Cracked Up to Be (17 page)

He smiles and holds out his hand. I take it and we step onto the dance floor and make a mockery of slow dancing by pressing up close and swaying back and forth. I rest my head on his shoulder and think of Evan, who will be here soon, and what that means and I think of Grey and all the stupid things I said to her just to get to this moment.

He did his bit and he goes on like . . . before.

Have I done my bit and that’s why I’m letting myself be here? The answer comes to me quickly: no. I can’t lose everything I’ve worked so hard to give up. I’ll have to make up any good parts of the night later. So I’d better enjoy myself while I still can.

I trace a circle on the back of Jake’s neck with the tip of my finger.

“I want to have a nice time tonight,” I say.

“Me, too,” he replies, his voice cracking. I stop tracing. “But what’s a nice night for Parker Fadley? Just so we’re clear.”

I have to think about it. “I won’t say anything mean, you won’t ask questions I don’t want to answer and I might let you kiss me. You’ll make me laugh at least once before the night is over, preferably by making fun of Becky. We’ll dance and have punch and on Monday we won’t talk about it.”

“Okay.”

“What about you? What makes a nice night for you?”

He leans his head back and stares at me. “Everything you said, but maybe you’ll tell me something that makes me understand you better, or where I stand with you better, and I’d like to see where we are on Monday and go from there.”

“Forget about Monday,” I warn him.

“We’ll see.”

“Please don’t set yourself up for disappointment.”

“Be quiet,” he says. “I’m trying to think of something disparagingly clever to say about Becky and I’m coming up short.”

I laugh.

“Wait, does that count? I made you laugh! That counts!”

“You didn’t make fun of Becky, though; you totally failed.”

“She’s a bitch . . . face?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Points for trying, I guess.”

The fast dance stops and a slow one starts, but I’m tired of this, so I gently extricate myself from Jake, and we wander over to the punch, where he fills up two cups. We lean against the wall and watch Becky, Chris, their posse and the peons try to turn a poorly decorated room into an event and I try to let myself feel happy because I’m not one of them anymore—but I’m not really happy about it tonight. I
did
used to like dances. I raise the cup to my lips and sip slowly. It’s just punch. Boring.

“Nice bracelet,” Jake says suddenly. “You always wear it. Was it a gift?”

“Uh . . .” I stare at the thin gold strand. “Yes and no.”

And then my chest feels tight because of all the moments for him to bring it up, he’d pick this one. I snap my fingers, desperate to head off the bad feeling before it starts.

“Do you want to do something fun and not allowed?” I ask.

He eyes me warily. “And what would that be?”

I lead him around the edge of the dance floor. Grey, Henley and Bradley are clustered in one corner “supervising.” They should be ashamed of how easily we sneak by them and find ourselves in the middle of the darkened halls, which is against the rules.

We have the whole school to ourselves.

“There’s this rumor the skeleton in the lab glows in the dark,” I lie. “I’ve always wanted to see if that’s true.”

Jake smiles. “Lead on.”

The way our footsteps echo down the hall is pleasantly creepy. When we peer into the lab, Jake notes with a hint of sadness that the skeleton doesn’t actually glow. Despite this, I open the door and step inside. I love the lab. The right wall is mostly made up of windows, big ones that let in lots of light. Moonlight, in this case.

Jake follows me in and shuts the door behind us. He wanders over and sits on top of one of the tables. I sit beside him—very carefully, so as not to break my dress—and swing my legs back and forth. It’s quiet for a while, peaceful. I like that.

Then he speaks: “So I think I’ve finally figured out why I like you.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s really unoriginal, but . . .” He clears his throat. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Ah,” I say. “You’re right. That is really unoriginal.”

“Well, I think you’re—you’re not nice. And you’re definitely self-absorbed, but . . . you interest me.” He pauses. “You know how when you meet someone and they just give you the impression they’re living on this entirely different planet from everyone else? That’s sort of how I felt when I met you. I thought, ‘It must be something to know the girl who tells you that you want into her pants like five minutes after she meets you.’ I mean, after I stopped being pissed off.”

I force a smile. “And is it something?”

