My Butterfly (2 page)

She looked me up and down once.

“So do you,” she said.

“It’s the muscles, isn’t it?” I asked.

I watched her eyes follow a path from my shoes to my eyes again.

“What muscles?” she asked.

I grabbed my heart and pretended to shrink in pain.

“Ouch,” I said.

She smiled a satisfied grin.

“Don’t you have to be getting to your own class?” she asked. “What’s your first one anyway?”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that,” I said. “The teacher’s my neighbor. Plus, I already know my way around a kitchen.”

She stopped in the history classroom’s doorway and faced me.

“Kitchen?” she repeated.

I cringed on the inside, and my smile faded.

“Did I say kitchen?” I asked. “I meant woodshop.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, accusingly.

“Okay, look, I promise you I can build a coffee table, but home economics is a guaranteed
A
,” I said. “I couldn’t pass it up.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Quite the scholar,” she said, while shaking her head and stepping into the classroom.

“We’ll see who’s laughing when you’re eating my lasagna for dinner one night,” I said.

She glanced up at me and smiled that sideways smile that I was already starting to crave.

“You know, I just can’t see that happening,” she said.

“Me cooking lasagna?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

I could only see the side of her face now, but I could see that her lips were slowly turning up. I was thinking about how I could trick her into letting me hold her hand again some time.

“I don’t see me eating it,” she continued, taking a seat in a desk near the front of the small room.

“But there’s still hope for the dinner—well, minus the eating part?” I asked, hopeful.

She gave me an impatient look again. And suddenly, a loud ring made me jump, and my eyes darted to a clanging bell right above my head.

Julia giggled, and at the same time, opened a notebook to its first page. I stood there watching her for a second longer. She did look different, as if she had grown up overnight or something, but then she looked exactly the same too. Her hair was down, and it was wavy or curly or whatever girls call it—that about her hadn’t changed. Even at eight years old, she had had that same pretty, long, blond hair, that same perfect nose and those same pretty, green eyes.

A thought suddenly came to me then, and I quickly tore off a piece of my own notebook paper and scribbled a sentence onto its tiny surface.

“Jules,” I said, getting her attention one, last time.

She looked up at me, kind of startled, as if I had called her by a secret alias or something. She looked cute the way she always tried to act impatient with me.

“Hey,” I said, tapping a kid I had known since kindergarten on the shoulder. “Pass this to Julia, that girl in the black shirt, would ya?”

The boy dutifully followed my request and reached across a row to hand Julia the piece of scrap paper. I watched her open the folded note, and then, I watched her eyes follow over the words. But before she had a chance to look up again, I disappeared back into the hallway.

I figured I would give her some time to think about her answer. The last thing I wanted was a rash decision based on a somewhat rocky childhood. God, if I knew then what I know now, I probably still would have thrown rocks at her. It was fun hearing her scream. But I also would have kissed her—knowing that I probably could have gotten away with it then. I could have easily blamed it on being a stupid kid.

And come to think of it, there is actually a quote by George Bernard Shaw that has hung in my grandpa’s store for God only knows how long. I never really paid attention to it. It hung on a plaque in the corner, probably had a couple
of layers of dust on it. I thought about it now, as I made my short journey to the home economics room. And I thought of all of the years I had wasted not chasing after Julia Lang—well, at least not chasing after her in a more productive manner. Youth is wasted on the young, the old quote said. I didn’t know much of anything about this Shaw guy, but he did get at least one thing right—I should have kissed her when I had the chance. God only knows how long I’ve got to chase this girl.

The Volleyball

“A
re you looking for something, Jules?” I asked as I watched her push aside the heavy stage curtain.

Her face turned back toward me and then quickly went back to the stage. She didn’t look startled this time, and I wondered for a second if she had already gotten used to me calling her Jules.

“My volleyball,” she said, annoyed. “I left it here after P.E., and now it’s gone, and I promised Jeff I’d meet him after class and help him with algebra…”

“Jeff?” I blurted out, as I twisted the features of my face into a puzzled expression.

She stopped and glanced back at me again before returning her attention to a box of rubber balls.

“Yeah, he’s having a hard time, and we’ve got a test coming up,” she casually said. “He asked me to help him figure it out, and I’m supposed to meet him in ten minutes, and I can’t find…”

“Figure out algebra?” I interrupted again.

She caught my stare, furrowed her eyebrows and then went back to doing whatever it was she was doing.

“Yeah,” she said.

I shook my head.

“Jeff doesn’t need help with algebra,” I exclaimed. “He was the smar…”

I stopped myself, having just added up the math mid-sentence, and allowed my eyes to rest on her.

She was searching on the stage now, probably not even paying attention to me. I smiled as I watched her turn over sweaty, hockey jerseys just before scrunching up her nose and flinging them back down.

“I’m not leaving here until I find that ball,” she said.

I took a second to think, and after a quick moment, I had a plan.

“I’ll help you find it,” I blurted out.

I anxiously looked around the gym. I knew I had to find that ball before she did or my plan would be foiled, and she would be out the door to help Jeff, who, by the way, has had an
A
in math since the first grade. In fact, he was the reason I had passed algebra in junior high. That little weasel.

