Just Friends (2 page)

“Josh? Josh! What happened? What’s going on in there? Are you all right?”

He picks up a handful of tubes and pots.

From behind the toilet bowl, Charley hisses.

“I’m terrific,” says Josh.

It has to be some kind of miracle that so many people actually survive adolescence.

Josh
is resolved. Determined as a superhero sworn to rid the city of crime and evil mischief. He can’t go on like this, he is going to banish Jenevieve Capistrano from his mind. She is just another attractive girl; just another cute grain of sand on a very large beach. It is in this mood that he strides into school like a captain boarding his ship.
I am in command
.

Captain Shine’s command lasts less than a minute. She is standing in the main foyer, talking to some girls who aren’t Tilda Kopel but could be if Tilda left town. She’s not just another pretty face, she stands out like a diamond in a bag of marbles.

She smiles. As always, it isn’t at him; as always, it makes him think that the world might be a better place than he knows it is. Josh comes to a dead stop. It may be that the girls are all about to go their separate ways. If they do, if Jenevieve, on her own, walks past him, then he might have a chance to say something to her. If he were taller and belonged to the right set and looked more like a movie star than a near-sighted bushbaby, he could simply walk up to her and welcome her to Parsons Falls.
Hi, you’re new here. Let me know if you need someone to show you around
. But he isn’t and he doesn’t, so he needs some vague but viable excuse in order to approach her. A question about their language arts homework. A comment about Mr Burleigh. A
Hey, did you drop this pen?
Anything to get the ball rolling. Part of him makes a pained face and groans. So far his attempts to roll the ball have all ended up in the gutter.

The first time he got up the nerve to speak to her he was making his way to history and she was strolling down the hall with Tilda and another Miss Wonderful Teenager with teeth like hospital tiles and the confidence of a megalomaniac. Tilda was talking (she’s always talking, odds are she talked in the womb). Josh’s stomach clenched and his heart impersonated a hammer, but he forced himself to look at Jena and give her his best this-is-a-friendly-town smile. She was looking straight ahead of her, which was where he was, but she didn’t smile back. As they passed he said, “Hi.” Not loudly. He was so afraid of shouting or squeaking with nerves that it came out as no more than a whisper. She didn’t hear him. Or if she did hear some unintelligible mumble she decided to ignore it.
Don’t encourage the hoi polloi
.

The second time, as in his daydreams (and many movies), he turned a corner and practically walked into her. She was leaning against a locker, looking bored. Her evil twin was nowhere in sight, so he guessed that it was Tilda’s locker and Jenevieve was waiting for her. He was so surprised to catch her alone that he didn’t think. He just stopped in front of her and blurted out, “I guess you must get a lot of bird jokes, huh?” She blinked, surprised or possibly startled – as if she hadn’t known he could talk. And then she smiled the way you would if a crazy person came up to you in the street and said he was from Alpha Centauri and needed five dollars to get home. “Bird jokes? I don’t know what you mean.” And who could blame her? What’s wrong with him? No, really – what is wrong with him? You just don’t walk up to someone you’ve never spoken to and start babbling about some obscure song that last charted in the 1950s. He might as well have asked her what time it was in Burkina Faso. He definitely wasn’t going to explain about the swallows returning to Capistrano. He couldn’t. He was struck dumb with embarrassment. Mumbling, “Sorry”, and never meaning it more, he turned so quickly that the only reason he didn’t plough into anybody was because he walked straight into the bank of lockers.

After that fiasco, he would have had trouble shouting “Fire!” if he’d seen the flames rising behind her. The only words he’s said directly to Jena since those first two botched attempts were “Hey, I’m sorry.” Three times. The first when he somehow managed to step on her; then when he knocked her books out of her arms; and finally when he bent down suddenly to pick up his pen and she practically fell over him. He may kill her long before he gets to speak to her.

He’d like to write a song about her, get her out of his system that way. Unfortunately, there isn’t much that rhymes with Jenevieve.
Give me leave… No reprieve… Wipe your nose upon my sleeve
. And even less that rhymes with Jena.
I’m gonna penna song to Jena
. Christ. Next time he gets fixated on someone he’s going to take his lead from Huddie Ledbetter and make it someone with a name like Irene.

