Hoodie (10 page)

“You right, you right. I feel what you sayin’.”

“Do you?” Mr. Cantinori replied. “Then be quiet.” And he resumed his lecture.

Kareem closed his mouth and sunk down in his seat. He didn’t appear phased by being corrected in front of the entire class, but then he was usually reprimanded that way.

Emma grinned, her face buried in her notebook, but Anton saw. He wondered how she got to be such a good girl. She probably never got in trouble once in her life, at least not at school. He imagined what she would do if a teacher scolded her in front of the whole class, and concluded that she would probably melt into the floor from sheer embarrassment and disappear forever. He smiled to himself. To be that good, he thought.

Class ended and he walked with Kareem to his locker. It was lunch time, and the students moved slowly throughout the hallway, taking their time at their lockers. He wanted to ask Emma if they were still on for Friday afternoon, but just as he was about to approach her, he noticed a boy conversing with her. His heart went tight with jealousy. It was instant and unsettling, and he tried to ignore it. But he couldn’t, and he stood watching the boy look at Emma as though he knew something secretive about her that no one else did. Who was this guy? Emma never mentioned him.

He thought it absurd that he expected to know everything about her in less than a week. Regardless of the amount of time they had already spent together and the amount she had shared with him about her life, he still knew very little. Evidently she had a boyfriend, and he felt like an idiot. What did he actually think would happen between them? She was nice to him, even played along with his flirting, because she knew she had to work with him. She was just being nice, he thought bitterly. There was never anything more and could never be anything more.

The misery pervaded his body, and he thought how easy it would be to walk up to the boy and punch him in the face. A nice, strong right jab, he thought. Break a tooth in his fucking mouth. Take him to the floor and make him bleed. Make him swear to never talk to Emma again or he would kill him. The thoughts pacified him, and he felt the anger within him dissipate.

“Ugh, he gets on my nerves,” he heard Emma say after the boy walked away. She was talking to her friend with the long blonde hair.

“That’s mean, Emma,” Morgan replied.

“I know, and I feel awful for feeling that way. How can you date someone in the past and feel like you loved them, and then you break up and you don’t want to be anywhere near them? Like they disgust you? It’s a horrible feeling to have, and I feel like a horrible person,” Emma said.

Anton’s heart sprouted wings.

“Well, I guess you shouldn’t have let him go up your shirt,” replied Morgan matter-of-factly.

Anton scowled.

“Thanks, Morgan. You’re helpful.”

He smiled at Emma’s sarcasm. He could imagine her face to match.

“You know he wants to get back together with you. He’s dying to,” Morgan pointed out.

Anton curled his hands into fists.

“So not happening. As mean as this sounds, he just doesn’t do it for me,” Emma replied.

I can do it for you, Anton thought.

“Really? You aren’t attracted to him anymore in the slightest?” Morgan asked.

What was this girl trying to do, he thought? Ruin his chances?

“No, I’m really not. It was tenth grade. It’s over. I’m done with it,” Emma said.

That’s right, girl, move on. Right on over to me, Anton thought.

“So who are you attracted to?” Morgan asked. “Anyone? You haven’t mentioned a guy in a long time.”

He knew she would never say it, but he stood there hoping she would.

“I don’t know,” Emma replied. “I’m not sure I want to get attached to anyone before starting college.”

His heart splintered into a million pieces.

“That wasn’t my question. I asked if you thought anyone around here was cute,” Morgan said.

Say it Emma. Say it, he thought desperately.

“I don’t know,” Emma said blushing.

“Oh my God, you like someone! Spill it!” Morgan squealed.

Anton began tentatively piecing his heart back together.

“I never said that, Morgan,” Emma replied, but her flushed face betrayed her.

“Well, I think I know someone who likes you,” Morgan said.

His heart fell to pieces all over again.

“Who?” Emma asked.

“Your partner,” Morgan said boldly, and he could feel her eyes on him.

He shoved his face deeper into his locker.

“What are you talking about?” Emma asked quietly, looking in Anton’s direction.

“That guy you’re working with on that stupid English paper. I think he likes you. I’ve been watching him for the past few days. He’s always looking at you,” Morgan said.

Somebody push me into this locker and close the door, Anton thought. And never let me out again.

“You’re crazy,” Emma said.

No she isn’t, he thought sullenly.

“No, you’re crazy. Or you would be if you did anything with him,” Morgan said. Her tone held a note of warning.

Fuckin’ bitch, Anton thought. Shut your fuckin’ mouth.

“Morgan, there is nothing between us like that. I don’t even think we’re friends. You see we don’t talk at school,” Emma argued.

