Cracked Up to Be (9 page)

“Tragedy,” Jake says.

“Definitely,” I agree. “Were you popular at your old school?”

“Would you like me less depending on my answer?”

“Jake, I don’t think I could like you any less,” I assure him. “Besides, I know you were. Popular people give off pheromones only other popular people can pick up on. Chris really took a liking to you, so I put two and two together.”

“My best friend was the most popular guy in my old school,” Jake admits. “His name was Adam Jenkins.”

I don’t say anything.

“I didn’t necessarily want it,” he adds, like that’ll make me think more of him. “Why did you want to be popular?”

“Who says I wanted to be popular?”

“Please. You just said you worked your way to the top. Why?”

“Why does it matter?”

“I’m curious.”

“You should really do something about that.” I take Bailey’s leash back. “I thought it would be easier.”

Jake nods like he understands, but popularity is always different for guys—way less maintenance involved. It really
is
easier for them. And besides, I’m totally lying anyway. I didn’t want to be popular because it was easier; I wanted to be popular because in high school that’s the best thing you can be: perfect. Everything else is shit.

We keep walking and I wish he’d leave. Being on this street feels wrong. All these people, the cars flying back and forth—it’s like a scene out of a movie and I belong to it with Jake and the dog. It probably looks perfect to someone watching from the outside, but it really freaks me out, so I keep glancing up and down the street, hoping for an opportunity to ditch him. And that’s when I spot this familiar face outside Al’s Convenience Store and everything stops. Like time. Everything.

He looks terrible, gaunt. A male anorexic. Even from across the road, I can see the hollows of his cheekbones, and he’s slouched over and pale and his hair’s longer than he’d ever let it grow last year, like really long, like hanging-in-his-eyes long, and I don’t understand why he’s back. Why is he back and how soon before he leaves again?

“What are you staring at?” Jake asks, following my gaze.

“
Becky
.”

I grab her by the arm and pull her away from her group of parasite-girls, the ones that live to bask in her reflected popularity because they haven’t got a hope in hell of being popular themselves. It’s funny because that’s who Becky used to be.

“What the fuck, Parker?” She wrenches her arm from my grip and takes one look at my face. “This better not be about Chris or that stupid cheer, I’m warning you. You’ll be thrilled to know we’re not doing it—”

“Becky, shut up. Is Evan back?”

“Evan?”

“Yeah. Is he back?”

She stares at me.

“Goddammit, Becky, did you forget to turn your brain on today?”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” At least she knows when she’s being insulted. Chris sidles up and snakes his arm around her waist. “I don’t know if he’s back or not.”

She’s so useless. I press Chris’s math binder into his free hand.

“Thanks,” I tell him. “Hey, do you know if Evan’s back or not?”

“What was that?” Becky asks Chris. “Why did Parker have your binder?”

“It’s just math homework, Becky,” he says vaguely. “Is who back?”

“Ev-an,” I say slowly, and Chris gets this surprised look on his face—his eyebrow goes up and everything. He didn’t know.

“
Evan?
Haven’t seen him. Have you seen him?”

The lightbulb goes on over Becky’s head.

“You let her copy your math homework?!”

She totally screeches it. I’ve always had the worst urge to tell her about how we used to make fun of her at the squad sleepovers she couldn’t make. We’d up our voices nine octaves and say the most inanely stupid things because that’s Becky for you. She was the most expendable member of the squad and now she’s, like, Parker Lite.

She owes her magical senior year to me and she knows it.

“We’re not supposed to be enabling Parker like this!” Becky says. What an ingrate. “That’s what Grey and Henley called it—enabling! She uses you and you get nothing in return—”

“Oh, he got something,” I assure her.

“Parker, shut up—” Chris turns bright red and since he’s one of those people who like to make sure they do everything to the best of their abilities, especially the stupid stuff, he blows it: “You weren’t supposed to say anything!”

Becky does a quadruple take and figures out what that means to the best of
her
abilities. She’s probably decided we’ve had sex. Close enough.

“Fuck both of you,” she spits, and storms off.

