Dark Blue: Color Me Lonely with Bonus Content (7 page)

She comes into my room and touches my forehead again. I do not understand what makes mothers think they are walking-talking thermometers. But I think somewhere during the process of giving birth and changing diapers, they actually begin to believe they have this supernatural sense.

“You feel normal to me, honey.” She pushes some hair off my forehead and smiles. “But I can make you an appointment with Dr. Peterson if you like.”

Okay, I’m not dumb. Despite that warm motherly smile, I know this is a threat. I absolutely hate going to the doctor. I hate it when I’m sick and even more so when I’m not.

“Fine,” I growl. “I’ll
go
to school, but if I spread some really horrible disease to everyone, they will all have you to thank.”

“Well, I’ve got to run, Kara. I’m already a little late. Have a good day.”

Have a good day!
Yeah, you bet. I grumble all the way to the bathroom. Thankfully, Bree is done now, but she’s left her usual trail of wet towels and shower debris all over the place. I kick them out of my way and growl as I turn on the water. Why is life so unfair?

I realize I’ll have to hurry if I don’t want to be late. And despite my foul mood I don’t really want to be late. I’m not particularly fond of that kind of attention. And so I quickly dress, snatch up my backpack, and dash to school with still-wet hair. Why should I care?

Naturally, I see Jordan (or rather she sees me) in the hallway. Of course, she looks perfect with every hair in place, and wearing what looks like a new outfit. Probably a little something she picked up with her new friends at the mall the other day.

“Are you okay, Kara?” She frowns slightly as she peers at me and I wonder why she can’t manage to come up with something new to ask me. But I feel too much like a sideshow freak to mention this, and besides, I can see some of her friends now eyeing me curiously too, including Ashley Crow. She seemed so nice when I bought conditioner from her on Saturday, but now she looks at me like maybe I have head lice. Jordan shakes her head. “You don’t look too—”

“I’m fine!”
I snap at her. “Just late is all.” Then I rush off toward the English department as if I have an appointment with the president. As I speed down the breezeway, I refuse to allow Jordan’s fake interest in my welfare, or more likely my sorry appearance, to slow me down. I cannot afford her brand of pity or concern right now. It’s just too freaking bad if I don’t look cool enough to be seen with her and her new shallow friends. It’s not like they want me around them anyway. What do I care?

I repeat those four words through my mind as I walk.
What do I care? What do I care? What do I care?
It reminds me of an old picture book that I used to like as a kid. It’s about this little blue
engine, but somehow I think I have the words all wrong.
What do I care? What do I care? Choo-choo—get outta my way!

I make it to English just as the tardy bell rings, but it doesn’t look like Mr. Parker bothered to mark me late. I slip into a sideline seat and wish I were someone else. I don’t even look up when Jordan and Shawna walk in, even later than I was, but I do wonder if Mr. Parker has noticed. I keep my eyes downward, pretending to focus on our reading assignment although the words look blurry and fuzzy. I vaguely wonder if I might need glasses.

Then, like zombie-girl, I trudge through my morning classes. I cannot imagine going through day after day like this for
three whole years!
Finally, I’m in art class, and I almost feel like I can breathe again. I am able to forget other things as I find myself getting pulled into my pencil sketch. I just hope that I can finish it before lunchtime.

My subject for this sketch is from a photo I found in Ms. Clark’s “inspiration” box. It’s an old beater pickup that’s partially covered with old vines. I’m sure it doesn’t even run, but something about it intrigues me and I feel a growing connection to this abandoned and neglected truck. I’m working really hard to get the shadows around the fender just right. But I’m still not done when I hear the lunch buzzer.

“That’s pretty good,” says a girl’s voice.

I look up to see Felicia Wong silhouetted by the sunlight coming through the window behind her. I squint to see her, curious as to whether she’s serious. She steps to the side a bit so that I can see her face better, and I think she seems sincere. I’ve known Felicia since around fifth grade. And it’s not that I expect her to be especially rude, but I used to think she was a little stuck-up or full of herself. Maybe it’s because she’s supposed to be so smart. Everyone says she has a genius IQ.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“Do you like art?” she asks now.

“I guess so.”

