Take Me There (15 page)

And Sheila’s like, “I know. I know I have to stop. But that fight with my mom was so bad, Nicole. And I can sleep over at Brad’s anytime.”

I’m like, “Doesn’t his dad care?”

She goes, “Not really. It’s not like his dad’s even there at night anyway. He’s a security guard for Con Edison, and he works the night shift.”

I have to think of another way to convince her. So I go, “I know you love him, but why are you still with him if things are like this?”

And she’s like, “It’s not that simple. Everything’s different now. At first it was just about acting out this bad-boy fantasy thing, you know?”

I nod because I can totally relate. How cool would that be? Like the fantasy where you’re swept away by this hot road-trip-motorcycle guy who’s all rugged and living on the edge. But something like that would only be fun for a little while. Then I’d want to go home and sleep in my own bed.

Sheila explains how at first everything was exciting and adventurous and she’s always wanted to experience something like that for real, and now it was finally happening to her and she fell for him so hard. And then she wipes her hands on her jeans and goes, “But now it’s too much. I know I need to go back home, but I can’t face my mom. But I can’t keep doing this either. I’m—” And she starts crying again.

So I’m like, “Is there anything I can do?” And I’m wondering if my mom would let her stay at our place.

And Sheila says, “Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”

But I wonder if that can ever be true when you’re in love with a boy who hates himself so much. Because anyone who treats their body like it’s garbage the way he does isn’t exactly in the best place to love someone else.

Danny’s doing another one of his Random Hallway Polls. He’s taken over the area next to the water fountain and the bathrooms, and he has poster boards on the wall and a whole bunch of pencils I know for a fact he “borrowed” from the main office because they’re all labeled PROPERTY OF DEPT. OF ED. But that’s Danny. He did service credit in the main office in ninth grade and so he knows all the secretaries and school aides, and of course they all love him because he’s smart and charming and it doesn’t matter that they’re old. Or maybe it works on them especially because they’re old. So the secretaries totally trust him, and if he wanted to he could manipulate files or print things out or find teachers’ private info or whatever.

Kids crowd around Danny, reading the posters and filling out ballots. I watch Danny laugh and joke with everyone. Which is so easy for him since he’s one of those people who can get along with anyone. I’ve always admired that about him.

The poll has to do with the lacking administration in this school. There’s been a whole bunch of issues lately that everyone’s unhappy about, from minor to major. Like how we don’t have enough books, so Ms. Portman has to copy book pages and no one wants the copied versions because the copy machine is always broken and the papers come out all smudged. Or how one kid threatened a teacher and he wasn’t even suspended. And Tatyana told me how she was supposed to meet with the principal about this peer-mediation thing she wanted to set up, and when she got to the office for the meeting his secretary said he had to reschedule because he was meeting with parents at the moment. But Mr. Pearlman didn’t close the blinds all the way on his office window, and Tatyana could see in and he was sitting at his desk reading the paper.

Because of incompetent people who are supposedly in charge around here, things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be. We’re pissed because we deserve a better school.

So on the top poster it says: IS THIS SCHOOL’S ADMINISTRATION EARNING ITS SALARY? And below that are the average salaries for principal, assistant principal, and teacher in the New York City public school system. It’s absolutely appalling that to get paid as much as a new principal, a teacher would have to work for like fifteen years. When everyone knows it’s the teachers who do all the work.

I watch Danny some more. It’s addictive, in a way. My mom says he has charisma and that’s why everyone wants to be around him.

Okay, the truth? Is that Danny has these soulful eyes and he gives me these soulful looks across the hall or street or wherever and they get me every time. Every time. So when he catches me staring at him now, and his eyes lock into mine with one of those looks, I can’t break away from him. And I remember what it felt like to be with him. And the reason we’re not together isn’t clear anymore.

When I see Steve at the vending machine, it doesn’t matter about Ree wanting him back. All that matters is how he treated her and how wrong it was.

I go right up to him and say, “How can you do this to Ree?”

And Steve’s like, “I’m not trying to hurt her.”

So I’m like, “But you
are
hurting her.”

And he’s all, “That’s not my fault.”

And I’m like, “Well then whose fault is it?”

Then he says how it’s no one’s fault, it just happened, and I swear that it-just-happened line is the flimsiest line in the Book of Excuses for Lame Boys.

“Nothing,” I tell him, “just
happens
. You either make it happen or you don’t. There’s a reason it happens in the first place.”

He’s like, “Look. It’s not like I hurt her intentionally or anything. Things weren’t really working out with us anyway.”

And I go, “Since when?”

He’s all, “We’re just . . . different people.”

I’m like, “What are you even
talking
about? You’re not even giving a real reason.” Because this is news to me. I know for a fact they had a lot in common. And right now? It sounds like he’s just throwing out any excuse for breaking up with Ree and he doesn’t even know why.

