The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things (27 page)

That’s more than I can take. I overlooked the thing with my bike, but this? No. I quietly go and get Mr. Johannes. “Some guys are bothering Shane outside. Do you mind? It’s really unfair, six on one.”

“No problem. I think I left something in my car anyway.” He winks.

From my vantage, I glimpse how the jocks spring away when Mr. Johannes steps outside, giving Shane the chance to slip into the building. When he sees me, he says, “You sent him?”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Better than a punch in the face. I don’t know what that guy’s damage is.”

I do. But this is a battle between Dylan and me. He might have lost interest in Shane if I hadn’t stood up for Lila. So I intend to enlist her aid in teaching the asshole a lesson. At our lockers, after Shane heads to his first class, I tell her what went down.

She’s scowling. “What is his
problem
?”

“You know one of them.”

That’s mean,
I tell myself.

But Shadow Sage is stirring in her shallow grave, raking the earth and whispering in my ear. Since I’m holding a figurative sword over Dylan’s head, I have to decide what to do. I could retaliate for him picking on Shane, but I’m not ready to ruin so many other lives. Yet he shouldn’t get away with
hurting
people. Someone needs to show him how it feels. Only I don’t want to drag his mom into it, let alone the principal, his wife, and his kids.

Lila snickers. “I never knew you could be so bitchy.”

“It’s a closely guarded secret.”

Then she sighs, watching Dylan and crew sweep past. “I wish we could bring him down a peg or two.”

Tall and fit, dressed in jeans and letterman jackets, the jocks are untouchable because being good at sports makes them the next thing to royalty at this school. None of them got punished for underage drinking out the Barn, unlike the rest of the student body. I hate that they get away with everything. In particular, there are
no
consequences for Dylan. He flattens people like a steamroller but nobody ever brings the fight to him.

“Give him a taste of his own medicine, you mean?” An idea takes shape, though it’s absolutely the inverse of being the Post-it Princess.

“I wouldn’t say no,” she whispers.

Her eyes are deep and hurt; she’s still not over the way Dylan trashed her reputation. Once people think you sleep around, it doesn’t much matter if you do or not. So I let the idea develop fully before speaking. It’s deliciously awful, and I put away my misgivings. He’s earned this. And if we’re careful, we can get away with it.

“Do you know where the spirit squad stores their supplies?” I ask.

Lila nods. “Why?”

I tell her. And her smile is both wicked and luminous.

After school, we raid the closet and take poster board, balloons, and streamers. Since the girls sometimes decorate players’ vehicles, at first glance, nobody will realize there’s anything wrong with Dylan’s truck. But wait until they read the messages. Giggling like mad, we sneak into an unlocked classroom after school and get to work. We have to be fast since the team’s at practice now.

Lila scrawls half the messages and I cover the rest. Most of them are childish, taunts about his habits and personal hygiene.
I’m a nose picker. I eat them, too. I wet the bed until I was 12. My favorite porno mag is
Grannies Gone Wild.
I’m afraid I will die a virgin.
But I save the best for last, writing in huge block letters:
I CRY WHEN GIRLS TOUCH MY WIENER.

Since we don’t care about neatness, it doesn’t take long to finish up. In stealth mode, we creep out to the parking lot, which is deserted at this hour. The teachers are gone except for those who sponsor afternoon activities. Students in clubs haven’t come out yet; the rest are on the way home.
I forgot how good it feels to be bad.
This is a rush, but I remind myself
why
we’re doing this. The justification definitely matters.

Lila and I keep watch while duct-taping the signs, balloons, and streamers all over Dylan’s black truck. I cross my fingers that someone sees it before he and his buddies arrive. But still, just humiliating him in front of his teammates is better than nothing, more of a comeuppance than he usually gets. One of his asshole friends drove Jon Summers to his death. Dylan didn’t lead that witch hunt, but he didn’t stop it, either.

“We should get out of here,” Lila says.

“Agreed.”

We take off before anyone spots us and I’m on pins and needles all night, wondering about that asshole’s reaction to our prank.

The next morning, I’m locking my bike up when Dylan’s truck screeches into the lot. The evidence is gone, but people are still laughing like crazy when he parks.

