The Opposite of Hallelujah (27 page)

Reb dragged me to go get ice cream after school, even though I didn’t want any and she was supposed to be off dairy that week because she thought she might be lactose intolerant. Reb had a touch of hypochondria, which annoyed the crap out of Erin, but I thought it was funny. Not that day, though. I just wanted her to let me mope in peace, but she wouldn’t. Hence, ice cream, her treat.

“Your ice cream is melting,” she warned me, leaning forward to take a semiliquid scoop from my cup. “What’s wrong? More Pawel stuff?”

“Yeah. Whatever, he’s a douche bag.”

“Totally,” Reb said. Then she paused to reconsider. “But is he?”

“No,” I sighed. “I’m just mad at him, because if I don’t get mad at him, I’ll be too pathetic to look him in the eye.”

“You’re not pathetic, Caro,” Reb said with a little sympathetic laugh. “You’re just in recoil. It’s completely normal for you.” Funny, that was the word Father Bob had used: “recoil.”

“What do you mean, completely normal for
me
?” I demanded.

“Well, you do this kind of thing a lot. If someone hurts you, instead of being all depressed you get angry,” Reb explained. “You get mad so you don’t have to be sad.”

“That’s ridiculous! Name one other time that’s happened.”

“How about the beginning of the school year, when Derek dumped you? He’s been trying to be friends, but you keep freezing him out, even though you
know
that he’s not the right guy for you and you don’t even want to date him!”

“Derek and I are
fine
,” I said. “I’ve completely forgiven him.”

“Yeah, okay. Prove it.”

“Should I make him a friendship bracelet?” I asked.

“Are you going to his party next weekend?”

“I don’t think I’m invited,” I said, stirring the melted remains of my Neapolitan into ice cream soup.

“Everybody’s invited,” Reb said, rolling her eyes.

“Not me, he didn’t even ask me to come,” I said.

“Did you expect an engraved note? This is a high school party. You tell one person and then let the word travel on the wind.” Reb wiggled her fingers to signify word traveling on the wind, which made me laugh. I appreciated the effort, and even though I hated to admit it, it was sort of working.

“Are you going?” I asked.

“Definitely,” Reb said. “My mom is in Indiana again for the weekend. I was going to have my own party, but this is better, because I won’t have to clean anything up.”

“Okay, I’ll go,” I said. Reb grinned and patted my hair.

“Who’s a good girl?” she cooed. I made a face, but she just laughed.

“You’re going to Derek’s party?” Erin asked in astonishment when I told her over the phone later that night. I was in the middle of painting my toenails a dark metallic blue when she called.

“Reb talked me into it,” I said, confused. “Should I not go, do you think?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Erin told me.

“Why, because of Derek? We’re friends,” I said. “It won’t be weird.”

“Oh, God, Derek’s not the problem,” Erin said. “Did you not hear who
else
is coming to the party?”

“Uh, no,” I said. “Is there some kind of secret blog about this stuff that I don’t know about?”

“Yeah, it’s called EverybodyOnTheCheerleadingSquadHasABigMouth.com,” Erin said. “Anyway, Briana Garner is coming.”

“Briana Garner from physics class?” I asked, propping
my left foot up on my desk and leaning my chair back a little to get the angle just right. “She’s nice. Why would I not go to the party because she’s coming?”

“I’m not finished,” Erin said. “Briana’s bringing a date to the party.”

“Who’s her date?” I leaned forward and slowly painted my big toe.

“Polish Boy,” Erin said.

My foot slipped from the edge of my desk and I bashed my knee against it. “Oh, Jesus Christ!” I cried. I glanced down at my leg, which was bright red and throbbing.

“Caro?” Mom called from the hallway. She knocked. “What’s going on in there?”

“Nothing, Mom, I just hurt myself,” I said. “Go away.”

So of course she did the opposite, opening the door and walking in. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I said, wincing. “I’m fine.”

“Hello?” I heard Erin ask, her voice tinny and faraway-sounding.

“Is there someone in here?” Mom asked, looking around.

“No, Mom, God,” I snapped, picking up the receiver from where it’d landed on the ground. “It’s just Erin on the phone.”

“Oh.” Mom stared at me. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. Please go,” I begged. I was in so much physical
pain that my head felt crowded. I didn’t even want to talk to Erin, and contemplated just hanging up on her.

“Fine, fine,” Mom said, backing out of the room. “Sorry for showing concern for my child. It won’t happen again.” She closed the door behind her.

I lifted the phone to my ear. “Sorry. I think I shattered my kneecap.”

“Really?” Erin asked.

“No.” I sighed.

“Did you hear what I said?” Erin reverted back to full gossip mode. “Briana and Pawel are
going out
.”

“That’s impossible,” I said, my stomach sinking. “It’s been, like, two weeks since he and I broke up.”

“Improbable, but
not
impossible. Obviously.”

“And this is an announcement she made? That she and Pawel are going to Derek’s party together? God, insecure much?” I said, trying to distract Erin.

But Erin was a bloodhound, and unlikely to be led off the trail so easily. “Are you sure you still want to go to the party?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll think about it. For the record, you’re advising that I not go?”

“Totally,” Erin said. “I don’t think it’s worth the humiliation.”

