Wrecked (19 page)

I wait a couple of days until I’m sure. Then I tell everyone.

Seth says, “Does your front seat go all the way back?”

Jason says, “Congratulations, Anna.”

Lisa says, “You want to drive us to Patty’s Saturday night?”

“Patty’s?” I go. The last bell just rang.

Ellen left school an hour ago to get a short cast after all. It took only two days before the doctors figured out she wasn’t keeping the ski boot on the way she’d been told to. They were satisfied that her sore seemed better and not infected, but apparently Ellen was unbelievably close to screwing up the break in her tibia all over again by wrenching it around in her sleep. Or trying to walk down the stairs on it in the middle of the night. Or something that pissed off her orthopedist enough he told her mother Ellen wasn’t being responsible, and she had to go back to a cast. Something like maybe drinking and walking without the boot, I’m guessing. But for some reason I’ve kept my mouth shut.

Now the rest of us are at our lockers, filling our knapsacks.

“It’s the SAT after party,” Seth explains to me. “Patty’s parents are going to be in Bermuda.”

“Saint Bart’s,” Lisa corrects him.

Oh,” I say.

“But we don’t have to go,” Seth points out.

“Whatever.” My throat is sort of closing up shop. It’s not a fake heart attack. It’s just … I don’t know. It’s something else.

“Really,” Seth says. “We can hang out. Make out.” He sees my face. “Count my send-a-dollar money or do origami.”

“Origami?” Lisa asks.

“He’s kidding,” I tell her.

Jason says, “Forget the party.” He swings his knapsack over one shoulder. “It’s great that you’re driving again.” He arches his left eyebrow at Lisa, and she drops it. Then he looks at me. “Can I get a ride home?”

After I drop Seth off at his house, Jason switches from the back to the front seat.

“Ellen’s getting a new cast,” he goes. I turn right at the light and crank the heat. “You’re driving again.”

“Yeah,” I say. The Honda still has that new-car smell. I like it, but Jack gets nauseous.

“So, I’ve got some news too,” Jason goes.

“What?”

“I met someone.”

“Really?” I make a left at Broad. “Where?”

“Taylor Academy.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“How did you meet someone at Taylor?”

“Online,” Jason says.

“You’re sure he’s a kid and not some pervert?” I ask.

“Yeah.” Jason nods. “I’ve already seen him a couple of times.”

“What’s his name?”

“Turn left at the stop sign. I can’t tell you yet. He’s not out.”

“Oh,” I say. I turn onto Bateson. “Ellen’s going to be bummed.” Whoops. I glance at him. “Um … ,” I say.

Jason sighs. “It’s okay, Anna,” he goes. “I’ve known she likes me for a long time.”

“She doesn’t know you know, right?” I ask.

“I thought you two talked about everything,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“Take the left fork. She didn’t tell you about our conversation?”

“What conversation?”

“Guess not. That’s mine. The white one with gray shutters.” I slow to a stop. “Ellen got drunk.”

“When was this?” I put the car in park and keep it on. For the heat.

“A few weeks ago.”

“A few weeks ago? Where was I?”

Jason shrugs.

“Where were you two?”

“My room,” Jason says.

“Your room?” I ask. “Who else was there?”

“Nobody,” Jason tells me.

“Where was I?” I go again. He shrugs again. Therapy? Was I at therapy?

“Anyway,” Jason says. “She let me know then.”

“She let you know?” I say. “Let you know? You mean, she told you?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh my God,” I go. She made a pass at him. Ellen made a pass at Jason.

“Listen, Anna,” Jason says. He turns his vents away from him and toward me. He doesn’t know how that bothers my eye, so I punch the button on the dash to make the warm air hit our feet. “You know how much I like Ellen.”

I nod.

“She’s embarrassed enough as it is.”

“She really likes you too,” I say. “I mean, not just in a crush way. In a person way. She doesn’t want you to be embarrassed either.”

“Shit,” Jason goes.

“What?”

A woman has opened his front door and is stepping out onto the front porch. She’s wearing a long fur coat with a wool shawl wrapped around her head and black ski mittens on her hands. “Who’s that?”

“My grandmother,” Jason goes. “This is going to be bad.”

“Does she live with you?”

“Yeah. I should go.”

She’s saying something to us. At least, I think she is. She keeps gesturing with her mittened hands.

