Second Helpings (12 page)

Uh-huh, I said, starting to regret my decision to try to make Mar-cus jealousI mean, show Marcus I wasnt affected by him anymore.

Len kept right on going. So my assumption that you thought that I was a new kid, and not someone who had benefited from Accutane, was far-fetched, a zebra on my part. See, I learned a lot of medical lingo this summer. I worked as an EMT because I want to go premed at Cornell and I thought it would look good on my applications if I got to see the bright lights and cold steel of emergency surgery

Len reminded me of a used ATV, one you had to kick-start a few times before the motor revved up. Once his words were up and running smoothly, he wouldnt stop until he sputtered out of gas.

This has been interesting, Len, but I gotta go. I started walking out the door, and Len trailed behind me, with Marcus following him silently, grinning like a snarky Buddha.

Man, I saw my fair share of fascinoma. There was one LOL with SOB

Marcus broke in between us, then gently slapped Len on the forehead with the heel of his palm. I noticed then that Marcuss white T-shirt had the word WEDNESDAY printed on it in black iron-on letters. It was a more true, less blue-black than that of the unreadable, tattooed Chinese characters that permanently embraced his bicep.

Um. AHEM! Thats his way of telling me that not everyone is clued into ER speak.

Then Len explained that LOL with SOB meant little old lady with shortness of breath, not laugh out loud with son of a bitch. When he took a breath to refill his tank, I seized the opportunity to excuse myself. I mean, this could go on forever.

Well, Len, I just wanted to tell you that you look Could I bring myself to say it? Len Levy, who started my streak of unrequited romances in fifth grade by not reciprocating my love in Pineville Elementary Schools Valentine exchange? Len Levy, who has served as my academic arch nemesis all these years? Len Levy, whose cystic acne was so out of control that it was difficult to look him in the face until now?

Marcus was looking at me, still chuckling to himself. That sealed my decision.

Great, I said. You look great.

Len opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Not even an Um.

Marcus never took his feline eyes off me. I know this because I was watching him, too. The entire time.

the seventh

Len and I were chosen PHSs Seniors of the Month for September. Our photo will grace the front lobby of our school for nine and a half months, which means it will acquire more graffiti than any of the other golden twosomes chosen for this illustrious honor. When you consider my competition, you can understand why I didnt mention it until now and wont mention it again.

I seized this opportunity at having Lens undivided attention. I was curious to hear about his makeover. And how hed spent his summer, and with whom.

Okay. A little bit of the reason I wanted to talk to Len was because of his new cuteness. Len was looking good, thats for damn sure. But he was still stiff, stuttering, sputtering Lena premed wanna-be with delusions of rock-and-roll grandeur, for whom the defining moment of his young life was Kurt Cobains suicide.

A whole helluva lot more of the reason I wanted to talk to him was to find out what was going on with Marcus. Len is Marcuss only real confidantand vice versa. Had he kept a low social profile? Had he successfully made it through his first sex-and-drug-free summer? Oh, and one more little thing. HAD HE SAID ANYTHING ABOUT ME ?!

Since his makeover rivaled her own, I knew Sara would take it upon herself to find out everything about Lens transformation from spotty to hottie, including his involvement with Marcus. I couldve relied on her spy skills, but I chose not to. I dont want to get back into the habit of relying on Sara for all my gossip needs, not this early into the school year. No. If I wanted the scoop on Marcus, Id have to find it out for myself, from Len. Knowing Lens conversational tendencies, I was well aware that going straight to the source would prove to be a rather inefficient method. And I was right. While we were waiting to have our picture taken, Len told me a few things I wanted to knowand a lot of things I didntin one long-winded sentence prompted by the simplest of questions.

What I Asked: How was your summer, Len?

