Second Helpings (11 page)

You never help when it comes to, like, the important stuff.

According to her definition of important , I couldnt agree more.

Bridget stood up, using her pale white hand to shield her eyes from the sun streaming through the window. She scanned the crowd, looking for the newly-skinny Skank. I remained seated and did the same. I found Sara within thirty seconds, but before I got around to pointing her out to Bridget, I discovered something far more disturbing.

Holy shit! Is that Manda wearing Scottys varsity jacket?

Bridget squinted her eyes in their direction. Skankier!

I couldnt read the name embroidered on the jacket, but from the way Scotty and Manda started plowing their tongues down each others throats, I think it was a safe bet that it was indeed Scottys wool-and-leather varsity jacket Manda was wearing on this ninety-degree, 10 tanning-index day. Somehow between last week and today, Manda had used her feminine wiles (aka her penile mastery) to nab His Royal Guy-ness, the Grand Poo-bah of the Upper Crust. Revolting.

I seriously think Im going to blow chunks, I said.

I thought you didnt, like, like Scotty anymore, Bridget said.

I dont, I replied. I never did like him as a boyfriend. But its just so sick that someone who once liked me, and wanted me to be his girlfriend, is now engaging in fluid exchange with Manda.

I still cant believe that he was my first and only ex-boyfriend. Of course, this was back in eighth grade, years before he became junior prom king, All-Shore point guard, and All-Around Cool Guy that he is today. I never really wanted to date him. Still dont. But when I saw him and Manda, I almost belly-flopped right out of the bleachers. Manda. I wonder if shell change her name to Mandy, to match up with the rest of his bimbocious girlfriends: Kelsey, Becky, Corey, Lindsey, and Tory. Ack. I didnt really know any of those girls, and that made their girlfriend status easier for me to take. Nevertheless, Scotty with Manda was too incestuous. I knew them both too well.

Ack.

I continued to freak out in this manner for the next half hour, until Bridget found a better source of distraction.

New hottie alert! she exclaimed, pointing to an intriguing guy on the opposite side of the gym. His hair is a deep, deep brown, a color I cant help but hope is a reflection of his deep, deep intellect. Its cut short on the back and sides, kept long on top, so it flops onto the wire-rims of his brainy specs. He possesses a subtle musculature, the kind you get from hiking alone for hours in the woods, not from pumping iron with a bunch of goons in the weight room, and a nervous smile he takes back as soon as he gives it away. Pale, perfect skin, not unlike that of the naked Nevermind baby swimming across his T-shirt, reaching for the dollar bill, taking the bait.

OOOH. My kind of cute. Geek cute, with an emphasis on the cute part. Yes, siree.

Oh, please let him be the new Honors Hottie Sara told me about. PHS has about a thousand students but seems much smaller. By the time youre a senior, you either know all nonfreshmen personally or know something about them that may or may not be true. Clearly, he wasnt freshman meat. No, Nirvana was fresh man meat. A transfer student from another district. Or maybe hes a confused foreign-exchange student who needs a native Jerseyan like myself to give him a glorious guided tour of the Garden State.

Mere milliseconds later, I didnt give one goddiggitydamn about reaching Nirvana anymore. Because next to this Honors Hottie, I saw

The person I had hoped to see in homeroom, but didnt, because our messed-up schedule had replaced some of the Ds-through-Fs with kids from all over the alphabet, reassigning some of the Ds-through-Fs (and one F in particular) to homerooms unknown.

I saw

The Boy Who Shall

Oh

Screw it.

SCREW IT. I GIVE UP.

My mind games arent working. Removing his name from my vocabulary has not removed him from my memory. This cognitive behavior therapy crap I read about in my Psych book is officially over. Done. And to prove it, I will say and write his name.

Marcus Flutie.

Thats when I saw Marcus Flutie.

There, I wrote it. I said it.

MARCUS FLUTIE! MARCUS FLUTIE! MARCUS FLUTIE!

