Second Helpings (30 page)

I want to be alone .

I thought I could stay in my room foreveruntil my stash of miniature Baby Ruths and Capn Crunch ran out. And it was practically encouraged by my mom, who would have let me stay home from school today even if it wasnt Presidents Day. Funny how my mom wouldnt tolerate my post-Hope-move moping yet was totally tolerant of this highly melodramatic self-banishment simply because it was about a boy. Funny how I couldnt muster one-bizillionth of the emotion Im feeling now while me and said boy were together.

But youre not due for another three months, I said finally. Truth is, Bethanys bulging belly looked ready to pop at any second. Make no mistake, my sister was still beautiful in that rosy-cheeked, radiant way that pregnant women are supposed to be. And shed scored the only other benefit I can see to getting knocked up: mammoth mammaries.

I feel better when Im around people, she said, putting her hands on her basketball belly.

I feel better when I am not around people. When I am alone, alone, alone .

Bethany turned the question of the moment on me. What are you doing here?

I live here.

Dont be cute, she said.

Oh, dont worry, Im not cute, I said. That has been made abundantly clear lately.

You do look terrible she said, emphasizing the word in a way that someone who has never suffered a bad-hair day can.

I looked at my reflection in the spick-and-span kitchen window.

Greasy pigtails, shadows under the eyes, an archipelago of acne dotting my forehead. I hadnt showered or changed out of my tank top and PHS XC sweatpants in four days. I looked like I smelled. Terrible.

I shrugged, grabbed a spoon, and dug into the pint.

I didnt mean it that way, she said. Its just that you shouldnt let yourself go like this.

I crammed as much ice cream on the spoon as I possibly could, then shoveled the whole thing into my mouth.

I know this is about the boy who dumped you. On Valentines Day . She involuntarily shuddered at the thought.

My tongue was cold, but I didnt taste the salty and sweet, chocolate-vanilla-peanut-buttery goodness.

Im sorry, Jessie, she said, settting down her spoon. Len seemed so nice, too. So not the type to do something like that.

He also didnt seem like the type to start banging the class slut, and hes doing that, too.

Really?! she gasped, clutching her midsection.

Um-hm. The ice cream simply didnt taste as good as I needed it to. Maybe I should have brushed my teeth first to get rid of three days buildup of mouth muck.

Bethany watched me for a few seconds before shaking her head slowly with pity.

I know how you feel, Bethany said in a soothing, big-sisterly voice.

YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL?

I do.

How? Nothing like this ever happened to you!

How do you know?

Because you loved high school! You were the type of person who makes high school hell for people like me.

Thats not fair, Jess. I had problems. Life was not always a bowl of cherries for me.

Whatever.

I knew better. Bethany was the Manda of the Class of 1991: Most Popular, Best Looking, and one-half of a Class Couple who broke up immediately after graduation. Sick. Sick. Sick.

Do you still have Trapper Keepers? she asked.

What?

Trapper Keepers. Do they still make them?

Yeah, I guess so. But only the TMR kids use them.

TMR?

Trainable Mentally Retarded.

Oh, she said, shifting her girth. Well, when I was in school everyone had Trapper Keepers. And the thing to do was to cut open the plastic and replace the boring Trapper Keeper background with a collage of all the labels from the brand-name clothing you wore. If you didnt have enough ESPRIT, Benetton, or Guess? labels, forget it. You were over socially.

She mistook my silence for understanding.

I was desperate to keep up. No matter how many labels I had, it wasnt enough. Especially since we didnt have as much money back then and Mom always insisted we buy things on sale. Or at Marshalls, which was just not cool. Not cool at all. So Id go through the mall, secretly ripping the labels off clothes and slipping them into my purse. I was shoplifting labels for my Trapper Keeper!

I let this sink in.

Bethany, I said.

Yes?

That is the most moronic thing I have ever heard.