What Len Said: [ Ahem !] My dermatologist prescribed Accutane, the most powerful drug for cystic acne (1) but not without a host of daunting side effects, including changes in mood, severe stomach pain, diarrhea, rectal bleeding, headaches, nausea, vomiting, yellowing of the skin and eyes, dark urine, (2) and increased photosensitivity, the last of which made it impossible for me to spend much time outdoors, so when I wasnt working on hits and gomers (3) I was in the basement with Flu (4) and the band formerly known as the Len Levy Four because once Flu joined the band (5), it was inaccurate and unusable (6) unless we were being ironic and wry, but the other band members never liked the original name (7) so now were called Chaos Called Creation, inspired by a line from one of Flus poems (8), and he writes a lot because he says its a positive way to channel the excess energy he used to waste on women and wine (9), as I like to put it (10), but Im speaking metaphorically since most of his former flings were under the age of eighteen and not technically women (11) and he was never really into alcohol and more into G-13 grade THC, but thats all in the past (12), which is good because we dont want to end up like every band on Behind the Music before we even get our first gig (13), so all in all Id say I had a perfectly productive summer, how about you?

What I Thought:

HHHH1. Too bad Accutane cant cure the bumps in his personality. Why would anyone go out of his way to remind everyone that his now-cute face used to be in a state of epidermal emergency? How could someone so hot be so socially retarded]

HHHH2. Christ. Is he a catch, or what? And I thought Id have to go back to Silver Meadows to find a guy with such a fascinating list of ailments .

HHHH3. More EMT-speak, 1 presume .

HHHH4. Who ?

HHHH5. Len calls Marcus Flu. Like a viral infection you cant shake until its good and done with you. Flu. Ha !

HHHH6. So Marcus joined the band? No shit .

HHHH7. No duh .

HHHH8. What?! Thats straight from the poem Marcus wrote me after the Dannon Incident! The one called Fall, in which he used Adam

and Eve and the Garden of Eden and other Creation imagery to tempt me into sin. Which meant sex! Marcus is still messing with my mind, even when Im not around.

HHHH 9. Women and wine? Did Marcus really say that? I mean, I dont doubt that hes been tempted by his favorite vices, but would he put it in those exact words ?

HHHH10. Aha! I knew it. Marcus wouldnt use a phrase like women and wine. Booze and broads maybe. Or nymphos and needles. But not women and wine. Thats too precious for him .

HHHH11. If they were little girls before Marcus got to them, they were women afterward .

HHHH12. When he says all, does he mean that Marcus has given up girls altogether? Or does he mean that hes given up recreational hobag banging as a way to pass the time, but is still interested in the female form ?

HHHH13. Who cares about your band? Answer my questions, damn you !

What I Replied: It was okay.

By the way, Marcus wore a T-shirt that said THURSDAY yesterday, and FRIDAY today. His new uniform, no doubt. Im going to see the entire school year, day by day, stretched out across Marcus Fluties chest. As if it werent interminable already.

the thirteenth

The day it happenedthe day the World Trade Center tragedy was captured on cameraI was too shocked, too numb, too afraid to write anything at all. Its been a few days now, and I know that I should at least try to write to sort out my feelings about all this.

But everything I think is wrong.

For example, I find myself feeling nostalgic for the post-Columbine crackdown of 99, back when the biggest threat to our safety was vengeance at the hands of hypothetical, pimple-faced Harris/Klebold copycats. A time known as Pineviles infamous No Tolerance era, which is best remembered for its short-lived edict that simultaneously outlawed wearing a beltbecause you could use it to choke a fellow studentand busting a sagbecause it glorified gang cultureforcing us to button our pants uncomfortably at our hips. Back when we were freshmen, and PHS was ranked last in the county academically but came out on top when it came to suspensions and expulsions. When a whopping 35 percent of the student body had been booted out for one wacky infraction or another. When we were routinely herded out of the building because another anonymous misanthrope had called in a bomb threat to get out of taking an exam he didnt feel like taking, threats moronically called in from traceable cell phones, but that still required football field evacuations while the police dogs sniffed for keg bombs made with kerosene, paper clips, and chewing tobacco, or whatever crafty suburban psychopaths supposedly used. When my biggest concern was not only having someone to sit with at lunch, but finding a bomb-scare buddy to chill with in the bleachers.

