Nature of Jade (22 page)

The next day at school, with my thoughts on Sebastian, I catch Ben Nelson checking me out, and in Spanish, I have an unexpected encounter with Jacob Leeland, manic pothead. Another rule of life is that if you are a decent and hardworking student, you will pay for it by always getting placed by your teachers next to some hyperactive headline-of-the-future. Your reward for your responsible and respectful behavior is to be "a role model"--basically, babysitting junior borderline criminals. You will have the honor of putting up with them rolling pencils at you, cheating off your tests, throwing paper clips, borrowing your pens (which they never give back), and sitting in a reeking cloud of marijuana or cigarette smell, the haze of which drifts around their jackets like fog in a field on a cold morning.

Jacob Leeland is one of those. Senora Kingslet always pairs us up, primarily so Jacob can at least get a decent grade on the stuff we do in class, and we are supposed to be developing a dialogue that would take place in a restaurant. Our conversation goes something like this: Me: So, you're the waiter, and you say: {Queusted tiene gusto de ordenar, Sehorita? (What would you like to order, Miss?)

198

Jacob: Do you find me attractive? Me: Huh?

Jacob: Do you? I think you're hot.

Me: (Pause) So, anyway, then I can say something like: Quisiera los pescados, por favor. (I'd like the fish, please.)

Jacob: You didn't answer my question. We'd be a cute couple (scoots closer).

Me: (Scoots away) Then you say: Cualquier cosa? (Anything else?) Jacob: Does that mean, no, you don't find me attractive?

Me: You're a nice person, Jacob, but. . .

Jacob: Sure. (Sulks.) So where'd you get that shirt? My girlfriend would like it.

At lunch, we stay at school for once, sit on the benches outside since no one feels like going anywhere and Akello and Michael are broke. Jenna bows her head over her tuna sandwich.

Hannah and Kayla squeal over their shared Cheetos bag, and Michael and Akello and I study for our AP Government test and eat Michael's Corn Nuts. I look up and watch the crowds, who remind me of cows--if one lies down, they all do. If one is standing, they all are standing. I have this ache inside. My insides pulling with a desire for too-salty chili in a bowl and a rocking houseboat and my feet in someone's lap. I belong there, and suddenly this bench in its plot of grass is the place I don't know, somewhere I've never been, and these people are the ones that seem like strangers.

"Come on, Delores." "I told you, no."

"I'm not saying you have to do anything. Just come with

199

me. Come out. I promise you, you're not making some kind of decision. You're just looking. See?

Beverly is here to sell tickets. She can spare you for a sec."

Delores pretends to study her seek-and-find word book. Then she smacks her pencil down on the page. "Just to look."

"Okay, great! That's so great."

"Don't sound so excited. I'm only doing this to shut you up." Delores leans for her purse, then turns the handle inside her booth. I never realized there was a handle. It's the first time, actually, that I've ever seen her out of the booth. She steps out, shuts the door. She's a little shorter than I am, has those jeans with the huge back pockets that cover a wide, flat rear end. She wears tennis shoes and an orange sweatshirt and her big ASK ME zoo button. She carries her purse in her left hand, the one that sports one of those watches that have circles of various, removable colors. I notice gold hoop earrings peeking from her short, white-blond hair. She's a real person with a real life, and that seems like a surprise. I wonder what she does when she's not here. If she watches sports on TV or likes to cook. It reminds me of the time some little kid in the viewing area asked me if I lived at the zoo.

"Look at you," I say.

"What?" Delores says.

"You're out."

"Make it snappy," she says.

"I'm going to take you into the house first," I say. "But, warning--it smells kind of strong in there."

"I used to work in a hospital," she reminds me.

Delores's walk is efficient. I have to work to keep up with her. We go around the back, where Damian's office is, and the staff

200

quarters. Then I bring her through to the stalls. Rick Lindstrom and Damian are washing Chai, who lolls on one side and rolls and sneezes like Milo on the lawn. Damian grins at Delores.

"I'm looking," she says to Damian. "That's all."

"Just look, then."

"Let's go out to the yard," I say.

I can see Tombi and Onyx out by the water, and Hansa near the viewing area. When she sees me, she ambles over. "Ambles" is not quite right for Hansa--she's actually quite fast. Hansa and I are special pals.