I thanked her for her company, grabbed a new box of Capn Crunch and a bottle of Diet Coke for sustenance, and shuffled back upstairs. There I stayed for the rest of the day.

I know that Bethany was trying to bond with me over the Tyranny of the Trapper Keepers and all, but it so paled in comparison to what I was going through.

the twentieth

Six Fun Activities tor When Youre Playing Hooky and Feeling Very, Very Sorry for Yourself

HHHH1. Count the bleeps on Jerry Springer.

HHHH2. Arrange your tresses into a Mohawk. Thenusing a stopwatch from your running daystime how long it stands up, unaided by any hair products other than your all-natural scalp grease.

HHHH3. E-mail your gay mentors to find out if they are aware of any hypnosis that cures people of heterosexuality.

HHHH4. Play toe-lint football.

HHHH5. Lie on your back on the floor for hours. This is known as savasana, the corpse pose. Its the only yoga asana you have truly mastered so far, which is okay because it so aptly describes how you feel.

HHHH6. Write in your journal about your virgin ex-boyfriend who dumped you on the most lovey-dovey of holidays so he could bang the class slut. Write about how you never saw this coming, and how you never thought it would hurt this much even if you did. Then tear out all the pages youve just written and torch them with a Zippo. If you dont have a Zippo because its downstairs, and you cant go downstairs because thats where people are, tear the pages into tinier and tinier and infinitesimal pieces until not even a single letter of a single word is discernable, not a trace of this thing that has made you into the mess you are for no good reason at all.

the twenty-second

In my entire academic career, I have never, ever stayed home from school for more than one day in a row. I rarely get sick. My white blood cells kick ass, which is one thing Ive got going for me, I guess. Playing hooky was out of the question in elementary school because I loved school so much and couldnt stand the thought of my classmates learning without me. As I got older, I realized Id be smarter if I stayed home, because doing so would spare the obliteration of countless brain cells. But then my participation in cross-country and track and other after-school activities dictated that I attend, whether I wanted to or not.

Unlike those mystery students who are on absentee lists with stunning frequency and anonymity, it was very conspicuous for Darling, Jessica to miss an entire week of school. Yet even after a weeks worth of ignored phone calls, IMs, and e-mails, I was still surprised when Bridget and Pepe showed up in my bedroom tonight.

P.U.! Bridget said, pinching her nose.

It smells like ass in here, Pepe added.

Bridget stepped over the depressing detritusthe Diet Coke cans, candy bar wrappers, Capn Crunch crumbs, and shredded pages from this here notebookto open the window. The cold, fresh air hit me before I could complain. It felt better than expected. Clean.

What are you guys doing here?

Were your friends, said Bridget.

And were worried about you, said Pepe.

Im fine. Then I meant to laugh a silly, carefree kind of a laugh, but it came out more maniacal than intended. HAH-hee-hee-hee-hee-hah-hah-hah-HAH !

Bridget and Pepe exchanged terrified looks.

Look, Jess, Bridget said. What Len did was

Len? You think this is about Len?

Well

This isnt about Len, 1 said, while expertly doing the corpse pose on my unmade bed. I never really liked Len, so how could this be about Len? Oh, no. This isnt about Len. Its about me. Im just taking some me time. A vacation for the soul. A Jessication! Yes! Time out from the stress of school to get back to me. Its all about me, me , ME!

Another lunatic laugh followed.

Well, its not working, Bridget said, pulling me up from the mattress and pushing me in front of my mirror. Look at you!

Gasp!

I hadnt looked at myself since when I was in the kitchen the other night, and I actually gasped when I saw the greasy, zitty, stinky carcass I had become.

And thats when I started to cry. I was crying not because of what I looked likebecause a shower and some clean clothes could change thatbut because of the fact that I had let myself sink so abysmally low. I was a zeta-female. And over Len. LEN!

Len, whom I dated for all the reasons I said I wouldnt go with Scotty last year:

So Id have something to do on Saturday nights now that Hope is gone.

