Cracked Up to Be (18 page)

He laughs.

“Okay, when you start talking about how the music makes you feel, maybe it’s time for you to go to bed. Come on, Parker.”

He tries to force me toward the house, but I jerk away.

“You’re not listening to me! Just listen to me
—
”

“Okay, just
—
it’s okay.” But he’s patronizing me. He has this stupid patronizing, condescending voice on and he thinks I’m too drunk to hear it. “Where are
—
”

And that’s when she reappears, that strange guy beside her. No. A different guy. I relax. They start dancing and she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him, this new guy, and my stomach turns because I did this.

Evan removes himself from the basketball game before it really starts. He jogs across the gym, to the bleachers where I’m sitting, and the vice around my heart gets tighter and tighter, but I think I’ll be okay as long as I focus solely on breathing. But if he starts talking to me I’m worried I won’t be able to talk back and breathe at the same time.

“Hi, Parker,” he says, sitting beside me. “I’ve been hoping to talk to you.”

Inhale. “Oh?” Exhale.

Okay, maybe I can do this after all.

“Yeah. We haven’t really talked. So, I mean . . .” He shrugs selfconsciously. “Like, how are you? How’ve you been?”

Inhale. “You’re missing the basketball game.” Exhale.

“Not really. I’m so out of shape, passing the ball takes up most of my energy. Two minutes in and I’m on my third wind.” He cracks a smile. I edge away, but he doesn’t notice. “Not much changes at St. Peter’s, huh? I mean it’s like I never left.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh.” That doesn’t slip past him. “Okay.”

“Yeah.”

Oh, right—inhale. Exhale. I clench my hands into fists and glance down the court. Chris and Jake are involved in the game, but every so often one of them looks my way.

Call Evan back. Call him back and get him away from me.

“Man, I was hoping it wouldn’t be like this,” he says. “I wanted to talk to you.”

I close my eyes.

“I have nothing to say to you, Evan.”

“Hey, Parker!”

I open my eyes. Becky’s staring at me expectantly, arms crossed. I can’t even begin to imagine what she could possibly want with me.

“What?”

“Would you come down here and stand in place for Ellie? She’s sick and I want to see the formation from the front without a big gaping hole in it. You don’t have to do anything, just stand there.”

“Sure.”

I jump up and jog over to the squad. The girls are already in formation. I take a quick look back and Evan’s where I left him, staring at me. I don’t like that.

“Where do you want me?” I ask Becky.

“Over there, between Sarah and Hannah,” she says, pointing. “Are you okay?”

The girls stare at us, awaiting instruction. Robots.

“Why?”

“You look weird.” She smiles. “And
not
just because of the hair.”

I wipe my palms on my skirt. Block it out. He’s not there.

“As former captain, I’m trying to get over my disgust that you can’t use your imagination to pretend Ellie’s in her usual spot,” I say. A couple girls gasp. “I did that for all of those practices
you
managed not to show up for.”

Becky scowls. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Oh, I’m not helping you, Becky. I’m here for my own amusement.”

With that, I flounce into Ellie’s spot, and Becky climbs a little way up the bleachers to inspect us.

“Okay, it’s good,” she shouts. “Parker, stay there. The rest of you show me what victory looks like!”

The girls stretch their arms into the
V
. Evan’s still looking at me. I want him to stop. They move onto the
I
. I glance down the court again.

Come on, Chris. Call Evan back.

Make him stop.

I pull at my collar. It’s hot in this gym; it’s—
T
.
O
. I realize I’m not breathing again. I’m not breathing and it’s hot. The scene turns to mush. I try to blink it back into focus. The girls are moving in slow motion but not really, but they
are
standing too close and if Evan doesn’t stop staring at me I’ll—

“Somebody get Henley or something.”

I don’t want to open my eyes.

“Just wait. Parker? Can you hear me? Parker?”

I am not going to open my eyes. I’m going to lie on the court until I die, and I hope that happens soon, because I want to die.

“Okay, someone get Henley.”

After a minute, I open my eyes. Chris notices first.