One kid yells, “Maybe you’d like wiener touching better from a dude, bro!”

I glance over, and he’s waving his phone. Even at this distance, I glimpse a photo of our handiwork. A few seconds later, my phone pings, as Kimmy’s forwarded the picture. I guess that means everyone knows, because I hear text tones all around me, and the laughter gets louder. To make matters worse, Dylan’s given his mom a ride to school; she looks so confused and upset, especially when she hears what the guy said. She touches Dylan’s arm and he shrugs her off, looking mad as hell. Since Shadow Sage was running the show, I didn’t think about how he’d feel about his mother’s reaction. I’ve given him the shittiest Valentine’s Day ever, and … I feel crappy.

Yeah, there’s always fallout to being bad. Always.

He comes over to me, smiling, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know you did this. And I’m going to make you sorry you were ever born.”

I meet his gaze, trying to seem calm. “Good luck with that.”

Inside school, I see flyers posted all over for the rose sale the student council sponsors to help fund the prom. I’m not part of that committee, and I figure Shane won’t be interested in a school dance. He does romance in a different way; I touch the eighth note at my throat.

Later, the delivery people delight in interrupting class, and Mr. Mackiewicz is particularly perturbed by the delay. But since they have permission to do this, he can’t complain. He harrumphs and stomps to his desk while they circulate, handing out roses. I can see which people expect to get one by the way they watch. Others pretend to work on their geometry, and I’m one of the latter, until the guy taps me on the shoulder.

“For you.” He hands it over with a flourish.

“Thanks.” I glance over at Shane, who’s watching me with a faint smile.

The sun’s shining through the window, brightening the classroom. Everything seems more vivid. All around me, girls are smiling like goofballs because they got a red rose. A few of them have no idea who it’s from and they’re whispering with their friends, trying to figure it out. Mine has a card attached. I smile as I fold it open and read:
You’re the one who makes me whole.
I recognize that as a line from the song he’s been working on.

Mackiewicz puts us back to work as soon as the roses are handed out, so I don’t have a chance to talk to Shane until after class. “Thanks. But you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

At lunch, I learn that Lila got a rose from a secret admirer, and Kenny sent one to Tara, who apparently isn’t sitting with us anymore. I guess she finally realized how much he likes her and took steps to make her disinterest clear. It sucks to have your dreams crushed on Valentine’s Day; even his Mario hat looks sad.

In the afternoon, teachers have a hard time getting us to focus, so we mostly watch videos. Then they show they have souls by choosing not to give us homework. I cheer along with everyone else, then go meet Shane, who’s already at our locker, waiting.

“I’m cooking for you. I switched my shift so we could be together tonight. Are you up to a ride out to my place?”

“Really?”

He nods. “I hope so. Everything’s set up.”

“Absolutely. Let me text my aunt.” I’m sure she’s going out with Joe anyway.

They’ve been seeing a lot of each other, like her trip to see Aunt Helen made him realize how much he missed her. That could have been part of her strategy, actually. My aunt is smart. Gabby replies quickly that it’s fine; she’s going to Rudolfo’s with Joe.

“Called it,” I say, climbing on my bike.

The trip to his house doesn’t let us talk much, and Shane rides faster than I do. I’m a little out of breath when we turn down the weed-choked drive. I’m surprised all over again. I haven’t been out here since I brought him soup and his homework assignments, thinking he was sick. He prefers for us to spend time at my place or somewhere else in town. Honestly, I don’t blame him. This trailer’s a reminder of how poorly his dad’s doing at taking care of him. Shane would argue that his father was relieved of that responsibility when he walked out on them years ago.

I disagree.

It feels good to get out of the wind when we head into the trailer. He’s fixed it up quite a bit—
oh.
Shane flips a switch, so that the whole room glows with white twinkle lights, and he’s woven white silk flowers along the wiring, turning this into a magical bower. It looks like springtime and love in here.
Just … wow.

“This is great,” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I love it.”

“There’s more.” He indicates the slow cooker with a flourish. From the warm, inviting smell, I can tell he’s made the veggie soup he promised me. “I know it’s not romantic, but I can’t do champagne and chocolate-dipped strawberries.”

