I spend the rest of class wondering why the Batman picked me. Maybe I look smart? And if I look smart, does that mean I look dorky? I mentally scan my outfit: plaid button-down, Gap jeans cuffed up, my old beat-up Vans. My Chicago uniform, minus the heavy jacket. Nothing too telling there, especially now that I’m scrunchie-free. My first instinct is that, for whatever reason, he’s just doing a good deed. I must have looked pathetic, wildly scanning the room for a willing face, especially after he saw me getting bitched out by Gem earlier and embarrassing myself on the first day of school. Even Ken Abernathy, who according to SN has a farting problem, found a partner immediately.
When the bell rings and we’re all packing up our laptops—of course I’m the only one here without a fancy, slim computer—the Batman stops at my desk, stares me down again with those killer eyes. Am I just imagining that they have a sociopathic hint to them? He can’t be that mean. Picking me was actually a nice thing to do. I don’t remember taking the time to befriend a new kid back home. Hot and nice. That. Is. So. Not. Good.
I realize just in time that I need to stop staring and speak up.
“So do you want to exchange numbers or something?” I ask, and hate the nervous lilt in my voice that makes me sound way too much like the girls who gather around him at lunchtime. It’s just that I haven’t really spoken much in weeks. Scarlett and I mostly text. My dad has been so busy looking for a new job and spending time with his new wife that we’ve barely seen each other. He’s not my favorite person right now anyway. I don’t like this new version of him, distracted and married to a stranger, forcing me into an unrecognizable life without a say in the matter.
And that’s it. The sum total of people left in my world.
“Nah. I’ll just do the assignment and put both of our names on it.” This guy doesn’t wait for my okay. He just nods again, like I’ve said yes. Like he asked and I answered a question.
Right. Maybe not so nice after all.
“But—” But what? I was looking forward to being your partner? I like your serial killer eyes? Or worst of all: Please? I don’t finish speaking. Just look back down at my leather book bag, which I thought was cool until I got here and realized everyone else’s was a fancy French brand that you hear about in rap songs.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get an A.”
Then the Batman walks out so fast that it’s almost like I imagined him there. Some perverse version of a superhero. And I am left alone to gather up my stuff, wondering how long it will be till someone talks to me again.
Me: It will get better, right? Eventually, it will get better.
Scarlett: I’m sorry I’m not the type to lower our discourse to emoji use since you totally deserve a smiley face right now. Yes, it will get better.
Me: Ha. It’s just. Whatever. Sorry to keep whining.
Scarlett: That’s what I’m here for. BTW, that email you forwarded? My guess: TOTALLY A SECRET ADMIRER.
Me: You’ve read too many books. I’m being set up. And stop YELLING AT ME.
Scarlett: No way. I didn’t say he was a vampire. I said he was a secret admirer. Most def.
Me: Wanna take bets?
Scarlett: You should just know by now that I’m always right. It’s my one magic power.
Me: What’s mine?
Scarlett: TBD.
Me: Thanks a lot.
Scarlett: Kidding. You are strong. That’s your power, girl.
Me: My arms are v. toned from stress-eating ALL the cookies. Hand to mouth. Repeat 323 times. Hard-core workout.
Scarlett: Seriously, for a second, J? Just because you’re strong doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ask for help sometimes. Remember that. I’m here, ALWAYS, but you might want to take up that offer from someone local.
Me: Whatever. Ugh. Thanks, Dr. Phil. I miss you!
Scarlett: Miss you too! Go write back to SN. NOW. NOW. NOW. Now tell me the truth? Anyone at your school unusually pale?
To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: Conjuring my spirit guide
Okay, I call mercy. You’re right. This place is a war zone, and I could use some help. So I’m going against my gut here and just hoping I can trust you. Are you still game for just a few questions? (And if this is Deena, you win. You got me.)
To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: at your service, m’lady
now you got me curious about this Deena chick. why is she out to get you? the offer still stands.
To: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
From: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
Subject: I’m virtually curtsying.
The Deena story isn’t particularly interesting. Stupid high school girl stuff. Speaking of which: you said that there was a short list of people I should befriend? Not to sound too desperate, but some guidance would be appreciated on that front.
What’s up with WV Giving Day and what will happen to my toes if I leave them exposed?
Do those weird lunch cards come preloaded with $$ or what?
To: Jessie A. Holmes ([email protected])
From: Somebody Nobody ([email protected])
Subject: toes chop suey
start with Adrianna Sanchez. she’s shy, so she won’t approach you first. But she’s cool and smart and secretly funny once you get to know her. I don’t know why, but I feel like you two could be good friends.
community service day with Habitat for Humanity. it involves hammers, hence closed-toe shoes. your Vans should be fine. they’re cool, by the way.
nope, not preloaded. machine outside the caf takes only tens and twenties and credit cards.