“Hey,” he says.

Jake glances at him. Then me. He exhales, relieved.

“You’re okay.”

If he says so, it must be true. I stare at everyone staring at me. The entire stupid cheerleading squad and all of the brainless hard-core jocks. This is great.

I will the floor to open up and eat me alive.

“Hey, let’s give her some space. Get back to the game, guys,” Chris says. Thank God for him, just this once. “And cheerleading. Get back to that, too.” No one moves. “Okay, fuck off, basically, is what I’m saying. Fuck off!”

Everyone mumbles in assent and scatters back to opposite sides of the court. That’s what it’s like to be popular. Becky lingers a minute before remembering she’s captain and Jake helps me into sitting position and I try to think of something clever and smart-ass to say, but I can’t and it freaks me out.

Chris crouches down and hands me his water bottle.

“Drink that.” He looks so concerned I want to die. “You’ll feel better.”

I take a small sip and hand the bottle back. Maybe the first words out of my mouth don’t have to be totally smart-ass. Just normal.

But I have nothing.

And that’s when I notice Evan’s not around. Gone. And then I wonder if he was ever here at all and my hands start shaking because seriously, what if he wasn’t and I’m losing it? I try to hide my hands, but Jake sees and he gives me this look and I
still
can’t think of anything to say and it’s quiet.

And then Henley comes in and Evan is with her. Oh.

“What happened here?”

I wish for once she’d look surprised to see me. I move to get up, but Jake puts a hand on my shoulder, stopping me, while Chris explains the situation to the best of his limited vocabulary. I meet Evan’s eyes and I guess I’m sending out the right
go away
vibes, because he skulks off to play basketball with the rest of the guys.

When Chris is finished, Henley regards me carefully. Even she has more couth than to ask whether or not I’ve been drinking or whatever in front of everyone. But it should be painfully obvious I haven’t, because I don’t look happy.

“Nurse’s office,” she says. “Can you walk, Fadley?”

I get to my feet with Jake’s unneeded assistance.

“I want to go home,” I say.

Except my voice cracks and just like that I’m totally overwhelmed by how stupid this feels and the edges of my mouth start pulling themselves down like they always do when I’m about to cry and then I realize
I’m about to cry.
I cover my eyes.
Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

“Fadley?”

“I—” If I don’t lower my hands, they’ll think I’m crying anyway, and I can’t let them think that so I drop my hands to my sides. “I don’t want to go to the nurse’s office. I don’t feel well. I want to go home.”

Jake and Chris stare at me funny. Maybe they think it’s a crock. I mean, even Henley doesn’t really seem convinced, but she never does.

But Bailey believes me.
I spend the evening sitting in a chair by my window and he guards me diligently, ready to ward off any intruders that dare disturb me. He actually growls a little the first time my bedroom door opens, but he wags his tail when he sees it’s Mom. It’s Mom, even though I told her to leave me alone because I know I make her feel the worst when I make her feel useless.

She tugs at a strand of my hair and sighs.

“At least let me even out the edges, Parker.”

I rub my wrist. I wish it was there. The bracelet.

“If I do, will you let me stay home from school for the next two days?”

She’s quiet for a long time, debating it.

“Fine,” she finally says. “I’ll get the scissors. Meet me in the kitchen.”

Bailey follows me downstairs, where Mom’s set up barbershop—a chair atop scattered newspapers in the middle of the room. She stands behind it, waiting, scissors in one hand. I sit.

“I worry about you, Parker,” she says, gently pushing my head forward. I want to tell her to join the club and then I want to tell her how boring that makes her and to not be so tedious. But I don’t. Snip, snip, snip. “You used to talk to me.”

But I never
said
anything.

“You were so . . .”

Perfect.
She never finishes, but I know if she had, that’s what she would’ve said.
Perfect. You were so.

When she’s finished evening out my hack job, my hair that used to fall past my shoulders now stops at my chin. And it looks horrible.

Which is good, I guess.

eighteen

“Hey, Parker?”

I slam my locker shut. Evan.

