Boy Nobody (8 page)

“I’m fine,” he says, embarrassed. He pulls away from her, rushing away down the hall.

Sam sighs and watches him go.

“Everything okay here?” I say.

I keep it low-key. I don’t brag.

I saved the day, and it’s no big deal to me.
That’s what I want to communicate.

“No thanks to you,” Sam says.

“Hey, I stepped up,” I say.

“What are you talking about? I saw you walk right past him. No surprise from the guy who doesn’t believe in right and wrong.”

Bad news. She saw me, and the hero act is not going to work.

My fallback position?

Play the rebel.
I’m caught and I don’t care.

I say, “I’m the new guy, remember? I mind my own business.”

“History is filled with guys like you. They’re the ones who stand by while the war crimes happen.”

“You don’t know me,” I say.

“I don’t want to know you,” she says, and she brushes past.

I watch her huff her way down the hall.

Not good. First day and I’m already on her shit list. If I had
more time, I’d say it was an achievement to get on the radar in any way.

But with my timeline, I have to find a way to turn this around fast.

“She has issues with men,” a voice says.

It’s the pale kid, Howard. He’s been hiding around the corner and listening.

“What kind of issues?” I say.

“She had her heart broken.”

“Really?”

“A few years ago. She had a superserious boyfriend who messed with her head.”

I need to hear that story, but I put it aside for a moment, focus instead on Howard. On the fact that he knows this about Sam.

A boy without options, adopted by the one girl who will give him the time of day. And she happens to be at the top of the pyramid.

Howard is on the inside. If need be, I can use this fact.

“Should I go after her?” I say.

I say it like someone who is unsure, who needs help with girls from someone like Howard.

“It depends what you want,” he says.

“What could I want?”

“To break her heart.”

“I don’t do that,” I say. “It’s not my style.”

“You’re right,” he says. “She’ll probably break yours.”

I laugh.
Nothing to worry about there, Howard.

He looks at me, deciding.

“If it were me, I would go after her,” he says.

Why isn’t it you?
That’s what I’m thinking. But I’ll leave that question for another time.

“Be gentle,” he says. “She’s famous, but she’s still a person.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I say.

“My name is Howard,” he says.

“I owe you one, Howard.”

She ignores me and keeps walking. I follow a few paces behind. Not rushing. But also not afraid.

“Why do you ask?” she says over her shoulder.

“Because I was an asshole in class and then I walked away from a fight. I figure I’m at two and I need to know how careful I should be right now.”

“Bad news,” she says. “I’m a two-strikes kind of girl.”

“So I’ve blown it.”

“Big-time,” she says. “But what do you care?”

Because I need to get close to your father.

“I don’t know,” I say. “For some reason I do. Something about you, I guess. I can see you’re different.”

It’s a classic ploy. Express interest in a girl you just met. If you do it right, you can charm her, or at least pique her interest.

“You’re playing games,” she says. “We don’t know each other, so how do you know I’m different?”

So much for the classics.

If one path doesn’t work, try another. That’s what I’ve been taught.

I played the rebel earlier in the hall. Now I’ll be the rebel who has seen the light. What would that guy say in this situation?

“Maybe I feel guilty,” I say. “Maybe you woke me up a little with what you said about me being a bystander.”

She considers this.

“Have you ever seen a little kid ice-skating for the first time?” she says.

“Change of subject, huh?”

“Have you?”

Genesee Valley Park.

The name pops into my head. A place I haven’t thought about in years. I remember learning to skate there when I was a kid, my father walking backward in front of me, his arms outstretched, urging me to come toward him.

I don’t want to be remembering this.

I pull myself back to the moment. Sam in front of me. Her question.

“I’ve seen kids skate,” I say.

“Inevitably a kid is going to slip on the ice, and his body will contort into all kinds of crazy positions as he tries to steady himself. He’ll do anything not to fall down.”

“Your point is?”

“That’s you,” she says. “Right now. You’ll say anything, won’t you?”

This girl is like a human lie detector. I stand there, stalling for time, trying to find the next mode of attack.

“Even now,” she says, “you’re trying to think of the right thing to say to me.”

I feel my face flush. I never react like this. Not to a girl. Not to anyone.

Follow her lead
, I think.
Go with it and don’t lie
.

“You’re right. I’ll say anything right now.”

“Why?”

“I want to meet you.”

“Finally, the truth,” she says.

“A lot of girls prefer if guys lie. As long as they’re hearing what they want to hear.”

“I’m not a lot of girls.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

She looks at me. Not really a look. More like an MRI.

“I’m Samara,” she says, and she extends her hand.

I reach for it. Her hand is soft and warm, much warmer than I expected it to be.

“I know who you are,” I say.

“I guess everyone knows.”

“They only know your reputation.”

She sighs.

“Thanks for putting it that way. Not many people get that.”

“I get it.”

“Maybe
you’re
the one who’s different,” she says.

“You’ll say anything right now, won’t you?” I say.

She smiles.

“You’re using my own lines against me?” she says.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

“Which one are we doing, new guy?”

I look at her eyes, a beautiful smoky gray flecked with green.

Suddenly I am somewhere else, standing in front of someone else…

The first one. Not like Sam. This girl had long blond hair and blue eyes.

I was fourteen at the time. The girl was older. Seventeen or eighteen.

She was a cashier in a convenience store. I met her one day when Father took me out to do errands with him. It was my second year of training and things were different. Mother and Father trusted me. I even got to leave the house sometimes.

The cashier smiled and slipped me a note. It said we should meet.

I thought that something real was happening between us. Maybe I wanted to feel what it was like to be normal, just once. A normal guy hooking up with a beautiful girl.