“It’s perfect.”

“The soup won’t be done for a while. But I made some other stuff.”

Wow, what time did he get up this morning? The other stuff turns out to be a cheese and fruit plate, simple but I can see how much time he devoted to this. We sit down on his old couch and dig in. Shane’s telling me about a music college that he heard about, and I can hardly keep from asking how far it is from Maine. I hate that this won’t last forever.

But nothing does, right? I should just be happy now.

Shane breaks off what he’s saying with a faint frown. “You okay?”

“Of course. Why?”

“You looked really sad there for a minute.” He glances around the trailer, hardly recognizable the way he’s decorated it, like the setting is the reason I’m unhappy. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more, but—”

“No,” I cut in. “This is perfect. I was just thinking about college … and how we might not end up at the same one. So if I’m sad, it’s at the thought of saying good-bye to you.”

“Oh.” His expression softens and he cups my cheek in his palm, feathering long fingers down my jaw. “I can’t promise we’ll always be together like this, and long-distance relationships suck. But I’ll always want you in my life. So … if it doesn’t work out at university, I’ll be texting you and sending stupid e-mails. I’m sure I’ll have a laptop by then, and we can Skype.”

“That helps.”

“Hey, let’s not talk about breaking up on Valentine’s Day. That’s a long way off. Who knows what will happen between now and then?”

“You make a good point.” Making an effort not to be too dark today, of all days, I say, “So I’ve been wondering … you don’t have much stuff. What happened to it?”

Most people have a few toys, but when we met he didn’t have an iPod or a phone, no laptop, and he only has the iPad because of school. But he has no Wi-Fi out here to check his e-mail on.

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “Everything I had before my mom got sick, we pawned to pay off her medical bills. Dying is expensive.”

Damn.
This is my second conversational gambit that has turned down a depressing path. Maybe I can change that. “What was your favorite thing about her?”

“Her hugs,” he says right away. “You know how, after a while, some people will pat you a couple of times to let you know they’ve got better things to do? She never did. She’d just stand there hugging, like there was nothing more important in the world.”

“I bet she didn’t think there was.” I wish I’d met Shane’s mom.

“I miss her,” he confesses in a raw voice.

I can’t fix this; only time can. But I wrap my arms around him anyway, trying to live up to world-class hugging. He whispers into my neck, “You know when you held me before, that first trip out here, it was first time anybody did since she died?”

“I had no idea.”

“Everyone was afraid to get near me, afraid of setting me off. And then you just showed up with soup and started hugging me. Is it weird that I thought maybe my mom sent you?”

I smile at him. “I hope that’s true.”

“Sometimes when I’m feeling guilty that I’m happy, I imagine her telling me that it’s okay … I’m allowed to have a life even if she doesn’t anymore.”

“That’s how I feel about my dad. Sometimes I’ll go weeks without thinking about him at all … and then I’m, like, this is the guy who pushed you on the swings for two solid hours.”

“It’s such a relief to talk about her. Most people can’t handle this. They get weird and they don’t know what to say.” He pauses. “I have some pictures, if you want to see them.”

“I’d like that.”

Shane gets out a packet of photos, and then his life is arrayed in front of me. Though the point is for me to see his mother, I also meet little Shane with his missing teeth, on the rocking horse, with no shirt on, and one with him holding what I imagine is his first guitar. He’s smiling as he pages through, telling me about what life was like before.

Before.
It’s kind of a magical word. Warmth swells up inside me. I’ve never felt this close to anyone in my life.

After that, we eat vegetable soup, which is delicious. Then we curl up with my old iPod, his now. He doesn’t have a dock, so we share the earbuds, listening to a playlist Shane has created especially for this occasion. It’s past nine by this point, and I’m wondering if he ever plans to play me the song he claimed to be working on when he pushes to his feet and heads down the hall to his room.
Am I supposed to follow?

No. He’s coming back.

Ah, he’s got his guitar, wearing his shy-delightful smile. By the twinkle lights, he looks so beautiful that it hurts me to see him, and I think in wonderment,
He’s mine.