Living with Jackie Chan (22 page)

“I want us to last, too. I don’t want to be like my mom, always getting dumped. Always acting desperate. In the time I’ve been dating Britt, do you know how many boyfriends she’s had?”

“No.”

“A lot.”

“Just because you and Britt break up doesn’t make you like your mom.”

“I’m not breaking up with him. Besides, me being with Britt is one of the only things that makes my mom happy. She thinks we’re going to get married! If she had her way, we’d already be engaged.”

“Why?”

“Because she wants a better life for me than she’s had. Or provided.”

“And Britt will give you that?”

She shrugs. “My mom thinks so.”

“What do you think?”

Instead of answering, she scans the end of the road again, then looks down at her phone. To me, those two gestures say it all. But she doesn’t get it. She really doesn’t see what he’s done to her.

“Why did you even give me that rock?” I ask.

“Because I care about you. We’re karate partners.”

“What happened to ‘friends’?”

“Please don’t make this so hard.”

Now I’m the one looking up and down the street.

“Do you want it back, then?” I ask.

“What?”

“The rock.”

She bites her bottom lip. “No. I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

“Because I still care. Look, he’s going to be here any second.”

“And?”

“Just forget it, OK?” She gets up and starts down the stairs. If Larry could see how this has unfolded, he would probably hit me over the head.

“He doesn’t deserve you!” I call after her.

She doesn’t turn back.

“Stella!” I call.

But she keeps on walking.

“Hey, Josh! Check it out!” Jason waves a yearbook at me. “You gonna pick yours up?”

“I didn’t order one,” I tell him. It’s the last day of school, and all day long I’ve been avoiding people spontaneously hugging and crying in the halls. You’d think this was the end of the world, not the end of senior year. But I guess some of these people think those are the same thing. People like
Britt
and his posse, who will never again experience being able to reign over an entire group of popular-table wannabes. They know this way of life is over. At college, they will have to start from nothing again, and there is no guarantee they will ever achieve the same level of greatness. Me? I’ll just go on being invisible like always. Nothing to lose.

“How could you not order a yearbook?” Jason asks, stunned. But I can see the reason slowly dawn on him.

I shrug.

“Well, will you sign mine?”

“Sign it?”

“Yeah, you know. Say some brilliant thing, and when you’re famous, I can sell it.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” I tell him. I drop my bag at my feet and take his book and the pen he’s already pulled out.

I think for a minute. Then write:

Jason, Thanks for making what could have been a hellish year not be. — Josh

I close the book so he doesn’t read it in front of me.

“Thanks! Are you going to the graduation party?”

“No, I have to go to my uncle’s wedding.”

“That sucks! Can’t you get out of it?”

“I’m the best man.”

“Oh. Guess not. But you’ll still be at graduation, right?”

“Definitely.”

“Cool.”

I pick up my stuff and head out the school doors for the last time.

It feels pretty damn good.

As soon as I get home, I check my phone and find about a million texts from my parents. They’re coming for my graduation, which they refused to let me skip, and for Larry’s wedding, of course. For some bizarre reason only Larry can explain, he thought it would be a brilliant idea to get married the same weekend so it can be, in his words, “A Josh and Larry Extravaganza!” Such. A. Bad. Idea.

Caleb and Dave have been texting like crazy, too. They want me to come home and party with them when they graduate (a week after me), but I keep making excuses for committing to any solid plans. I don’t know why. I guess I’m kind of in denial that I actually have to go back home for the summer before I leave for Philly. I got into my third choice, Temple University, which is pretty good, considering how lousy my GPA was before I came here.

About the only person who isn’t on my case every day is Stella. But that’s because Stella doesn’t talk to me anymore.

We still go to karate, but we don’t walk home together. Britt picks her up. At practice, she avoids me. And when we’re doing our katas side by side, I feel like I’m dancing with a shadow instead of a friend. Sometimes when I catch her looking at me, it’s like I’m looking at that other disappointed face. Like I failed another test I never understood the rules for. When we finally tested for our brown belts — and got them — Larry wanted to take us both out for dinner to celebrate, but Stella said no. And at that moment, I realized we really weren’t friends anymore.

Larry thinks this is all very tragic. But I did exactly what I set out to do last year when I arrived. I went to school. I studied hard and brought up my grades so I could get into college. I earned my ticket out of Dodge in the form of an acceptance letter to Temple University. I did it. Every goal met. But somewhere along the way, they didn’t seem all that important anymore. And then I lost the one thing that was: Stella.

So that’s where I’m at. Soon, my parents will come. I’ll put on some stupid bright-green-and-purple graduation robe because, yeah, those are the school colors, and I’ll shake some dude’s hand and get my diploma, which basically represents my
real
ticket out of here. And then I’ll stand next to Larry and give him the rings, and he’ll walk down the aisle a new man, with Arielle at his side. And then we’ll party it up at the reception and then wave good-bye as they drive away.

