Second Helpings (38 page)

Then he walked away.

Omigod! Sara screamed. Holy shit! I knew something was up with you two! The quote Class Brainiac and Krispy Kreme unquote .

ran down the hall, out of the building, across the campus, past my house. I ran as far, as fast, and as long as I could. But it wasnt far, fast, or long enough to escape his words repeating themselves over and over again inside my head.

the fifteenth

Ever since Marcuss very public declaration of whatever he was claiming to feel for me, Ive become the subject of countless finger-pointing rumors.

I heard hes taught her everything he knows, so she can do every position in the Kama Sutra at college .

They meet every morning at her house for a pre-homeroom hump.

Hes turned her into a nympho.

Bridget and Pepe assure me that there is no such talk going around school, that its all my imagination, but I know better. As long as Sara is alive and in possession of vocal chords, such bullshit is an inevitable part of the Pineville High experience.

At any rate, I thought for sure that Pinevile Low would have something to say about Marcus and me, which is why this Marcus-related item was so bizarre.

WHAT FORMER DREG AND ALLEGED GENIUS FINALLY THANKED THE JUNIOR WHO CONFESSED TO FAKING HIS DRUG TEST BY MAKING HER HIS LATEST DOUGHNUT?

HUH?! Marcus and Taryn?!

I didnt buy it for one second. (And not for any reasons that had anything to do with me and whatever feelings Marcus was allegedly having about me.) No, I didnt believe it for this reason: Why would anyone bother to write about Taryn, someone so insignificant? Even if it wasagainst all oddstrue, why would anyone care, really? Why would the Mystery Muckracker, who, up to this point, only chose high-profile students to out in her column, suddenly shift gears and write about someone who would make little to no impact on Pineville Highs psyche? Any salacious interest generated by Marcus would be negated by Taryns minus-zero status. Not to be cruel, but really. The Dannon Incident proved that no one cared about Taryn Baker. So who would care now, nearly two years later?

Then it hit me with the force of a Sumo wrestler after an all-you-can-eat buffet binge. I suddenly understood what Paul Parlipiano had meant when he made that strange comment about getting back at his stepsister. It all made sense: The only person who would write about a nobody was the nobody herself.

I cornered Taryn in the library.

Pinevile Low.

When she shriveled like a Shrinky Dink, I knew I was right.

TARYN BAKER IS THE MYSTERY MUCKRACKER BEHIND PINEVILE LOW .

Why? I asked.

Paul, she said, in her typical one-word fashion.

What?

Paul, she repeated, cowering down in shame. And you.

What?! Me?!

You.

Youre going to have to give me a lot more than that, I said.

Taryn sat hunched over in her chair and stared at a stain in the carpet as she spoke.

Paul was always getting on my case about not taking a stand against anything, she said. He can be very

Pushy, I added.

Right, she said, brightening a little. I also admired how your articles took a stand and make a difference. You told it like it was. And I wanted to do that, too. When you stopped writing, I wanted to take your place, in a way. I knew I needed another forum, so I sent e-mails instead. Only I wasnt as brave as you because I couldnt bring myself to take credit.

Id never really thought of myself as brave before. I always saw myself as more obnoxious than brave.

If you admire me so much, why did you write about me? I asked. Why didnt you just stay out of my business?

I do admire you, she whispered. Thats why I only wrote stuff I knew was true.

The thing you wrote about me and Len and homecoming wasnt true, I said.

It was true when I wrote it, she said. About him.

Really, I said. And how did you know that?

I overheard him telling Marcus about it in study hall, she replied, smiling wanly.

Well, just because something is true doesnt mean you should broadcast it to the world. I used to think just like you, Taryn. Id just go off on people just for the joy of pointing out their faults to the world.

Then I babbled on and on about a yogic practice called satya that I learned about from the book Hope gave me. Its about telling the truth all the time, but in way that doesnt hurt peoples feelings. Basically, choosing words carefully so they do the least harm and the most good. I know Im not perfect, because my words still tend to piss off their targets. But you know what? Sometimeslike with Paul and Hyit has worked, which is a very encouraging start.

Otherwise, whats the point? So you piss people off by pointing out their faults. But theres got to be more to it than that.

Maybe youre right, she said solemnly.

I was feeling very superior in my maturity. So how did you find out all this stuff, anyway?

Youd be amazed the things people say right in front of someone who isnt really there.

What?

People speak openly right in front of me because they either didnt notice I was there or just didnt give a damn.

I remembered how Scotty had blurted out his prom proposition without even acknowledging Taryns presence in the room. Taryn was a nobody at Pineville, so she didnt even have to eavesdrop. Her very insignificance made her one of the most powerful people in school.

There was only one bit of information I was never able to get, which is why I wrote this last item.

And whats that?

Who really peed inside the cup, she said. Because it wasnt me.

Really? I said, pretending to be shocked, but without overdoing it. I was very aware of how even subtle hand gestures or facial tics could give me away.

I lied because I thought it would make me popular, she said with a grimace. Obviously, I was wrong.

I patted her shoulder sympathetically.

I thought that if I wrote this item, perhaps Marcus would maybe, I dont know, reveal the truth to squelch this rumor

And if he didnt?

Then Id have a hot rumor going around about me, which is more than I could ask for on a regular day.

