How It Ends (6 page)

Back in my room, I set aside the report cards and newspaper clippings. It's the pictures I'm after.

I'm obsessed with old photos.

It started with the book about Sylvia Plath that Miss Donaghue lent me. She'd read my essay about
The Bell Jar
and thought I might like to learn more about the author. I inhaled the book in a day and then bought my own copy, mainly because of the photos in the middle. There's this one picture of Plath that I can't stop staring at. As stupid as this sounds, I'd never really thought of her as a real person before. It's like . . . it's like she was too much to be contained in such a simple-looking package. The picture in the book looks like someone you might see at the bus stop or in the mall. No matter how long I stare into her eyes, I can't see any sign of the tormented genius who wrote
The Bell Jar.
I can't see the person who decided to kill herself. She doesn't look like a ticking time bomb to me. She looks like a regular person.

So I started thinking about pictures of me. How do I look to other people?

I lay my school pictures out on my bed, sorting them by grade before scanning through them. I'm looking for some essence of me. Something that shines through from an early age. But if it's there, I can't see it, because all I
can
see when I look at those pictures of me is my mom.

When I had a mother, my hair was always done in a special way for picture day. Mom would put curlers in sometimes, or get up super early to put in French braids. I loved those mornings. When I look at the pictures from kindergarten, grade one, and grade two, I see a smiling Annie who looks happy in her skin. And that had everything to do with my mom. It's the third-grade picture that gets me the most, though.

The memory of third-grade picture day is so vivid I can almost touch it. That morning Mom set the alarm for seven thirty to give us lots of time. She woke me up giggling, and when I look at the picture, I can feel my heart beating fast, just the way it did that morning. Seeing my mom happy was like staring into the sun . . . it was almost too much to take.

She washed my hair under the bathtub faucet while I bent over the tub. She always remembered to put a towel over the edge so it wouldn't be cold and hard against my skin. That morning, she used her special shampoo on me. It smelled like the salon where she got her hair cut, and I remember feeling very grown up. Then she towel-dried my hair and sang silly songs while she wove two French braids on either side of my head.

The best part, though, was that once she finished my hair and helped me into my new dress, she knelt beside me and pressed her cheek against mine while I looked in the mirror. “You're so beautiful, Annie,” she told me. “I'm so proud of you.”

I wish she were here now. I can't see myself the way she saw me anymore. I don't know who I am without her.

I am in love with Scott Hutchins.

In a staggering sign that the universe is not really as against me as I thought, Scott is my new lab partner in science class. I started the semester as Annie's partner, but Mr. Donaldson separated us last week. Apparently our constant chatter was getting in the way of our academic success. Annie lost out in the deal. She's now stuck next to Courtney, while I get to share space with Scott. Or perhaps I lost out, because she got an A on her plant cells quiz while I failed miserably. My first failure ever in school. I don't even remember answering any of the questions. I spent the whole quiz fighting the temptation to write my name down as Jessica Hutchins.

It's pretty much impossible to concentrate on Mr. Donaldson's voice with Scott sitting beside me every day. I keep catching myself contemplating the muscles in his forearms when I should be thinking about chloroplasts.

Scott is basically the hero from every book I've ever read. It's almost funny—like the gods took all my thoughts about what makes the perfect guy and combined them to form Scott Hutchins. He's tall and built, with arms that make my stomach swoop. He's one of those naturally athletic guys who live for sports. He walks in these great loping strides and has wavy brown hair that flops across his eyes in a way that makes you want to smooth it back for him. Add that he wants to be a veterinarian and that he famously cried during an animal cruelty video in class last year, and I could die from how perfect he is.

Up until today, I was pretty sure he was merely tolerating my presence as his lab partner, so I've been doing my best to keep my drooling over him as discreet as possible. Today, though . . .

I was trying to copy notes off the board while pretending that Scott's arm wasn't inches from mine, when he leaned over and whispered into my ear, “Do you get any of this stuff?”

All I could think of was the bag of Doritos I'd devoured before class. The heroine is supposed to have sweet-smelling breath, not smell like nacho cheese when her Romeo finally leans in.

He pulled back and looked straight into my eyes. He's so unbelievably beautiful. He has the kind of eyelashes a girl would kill for. I smiled at him and leaned over to aim my whisper at his ear, hoping that if my breath was bad, it would blow past his face and he wouldn't notice.

“I failed the plant cells quiz miserably. I need a serious study session,” I said.

“Me too! Want to study together?”

Yes, it's true. The one and only Scott Hutchins asked
me
to study with him. Let me say that again because I can hardly believe it's true: Scott Hutchins wants to spend time with me. Outside of class.

Of course I right away went and did something stupid to humiliate myself.

As I was sitting there, no doubt smiling the world's goofiest happy smile, Mr. Donaldson tragically caught sight of me. “Miss Avery,” he boomed. “Would you like to define the term
biology
for the class?”

My textbook was miraculously open to that page, so for a split second I was convinced the universe really
did
love me. “Biology is the study of living orgasms.”

Oh. My. God.

The laughter was swift and punishing. I have never wanted to die so badly in my life. Scott's shoulders were shaking, and even Mr. Donaldson was fighting a losing battle with a smile.

