I was complaining about my grade on a history paper, and Jason went, “That’s ridic.”
“Where’d you get that?” I said.
“What?”
“Ridic.”
“Isn’t it common sense?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I have special abbreve talents then.”
“You know it’s abbreve!”
“Who doesn’t know that?”
“Everyone! I thought I made it up.”
“I thought
I
made it up.”
I have no idea how he knows these things. Like just now, we both scraped off some icing from our pieces of cake at the same time. Then we tapped our forks together and both went, “Cheers.” I thought I was the only one who did cheers! Jason has been here all along, with all of these same ways of being, and I never even knew it.
Bianca gets up from the Golden Table. She looks over at us. When Bianca looks at us, it’s not like when other people look. Other people look away when you look back at them. Other people have some sort of grasp on boundaries.
Bianca is not other people.
I already know she’s coming over. She’s all about the gossip. Even if there’s no gossip, she’ll make some up anyway. It’s so tragic. She wasn’t this bad back when we were sort of friends. I don’t know how Erin can still deal with her.
“Hey, you guys,” Bianca says. She’s just standing there like it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to come over and talk to us. If we wanted company, we would be sitting at a bigger table with more people at it.
“Hey,” Jason says.
Subtext: Why the eff are you bothering us?
“So, Lani,” Bianca goes. “I was wondering if Erin’s going to camp this summer.”
Subtext: I needed an excuse to come over here, so I made up this lame one.
“Why wouldn’t she?” I say.
Subtext: You know she’s going to camp because she always goes to camp, so why are you asking?
“I thought she was, but my cousin was thinking about going to camp in Vermont so I thought she could talk to Erin about it.”
Subtext: Why are you and Jason sitting together?
I’m like, “You could just ask Erin.”
Subtext: Lay off.
“I know, I just thought you might know,” Bianca says. “Well . . . see ya!”
Jason goes, “What was that?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Why can’t people just leave us alone? I see the way they stare. Or in the hall, when Jason walks with me between classes. I had no idea we were so fascinating.
“This history report is killing me,” Jason goes.
“You’re still working on that?” Jason’s been complaining about his history report forever. He unfortunately got stuck with the one history teacher who enjoys assigning insane amounts of work. “I thought it was due last week.”
“No, I have two more days.”
“How far are you?”
“Not far enough. And I won’t have that much time to work on it later because I have mentoring.”
“I wish I could help you.”
“What are you doing after school?”
“No, I mean, I wish I could help, but—”
“Dude, I’m talking about mentoring. Want to come with us?”
Jason talks about the kids he mentors sometimes. You can tell that he loves hanging out with those kids just as much as Erin does, trying to help them learn and maybe even make their lives better. It sounds like the kids really like him, too.
My head’s all foggy. “Is it Tuesday?” I go.
“Yeah.”
“Sweet, I don’t have swimming. And One World’s not until Thursday.”
“You’re on the swim team?”
“No, more like . . . I take a class. At the rec center.”
“You take swimming classes?”
“I know, I’m like six years old.”
“I could teach you.”
“Really?”
“Totally. I lifeguard in the summer.”
“I didn’t know that.”
We eat cake.
Jason goes, “So, you don’t have swimming because it’s Tuesday—”
“Oh, sorry, um . . . I’m not doing anything.”
“Cool, you can come to mentoring.”
The middle school is a five-minute walk from here. There’s no excuse to not go. Except I don’t want Erin to feel like I’m intruding. Mentoring is their thing.
“Wouldn’t I be a third wheel?” I ask.
“Impossible.”
“Are you allowed to bring someone?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Maybe we should ask Erin. Just to make sure it’s okay.”
“I’m all over it.”
Erin was totally cool with me going. So we all walked over after school. The middle school has a huge classroom they use for after-school activities. Desks were set up in pairs and small groups. Erin introduced me to some of the kids she’s been working with. They all crowded around her adoringly, yammering about five different things at once.
Jason went to help a group with their science homework, and Erin was talking with a student by the bookshelves. I read
Harriet the Spy
with a sixth grader.
After, Erin decided that we should make certificates for the kids in mentoring who’ve improved the most. We have an awards ceremony at the end of every year, but the middle school doesn’t. So Jason said we could come over to his house to work on some certificates.
Driving over to Jason’s, Erin goes, “Did you have fun?”
“Tons. It’s so cool that you guys mentor.”
“Kids are the future,” Erin says. “I have to help make sure it doesn’t suck.” It’s so Erin to want to be a part of everything.
We get to Jason’s house right as he’s getting out of his Jeep. A cute dog is waiting right inside the doorway. He’s small and stocky with short black fur.
He snorts loudly when he sees Jason.
“Hey, Phil,” Jason goes. “Wanna meet a new friend?”
Erin has obviously already met Phil. She pets him and makes you’re-such-a-cute-dog noises.
“What kind of dog is he?” I ask.
“He’s a French bulldog. Very dignified.”
Phil has big, wet eyes. He stares at me.
Jason’s like, “You can pet him.”
I put my hand out for Phil to sniff. He snuffles against my fingers.
“I have construction paper in my room,” Jason says. “Come on up.” He takes the stairs two at a time, ahead of us. We follow with Phil running up the stairs between us, his short legs working away.
The poster is the first thing I see. It’s a special-edition poster of
The Little Prince
. I collect all things
Little Prince
. The fox is my favorite character.
I have that same exact poster in my room. I’ve had it since I was four.
“I have that same poster,” I say.
“No way,” Jason says. He’s digging through a pile of stuff on his desk.
“I collect
Little Prince
things. I’ve had it forever.”
“I bet I’ve had mine longer.”
“Your poster is the same one?” Erin asks me.