Christ, that feels good. But not as good as if felt to lay eyes on him. I gasped when I saw him, sucking enough air into my lungs to suffocate everyone else in the stadium.

Oh, Jess, Bridget said. No.

Oh, Jess. Yes.

No, she said, quietly but firmly.

Yes.

Not Marcus Flutie again, Bridget said.

Yes. Marcus Flutie. Again. Andagainandagainandagainandagain-andagain.

His shirt-and-tie uniform had been replaced by a plain white short-sleeved T-shirt, with something too distant, too blurry for me to read printed across his chest. The summer sun had brightened his russet hair to a new-penny shade of copper, and hed grown out his buzz cut, so tufts rise off his scalp like a rooster. OOOH. Cock-a-doodle

Dont.

Cock-a-doodle-dont.

What is it about him that makes you, like, totally lose your shit?

I wish I knew. Its more than the late-night conversations we used to have about everything and nothing, the only thing besides running that helped calm me down and get a decent nights sleep. Its more than the way he seems to make things so complicated, yet helps me see things so clearly, like through new eyes. Its more than the fact that he is the only guy I have ever almost had sex with.

Its probably because I know there is no way we will ever be together.

Im supposed to remind you that you, like, hate him.

I like/hate him. I love/hate him. I love him. I hate him.

I hate him.

Bridget sighed. Yes.

Bridget is the only one at school who knows that I came thisclose to letting Marcus Flutie devirginize me last New Years Eve. Shes the only one here who knows that I didnt because he had the nerve to come clean about how his desire to sleep with me started out as a game, just to see if the infamous male slut of Pineville could bed the class Brainiac, then evolved into a genuine longing. Shes the only one who knows how I tortured myself every day afterward, wondering how I could have even considered sleeping with Marcus when he had been drug buddies with Hopes brother, and seemingly unapologetic about Heaths overdose. Shes the only one here who knows about the destroyed journal from the sick, obsessive second half of my junior year, the one that covered these Marcus-related issues (and many, many more) in psychotic detail. Shes the only one here who knows how, despite my guilt, and how tired I am of being toyed with,I cant stop thinking about him .

Ive made her promise not to tell anyone about any of these truths, and I know shell make good on it. What Bridget lacks in depth she more than makes up for in honesty. Bridget does not lie. That quality alone makes Bridget my closest PHS ally, which really isnt saying much because my options are quite limited.

How about this? Bridget said all of a sudden, with renewed vigor. Say everyone in the world had to be put in, like, one of two bins, a fat bin or a thin bin. Which bin would Sara be in?

This is going to be a very long year, indeed.

Marcus Flutie.

Ahhhhhhhhhh. I said it again.

Cock-a-dooodle-dooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

the fifth

Thanks to my new and improved messed-up schedulewhich now has one less gym, but one more study hallthe only period that comes close to resembling a real class is English with Havisham. (Damn. I mean Miss Haviland. Since I am well on my way to dying a virgin, I vow to make an effort not to make fun of her spinsterhood anymore.) A core of the normal honors group was still intact, but we were joined by at least a dozen other PHS students who had no business being there. Actually, we were the ones who had no business intruding on them , because according to the schedule, it was listed as a freshman basic-skills class and not senior AP. Whatever.

Haviland relished the opportunity to reach a wider and more varied audience than usual. Id barely had a chance to sit down before she climbed on her soapbox to deliver one of her famous orations. Specifically, her speech was about how whoever hacked into the schools computer system was obviously bright, yet our generation tends to use its brainpower for mischief, not good. Dont we see that our spoiled generation takes education for granted? That wisdom is your ticket around the world? That knowledge is power, and these lost days will have a devastating, long-lasting effect on our fragile teenage minds ?!