Jeez. Chris closes his eyes and brings a hand to his temple.

“So anyway,” I say, “I was just walking down Victoria Street yesterday and I think I saw Evan outside of the—”

“Shut up, Parker,” Chris says, strained. “Just shut up.”

He chases after Becky.

We come downstairs looking like two people who’ve spent the last thirty minutes having sex. Chris insists on it because the basketball team has to know he’s getting laid, so his hair is sticking up all over the place and the buttons on my shirt are strategically undone. Like any of the wasters on the team will notice, never mind the fact it’s going to be the first thing he tells them
.

The house is filling up with people from school. I spot a few girls from the squad, but they won’t look at me because of what happened at practice earlier
.

Chris grabs some of his buddies and gets to work on the tunes. In the minutes before the sounds of the latest popular white rapper start playing, I wind my way through the house and spot Evan in the kitchen, already working on some shots with Jenny Morse, who is not his girlfriend. This wouldn’t matter if they were just doing shots, but after he passes a slice of lime to her they start kissing
.

I clear my throat and they part fast
.

“Parker,” Evan says nervously. He runs a hand over his prickly black hair and holds out a bottle of vodka and a shot glass. “Uh—shot?”

“All students will proceed to the auditorium for a special assembly.” Henley’s voice crackles over the PA. “All students to the auditorium for a special assembly.”

“Hi,” Jake says, sitting beside me. For a second, I’m reminded of Bailey. “This is about the missing girl, isn’t it?”

“What was your first clue, the mounted picture onstage?”

We are, in fact, skipping art for an assembly about the missing girl. There’s a mounted picture of her onstage next to the podium, which is waiting for Henley. Rows of hard plastic chairs have been halfheartedly arranged in the center of the room and I’ve chosen a seat near the back and Jake has chosen the seat next to it.

This is the second assembly we’ve had for Jessica Wellington since she disappeared. First we pray to Jesus and ask him for her safe return, next Henley says a bunch of nothing platitudes, then Jessica’s friends take the mic and share their favorite memories of her and then we pray again and then we’re dismissed. Student Council hands out white ribbons in Jessica’s honor at the door, so we never forget.

I look around the room. The auditorium is filling quickly. Everyone’s talking in quiet voices on their way to their seats. Something about it makes me feel queasy.

Too many people.

“Chris is really pissed at you,” Jake says. “He won’t say why. What’d you do?”

“Nothing.”

I inhale. How can the auditorium be only half full and have all the air gone from it like that? I’m not getting any air. As students continue to mill into the auditorium, it gets smaller and smaller and my heart beats this insane rhythm in my chest. I rub my palms on my skirt. They’re sweaty. I really can’t breathe. No, I can.

I just think I can’t.

Everyone’s in. The teachers line up on either side of the walls, ready to shush us should the need arise. The lights overhead dim, but the stage remains bathed in an eerie golden glow. I take a few short breaths in and bring my hand to my chest because I’m afraid my heart is going to pop out of it. The tips of my fingers are tingling.

I close my eyes.

“Are you okay?”

I ignore Jake and exhale. Breathe in. Breathe out. That’s how you take care of these things, isn’t it? In. Out. Again. Slowly. I’ve read it. Deep breaths. But what do you do when there’s no air? When you’re sucking in everyone else’s stale breaths?

What if I really
can’t
breathe?

“Wait, this is a test, isn’t it? And if I ask if you’re okay, it’s because I have a thing for girls who are all vulnerable because they make me feel like a macho man, right?”

I stand up so fast the back of my chair flies into the knees of the person behind me. They throw whispered insults my way and Jake stares at me, surprised. Henley strides across the stage and I stumble past Jake and down the row of teachers, some mangled explanation about having to go to the bathroom falling off my lips. And then I finally,
finally
burst through the doors to the hall and when I take that first breath in all I can think is
air
because I’m dying for it, gasping for it, and I can’t stop.

Henley’s voice floats into the hall.

“I’ve called this assembly today to pray for Jessica Wellington’s safe return home. As more time passes, I know—as you all know—the outcome seems grim. But there is something else I know: If we put our hands together and appeal to God, we have a chance.
She
has a chance.”

