Girl Mans Up (8 page)

JOHNNY'S BACK BY SUNDAY EVENING TO SEE THE
family off, and there's no more talk about what happened to make him storm out in the first place. We go through our good-byes, cheek kisses for everyone. Monday morning, Johnny drives me to school.

“It kind of sucks when everyone visits,” I say.

“Tell me about it.”

There's no music on, and it's raining. Johnny's heavy on the gas, and everyone around us is driving slow.

“You think Constance will move out, now that she's engaged?” I ask.

“Maybe. Who knows.”

“You'd think she'd want out of there, with
Tio
Adão for a father. I don't even get how she's been able to stay there this long.”

Johnny pulls into the coffee shop for his morning caffeine, and the truck bounces over the curb. “You want something?”

“No, thanks.”

I don't like when he's quiet like this, because it's impossible to know what he's thinking about.

AT LUNCH, TRISTAN AND
I head for the computer labs to print out our English assignments. He tells me about this idea he has for a video game.

“So then basically, these dudes would be hopping through time and doing all this shizz they shouldn't be allowed to do,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Like changing things, important events that happened in history.”

We sit side by side and push our USB sticks into the computer. A couple people come into the lab, but they go sit way at the back.

“That sounds pretty sweet,” I say. “But how would that be a video game? What would you do?”

“What do you mean? It would be so legit, to, like, be able to go stop Martin Luther King Jr. from getting shot, and to warn all these people about the tsunami before it hits.”

“Yeah, for sure. But I still don't get how that would be a video game.”

The printer at the end of our row starts spitting out pages. I head over to get them, handing Tristan his copy.

“It would be a story-based game, I guess,” Tristan says.

“Or it could be a kickass book,” I say. “You could write it.”

“I don't know how to write.”

“You could learn.”

“Yeah . . . maybe,” he says. “But I don't really like English class.”

“Yeah, I think English class is the reason I don't like reading.” I sign out of my computer account. “Are we done?”

“I gotta fix Colby's before I print it. He messed up almost every question.”

“I'm surprised he actually did any of it.”

“Listen to this:
‘Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here / And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full / Of direst cruelty!
What is Lady Macbeth saying here? Explain.' Colby wrote,
‘She's saying she's pissed off because she's sexually frustrated. She wants a man to fill her.'
He can't be serious.”

“I didn't really know what to answer for that either. I looked online, though, and found something about Lady Macbeth not wanting to be weak anymore,” I say. “In that book of yours, you should make it so the character goes back in time and takes Shakespeare's feathered pen away. Then we could read something else. In actual English.”

“Sometimes he says some pretty legit stuff, though. What Lady Macbeth is saying is that she wants to be tough and ready to fight, and to be able to do that, she thinks she needs her girliness to be stripped away by some magical force.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Well, I still don't get it.” But maybe I kind of do.

“Uh . . . ,” Tristan says, rolling his chair next to mine.
“Why is that Olivia girl hanging out by the door? Does she think Colby's with us? He says she's a creepy stalker.”

I turn to see Olivia peeking into the lab, looking right at me.

“No idea,” I say, turning away from her. “Are we going? I'm starving.”

“I gotta finish this.”

“Just leave them. They're
his
dumbass answers.”

He gives me this look like,
Yeah, right.

“I'm leaving,” I say. “Come find me when you're done.”

I slip my binder under my arm and head for the door. Olivia waits against the wall, and I sweep right past her.

“Pen?”

I stop, letting the breath I'd been holding deflate. “He's not with us. He's already in the caf with Garrett.”

“It's you I want to talk to,” she says.

“Why?”

Her gaze darts all over the place, like she thinks she's about to get caught doing something bad during school hours.

“I can come meet you in the supply closet after I grab my lunch,” I say.

She nods, then gives me a smile, but it fades when I don't return it. I'm not trying to be a jerk, but all these secrets and lies between her and Colby—it's like I'm caught in this thing I know nothing about, and I'll end up paying for it.

TWO CHEESE SANDWICHES IS
what I got for lunch today, because my mom's still mad about the weekend. I'm so hungry that the sight of them makes my mouth water. Half a sandwich
is stuffed in my mouth when I get to the supply closet. Olivia sits on an overturned crate.

“What's up?” I ask.

She keeps watching me eat, and soon it creeps me out. She seems to notice and snaps out of it, looking at the carpeted floor instead.

“You want half or something?” I say. “It's just cheese and butter. Not that exciting.”

“It doesn't look like a regular cheese sandwich.”

“Oh, that's because it's St. Jorge cheese on a bun,” I say. “It's Portuguese cheese. It kind of tastes like feet.”

“It looks good.”

I uncover the second sandwich and wave half of it at her. “Just take it! For real.”

She does, and she looks even more pumped about it than I felt a few minutes ago. She eats it by picking little chunks away with her fingers.

“So what do you want—besides the sandwich?”

“Would you . . . ,” she says, hesitating. “Do you like photography?”

“Photography?”

“Yes. Taking photos.”

“I don't know—I've only ever taken them with my phone. Why?”