And then the emotional roller coaster continued, because as I was sitting there willing myself not to cry, Scott leaned over and said (in the lowest, sexiest voice you can imagine), “Hey, don't be upset, Jess . . . It was funny.”

I nodded, looking down at my lap to hide my tears.

He reached across me for my notebook and then pulled it over between us.

Don't be embarrassed,
he wrote.
It was a great joke!

It was the perfect solution to my I-can't-talk-to-hot-Scott-Hutchins problem.

I wish I could say I did that on purpose, but it turns out I'm just a dork.
As soon as I wrote that, I freaked out that it was all wrong. Did it look like I was begging for compliments?

I need your dorky brain to rub off on me. If I flunk this class, I'm off the basketball team.

So we're on for that study session?

Yeah! Library at lunch?

Sounds good!

Thanks, Jess.

I'm going to laminate that page. I'll tack it to my wall so I can marvel at its beauty. Hell, I'll sleep with it under my pillow.

By the time the bell rang, I felt weightless. It hardly even bothered me that I needed to wait for Courtney to finish whispering a story to Annie before we could leave class together.

Annie knows me so well. The second she saw my face, she knew something was up. She raised her eyebrows at me and commanded, “Spill it! What's going on?”

“Nothing . . . I just made some lunch plans with my lab partner. I hope you don't mind if I take off after we eat.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “Are you shitting me?”

“It's not a big deal,” I assured her. “We're just both really behind, so we're going to meet in the library to go over some stuff together.”

“You
like
him.”

“Of course I
like
him. He's my lab partner.”

“Yeah, right. I mean, you
like
like him.”

“Are we really having this conversation?”

“Don't get all pissy with me! I can tell you like him!”

We turned the corner into the arts corridor, where the crowds were thinner. “Annie. Seriously. I don't
like
like him. I just think he's nice, and I want to do better in science. Plus, he's Scott
freakin'
Hutchins. I wouldn't stand a chance even if I
did
like him. Which I don't! Please don't make a bigger deal of this than it is, or I'll feel all awkward and nervous.”

I don't know why I lied to her. I know Annie wouldn't make fun of me. She'd be happy. But I can't admit that this might be the beginning of something. Guys like Scott do not fall for girls like me without the assistance of a full-on makeover or a fairy godmother.

“Ooookay. I believe you, but if
anything
happens, you need to tell me. Right away. Got it?”

I put a hand on my heart and the other in the air. “I swear to you, Annie Miller, that if I develop a crush on my lab partner, you will be the first to know.”

“Good.”

“Now . . . what's up with you and bitchface?”

Annie looked puzzled for a minute and then realized who I was talking about. “She's not that bad, Jess.”

“Yeah, right. Courtney Williams is a real sweetheart.”

Annie looked ready to say something, but she stopped herself. The second bell rang, and we stood there awkwardly for a second before heading off to class.

I watched her walk away, memories of Courtney haunting the edges of my brain.
Stop it, Jess,
I told myself.
Things are different now.
I have Annie. She'd never turn on me like Courtney and Larissa did. Our friendship is stronger than that.

“You are
such
a liar,” Annie accused at lunch, leaning back in her chair and shaking her head at me.

I dragged my eyes away from my science textbook and tried to focus on her. I was due in the library in ten minutes, and I was trying to cram as much knowledge into my brain as possible before meeting Scott.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, rubbing my sweaty hands on my jeans.

“If you're really not hot for Scott, why are you so nervous? And
don't
tell me you're not, because you normally scarf down twice the amount of food that's on your plate right now, and you've barely even eaten a bite of what's there.”

“Of course I'm nervous,” I told her. “I've never studied with anyone but you. And this is one of the most popular guys in school. I'm not nervous because I want something with him . . . I'm nervous because I don't want to make a fool of myself in front of him.”

The temptation to tell her the whole truth was strong, but the need to avoid utter humiliation was stronger. I mean, let's face it, I'm pretty much the most socially challenged person alive. The odds were good that I was misreading the whole situation.

Annie's smile was blinding. “Is that it?
That's
what you're nervous about? Jessie! You're the smartest girl I know. You couldn't look dumb if you tried. He's gonna be blown away by your tutoring ability.” Annie peeled the lid off her container of yogurt and dug in. “You had me really worried there.”

“Worried?”

“Yeah . . . you know. You're my best friend.” She gave me a playful kick under the table. “I don't want to see you get hurt.”

My mouth was suddenly dry. “Wh-why would I get hurt?” My voice came out so squeaky it made me cringe.

She shrugged. “You know . . . if you liked him or whatever and he wasn't interested.”

A rush of feelings hit me so hard I couldn't sort them out. I was embarrassed and hurt and angry all at once. Annie could not imagine a situation in which Scott would be interested in me. That bothered me much more than it should have, given that I could barely imagine such a scenario myself. But Annie is supposed to be my best friend.

I swallowed hard and fought to keep the quiver out of my voice. “Obviously he wouldn't be interested. I'm not delusional, Annie.”

“That's not what I meant,” she protested. But it
was
what she meant, and we both knew it.