Underneath (17 page)

She has to know the things she said were unfair.

And I need to know that I can trust her.

My morning classes blur by. The lunch bell rings at the end of fourth period and I'm startled enough to jump. I grab my backpack and grit my teeth.

After buying a diet soda, I walk as calmly as I can toward the back of campus, but my steps start to drag. Maybe she's going to want to keep fighting about this. It doesn't matter. I still have to talk to her. And at some point I need to figure out what to do about Cody. He needs to understand that this isn't just a joke, a trick. That this is serious, and my underhearing is real.

I hitch my backpack up and finger-comb my hair before rounding the corner of the art building. My stomach churns. I step around the back toward the awning.

Everyone's there. It looks like that first week I started sitting with them, before I broke into their tight-knit little group. Mikaela is standing at one end talking animatedly to Cody. She laughs and thumps him on the head. Cody flips her off. Becca is putting on burgundy lipstick. David is drawing in his sketchbook. Andy and a couple of his friends, dressed nearly identically in concert T-shirts and black jeans, are eating cafeteria pizza.

I stride forward before I lose my nerve. I head for an empty half-spot at the opposite end of the table from Cody and set down my brown paper lunch bag. Becca says hey, and David looks up briefly and smiles. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. Nobody seems to know what happened over the break.

Small favors.

I glance out of the corner of my eye at the other end of the bench. Mikaela looks at me and … doesn't
smile
, exactly, but the corners of her mouth twitch into a sort of grimace. Cody just gives me a long, considering look. My hackles rise. I wonder if they've been talking about me. Again.

I'm not going to let it get to me. I pull out my sandwich and carrot sticks and start eating. After a few minutes, I catch myself smiling at something Becca says. Slowly the tension in my body eases. Mikaela walks to our side of the table to get something out of her messenger bag and says quietly, “Are we okay? You never answered my emails.”

“That depends,” I say. I swallow hard. “Got a few minutes to talk?”

She nods. When I get up a few minutes later and start walking, she grabs her bag and follows me around the corner. The ground is damp from an earlier drizzle, so instead of sitting, we stand awkwardly a few feet from each other.

“So, talk,” she says. “I know you have something to say. You were glaring at me all through lunch.”

“I wasn't glaring,” I start, my voice croaking a little. I clear my throat. “Look. The last time we … after the party. I was really mad.”

“Well, I was too,” she says, staring over my shoulder at the jasmine. Then she sighs and looks directly at me. “I have to be honest. I was pissed. I felt like you didn't understand anything about me, even though you have this … you know.
Thing
. I felt like you should just be able to automatically, like, read my mind and figure it all out, know exactly what to say.”

I open my mouth, then close it again.

“I know that's not true; you told me how it worked. But that's the thing!” she bursts out, starting to pace back and forth. “You told me all this stuff about—you know. And it was hard to deal with. I freaked out. I couldn't handle it myself. So I told Cody. But I swear I didn't know he was going to tell anyone! I didn't know what to do during that stupid party. I was mad at him, and I was mad at you for running out and leaving me in there. But I'm sorry I yelled at you, okay?”

This is too hard. I don't know what to say. She's apologized, but she still sounds mad, and I'm still upset. And I don't know how to make it better between us.

“I shouldn't have said anything,” I say miserably.

Mikaela lets out a frustrated noise. “No, that's not it. Don't think that.
I
shouldn't have said anything.” She fidgets restlessly, shifting from foot to foot. “This sucks. It really does.”

She looks at me. Even though she sounds angry, her eyes are pleading, as if she wants to say more but doesn't know what or how.

I sigh. “What if we just agree to be done fighting? Can we just … decide to be okay?” I'm still mad, but I don't know what else to do. We're at a stalemate, but we both regret what happened. We're both sorry.

“Yeah,” she says. She looks relieved, and the tension in the air seems to dissipate a little. She moves as if to head back to the picnic table. But I still have something I need to say.

“Mikaela, wait.” She stops and turns toward me again. “I didn't realize I felt that way about Cody. That's why I didn't say anything. I didn't realize you—that you—” I clear my throat. “If you guys are together—I didn't know.”

She grimaces; waves a hand dismissively. “We're definitely not together.”

“But—”

“No. Believe me. I've tried, but he's not interested. I think he likes that Rennie chick.” A mixture of feelings roil around in my chest. Relief, hope, disappointment.