We met at her house later that night. She walked me straight through the house and didn’t stop until we got to her bedroom.

She closed the door behind her.

And then she started to unbutton her blouse.

I remember a red bra. Nipples visible through lace.

“Do you like me?” she said.

“Of course,” I said. She seemed to be okay with that answer because she kept unbuttoning.

She paused at the bottom button. She bit her lip like something was troubling her.

“You’re very young,” she said.

“Not so young,” I said.

She put a hand on my shoulder. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “You’re going to think you love me after this.”

I’d had nearly two years of training at the time. I’d become tough in a way I did not know was possible.

When she mentioned love, I shook my head no.

She took my face in her hands. I remember how warm her skin felt against mine.

“Trust me on this,” she said. “You’re going to think you love me. And you’re going to think I love you because I gave you my body.”

She let her blouse drop to the floor.

“You’ll be wrong about both things,” she said.

I shouldn’t be thinking about it. Not now.

Now it is Sam who is standing in front of me, waiting for an answer.

All’s fair in love and war
, I said.

Which one are we doing?
she asked.

“I don’t know which one,” I say. “But I’d like to find out.”

“Fair enough,” she says. “Maybe we could start with you telling me your name.”

My name.

My real name is somewhere near the back of my brain, swept into a far corner, where it’s out of sight. I’ve got a pile of things back there. Names, images, moments, memories.

The artifacts of a former life. None of them useful to me now.

“My name is Benjamin,” I say.

My name for now. My name for this assignment. My name for her.

“Benjamin,” she says. “An old man’s name.”

“I’ve got an old soul.”

She studies my face.

“We’re similar that way,” she says.

The class tone sounds.

“I apologize if I put you on the spot before, Benjamin. I have to be really careful because of my father. A lot of people want to know me for the wrong reasons.”

“You threw me for a second. I’m not used to someone being so honest.”

“I think it’s good for you,” she says.

A second tone sounds. The hallway fills with people.

“Nice to meet you, Sam.”

I turn away, heading for my next class.

“There’s a party tonight,” she says.

I stop.

“You should come by. We do it every April Fool’s, and it’s my turn to host this year.”

“At the mayor’s residence?” I say.

“Also known as my apartment.”

Her father doesn’t live in Gracie Mansion. He prefers his double apartment on the Upper West Side. It’s more private, and because of that, it’s a more exclusive invite. One I’m not in a position to turn down.

“A party sounds nice,” I say.

The final class tone sounds.

“Good. Then I’ll see you later,” Sam says.

She smiles.

I’m in.

To show up at Sam’s party alone would be death. Wander in as the new guy with the pity invite, then spend the night nursing Diet Cokes while leaning on walls and making small talk. I could turn it around quickly once I was there, but it would be a lot of work.

There are better ways.

The best would be to skip the party altogether, let Sam wonder why I blew her off, chase me, allow the mystery to grow.

But that takes time, and time is what I don’t have.

I need to find another option.

I’m walking through school thinking about it when I turn a corner and see a girl studying in a beanbag chair. It’s the blond who was talking with Sam this morning. The one in the skintight skirt.

Well, half a skirt.

She’s flopped out on a beanbag, fighting her way through a chemistry textbook. She reads a little, then sighs, then reads.

I may have just found a better way to go to Sam’s party. I make a U-turn and head for her.

“Is this bean taken?” I say.

She glances up from her reading.

“Free,” she says, and goes back to the book.

I plop down. I take out a math book and bury myself in it, ignoring her.

I wait.

Ninety seconds later she glances over.

I wait.

She glances again. That’s my opening. “What’s up in the world of chem?” I say.

“It’s making my brain hurt,” she says.

She looks like a lot of things make her brain hurt. But I keep the thought to myself.

“Chem is painful,” I say. “But it’s nothing compared to trig.”

I hold up the math book.

“I ruptured a blood vessel in my head twenty minutes ago,” I say, “but we were two chapters behind in my last school, so I can’t stop until I catch up.”

“Wouldn’t you be paralyzed from a rupture?” she says.

“I am. But it’s only my left side.”

I flop my left hand around like it’s dead.

She laughs. This girl has a sense of humor. Maybe she isn’t so bad after all.

“So you’re new?” she says.

“Sucks, huh?”

“High likelihood of sucking,” she says.

She closes her book and flips it onto her lap. I close my book, too.

“I’m pretty good with that chem stuff,” I say. “If there’s anything I can do.”

She bites her lower lip.

“What do you know about chemical reactions?”

“Plenty,” I say, and I wink.

Corny, I know. Sam would probably snap my neck if I said something like that to her, but this girl is just the type who might like it.

“That is so cheesy,” the girl says, and makes a sour face.

She likes it.

“What’s your name?” she says.

“Benjamin,” I say.

“Can I call you Benji?”

“If you do, I’ll never talk to you again.”

“How about Ben?” she says.

“Why do you care what you call me?”

“I want to know what I should put in my phone when I type in your number.”

“I didn’t give you my number,” I say.

“Not yet,” she says. “But you want to.”

She’s right about that.

She sighs and stretches long and slow as she lies back on the beanbag chair. I make sure to look at her bare legs, just like a horny sixteen-year-old would. She’s got nice legs.

“I just got a new phone,” I say.

“Perfect,” she says.

I give her my number.

Her name is Erica. That’s what I find out.

By the end of the day we’ve shot a dozen funny text messages back and forth, and Erica and I have made plans to go to Sam’s party together.

She even believes it’s her idea.

An apartment I’ve never seen.