“I wondered if you'd want to take my place for the photo diary project—you know, the one for the school anniversary party in November,” she says. “I don't want to leave Blake hanging.”

“Oh. Would she be okay with that?”

“You like Blake,” she says, totally ignoring what I asked. My blank face probably makes me look guilty as hell. “Do you like her enough to be her partner for a project?”

“Probably.” Then I snort like,
Who am I kidding?
“Totally.”

Olivia's hands are clutched together as if she would have been ready to beg me if needed, and right in front of that painting of the Virgin Mary, it looks creepy and appropriate. “Thank you! Thank you so much.”

She looks kind of sweet and easy to be mean to. What was Colby doing with a girl like her?

“Why are you bailing from the project all of a sudden?” I ask.

“I've got too much on my plate right now,” she says. “Blake talked me into it, but I should've never signed up.”

“I was there on Saturday night, when you texted Colby,” I say.

Her face drops, and so do her hands. “I just—I don't want him to be so mad at me anymore. I want to make it right. I wish I'd never said anything to him, but he won't let me take it back.”

“It just makes him madder, you know, the more you try to make it better,” I say. “It's already all screwed up, and it probably can't be fixed.”

She wraps her hands around her waist, rocking back and forth. Her face changes, crumples. I think she's going to cry for a second, but the way she swallows, the look of panic in her eyes, the way her mouth is open—oh, man.

She pukes between her feet.

I watch the puddle, listen to her gasp for breath.

“You're sick,” I say.

“It's fine!”

“It's not fine,” I say. “You lied.”

“No! I'm fine. I'm just intolerant to . . .” She gags into her hands, and more chunks come out.

“You really
are
pregnant.”

THERE ARE TEARS IN HER EYES, BUT I DON'T
know if they're real tears, or if they're just from the puking. She wipes her mouth and I look away because it's barf and it smells like feet.

Colby knocked up a girl.

“You're pregnant,” I say again.

We joked about this happening. It happens on TV, or to girls who go to other schools.

“You can't tell him, Pen,” she says. “Please.”

“So it's for sure?” I flatten my hand against the back of my head obsessively, like I'm trying to smooth the hair that's too short to actually need to be styled. “Are you sure that it's for sure?”

“I've been taking tests since my period was due to come back. They were negative. Three of them were. But then,” she
says, and her bottom lip sticks out like a little kid who wants to cry, “the one I took on Friday wasn't negative. The doctor at the clinic said it's not a mistake, that it takes a little while for it to show up. She said there's some kind of hormone or protein and if there's a positive, then it's positive.” She presses her palms against her eyes and sniffles. “It's positive. I shouldn't be telling you this because—well, because now you have to keep the secret, too.”

This supply closet is getting smaller all of a sudden. She looks up at me, and some of her hair is stuck to her cheek.

“Olivia—you're pregnant. You can't hide something like that,” I say. “And secrets always find a way of coming out.”

“I just need time to think.”

“Do your parents know?”

“Of course not. My dad and his new wife are gone for a year to set up his company's UK office, and my mom didn't want me to go. And my mom . . .” The way she says it makes it clear I don't have to ask for more information. “I just need time.”

“Time for what? What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to fix this,” she says.

“How?”

“You have to promise not to tell him,” she says, ignoring my question. “Please, Pen.”

I reach for a box of pillar candles and I place it between Olivia's legs, right on top of the puke to cover it. She looks shocked. “We can't leave it like this!”

“Why not?”

“It's a mess. It's contaminated. And in here? It's a disgrace.”

I shrug. “It could be worse.”

She lifts the box and makes a face, then puts the box back. I want to pull the door open because it feels like I'm inhaling puke even if it doesn't smell much anymore, but if I do that, someone could see. Olivia reaches into her purse and comes out with her vibrating phone. She holds the screen out so I can see Colby's name and number flashing across it. “You didn't tell him you were coming to talk to me, did you?”

“No way. All he knows is that I talked to you that one time out front, and only to tell you to back off and leave him alone.”

She looks hurt, and it makes me feel like crap. “Something is wrong with Colby.”

“You mean besides the fact that he's a douche?”

“If he's such a douche then why are you friends with him?”

“He's like that to girls. Not his buddies.”

“You're a girl,” she says, then looks confused. “Aren't you?”

“Yeah, but it's not the same. Obviously.”

She nods, even though it looks like she doesn't understand. “You'll keep the secret, won't you?”

“I'm supposed to pretend I don't know this is happening?” I say, and she nods.

She stands and dusts her gray uniform pants off, as if she'd been sitting on a dirty curb outside. My eyes keep wanting to drift low, to her stomach, as if I'll be able to see some kind of proof. She's thin, and there's nothing really there.

“What'll happen when you start looking . . . you know?
He'll know you lied when you said you panicked too soon.”

“I'm going to fix things before it gets to that, okay?” she says.

“Fix.” I try to catch her gaze, but she won't let it happen. “You're going to get an abor—”

“It's fine, Pen. It's my problem.”

Colby told her that—that it's her problem. “You're going to fix it all by yourself?”

She doesn't answer.