I can’t believe this is the same boy.

I’m like, “And what about the roses?”

He goes, “Huh?”

Oh. So now he’s going to act like he didn’t give Ree those roses yesterday? He’ll probably deny smiling at her in lunch, too.

That’s it. I just can’t with him.

I’m the only person in the whole school who actually looks forward to tutoring.

But unfortunately I’m running late because I just spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom dealing with my hair. It’s funny how my hair always looks great when it’s totally unnecessary or like when I’m hanging out at home all Saturday afternoon and no one’s going to see me anyway, but when it actually matters, I can’t do even the simplest thing with it.

When I get to Mr. Farrell’s hall, Rhiannon’s walking away from his room. So I’m like, “Where are you going?”

And she says, “I’m leaving. No one showed up.”

“Um, excuse me, but who am I?”

“I’m going to the library to—oh! I need your help tonight.”

“What for?”

She glances around to see if anyone’s listening and whispers, “Operation Steve.”

I go, “Oh, um. What’s that?” And I’m thinking that maybe I should just tell her now and get it over with. But then she says she can’t talk about it anywhere in school because the walls have ears and she’ll call me later. And then she’s running down the hall, and for some reason, I don’t run after her. I still think it’s better not to tell her here.

I get to his room and stand in the doorway and look in with my heart beating so hard I can hear it in my ears. Mr. Farrell is bending over a stack of papers on his desk and doesn’t even see me. But then I guess he feels my eyes on him, because he suddenly looks up and says, “Come on in.”

So I go in and put my bag down on a desk and I’m like, “Hey,” and I try to act all casual and he’s like, “Hey,” and I’m pretending that it’s just another typical Tuesday, when in reality this is the first day all year that I’ve been alone in here with him. Like this.

So he says how my tutor left and no one else showed up, but I’m welcome to stay and go over some Regents problems, and I can’t believe he’s going to tutor me individually! He always has kids tutor other kids because he thinks that’s the best way for everyone to learn, and that since he already explained everything in class, it’s better to have other people explain to get a different perspective going on. So of course I feel totally special and I’m so jacked up on nerves and adrenaline that I’m shaking and I have no idea how I’m going to make my hand write with my pencil in any way that results in even remotely legible numbers.

I’ve only wanted to be alone with him like this all year. There were tons of times when I walked by his room after school and I wanted to go in, but then I was like, what if he’s solving some really important equation or something and I’m all walking in with a personal matter? How unprofessional is that? But finally it’s just the two of us. And this time, I’m not dreaming.

He’s like, “Hot?”

And I’m like, “Huh?” And I’m all freaked out because two seconds ago I was thinking how I’m totally sweating and I must look disgusting and I can feel the sweat pooling on my upper lip and how attractive is that? Not very. And I was thinking how I should go to the bathroom and make sure I look okay, but I
so
don’t want to leave this room, and then all of a sudden he asked if I was hot like he could totally read my mind. Which just proves how connected we are.

So he says, “Are you hot?” And I’m starting to suspect that maybe he doesn’t just think about math all day.

I go, “I guess I am. A little.”

And he goes to turn on the fan and I laugh at the absurdity of it all, and he’s like, “What’s so funny?”

And I’m like, “Nothing.”

But he’s all, “Oh, come on. I could use a good laugh. Do you know how boring derivatives are?”

So of course I have to say, “Well, actually, yes. I do.” And I pick up my pencil and say how it’s really nice of him to tutor me, because no one else is here so he could have canceled altogether, and I really appreciate the extra help, and I’m just babbling like one of those crackheads talking to themselves on the subway.

And he’s like how I can come in anytime, and it doesn’t have to be only on Tuesdays since he stays late most days anyway. So I tell him how I was going to come in the other day but I was afraid that he might be busy so I didn’t but I wanted to.

He goes, “What did you want to talk about?”

I’m like, “Um . . . I don’t remember.” Because of course all of this is just an excuse to be in the same room with him as often as possible.

He’s like, “Well, you know where to find me.”

And then he winks at me!

He goes on about how hard it was for him junior and senior years, all stressed about college, even after he got in.

I’m like, “Where’d you go?”

He says, “NYU.”

And I’m like, “Oh my god! That’s where I want to go! I mean, I’d rather go to Columbia, but I don’t exactly have a four-point-oh.”

Then he laughs and says, “Yeah, that was my case, too. But only the cool people go to NYU, so . . .”

I go, “Totally. We’re way too cool for Columbia.” And I swear it feels like I’m talking to a friend instead of a teacher. He’s just so easy to talk to and super nice and he’s young . . . like probably twenty-four or twenty-five. And if he’s twenty-five, then by the time I’m his age he’ll be thirty-three, which is totally not scandalous at all. I really want to ask him how old he is, but you don’t do that.