Boy Proof (13 page)

“So I hear Rue is going to help you with your trig,” Martin says.

“Yeah, I’m struggling.”

I’m too proud. It’s embarrassing to admit I’m weak.

“It’s okay, Egg. Everybody has an academic weakness. Mine is French. I can’t conjugate worth shit, and you know those Ivy League schools like you to speak more than one language. As a scientist, I’ll have to read texts and stuff in journals in other languages. But as hard as I try, I just don’t understand French.”

Why is it that when people try to make me feel better, it just makes me feel worse?

I head over to the
Melrose Lion
office and settle up with some photography stuff I have to hand in. I scan some pictures. I clean my camera. I sit and go through the assignment board and write down what I think I might be interested in shooting.

Nelly and Inez walk into the room. They nod in my general direction and then immediately forget that I’m there.

They start gossiping. Which I find boring.

“So anyway, we’re at this café, it’s called the King Kong Café, and it’s all these supercool people. Adults, you know. Artists. College kids. There’s this singer-songwriter on the stage. Anyway, it was a total scene. And Max starts to cough, and I’m like, ‘Are you okay?’ and he looks at me and he takes my hand and puts it up against his heart and says, ‘
Amor tussisque non celantur.
’”

I pop my head up and look over at them.

“What does that mean?” Inez asks.

“It means, ‘Love, and a cough, are not concealed.’ Isn’t that romantic?”

“I think that’s weird,” Inez says.

“Then he told me all about his artwork that he’s going to do. He’s writing a whole novel with pictures.”

“He’s definitely weird.”

I close the photography closet after loading up on Kodak paper. I don’t want to hear any more. She can’t actually believe that the feeling is mutual. She can’t even find a cool café on her own. She doesn’t even know the term
graphic novel
. She doesn’t know Max.

Catburglar: You up?

Eggtoria: Yep. Are you?

Catburglar: Ha ha. Your analysis of Dostoevsky’s
Crime and Punishment
was really astute today.

Eggtoria: Wow. A compliment from the literary king. I’m honored.

Catburglar: A bunch of us were thinking of going to Griffith Park merry-go-round for a picnic Monday since it’s a half day. Want to come?

Eggtoria: I dunno. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.

Catburglar:
????

Eggtoria: I’m tired, I’m going to sleep.

Catburglar: The fresh air would do you good.

Eggtoria: I said Good Night!

Catburglar: Sweet dreams, weirdo.

Sweet dreams.
It blinks at me. It is a wish you make to someone you care about. It’s something you say to someone special. You don’t just say it to anyone.

Or do you?

Selectively, I ignore the word
weirdo
and I wrap the phrase
sweet dreams
around me like a security blanket. It is a blanket that will prevent any bad dream from visiting me tonight.

I sign off and lie in bed.

I push open the double door to school and get blasted by the heat of the hallway. Max follows as we enter AP Global History and take our seats.

I open my loose-leaf binder and take out my pen.

“That photo of the boys on the basketball team was hysterical,” he says. “The way you framed it makes it look like some kind of cult meeting.”

I notice that the line that goes from his neck and disappears down inside his hooded sweatshirt makes a beautiful curve. I am transfixed by the curve and the mystery of where it goes. I wonder what it would be like to kiss his neck. I wonder how the scar feels on his belly.

All of a sudden I’m very nervous.

I take out my textbook.

“Max, I really want to look at my notes before the exam.”

“Okay, whatever.” He turns his eyes to the front of the room and ignores me.

After a few minutes of staring at his back, the weird upheaval my body is experiencing settles down. I can breathe. I am back to normal.

I pull on Max’s hood.

He turns around.

“I thought you were studying,” he says.

He just thinks I’m acting normal. He can’t tell that I am suddenly aware of every move, every sound, every word I make. He doesn’t know that suddenly, everything I do or say sounds stupid. He doesn’t realize what the word
sweet
has done to me.

“You still going to the merry-go-round today?”

“Yeah, you going to come?” Max asks.

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to look abnormal. “Okay.”

Nelly is leaning on Max’s car. She waves.