“It’s difficult,” he says. “You’re very difficult.”

“I don’t mind you, Jake,” I say after a second. “There. That’s what you get from me. And you get tonight and on Monday you get nothing.”

He stares at me.

“You really mean it, don’t you?” he asks. “Do you think you’re doing me a favor? Because—don’t.”

“I’m doing
us
a favor. Let’s get it out of our systems.”

“Why don’t you just want to start something with me, seriously? Like maybe a date that doesn’t end weirdly, like seeing a movie. . . .”

He runs a hand through his hair.

“Because this way is better,” I tell him.

“But what if we did it and you found out you really liked me?”

“I could make myself get over it.”

He winces. “Do you do that a lot?”

“Yeah, I’m great at it. And you’re ruining this.”

“Sorry.”

And then he kisses me, just forces his mouth against mine, and I’m surprised by how rough it is, but that’s fine, if that’s how it has to be. I bring my hands to his face and press my fingernails into his cheeks hard, and he pushes me back against the desk and I’m lying down and some small part of me thinks this is funny; we’re going to do it in the lab.

I reach down, push his jacket aside and fumble with his belt. Jake runs his hand up my thigh and nibbles my lower lip while I unbutton his pants. His fingers drift over my chest and his mouth moves down to my neck. I pause and enjoy the feeling of his lips against my skin. He’s really good. And then he stops.

“What?” I ask. I’m short of breath; he’s short of breath. He leans back, but his face is still close enough for me to give him a light kiss on the lips. “Why are you stopping?”

He stares at me a long time and then he skirts off the desk, red faced, and starts buttoning and buckling up.

“I don’t want to do this,” he says. He doesn’t sound like he means it.

“Yes, you do.” I sit up. “You’re a guy. It’s what guys do.”

“Not—not . . .” He takes a deep breath. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a bad idea,” he says, tugging at the edges of his jacket. “Because I don’t see Monday going all that well if I fuck you in the school’s science lab tonight and pretend it never happened. Which is pretty stupid, since I have a feeling this was the closest I was ever going to get.”

“You’re right,” I say.

He groans and rubs his eye.

“You’re so frustrating, you know that? You want everything and none of the—are you scared?” He shakes his head. “Is that it? I think we could have a great time.”

“We could still have a great time—”

“Except forget it happened on Monday, right? And I can kiss you, but I don’t know if I can hold your hand. And I can kiss you, but I can’t ask you questions. Forget it, Parker. If you’re too afraid to start anything, just forget it.” Pause. “
Are
you afraid?”

I keep my mouth shut. We crossed a line here. Even if we didn’t do anything, we really crossed a line. He sighs and opens the door to the lab.

“Whatever,” he says. “We should get back.”

I edge off the table but make no move to leave. I feel guilty. I hate that feeling. It’s like when Bailey’s looking at me and he loves me and there’s nothing I can do to convince him he got such a raw deal being stuck with me.

“Are you coming?” He sounds impatient.

“I’m sorry,” I say. I focus on the wall above his head because I can’t look him in the eyes. “I had this plan before you got here and it’s hard for me. I mean, I’m afraid—”

I hate being honest. It feels gross.

“Anyway.” I swallow. “I am sorry.”

It was supposed to be a nice night.

Sneaking back into the auditorium is slightly more complicated than sneaking out, but we manage. We head over to the uncomfortable metal chairs lined against the wall and sit down. It’s hot, stuffy. I try and fail to spot Chris and Becky amid a throng of dancing students. Jake leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes.

The music goes fast, then slow.

“Want to dance?”

He opens his eyes. We’re back where we started.

“Sure.”

We dance. He wraps his arms around me and our foreheads touch and I decide this is the nice moment; this is what I’m allowed to have. I like the way he feels next to me, and if I were someone else I could be his girlfriend. And then I pretend to be her and tomorrow doesn’t worry me; two weeks from now doesn’t worry me. Everything is fine.

And then the dance ends.

When I get home, I realize the bracelet is gone. I imagine it slipping off my wrist in Chris’s car, in the lab, on the dance floor, on the ride back.

