Second Helpings (14 page)

Len cleared his throat, as is his custom, the signal that the babble was about to begin. Not as perfect in its simplicity as Flus days-of-the-week thing that he has going, but it is a fashion statement in the truest sense of the word. Did you know that Einstein wasnt a good student? In fact I doubt that he would have been voted Class Brainiac, because his teachers thought he had a learning disability, which is really ironic

I get it, I said, cutting him off.

I get very impatient with his blathering. Once he gets started, he cant stop. Its best just not to get him started at all. So we stood there for a moment not speaking, which is the way I like it with Len. When Len isnt speaking, I can just gaze upon his hotness and begin to forget that hes Len. I can get close to convincing myself that hes this totally new cool, smart, and geek-cute guy, but as soon as he opens his mouth: Same old Len.

This is getting to be a habit with us. You know, first the Seniors of the Month photo, now this. I have a feeling that there are going to be a lot of pictures of you and me together in the future. Um. Um. Um. He suddenly got all tongue-tied. Um. I mean, that you and I will be winning all the big awards throughout the year and will be asked to pose with each other a lot and so we should just um

Mercifully, Haviland intervened. Brainiacs, up! Most Likely to Succeed, on deck!

For Brainiacs, Len and I were surrounded by textbooks. This was funny, since I get all my work done in study hall and havent lugged home a textbook since my sophomore year.

Smile! the photographer urged.

We smiled.

Most Likely to Succeed, up! Nonconformists, on deck!

Thats us, said Len and I, simultaneously.

Most Likely to Succeed, said I.

Not Nonconformists, said Len.

No kidding, quipped the photographer, dripping with sarcasm.

For Most Likely to Succeed, we held a blow-up globe over our heads, which I suppose represents our inevitable world domination.

Smile!

We smiled.

Um. Jessica. Do you?

Nonconformists, up! Haviland shouted.

Where was Marcus, anyway?

Um. Jessica?

I turned to Len. Uh, what? Im sorry.

Hows your. Um. Cross-country season going. And?

Ugh. It sucks. I suck.

Um. Do you have a meet on Saturday. Or?

Yeah. Every Saturday. I hate it. It sucks. I suck.

Um. Because I. Um

Nonconformists, youre up! Come on, Nonconformists!

K8linnn Maxxxwellwho had her name legally changed to this Nonconformist spelling over the summerhopped around the auditorium on her Nonconformist pogo stick, looking for Marcus.

Tra-la-la! Tra-la-la! she sang, her Nonconformist catchphrase. Tra-la-la! Ill find Marcus!

Um, Jessica?

Nonconformists, where are you? shouted Haviland, louder than before.

Where was he?

K81innn boinged over to Haviland, the bells on her Nonconformist jesters cap a-jangling.

Marcus isnt here, she said, gritting her teeth, which were cov ered in Nonconformist neon-green orthodontia. He didnt show up. Tra-la-la.

I damn near peed my pants I was laughing so hard. Now, thats a Nonconformist for you.

I was about to say as much to Len, but when I turned to face him, he had vanished, too. But Lens disappearance didnt disturb me at all. I was thinking about Marcus. Where was he?

Where is Marcus?

Why cant I stop myself from asking?

the seventh

In case you were wondering how my cross-country season is going, I still suck.

Suck, suck, suckity suck suck.

I suck worse than I did last spring. Ive sucked about as badly as a nonparaplegic can suck at the sport of cross-country running. Last year I won the Juniors division at the Eastland Invitational. I won by eleven seconds, which doesnt sound like a lot, but it is. Today, on the same course, against all the same girls, I ran forty-two seconds slower than I did last year. I came in twenty-third place! Twenty-third! The only upside to my suckiness is that the paper only prints the names of the top twenty finishers, so my humiliation isnt a matter of public record.

After I crossed the finish line, I curled up into a fetal position on the grass with my eyes closed, contemplating how much I suck, and how much I couldnt wait for the season to be over, how much I dreaded indoor track season, and spring track season. Then I thought about how much I couldnt wait until college because only then would I be free from all this torture, which sent me into a panic, since I still have no idea where I want to go.

I didnt see my father, camcorder in hand, having just documented the race for Notso Darlings Agony of Defeat , Vol. 5, but I felt his presence, like a cold shadow after the sun disappears behind a storm cloud. The gray behind my eyes went black and a chill shot straight through me to the bone.

Dad, dont say a word.

I dont know how many more of these disasters I can take.

You would think that in light of 9/11 he wouldnt be throwing around words like disaster . But to him, my performance really was a disaster, which is really messed up.

I just dont know. he grumbled again.

I knew the answer to that question: None. I couldnt take any more pain and suffering all in the name of preserving my honor as a mighty Pineville High Seagull. Screw it. I was done.