“What’s she yelling?” I ask him.

He looks mortified.

“You want to just get out and I’ll go?” I ask. “I mean, I don’t care if you have a weird grandmother. But … whatever you want.”

He doesn’t move. He looks at me. “Ellen really didn’t tell you about this?”

“About what?”

Jason rolls down his window.

“Don’t,” I say. “It’s too cold.”

He keeps it down and then looks at me. Now I can hear his grandmother. She’s craning her head at us in the car, and she’s still waving her hands in the air, as if she’s a preacher or something.

“With a male as with a woman. It is an abomination.’ Leviticus 18:22. ‘If a man lies with a male as he lies with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put to death. Their blood shall be upon them.’ Leviticus 20 …”

Oh my God. I refocus on Jason, who’s still looking right at me. He mouths the words exactly along with her shouting from their front porch.

“’Even as Sodom and Gomorrah, and the cities about them in like manner, giving themselves over …’”

“Oh my God.” Did I say that out loud?

“Exactly,” Jason goes. I guess I did.

“Ellen met her?”

“Well,” Jason says. “She was sort of drunk.” He tries a smile. “Ellen, that is.”

He rolls up the window and his grandmother’s voice fades, but she stays there, gesticulating on the porch with those mittens and that long coat.

“She lives with you?” I go.

Jason nods.

“She does that all the time?”

Jason nods again. “It’s kind of entertaining,” he says. He’s not convincing.

“What about your parents?” I ask.

He shrugs. “They’re not exactly thrilled either.” I can’t tell if he means about his grandmother or about him.

“That is the Bible she’s quoting from, right?”

Jason nods. How can his parents let her do that to him?

“You were looking some of it up that night at Ellen’s, weren’t you?” My brain seems to be working, even though my heart is sort of stopped.

Jason nods again. “I stole it from the Gersons,” Jason goes. “I could have just gone to the library or bought my own, but it was right there.”

“Ellen knows,” I tell him. “She doesn’t care.”

“It was stupid,” Jason goes. “Cowardly. But … I guess …” He thinks for a second. “Cowards can be judged only from an unbiased point of view.”

“I won’t tell anybody,” I say, not bothering to ask which backseat book he’s quoting from. “I promise. Seriously.”

He stares out the window at his grandmother and then huffs tons of breath onto the glass, blurring her.

“Couldn’t you even try being straight?” I can’t help asking it. “I mean, not that I care. But … wouldn’t it be easier?”

“I would love to be straight,” Jason says to me. “Believe me.”

I think about what it must be like to be gay. I let myself really think about it for the first time, without all the jokes and stupid assumptions. Jason pulls the door handle and lets in a blast of cold air and shouting.

“’Men with men committing what is shameful, and receiving in themselves the penalty …’”

“I believe you,” I tell him.

• • •

Jack and I are eating pizza in the kitchen. Half spinach and mushroom for him, half cheese for me. My mom’s at some faculty Christmas party, and my father’s working late at the bank.

“I get the car this Saturday.” Jack lifts a wedge from the box.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll spray it with with that lemon stuff. It still has that smell you hate.”

He looks at me funny.

“What?” I go.

“Nothing.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like that.”

“I was just thinking about when we used to fight about the car.”

“You mean when I was small?” I ask him. He tears at the crust with his teeth.

“Yeah,” he says with his mouth full. “That’s exactly what I mean.” He’s being sarcastic, though.

“You mean,” I keep going, “like, less than six months ago?”

“Yeah,” he goes. “I guess so.”

We chew for a while and wipe our messy hands on paper napkins.

“What are you doing Saturday night?” I ask him.

“Rob’s,” Jack says. “We might go to Lucas’s to hear this band. Frozen Shakespeare. Then maybe we’ll go to Patty’s.”

“You’re going to Patty’s?” I put down my pizza slice.

“Maybe,” Jack says.

“You’re going to a party?” Somehow I thought neither of us would ever go to a party again.

“I was just thinking about it,” he says. “That’s all.” It’s the first time I’ve heard him sound guilty about anything. He sits back in his chair, leaving the pizza alone. “It’s not like I’m planning on it.”

I didn’t mean to make him think I was accusing him of something. “You’re allowed,” I tell him. Because there aren’t any rules. “You’re allowed to go to a party.”