I end up on the floor, resting my head on my knees and trying to block out Henley’s voice while I wait out my spastic heartbeat.

I focus on taking even breaths in and out.

“Wow. You’re actually not okay.”

“Would you quit stalking me? It’s creepy.”

I force myself up and brush off my skirt. In. Out. In. Out. My heart is starting to feel more normal, which means it’s going away. Good.

“Sit down if you need to,” Jake says. “I won’t hold it against you. And I’m not stalking you. Grey told me to see if you were all right. It wasn’t one of the most subtle exits ever.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter. “It’s like some kind of claustrophobia. When I’m in a room with a bunch of stupid people like you, I get a little overwhelmed—”

“How were you
ever
popular?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to get Ms. Grey or a teacher or something?” he asks, awkward. “Or walk you to the nurse’s? What do you usually do when you have a panic attack?”

“That’s not what it was,” I say quickly, but he’s skeptical. “Just forget it. I’m going to skip out on the assembly. Tell Grey I have really bad cramps, okay?”

Jake makes a face. “Gross! I’m not telling her about your feminine problems—”

“Don’t be such a sissy!” I snap. “Just do it and your chances of getting into my pants increase tenfold.”

I turn my back to him and start down the hall.

“Hey, wait! It’ll be lunch soon! Am I gonna see you in the gym?”

I think of Becky and Chris glaring at me from opposite ends of the court and I don’t have the energy to deal with that right now.

“No.”

Later that night I find myself at Chris’s again, except this time, on my way to the woods, I somehow manage to knock the top off this cement bird fountain and the sound it makes when it hits the driveway is awful. I dart out onto the street and I never look back, but I swear I hear Mr. Ellory open the front door and shout, “Who’s there?”

nine

Chris and Becky are still furious with me. They won’t look at or speak to me and
, I won’t lie, I feel pretty accomplished about it. Somebody give me a gold star.

Word around the halls is they’re not totally broken up yet, just on a break. And I suspect word around the halls is I had something to do with it, because nothing else explains the dirty looks I’m getting from the cheerleading squad and the basketball team.

I guess that means I’ve almost arrived.

“So I was looking at the Honor Roll plaques,” Jake is saying. Art again. He’s making amazing progress on our landscape, and wouldn’t you know it, he’s actually kind of gifted at this drawing thing. I’m still tracing the same rocks. “And you know what name kept showing up? At least for the last three years?”

“Hmm.” I pretend to think about it. “Parker Fadley?”

“Not only that, you were on the Honor Roll
with distinction
. What does that mean? I’ve never been on the Honor Roll before.”

“It means I was better than perfect.”

“And modest. Must’ve worked pretty hard to get there, huh?”

“I worked my ass off.”

He nods and goes back to filling in the ravine with his pencil. A couple of minutes pass and I wonder what he’s getting at.

“That’s it?” I ask. “Aren’t you going to ask me what happened or how I went from top to bottom in such a devastatingly short amount of time?”

“Were you really making out with Chris in the change room? And that’s why he and Becky are on a break?”

“Maybe,” I say. “Hey, that wouldn’t be why Chris isn’t in art today, would it? He’s not off somewhere crying about it, is he?”

Before Jake can answer, a burst of static and white noise fills the room. Everyone quiets and the secretary’s voice explodes over the PA.

“Mr. Norton, would you please send Parker Fadley down to the guidance office?”

“You heard that, Fadley,” Norton says. He gives me this look like I’ve done something wrong, but that’s okay, since it
is
the only reason I ever get called down to the office anymore. “Get down there.”

I grab my books and make my way out of the room, Jake’s eyes on me as I go.

“
It’s not Friday—
”

I stop talking as soon as I enter the office. This is unexpected: Grey and Henley are sharing space behind Grey’s desk and both of them look superformidable.

But even more unexpected than that is Chris.

He’s sitting in a chair in the corner looking so guilty I know I’ll have to kill him when this is over.

I force a winning smile at all three of them.

“What’s the occasion?” I ask.