“Hey, Egg,” she says; then she turns to Max. Head sideways. Knowing look.

“Hey,” she says to Max. Her arm loops under his. “I’ve got good news and bad news. What do you want first?”

“Bad news,” he says, chewing on a fingernail.

Nelly looks at me and then at Max.

“I can’t go with you to Griffith Park.”

“And the good news?” Max asks.

“I got a callback on an audition!”

He unhooks her arm from his and unlocks the door and opens it.

“Hey, that’s great,” Max says. “What kind of movie is it?”

“Oh, it’s not a movie,” Nelly says.

“What is it then?” I say.

“An acne commercial,” Nelly says.

I focus in on Nelly’s face. Nelly’s skin is perfect. She has no pores. No acne. No blemishes. They must want her to be the after picture.

“It’s a national!” Nelly says, and crosses her fingers.

“Wow!” I say with mock enthusiasm.

“Hucking for the man, huh, Nelly?” Max says. “That’s really . . .”

“What?” Nelly says.

“It’s just not . . . It’s just so corporate. It’s doing something for the money and not because you believe in it. I mean, do you even care about the product?”

“It’s just a commercial, Max. It’s just a job,” Nelly says.

I know Nelly is not stupid, but I can’t believe she doesn’t get what Max is saying.

“I wish you’d understand,” Max says. “It’s what’s destroying the truth and beauty of the world. Advertising. I mean, you don’t even have acne.”

“Look, Max. I get what you’re saying. I just don’t think it’s that big a deal. I want to be an actress. I have a callback for a job. It’s that simple.”

Max gets a sullen look on his face that I’ve never seen before.

“Come on, don’t be like that.” She makes a cute face. “Call you later, okay?”

Max moves away from her slightly.

“Okay,” Max says.

“No hard feelings?” Nelly asks.

“Nah,” Max says, and gets behind the wheel. “Congrats on the commercial.”

Does Max like Nelly so much that he will even compromise himself for her? I wonder if that’s what caring is all about. If it is, I’ll never care for anyone.

Nelly picks up her bag and leaves. She doesn’t care that I’m going to the park with Max, because she’s not threatened by me as a girl. She thinks I’m like Max’s little pocket pal.

“Come on, Egg. Looks like it’s just you and me.”

I’m afraid to be alone with Max Carter. Not because he’s scary, but because he’s so real.

I sit on the horse as it spins on its track. Around and around. Up and down. Max Carter’s mouth is wide open next to me in a smile. His steed is purple. He is standing up. Fist in air. Triumphant. He slaps his purple horse’s ass to make it go faster. But it is constrained by the bar, by the machine, by the mechanics, by the circle it is endlessly forced to travel in.

The ride stops.

“Again!” Max whoops.

We give our tickets to the ticket taker and we ride again. An endless circle. A sure journey. The music piping us back in time.

I am so happy that if this were a movie, a nuclear bomb would explode right now, ending my life in a perfect fireball.

We sit down on the grass apart from everyone else. Max pulls out a baguette, some cheese, and cold cuts so we can make our own sandwiches. There is also some bubbly water.

“This is very fancy,” I say.

“Really? It’s just bread and cheese,” Max says.

“Well, the presentation.”

“Oh. I figured it would be easier. I didn’t know what you or Nelly liked.”

He fixes himself a sandwich. He’s not shy about it. He just heaps the Brie onto the bread.

“You’re a pretty comfortable person, aren’t you?” I say.

Max looks at me, head sideways.

“Yeah. Is there any other way to be? I mean, this is it. This is my body, my soul; I gotta live with it. I’d better get comfortable. I plan on taking it for a long ride,” he says.

I laugh.

“The truth is I feel awkward around people sometimes,” Max says. “I’m really quick to jump into being friends with people, ’cause, you know, I traveled so much growing up. I don’t know how to be friends with people for more than a few days or a few months.”

“You seem to be doing fine,” I say, not wanting to admit that I envy him his social ease.

“Well.” He motions over to the group we came to the park with but are not associating with at all. “I made friends with all of them, but I don’t know if I actually like them. For real. Most of the time I still feel lonely.”