You wont have to worry about it anymore, Dad, because I quit.

I couldnt believe I said it. Neither could he.

You what ?

I quit, I said. Im done with running. It hurts too much.

But the orthopedist said that you should be fine.

He thought I meant my busted leg, so I didnt bother to correct him.

Well, its not. I tried and I failed and I dont see the point in trying anymore.

Then what the hell are you going to do?

I dont know, I replied, without looking up or opening my eyes. Not this.

When the darkness lifted, I knew he was gone. The wind shifted, then lifted the familiar, pungent scent of Chanel No. 5 into the air.

Jessie

I looked up and saw my mom, just as I had expected to, but she had someone with her, which I hadnt smelled coming at all.

Um. Hi, Jess.

Len had come to see me run. No one came to cross-country meets unless they had to. My first reaction was shock, followed by my second reaction, which was total and utter embarrassment, both over my performance and my sweaty, grimy appearance. This led to my third reaction, which again was shock. Why would I care about my performance or appearance in front of Len?

Len was telling me that hed been to every other type of sporting event but a cross-country meet and wanted to see for himself what it was like, so he could round out his Pineville High experience. Isnt that right, Len?

Len nodded and my mom kept right on going.

Especially after talking to you about it when getting your yearbook photos taken last week. Arent you two the high achievers? Len told me that hes applying to Cornell. Hes just waiting for his last round of SAT scores. Isnt that wonderful?

My mom had taken an instant liking to Len. Not only was she talking our ears off, but she kept patting down her hair, making sure each expensive golden strand was in place. Shes thrilled whenever any male shows the vaguest interest in her younger daughter, as it brings her just the teensiest bit closer to planning her next wedding extravaganza.

I only wish that you were so organized. I told him that you had narrowed it down to Amherst, Piedmont, Swarthmore, and Williams. She turned her attention to Len. I dont know why shes waiting until the last minute to apply, Len, dear. Honestly. Ive told her to apply to them all and make her decision based on who gives her the biggest scholarship.

While my mom babbled (something she and Len have in common), Len gave a sympathetic shrug. I could tell from his reaction that his mom must do the same exact thing to him.

It was my first cross-country meet, he said, cutting someone else off for a change.

Thats funny, I replied, because its my last.

What?! asked Len and my mom.

Im quitting. I mean, I quit, I said, switching to a verb tense with more finality. I dont want to do this anymore. I dont want to spend another second on this field, so lets go.

Len and my mom wore strangely identical expressions of gaping-mouth shock.

Len, thanks for coming to witness my last moments of agony. I got up and limped toward the car.

See you in. Um.

Mom, lets go, I said, my back to both of them.

My dad had opted to ride home with Coach Kiley to discuss in detail all the things that were wrong with me. Unlike my dad, who doesnt even bother trying to engage me in any non-running related conversation, my mom frequently tries to force touching mother-daughter momentsusually when were trapped alone together in an automobile. The fundamental problem with this ritual is that she all too often relies on the stuff of which her Blonde Bond with Bethany is made: boys, dating, shopping, and, uh boys. So any bonding between us is short-term and ill-conceivedlike trying to rebuild the World Trade Center with Popsicle sticks and edible elementary-school paste. Thus:

Len is so cute! And smart! Cornell! Ivy League! You should have invited him over our house!

I didnt want him over our house, I replied.

And why not? she said.

I just dont.

What is your problem? she asked, strangling the steering wheel. Why do you reject every cute catch who comes your way? First Scotty, then that nice boy Marcus who took you out on New Years Eve and we never saw again

I started thinking about that nice boy who took me out last New Years Eve. If my mom had any clue that I almost became his forty-somethingth sexual conquest in the backseat of his 1979 fossil-burner, she wouldnt think he was so nice, now, would she?

But Len is so cute, Jessie. And smart! Cornell! Ivy League! she repeated, like a TV pitchwoman. I bet he makes his mom proud.

I bet he does. His mom is so lucky to have such a great kid, isnt she?

I was starting to get dizzy.

Thats not what I meant, Jessie, and you know it, she said, her face hard and lined like a walnut shell. All of a suddenFLASH!her eyes popped and her face brightened with a lightbulb memory. Wait a minute! Is this the same Len Levy you had a crush on in elementary school?

I groaned. I really wasnt feeling well.

The one you gave a Valentine in fifth grade, but didnt give you one in return?

I was sweaty but cold.

Thats why you arent giving him the time of day! Revenge for being rejected! Well, Jessie. Let me tell you this, revenge wont get you a date to Homecoming.

So it went for the rest of the trip. I didnt hear much, though, because her voice was drowned out by the sound of my blood pulsing through my skull. When we got home, I ran straight to the bathroom and threw up.