I stare at the ground, at the dark blue carpet, and in my head, I try to picture what would happen if I told Colby any of this. He'd be pissed. He'd be worse. Who would it help? It wouldn't help Olivia. It sure as hell wouldn't help me. Sometimes with Colby, all he leaves room for is lying. Or maybe not saying anything isn't actually lying.

“What happens now?” I say.

She tries for a friendly grin. “I'm going to talk to Blake about the photo project.”

“Okay.”

She glances one last time at the box of candles, then she turns to me. “You'll keep the secret?”

“Yeah. I will.”

MR. MIDDLETON SURPRISES EVERYONE
during English class by deciding to forget about teaching and going with a movie instead. A really, really old
Macbeth
movie.

“There's a newer version, sir,” Tristan says.

“I know that, but why would I sacrifice the pleasure of
seeing your faces take in the beauty of a seventies film?” Mr. Middleton says.

Throughout the entire movie, I steal glances at Colby. I think about stuff. About whether or not I can pretend this never happened. About whether or not I can pretend I don't know. That I don't know more than he does. But then I remember if there's anyone who can pretend stuff didn't happen, it's me. Stuff that makes me feel like crap gets pushed to the back of my mind until it's not part of my life anymore. Pretty soon, that messed-up night with Colby will have faded, and this Olivia stuff will, too.

The bell rings before the movie is over, and Tristan actually looks bummed. We rush out of class. Colby and Tristan break away from me when we reach their lockers. After that, I'm dodging bodies and pushing through them. My elbow knocks Blake in the boob.

“Oh man, sorry,” I say, coming to a stop. “Oh, wow. I can't believe—sorry.”

“You're in a rush.”

“Nah. I just really like when school's done.”

She smiles, and then it doesn't matter that we're stopped in the middle of a hallway filled with chaos. People just move around us, and it's a blur. Her hair is all swept to one side, and her eyelids are smudged in so much black, it makes the blue of her eyes so . . . there. She's saying something and I'm staring.

“Sorry, what?” I say.

“I said Olivia told me about the project. Her mother sounds
like pure diarrhea,” she says, and laughter busts out of me. She grins.

“Sorry. It's not funny. It's just . . . pure diarrhea,” I say.

“It's so much more righteous than calling someone a bitch, because, well . . . what's worse than pure diarrhea?”

“Really contaminated, infected diarrhea,” I say. It echoes in my head, then I get visuals. “Oh, man. I can't believe I said that. I don't even . . . uh . . . yeah. I'm just gonna go away now.”

“No!” She puts her hand on my arm for a moment. It's not skin on skin because of my sleeve, but it might as well be. “I was slightly pissed when she told me she was bailing, but then she told me you were going to be my new partner. I think that wins everything.”

“Oh . . . yeah?” I say, and she nods. “Well, me too.”

“It means we're going to have to hang out, I guess.”

“Yeah. We're gonna have to.”

“Maybe Saturday? After my rehearsal?” she asks.

I open my mouth to let the “yeah” spill out of me when I feel a smack on my back, below my neck.

“Are you done yet?” Colby asks, his hand dropping from my back. “We're gonna miss the bus, and we don't wanna be late.”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” I say, wondering what this thing about us being late is about. “I just need a minute. I'll be there.”

“We don't have a minute. Remember Avery's bringing Sienna. They're meeting us at the mall at four.”

Blake's just standing there while Colby talks at me, and I have no idea what he's going on about because we're not going to the mall. I don't know anyone named Sienna. Blake's
watching Colby with this look on her face like whatever he's saying is stupid to her. When her attention is back on me, it's like she's waiting for me to say something.

“Yeah, um.” That can't be all I have to say. “I guess I'll talk to you . . . soon?”

“Maybe,” she says, and there's an edge to her tone. “Bye.”

“Yeah, later,” Colby says to her, then to me, “Dude, let's go.”

The back of her head gets smaller and smaller.

“What'd you do that for? Who's Sienna?” I ask Colby while I head for my locker.

“I don't know,” he says, waiting while I get my bag ready. “Made her up.”

“Why?”

“Because you don't wanna keep looking like a desperate idiot. She has to feel like you have plenty of other choices. Like you can do better.”

“Why?”

He shakes his head like I'm clueless. “Because she has to want you more than you want her. You want her to end up calling the shots?”

“I just wanted to talk to her.”

“So then talk.”

“I was.” My locker slams louder than I meant it to. “And then you came and messed it up. Now she's pissed at me.”

“You'll thank me later,” he says, following me. “I know what I'm talking about.”

“You don't know as much as you think you do,” I tell him. “That's the problem.”

He stops. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” I keep walking.

Up ahead, Tristan's almost at the exit. I shout his name before he goes through the door. While I head over to him, I pull out my phone to send Blake a text:
sry—colby's a prick as usual—i hope u still wanna hang next weekend
.

“Wow, dude. You need to relax,” Colby says, catching up to me. “If this is how you're gonna act after one two-second conversation with some girl, then we are going to have a problem.”

I ignore him all the way to the bus, where I sit next to Tristan. The whole way, Colby bumps the back of my seat. Blake still hasn't replied by the time I get home.