manicpixiedreamgirl (4 page)

It didn’t matter. Sydney faced forward and dutifully opened her notebook. I did the same while my veins throbbed impatiently for more details, and Rebecca’s name whispered through my brain, echoing. I thought I could taste it.

“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,”
Ms. Hochhalter said, taking a seat on top of her desk and crossing her ankles. “One of Shakespeare’s great romantic comedies. Yes, children, the rom-com has existed for centuries. Usually we’d do
Macbeth
, which is much more macabre, but the drama department is putting on
Midsummer
as the fall play, so we’ll all go to see the matinee together as a class.”

Some kid in the back groaned. Ms. Hochhalter, without even looking at him, pointed in his direction and shouted, “My car, every week, rest of the year!”

While the class laughed, Sydney slipped me a note.
She’s in the show
.

I wrote,
Ms. H?
and slipped it back. Sydney shook her head at me, wrote, and passed the note again.

Rebecca Webb is in Midsummer
.

I didn’t exactly adore Shakespeare, but I became an instant convert to the Bard. And English class would never be the same. In more ways than one, it would turn out.

The following week, I passed Becky in the hall on my way to math, like I did every day. I’d memorized her motions—the way she kept a book clasped in both arms in front of her chest, the way her left hip twisted just a bit more than her right with each step, the bounce of her cobalt bag
against her thigh. The patch on her bag read
Just This Once
in white courier font. Yeah, try narrowing down
those
words in Google. I had no idea who or what it referred to.

And on this particular day, Becky looked right at me.

No mistaking it. Not only did we make eye contact, but she maintained it. Studying. Forehead wrinkled ever so slightly. Kept my gaze until we’d passed.

I stopped and turned, to see if she’d look back at me. She didn’t. It could have been coincidental; maybe I’d just happened to fall into her line of sight? But no, she hadn’t
glanced
, she’d watched me. Which meant …!

Then a senior guy banged into me and sent me to the floor. I had enough pride to be embarrassed as laughs and applause echoed up and down the hall, but not so much as to distract me from watching Becky walking away. She was too far by that point to have seen my little spill. Good.

Recovering, I shoved the guy who’d crashed into me and called him a dick.

“Oh yeah?” he said. He stood eight feet taller than me. “You think so, freshman?” He dropped his backpack to the floor and pushed me with one hand, sending me back about three hundred yards into the wall.

Three of his senior buddies circled me, lowering their square heads and sharpening their razor teeth. Freshman year was about to get a lot shorter. My last thought on Earth was I’d never get to see Rebecca Webb in
Midsummer
.

“Three against one?” I heard Robby shout. “That’s not
even
remotely
pussy!” He and Justin appeared behind the seniors, who whirled toward them.

“Hey!” some random teacher shouted. “That’s enough. Get to class!”

The seniors melted into the crowd with lifted middle fingers and scowls. Robby and Justin came up to me.

“Were you going to fight them?” I asked Robby as my heart rate struggled to return to normal.

Robby gave me a shocked expression. “Aw,
hell
no,” he said. “I was just buying time for someone to break it up.”

I couldn’t help laughing, and neither could Robby and Justin. We went on to our classes. I’ve considered them both my best friends from that day on.

I checked to see if Becky had witnessed any of this, but she wasn’t in the hall anymore. And while I should’ve been scared for my life, mostly I couldn’t stop thinking about the look she gave me.

Rebecca Webb knew I existed.

I can feel my eyebrows crashing together as I frown at the near-sob in Becky’s voice. Something—or someone—hurt her.

“Becky?”

“I was, um …,” Becky says, then stops. I hear her take a shuddering breath before she goes on. “Is there any chance maybe I could get you to come over for a while? Just for a bit?”

“Yes,” I say. “Of course, yeah, absolutely. I’m on my way, okay? All right?”

“Thanks, Ty,” Becky says.

“Be there soon,” I say, and hang up.

Robby glares at me.

“I gotta go,” I tell them.

“You aren’t going
nowhere
, brother,” Robby says.

I can’t tell if he’s swaying or I am. “Dude, something’s wrong with Becky, I gotta go see her.”

Justin stands up beside Robby, blocking my path to the parking lot. Robby shakes his head.

