Beyond Clueless (19 page)

No, its fine
.

What? Did I say something?

Ten seconds later:

ITS FINE
.

W
ednesday’s music rehearsal finished at the same time as Xiang’s orchestra one, so she and I ended up sitting on the curb at the edge of the parking lot, waiting for her parents to come pick us up.

I tried to explain my Jimmy problem.

“I’ve been trying to talk to him, but he keeps insisting he isn’t mad. He is, though. I can tell, because within two minutes the conversation grinds to a halt. He pretty much shuts down. How am I supposed to fix a problem that he won’t even acknowledge exists?”

“Sorry, I don’t get it,” she said. “So this all started when he hung up a little suddenly, and now he’s less of a Chatty Cathy? Big deal.”

“It is a big deal, though!” I insisted. “He’s pissed. But can I help it that I don’t want to talk about Derek all the time?”

Xiang groaned. “So you
do
know what this is all about, why he’s mad.”

Yeah. I supposed I did. “Whatever. It’s unfair, though,” I insisted. “Derek this, Derek that. It’s like Jimmy doesn’t have anything else in his life to focus on.”

Xiang frowned and picked up a pebble from the pavement.
“Well, I hardly think we should be throwing stones. We’ve been
obsessed
with our own boys.”

Yeah. I supposed we were.

“And maybe he’s mad in part because
you’re
not obsessed with Derek,” she continued. “Like, he sees you talking to me and Oliver and Kirby and everyone else, and his own personal stuff doesn’t take up as much of your attention as it probably would have before you started school here.”

“Hmm,” I said.

“And, anyway, maybe he really doesn’t have anything else to talk about.”

“What? Of course he—” I sputtered.

“No, think about it. What did he talk about before he met Derek?”

“He . . . we would talk about
stuff.
Stuff we did, stuff we wanted, people we knew.”

“Right. So now he doesn’t want to talk about people at his school you don’t know, and stuff he’s doing without you, and stuff to do with Derek—because you don’t like it! Look, sometimes people grow apart.”

I physically recoiled from her. “Don’t say that! We are not
growing apart
.”

Xiang rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing! And I’m not saying you’re less important to each other. But these things happen, and it’s pointless to stress over them. Before, he focused on you. Now it’s Derek. And there’s only so much you can talk about with this musical. So cut him some slack.”

Was it true? Was I Jimmy’s Derek, before Derek came along? Maybe my leaving for a different high school had been scarier for him than it had been for me. Is that why he suddenly came out and met a boyfriend? I mean, I’m sure he likes Derek and all, but still . . .

I thought he had joined the musical as a fun, extra way to spend time with me, not as an act of desperation to save our friendship.

“OK, enough about you and your fake problems.”

I snapped out of my musing to find Xiang flicking the pebble at me. “Sorry. Yes.”

“Let’s talk about . . . me!” she said, batting her eyelashes at me.

“OK, gimme the update. How was your rehearsal? Are you finding it easy compared to CYO?”

She thought for a moment. “In some ways yes, in some ways no. It’s such a different vibe with a much smaller group. I like that it’s more relaxed here, that it’s not a lot of stress-y people trying to outdo each other all the time.”

“And you sure are getting to see a lot of Parker!” It was true; with CYO on the weekends, she was seeing him almost every other day. “How are things going with that?”

“Well, I was a
bit
nervous about him being here,” she said. “I mean, there are only two boys in the orchestra, and you know how boy-crazy everyone is here.”

I nodded, remembering the drama-club turnout.

“But it was dumb of me to worry,” she said happily. “He’s just as oblivious to them as he is to the CYO girls. He’s a bit . . .
simple, in that way. And, whatever, I keep him plenty satisfied.”

“Eww.”

“Oh, lighten up. I’m kidding. But, yeah, you’re right, we are seeing way more of each other. It just feels
right
, you know?”

I traced the edge of the curb with my finger, feeling the roughness tickle my skin. “It’s not weird with everyone else knowing that you’re together? The whole fishbowl effect?”

