Take Me There (30 page)

And she gets the door open and kind of glances back at me like she knows I don’t live here and why am I loitering, so I decide to leave. Like, what am I going to do inside anyway? But then the door swings closed and right at that instant I realize I should have gone in. Because then I could look for his name on the door and see which apartment is his and why didn’t I think of that before? I can’t believe how stupid I’m being.

But whatever. I have a ton of homework I haven’t even started and it’s getting late and there’s this huge English paper that’s due tomorrow and of course I haven’t even started it, because what have I been doing? Fantasizing and spending too much time on math homework trying to get everything perfect to impress him and completely not focusing on anything that doesn’t have to do with Mr. Farrell for more than three consecutive seconds, and now I’m screwed. At least I’m ready for the math test since I’ve been studying for it all week. Except unfortunately there’s other stuff going on in the world.

When I’m at home on my bed trying to read this seriously dull book for English, I’m wondering for the bazillionth time why they give us such boring books to read. The only thing that’s kept me awake this long was Danny calling to say he found the note. And then we planned tomorrow, which is so perfect it’s insane. He called James after to tell him about it.

The highlight of my night is when I go down to the deli and I’m bending down for snack cakes, and all these thoughts come rushing in at me. Like being with Danny today and how good it felt. And the weird thing is? That I even have room to think about him when all I’ve been obsessing about is Mr. Farrell. But also about Brad’s brother and what he said. And the Sheila situation. I tried IMing her, but she’s never online anymore. And she didn’t call me back after I left three voice mails about how she should call me if she feels like talking.

It’s all too much right now. And then there’s the whole thing about seeing Dr. Ribisi tomorrow. . . .

There’s this grungy deli cat that’s always half-covered in sawdust or something. He creeps around the bottom shelves with his tail swiping up against all the stuff there. Somehow, this seems immensely unhygienic. I try to walk around him on my way to pay, but he suddenly takes a spaz and darts in front of me. Not that’s it’s a black cat, but it
is
the grungy deli cat, so I’m hoping it’s not a bad omen and he’s trying to tell me something.

By the time it’s three in the morning, I’m only half done with the paper. Because I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow, which is already later today. And how I’m finally going to know if he feels the way I hope he does.

SO OF COURSE
there’s this humungous zit right on my chin. Since I’m planning to stay after math and talk to Mr. Farrell and all. This zit could not be bigger. There’s no way I could hide it if I tried. I mean, okay, so I tried for half an hour with my special concealer-and-Q-tip-combo technique, but it looks worse now than when I started.

I dash into the bathroom before math for a last-minute face check. The results of which are heinous and I wish I never looked, because there’s no way I can go to class looking like this. So I go into a stall and sit on the toilet and put my feet up so no one can see that I’m late for class and possibly snitch because I have to decide if I can let Mr. Farrell see me with this thing on my face. Plus, now I also have to think up an excuse for being late, which I’m going to be in another minute.

The door bangs open and someone starts dialing their cell phone.

She’s like, “Hey, it’s me,” and I immediately know it’s Sheila. “Sorry to keep bothering you with all these calls. Everything’s been getting so much worse lately.” I hear her walking toward the stalls. I can tell she’s looking under the doors to see if anyone else is in here, so I hold my breath.

She goes, “I can’t do this anymore.” Then she starts telling the person on the other end how she finally got a chance to catch up on homework last night because she went to the library instead of to Brad’s after school.

“But when I called Brad after, he said he wasn’t studying for the math test.”

Pause.

“Like I was surprised? He never studies for anything anymore.”

Pause.

“Yeah, I tried that.”

Pause.

“What do
you
think?”

Pause.

“Exactly. And then I tried to convince him that he’s on this downward spiral and . . . like how he’s scaring me and everything, but he just blew me off. And then he said he’s going to cheat off this kid Jackson during the test.”

Pause.

“Not really. If he doesn’t pass this test then there’s no way he can pass the class.”

Pause.

“I know! I would tell Jackson, but there’s no way I can do it without Brad seeing.”

Pause.

“He’s in there already.”

Pause.

“No, because he’s being all scary, and he sits right next to Jackson. So there’s not much I can do about it anyway.”

Pause.

“Yeah . . . I know . . . Okay, I better go. Thanks, Max.” And she snaps her phone shut.

I’m having this convulsion like,
Max! As in Max from film elective! As in Brad’s brother who told me that Sheila should stay away from Brad!

A tub of lip gloss falls out of my bag and rolls across the floor, under the stall door toward the sinks. I hear Sheila pick it up. Then she knocks on my door.

I’m like, “Uh . . . come in?”

She goes, “It’s locked.”

And I’m like, “Oh yeah. Right.” So I unlatch the door and swing it open, and Sheila smiles a little when she sees it’s just me.

Then she holds out my lip gloss and goes, “I think this is yours.”

So I go, “Thanks. I’m really sorry I’m sitting here like this. I totally didn’t mean to spy on you or anything, I just got caught in here and—”

“It’s okay.”

“It is?”

“You know most of that stuff anyway.”