It’s
a Saturday night. Most Saturday nights Josh hangs out with Carver and Sal at one of their homes to watch obscure movies or play games. Carver Jefferson and Armando “Sal” Salcedo are two of his closest friends. Carver lives in the house behind Josh’s, and they’ve been inseparable for as long as either can remember. They met Sal in middle school and immediately became three. Carver is the scientist, Josh the musician and Sal the next Wes Anderson or, possibly, Martin Scorsese. Each is something of a misfit in school, but they suit each other well. In eighth grade there was a discussion in Mr Juniper’s science class about the possibility of life on other planets and, if there were life, was it possible that extraterrestrials ever visited the Earth. In this discussion Sal, Carver and Josh – possibly influenced by their love of
Star Trek
– all said yes, and the rest of the class said no. “We’re like the Three Musketeers,” said Sal. “More like the Three Mouseketeers,” said Josh. Everyone else called them the Pod Squad – though, mercifully, few people remember that now.

The movie has ended. Tonight they watched a science-fiction film about highly evolved aliens who come to save the Earth from the destruction caused by humans, which has led to a discussion about entertainment versus information.

Right now would be a good example of how Josh’s preoccupation with Jenevieve “My Friends Call Me Jena” Capistrano interferes with his everyday existence. He sits in an armchair facing Carver and Sal, looking as if he is following their argument with thoughtful interest, but, having changed his mind about Jenevieve Capistrano being another girl among millions, what he’s really doing is wondering if he’ll ever get to talk to her in a meaningful and unembarrassing way. The way he talks to his family, his friends and his cat.

“But it was informative,” Sal is saying. “It showed you what human nature is like. I mean, come on, man, look what happened to the poor aliens. All they wanted to do was help. But we wouldn’t let them. That was the whole point of the movie.”

“I get all that,” concedes Carver. “I’m not debating it had a message, but it was buried in shoot-outs and chases.”

Sal’s sigh is heavy with sarcasm. They have had this discussion – or one very similar – before. “But—”

“But, firstly, most people who see that movie aren’t going to come away musing about human behaviour or how we’re killing the planet. They’re going to be thinking about what they’d do if there was an alien invasion. They’re going to be wondering if they could make a bunker in the basement.”

“And secondly?”

“And secondly, even if they are thinking,
Boy, people are pretty grim, what advanced life form would want to try to help us when, if we don’t kill them, we’d put them in a zoo?
they’re going to forget that by the time they get in the car. What they’ll remember is whether or not it was exciting and had some good jokes.”

“So what’s wrong with that?” demands Sal. “Everything doesn’t have to be a documentary about the end of life as we know it.” Carver is going to be an environmental scientist; when it’s his turn to pick a movie they almost always wind up watching a documentary. A depressing documentary, according to some. “You can entertain and inform at the same time. People don’t want lectures.”

“No, what they want are special effects. Talking toys. Flying broomsticks. Animals that sing and dance. So they can forget about anything serious and just have a good time.”

“
!
Madre de dios!”
Sal’s voice rises. “As usual, you’re totally ignoring the power of plot and character.”

Carver’s voice doesn’t rise; he might be talking about socks. “And, as usual, you are totally ignoring the talent people have for putting their heads in the sand and seeing only what they want to see.”

Carver’s calm only makes Sal more emotional. He waves his hands in the air. “That’s why you wrap your message in a good story. Lure them into it. Sugar coating on the pill.”

“Now’s not the time for that shit,” says Carver. “This planet has some serious problems that need some serious solutions.”

“But you love
Star Trek
and
Blade Runner
and
Hitchhiker’s Guide
—”

“They haven’t changed anything, though, have they? They’ve entertained and amused and made some people a lot of money.”

“Josh, man,” moans Sal, “help me out here, will you? I’m starting to lose the will to live.” Josh continues staring into space. Sal picks up a pretzel from the bowl on the table and aims it at Josh’s head. It bounces off his glasses.

“Hey!” He blinks like someone who’s just stepped out of a deep, dark cave. “What’s up with you? What’d you do that for?”

