Keep Holding On (16 page)

“You smell like rotten eggs,” Carly said.

“No, I don’t.”

“Did your nose stop working? Because you totally do.”

All I wanted to do was run out of there and take the train home and get in bed and hide under the covers for the rest of the day. But I didn’t. I went through the whole day smelling like rotten eggs.

When mother got home that night, I asked her when she was going to do laundry. She said that I was old enough to do my own laundry. She didn’t show me how to do it or anything. It was just another one of those things that I was expected to figure out on my own.

I read the directions on the box of Tide. They said to put the clothes in the washing machine, then put the detergent in, then start the wash. They didn’t say anything about separating colors from whites. They didn’t say anything about how if you use extra detergent because you want your clothes to be extra clean, the powder will streak all over your clothes and they’ll come out
crusted with lumpy chunks of detergent all over them.

The next day, I went to school in jeans with detergent stains and a long-sleeved tee that used to be white but was now a dingy pinkish color. But at least I didn’t smell like rotten eggs. Since then, I’ve learned how to do laundry. I add detergent to the water before I put the clothes in. I separate the whites from the colors.

Another thing I’ve learned is that when one problem gets solved, another problem comes barging in right behind it, banging its big Problem Parade drum. Now I have clean clothes. But mother doesn’t let me take showers in the morning.

We have two bathrooms. You know your town is upscale when even the crappy apartments have two bathrooms. Mine only has a toilet (that likes to stop working at the worst times), a sink, and an ancient washer/dryer unit. The other bathroom is attached to mother’s room. Of course that’s the one with the shower. Mother’s argument is that when I take a shower while she’s sleeping, it wakes her up. Mother does not enjoy being woken up before 7:45. Which means I have to take showers at night.

I don’t want to take showers at night. I want to take showers before school like a normal person.

That time I smelled like rotten eggs was the end of smelling. I refuse to be dirty ever again. I’m obsessive about washing my sheets twice a week and doing laundry way before I run out of anything. And I have a new set of body sprays that Sherae gave me for my birthday, so I can go to school smelling like lavender or lily of the valley every day.

Some mornings I have a fleeting moment of courage. I’ll sneak
into mother’s bathroom, start the shower, and get in real quick. She usually starts yelling at me to turn the water off. I’ll pretend I don’t hear her, scrubbing as quickly as I can. But most mornings, I grab a fresh washcloth and wash up at my sink.

There’s no way I’m going to gym after what Carly just did to me. I can’t stop shaking.

The tears come when I get to my locker. This time, I let them fall. I’m tired of holding everything in. What’s the difference? No one cares anyway. But then Sherae comes up to me. She doesn’t say anything. She just hugs me.

All it takes is that small gesture of caring to make me completely break down. I’m bawling like I’ll never be able to stop. Because I just realized something.

I didn’t run.

When I thought Audrey was going to shoot me with a real gun, I didn’t even try to save my life. I just stood there. The promise of relief that death would bring soothed me at that moment.

Something is wrong with me. Something is desperately wrong.

I pull away from Sherae, slamming back against my locker. I let myself sink down to the floor. I’m having one of those embarrassing crying fits where you’re clenched in the steel grip of a scary, convulsive attack. I can’t stop making these spastic hiccuping noises. I try taking shuddering breaths to slow down the crying, but it won’t stop.

People are staring. I don’t blame them. Anyone would stare at a crazy girl having a breakdown in the hall.

I hate that the crazy girl is me.

Who doesn’t run the other way when she thinks her life is being threatened? Who doesn’t fight to stay alive?

Every single day of my life is a fight. But yesterday, I gave up without even trying. I want to keep fighting. I really do. I’m just so tired of how nothing ever gets better.

When they have school shootings on shows or in movies, it’s always a boy with the gun.

What makes them think it could never be a girl?

I’m being kidnapped.

Well. Friendnapped is more accurate. After my breakdown, Sherae picked me up and swept me out of school.

“You should go back in,” I say. “You’re going to get in trouble.”

“Do I look like I care?” Sherae guides me out to the student parking lot through the side door. She puts me in her car. “Let’s go.”

“Seriously,” I tell her. “I’m fine. Don’t cut because of me.”

Sherae is not hearing that. She turns on her car.

“We’re going to my house,” she says. “Don’t bother trying to convince me otherwise.”

Mrs. Feldman is home when we get there. I look away so she can’t see my face.

“What’s wrong?” she says.