So Id have a boyfriend like all normal heterosexual high-school girls are supposed to.

So Id have a living, breathing outlet for the sexual tension that has built up all these years.

How did I let myself get into a relationship I never really wanted in the first place?

How did I let this happen? I asked out loud, in between sniffles.

Getting dissed is a bitch, Pepe said, handing me a tissue, misinterpreting the question.

As I honked out the snot, I realized that this was the first time Pepe had ever been over my house. He was more than my little freaky French buddy. He was a friend. A friend who had asked me out and

Oh, God! I said. I am so sorry I rejected you!

Pepe shot Bridget a glance. Its all gravy, ma belle . I bounced back.

And thats what you have to do, Bridget said.

Then they went on to explain that Monday was the perfect day to make the transition from hermit to high schooler because Len, Manda, and Scotty wouldnt be there. Apparently, Scotty opened up a can of whup-ass on Len when he found out about him and Manda. Hence, Scottys two-week suspension. After round one had been broken up and Scotty was being led to the principals office, Len hauled off and gave him a buck fifty to the face. Hence, Lens two-week suspension. When Scotty went nuclear after Len, Manda tripped him, then kicked him in the teabags. Hence, her two-week suspension.

It would serve Len right if he got negged from Cornell because of this, Bridget said.

Ha! barked Pepe.

Hmm. I was thinking about something else entirely. I was kind of hoping Len didnt want to have sex with me because he was gay.

Pepe and Bridget glanced at each other nervously, unsure of how to react.

You know I have a thing for homosexuals.

Now they were actually smiling. I was showing signs of life.

Come back, urged Pepe. We miss your face.

You couldnt possibly miss this face, I said.

Well, not this face, but, like, the nontoxic version of it, said Bridget.

You cant hide forever, Pepe said.

I was touched by this. I really was. Pepe and Bridget cared in a way that I thought only Hope could, or would.

Okay, I promised pathetically.

But theres something I have to do first. Well, second. After I take a shower.

the twenty-fourth

The millisecond I stepped foot inside Silver Meadows, I knew that word of the infamous Valentines Day dumping had already spread among the over-sixty-five set. I was met with hushed tones too soft for hearing aids, pruny, pointed fingers, and embarrassed, toothless smiles.

I found Gladdie in the rec room, as usual. The only difference was that everyone except Gladdie and Moe hurriedly hobbled off when I arrived, as if they would catch breakup cooties from me.

Buck up, bee-yoo-ti-ful, Gladdie said.

Do you want me to teach him a lesson? Moe asked, raising his hand, which, due to arthritis, he couldnt close into an official fist.

No, I said. There has already been too much violence over this. And I went on to explain all the brawls, balls-kicking, and suspensions.

Look on the bright side, J.D., Gladdie said. There are plenty of fish in the sea. And your first fish aint your last.

Gladdie gently patted Moes hand, and he smiled at her like she was the most bee-yoo-ti-ful woman in the world, even though she had ninety years of wrinkles and her eyebrows were drawn on crookedly and her lipstick had melted past her mouth line and her beret was red and her pantsuit was blue and her walker was still resplendent in purple. Maybe she mismatched on purpose. Red and blue make purple. I was about to ask her when his voice snuck up on me from behind.

Hey.

Tutti Flutie! Fancy seein you here.

Hey, he repeated. Hey, Jessica.

Hey, I said, without facing him.

Can we talk?

I nodded. When I turned around, I looked down at his feet. Same old Vans with the hole in the toe. I couldnt bring myself to look him in the face in this state. I followed him down to the empty library. The fire was out and the room was cold and dark and smelled like musty, wet pages. I slumped into the leather armchair and he sat on the hearth facing me wearing his COMINGHOME T-shirt. The fake-velvet letters had faded and flattened out. Id missed my chance to feel their softness with my fingertips.