Nocturnal (5 page)

I have geometry first, and English in the afternoon, which was kind of like eating a cyanide salad and having the red velvet cake after. I walk as slowly as I can, prolonging the moment when I have to walk into class and remember I'm missing most of my math-type brain cells. I've been pulling a B- average, which is pretty much a miracle. I'm slinging my heavier than death bag over my shoulder when I feel someone behind me.

“Hey short stuff.” Jamie taps me on the shoulder, and I swat his hand away. I throw my chin in the air and start walking, pretending I want to get away from him.

“I'm not going to respond to you if you're going to degrade me like that.”

“Come on,” he says, catching up with me. I slow down and we walk side-by-side. People kind of stare at us as we walk by. We do make an odd pair. Short, average me and Jamie Barton. Tall, blond, athletic, captain of every team Harper High had to offer. Enough said.

“You know, James, you'd get a lot further with the ladies if you didn't insist on insulting them.”

“But you're the only one who's insulted when I call you that. Everyone else thinks I'm a hottie.” Taylor Abbot gives him the once over as she walks by, testing out the model walk she'd learned a few months ago when she'd been in a mall runway show. She hadn't shut up about it since.

“That's because they're blinded to your faults.”

“And you're not?” He looks at me, raising his eyebrows. It makes him look adorable. What Taylor didn't know was that he hated his ears, thought they stuck out. And he has nightmares and still has to sleep with a nightlight. But I knew.

“I know too much. It's why we're friends.” 

Where once I'd been saved by Tex, I had been the one doing the saving with Jamie. Once upon a time, he'd been scrawny and really into comic books and had bad skin. We'd been forced to sit next to one another in most of our classes by sheer dumb luck, and he was always drawing funny cartoons of the teachers on his notebook and showing them to me. We bonded in detention. 

Since then, he'd discovered the dermatologist, grown over a foot, and started playing sports. I knew most girls would think he was a hot piece of man meat, but he would always be that scrawny boy who'd made me laugh. His eyes were the same sort-of blue-gray.

“So what's this I hear about you losing your phone?” 

“Did Tex tell you?” One of the downsides of having Tex as a friend was that she tended to share things unless you specifically told her not to. Otherwise, she was like one of those boat horns.

“Yeah. I was wondering why I hadn't heard from you.” Apparently, if I wasn't in touch for more than a few hours, I was presumed dead.

“Sorry. I didn't really notice it was missing until yesterday. I'm getting  a new one.” We stop outside of my class. Most everyone else is there and Mr. Galakis is already putting notes on the whiteboard. Oh, joy.

“Listen, I have practice tonight, but call me later and tell me about it.” He gives me his winning smile. Braces had also helped him in his transformation from Peter Parker to Spiderman.

“Will do, captain.” I give him a little salute. He smiles and jogs toward the gym.

Before Jamie had gotten all attractive, people thought I was some sort of saint for being friends with him. Now they can't understand why he's friends with me. Why he would skip out early on the team dinner if he'd promised to take me to a movie. Why I was one of the first people he wanted to see when he won a game or a meet. I couldn't explain it; we'd been friends and we would continue to be friends. Even if he went of to business school and became a CEO of a huge company, or became a famous artist. He'd be good at whatever he did.

The morning crawls by, without the distraction of hilarious texts from Tex or Jamie. Even the riveting project of drawing molecules in chemistry couldn't distract me from the thoughts I tried to shove away. I've had a lot of practice splitting my brain into two parts, one that continues to function in the real world, and the other part that just obsesses about my issues, so I'm able to make my way through the morning without anyone the wiser.

Lunch is the hardest because I have to smile and laugh and pretend that I want to eat and that nothing is different. That I still care about who's having a party this weekend or what that player from Madison did, and who do they think they are, and the ref was totally biased. I. Don't. Care. My bitter thoughts make me feel like a total bitch, so I just keep my mouth shut. Is this what it's going to be like? 

Finally, I can't take it anymore. I forge my mother's signature saying I have a dentist appointment and skip out on my last class, which is gym and pointless anyway. I have nothing better to do, so I go to the tiny electronics store downtown to get a phone.