“Not like that, bro,” Robby says. “Uh-uh.”

“What?”

“Dude, you’re wrecked,” Robby informs me. “You’re not getting in that car.”

“Screw you,” I say. “I barely had half what you did, and—whatever. Becky needs me.”

I take a step toward the parking lot. Robby sidesteps to intercept.

“Ty,” he says, “you take one more step toward that car, I’m gonna punch you in the dick.”

Robby was only a skinny little dweeb freshman like me
that day he and Justin interfered with my imminent
senior beating. Since then, he’d put on about twenty
pounds, maybe more, most of it muscle, and he’d grown
about six inches. Growth spurt, I guess. I’d gotten taller, but
not much else. No matter his size, one thing was still true about Robby Jackson: he was no bully, and he wasn’t violent, but he also wasn’t afraid of anyone.

Least of all me.

Robby was one of those laid-back, easygoing, funny, and fun-loving types who can and does get along with virtually everyone. Pick any high school label you want—Robby had friends who fit it. Probably that’s because during freshman and sophomore years, he raced through pretty much every style of clothes and music known to man. By the third month of freshman year, he was wearing nothing but basketball shorts and jerseys while he listened to rap and hip-hop, his heavy-metal T-shirts forgotten. Later it was all black shoes, white socks, and nothing but Johnny Cash and rockabilly. And wherever Robby wandered, he left a trail of charmed friends behind.

Well, no. Not friends. Not the way he would define it.

Justin and I went with Robby’s parents on a day-hike trip toward the end of freshman year, before the summer weather really hit. I remember sitting after a three-hour hike, tired, sore, and out of breath. Exhilarated, though, because the view from this mountaintop was awesome.

“Thanks for coming with me, guys,” Robby said suddenly as he gazed at the panorama around us.

Justin and I traded a glance. It wasn’t the kind of thing a fifteen-year-old guy goes around saying. But then, that was Robby. Spoke his mind, consequences be damned. I always respected that about him.

“Uh, sure,” I said, and Justin gave some kind of affirmative sound as well.

“Nobody else would’ve gotten it,” Robby went on.

“Gotten what?” I asked.

But Robby just shrugged and grinned. He broke out bottles of water from his pack and passed them to us. Justin and I had drained ours half an hour before.

Justin brought up plans for the summer. We talked about that for a while, while I tried not to have a panic attack at the thought of not seeing Becky for three months solid.

On the way back down the mountain, as Justin lagged behind, I asked Robby, “What did you mean about getting it?”

“Ty,” he said, “you ever notice I know a lot of people at school?”

I said I had.

“But I wouldn’t climb a mountain with ’em,” Robby said. “That’s all.”

“Get out of my way, Rob.”

“No, sir.”

I consider trying to make an end run around him. It won’t work. He’s too fast.

I try whining instead. “Come on, man!”

“Text her back, tell her you can be there in a couple hours,” Robby says. “Because seriously, you’re not driving before then.”

Still pissed, but somehow managing to grasp the wisdom in what he’s saying, I text Becky.

Need couple hours. Can’t drive. Cool?

The three of us wander back to the concrete table, and before I even sit down, she’s texted me back.

NVM thx
.

“Oh,
goddammit
!” I show Robby the screen. “See that? Thanks, asshole.”

“That’s me, the asshole keeping your drunk ass alive,” Robby says, faking sorrow. “Tough luck, compadre.”

“I’m not drunk!” I say.

Justin picks up the champagne bottle. “Drink?”

My cell buzzes. Thrilled, I check it, assuming it’ll be Becky, changing her mind.

“Ah, shit.”

“What’s up?” Robby asks.

“Nothing,” I tell him. “It’s Sydney.”

After that day in the hall when Becky looked at me, the
tables turned. Now it was Becky keeping an eye on
m
e.
At first I liked it. I mean, why wouldn’t I, right?

But she never said anything! Of course, neither did
I. I couldn’t figure out why she’d suddenly gained interest in me. We had no classes together or anything like that. Which, honestly, was another mystery; our high school was pretty big, but you’d think our paths would cross in some class or another.

I’d spend pretty much every night pacing my room, developing mental movie scripts to talk to her in a variety of smooth, cool, charming ways.