“Not even close.”
Rachel sticks her head in the door, and I feel that squeeze in my stomach that always accompanies an interaction with her. I’m smart enough to know it’s not really her fault, that my feelings toward her probably have little to do with the reality of who she is, but still, I can’t help it. I don’t want to know her, don’t want this random person my father has inexplicably chosen to marry to be an integral part of my life.
“What happened? I heard happy squeals!” she says. She can’t help herself; she looks from Theo to me and me to Theo, and her smile is so emphatic that I can see the fillings in the back of her mouth. She is almost thinking out loud: Maybe this whole thing will work after all.
“Nothing,” I say, and when her face falls, I feel guilty. I don’t mean to cut her down, but I just don’t have it in me to give her this. To hand over the one good thing that has happened since I moved here.
“Sorry. I’ll leave you guys to it!” she says, as always too loud, and continues down the hall. I wonder if I’ll hear about this later from my dad, if she’ll tell him that I was rude and he’ll ask me to be nicer.
I should be nicer.
“All right, I give up. Tell your big brother,” Theo says, not at all seeming to notice how I talked to his mother, or maybe not much caring.
“Ew, that sounds so wrong.”
“I know, right? Okay, so where?”
“Book Out Below! You know, the bookstore?”
“Ah, how appropriate. But I actually have been there, if you must know. I am highly literate.”
“I’m sure you are,” I say, which is the truth. Theo recently beat me on a physics quiz, even though I know for a fact he didn’t study the night before. The kid is smart. It seems, with the possible exception of Tweedledee and Tweedledumber, everyone at Wood Valley is smart, or at least motivated. Here it’s cool to try, which is funny, because trying is why I wasn’t particularly cool in Chicago. By the transitive property you would think I’d be cool here, but no. Then again, I casually reference things like the transitive property, so maybe there are other, more valid reasons for my lack of popularity.
“So, what the hell happened to your face?” Theo asks.
CHAPTER 11
Ethan: You. Me. “The Waste Land.” Library. Friday 3:30. Work for you?
Me: Sure.
Ethan: Cool beans.
How does he make something like “cool beans,” perhaps the dorkiest expression ever uttered, sound acceptable? Do I write more to keep the conversation going? I’m better writing than I am talking in person. Maybe this is my shot to show who I actually am, not the weird loser I morph into around people who make me nervous. Will I still have this bulbous bruise on Friday?
This is ridiculous. This is so not a big deal.
We are working on a project together.
He doesn’t like you. You certainly do not like him.
Get over yourself, Jessie.
Grow up.
Scarlett: School sucks balls without you. I had to sit with Deena today and hear all about her gymnastics meet. How’s your head?
Me: Swollen. Blue. I took your hat suggestion. Got alternately mocked and complimented.
Scarlett: If I were there, I’d give those two girls a knuckle sandwich.
Me: Not worth hurting your hands.
Scarlett: You okay? I worry.
Me: Don’t. Fine. Making friends with Dri.
Scarlett: Just don’t like her better than me.
Me: Never.
Scarlett: And how’s Mr. Holmes?
Me: No idea. He’s always with the stepmonster. Rather not deal.
Scarlett: Adam Kravitz wants to take me to homecoming.
Me: WHAT?!? Took you long enough to tell me. And?
Scarlett: We’ll see.
Me: How’d he ask?
Scarlett: Text. But cute text. You know. He’s shy.
Me: I bet he’s a better kisser now.
Scarlett: I’ll let you know. Maybe. You know he only asked me bc you’re not here.
Me: Not true.
Scarlett: I bet we spend the whole time talking about how much we miss you.
Me: No way. Go forth and prosper.
Scarlett: Nerd.
Me: If I used the expression “cool beans,” I’d sound like an even bigger nerd than I already am, right?
Scarlett: OMG. Seriously, unless you want to be bullied forever, DO NOT USE “COOL BEANS.”
Me: Yeah, that’s what I thought.
? ? ?
SN: nice hat.
Me: Thanks. Actually, that’s kind of creepy. You know what I wore today, but I still have no idea who you are?
SN: jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers. same as yesterday and tomorrow. you missed nothing.
Me: Not the point.
SN: what happened to your head? do I need to beat someone up for you?
Me: You know, that’s the second time today someone has offered to defend my honor. Makes a girl feel special. But no. Culprit was a guitar case.
SN: OUCH.
Me: Not my finest moment. I’m not usually that clumsy. Felt like a rom-com heroine, except it wasn’t romantic or funny. And I hate that trope.
SN: sorry for delay. was looking up the word “trope.” don’t think less of me.
Me: Ha. I’m not a word snob. I just like them.