The Face (2 page)

“Aaron is so
great!”
Justine gushed a few afternoons ago. “Check out that bod!”

“Justine, give me a break,” I groaned.

We were in the gym bleachers at Shadyside High, watching a wrestling match against Waynesbridge. Aaron isn't exactly an all-state wrestler. He's big
and athletic looking. But he doesn't work out as much as he should.

The guy he was wrestling was short and heavy and hairy. He looked like a bear. He had Aaron down on the mat in some kind of arm hold.

Aaron's face was bright red. He didn't look too happy.

Justine gripped tangles of red hair in both hands. She had an intense expression, as if she were wrestling along with Aaron.

Somehow Aaron spun out of his opponent's armlock. He pulled the hairy guy down. They were both grunting, both red-faced now. Aaron pinned him and jumped to his feet.

“Wow!” Justine cried, clapping hard. “Wow! Way to go, Aaron!”

Aaron was breathing hard. Even from the bleachers, I could see the sweat pouring down his forehead, matting his brown hair.

He helped pull his opponent up from the mat. Then he raised his head and flashed me a smile.

I mean, I
think
he was smiling at me.

Justine smiled and waved back, as if he were smiling at her!

At least Justine is honest about it. She doesn't try to hide how much she likes Aaron.

She's always flirting with him, even though he's my boyfriend. He flirts back sometimes. You know. Kids around with her.

But I don't think he takes her seriously.

As I said, he's been so loyal to me. So wonderful.

All of my friends have been wonderful.

If only they wouldn't walk on tiptoes around me. If only they wouldn't be so careful of what they say.

I know what they're thinking about. I know what's on their minds.

They probably wonder if my memory has snapped back.

But they're afraid to ask.

They won't talk about that week last November. About the accident. They never talk about it in front of me.

Maybe they don't want to remember it, either.

Maybe they think I'm the lucky one. Maybe they wish they could lose their memories too.

But I don't think I'm so lucky. Because the questions are driving me crazy.

What happened that night?

How horrible was it?

And why was
I
the one who went into shock?

I
pressed my cheek against Aaron's shoulder. I liked the smell of his aftershave. Cool and sweet.

The first time he used it, I laughed at him. He only shaves about twice a week. But he splashes on the aftershave every day.

After a while I started to like it.

I raised my head and kissed him.

We had to be fast. We were sitting on the green leather couch in Aaron's den, and his little brother Jake was lurking about. If Jake saw us kissing, he'd probably wake up the whole house. That's the kind of kid he is. Your basic brat.

The TV was on. One of the
Lethal Weapon
movies. I like Mel Gibson. I think Aaron looks a
little like him. Aaron has the same wavy brown hair and the same twinkling blue eyes.

But we weren't paying any attention to the movie. Aaron had his arm around my shoulders, and we were trying to sneak in a few kisses before Jake came bursting in.

Watching a dark-haired actress on the screen, I found myself suddenly thinking about Adriana.

“I'm kind of worried about Adriana,” I confided.

Aaron grunted.

We kissed.

I heard footsteps behind us.

“Jake—is that you?” Aaron called, glancing back over his shoulder to the den doorway.

I heard giggling out in the hall. Jake is a major giggler.

“Get lost,” Aaron ordered him.

“Make me.” Jake's favorite reply.

“Okay. I will!” Aaron jumped up from the couch and started to the door. I heard another giggle. Then Jake's heavy footsteps as he ran away.

“Aaron was kissing Martha! Aaron was kissing Martha!” Jake chanted.

Shaking his head, Aaron dropped back beside me on the couch. On the TV screen a powerful explosion sent a building toppling to the ground.

Aaron grabbed a handful of nacho chips from the bowl beside him. He offered me the bowl. I waved it away.

“Adriana has gotten so skinny,” I continued. “I'm really worried about her.”

“Yeah. I know,” Aaron replied with a mouthful of chips.

I sighed. “You know, I think the accident affected Adriana more than anyone.”

Aaron swallowed. He kept his eyes on the TV screen. He didn't like it when I brought up the accident.