"They're rather . . . large." Delores says.

"Don't be nervous," I say. "The trick is to be the boss. Hey, I'm the most worried person in the world, and I handled it. It's a little intimidating at first, but trust me, if I can do it, you can. Come here, you," I say to Hansa.

Hansa stops near us and sniffs around to see if I've brought her any fruit or treats. "Sorry, girl," I say. I rub her side, and reach my palm for her to snuffle her trunk in. "Put your hand out," I tell Delores.

"Forget it."

"Honestly, it's okay."

"Oh, my God," Delores says.

"See?" I say. "I was so scared at first."

"Oh, shit," she says. She squeals a little when Hansa smells her palm.

"We should have brought some watermelon," I say.

"She's really cute, though," Delores says.

"Everybody loves her, except Onyx. There's Onyx. Over there. Not her best side." We're looking at Onyx's huge, saggy ass and her tiny tail, twitching from side to side. Funny thing is, I can almost

201

picture Onyx in those same wide-pocket jeans Delores is wearing.

"She's really huge." Hansa is sniffing Delores's sweatshirt.

"But she's sad. Her anger is just too much sadness with nowhere to go."

Hansa's trunk is everywhere. In my hair, on Delores's shoulder. "You're a pest," I say.

Delores pats Hansa's side, like I do. "It's softer than I thought," she says.

"I know it. Like rough leather." I see that Damian has appeared in the enclosure to watch us.

"Let's meet Onyx," I say.

"All right."

Delores follows me through the yard, looking over her shoulder as if she's in a rough neighborhood. We approach Onyx from the front. Onyx can still make me a little nervous, and I'm glad Damian is nearby. Still, it's so important not to let the elephants feel your uncertainty that I force myself to shake off any fear.

"Onyx, you big softie. Meet Delores."

"Hello," Delores says formally.

"Now you must blow in her trunk, like this." I show her. "It's a handshake. An official greeting.

Once you do, she'll never forget you."

I hold Onyx's trunk out to Delores, and she blows inside. Delores looks at Onyx and Onyx looks at Delores. "It's a pleasure," Delores says after a while. Here's what passes between them: the look of a couple of older women who have seen things in their day.

"Let me think about this," Delores says as we head back. "Don't go taking that as an encouraging response. I'm only thinking."

"You won't regret it," I say.

202

"You did a wonderful job," Damian says to me afterward. He is outside with Onyx and Flora. "It is like the car salesman trick, you see? Once you drive the car, you will want to buy it." "You think?"

"I know. An elephant is impossible to resist. Look at that face," he says to Onyx. "What are they saying, those eyes?"

"They are saying, T want to be with Delores,' right, Onyx?"

Damian chuckles. "Those eyes know things."

I haven't even changed into my overalls yet, so I head back to the elephant house to do that.

When I hang up my coat, I hear my phone ringing in the pocket. By the time I fumble around and get it out, I miss the call. But the words on the screen make my heart lift. ARMCHAIR BO the screen says. I press the call button, trying to wrestle my backstage mind, which is barreling in with thoughts and what-ifs. Tombi is making a happy racket in the house, so I go outside, lean my back against the building.

"Armchair Books."

"Sebastian? It's Jade. I just missed your call."

"Hi," he says.

"Hi."

"I'm so glad to hear you." The tension that had risen in me like one of the waves in Riding Giants crashes and breaks into relief. "Me too."

"I was calling ... I wanted to apologize for Tess. Can you hang on a minute?" "Sure."

The phone clunks onto the counter and I hear Sebastian's voice far away, speaking to another man. Then he's back.

203

"That was so weird," he says softly. "This guy, he looked like an escaped con and wanted a book on puppetry."

"Do you have one of those buzzers on the floor, like they do at the bank in case of robbery?"

"I wish. Anyway, Tess ... I know she saw you. I hadn't told her about you yet, and I know she overreacted. ..."

"She just made it clear where she stood." A peanut shell is in the dirt on the ground, and I send it into a figure eight with the toe of my shoe.

"You always know where you stand with Tess. She's a good person, really, she's just worried about me. We got in an argument. She's repenting. Told me to ask you over here to dinner so she could meet you."