I know I sound callous and uncaring and cruel. But really, anyone with any sense knew that the average PHS dreg would never jeopardize losing his liquor store deposit by rigging a bomb out of a rented keg.

I cant believe Im making jokes at a time like this. And about Columbine , for Christs sake. What is wrong with me? Why do I have the compulsion to make jokes at a time when nothing should be funny? Why do I mock others for coping with this tragedy with sensationalized sentimentality, when my methods are far worse? Has my mind been so tainted by our culture of irony that Im incapable of feeling any real emotion? Is this my way of denying the depths of the horror of what happened?

Or am I just irreversibly fucked up?

the twenty-first

Other evidence that I am a seriously disturbed individual:

HHHH1. All students were encouraged to wear red, white, and blue clothing to show our solidarity. I complied the first day but stopped on Thursday because the denim and American flag aesthetic made us all look like we were in the chorus of a Broadway musical version of The Dukes of Hazzard .

HHHH2. When our football pep rally was canceled in favor of a candlelight vigil, I genuinely thought the latter would be more fun, anyway. This turned out not to be far from the truth.

HHHH3. Ive been glued to CNN, not because I want to see more disaster footage, but because I developed a little crush on one of the hunkier anchors. Last night I even had a dream about him in which he wore a Superman costume.

HHHH4. Im freaking out because I have to re-reconsider my college choices. If this had happened two weeks from now, I might have already sent my early-admissions application out and I would be screwed. Not like Im not screwed now. Because I had my heart set on Columbia, but obviously, NYC is out of the question now, and I have no clue where I want to go, or whether I want to bother going to college at all because I feel like the future isnt going to be there anymore, which makes no sense. This is all so small and self-absorbed that its beyond disgusting.

HHHH5. There is only one thing that has given me any sense of hope, and its not Oval Office rhetoric or stars-and-stripes patriotism or religious zealthe things that seem to be working for everybody else. Its something that probably isnt really happening at all. But in the past two weeks, I swear Ive caught Marcus looking at me. Its not a Can I borrow your pen? look. Its a Can we talk about this? look. The look I havent seen since December 31, 2000. Leave it to me to turn a national tragedy into fuel for my sexual daydreams. I am one sick mofo.

Haviland has already approached me about writing an essay about the impact of 9/11 for The Seagulls Voice . She thinks it will be cathartic for me and the student body. I know I should try to sort out my feelings by writing, but I dont know if I can. I doubt my ability to muster a socially acceptable response out of my twisted psyche. I told her that until I can guarantee something normal, Im better off not writing anything at all. This isnt an essay that airs all my petty grievances against Pineville High. This is World War III.

And she said, Thats exactly why you need to write, Jessica. Dont get me wrong. Your essays last year were impressive, thats for sure, but they were all, perhaps, too tightly focused on Pineville High. Dont you want to broaden your scope and take on global issues? Dont you see how your classmates would benefit from having world events filtered through the observant eyes of one of their peers?

Every time I hear myself described in relation to my peers, I cant help but crack up.

Dont you see how this would be a challenge, one that, if you dont mind me saying, you so greatly need to prevent complacency and boredom from making a waste of your senior year?

Haviland, like Mac, wants me to bust out of the snow globe. I dont think its a bad idea myself. But Im worried about taking a nasty blow instead of breaking throughwhen I hit the domes border head-on.

the twenty-ninth

I was feeling pretty hopeless when I was living in the most moneyed, peaceful, and trouble-free era in American history. So you can imagine how Ive been since 9/11.

Its affecting me on a physical level. Im awake for twenty-three and a half hours a day, but not really awake. Im kind of in a walking-sleep state that makes it impossible to do anything.