We all signed up for the same location and day. I drive Lisa, Seth, and Ellen. Her new short cast goes from below the knee to the toes, and she uses crutches now. The wheelchair is gone for good.

Jason drives himself and meets us there. Only, he’s a little late, and a few minutes after he rushes in, some other guy rushes in too, and they both look red in the cheeks. The guy has a blue sweatshirt on, with black stripes across the chest.
TAYLOR ACADEMY
is printed down the left arm. I glance at Ellen. She hasn’t said a word about her conversation with Jason. I haven’t told her about mine. It feels wrong somehow, but then again, so much has been wrong these past couple months that it doesn’t feel as big of a deal as it could have, before.

The driving was fine. I can’t wait to tell Frances. Only one blip from my chest for a split second and slightly sweaty palms. Other than that, a total breeze.

The testing is hard. At first I think my right eye is acting up again and making things blurry, but then I figure out what’s really happening: The screen I have is greasy with fingerprints.
You’d think somebody would Windex them or something. It’s a little distracting.

We get one break, during which we all gather in a huddle and share cupcakes. Seth brought them.

“Did you make these?” Lisa asks.

“My mother did,” Seth says. “From scratch. Except for the frosting. She wanted to make that from scratch too, but I wouldn’t let her. I like the kind from the can better.” He licks some right off the top of his cupcake. “I bought a ton of it.”

“With your send-a-dollar money?” Ellen asks him.

“Yep,” he goes.

“How much have they sent so far?” Jason asks. He’s glancing over at the sweatshirt guy. I see the sweatshirt guy glancing back.

“Seven hundred and twenty-one,” Seth goes.

“That’s a lot of frosting,” I say. They look at me and crack up. I wasn’t even trying to be funny.

But it’s all ruined, after.

Kids are streaming out of testing rooms. It’s a lot like the halls at school between classes. Only, everybody’s more giddy. Like it’s the last day of the year or the day before Christmas break. Stupid SATs.

“I’m driving with Jason,” Ellen goes. She’s leaning her back against the wall and her armpits on the crutches. Jason seems nervous. He’s scanning the hall. This girl is shrieking and chasing some guy past us. She’s pretty loud. I watch Jason keep scanning.

Then I get it. Oh my God. He didn’t just meet Sweatshirt here. Jason
drove
Sweatshirt here.

“No,” I say to Ellen. The guy being chased has button-hooked back around, toward us again, and the girl is still running after him, screaming. She’s screaming and screaming and screaming. “Drive with me,” I tell Ellen.

“What’s wrong?” Ellen asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Just go in my car.”

“Is it the driving?” Lisa asks. “You’re all red.”

Seth nods and frowns. “You are.”

I watch Jason catching Sweatshirt’s eye. That girl won’t stop screaming.

“I’m not red,” I say. The running guy turns again, and the girl follows. Screaming and screaming and screaming.

Jason looks at me now. He seems really worried.

“Ellen’s going with me,” I say, to try and reassure him.

“You’re sweating,” Jason answers.

“What’s going on?” Seth touches my face. The dark rings around the brown of his eyes are so beautiful.

“Are you okay?” Lisa and Ellen ask at the same time.

The girl chasing the guy is coming toward us again. Screaming and screaming and screaming.

“Would you shut up!” Ellen snaps as the girl passes.

And the screaming stops.

IF YOU HAVEN’T EVER KILLED ANYBODY, YOU MIGHT THINK THERE’S
nothing worse than shaking and vomiting uncontrollably on the floor of the hall of the SAT building where about two hundred kids, half of whom you don’t even know and one of whom is your sort-of boyfriend and one of whom is your best friend collapsed on the floor nearby in a mess of crutches, are staring in horror and have absolutely no idea what to do and will tell the story a thousand times tonight at the after party, without you there because you’re home in bed stoned out of your mind on legal stuff, and then they’ll tell it a million more times for the rest of your life.

Usually, Frances explains, we pick up where we left off the last time. It’s Monday morning. I’m missing school. I’m an
emergency. Usually, Frances reminds me, we work with an image. But today we’re not going to do the usual. We’re going to work with what’s happening now. And what’s happening now, she says, is not an image. It’s the screaming. No, I tell her. It’s not the screaming. It’s the screaming, stopped. So that’s what we start with: the screaming, stopped.