Anton’s body went rigid. His heart had already died, so he wondered how he could still feel it ache.

“Good,” Morgan replied. “Are we going to lunch?”

“Yes,” Emma said quietly.

She glanced in Anton’s direction once more. His head was hidden behind his locker door. She entertained the idea for only a moment that he actually liked her. It was ludicrous, she thought. He flirted with her, yes, but she had come to discover that he was a flirty guy by nature. She knew not to read too much into it. But she couldn’t deny how it made her feel when he teased her and looked at her in certain ways—like she was the only person on the planet, the only person in his world. Like he built his world around her, and she was the golden statue in the center of it that he worshipped every day.

She wondered how some people had the ability to do that, to make others feel like they were the only ones. Sanguines, she thought smiling, remembering learning about the four temperaments in psychology. Sanguines had the special gift. And then her heart stiffened. She remembered something else about Sanguines. When they’re through with you, they’re through.

She followed her friend to the cafeteria.

***

He was waiting to board the bus home when she approached him. She made sure his friends weren’t around; otherwise, she would not have extended the invitation.

“Wanna ride home?” she offered approaching him as he sat on a metal bench.

“We didn’t plan on working on our project today, did we?” he asked.

“No.”

“So then why you wanna give me a ride home?”

“To be friendly,” she said. She moved her school bag to the other shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”

She started walking towards the parking lot, and as much as he didn’t want to follow her, he knew he had no choice. It bothered him that he would do anything to spend just a little bit of time with her, even if that meant riding in her car for a mere five minutes.

Emma chatted happily as they made their way to West Highland Park. He wanted to be in a sullen mood; after eavesdropping on her conversation with Morgan he felt utterly hopeless about any romantic future with her. But her cheerfulness affected him despite his resolve to stay glum.

“What are we listenin’ to?” he asked after a time.

“Hey now. I listened to your music,” Emma replied, glancing at his face. It was screwed up as though he had just eaten something sour.

“I know you did. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ bad about it,” he replied.

“Well, you look like you hate it.”

“How you gonna know what I look like? You starin’ at me? You need to be watchin’ the road.”

Emma ignored him and turned the volume up on the stereo. The mournful melody filled the car.

“This gonna make me cry. We gotta change it,” he said, reaching for the dial on the stereo.

“Don’t touch it,” she commanded.

“Why you listenin’ to something so sad?”

“I like it. It helps me think about things,” she replied.

“What things you need to be thinkin’ about with a song like this? Nothin’ good, I imagine.”

Emma ignored him.

“And anyway,” he went on, “you been runnin’ yo’ mouth ever since we got in this car. You ain’t even listenin’ to it.”

“Good God,” she said, and turned the stereo off. “Happy?”

She pulled into the familiar spot in front of his house and put the car in park.

“You can come in if you want,” Anton said, opening his door. His tone was casual, but his heart was pleading.

“Okay. I can only stay for a bit, though. I have ballet tonight,” she said, and walked with him into the house.

He was going to kiss her today, he resolved. He remembered her conversation with Morgan and decided that he didn’t care. If she rejected him, then he would simply never look at her or talk to her again. They could work on their respective parts of the term paper separately, and he’d let her find a way to blend it all together. He’d mail her his section; she could do the rest.

He watched her walk about his room, fingering items on his dresser and desk. He liked her touching his things. She seemed interested in what she saw, and that made him hopeful.

“So that why you always standin’ up straight all the time,” he said.

“What?”

“You said you had ballet tonight. That why you have such good posture,” he replied.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose.”

“Do you like it?” he asked, sitting on his bed. He wanted to invite her to join him, but the words stuck in his throat. It was so easy yesterday, he thought, when he picked her up and tossed her on the duvet cover to tickle her feet.

“Yeah, I do,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s the only thing my mother and I share.”

Emma did not know why she voiced that. Her impersonal relationship with her mother was certainly none of his business. And why should he care? But she felt like she could tell him and he would not look at her like she was some poor little rich girl whose parents ignored her but gave her expensive things. That wasn’t the case anyway. She was very close to her father.

Anton wasn’t sure how he should reply. Did she mean to say that out loud, he wondered?

“You wanna sit down?” he asked.

She looked around the room, noticing a large pile of clutter on his desk chair, and made her way to his bed. She sat down tentatively and as far away from him as she could.

“Not everybody got good relationships with they parents,” he said at last.

“I guess not,” she replied. “It’s weird though, because it’s not like this out-and-out hostility between us. And I’m only talking about my mom here. My dad and I have a very good relationship. But my mom. She just expects so much. I have to be perfect all the time, and it’s exhausting.”