“You know, some of us stay here and keep working during lunchtime,” Felicia continues. “Ms. Clark doesn’t mind as long as we clean up after ourselves.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Oh, okay.” She steps back now and her face gets this blank look, like she’s trying to conceal something, and I wonder if I’ve offended her. Even so, I say nothing and she quickly retreats to join several kids gathered at the big table in the back of the room.

Now I feel bad and wonder why it is that I think I can act like such a jerk. I wander toward the group.

“You know,” I say to Felicia, “I’d stay and draw during lunch too, but I left home in such a hurry this morning that I forgot to pack anything to eat. Plus I skipped breakfast and am feeling kind of hungry now.” I know my explanation is too long and sounds lame. But it’s the best I can do under the circumstances.

“I’ve got an apple I don’t want,” Felicia offers.

Now Edgar Peebles is digging through his backpack like he’s hunting for hidden treasure. He pulls out a limp-looking package and holds it up hopefully. “I’ve got a string cheese you can have, Kara.” He smiles as he adjusts his slightly crooked wire-rimmed glasses.

“Hey, it’s not like I’m a poverty case,” I say, probably too defensively. “I was just in a hurry, you know. Maybe I’ll join you guys another time.”

Felicia shakes her head like she’s thinking I’m pretty weird. “Hey, no problem. Do what you like, Kara. We were just offering.”

“Yeah,” says Amy in a sharper tone. “We don’t need anyone hanging out here who thinks she’s too good for us—”

“Oh, Amy,” says Felicia.

“That’s not it.” I narrow my eyes at Amy now.

But undeterred, she looks right back at me. “Hey, if the shoe fits—”

“Well, think whatever you like,” I say in what sounds like the kind of flippant tone that I usually despise, not so very unlike the girls that Jordan’s probably eating lunch with right now. “I just happen to be hungry today and I don’t particularly want to eat handouts. Thanks just the same.”

Then I get out of there before Amy has a chance to sling anything at me. I’m sure I offended her. I probably offended them all. But it’s like I can’t help it. Then I begin my little
choo-choo
rhyme again.
What do I care? What do I care?
I repeat this through my head as I chug down the hallway in search of food.

I buy my “lunch” from the big machine in the hallway. Ironically I choose an apple and some string cheese. These I quietly consume on the
other
side of the school. I am not going to chance eating on the steps by the art department. I couldn’t endure the humiliation of being found there by Amy or Felicia or even that goofy old Edgar. Who names their kid
Edgar
anyway? Especially when it’s followed by a name like Peebles. Some people are just nuts!

I manage to make it through my afternoon classes without running into Jordan or her stupid friends once. I am learning how to keep a
low profile
. I sit close to the doors and exit my classes as soon as the release bells ring. Then I dash, not actually running since that would draw unwanted attention, but I choose the least crowded hallway and head straight for my next class. I keep my eyes downward as I go, just in case someone tries to make eye contact. Not that anyone ever would. But this behavior helps to make me feel slightly invisible. I think I am becoming quite stealthy actually. If I can keep
this up, I might someday just vanish into thin air. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing really. I imagine myself like that old movie, except I would be the Invisible Girl. As soon as the final bell rings, I am heading straight for the nearest exit, ready to blow this joint for —

“Kara,” calls an all-too-familiar voice.

I turn to see her, still looking like a page from one of her favorite fashion magazines. I try to form my face into an expression that I hope is a mixture of boredom and vague curiosity. But I’m afraid I look more like a deer caught in the headlights. Naturally, Jordan isn’t alone. Shawna and Betsy flank her, both looking on with an air of pure disinterest. Sort of the expression I was going for, only they’re actually achieving it. I’m guessing they’re on their way to cheerleading practice since they’ve got gym bags with pom-poms hanging out of them. Subtle.

“What’s going on with you?” Jordan asks me. She breaks a couple steps away from her new buddies and peers at me with that same curious expression that she’d tried on me this morning. And for whatever reason it makes me feel as if I’m going to cry. Not a good feeling.

“Nothing.” I shift my backpack to my other shoulder, which is a mistake because it will only slide off and make me look even more stupid.

“Are you okay?” she persists.

