A Tragic Kind of Wonderful

“What did you hear?”

“You know Holly and I have English Lit with her, or we did. Mr. Templeton said she moved to Paris. I guess her dad’s been teaching at the Sorbonne this past year. Anyway, a week ago she took the proficiency exam to graduate early. She left on Friday.”

“I heard.” At least the last part.

“You must be glad you won’t have to see her around anymore. But if you knew she was leaving, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Nobody knew.”

“Zumi and Connor must have.”

“They didn’t find out till after she’d left.”

“No way. Even Annie … Well, I don’t know what I was going to say. Annie sure was a …”

“Go ahead,” I say. “I saw the light, remember? Bash away.”

“Still, what an unbelievably shitty thing to do. They’ve been best friends for years.”

Zumi’s at her lab table by the windows. She faces straight ahead, her backpack in front of her. All I can see from this angle is her wall of hair.

The bell rings. Mr. Gottfried turns from writing the day’s agenda on the whiteboard and sees Zumi’s backpack still on the table.

“Ms. Shimura?”

She doesn’t react.

“Izumi,” he says softly. “Please stow your backpack.”

He rarely uses anyone’s first name and he usually barks when ignored. Maybe Zumi was a topic in the staff room in addition to Annie’s early graduation. Maybe all the teachers knew for weeks and Annie asked them to keep it confidential.

Zumi sweeps her arm just enough to slide her backpack off the table. It crashes to the floor. She loops her foot around the strap and drags it out of the aisle.

“Thank you.”

Zumi doesn’t move a muscle the whole period. When we run tests with pH strips at our desks, her lab partner, Benji, does it all. She doesn’t even watch.

*

Zumi’s next class is adjacent to mine. I usually walk slowly to make sure I don’t catch up. Not today. I have to talk to her. Except she darts out quicker than I expect after her being still all period. I pack up quickly, say good-bye to Declan, and trot out into the hall. She’s maybe twenty feet ahead.

“Hey, Z!” someone calls. My hair stands on end. Zumi hates that nickname.

“I heard you’re a free agent now.” It’s Tina Fernandez, her voice like a knife twisting.

Zumi passes her without turning her head. Gloria opens her locker a few feet away. Elena leans against the wall but doesn’t look natural doing it, playing a part she’s not well suited for. I don’t see Sofia, but come to think of it, I stopped seeing her with Team Fernandez months ago.

“That can’t feel good,” Tina says. “Who’s gonna hold your leash now?”

Zumi stops. I hurry forward.

“What you think, Elena?” Tina says. “Know anyone who’d want Annie’s leftovers?”

Zumi turns but I manage to get between them before she’s fully around. Zumi leans back when she sees me.

“Don’t, Zumi.” I touch her forearm—

She recoils, wincing, and then whirls away around the corner.

Tina stands beside me. “Didn’t need your help, tontita.”

“Yes you did,” I say. “But I wasn’t helping you.”

I round the corner and almost bump into Zumi. She’s standing still, tense, facing me. Her mouth and eyes are taut like she has stomach pains.

“Zumi …” What do I say? I’m sorry Annie abandoned you? I’m sorry I did it first?

Finally I say, “You called me yesterday.”

She doesn’t reply.

I lean toward her. “Please say something.”

“I called to ask why.” Her voice is low and hoarse. “Why you. Then I changed my mind. I didn’t want to wonder if whatever you said was a lie.”

It’s the perfect thing to say to render me speechless. But I have to say something.

“We hadn’t talked in over a year, I swear. She just showed up.”

“Connor said she gave it to you because she’s a coward. What do you think?”

“You know what I thought of her.” That’s what my last argument with Zumi was about.

After a moment, she says, “Doesn’t matter now.”

She turns and walks away.

“Zumi, I—”

“I’m late for class.”

*

I wander around most of lunch looking for Zumi and Connor. With five minutes left, I see Connor alone on the brick wall. I walk up to him and wait. Connor will talk plenty if you give him room and some indication that you’ll listen and care, that his words won’t be wasted on you.

He finally points to the apple in my hand. “That your whole lunch?”

“Yeah. Keeps the doctor away. Where’s Zumi?”

He doesn’t answer.

I take a bite of apple.

“She’s already gone to Calc,” he says.

I lean against the wall. “You guys had no idea at all?”

“We knew her dad was there teaching. We thought he was coming back this summer.”

“Maybe that was the plan. Maybe they recently decided to move there instead.”

“They didn’t decide it on Friday. Annie must have been sitting on this awhile.”

“What happened when you drove to her house?”

Eric Lindstrom's books