Project Pallid (3 page)

The
only one I didn’t see laughing was Catee, who smiled instead. Her look was a
much-welcomed improvement from the one she first shot me, just hours before.

“And
I’m excited to start fresh here, too.” I lied to the room and slunk into my seat.

I
glanced up and, oddly enough, she was still looking my way, even as the kid to
my left started in on some rant about himself. I couldn’t read what Catee was
thinking, and the prolonged look she gave me made me feel a little
uncomfortable. But, hard as I tried, I couldn’t help the magnetic pull of her
curious stare.

Mid-lesson,
I looked back as the corners of her mouth drew up, and a smile stretched across
her face.

I
knew then that I’d found my Madison “in”, even if I looked away at the time.
The fact that we were both new made no difference at all. On the contrary,
that’s probably what first pulled us together. It was a connection that had
nothing to do with familiarity, and we still hadn’t spoken a word to each
other. Still, there was an irrefutable magnetism that drew us together, and I
could only hope I wasn’t alone in the things I was feeling.

“Listen
up, Farm Boy …” Justin cornered me when class got out. He was the fifth to
share, and he had a seat right next to Catee’s. “I just want to make sure you
understand how things work around here.” He had me trapped in one of those
armpits where the last locker in a row meets the wall. I couldn’t remember
whether he was a junior, maybe a senior, but I guessed it was one of the two,
based solely on his size. He didn’t touch me, but he loomed there, and his
words pummeled down to make his point abundantly clear.

“Keep
to yourself in there, and we’ve got no problems.” His words were like hornets
as he pointed back toward the door. “And keep away from that new girl. I saw
how you kept staring at her in there, and ain’t no way she’d go for some little
Platsville shit like you. Consider yourself warned.” His threat was
unwarranted, like it was unfounded. Catee wasn’t the type of girl who’d want
much from me, or Justin, either—a box of hair had more brains than him.

Still,
I knew I was outmatched and unarmed, so I nodded my consent and that was enough
to get him to back down and continue on his way. His ego was enough to occupy
two seats to his left
and
his right. Apparently, anything within its
gravitational pull was all his—even if a brighter, unassuming star sat
directly beside him.

Shaken
and standing alone in the middle of the hall, crowds of kids fanned by and
moved me with the nudges of their bodies as they pushed along.

Justin
was nearly twice my size, and he clearly intended to throw his weight
around—with me and anyone else his massive ego targeted. I didn’t even
know the guy, but I was smart enough to know I wasn’t his only victim.

But
I had no intention of making a move on Catee.

I’d
never had a girlfriend before.

I’d
never even held a girl’s hand before.

And
based on what little I’d seen until then, she was completely out of my league to
begin with.

And
having survived the day to closing bell, I was never more excited to leave
Madison High than I was that first day. Start to finish, I couldn’t have
scripted a worse one in my head. I’d planned to be as inconspicuous as possible
and to blend in as best I could. Instead, what I got was roadblock after roadblock,
exempting me from the experience, all together.

And
as the buses pulled from the curb, they passed groups of kids who littered its
sidewalks. Some moved forward while others stood stagnant—hanging out,
instead of heading for home. And among them, Catee’s red hair stood
unmistakably out. I caught her standing there with a small group of others,
Justin included, and I decided then that my connection with her could’ve only
been superficial. Anyone who’d give Justin the time of day wasn’t worth mine. And
after ruling her out as my Madison
in
, I turned away and reverted to the
loneliness I’d always known.

I
looked to the sprawling, two-story building behind me, and I resented having to
see it again, and again, and again, for four, long years.

But
then The Whitening struck, and it wiped the slate clean.

September
3
^rd:

“So,
tell me about all the new friends you made.” My mom always pushed me to reach
out more, though I was perfectly content as a loner.

“Tons,
Mom. Can’t even list ‘em.” She got my sarcasm but ignored it and pressed
forward anyhow.

“So,
tell me your High and tell me your Low,” she prompted with her customary gauge
of our days: a tool to bookend the details she’d fill in, later on.

“Well
… ” I hesitated, in search of my High. “Do you want the High or Low first?” I
asked.

“I
want you to start with the Low, and end with your High. You know I prefer a
happy ending.” Her smile was a contended one as she reclined back in her chair.
I took a seat next to her on the couch to begin, and I silently thanked her for
the extra time to fabricate a worthy High.

“Okay,”
I began. “So, my Low was the fact that I didn’t really know anyone there. I
didn’t really make any new friends. Actually, I might’ve even made a new
enemy.”

“Well,
that sounds a little extreme,” she shot back. “But it couldn’t have been
all
bad.”

“I
guess it could’ve been worse.” I answered, more for her peace of mind than
anything else. In reality, it couldn’t have been more frustrating than it
actually was.

“So,
why don’t you start by telling me how you went about making a new
enemy
on your very first day …” The dramatic emphasis she placed on the word, and the
smile with which she delivered it, revealed awareness of my exaggeration.

“He’s
this guy in geometry class.”

“So
what happened with this guy? Tell me about him …” she prodded.

“Well,
his name’s Justin, and I barely know him at all. Well, I actually don’t know
him at all. I mean, he talked in class—in this sharing thing we had to
do—but that’s it.”

“So,
why would he have a problem with you?” she asked. Her hands moved from behind
her head to interlock and rest across her stomach.

“Well,
I guess that’s my High.”

“Okay.
Now
you’ve got me interested. Keep going,” she smiled and prompted.

“So,
there’s this girl … ”

“Yeah???”
Her response was a curious one, already trying to connect non-existent dots in
her head.

