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the offensive rebound … he pumps …”

The ball goes over your head, swishes into the basket, “Yyyyesssss!” shouts Jay, and you have had enough.

You tell him you don’t want to play.

But he’s not really listening. His eyes are looking your shoulder. At the driveway.

What a great coincidence, Jay says. HE has to go to the mall, and YOU’VE conveniently brought your car.

You sputter. You start to tell him exactly WHY you came over, but you can’t find the words, because really you don’t KNOW, do you? And while you’re fuzzing out, he’s already halfway down the driveway.

Hop in. Start. Drive. Ducky McCrae, chauffeur to the world.

And you finally talk. Only it doesn’t QUITE go the way you expected. It goes something like this:

J: “You recovered yet?” He nudges you in the ribs, which is the wrong thing to do to a driver, and you swerve into the left lane, narrowly missing an oncoming car.

D: “@#$%&!!!” On the verge of a heart attack.

J [laughing hysterically]: “DWI — Driving While Intickleicated!”

D: “Okay. To answer your question, no. I haven’t recovered, if you’re talking about the diner

— ”

J: “LeeAnn! What a babe!”

D: “Who?”

J: “LeeAnn? The girl at the diner? Hello? Earth to Duckomatic?”

D: “Oh! Well, you know, I had no idea — ”

J: “SURPRISE! You should have seen the look on your face! HOW WAS THE RIDE HOME?

— HAR HAR! Did you have a good time?”

D: “Okay … you want the truth?”

J: “No, JUST THE DETAILS!”

D: “As a matter of fact, it was miserable. So was the dinner itself. I felt humiliated and awkward and trapped and I can’t believe you did that to me.”

Dead silence.

J [Deep sigh.]: “You blew it, huh?”

D: “Whaaat?”

J: “Duckmeister, if you want the girl, you have to make conversation. You can’t expect to score if you don’t play the game — ”

D: “I wasn’t playing a game! I was having dinner!”

J: “You know what I mean. It’s like a game. With rules and penalties and fake-outs and long shots — just like basketball. You have to talk the talk, walk the walk — ”

D: “What you did was WRONG, Jay. You should have told me in advance. I thought it was going to be just you and me — not you, me, Lisa, and a total stranger.”

J: “She’s not a stranger. She’s one of Lisa’s best friends.”

D: “I DON’T CARE!”

J: “Okay, so you didn’t like her, it didn’t work out, whatever. It happens. Now look, there’s this other girl I know — ”

D: “Jay, hello? Do you understand a word I’m saying?”

J: “I understand a lot. You didn’t have a Valentine, dude. I’m concerned about you. Plenty of UGLY guys have Valentines. Why shouldn’t YOU? You just have an inferiority complex or something, that’s all. Nothing that a real girlfriend wouldn’t cure. Anyway, her name is Barb —

”

D: “Is this all you can think of — girls? What is with you? You NEVER used to be like this!”

J: “I’m trying to help you, Duckovich. Most guys would be thanking me. You think it was easy getting a babe like LeeAnn to go on a blind date? I had to talk you up. I said you were buff.

Did you ever think YOU may be the one letting ME down?”

There’s the mall. The gate to the garage is in sight, but you have NO INTENTION of going in, so you pull up to the curb and nearly shear off your whitewalls.

D: “YOU ARE MISSING THE WHOLE POINT, JAY!”

J: “YOU’RE the one missing the point! Of life!”

D: “Get out.”

J: “Huh?”

“D: “You heard me.”

Jay unbuckles. Opens door. Steps out. Slams door.

You step on the gas. You are out of there.

THE END

C “D” McC

+

J “J” A

Friendship

R.I.P.

Epilogue

A Day Later

Wishful thinking.

It wasn’t the end. You drove around two blocks, following the one-way streets. You parked.

You wrote down your thoughts. Then you went back.

Jay was still standing on the curb.

And you just drove up and told him to get in.

Fool.

That was STUPID, McCrae.

You could have left him there. He would have gotten home somehow — walked, or met some friend in the mall who drives, SOMETHING.

You know WHY you should have done that? Because YOU would’ve had time to cool off. And HE would’ve realized how serious you were.