“I’ll be right back,” Sherae tells her. She takes me to her room. She orders me to pick out pajamas. Then she goes to explain to her mom. I’m not sure what she’s saying. I swore her to secrecy. How could she possibly explain about Julian and Carly and Matt and Audrey and Warner and mother and everything without specifics? Like, what, “We came home early because Noelle’s life sucks?”

All of the clothes in Sherae’s pajama drawer are soft and pretty. Yes, she has an entire pajama drawer. I have two pajama bottoms and some worn-out old tees. I select pale pink capris that are soft as butter and a thin white tank top. Then I get changed.

Sherae comes back to her room with provisions. She has an assortment of sweet and salty snacks.

“Here’s what we’re doing,” she says. “We’re going to pig out. We’re going to watch whatever you want. We are
not
going to waste our time talking about idiots who don’t deserve our attention. What is your viewing desire?”

I’ve seen every
Freaks and Geeks
ep a zillion times. Sherae lets me borrow her box set whenever I want. But that show always makes me feel better. So Sherae and I climb up on her massive bed and commence a
Freaks and Geeks
marathon.

I try not to think about Julian. I really do. But Daniel Desario reminds me of Matt and Nick Andopolis reminds me of Julian. Except Julian’s not a pothead like Nick is.

“Why did Matt pick Audrey?” I groan.

“Because he’s an idiot,” Sherae explains.

“But why didn’t he want me?”

“He did. He just didn’t want to choose.”

“I hate that I wasn’t enough for him.”

“I don’t. This just proves that Matt was totally wrong for you. The right guy would never make you feel this way.”

“Like I’ll ever meet anyone right for me.”

“Have you met Julian?”

“Julian thinks I’m a skank. Julian and the whole rest of the world.”

“No, he doesn’t. He wants to be with you. And he knows you want to be with him, even if you keep denying it.”

“You know it would never work out.”

“No, you
think
it would never work out. Julian obviously likes you. A lot. He’d understand.”

“He’d be grossed out.”

“Not if he wants to be with you. Which he does.”

I take another iced animal cookie from the bag.

“Why is it so hard to believe he actually likes you?” Sherae says. She grabs her hot-pink Uglydoll that resembles a possessed rabbit and smacks me with him. “Hello! He asked you
out
! Julian Porter wants to go out with you! How can you not see how major that is?”

I just shrug. Sherae would never understand.

We watch the scene where Nick sings for Lindsay. Life would be so much easier if fictional boys were real.

Avoiding the cafeteria
hasn’t only been necessary at lunch. I’ve been avoiding it before school, too. I do not want to be trapped in there the next time Julian comes in early. You’re not supposed to wait outside before school, but they don’t have the energy to herd us in this late in the year.

I sit against a tree and take my book out. I can never completely focus on reading at school. Or anything else, really. Part of me is watching out for Julian and Carly and Matt and Audrey and Sherae. Sherae’s coming in from the student parking lot. I wave her over.

“Thanks for yesterday,” I say. “I seriously needed that.”

“Anytime.”

“Are you sure your mom wasn’t mad?”

“No way! She loves having you over. Even in emergencies.”

The wind whips a chunk of my staircut out of its pin. I press
my hair back and scrape the pin against my scalp, trying to smash my hair stair down.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“We have”—Sherae checks—“seven more minutes.”

“Let’s stay out here.”

Sherae sits down on the grass next to me and leans back against the tree. In between kids shouting and car doors slamming, I can hear tree leaves rustling. The warm wind feels good. I so don’t want to go in.

It’s almost time to go in when Hector comes over to us.

“Can I talk to you?” he asks Sherae.

“I don’t think so,” Sherae says.

“Just two seconds.”

Sherae gets up. “We have to go in,” she tells Hector. She looks down at me for help.

I get up. We start walking. Hector walks with us.

“Can you leave me alone?” Sherae says.

“Can you let me talk to you?”

We keep walking.

“Hey.” Hector grabs Sherae’s bag, jerking her to a stop. “Don’t be such a bitch. I just want to talk.”

“Come on, Noelle.” Sherae grabs my hand. We dash ahead.

When Sherae called me that night after Hector left her house, she was crying so hard. It was the first time I’d ever heard her unhinged like that. I’d always assumed Sherae had everything under control. Her life seemed so perfect. Until Hector took it too far. He didn’t listen when she told him to stop.

You can’t violate someone’s trust and expect there to be no consequences.

Fridays aren’t just regular Fridays in physics. They’re Fun Fizzycks Fridays (aka FFF, aka Fun Fridays). Every Fun Fizzycks Friday, Ms. Scofield has a dork-off against her own corniness. On this particular FFF, Ms. Scofield is attempting to set a new world’s record for Corniest Physics Teacher Ever.