“Can I help you?” The guy behind the cell phone counter looks like the typical techie, as if he'd know more about gigabytes and motherboards than football or getting wasted. Still, he seems nice enough. But you never know. 

“Yeah, I need a new phone. I can't seem to find my other one.” I play the ditz. He starts going on about apps and towers and using a bunch of acronyms that he probably thinks sound impressive. I quickly settle on the phone with the rebate, which is essentially free while he goes on and on. “Dave,” I'd read on his nametag, is crestfallen at my simple choice, that I haven't been convinced by his spiel. Poor guy.

“Now do you want to keep the same number?” he says as he's setting up my account.

“Uh, no. I don't want some wacko picking it up and making calls on it.” Cough, cough.

“Well, we'll keep it active for the next thirty days, since you've paid your bill. If you end up finding it, just let us know and we can disable it.” I remember to add unlimited texts to my plan and leave. It's still too early to go home, so I head to the Dunkin' Donuts and grab an iced cappuccino and a croissant to give me a little jolt. The sleepless nights are catching up with me. I wolf down the croissant and call Tex.

“Can you hear me now? I'm talking to you on my new phone.”

“Did you get the one with the touch screen?” Her voice is muffled, as if she's holding the phone with her shoulder while she's doing something else.

“No, I got the free one.” She sighs. I can hear her eyes rolling.

“You are so lame.”

“You weren't the one who had to pay for it.” I shiver from the iced cappuccino. I should have gotten something hot. 

“True.” There's a crash and she swears. “I hate my job, I hate my job, I hate my job,” she whispers. She especially hated it when I wasn't there. She'd wheedled her parents into hiring me for a few after school shifts at their bookstore. As long as we didn't goof off. Which we did, just not when they were watching.

“Hey, how's your mom doing?” Oh, we are going to the land of I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it. Words choke me as they try to come up, as I try to think of something that doesn't sound like total crap. I could chuck the phone and run over it with my car, but I just bought it, so that's not going to work.

“She's good. Well, I'll let you get back to that. I gotta go home, but I wanted to give you the maiden call.” Another crash. More cursing. Thank god for Tex being pissed and distracted. My mother is going to die. No words, leave me alone.

“I'm touched. Listen, I have to get back to work, Toby is giving me the evil eye.” Toby was the weird guy with a unibrow that works part time, who has an inflated sense of his own importance. He takes his job extremely seriously. 

“Ohhh, sexy. Better get back to work.” I fiddle around in my backseat for a sweatshirt. 

“What are my parents going to do, fire me? You're so lucky your parents don't have a business.” Her voice is muffled as I pull the sweatshirt over my head. I finally get my head through the opening and pull it the rest of the way down.

“True. Hey, I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

I drive around for an hour before I have to go home. It takes a lot of energy to pretend you're fine when you're not. A bit like being in a play that never ends. I get an intermission, but I always have to go back on stage. 

***

My house is filled with the smell of homemade macaroni and cheese when I walk in the door. My mother thinks macaroni and cheese from a box was some sort of sacrilege. I'd only ever eaten it at other people's houses. 

“Hey, baby. How was school?” The soft sound of James Taylor greets me from the kitchen stereo.

“Fine.” I drop my bag at the door, shuck off my shoes and try to make my voice sound as bright as I can. I'm not mentioning that I skipped class. I'm not mentioning the phone. So many secrets.

“Oh come on, it has to have been better than fine.” She's dolled up for something, her sassy reddish-brown wig done up with pins that have little pearls on them and she's wearing a cocktail dress that looked better on her when she'd had something to fill it out.

I grab a cucumber from the salad she's making, but she slaps my hand when I go for another.

“Hands off. What did you learn?”

“That the periodic table is really stupid and that parabola is a really cool word.” We do this routine every day. I give a sarcastic answer most days. 

She bends over to put the casserole dish in the oven to crisp the top. She's crumbled Ritz crackers on it, just how I love it. The knobs of her spine are like a row of giant pearl buttons down her back.