But you didn’t. There you were, trusty old Ducky, everybody’s pal.

And Jay was laughing, as if he KNEW you would return. And he called you something like

“Duckerino, Driver from Hell” as he climbed in, and that comment did NOT help your mood.

NOT

ONE

BIT.

And you wanted to smack yourself for your own stupidity, for being loyal to someone who just dumps and dumps and dumps on you.

Clamp. Step on the gas. Backs flat against the seat.

As you raced past the mall, Jay shouted out, “HEY, I HAVE SHOPPING TO DO.”

You screeched to a stop and gave him a choice: shop by himself or catch a ride home.

He decided to stay in the car, and as you drove, he kept babbling on, sort of apologizing, sort of not, staying things that you had to tune out or you might drive off the road — hey, I didn’t mean to upset you … next time I’ll let you know … you should loosen up, Duckarino, have some fun

… Barbara is just your type, really, but I’m not going to force you … what about Sunny, I can tell she likes you, but she’s kind of out there, huh?

Not getting it AT ALL.

By the time you pulled up in front of Jay’s house, you wanted to plant your foot in his side and kick him out the window.

As he opened the door, he had the NERVE to ask, “You still mad at me?”

And you discovered what you do when your brain starts flashing murderous thoughts.

You say nothing.

And the guy you just went out of your way to drive home shakes his head and mutters, “Some friend. You’re just like Alex.”

THAT’S the thanks you get.

In Which Ducky McCrae

Finally Opens His Journal

After a Two-Day Vacation From Writing

It’s Tuesday.

Note to yourself: don’t ever get sick.

Just got back from the hospital. The smell of the place made you nauseated. Not to mention all the WHITE — white uniforms, white walls, white sheets. It all gave you a headache.

But when Sunny Winslow says, “Are you coming to the hospital with me after school or what?”

you go with her. Somehow, when SHE demands a ride, you don’t feel like you’re being taken for granted. Unlike some other friends who will remain nameless (his initials are Jay Adams).

Plus, you know she’s feeling nervous and upset about her mom, who has lung cancer.

As you walked through the hospital corridors, she took your arm and muttered, “I hate this.”

You tried to smile and look reassuring. The two of you were arm in arm now, passing rooms full of people connected to IV tubes, and the strangest thoughts were going through your head. You imagined Jay spying on you, smiling and giving you a thumbs-up, like, “Hey, you finally got her.” You imagine all the patients hobbling to their doors and applauding you. You shook all that out of your head — and then you were thinking about Mrs. Winslow and how you’d never met a person with cancer before. What would she look like? What would you say? WHAT IF

SHE DIED WHILE YOU WERE IN THE ROOM? And you realized you were clutching

Sunny’s arm just as hard as she was clutching yours, and you knew you were scared of meeting Mrs. Winslow, but that was ridiculous because she’s a human being and we all die sometime, and someday it’ll be your turn and you wouldn’t want anyone to dread seeing you — and you

thought, “If this is how I’m feeling, imagine what must be going through Sunny’s head right now.”

Then you were in Mrs. Winslow’s room. And she was there, watching TV. And she slowly turned to face you. And you saw her face for the first time.

She looks like a mom. A thin, older version of Sunny, with very little hair. She was very nice.

We [sic] talked about school and TV shows. You were nervous when Sunny explained who you were — the guy who drove her home on the night she ran away — but Mrs. Winslow just smiled and said, “Thank you.”

You stayed for awhile [sic], chatting, nothing very memorable — and when you left, you felt relieved somehow.

Not Sunny. She was out of control.

She complained about her mom’s linens. About the air-conditioning. The slow nursing staff.

The food. The size of the room. The visiting hours. “You see?” she kept saying. “You see?”

You didn’t know what you were supposed to see. But you knew Sunny needed a lot of yeses and that’s-okays, so you gave them to her.

Finally, when you were outside, you put your arm around her and she started laughing. When you asked what was so funny, she just said, “I never cry,” and then burst into tears.

You hugged her. You and she rocked back and forth in the parking lot, cars whizzing around you.

You realized something then. Something you should have known awhile [sic] ago.

Why worry about Alex and Jay? You have other friends who need you.