He’s incredibly in-my-face for a guy who knows I want nothing to do with him, but at least I’m more capable of handling myself now. During my two-day vacation I did a little cognitive behavior therapy and taught myself this anxiety transference trick, where I effectively turn the feeling that my heart wants to claw its way out of my chest into sheer annoyance and total anger every time I see him.

Which means my hands might still shake, but the difference is that it’s not going to end in total nervous collapse.

Here’s hoping it works.

“What.” It’s not a question; it’s a statement. And I spit it at him.

He cringes.

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to . . .” He shifts and just blurts it out: “Look, do you remember that party last year, I mean, like, at all?”

“Why?”

“Because—” He takes one look at my face and shakes his head. “You know what? Never mind. Chris said you didn’t.”

“Well, don’t take him at his word or anything; he’s only your best friend.” My voice oozes sarcasm. In our old lives, Evan and I didn’t like each other very much. This feels like slipping on a pair of comfortable old shoes. “Thanks for wasting my time.”

“I had to ask,” he says, but he doesn’t go.

“I barely remember it,” I lie; if anything, I remember it too well. Then I pretend to spot someone over his shoulder. “Oh, hi, Jenny! Have you welcomed Evan back yet?”

He turns white and whirls around. Jenny’s not there, of course, and he should know that, but when he faces me, furious patches of red decorate his pale face.

“If anything, you’re an even bigger bitch than you used to be,” he mutters. He storms off, not knowing how reaffirming it is to hear that. I feel steadier on my feet than I have in days. Still got it.

I put on a radiant smile for art and sit next to Jake.

“So, I think I’ve finally got an idea for our project,” I say without adding
you know, the one that’s due tomorrow?
“We might have to put in some time after school, but I didn’t think you’d mind very much.”

“Forget it,” Jake says. “I already handed it in.”

“Okay, so what we do is—” I stop and process. “What?”

“While you were gone, I just did it. I took it home and I did it. Handed it in yesterday. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Oh.”

“Norton seemed to like it. So we’ve got the period to draw whatever we want.”

I nod slowly. “Okay.”

I get us paper from the supply closet and my mind is going a thousand thoughts a second but never settles on one. I used to be good at improvising.

I set the paper in front of him.

“Why would you do that?” I ask.

“I figured you had enough to deal with.”

“You mean you felt sorry for me.”

“Did I say that?” He grabs a pencil and starts doodling. “I don’t feel sorry for you, but do you really think you could’ve gotten yourself together enough to help me get our project finished? But be honest when you answer.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You’re the one who disappeared for two days.”

I snap my fingers.

“You know, you were acting strange on Monday,” I finally say. “Like, weird. I
knew
I shouldn’t have gone to the dance with you—”

“I was acting like how
you
wanted me to act,” he points out calmly.

“Yeah, and then some.”

“What’s it to you?”

“It’s—” Goddammit. I snap my fingers again. “Are you trying to back me into a corner so I’ll date you or something? Because here’s a little advice for you: girls don’t like being emotionally blackmailed.”

“What am I blackmailing you with? I don’t have anything you want.”

“I—”

“Look, I made this decision after the dance,” he says. “I don’t want to screw around since you’ve made it pretty clear you’re not interested in actually starting anything. You should be happy. It works out for you better this way.”

“I like it the other way,” I say stupidly.

“Too bad.”

“You can’t just
not
like me. Feelings don’t go away like that. Ask Chris. He’s still totally in love with me and it’s been months and months.”

But it occurs to me I don’t know if that’s true anymore.

“I’ll get over it,” Jake says, his eyes meeting mine.

“Fine, fine, fine,” I say quickly, still snapping. I don’t know why I care, but I don’t like him getting to decide this. It’s mine to decide. “If that’s the way you want it, let’s go out. Let’s go out tonight. I’ll take you out. How about that?”

He falters. I can tell.

“I can’t. I’ll be at Chris’s tonight.”

“How about after? Or are you staying the night?”

“I’m staying. We’re going to Whitney tomorrow, to this old car exhibit.”

“Is Evan going to be there?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Why?”