“She's lost so much weight,” I repeated. “And did you see the dark circles around her eyes?”

“She's always had those,” Aaron insisted, reaching for more chips.

“No way,” I told him. “She had to go to a doctor because she can't sleep at night.”

“Probably out partying,” Aaron joked.

I gave his shoulder a hard shove. “Shut up.”

He shrugged and kept his eyes on Mel Gibson.

That's what Aaron always does when I try to bring up anything serious, anything about the accident. He makes a joke.

He refuses to discuss it. I can see his whole body tense up. It makes him so uncomfortable.

Which drives me crazy. I'm
dying
to discuss it. I
need
to discuss it.

Also, I'm really worried about Adriana.

“Her grades are really suffering,” I continued. “She didn't even make honor roll this term.”

Aaron grunted in reply.

“You know that Adriana likes to be perfect,” I reminded him. “You know how competitive she is. I know it must really upset her. She got a C in
Spanish! Do you believe it? That's her easiest course!”

Aaron shook his head. “She's messed up,” he murmured.

He slid his arm around my shoulders. I snuggled against him, thinking about Adriana. When I kissed him, his lips tasted like nacho chips.

The movie ended on the TV. The credits rolled across the screen.

“Did you talk to her?” Aaron asked.

“Huh?” I didn't know what he meant.

“Did you talk to Adriana? About losing weight and everything?”

I sighed. “You know Adriana,” I said, squeezing Aaron's hand. “I tried. But she refuses to talk to me about it. She won't discuss any of her problems with me.”

Aaron frowned. “I thought you two were such close friends.”

“We are,” I insisted. “But Adriana never wants to talk about herself. Instead, she's always worrying about me. Always trying to cheer me up. Always trying to help me. Whenever I try to bring up anything serious with her, she just tells me everything will be fine.”

Aaron nodded. He reached for the chips, then changed his mind. A serious expression settled over his handsome face. He locked his blue eyes on mine. “Everything
will
be fine,” he said softly.

I nodded.

That's what all my friends kept telling me.

We kissed again. His lips still tasted salty. I didn't want him to pull away. I wanted the kiss to last forever.

But we heard giggling behind us. “I'm telling!” Jake declared.

Aaron jumped up to chase him away again.

I could hear them running down the hall, giggling and shouting.

I settled back on the couch, shut my eyes, and thought about Adriana.

Justine and Aaron had pretty much returned to normal. Why was Adriana so much more troubled than they?

Why had that night affected Adriana more than any of us?

Of course, I couldn't answer the question. I still had no memory of anything that had happened.

But I was determined to learn the answers.

So much to learn. So much.

So many surprises in store.

And then, the next afternoon, Adriana's brother tried to kill me.

I
van Petrakis, Adriana's older brother, looks so much like his sister, it's scary.

They both have black hair, sort of wavy, sort of curly. Both of them are tall and thin and graceful. Both have soft brown eyes under heavy, black eyebrows. Their faces are dramatic. They stand out in our class photos.

Ivan adopted a new look this year. He had one ear pierced and wears a silver stud in it. And he let his sideburns grow long and grew a black goatee under his chin, which drives his parents crazy.

He wears black T-shirts and black denims, which make him look kind of tough. Not like the other kids from North Hills, the wealthiest neighborhood in Shadyside.

Lately, Ivan has been getting into trouble. At least, that's the rumor I heard from some guys who used to hang out with him. They say that he's messed up. That he's been drinking at parties and hanging out with some bad-news kids from Waynesbridge.

But I've always liked Ivan. Actually, I had a secret crush on him in third grade, and I don't know if I ever got over it.

When I ran into him at the Division Street Mall after school, I was glad to see him. “Hey—Ivan!” I called, rushing across the parking lot aisle. “What's up?”

He did an exaggerated reaction of surprise, throwing out his hands and nearly falling over backward. “Martha. Whoa. What did you buy? Anything to eat? Any Snickers bars? Milky Ways? I forgot to eat lunch.”

I raised the two shopping bags I was carrying and motioned to the store behind me. “Just art supplies.”