Im generally amused by Havilands acid flashbacks to her hippie protest days, but I was too distracted by the view to pay much attention. Haviland had finally abolished the alphabetical seating system, giving us the privilege of sitting wherever we wanted. And who should choose to sit right in front of me but Marcus, a development that, on principle, I refuse to waste any more words about. I just started writing his name again. I have to pace myself.

But who should choose to sit on the left diagonal in front of me but the new Honors Hottie, Nirvana. I thought it really couldnt get any better than that. I felt kind of bad for Nirvana, though. I mean, how many gyms and lunches were packed into his schedule? Furthermore, because this was our third year in a row with Haviland, she had dispensed with the usual back-to-school introductory garbage thats way boring to us veterans but would be essential for a newcomer. I thought that was rather insensitive of her. I made a note to go out of my way to introduce myself after class.

Im not a supporter of the militaristic zero-tolerance policies that are in vogue with school administrators right now, continued Haviland. But sometimes I worry that across-the-board punishment is the only way you people will develop a sense of responsibility or accountability for your actions. What do you all think about this?

Our class was surely thinking of how much we missed the days when all that was required of us on the first day of school were three paragraphs describing How I Spent My Summer Vacation.

I agree with you, Miss H, said Scotty. That zero-tolerance stuff is bullshit.

Why, Scott! I would be delighted if you elaborated.

Okay, Scotty elaborated. It sucks.

Mandawho was sitting behind himsqueezed his shoulders to celebrate her boyfriends profundity. While that exact line might settle some of Scottys fiercest locker-room debates, it wasnt going to pass muster with Haviland.

Why?

My ass got hazed when I was a freshman, he said. Now Im a senior. Im the captain, and its payback time.

Scotty paused, letting the significance sink like a cinder block in a swimming pool.

So zero tolerance sucks because I cant touch these freshman punks when they get out of line. I cant beat any sense into them, and its just not fair.

He leaned back into his chair and held up his palms so P.J. and the rest of Scottys disciples could high-five his brilliant contribution to the discussion. Scotty had successfully completed his transformation from jock to jerk-off. Manda quickly smooched the back of his neck. And to think I could have been his girlfriend as recently as a year and a half ago. Unreal.

For a few moments, Haviland stood motionless, undoubtedly counting up her sick days in her head, wondering if they would give her enough to retire now and still earn the maximum pension package.

Thankfully, the bell rang and everyone hopped up to head to the next nonclass. I decided it was the perfect opportunity to introduce myself to Nirvana. I would be first to welcome him to Pineville High. Plus, Marcus would see that his presence had no effect on my mental stability whatsoever. Whatsoever .

Hi! I said, in my best approximation of bubbliness. Im Jessica. Welcome to Pineville High.

Nirvana shot a confused look first at me, then at Marcus, who was hovering behind me.

Urn he stammered. Um. I

Wait a second. That monotone, shaky staccato

Um. Jess. Um. Its me. Um And.

Those shaky, nervous Urns that punctuate his incomplete sentences

Um. Len. Um. Levy. Um.

LEN LEVY???!!!

Jesus Christ! Nirvana wasnt the New Honors Class Hottie, he was the Old Honors Class Nerdminus the purple, pus-filled cysts, plus a new haircut. Through some dermatological miracle, hed been transformed into a porcelain-skinned cutie with a sartorial flair evoking the golden era of Grunge. Just as I made this discovery, I noticed Sara and Manda falling all over each other with laughter.

Omigod! Sara shrieked through her cackles. She totally fell for it!

Bitches. They set me up.

Len, I said, trying to compose myself. Im kidding. Of course I recognized you. I didnt mistake you for someone new. I was just, uh

There really wasnt a logical lie. Not one that I could come up with under Marcuss watchful eye.

Um, Len said.

Then he turned away, like he had to cough, then very deliberately cleared his throat, as if to hock up whatever blockage made him stutter. A-heh-heh-heh-hehmmmmmmm .

Sorry about the zebra, then. Thats intern lingo for an unlikely diagnosis. An old medical school saying goes, If you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.