It was probably dehydration, or overexertion and lack of sleep. For a few seconds, I actually wished it was carbon monoxide poisoning. Anything not to be subjected to a car ride home like that again.

the twelfth

Sara thinks I quit the cross-country team because I havent had a boyfriend since eighth grade and Im tired of being mistaken for a lesbian.

Omigod! Not that I think youre a quote muff bumper unquote , she said in homeroom this morning. I know all about your quote undying love unquote for Paul Parlipiano. She paused long enough to chew on a yellow Swedish fish. Then again, he is gay, which makes him the perfect quote beard unquote , doesnt it? She popped another piece of candy into her huge gob, the same mouth I wanted to fill with a boxing-gloved fist.

Sara, Im so happy to see you eating, I replied, sweet as the cherry gummy fish she held between her fingers. Youre obviously comfortable enough with your body not to worry about putting the weight back on. Good for you. I clapped lightly.

That was mean, I admit. But it shut her up. Bonus: She gave me the unfinished school of Swedish fish left in the bag.

I shouldnt have been surprised that Sara of all people would offer an opinion, as Sara prides herself on knowing everything about everyone. It turns out that me quitting the cross-country team is already a very big deal, and people who dont ordinarily offer their amateur analyses are having no problem sharing them.

A Collection of Theories

About Why Jessica Darling

Quit the XC Team

EVEN THOUGH SHE IS A SENIOR CAPTAIN AND FOUR-YEAR VARSITY VET

And Senior Captains and Four-Year Varsity Vets Just Dont Quit Right in the Middle of the Season, Goddammit!

Scottys Theory:

Females arent meant to be athletes. Unless theyre hot, like Anna Kournikova. But who the fuck cares? Its not like the star player on the football squad quit.

Comment:I definitely agree with the Who the Fuck Cares? aspect of his otherwise sexist analysis. Though I dont think my weakness is an inherent female thing; its just something wrong with me.

Mandas Theory:

Whatever Scotty said, by default. She might have expressed her own point of view, a feminist take that would have been diametrically opposed to Scottys, if she had taken a moment to remove his cock from her mouth.

Comment:That is probably the crudest thing Ive ever written. It is also one of the truest. Scotty represents everything Manda hates in malesand vice versa. Sex is the only thing they have in common.

Lens Theory:

I quit the team to devote more time to my studies so I can beat him out as valedictorian.

Comment:I had much pleasure informing him that it would require absolutely no extra effort on my part to kick his academic ass.

Marcuss Theory:

???

Comment:None. None at all. Okay, maybe one comment No, Jess. No. NO COMMENT.

Bridgets Theory:

I quit the team because I want to devote more time to obsessing about why Marcus hasnt expressed his theory.

Comment:Har-dee-har-har.

Hopes Theory:

I quit the team because it was conflicting with my desire to make good on my second goal for my senior year, which was not to be such a buzzkill.

Comment:Shes partly right. I wasnt consciously thinking about my goal list when I quit, but I do hope that my freedom will make me less of a mopey mess.

Pepes Theory:

I quit the team because as I got to the elite level of competition I would inevitably be outclassed by runners from the continent of Africa, who currently dominate the middle and long distances.

Comment:I laughed, which was his intention.

Then Pepe reminded me how it shocked everyone when he quit the wrestling team last year to go out for the school play. Theyll get over it, he said.

And if they dont?

Aint no problem, he paused, striking a classic thug pose. Ill get a gat.

Shhhh, I half-laughed, half-hushed the Notorious P.E.P.E. You better keep it down or youll get suspended for making death threats.

Zero tolerance. Just another way to keep a brotha down.

Pepe knows where Im coming from. He was tired of rolling around on a mat with another sweaty, half-naked guy and wanted to try something new. So unlike everyone else who gets categorized early in our high-school careers and just sticks with the status quo, he actually did something about it. He quit to try something new. And it turned out that he was an even better actor than he was a wrestler. The big difference is that he had something new to quit for . I dont.

Ive been doing a fairly good job at avoiding Coach Kiley in the halls. I think he was avoiding me, too, thinking that if he didnt put any pressure on me to come back to the team, Id come back on my own. But as the time wound down before the teams next meet, he cornered me.

Youve only missed a few practices, he said, clamping his huge hand on my shoulder, having snuck up on me from behind. Its not too late to come back.

There is no chance of me rejoining the team.

Need I mention that my dad is less consolable than Kiley about all this. I suspect that the only reason Dad hasnt shut the garage door and turned on the cars engine is that he got a promotion at work that sucks up a lot of the hours he wouldve spent obsessing about me. Hes hardly home anymore, but when he is, he always manages to finds time to guilt the hell out of me, invariably in the form of one of the following short but bitter exchanges:

Exchange #l: Youre Not Tough Enough