Never Enough (8 page)

*   *   *

“Hey, drama queen,” Marcus said when I showed up at our lockers Monday morning. “Can’t wait to get back to our kingdom.” He nodded toward the theatre.

Did that make him my king?
I didn’t care if it was a joke. It still warmed my insides.

I gave him an eye roll to combat my giddy smile. Just then Shayleen and Deirdre rounded the corner. Deirdre looked away like she hadn’t seen me, but Shayleen stared straight at me.

As she passed by, she let out a breathy laugh.

Good. Laugh all you want. He’s a
real
friend
, I felt like saying. But I bit my lip.

“What do you have now?” Marcus asked, distracting me.

“Art,” I gulped out. I wished I had Marcus’s ability to not let things affect me.

I’d finally gotten my drawing portfolio back from Mr. Dewdney with a B at the top. The plethora of notes about different ways I should try looking at my subjects made me feel like he was being nice with the B. But I had a good eye, I knew I did. It was getting it from my head to my paper that screwed me up. If only I’d been able to submit a photography portfolio.

Mr. Dewdney chattered on about the mediums he wanted us to explore during the last month of classes. I didn’t pay
much attention until he said, “You’ll find some interesting paper supplies in the darkroom at the back.”

“The what?” I blurted. Everyone stared at me, so I sheepishly raised my hand.

Mr. Dewdney furrowed his brow and nodded in my direction. His beard looked like he hadn’t bothered to trim it since the beginning of the year, and I wondered if there were rules about stuff like that.

“Um, did you say ‘darkroom,’ Mr. Dewdney?” With all twenty-nine other students’ eyes on me, I muttered, “I was just . . .” My eyes moved to my desk in front of me. “Curious.”

“Yes. Of course, with the popularity of digital cameras these days, our room is used predominantly for storage now.” Mr. Dewdney cleared his throat. “It was originally designed as a small room to develop film prints,” he said slowly, as though we’d all have trouble understanding the concept.

“All right, then.” Mr. Dewdney clapped his hands.

My hand shot up again.

Mr. Dewdney stroked his scruffy face and looked back at me. Thankfully, the other students seemed to be losing interest.

“Can I use it?”

Mr. Dewdney’s eyebrows pulled together. “The darkroom,” I said.

He pursed his lips like he was thinking about it. “Talk to me after class.”

*   *   *

After the rest of the students filed out of the room, I stopped next to the giant metal teacher’s desk. Mr. Dewdney looked up at me with a blank expression.

“The darkroom?” I offered.

“Mmm, yes.” He took a sip from his coffee mug. “Now why do you want to use it, Miss . . . ?”

“Rochester. Loann Rochester.” He still didn’t remember my last name after an entire year of art with him.
Why do you think I would want to use it?
I felt like saying. “Um, to develop my film?”

“Oh. You don’t have a digital camera?”

I shook my head, suddenly embarrassed. Up until now I’d thought myself lucky to have the camera I’d been given. But his tone, it made me feel so . . . incomplete.

“Have you ever developed your own film?” Mr. Dewdney asked.

“Mm-hmm,” I lied. Surely I could figure it out.

“Well . . . I can’t leave a student here alone, and I’m only here a few afternoons per week.”

“So I can use it?” I bounced a little off my heels. “Thanks, Mr. Dewdney!” I held myself back from giving him a hug and practically skipped for the hallway. I didn’t have any film with me, but I’d bring some tomorrow.

How hard could it be?

All Marcus usually wanted to do was go for coffee, and soon I developed a
taste for it. But he’d paid so many times that I’d lost track of how much I owed him. I didn’t exactly have allowance money sprouting from my pockets. I decided before he could offer up his invite today, I would offer my own.

“Why don’t you come to my place?” I said from my side of a pile of scrap metal we were sifting through out behind the metalwork shop.

He tossed a rod he’d been studying back into the pile with a bit too much force. His eyes glazed over. I kept watching him, but he just kept pulling hunks of metal off and chucking them back without a reply.

“No one’s there after school,” I added. “We can make coffee if you want.”

“I guess,” he muttered as the bell rang. There was more to this, but I wasn’t sure what, and so I wasn’t sure if I should ask.

*   *   *

Inside our front door, Marcus stood glued to the mat while I threw my jacket and shoes in the direction of the closet.

“Come on. It’s okay. And no one’s home, anyway.” He still didn’t move, even as I headed for the kitchen. “Seriously.”

Slowly he pulled at the back of his sneakers to get them off.

“Do you want coffee?” I asked, even though I had no idea how to start up Mom’s ancient brewer.

“Nah, it’s okay.” He still sounded anything but comfortable, and I felt bad for bringing him here. This seemed like a whole new level of weirdness.

“Have a seat.” I motioned to the couch. “I’ll get us some cookies.” I headed for the pantry without waiting for a response. Was Marcus worried that I was going to jump him, or what? That didn’t make sense. We’d been alone plenty of times backstage and at the Arts Club. When I returned, he sat on one end of the couch, straight and tall, like he was waiting to jump up and say “Bingo!” I sat at the other end, leaving enough width for a set of major appliances between us, and placed the open bag of cookies on the table. There
were only four left in the package, though I was sure Mom had just bought it a couple days ago.

Marcus helped himself to a cookie.

I flicked on the TV, and after five minutes of sitcom fun, I could feel him start to relax. He even laughed. An actual laugh out of Marcus. I watched his face jiggle in my peripheral vision.

When one of the characters used the word “footling” Marcus twisted his mouth to one side.

