't even know." He reached over and took my arm. "You tried. Sorry."

  I grimaced and shrugged. "Stuff happens. It's not your fault."

  I continued up the stairs but noticed everyone on their way down gawking at me.

  "Aren't you Emili?" some guy asked.

  I nodded.

  "You're the one," another guy said. "Nice job, Emili." It wasn't a compliment.

  "It's not her fault," a girl said and slapped his back. "It was Saines and Oakes. They're creeps."

  "True, but she started the whole thing," he replied. "Whatever. Another standard Edgemont High fiasco."

  I kept my eyes down and made it to my locker. If I didn't start laughing soon, I'd cry. Surely there was something funny in this. I felt tears well up. Priceless. Now I could be the girl who had the stupid idea and a big fat crybaby to boot.

  Someone bumped me from behind, and I turned around to see both Sally and Margo standing there with pity in their eyes.

  "It wasn't your fault," Margo said and gave me a hug.

  I wiped at my eyes and blinked. "Thanks."

  "Oh great, we made her cry," Sally said. "Emili, it was old goat Saines, and everyone already hates him, so don't worry."

  "Don't forget LaShawna," Margo said. "I wouldn't put her in charge of a lemonade stand. And to think we were so close to having Jordan for a week."

  Margo gazed upward with a dreamy look on her face. Then she flinched and looked at me. "Who cares, anyway? It was still fun to see Matthew lay claim to Melinda. Did you see the look on his face when Walter bid on her?"

  "Too romantic for words," Sally said. "Wish someone would lay claim to me."

  "Someone will, wait and see," Margo reassured her.

  "Never gonna happen."

  I slung my backpack over my shoulder. "Thanks, guys, for the support. See you tomorrow."

  "Don't worry," Margo said. "It'll blow over in a New York minute. Always does."

  I nodded and shrugged. "Right. Thanks anyway."

  I had to wait for Dad to pick me up since I thought the Servant Sale would last a lot longer. When he did show up, I climbed into the car, and except for him coughing about four hundred times, neither of us said a word the whole way home. I couldn't get to my room fast enough. All I wanted to do was dive under the covers and stay there for — let me see — the rest of my life.

  I barely got in my room, though, when Sarah appeared. She stood at my door, staring at my wall like the undead.

  "Sarah?" I walked to her and pulled her arm. "Come on, let's sit."

  I sat her on my bed. "What's up?"

  Her eyes pivoted until they met mine. "I hate it."

  "Hate what?"

  "My life."

  So did I. I gathered her in my arms, rested my chin on the top of her head, and whispered, "I know."

  Sarah took a huge gasping gulp of air and burrowed more tightly into me. I held her and smoothed her hair, following the long blonde strands down her back. Her tears soaked through my shirt, but I didn't move.

  We sat together, the two of us, for the next twenty minutes.

  At six, I still hadn't heard the kitchen door, so I knew Mom wasn't home yet — which had become her new routine. If I asked her where she'd been, I got a rock wall. Whenever I brought it up to Dad, his face would tighten and his lips would mold into a straight line. No one was happy with this new, secretive mother.

  At six-thirty, the door opened and banged shut. Sarah heard it, and she jerked upright. "Mom's here."

  "At last."

  "Don't tell her I cried." Sarah's face held a worried expression, and she eyed the bedroom door.

  "I won't say a thing."

  "Did Dad tell you?"

  "Tell me what?"

  "What happened when I got in trouble?" She looked down and pi
cked at the tip of her fingernail.

  Oh wow. I'd been so wrapped up in myself, I'd forgotten all about Dad's appointment with her principal. "No."

  "I threw my math and language books in the toilet."

  My mouth dropped. "Why?"

  "I don't know. I wanted to."

  "You weren't suspended?"

  "Dad got me out of it, but the books cost one hundred and thirty-two dollars."

  "Uh oh."

  Sarah stood and pulled at the pockets of her pants. "I made it all worse. Never thought about it costing money."

  "Everyone screws up sometimes."

  I almost told her about the major screw-up with the Servant Sale but decided two of us moaning wouldn't help anything.

  "Don't tell them I talked, either."

  "Sarah, they're worried."

  "I know, but I can't talk to them."

  "Okay, I won't tell." Promising her didn't feel right. Deep in my gut, I was becoming suspicious that Sarah's silence was more than a little kid's rough adjustment.

  Dinner was quiet. Dad ate as if he was competing in an obsessive-compulsive tournament, cutting each piece of food into tiny squares and making sure no one food touched another. Mom watched him with covert disdain, pretending to be enamored with her own meal. Sarah shoved her food around the plate, not eating, while I observed and wondered what had happened to my family.

  Later in bed, I remembered the Servant Sale signs were still plastered all over the school. I'd have to wait through the whole weekend to tear them down. I flopped onto my side and groaned. No one would forget in a New York minute with those signs glaring from every corner.

  ****

  First thing Monday morning I asked Dad to take me to school early, but he couldn't. Instead, I took the bus with Sarah as usual. When we pulled into the middle school, Sarah didn't budge.

  "We're here," I prodded her.

  She sat motionless, staring straight ahead.

  "Sarah, get up. We're here."

  The bus driver's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. He frowned and jerked his head toward the door.

  "Sarah! Get up!" I hollered.

  Like a terminally ill patient, she stood and dragged herself forward, trailing down the steps without a backward glance.