“What’s up with
me
?” Sal laughs. Sarcastically. “What’s up with
you
? You’ve been acting like a refugee from
The Boy Who Wasn’t There
all week.”
The Boy Who Wasn’t There
is a favourite movie of Sal’s, about a teenager whose body is taken over by beings who can move through time the way humans cross a room.

“Nothing’s up with me.” Josh picks the pretzel from his lap and pops it into his mouth. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“You know, Sal’s right,” says Carver. “You have definitely been mind-surfing all week. Either that or looking around like you’re expecting the cops to turn up.”

“I’m not the one who has to worry about the cops, Jefferson.” It was Carver who almost blew up the science lab last year. He was conducting an experiment to prove the inaccuracy of drones – which was the other thing it accomplished.

“So, if not the police, who is it you’ve been looking for?” asks Sal.

“No one. You’re imagining things. My eyes probably wander because I’m tired of staring at your ugly mugs.”

“I bet I know what’s on your mind,” says Sal. “It’s a girl, isn’t it? It has to be.” How does the boy whose own mind is always occupied with scripts and camera angles know that? “You’ve had that lobotomized look lately.”

“I wasn’t thinking about a girl,” lies Josh.

But apparently not convincingly. Carver shakes his head. Thoughtfully considering. “Oh no, I do believe Sal is onto something here.” He eyes Josh as if he’s a piece of scientific evidence. “Now that he’s mentioned it, I’ve noticed it, too. He’s right, isn’t he? You’re all warped out by a girl.”

“No, I’m not.” But because he’s so caught by surprise, he decides to reshape the lie. “To tell you the truth, I was thinking about girls – but in a general kind of way.”

“In a general kind of way?” repeats Carver. “Like you only just noticed them? What were you wondering – how they got here?”

“Just in general, Carver. You know, like you might think about the ocean or the Arctic Circle or whatever. We don’t talk much about girls and stuff like that.”

“Nor do we talk much about abseiling or hunting,” says Carver. “But that’s because we’re not exactly involved in those things, either.”

“Yeah, but unlike hanging off a mountain or shooting deer, we will be involved with girls. Someday. Won’t we?” As unlikely as it sometimes seems, there is a strong probability that, eventually, at least one of them will have a date.

“So you want an old-fashioned bull session, is that what you want?” laughs Sal. “Like on the Memorable Fourth?”

The Memorable Fourth of July occurred two summers ago when the whole Salcedo clan gathered for a holiday barbecue. Because beds were needed, Sal was moved to a tent in the backyard. He liberated a couple of unclaimed six-packs, and Carver and Josh crashed there with him. There was a lot of talk about girls and stuff like that, that night. Though how memorable any of it was is up for debate. What they remember most is waking up in terror when the raccoons knocked over the garbage cans, and managing to collapse the tent in their panic.

“I guess. Yeah. Something like that.” But sober. “It’s just that I don’t think I even know how to get started with a girl.”

Carver grins. “Oh, I think we all know how to get started, Josh. You didn’t miss Sex Ed 101.”

“I don’t mean sex. I mean dating. You guys know how dating works? You read the manual?”

“Don’t quote me or anything.” Carver is good at sardonically smug. “But I believe you begin by asking someone out. And then you go out. It’s an A, B, C kind of thing.” Unable to resist, he adds, “Like sex.”

“But what if you’re, you know, not so sure about asking her out in the first place?”

“Not sure you want to, or not sure you should?” asks Sal.

“You know you want to. That’s the part you’re sure of.”

Sal absent-mindedly picks up a pretzel. “You mean you’re infatuated? Is that what you mean?” Still not looking at it, he breaks the pretzel in half. “It’s not just that you think it’s time to go on a date. You have a thing for somebody.”

“Ah, an infatuation…” Carver makes it sound like an exotic but deadly disease. “Statistically, I suppose it’s bound to happen to one of us eventually. Like cancer or going bald.”

“
Dios mío
, man, you don’t have to be so negative.” Sal snaps the pretzel again. “They’re not the same thing at all. What’s so bad about having a crush on someone? I think it’s cool.”

“Maybe.” Carver sounds as far from convinced as the Earth from Mars. “But if you ask me it can distract you from what you should be concentrating on.”