“You know it is. Why didn’t you tell me we had the same poster?”
“I never noticed. I thought they were both just
Little Prince
in general.”
“You’ve seen my poster hundreds of times. How can you not know—”
“A Koosh,” Jason interrupts.
“Huh?”
“I’ll bet you a Koosh that I’ve had my poster longer than you’ve had yours.”
“Any particular colors?”
“Yes.”
“Deal.”
We shake on it.
“So?” I say.
“I’ve had my poster . . .”
“Yeah . . . ?”
“. . . since I was four.”
“Same here!”
“No way.”
“Will you stop saying
no way
?” Erin goes. Then, less harshly: “Where’s the construction paper?”
Jason doesn’t have just any
Little Prince
poster. He has the
same exact one as me
. And we’ve had our posters for the
same exact amount of time
. These things don’t just happen randomly.
Jason’s a kindred spirit who’s been in my life this whole time and I didn’t even know it. We’ve gone to school together all these years, but it took us this long to discover the truth. So did fate bring us together, using Erin to connect us? Or would we have found each other anyway?
As if it matters. Because it’s not just about us. Which is why I have to ignore all of this. Even though it’s obvious that nothing this intense will ever happen to me again.
16
I have the hiccups.
They won’t go away.
“Those sound serious,” Jason says.
He ran into me at my locker after English, so we’re walking to lunch together. When we pass Bianca at her locker, she jabs her laser glare at me. I resist the urge to slam her face into the wall.
“They are,” I say. “Very serious.”
“How long have you had them?”
“Ten minutes. At least.”
“I know what you need.”
“What?”
“That,” Jason says, “will be revealed momentarily.”
When we bring our lunches to our table, Jason still won’t tell me. My hiccups are getting worse, if that’s possible.
“Oh,” Jason says, “did you drink this water before your hiccups started?” He holds up his water bottle. It’s some weird kind with an iceberg on it.
“What kind of water is that?”
“The refreshing iceberg kind, otherwise known as Crisp Icy Water. You’ve never tried it?”
“No.”
“Okay, then it wasn’t the water. This brand has been linked to irreversible hiccup damage. Never drink this kind of water.”
“You’re drinking it.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have the hiccups. Also, it doesn’t have a good color/shape/taste combo going for it.”
“Hic!”
“I know, that shocked me when I found out, too. But yeah, it tastes like orange rhombus, so that’s no fun.”
The scary thing is that I know exactly what he’s talking about. You can describe the taste of different kinds of water by color and shape. Like, Poland Spring is a red circle. Why it’s a red circle is hard to explain. It just is. I guess the circle part comes from its taste being this full, round flavor. And the red part . . . I don’t even know how I know that.
“Evian is a blue triangle,” I inform him.
“Yes! But what shade of blue?”
“Sky blue, duh.”
“Can you believe some people don’t know that?”
“Not really.”
“What’s Fiji?”
“Where Chuck Noland was stranded for four years.”
“Who’s Chuck Noland?”
“The character Tom Hanks played in
Cast Away
.”
“Your memory is impressive,” Jason says. “First my circles in algebra and now this.”
“I like retaining information.”
“So, hey. Your hiccups are gone.”
I test it out. Ten seconds go by with no hiccups and no threat of impending hiccups.
“Finally,” I go.
“And to think that you doubted my technique.”
“I never doubted your technique.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I thought—”
“Hey, Lani,” Connor says, who’s suddenly standing by our table. Except he’s not in this lunch.
“Connor!” I go. “What are you doing here?”
“Emergency snack break. I’m sure Ms. Liddell won’t mind.”
“She doesn’t know you left?”
“Yeah, but I asked to go to the bathroom. I think she’d understand if I pick up a quick snack cake, eh?”
“Definitely,” I agree. “Oh, do you guys know each other?”
“Hey, man,” Jason goes. “Didn’t we have gym together last year?”
“I think so.” Connor studies Jason. “You’re Jason, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Connor.”
“From Canada.”
“You’ve heard about me.”
“I think everyone knows you’re from Canada, Connor,” I say.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Well . . .”
“Jeez, try to blend in and you still get labeled. Anyone want a Coffee Crisp?”
“Huh?”
“Sorry, Canadian inside joke with myself. I’ll be going now.”
The next day in art, I’m searching the shelves for the clear glue when Connor comes over all determined. It’s obvious he wants to say something. But he just stands there.
“Yeah?” I go.
Connor’s like, “What? Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
“But you’re obviously going to.”
“No, I was just looking for . . .”
“For what?”
“Graph paper.”
“It’s not with the other paper?”
“Oh. Right. I guess I should check over there.”
“Are you okay?” I’ve never seen Connor all jittery like this.
“Couldn’t be better. Well, it’s possible I had too much sugar for breakfast.”
“Really?” I go back to searching for the clear glue. “What’d you have?”
“Um. Pop-Tarts.”
“I thought you hated those.”
“And with good reason! I should have learned never to touch those things again from my last sugar high.” Then Connor goes off in search of some graph paper.
I finally find a bottle of clear glue shoved under a pile of felt. Back at my table, Sophie’s working on some kind of pencil sculpture. She doesn’t like talking while she’s working, so I decide to ask her about it after class.
I inspect the carbon footprint awareness posters Danielle and I made last night. Today’s a free day, so we can do whatever we want as long as it’s art related. Ms. Sheptock and I have a deal that I can finish One World posters in here as long as I do something extra creative with them. I’m thinking sequins to outline the footprints we drew along the bottom of each poster.
Connor sits down across from me with his graph paper.
“What are you doing with that?” I ask.
“Don’t know yet. I just had a feeling it was time for some intense graphics action. Maybe some anime.”
“I didn’t know you liked anime.”