“Yeah.” I use a louder than necessary voice. “I’m perfectly fine, Jordan. Why shouldn’t I be?” Now I stare at her, hoping I can make
her
feel uncomfortable for a change.

“I don’t know. But you just seem different. I wondered if you’re doing okay is all.”

“Well, I just need to get home.” I glance over to where Shawna and Betsy are waiting. Their expressions have switched from bored
interest to tight-lipped impatience. “And it looks like you need to get to practice anyway. So don’t let me keep you.”

Jordan smiles now. She actually smiles! Sheesh! Just like everything is perfectly normal—just peachy keen. Makes me wanna scream.

“Okay,” she says in her chirpy, cheerful, cheerleader voice. “Guess I’ll see ya then.”

“Yeah, later.” I can hear that flat tone in my voice, but I just really don’t care anymore. Why should I?

I walk home alone, the twisted little-blue-engine words running through my brain with each step. It’s like I can’t even stop them now.
What do I care? What do I care? What do I care?

It isn’t until I walk up the steps to the apartment that I realize I have tears running down my cheeks. I want to yell and scream at myself, to tell myself to just shape up and get over it, but instead I fall on top of my bed and just sob. I wish this could all just end.

T
HE NEXT FEW DAYS PROCEED IN A PITIFULLY SIMILAR FASHION
. I
AM
embarrassed to say that losing my best friend has rendered me nearly dysfunctional. I think I am totally hopeless, and it’s only a matter of time before my grades begin slipping and the counselor calls and my mom suggests I go see a shrink or something. And then, well, who knows?

Jordan has pretty much quit talking to me completely now. In all fairness, this has almost as much to do with me as it does her. I pretty much blow off every attempt she makes to be
nice
. Because that’s exactly how it feels to me. As if she’s saying to herself, “Oh, there’s that poor Kara Hendricks girl. I used to be friends with her. But now that I’m popular, I should try to be nice to her. At least for appearances’ sake. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m not nice.” But I do my best to make it very difficult for her, and I think she’s finally given up. It’s somewhat of a relief to me though. I’m thinking a clean break might be the best in the long run. Less painful.

I walk through Jackson High imagining that I am invisible. I keep my eyes downcast and speak as little as possible. I’m not sure how long I can keep this up, but it seems to be working at the moment. However, I am lonely. Unspeakably lonely. And there is this dull empty ache inside of me. Sometimes I think it might
actually kill me. But perhaps that would be a relief.

“I thought you said you were going to join us for lunch sometime, Kara,” says Edgar Peebles as art class ends on Friday. “It’s been a whole week and you haven’t—”

“Don’t waste your time on her,” says Amy. “Kara thinks she’s too good for us. She’d rather hang out with her cheerleading friends.” Then she makes a pretty bad rendition of a Jackson High yell, only she substitutes some words for others with more spice.

Despite myself I have to smile. It’s not something I’d want to repeat, but it is sort of funny in an off-color way. “For your information,” I tell her now, “I am not friends with any of the cheerleaders.”

She rolls her black-lined eyes at me. “Yeah, sure. What about you and little rally queen Jordan Ferguson?” She crosses her fingers together. “You guys are like that.”

I shake my head without smiling. “Not anymore.”

Amy scowls. “Don’t tell me she dumped you just because she’s a cheerleader?”

I shrug. “It’s a mutual parting of ways.”

Amy laughs in a sarcastic tone. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“Lighten up, Amy,” says Felicia, smiling toward me now. “So, you want to join us. We already called in a pizza.”

“Yeah. My treat,” says Edgar. “It’s a giant. Big enough for everyone.”

“Half combo and half veggie,” says Felicia. “You in?”

I look at the three of them and try to imagine a stranger combination of kids. One goth and mouthy, one weird and geeky, one smart and preppy. Go figure. “Yeah, sure,” I say. “Sounds good.”

So I get my stuff and bring it to the big table in back and sit down on the vacant stool next to Edgar. “What are you working on?” I ask him.

He holds up his tablet to reveal a charcoal sketch of a woman that’s really quite good.

“Not bad,” I say with an approving nod.

This makes him smile.

“I told Edgar that he should’ve done her nude,” says Amy as she shakes her ink pen. “She’s got a look in her eye that says she shouldn’t be wearing any clothes.”