He groaned. “You still doodling?”

“Hey—!” I uttered a sharp cry. “I'm serious about my drawing, Ivan. It's not doodling.”

That struck him funny. He let out his usual laugh. Sort of a hooting sound that made his slender shoulders go up and down.

“What are you doodling these days, Martha?”

“Shut up,” I replied.

He hooted again. Scratched the tuft of fuzzy black hair under his chin. “Want a ride home?”

“Yeah. Sure.” I followed him to his red Civic. He sort of strutted as he walked. Like some kind of tall, stuck-up bird.

One headlight on the car was cracked, the fender dented around it. “What happened, Ivan? An accident?”

He shrugged. “I don't know.” He pulled open the driver's door and lowered his long body into the tiny car.

I tossed my two bags into the backseat, then climbed in beside him. The car smelled of cigarette smoke. I saw candy wrappers all over the floor.

This will give me a chance to talk about Adriana, I decided as Ivan backed out of the parking space. Maybe Ivan will have some ideas about how to help her.

He guided the car to the exit, then pulled out onto Division Street. “Want to run away?” he asked suddenly.

“Excuse me?” I turned to stare at him.

“Want to drive off and just keep driving?” he asked, returning my stare with those intense brown eyes. “Never turn back? Just keep driving in a straight line till we can't drive anymore?”

I let out a short, uncertain laugh. “You're joking—right?”

His expression didn't change.

“You don't really want to run away—do you?” I demanded, feeling my chest tighten.

He turned back to the windshield. “Whatever,” he murmured.

He had to slam on the brakes to keep from plowing through a red light. We squealed to a stop in the middle of the crosswalk. The car behind us honked.

“Just joking,” Ivan muttered. He tapped the wheel with both hands.

“How is Adriana?” I asked, eager to change the subject. Ivan seemed really tense, really wound up. “Has she been sleeping any better?”

The light changed. He lowered his foot on the gas pedal, and the car shot forward with a squeal. “I don't know. Ask her.”

He sounded so bitter.

“I'm worried about her,” I confessed. “She told me she hasn't been sleeping. Or eating.”

“Boo-hoo.” He scowled.

I shot him an angry look. But his eyes were on the road. It was about five-thirty—rush hour—and the streets were jammed with cars.

“You're her brother. Don't you worry about her?” My question burst out more shrill than I had planned.

He shrugged again. He seemed to talk mainly with his shoulders. “She's okay,” he replied in a low, flat tone. “She went to a doctor last week. She taught her self-hypnosis or something.”

“Excuse me?” A truck roared past. I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly.

“You know,” Ivan said, shouting over the truck noise. “She hypnotizes herself. To help her sleep.”

“Wow,” I replied. Dumb. I know. But I wasn't sure what to say. “Is it safe?” I asked finally.

Ivan didn't seem to hear me. He made a left onto Park Drive.

The sky darkened nearly to black. Only five-thirty, and it already looked like the middle of the night. I hate February.

“Adriana's grades—” I started.

But Ivan interrupted with a hoarse cry. “It isn't easy to sleep at my house, Martha!” he shouted, slapping the steering wheel. “Nothing is easy at my house these days.”

I knew that Ivan's parents weren't getting along. The rumor was that Mr. Petrakis had threatened to move out.

“Your parents—?” I asked meekly. I didn't really want to get into it. I mean, it really wasn't my business.

“It's a war zone,” Ivan declared, shaking his head. Even in the dim light I could see his dull eyes, see the bitter scowl on his face. Bitter, yet mixed with fear.

“Last night they started throwing things at each other,” he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road.

“Oh, no,” I murmured.

“Like babies. They started heaving plates and glasses at each other. Broken china all over the kitchen. I—I tried to stop them. It was so stupid. I—” Ivan's voice broke.

I let out a long sigh. “How awful,” I murmured. “Then what happened?”

“Mom went running into the bedroom, crying and shrieking her head off. Dad stormed out. Slammed the door. I don't think he came back last night. At least, I didn't hear him.”