“What did you do today?” I say to distract myself from spewing my secrets. She has this way of looking at me that makes me squirm and want to tell her anything and everything. I'm pretty sure she uses it on five-year-olds who've told lies about pinching each other. It's very effective. 

She'd been a kindergarten teacher for twenty years, but she'd had to quit when she'd gotten sick. It was strange seeing her without glue and crayon marks on her skirt, a happy and tired smile on her face with a story about how she'd quelled three tantrums and taught them the letter S.

“Your father took me to the beach. It was freezing, but we went for a walk in the water and I found the prettiest piece of seaglass. Look.” She holds it out to me. It's a large bluish-green. I run my fingers over the smooth edges. It's very old. 

“It's lovely.”

“Your father had to go in to work for the afternoon, so it's just us tonight.” 

“What's with the outfit?” 

“I just felt like dressing up. All women like to look pretty.” She's even put on mascara. It makes her green eyes look huge. Looking at her is starting to make my throat hurt, and I feel the panic building. My secrets are threatening to explode. 

“I'm going to take a shower.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” She puts a kiss on my cheek, leaving a tiny bit of lipstick. I get a whiff of her perfume. It smells like home. 

I listen for a moment as she hums along with one of the songs before I go up the stairs. Her voice is sweet and soft. The voice I've heard a hundred thousand times, but in less than a year, wouldn't hear anymore, except in memories or on home movies.

Skipping Class

“Hello? Ava? Are you dreaming about making sweet love to Colin Firth in the Mr. Darcy outfit again?” Tex snaps her fingers in front of my face.

“What?” I'd phased out.

“Ha, I knew that would get your attention.” Tex and I are doing inventory after hours at the bookstore. Her punishment for coming home late from a party the week before. I'd declined going, and she told me all I had missed was a bunch of people getting wasted and passing out and getting her boob grabbed by some guy she'd never met. She had only had one beer, but her parents acted like she'd done a keg stand naked and posted the pictures online. I'd volunteered to stay late with her to avoid going home.

“Just thinking about stuff.” I'd picked up my phone last night a hundred times to call her and talk. To tell her about my mother, or the cemetery incident. But I hadn't. I couldn't seem to find the right words to say it. So I hadn't. 

“And things?” Creepy cemetery guys are the things to my mother's stuff.

“Pretty much.”

“You've been doing that a lot lately.” There were so many things I wanted to tell her. To have her listen and hug me and tell me it was going to be okay. To speculate about who the guys were and come up with more and more ridiculous personas until we laughed so hard we'd have to sit down.

“I know that face. That's the Ava's-thinking-about-something-serious face.”

“Just everything. Prom.” The truth is I'm not a prom kind of girl. And Tex knew that.

“Try again. Is something up with your mom?” she says, crossing her arms. I didn't fool her for a second. She'd hit part of the answer, but I'm not giving in. I can't do this now.

“I'm sorry Tex. It's just stuff. Okay?” I hate snapping at her. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right? And that I'm there for you? No matter what. And even if you killed someone I'd defend your innocence until my dying day?” She puts her hand on her heart to show me how serious she is.

“I know.” I'd come to think of my two secrets as Thing One and Thing Two. Kind of like in Dr. Seuss. They were annoying and they jumped up and down and begged to be let out. To be told. I lock them away, but they rattle the bars of their cages. I tell them to shut the hell up.

We finish up late and I drive home with the heat turned up. I've been cold ever since that night. Tex blasts some weird German music that makes my ears hurt. Her car had also been taken away for the week, so Jamie and I were taking turns driving her around.

“How can you listen to this stuff? I don't even know what they're saying.”

“Are you kidding? These guys are awesome. You don't have to understand the lyrics.” She jams her head, and I worry she's going to get whiplash. 

“Tex?” I say when we get to her house.

“Yes, my dear?” I open my mouth to spill everything. To let it all out so it doesn't fester and burn inside me anymore. But I can't. The moment passes and I shut my mouth.

“That skirt makes you look fat. I thought you should know. Since I'm your friend.” I put my hand on her arm. She throws it off. And punches me.

“You are such a bitch! If anyone's fat, it's you. I mean, can you say thunder thighs?” She slaps my leg.