How sad. Really. Outwardly, Taryn does everything within her power to go unnoticed. Yet she secrely harbors this sick desire to be popular. If theres one thing I can say about myself, its that Ive been blessed by a complete disregard for popularity. Ive never really wanted to be popular. All Ive ever wanted was one person who totally understood where I was coming fromwho wasnt a thousand miles away.

But I guess Ill never know who did it, she said. Her huge eyes fixed on me, unblinking.

I guess not, I replied.

the thirtieth

Wow.

Yesterday, little Marin Sonoma didnt exist. Today she does.

I love her despite her completely ridiculous name, which is a testimonial to her cuteness. Shes the tiniest, pinkest, baldest thing Ive ever seen, and when I held her, this sleepy six-pound, four-ounce bundle, I cried.

Yes, me, the female least likely to get ga-ga over goo-goo. I cant explain this transformation. All I know is that now that she isnt just a concept, now that shes an actual living, breathing little person, my whole outlook has changed. I want to be the Cool Aunt, the one who takes her for weekends in the city and whisks her off to Broadway shows, museums, and Central Park. I want to be the one who spoils her and makes her mom seem like a clueless dork. I look forward to this.

Strange, isnt it?

Even stranger is the profound effect this event has had on me and my dad. Thats right. My dad.

My mom was still at the hospital, and we were alone in the car on the way home. I cant remember the last time we were alone anywhere together.

I remember the night you were born like it was yesterday, he said.

I didnt say anything, so unaccustomed was I to my fathers voice sans his typically antagonistic tone.

We were so happy to have you.

Really?

He looked at me with surprise. What do you mean, really? Of course we were happy.

Its just I cut myself off, not knowing whether this conversation was possible or appropriate.

What, Notso? What?

Its just after Matthew died, I kind of always thought you were too sad to have another baby.

He inadvertently hit the brakes, sending us both lurching toward the dashboard. After apologizing he proclaimed, You couldnt be more wrong! We were thrilled to have you! What ever gave you an idea like that?

I stared straight ahead.

He took a deep breath but never took his eyes off the road.

Notso, I know it hasnt been easy between the two of us, but I want you to know that I have always loved you. I worry about your well-being. I want whats best for you. I still dont understand why you stopped running or why you would give up something you were so good at, but Ive had to let it go. I still dont agree with your college choice, but I have to respect your opinion. I wont lie to you, I wish I could still hold you for financial blackmail, but my dear mother thought you needed this. And out of respect for her and you, I have no right to stop you from doing what you want to do.

This was the most my father had said to me possibly ever. And he wasnt done yet.

On the way to the hospital that night, a song came on the radio. Whenever I hear that song, to this very day, it always reminds me of you.

What song is it? I asked, expecting from his tone that it must be something deep and significant.

Flashdance, he replied.

Flashdance?

He triedin vainto sing the line What a feeling !

Our lack of musical ability is something we have in common, so I burst out laughing. As soon as I did, I was afraid it would start another battle about my insensitivity and immaturity. But my dad started laughing, too.

That movie really tugs on those old heartstrings, I said.

I know, its really sentimental, huh? he said, still chuckling. But whenever I hear that song on the radio, I remember the joy of that night.

When we pulled into the driveway, I realized I will probably not have another conversation like this with my father for another eighteen years. I didnt really want it to end, but I didnt really know what else to say. I guess I could have taken advantage of the moment and tried to explain why I quit the team, and why Im able to run now, on my own, for myself, without the pressure of having to win, but I just couldnt. Maybe someday, but not today.

My dad broke the silence.

It could have been worse, he said. It could have been Maniac

And we both cracked up some more, enjoying our newour only inside joke.

Id like to think that this is the first of many, but Im not holding my breath. Were more alike than we are different, but that doesnt guaran-tee well get along. After all, hes still my dad. And Im still me.

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June 1st

Hope,

Remember when we were freshmen? We thought the seniors were so damn mature, and we couldnt wait to be them. All of Pineville culture revolved around themSenior Athletic Awards Banquet, Senior Powder Puff Football, Senior Prom. The seniors ruled the school. So why do I still feel like a clueless freshman? Could it be because Ive exiled myself to bystander status with all of the above and more? But would participation have given me a sense of belonging? I doubt it.

While Im happy to be running again, I dont regret quitting the track team. Even after Kiley went out of his way to tell me that a freshman broke my school record in the 1600. All my records will be broken by someone, someday, whether I ran this year or not. Someone, someday, will break that freshmans record, too.

And I dont regret not joining the Powder Puff football team either, even though it wouldve been the perfect school-sanctioned opportunity to slide-tackle Manda and Sara.

As I said on the phone, I dont regret turning down Scotty, guaranteeing that I will make it through all four years of high school without ever having attended a formal. Its only slightly disconcerting, though, knowing that Ill go through the rest of my life hearing the horrified cries of WHAT? YOU NEVER WENT TO YOUR PROM? whenever the subject comes up in adult, post-high-school conversation. If you spend any amount of time with my mother or sister, you know that it does indeed come up with startling frequency.

Only twenty days left of school. When I think about everything that happened in the past monthmy first family death, my first birth, my first real conversation with my fatherI realize that twenty days is more than enough time for anything to happen almost. You know what Im not talking about, the only rite of passage that Ithat we have yet to make. But Ive sexiled myself to bystander status on that front, too, and twenty days is definitely not enough time.

Wistfully yours,

J.

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