“Oh.” And then no one says anything for a minute. I notice that Sheila’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so I’m like, “Aren’t you hot?” Because it’s supposed to be super warm today.

She’s like, “Not really.”

And I know I told Max I wouldn’t tell Sheila what he said, and if I tell there could be consequences I can’t even imagine, but I have to at least reach out to her in some way. And I think I’m right about this, and if I’m not then it’s no big deal, but if I am it could make all the difference.

So I say, “Sheila.”

And she looks at me.

And I say, “I know.”

At first I can’t tell what she’s going to do. Maybe she’ll try and act like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, or maybe she’ll just leave. But instead she does something I wasn’t expecting at all. She pulls up her sleeve, and there are bruises on her arm. Like someone grabbed her and wouldn’t let go.

I’m like, “Oh my god.”

And Sheila says, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Was it . . . Brad’s father?”

But she shakes her head. And she whispers, “It was Brad.”

So that’s why Max didn’t do anything. And he didn’t want Sheila to know we talked. In some weird way, he was probably protecting his brother. Or maybe there’s more to it. Not that it matters. The only thing that matters right now is that I can help Sheila. Because this has to stop.

So I say, “I know someone who can help you.”

Somehow I managed to only be five minutes late to math, and Mr. Farrell didn’t even notice because the whole room was in a pre-test frenzy of sharpening pencils and asking last-minute questions and cramming from the book and Mr. Farrell yelling at everyone to sit down so we can start.

After I gave Sheila the contact info for Dr. Ribisi, she went to the guidance office. All I wanted to do the whole period was kill Brad, but somehow I managed not to. I’m sure I bombed the test.

So now class is over and everyone’s gone and Mr. Farrell doesn’t have anything this period, so I go up to him and say, “Hey. I have a question.”

And he looks up and smiles right at me (and it’s like he doesn’t even see the zit the way he’s smiling) and he goes, “I have an answer,” which is so cute in a dorky, teachery kind of way.

I’m like, “Do you believe in karma?”

And he’s all, “Absolutely.”

So I say, “What if you had the chance to help someone receive the ultimate karmic retribution? Would you do it?”

He’s like, “No doubt.”

I go, “That’s what I thought.” Not that I need convincing that what we’re doing tonight is the right thing. But in a way, I wanted his opinion. Even if I can’t tell him what it’s about.

He’s all, “What goes around comes around.”

I really hope that’s true. And then it’s like evidence right in front of my face when I see Jackson on the way to my last class. Not just because of tonight, but I know about how Jackson stole Ree’s note in English, because she sent me a text during her lunch.

I catch up to him and go, “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

He’s like, “About what?” All in this tone where it’s obvious he doesn’t want to know. I can’t figure out why he doesn’t have more friends with such great conversational skills.

I go, “About that note you took from Ree in English.”

He goes, “What about it?”

I’m like, “Why don’t you give it back?”

“It landed on my desk. I can keep it if I want.”

“Um . . . she really
really
needs that note back.”

“I can see why.”

“Are you going to get her in trouble?”

“No. I’ll give it back to her tomorrow.”

“Or you could give it to me to give to her.”

“No. Is she going to the dance?”

“Yeah.”

“So I’ll give it to her there.”

I have no idea what Jackson’s up to, but he doesn’t have a creepy dangerous vibe or anything, so I sort of believe him. He’s just a tad lacking in the social-skills department, is all.

I go, “Okay well . . . see ya.”

But he goes, “Can I ask you something?”

I’m like, “Yeah.”

And he says, “Uh . . . you know how you used to be . . . like . . . different?”

Which is, like, the biggest understatement of the century. So I go, “Yeah.”

“Yeah so . . . I was wondering how you did that. Exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Forget it.” So then I’m about to leave again, but he goes, “Okay, like . . . it’s obvious you’re dressing differently this year. But it’s like you came back as a different person, you know?” Which is news to me because last I heard, my personality is exactly the same as it’s always been. And Jackson doesn’t even know me. Maybe through Six Degrees of Danny because they used to be friends and then Danny and I went out, but that’s about it.

I go, “Um . . . I just kind of got some new clothes at the end of last summer, so . . .” And now we’re both late for class, and why are we even having this conversation? So I’m like, “I have to go.”

But then Gloria passes us and laughs when she sees me standing with Jackson. She’s all, “Give it up, Jackson. Nicole would never go out with a loser like you. She only likes boys who are fun to be with. Oh, wait. But then she dumps them because she doesn’t know how to keep a boyfriend.” And she whisks away like it’s a totally normal thing to be a complete bitch to people just for fun.

Jackson’s like, “She’s such a bitch.”

I’m like, “This just in.”

He goes, “We used to go out.”

So now I have to pretend like I didn’t know that, but I also don’t want it to look like I’m too shocked because he might take it the wrong way. I go, “Really?”

And then he just starts telling me all this stuff about how she used him and made him do her homework and stuff, and he can’t believe how stupid he was to go along with it. And how if people knew Gloria liked him, they wouldn’t treat him like such a leper. Because even though she’s a bitch, she’s smoking hot, and that has more status in the social hierarchy of things. But it’s not like he could tell anyone about it now, because who would believe him?