And then I’ll wave good-bye to this life, too.

It feels like I’m always waving good-bye.

A few days before graduation, Larry and Arielle are off meeting a caterer while I pick up the place in anticipation of my parents coming. Clover follows me from room to room, purring in a sad way. It’s like she knows our days are numbered.

When the landline rings, I almost don’t pick it up, but then I figure it could be my parents. I say hello, but no one replies for a few seconds. Then I hear a baby crying in the background. I feel my heart start to race.

“Hello?” I say again. “Who is this?”

“J-Josh? Is Larry there?”

“Stella?” I ask.

“Yeah. Can I talk to Larry?”

“He’s out with Arielle.”

“Do — do you know when he’ll be back?”

Her voice sounds weird. I think she’s crying.

“I’m not sure. Are you OK?”

“Um. Not really. Can you come outside?”

“Where are you?”

“On the stoop. Could — could you hurry?”

I race down the stairs. Just outside, I find her sitting on the stairs, hugging her foot. Benny is screaming bloody murder from his stroller.

“What happened?” I yell, rushing to her. Her left foot doesn’t look right. Her shoe is all smooshed-looking. As soon as she sees me, she starts sobbing.

“Can you help us get to the hospital?” she chokes.

“How did you do that?”

“It kind of got run over. It was an accident.”

“An accident?”

“Yes. I swear. But I think I might have broken my foot.”

“Shouldn’t I call an ambulance?”

“No! It’s too expensive. Can you hail a cab? I tried to call my mom, but she’s not picking up. And Gil and Gene aren’t answering their phones. I figured I’d take a shot at Larry being home. I’d go myself, but I’ve got the baby and . . .”

“No worries,” I say. “Just hang on.” I run to the corner and start waving my hands at the traffic to hail a cab. By some miracle, I see one two blocks down, and he flashes his lights to show me he’s on the way. I race back to Stella.

The cab pulls to the curb. Stella holds out her hand, and I pull her up and help her over to the door. She winces as she gets in. “The baby,” she says, gesturing toward the stroller. He got so quiet all of a sudden, I forgot he was there.

“Oh, uh . . .” I wheel the stroller over to the door.

“You’ll have to hand him to me,” she says.

“Huh?”

“Pick him up. You can fold the stroller and put it in the trunk.”

The driver stands next to the stroller, waiting.

I force myself to look down. A round face with brown eyes and wet cheeks cranes up at me. Pudgy hands reach out, as if they know what my job is.

I breathe in and try to stay calm. I unclick the little straps connected at his waist.

“OK,” I say. “OK.”

I reach out and put my hands under his tiny arms, around his middle. When his hand touches mine, I feel a chill run up my arm.

“Hurry up, eh?” the driver says.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. I get a hold, and gently lift him out. He’s surprisingly solid and heavy. He grabs my nose as soon as he can reach. My heart is pumping against my chest so hard it hurts.

I swivel around and hand him to Stella as fast as I can. But even after I let go, I feel the weight of him in my hands. And the pain in my chest is still there.

I help the driver get the stroller folded up and climb in next to Stella and the baby.

“Can you hold him?” she asks. “My foot . . .”

She passes him over to me.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never —”

But she’s passing him over, and he’s reaching for me again.

He leans his head back against my chest and looks up. “Gah.”

“Hey,” I say. His little body is warm and heavy against mine.

“Hospital,” Stella tells the driver.

“I figured,” he says.

Benny points out the window as we pass a big dump truck. “Duh!” he says. He lifts his head and thuds it against my chest again.

Stella sucks in her breath and flinches when we hit a dip in the road.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“I think I broke something,” she says. “I’m afraid to look.”

I peer down at her shoe. There’s a black streak across the top where the tire must have gone over.

“You might be OK,” I say. “The shoe doesn’t look too squashed.”

She winces. “I hope you’re right.”

“How did this happen, anyway?”

“It was an accident,” she says again. She turns away from me when she says it. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine,” I say.

“Digh!” Ben points as we pass under a green light.

And that’s about the extent of our conversation.

At the ER entrance, we all climb out and I get the baby back in the stroller. The driver goes inside and comes back with a wheelchair and a nurse, which is pretty nice of him. Then I realize I ran outside without any cash, and he freaks out because Stella doesn’t have any money, either. “Listen, if you come by the same address tomorrow I’ll pay you. I promise,” I tell him.

He looks like he doesn’t believe me, but what else can he do? Plus, the baby’s crying again.

He walks away, shaking his head and mumbling.

“I promise I’ll pay you back!” I call. He waves his hand at me in disgust.

When I turn back, the nurse is already wheeling Stella toward the ER entrance. I grab the stroller and try to catch up. “Ella!” Ben cries, pointing.