Sometimes You Wish

You Were in Eighth Grade

… Because if you were, then you would be able to actually have a decent conversation at lunch with Sunny and her friends, instead of walking past a table of Cro Mags who STILL call out,

“Do you have a flower for ME, Ducky?” and throw you kisses, which makes you vow to drop your milk shake all over them someday even though it may cost you your life, and you’re supposed to meet Jay, but he’s not there, so you end up sitting with Alex, who is reading a horror novel and not eating. And he doesn’t look up, so you ask him how it is, and he says, “Okay. I don’t really know what it’s about.” And the only response you can think of — “Then why are you reading it?” — seems nasty so you shut up and eat.

And that’s when you see Jay, halfway across the room with a hot-lunch tray.

You wave to him and shouting, “Over here!” but he just glares at you.

And you finally have a conversation with Alex the Silent. Something about the lines of: D: “What’s with him?”

A: “He won’t sit here if I’m here.”

D: “You guys have a fight or something?”

A: “Nahh, he’s just a jerk. You can go sit with him. I want to be alone anyway.”

D: “That’s okay.” [Start eating. Notice Alex’s lunch bag is on the seat beside him.] “You had lunch already?”

A: “Nahh. Not hungry.”

D: “You feeling all right?”

A: “No.”

D: “Sick?”

A: “No.”

D: “Bad mood?”

Alex tunes you out and continues reading. And you have that weird feeling again. Only this time the feeling tells you something is seriously wrong. But you’re so frustrated and insulted and confused, all you can say is, “Hey, don’t mind me, I don’t exist.”

A: “I didn’t ask you to sit here.”

D: “Right. You didn’t. I’ll just leave, okay?” [Stand up. Sit down.] “Okay, what is wrong, Alex?”

No answer.

D: “Talk to me, will you?”

A: “Why should I talk to you? You’re not my therapist.”

D: “You’re seeing a therapist?”

A: “Maybe. None of your business.”

D: [Chew, chew, chew, swallow.] “You know, there’s nothing wrong with that. A lot of my friends have seen therapists.”

A: “Yeah?”

D: “Ted used to see one — not anymore, but back when Mom and Dad first started going on long trips. He was pretty young. Fifth grade, I think.”

A: “I started way before that.”

D: “When?”

A: “I don’t know. When I was five or six. I don’t remember NOT having a therapist.”

Five or six.

This is news.

Big news.

You feel like you’ve been hit in the stomach.

Your mind is flashing back to your childhood. To the Old Alex. To the One Big Friendship of your life. To the person whose mind you could read. The guy you knew inside and out.

You were wrong.

He was keeping something from you. All those years, he was seeing a shrink. Going to appointments. Pouring out his problems to someone else.

And you didn’t even notice.

WHEN? When did he go? Those times his mom would pick him up early on Saturday

afternoons? She always said they were going shopping. You just assumed they shopped a lot.

And WHAT problems?

Except for those few months after the divorce, he always seemed pretty happy.

Or maybe he was just a good actor. Covering up his sadness. Fooling you. Completely.

You didn’t know your best friend after all.

So you’re thinking about this and not saying anything, and Alex is looking at you weirdly, and you’re thinking maybe he can still read YOUR mind, and you’re embarrassed as hell, and all you can think to say is, “Why?”

Which is not the right question, because Alex looks like he wants to cry, and he grabs his lunch, says, “Because I’m a psycho, I guess,” and leaves.

You should run after him, but you’re too stunned or something, which is too bad, because who should sit next to you buy Jay.

He’s grinning, and a shy-looking girl is with him.

Her name is Barbara, and he’s told her all about you. …

Midnight Musings

You WILL tell him off.

Again.

You were too chicken to do it over lunch. Not that you COULD anyway, with BARBARA

standing right there, smiling at you, and your mind still on Alex and his secret life. All you could do was smile and say hi and try to act normal because she seemed like a nice enough person, as you watch Alex disappear down the hallway.

But you will tell Jay off, when you get the chance. If you have to yell at him a hundred times, you will.

DUCKY, YOU WILL NOT BE DUMPED ON.

But first things first.

The Alex department.

Some progress.

Talked to him after school. A little. He seemed in a hurry to get home. Maybe he had a shrink appointment.