I cut off my hair.

seventeen

Evan steps into the entrance corridor like a ghost.

People pass him without a backward glance, none of them aware of this new old addition to the halls of St. Peter’s High. I watch—from a safe distance, of course—as he takes the school in like he’s never seen it in his life. His hair is short, clean-cut like before, like Chris said it would be, but he’s done nothing for his weight.

Leave.

I think it as hard as I can, but Evan’s skull is so thick it’ll probably never get through. Still.
Leave. You’re not wanted here.

I do not want you here.

My chest gets tight and I try to focus on all those techniques on the paper Jake gave me, but it doesn’t work because I don’t remember them, and besides, they’d never work. When my hands start shaking, I know I have to get away. I give Evan one last look and head in the opposite direction. So I can’t be around him at all; that’s fine. St. Peter’s is a big school. I could avoid him easily for the next few . . . months.

The bottle in my locker is begging me to open it.

But I want to graduate. I want to graduate.

“I want to graduate.”

I don’t mean to say it out loud.

“What?” Jake looks up from our landscape. “What did you say?”

“I want to graduate. It’s my new mantra.”

“Oh.” He turns back to the paper.

“No congratulations? It’s a very positive mantra for me.”

“Nope.”

Things you can’t do with someone without fucking up the weird enough relationship you already have:

1. Almost have sex with them in the school’s science lab.

2. Give yourself a really bad haircut?

Actually, I’m not sure the haircut has anything to do with it. He hasn’t said a word about it. Chris freaked, Becky laughed—she’s finally better looking than I am—but Jake, Jake was quiet. He’s been quiet. I can’t even pretend to know what he’s thinking about now and I hate that. It messes me up.

“Fadley! Gardner! In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ,
when
are you going to start painting that thing?”

I jump. Norton got us from behind. I turn and give him my sweetest smile, but he only raises one very unimpressed eyebrow at me. I think my haircut has actually compromised the manipulative properties of my face.

“You of all people should know real art can’t be rushed, Mr. Norton,” I say.

“If
that
is real art, Fadley,” Norton says, nodding at our paper, “then please direct me to that ravine so I can throw myself into it.”

Jake stares determinedly at our landscape. It’s not
that
bad.

“Art is subjective,” I remind Norton.

“That it is, Fadley. Nevertheless, I suggest you get a move on. Your landscapes are due at the end of this week.”

The room explodes. This is news to everyone. Jake’s mouth drops open and several students make a mad scurry to the supply cabinet to get more paint. I ignore the voice in my head telling me to vomit. I want to graduate. I want to graduate. I want to graduate. Or else I’ll be stuck here forever.

“Oh my!” Norton looks around the room in mock surprise and genuine delight. Old bastard. “Did I forget to tell all of you?”

“Okay, that’s it,” Jake says. “We need a plan and we need it now.”

“I can’t think,” I say. I really can’t. What if this is it? What if this is the stupid thing that keeps me from graduating? Unity, disparity. Unity. My fingers start tingling. I press my hands flat on the desk. Don’t think about it.

“Come on, Parker,” Jake says desperately. “Give me something, anything.”

“Jake, shut up. I can’t—”

“Why am I not surprised?” he snaps.

He wanders to the back for the paint, returning with five or six different colors, but by the time the period ends, neither of us has attempted a start.

I zombie-walk to the gym, completely forgetting about the chapel, and when I get there the cheerleaders are preparing to practice and Evan is preparing to play basketball and everyone sees me come in, so I can’t leave.

Chris walks over.

“How did you get here?”

“I walked,” I murmur, staring past him. I can’t lose sight. I have to fix it.

“Come on; let’s get you back inside. You can crash in my room.”

“No
—
” I blink and Jessie and the guy she’s with have gone. Disappeared. They were by the pool and now they’re not and I haven’t fixed it. I turn to Chris. “Where did they
—
where did they go?”

“Where did who go?”

“They
—
” And then this song starts up, really loud. I can’t think. If I can’t think, I can’t find Jessie; I can’t fix it. I have to find Jessie. “Chris, this music makes me feel like, it’s like
—
”