"Is that what you want?" I was wondering if it might be easier to roll around in some raw hamburger and visit the Bengal tiger, but, hey.

"I do. I mean, I'd really like you to know each other. I guess, actually, it's important to me. If it's okay with you. Is this . . . too much, too fast?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Well, great. Next Saturday? Are you free? Six? I'm not working."

"No, that's great. Great."

"Great," he says. "That was a lot of greats."

"It sure was."

"You should see who's standing in your gardening section now. Pierced lip, tattoo going up his arm. Some kind of dagger. Very Seattle. Oops, gotta go."

"Next Saturday."

"Bye."

204

"Bye."

We hang up, and I'm filled with excitement/loss. The happiness at his company, the sadness that his company is gone. But the sadness turns out to be unnecessary. A few hours later, after Armchair Books has closed, my phone rings again.

"I just thought you might want to know that I wasn't robbed after all," Sebastian says.

Glee is such an old-fashioned word. A corny one, but that's what my heart feels--the equivalent of every corny, ridiculous, gleeful scene. I'm the living embodiment of those musicals where people break into song at monumental moments, of square dancers twirling in bright, ruffled skirts, of glittery snow on Christmas cards.

"I'm so glad," I say.

"And the pierced guy bought All About Bulbs."

We talk into the night. After that, he calls every night of the week before our Saturday date.

When Mom asks, I tell her it's Michael with girl problems. Poor Michael's got a lot of girl problems lately, and poor me, I have to sit there and listen. When Sebastian calls, I get comfy, cross-legged on the floor, keep my voice low to keep from disturbing anyone--okay, to keep from anyone knowing how late we actually talk. Sebastian calls when he's stocking books. I picture him with the phone crooked between his shoulder and his ear, working in that cozy room with the faux flame in the fireplace. Occasionally, he drops me when he reaches a high shelf.

There's a huge crashing clunk and then Sebastian's voice, far away--"Jade! God, just a sec! I'm here! Don't go anywhere!" And then he returns, his voice loud again. "Are you all right? Are you still in one piece?"

We talk about his customers and my school day, books

205

we've read, some movie, a dog he used to have--small stuff. Then about God and the universe and why we're here--the biggest. One night, it becomes so late that we reach the hour where the rules and bindings drop away, where it's just the raw, feral pieces under all the rational ones.

Sebastian confesses that he's always been afraid of things with wings--bats and birds and cicadas.

I confess that I've been afraid of everything. I tell this to the darkness of my room, instead of to the boy on the other end of the phone. Abe says not to be ashamed, we all have anxiety to some degree, but sometimes I still am ashamed.

Sebastian asks questions--gentle, past-midnight questions. He has some knowledge of anxiety, from a friend of his. He tells me it's okay, that everyone has something to struggle with. Okay--

that's all that really matters.

It is a few nights after that, just before our scheduled dinner date with Tess, that I see Sebastian on the webcam in the elephant viewing area. We'd just hung up--he was heading home, he'd said.

It is late, so he has snuck in again. It feels wrong to be watching him now that we know each other, but I do it anyway. I lie on my bed, my head propped on my hand, as he sits on the bench, his legs crossed in front of him. His own hands are folded under his chin, and he is still there after a long time. And then he bends his head down, forehead on his hands, and I realize what he is doing. He is praying.

This is not a place he has invited me to. I turn off the screen. I sit back down on my bed, watch the green light of the computer glow. In my mind, I take Sebastian's hand, hold his head against my chest and comfort him.

206

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Animals can form kinship relationships with species not their own. In a Thailand zoo, a dog has raised three tiger cubs, and now resides with her "children"--three full-grown tigers and her own pup. Should the tigers be returned to their "own kind," however, their own kind would likely be viewed as some strange, alien, other. It is the dogs that are family . . .

--Dr. Jerome R. Clade, The Fundamentals of Animal Behavior

"I was hoping you'd be home tonight," Mom says. "I've hardly seen you lately."

"I thought you wanted me to get more involved in the social stuff," I say. Mom is unloading groceries. I get the happy what's-in-the-bag excitement that comes when someone's just gone shopping, especially since she hadn't been in so long. I peek in, hunt around for something worth the enthusiasm and only find plastic bags of broccoli and bananas and lettuce. Diet food--what a letdown.