“And
I saw her the first time when I was waiting for my schedule this morning.”

“Okayyyy
…” she prodded, salivating for more.

“Well
… I guess … she caught me looking at her …”

“Annnnnd?”

“
Annnnnnd
,”
I repeated, “she shot me this really nasty look.”

“Oh.
Well, that doesn’t sound so good …” Mom delivered her words in a baiting, but
still consolatory fashion.

“But
it wasn’t bad either,” I jumped to correct. “I had geometry this afternoon, and
there she was. In class. Sitting right across from me!”

“Really!?”
Mom gasped in mock surprise.

“Yeah,
really.” I left my response short, knowing her curiosity would push me forward.

“Welllll???”

“So
……” I delayed, to starve her the details. “I kept seeing her look across the
room at me, and she saw me looking back at her too.”

“So,
then what?!” Mom was totally hooked by then. It was
the
story she’d been
waiting for since middle school: Damian meets girl. Girl falls in love. Damian
and girl live happily ever after.

“Well,
nothing
really
happened after that,” I answered. “But I know she’s cool
with me, though. I could tell just by the way she was looking at me.”

“That’s
great, Damian! So, you
did
make a new friend after all!”

“I
guess. Maybe. But we haven’t even talked yet, Mom. So don’t get your hopes up
about grandkids or anything like that.”

My
relationship with my mom’s always been one of mixed-sincerity and sarcasm: one
that I always thought was indestructible, even in the face of death. But that
was then, before the disease, when death was still abstract. When it was something
that could be confronted, stared down, and defeated. I didn’t understand it
like I do now; I didn’t understand its unforgiving finality. Not like I do
today.

“You
just trust your gut; it’ll always steer you
right,”
Mom encouraged, before she dug for more. “So, tell me all about this new
enemy
.”
She repeated the word as though it tasted vile on her tongue.

“Like
I said, his name’s Justin. And apparently, even though she barely knows he
exists, Catee’s his.”

“How
do you mean?”

“Well,
he cornered me after class got out, and he told me pointblank to back off her …
like he was claiming her or something. Like she was already his.”

“Well,
what makes her
his
anymore than
yours
?”

“The
fact that he’s twice as big as me
and
an upperclassman.”

“That’s
no answer.”

“It
is
if you’re a 5’5” freshman from Platsville,” I answered.

“Still,
Damian. If you like that girl, and if she likes you—and I can’t imagine
any girl wouldn’t—you just do what feels right. If you want to talk to
her, do it. And you don’t back down no matter what this Justin kid has to say
about it.”

“I
won’t, Mom. Thanks for the advice.”

“Don’t
just agree with me now to make me happy, Damian. I’m serious. If this girl’s
someone you’re
really
interested in, don’t you go letting some fool get
in the way of that. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah,
Mom. I get it. Don’t worry.” I tried my best to assure. “I can handle myself,
even if some people think I can’t.”

“Well
maybe you need to start speaking up for yourself more, Damian. Stand up for
yourself. Don’t you go letting other boys push you around like that. It’s high
school now, and there’ll be a whole lot of that out there. Don’t you play
second to nobody. Do you understand me?”

“I
know
, Mom,” I insisted. “I get it. Don’t worry. I won’t let him bother
me any.”

“Good.”
She’d reached her own satisfied conclusion to the conversation. “Then it’s
about time we get started on dinner. Your father will be home in an hour, and I
want to make sure we’ve got something nice ready. He’s had a rough day at work;
plus, your sister’s coming home, and we can’t go having an empty table when
everyone gets here.”

“Yeah,
Mom. I get it.” Having already read between the lines, my response was dry. I
knew from past experience that dinner would mean just as much work for me as it
would for her. She’d taken to referring to me as her “sous chef” a week before,
when Nicole left for college. Basically, it was her fancy title for “servant.”
I usually got put in charge of the prep work before dinner, then the cleanup
after—chores I’d always alternated with my sister but inherited full-time
after she’d moved to campus.

If
I’d know how few meals we’d have left together, I wouldn’t have minded the
responsibilities so much—I would’ve been more appreciative of the time
together, no matter how it was spent.

The
thought of it makes my eyes heavy with tears, and I hold them back for as long
as I can before burning eyelids give way to warm trickles that race down my
cheeks. I can barely stifle the sobbing that follows, but the hunters above
demand I get hold of myself.

I
can’t be heard.

Not
right now.

“Where
do you want me to start?” I asked my mom, knowing she’d already planned-out my
sous chef role long before she started the conversation about dinner.

“I
need you to head down to the pantry, and I need you to bring up this list.” Mom
procured a neat, handwritten note from the side table and presented it to me as
she pulled forward in her recliner and launched to her feet.

With
a slight wobble to set herself right, she passed over a shopping list of what
looked like a couple dozen items.

“Geesh,
Mom, do I at least get a shopping cart?”

“Well
of course you do, Damian. It’s right there at the top of the stairs,” she
pointed to the kitchen and to its inconspicuous doorway, set into the
floorboards of the far corner.

“And
how do you expect me to get it up and down those stairs?” I asked, and thrust
further into the fabrication.

“That’s
for you to figure out. I’m in charge of the cooking, and you’re in charge of
the shopping. I don’t ask you how to do your job, and you don’t ask me how to
do mine.”

“Fair
enough.” I ended the banter, because it could’ve gone back and forth for hours.
It sometimes did. But no matter what, the end would be the same: I was headed
down to the pantry, no matter what, and there was no sense delaying the
inevitable.