“Pfffft! Nobody cares!”

Then Xiang became serious, thoughtful. “But I do need to be careful, because one of these days I’m totally gonna forget and say something about him to my parents. It’s all become so natural and relaxed, you know?”

No
, I wanted to say. Felix made me feel a lot of things, but relaxed was not one of them. But I just sat there, sanding my fingertip on the concrete.

“Dude. Seriously, lighten up.” Xiang stood, holding a pack of cigarettes. “And I’m gonna go to that corner over there to do some lighting up of my own. Yell if you see my mom coming. Or a nun.”

“You’re killing yourself,” I sang out to her.

“So be it,” she sang back. “But, for reals, you should go easy on Jimmy. After all, he’s in looooove!” She grinned and walked away, making kissing sounds.

Rehearsal after school on Thursday was yet another Felix-less one, which was kind of deflating. Opening night was
just
eight days
away, and I was spending all my time rehearsing, yet it felt as if he and I had barely spent any time together at all.

I went to get a Twix bar from the snack machine during break. Suddenly a voice behind me said, “Silly Marty. Twix are for kids.”

I smiled. “Don’t you be judging me, Kaplan,” I replied without turning around. But just before I could slide my card into the machine, an unwrapped, solitary Twix bar was dangled in front of me.

“They’re perfect for sharing,” Oliver said as I accepted his gift. People say that all the time, but let’s be honest: who really wants
only one
?

I spun around slowly to see him chomping away at his own bar, his tongue clearly struggling to detach the caramel from his teeth.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” I said.

“Hmm?”

“Think of it as a sacred procession of flavors.”

“Proshession?” he tried to say, smiling through his epic jaw struggle.

“I’m serious,” I said. “First, you take a reasonable-size bite. Then you let the chocolate melt. Keep the biscuit and caramel part in the center, between your tongue and the roof of your mouth, so the caramel has nothing to stick to—and that way you don’t start thinking about cavities. Feel free to rub the chocolate away from the rest with your tongue. Then the caramel layer will eventually melt, and what you
are left with is a biscuit that has reached absolute perfection, a soft, somewhat soggy consistency.”

Oliver made an appreciative moan.

“Now, some people don’t have the patience to wait for this ideal biscuit to melt, too, which I can understand. But the best things come to those who wait. I happen to know for a fact that it’s possible to draw out the biscuit flavor for a solid two minutes.”

See? I could do a
great
commercial. Mars, Inc.: Call me!

Oliver managed to swallow enough down to speak properly. “You’ve clearly given this some thought.”

“So all those people who just chomp away at their bars, willy-nilly?” I continued, getting all revved up. “They’re crazy. I want to shake them. All that amazing flavor,
totally lost
in giant gulps. And the texture they’re experiencing is frankly unpleasant: either sharp, cardboard-y biscuit or un-chewable caramel
gum
.”

He nodded and tutted in agreement.

“Think about it: There’s a reason they don’t throw the bars into some blender before packaging them.
A Twix bar is not a salad!”

“Now,
that
is a T-shirt–worthy slogan if I ever heard one.”

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “T-shirts! Billboards! We need to tell the world!”

“Tell the world what?” Jimmy stood in the doorway.

“Hey, my gorgeous garlic clove!” I said, automatically spreading out my arms for a hug.

“Hey,” he replied, not returning my smile and, worse, leaving my hug invitation hanging.

Um . . . awkward?

“Jimmy, what is your
deal
?” I asked, exasperated.

Seeing our sudden tension, Oliver jumped in: “Marty has just given me a tutorial on the proper way to eat a Twix bar. Did you know there’s a proper technique?”

“Yeah, of
course
I know that,” Jimmy said, annoyed. “We developed it together.”

Yikes.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I just came by to say that Kirby called a few minutes ago, and he can drive us all home later.”

“Oh, good, I’ll call off my parents,” I said, rolling my eyes. “All these silent car rides with them are torture.”

