I turn again, ready to scream in frustration, only to find Wallace standing between me and Travis, the sketchbook in one hand. He must have caught it out of the air. I didn’t think he could move that fast. Travis looks both stunned and vaguely impressed. Wallace turns and stares him down. Travis is about my height, so when they’re both standing Wallace is half a head taller than him, and a hell of a lot wider. Travis looks like a sapling standing next to an oak.
Wallace steps toward him, whole body tense, and Travis holds up his hands and backs away. “Yo. Okay. Chill, dude. Damn.” He looks at Deshawn, jerks his head toward the parking lot, and the two go loping off. On the way, Travis scoops up one of my fallen pictures, then stares me in the face as he folds it and slips it in his pocket.
Wallace is already walking across the front sidewalk to pick up the other loose sheets. I scramble for the few near me—Amity using her crystals to launch herself into the sky, Damien surrounded by a cloud of fog and a flock of dread crows—and wipe my eyes.
Wallace lumbers back, holding my sketchbook as a hard surface so he can scribble on one of his loose papers. He stuffs that inside the sketchbook along with all the pictures he grabbed, then holds it out for me. Instead of looking at me like I should be invisible, he doesn’t look at me at all; his eyes rove left, then right, then down, until I take the sketchbook from him. I almost drop it and have to catch it against my leg.
He stands there. Am I supposed to say something? Does he want me to say something? He scratches the back of his head, lets his hand fall to his neck, and takes a deep breath.
I dig in my pocket for my phone, but Emmy and Max probably aren’t even around right now. Emmy’s in class and Max is at work. My fingers hover over the keys with nowhere to go. Wallace is still standing there, but now he has his phone out too.
He has his phone out. He’s not paying attention.
I turn and march away before he has the chance to look up again. I’m pretty sure he does, but it doesn’t matter because I’m already halfway across the parking lot and I don’t care if he thinks I’m weird, because I’m never ever going to speak in front of him again. When I reach my car, I dive inside and slam the door shut behind me. The parking lot is still too full to leave. I should probably take off my backpack before I try to drive, anyway.
I move my backpack into the passenger seat, buckle my seat belt, and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. I’m light-headed. This isn’t good. The heat in my face fills the car, and I bathe in gross sweaty embarrassment. Why did Travis and Deshawn have to pick today to mess with Wallace? Why couldn’t Wallace take care of them himself? Why did he have to maybe be writing Monstrous Sea fanfiction?
I lift my head and glance at my sketchbook. If not Monstrous Sea fanfiction, he was definitely writing something. I reach over, flip the sketchbook open, and grab the paper he stuffed inside.
A normal piece of college-ruled notebook paper. On it, in handwriting surprisingly precise and neat for how quickly he wrote them, the words: Thanks.
The drawings are really good.
emmersmacks: Hold on emmersmacks: Wait
emmersmacks: So you stood up for him?
MirkerLurker: Yeah.
emmersmacks: . . . Im failing to see the issue here E
emmersmacks: Did they hurt you??
MirkerLurker: No . . . not really. Just took my sketchbook and threw it around a little.
MirkerLurker: Okay look I know it doesn’t sound that bad MirkerLurker: But, like, you don’t understand the way this guy looks at me. He’s one of those where it’s like, “Why are you even standing in front of me, you’re uglier than the stuff I crap out after eating too much Chipotle.”
3:19 p.m. (Apocalypse_Cow has joined the message)
Apocalypse_Cow: i feel like i came in at a bad time. i’ll go.
emmersmacks: E is having a crisis
Apocalypse_Cow: crisis over what?
MirkerLurker: Just this stupid new kid at school who may or may not be a fanfic writer for Monstrous Sea and who definitely thinks I am the scum of the earth.
emmersmacks: Why would he think that?? You stood up for him MirkerLurker: I don’t know! Because I emasculated him, probably. Or something. Max, I need advice from someone who’s felt emasculated.
Apocalypse_Cow: why would you immediately assume i’ve felt emasculated before?
MirkerLurker: Because you’re the only male here.
Apocalypse_Cow: if you want to know if some guys feel emasculated when a girl stands up to a bully for them, then unfortunately i must say that yes, that does happen.
Apocalypse_Cow: BUT NOT ME.
Apocalypse_Cow: LET IT BE KNOWN THAT MAX CHOPRA HAS NEVER FELT EMASCULATED.
Apocalypse_Cow: but really, did this guy say something to you? why feel so bad about it?
MirkerLurker: He didn’t say ANYTHING. That’s the problem!
MirkerLurker: He just stood there and wouldn’t even look at me.
emmersmacks: Did you say anything
MirkerLurker: . . . No.
emmersmacks: Well
emmersmacks: E
emmersmacks: There you might have a problem
Apocalypse_Cow: you’re getting schooled in social skills by a twelve-year-old in college. how does that feel emmersmacks: Im fourteen not twelve
emmersmacks: Asshole
Apocalypse_Cow: wait, he left a note in your sketchbook? what did it say?
MirkerLurker: It said thanks, and that the pictures were good.
emmersmacks: OH MY GOD
emmersmacks: THATS WHY HE DIDNT TALK
MirkerLurker: What?
emmersmacks: HE WAS TOO NERVOUS
emmersmacks: AW HE LIKES YOU E
MirkerLurker: I really really doubt that.
MirkerLurker: Like, I mean, REALLY doubt it.
MirkerLurker: He’s not exactly the kind of guy that’s usually interested in me.
Apocalypse_Cow: what kind of guy is usually interested in you?
MirkerLurker: The kind I make up in my head.
Apocalypse_Cow: wooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooow
Apocalypse_Cow: wooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooow Apocalypse_Cow: wooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooooo?ooow Apocalypse_Cow: do you want me to go ahead and fill your house with cats right now, or do you want to put that off for a few years?
MirkerLurker: Har har
MirkerLurker: I have to sit next to this guy in homeroom on Monday. What am I going to say to him?
emmersmacks: What have you been saying to him
MirkerLurker: Nothing. I thought that was clear.
emmersmacks: Then continue doing that
emmersmacks: If he wants to say something to you he will MirkerLurker: Why does a twelve-year-old know more about boys than I do?
emmersmacks: IM FOURTEEN
CHAPTER 6
On Monday I walk into homeroom—past victorious homecoming banners that say WILDCATS ARE THE CHAMPS—and Wallace is already there in the seat next to mine. But Mrs. Grier is there too, and she catches me by the door. Today it’s earrings shaped like shamrocks and a green dress shirt with black slacks.
“How are you this morning, Eliza?” she asks, smiling. It’s seven in the morning, how is she already smiling? I wait for her to continue, but she stands there staring at me like she actually wants to know the answer to that question.