I have my afternoon free period, and the student council is selling baked goods in the large foyer where we all hang out, off the main hallway, so there’s a crowd at the table where we usually play hearts. Alison is on student council—as one of the peons, not one of the elected officials, of course. But I want a brownie so that I’ll have something to do while I wait for my Assignment to come through.
“Will you get me a brownie?” I say to Elise as she’s flying by to make it to math class. She gives me an in-motion hug.
“You’re not scared of that girl. She’s scared of you,” she says in my ear, and it helps, but it’s a drive-by bit of encouragement, and I need the kind that comes from a sit-down and a mug of Cate’s hot chocolate and extended eye contact. But it’s enough of a boost to get me to the table.
“Brownie,” I say to Alison. Her face shifts from smile to scowl before I get to the second syllable of the word.
“Three,” she says, because I guess we are now speaking in only one-word sentences.
I’m scrounging through my pockets for the last dollar and Alison sighs and shifts in her seat.
“I’ve got it,” Joe says, appearing next to me. The tips of his fingers sort of grab my elbow, which isn’t the height of affectionate gestures exactly, but it feels good. More than good, it’s like a kiss between two other body parts, a nonlips kiss, and I think he feels it too.
“Hey there,” I say. It doesn’t sound like me—not the words, and not the tone of voice I’m using to say them.
“I owe you, remember?”
“I do seem to recall that.” We are both grinning, stupidly, and in a way that Alison definitely doesn’t miss.
“You want to get something for Sasha?” she interrupts, her words jumping up between us.
“She’s out today, actually.” Joe gives a huge smile that looks like it takes a lot of effort.
“I’m sure she’d love you to bring a brownie by her place after school,” Alison says. She’s getting desperate.
“Oh,” Joe says, and his fingers jump away from my elbow. “Yeah. Sure. Two brownies, I guess.”
I hate that he is getting us the same thing.
“Tabby, yours is on the house,” Alison says. “Years of you hooking us up at Tea Cozy, right?” She’s smiling, with her mouth only, and I’d forgotten how goddamn smart she is. The three of us could all hold our own with good grades and devouring books and witty comments, but Alison has a quiet cleverness that used to impress me.
“Right. Thanks,” I say. I try to make eye contact with Joe, but he won’t turn his head in my direction, and I kind of can’t believe Alison defeated us so easily. “And thanks anyway, Joe,” I try. If I say his name, he has to look up at me, right?
And he does. I think it’s a reflex, rather than a decision, but his eyes find mine while Alison gets his change, and there’s that spark between us again. He shrugs, and his fingers reach for my hip bone, feathering against it so that I can feel the tiny gesture no one can see.
Then I’m all full from the sensation, and I don’t care what my Assignment is, because I can do anything.
I go to the stall in the bathroom that is becoming my LBC stall. It has an inoffensive air freshener and less graffiti than the other stalls. It’s been only a few days, but checking the site is already becoming a habit—like checking email or eating.
There’s no Assignment, just Elfboy saying he wishes he had a dad who smokes weed, and Star talking about rehab programs. I guess Zed hasn’t gathered enough information yet.
Roxie says: Gutsy.
I’m not sure if she means Paul for smoking up all the time, or me for telling everyone about it.
There are updates on my conversation about Joe, since Star and Agnes both seem to love a good romance.
STAR: Tell us about him.
AGNES: OMG yes. I want all the gooey, sticky, pretty details. When I was first falling for my BF, I talked about him All. The. Time. So karmically, I owe a good listen.
STAR: Same here. I mean, I’m still falling. But you know.
AGNES: What’s he like?
Someone comes in and washes her hands. I think she peers under the stall doors to see if she’s sharing the bathroom with anyone, and I make a throat-clearing sound so she doesn’t think she’s alone and therefore smoke or have some kind of illicit phone conversation or anything. I sort of can’t handle any more secrets.
Agnes’s question is the kind that requires actual honest-to-goodness thought. Because with Joe I’m acting on deeply instinctual feelings, and I’ve never had to explain them to anyone before. Or, really, I’ve known not to. There’s all kinds of things Joe says to me that he’d never say to anyone else. With his friends he talks about hooking up and drinking beer and maybe on occasion whether a particular class or teacher sucks. I don’t think he gets a chance to say much of anything when he’s with Sasha.
The hockey guys don’t participate too much in Headmaster Brownser’s bonding and intimacy and trust activities. They don’t meditate on the lawn outside the gym or read the assigned reading or keep up with the Gratefulness Journals that we have been forced to keep since we could write.
But Joe isn’t a normal hockey guy. He has secrets. Secrets he’s told me. Secrets I can tell them, to make them understand.