“And remember,” said Oliver, rubbing his hands together, “I’ll be taking my driver’s test in just
one week
!”

Jimmy fixed me with a stare. “Since when are you mad at your parents?”

Oh, dear. I had never said anything to Jimmy. “Oh, um, we had a stupid fight a few weeks back. They’re giving me a curfew.”

“Oh. OK,” Jimmy said. Then he turned and walked out.

Oliver looked at me, questioning. “What was that all about?”

“I dunno. He’s been weird lately.” I chomped on the Twix bar in my hand, which had already started to melt.

It’s amazing how time flies, especially when you’re doing a show. One minute you’re getting your script and working out where to stand, and then all of sudden you look up and you realize that you’ll be onstage, performing, in just a few
weeks’ time. Then you blink, and suddenly it’s in a few
days’
time. Don’t get me wrong: There’s a ton of work in between, but somehow the end of the rehearsal period always comes as a shock.

On the Monday of our opening week, we had one more music-only rehearsal, which Mrs. Murray had organized to keep us focused on getting the notes right. We had been doing the singing in a half-assed way as we worked through the staging and the timing and everything, so we really needed the refresher course.

When she called a short break, the rehearsal room started to empty out. I pulled out my chem homework to see if I could get some of it done, but moments later I realized I wasn’t alone. Kate O’Day was sitting in her chair, twirling her pen in one hand and staring at me.

It was very unnerving.

Then she got up and sauntered over. “Do you mind if I give you one tiny piece of unsolicited advice?”

Oh, no. Was she going to criticize my acting or something?

“Make nice with McCafferty. I know she can be a little . . .
much
sometimes, but this play is really important to her.”

Wow. Um, not what I was expecting to hear.

“I’m not . . . I mean, I haven’t said anything, you know . . . ” I stammered, suddenly flushed with shame. Why did she think I was being mean to Jenny? What did I ever do—you know, other than accidently brain her a few weeks ago?

Ah, yes. My Jenny impersonation. Besides nearly killing
Chloe on Set Day, it definitely wasn’t all that “nice” for Jenny, of course. Oh, man. Now I felt bad. Kate clearly saw me as a Mean Girl.

But, whatever. I was a nobody freshman, while McCafferty was a junior! Why would Jenny even care? And why would popular, senior
Kate
even care? Weren’t we all far beneath her notice?

“You haven’t said anything directly to her, no,” she said, gently grasping my shoulder and letting her eyes crinkle in a show of empathy. “But I think you know what I’m saying. I’ve seen you roll your eyes at her whenever she talks, imitate her—all that stuff. Jenny—well, she sees it, even if she doesn’t let on. You, on the other hand, project your emotions pretty clearly, even if you don’t realize it. I think that’s part of why you’re such a good actor.”

OK, now she totally had me stuck. First she accuses me of being mean, and then she wraps the accusation in a compliment, so how am I supposed to defend myself? I just gaped at her, at a loss for words.

Kate gave my arm a little rub and said, “It’s just that it can be hard for people who don’t fit in so easily. McCafferty only wants good things for us, and I just . . . I don’t know. I think that’s really cool. We should all embrace her for it.”

Some people wandered back into the room, and Kate gave me a quick smile before turning and waltzing back to her seat.

I was totally gobsmacked, so I didn’t even notice when, moments later, Felix slid into the chair next to me.

“Sullivan.”

“Oh! Peroni.”

“Got a question for you.” He rubbed his palms together. “What will you be doing tomorrow after school?”

“Tomorrow? Ugh. Going home right after school. Parental lockdown,” I said, rolling my eyes, as if otherwise I would be out partying somewhere, like on any other Tuesday in November. (Where? How? With whom?) “How come?”

“Well, I was thinking that you could tell your folks that we’re falling behind and that Sister added an extra rehearsal before Wednesday’s dress. They wouldn’t expect you home for a while, and that would give us some time to, you know, hang out,” he said, letting the ambiguity of the phrase pulse between us. Play it cool, Marty.