That was the magic word—“humiliation.” I was more obsessed with it than anybody I knew. Erin didn’t seem capable of sensing when she was being humiliated (if she
was, she wouldn’t hook up with half the guys she did), and Reb was too cool to care one way or the other. But I couldn’t stand the thought of people talking about me behind my back, laughing at me. The thought of it made me want to crawl out of my skin.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “I’m not going to go.” Reb wasn’t going to be happy.

18

I thought I’d been pretty clear with Pawel about what I expected from him in terms of the science fair, so I was confused when he followed me out of French class and tried to talk to me about the project.

“Pawel, I told you, I have it under control,” I said, digging around in my locker and praying that he would leave soon, before I had to pretend to find the thing I wasn’t even looking for. “You don’t have to do anything, it’s fine.”

“That feels wrong,” he said, leaning against the wall and fiddling absently with the zipper on his backpack. “Like I’m slacking off.”

“It’s not wrong if I give you permission to slack off,” I told him.
Please go
, I thought desperately. I was starting to get that panicky, disconnected feeling again, like I was a hot-air balloon that had become untethered. “Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s my project, too,” he said, anger creeping into his voice. “You don’t just get to shut me out. Tripp asked me before class why he hasn’t seen me in the lab with you. He’s questioning my level of participation, and I didn’t even
know
you were already spending time in the lab.”

“It’s a big project. Anyway, I’m sure you have better things to do,” I said, abandoning the pretense and shutting my locker.

“Like what?” He scoffed.

“I don’t know, like hanging out with your new girlfriend,” I snapped.
Oh shit
. The second after I said it, I wanted to take it back. That was why I hated the floaty feeling: I never felt like I had any control over what I said or did, and this just proved it. My words echoed in my head like I’d shouted them, and I could sense every pair of eyes in the hallway on me, but when I looked around, nobody was even paying attention.

Nobody except Pawel. He stared at me, openmouthed, as if he had something to say, but nothing came out.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I turned and walked quickly down the hallway, silently willing him not to follow me.

No such luck.

“Look, Caro, I don’t know what you’re talking about,
and I’m not sure you do, either, but I’m going to help you with this assignment, even if it means I have to do this single-bubble somnambulance thing,” Pawel said, coming up from behind.

“Single-bubble sonoluminescence,” I said. Was he saying that he and Briana Garner
weren’t
going out? The question burned at the back of my brain, desperate to be asked. I wished I didn’t care so much. I wished I could be who I pretended I was, someone who didn’t care or notice or feel anything, but I wasn’t that person. Being around Pawel reminded me just how vulnerable I was, how much I had messed up and how much I regretted it. It wasn’t just about him. It was about Hannah, too, and my parents. What I had done, why I had done it, and the swirling maelstrom of doubts about what to do next.

Pawel was deeply annoyed, so much that he wouldn’t even look at me, his gaze wandering through the space over my head. “Whatever. What do I need to do?”

“Uh, okay. You could book us some more time with Mr. Tripp in the physics lab,” I suggested. “Any day after school is good for me.”

“Done. What else?”

“We need a container to house the experiment,” I told him. “Mr. Tripp doesn’t have anything we can use in the lab, so I was going to go online today when I got home and look for something that could work.”

“I’ll help you,” he offered.

“What are you going to do, click the mouse for me? I can do it myself,” I insisted.

“Fine. But when it’s time to actually work on the experiment, I want to do my share. I’m not going to let you just carry me on this—I’m smart, too,” he said. I’d never seen him so defensive before. He didn’t understand that this thing I was doing, pushing him away, wasn’t about what I thought of him or how smart he was.

“Have it your way,” I said, shrugging. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah,” he said. He began to walk away, but after a few steps he turned and looked back at me. “You know, this wouldn’t be as awkward if you stopped being so difficult.”

I was too stunned to think of anything to say to that.

“See you around, Caro,” Pawel said.

“What are you doing?” Hannah asked, hauling a fresh load of laundry into the family room. She began sorting socks as I hovered over my laptop, clicking through a Google search for online glassware catalogs.

“Looking for a container for my science fair project,” I told her. “You’re doing laundry?”

“You say that like I’ve never washed clothes before,” Hannah said. “I did it all the time at the convent.”

“Ugh, sorry. I had a fight—argument—something bad with Pawel today at school,” I told her.

“Oh. What about?”

I got up from the kitchen table and sat down on the couch next to her basket. “The project, actually. I told him he didn’t have to help me, that I’d just put his name on the assignment and he could take whatever grade I got, but he refused. He acted all offended.”

“Well, it’s a little bit offensive,” Hannah said.

“Thanks.”

“What do you want me to do? Tell you that you were right? You know you weren’t.” Hannah gave me a hard look. It looked well practiced. In the last couple of years in the convent, she had been put in charge of the new recruits—the postulants, she called them—even though most of them were twenty, even thirty years older than she was. She had to teach them the rules and scold these grown women when she had her own doubts. If she ever chose to become a mother, she’d probably make a great one. She was already starting to exhibit signs of being like our own.

“I was just saving him the grief of having to do a really hard assignment,” I said. “He should be thanking me. Instead, he accused me of being ‘difficult.’ ”

“You’re really hurting, aren’t you?” Hannah asked, sympathetically putting a hand on my shoulder.

“Hurting? Me? No,” I said. A lie, of course, but what was I going to do, cry about it? I’d done enough of that already. “I just feel bad he got stuck with me and I’m
trying not to make it worse. But apparently I’m making it worse.”