Suddenly, my eye caught a white, round object out of its corner. I looked closer and spotted a ball tucked away behind a set of bleachers on the other side of the gym. I glanced back at Julia. She was rooting through the ball closet near the stage. I slowly started to mosey my way over toward the ball, trying not to bring any attention to my find.

“We’ll find it,” I reassured her.

I eventually planted my feet in front of the ball and acted as if I hadn’t seen it.

“Hey, why don’t you go look out in the hallway, in case it bounced out there or something,” I said. “I’ll look for it under these bleachers.”

She looked my way with a disheveled
face, almost as if she had just noticed that I was still there. But then, without a word, she sauntered off into the hallway. I watched her disappear behind the glass-paned doors, and then I quickly reached for the volleyball and scooped it up. I turned it over. It was her ball all right. Her name was etched in its stretched material in black, permanent marker, right above her volleyball number. I spun it around in my hands as my eyes darted toward the glass-paned doors again. Then, my mind in auto pilot, I scanned the room, thinking. I saw bleachers, some exercise machines and a couple of wooden blocks—none of which would work. I let my head fall back in desperation. And then I saw it—the rafters high above me. There was already a ball stuck up there, and this one would give it some company. I took the volleyball in one hand and arched it behind my head. Then, I lobbed it up into the air. It hit a beam in the rafters and came colliding back to the hardwood floor. The ball bounced only once before I scurried over to it, scooped it up and glanced again toward the doors. There was still no sign of her. I retook my place and tried it once more. This time, the ball hit the inside of one of the beams, slightly knocked the other ball and then wedged itself in between the ball already there and the beam. Success.

“Will,” a voice suddenly called out from behind me, causing my body to stiffen.

I turned quickly on my heels to Rachel standing there, staring at me. She had a questioning look plastered across her face, and I couldn’t tell what she was questioning exactly—why I was throwing a ball into the rafters or why I was standing there alone staring at the rafters. What had she seen?

“Hi, Rach,” I stuttered.

She squinted her eyes, as if she were shaking off a thought.

“Have you seen Julia?” she eventually asked.

I thought about her question for a second. If Rachel were to find Julia, she might tell Jules what I had just done—if she had, in fact, seen what I had just done—and then I’d be busted. Or she could end up chauffeuring Jules off somewhere to look at shoes or a furry caterpillar or something until Julia forgot about her ball and had to go see Jeff. And then I would have thrown that dumb ball up in the rafters for nothing.

“Uh-uh, nope, haven’t seen her,” I said, being careful not to look her in the eyes until after I was done lying.

She stared at me with a suspicious glare.

“O-kay,” she said, her eyes burning a hole straight through my forehead. “Well, if you do, tell her I’m looking for her.”

“Will do,” I said.

Then, I smiled at her and casually strolled back toward the stage.

When I reached the base of the stage, I turned and glanced back at the doorway that Rachel had just been standing in, staring at me with her cat eyes. She was gone. I let out a sigh of relief.

“It’s not out there either,” I heard Julia say.

I quickly turned my attention to the other side of the gym.

“Here,” I said, holding out my phone. “Call Jeff. Tell him that you can’t help him tonight, and we’ll search the whole school for your ball. The first forty-eight hours are the most critical.”

She gave me a wary look. Then, she glanced at the phone and then back up at me. She was clearly agitated. But I couldn’t tell if it was because of me or because of the fact that she couldn’t find her ball. She had better not be upset that she couldn’t help Jeff. That little…

She snatched the phone out of my hand.

“Number four,” I said.

“What?” she asked.

“He’s number four on speed dial,” I said.

She pressed a key and then brought the phone to her ear. After a couple
of rings, I heard Jeff pick up. He loudly called her a toolbag, and I cringed.

Julia glanced up at me and rolled her eyes.

“Jeff,” she said. “This is Julia.”

I heard Jeff verbally recoil and apologetically take back his greeting.

“It’s fine,” she said, smiling. “Jeff, I’m calling because I can’t make it tonight. The test isn’t for a couple of weeks. Can we maybe get together sometime later this week?”

I heard his voice through the phone’s speakers when she finished talking, but I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

“No, I’m up at school,” she said. “I borrowed Will’s phone.”

Her explanation made me smile. I quickly cleared my throat and wiped the smirk off my face.

She ended the call a moment later and handed the phone back to me.

“Thanks,” she said. “You’ll help me look for it?”

Ugh, her eyes were doing this soft pleading thing, and it was taking everything in me not to pull her close.

“Of course,” I managed to say without sounding too eager. “It would be my pleasure.”

...

“It’s not back here,” I heard her say.

I could hear the frustration in her voice.

“No one would take it, right?” she asked.

“No, no one would take it,” I said. “It’s here somewhere. Let’s go look down the hall. Maybe it rolled down there or something.”

I watched her take a deep breath and then sigh.

“Okay,” she eventually agreed.

I smiled and waited until she was by my side to start toward the hallway and to ask her my question.

She eventually caught up, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to ask.

“So, what’s your answer?” I blurted out.

My words had come out kind of sheepish. I cleared my throat and concentrated on producing something in a lower octave and a little less Bo Peep.

“What answer?” she quipped back.

“The note I gave you before history class,” I said, hoping it would jog her memory.

“Aah,” she said, smiling. “That answer.”

I watched her peek under a table near the office and then keep walking.

“Well?” I asked again.

She stopped and squared up to me. She looked as if she were really thinking hard about it.