“You don’t know what it means either?” I asked.

When he shook his head, I ran upstairs and grabbed my dictionary from beside my desk. I traipsed back down with it already open.

“‘Footling: Adjective . . .’” I read out. “Means trivial or silly.”

“So ‘footling’ and ‘Loann’ are, like, synonyms,” he said.

“Ha, ha.” I forced my eyes together in a glare, even though his joking made me feel suddenly bubbly.

“I like to learn new words,” he said.

I tried to think of a good word to get back at him. But it had to be something really smart. One he didn’t know.

I thumbed through my dictionary. One of my photos I’d used as a bookmark slid out and landed on the floor between us. It was one from the backyard, a squirrel with its tiny paws reaching out toward the camera. The sky was dull behind the little rust-colored guy, and it made him stand out like a shot of color in a black-and-white movie.

Marcus picked it up. “Cool,” he said, looking at it for almost a full minute. “You have anything else like this?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. He kept staring at me, waiting for me to elaborate, so I raced back up to my room and returned with the pictures of the oak tree.

He studied these even longer. My knee bounced against the coffee table. I’d never seen anyone so taken with anything I had done before. Looking at Marcus’s face, I wanted to cry from joy or take his picture, I wasn’t sure which.

He held the photo a few feet away from him and squinted.

My armpits moistened. “You’re going to start snoring any second, right?” I said with a forced laugh. Now that he was analyzing them, they probably weren’t that good after all and I felt the need to intercept him from saying so.

“You know,” he said at last, “this might be perfect for that outdoor scene.”

I crinkled my brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“For the play.” He tilted his head. “I wonder . . .” He clucked his tongue a couple of times, keeping me in suspense. “If we could blow this up on the screen somehow. You know, at the back of the stage.”

And that’s how we came up with our brilliant idea: To create a photo-set.

By the time Claire and Mom ambled through the door,
Marcus and I had written down nearly a hundred different photo possibilities for me to track down. Marcus said he could help with the computer projection part of things, which was great because I had no idea where to start with that. I casually called out, “Hi,” to Mom and Claire, while Marcus kept writing down new ideas.

Mom’s mouth dropped open and she quickly snapped it shut.

I laughed under my breath, trying not to acknowledge her weirdness.
Holy heart attack, Batman, Loann has a boy in the house!

“Mom, this is Marcus. My friend from school.” I expected a similar scene to when Josh had been here the other night. Marcus standing and shaking her hand. My mom asking if we had any classes together.

But Marcus looked at the floor as Mom gritted out, “Nice to meet you,” her head flicking between him and me. Then she continued on her path for the kitchen. “Come on, Claire. Help me with dinner.”

I knew Marcus wasn’t her ideal idea of a BFF, but did she really have to act so pissed off?

Of course, Marcus wasn’t exactly the ambassador of friendliness either, but that was different. He wasn’t outgoing with anyone. Well, except for me.

The nanosecond they were out of the room, Marcus jumped up to leave. I followed him to the door.

“Sorry my mom was so rude,” I said.

Marcus didn’t even unlace his shoes, just slid them on, crunched down on the heels, and turned for the door. “See you tomorrow,” he muttered.

I barely had the door open for him when he pushed his way through it. I thought about watching him walk down the street, but he seemed to want some privacy. Besides, I was too mad at Mom to just stand there.

I shut the door and marched for the kitchen. How could she do that? It’s not like I had friends to spare, or anything. I was ready to give her a piece of my mind, but before I reached the door Claire’s voice trilled through from the other side.

“I wouldn’t worry about them, Mom. Loey just had a fight with her friends and she’s using him to hang out with in the meantime.”

Um,
what
?!

I stopped in place and stared at the door. I figured Claire would be able to see what a great guy Marcus is. How he’s so much better of a friend for me than Shayleen. Then again, Claire had a “popular” brain, and probably thought the same way as the guys who teased Marcus and pushed him up against his locker.

I couldn’t believe how much my opinion of Claire was changing. I’d always looked up to my sister. Always.

But for the first time, I thought of Claire as not only different from me, but as one of
them
—the enemy of
us
.

I checked out the darkroom briefly after art class the next day and found a
cupboard full of solutions and supplies. Who knew how old they were, but they would at least give me a start. Now all I had to do was get Marcus to help me with the research on how to use them.

“I swear, my parents are working until, like, ten tonight,” I told him after last period. “My sister’s almost never there either, but even if she is, trust me, she won’t want anything to do with us.”

Marcus shrugged like he didn’t really want to, so I said, “Or we could go to your place.”

“Your place is fine,” he said quickly. He must have felt my
surprise, because he added, “It’s just—parents don’t usually like me.”

“My mom doesn’t like anyone, including me, after arguing with old people all day. It’s totally not you,” I told him as we headed down the hall for the outside doors. It was partially a lie. If Marcus was friendly and outgoing like Josh, Mom would no doubt be a little warmer.

To change the subject, I explained my idea to Marcus. “It won’t cost anything for developing if we do it ourselves,” I said, after telling him about the darkroom. “So we wouldn’t have to talk about our plans with Mr. Benson until we have something to show him.”

Marcus’s brow crinkled. “We’re talking about a lot of pictures, Loann. And it’s not like either of us have done this before.”

Seeing how unsure Marcus was, my confidence wavered. But we talked it over, and finally decided to research it before we made a decision.

Marcus’s shoulders tensed when we got to my front door. We climbed the stairs toward the computer room. Before hitting the top landing, I heard Claire pecking away at the keyboard.

I looked at my watch. “What day is it?”