She pauses for a minute and her expression grows tense again. I can see she's trying to force out something difficult, something she's not sure she wants to say.

“You know, about Cody.” She looks me in the eye. “He's not evil, even if he does think the sun shines out of his own ass. He really does want to help you with your … power.”

“Uh huh. I was thinking I'd give him a few more weeks of the silent treatment.” We start walking back toward our lunch table.

“Seriously, you should talk to him. He might understand more than you think. He's got family issues too.” She looks off into the distance again. “And he really is sorry. I know that for a fact because I ripped him a new one after the party.”

I'm surprised. Lord knows he deserved it, but I still don't know what to think. Mikaela would probably prefer to keep Cody all to herself, if she had the option. If he didn't have a thing for someone else. Maybe she wouldn't even be telling me this if she thought there was the remotest possibility of something happening between the two of them.

She's looking at me expectantly. So I say, “Maybe I will talk to him.” I smile, a little weakly. In reply, she gives me a quick, fierce hug.

“You'll get through this,” she says. I'm not sure about that, but I can't help being relieved anyway.

By the time we return to the lunch table, the group is already starting to scatter. Andy and C.J. are heading to the parking lot to try to sneak a cigarette before fifth period. I wander over, trying to look casual. I peer over David's shoulder at his latest sketch—a surprisingly realistic scene of the group eating lunch—and compliment him. He looks up, startled, and grins, ducking his head shyly. I move down to the table to Cody and try to figure out what to say.

“So, ring in the new year with a bang?” Cody asks, smiling sardonically.

“Well, there was some family melodrama,” I say. “I don't know if I'd call that a bang, exactly. More like a whimper.”

“T. S. Eliot,” Cody says with a nod. “Nice.”

“Yeah, we read that one in English class last semester.”

“Mrs. DeMarco?” He grins at me. I don't smile back.

“Yup. Second period. You?”

“Fourth,” he says. He cocks his head, his expression mildly curious. I look away from him for a moment, watching Becca as she touches up her black eyeliner.

“So did you hang out with those Wiccans again on New Year's?” I ask pointedly.

“Nah, Becca and Mikaela and I hung out at my house,” he says. “I'm seeing Rennie and her group next week, though, if you want to come.”

“Uh, no thanks.” I look away, scowling. “That's exactly what I don't want to do.”

“Hey, I already said I didn't know they were going to put you on the spot like that.” He meets my eyes with an intense ice-blue stare. A challenging stare. “But I meant what I said that night.”

“What, that you thought it was all a joke? A trick?” I cross my arms.

“No!” He lowers his voice so that only I can hear. “I mean, if you ever want to practice your … ability, or just talk about it or something, tell me.” He looks contrite now. “I promise. I won't tell anyone else about it. I won't say anything about your power unless you tell me it's okay.”

I frown. “Okay. Thanks.”

“So … do you think you might
want
to try to practice sometime?” He doesn't quite look at me, just fiddles with the zipper on his jacket.

“I—don't know. Maybe.” I feel confused, off-balance. The bell rings, and we gather up our bags and books. I start walking toward my fifth-period physics class. Cody falls into step beside me for a minute.

“Really, Sunny,” he says, leaning close enough for me to feel his breath on my ear. “Just think about it.” He smiles and starts walking off toward the history classrooms. I stare after him, watching him go.

He says he wants to help me practice. He wants to help me gain control over my underhearing. And I told Mikaela I'd try to give him a chance.

I'm afraid to say no, sort of. Problem is, I'm also afraid to say yes.

When I get home after school, I immediately go upstairs to change into sweats and then flop down on my bed with some physics homework.
Angular momentum and collisions: Calculate the momentum of the cue ball as it hits the 8 Ball.
That stupid 8 Ball again. At least this time it's a regular, non-stolen 8 Ball.

I hear a knock at the door. Hear my mother say, in an icy voice I've never heard before, “It's
him
. I don't believe it.”

I rush back downstairs. Mom, Dad, and Auntie Mina are gathered tensely near the closed front door like a huddle of penguins.

“What's he doing
here
?” My voice comes out plaintive.

“Not now,” Dad says, making a shooing motion with his hand. I ignore him.

“You sure you don't want me to send him away?” he says to Auntie Mina.

“No,” Auntie Mina says, her voice firm. “I'll do it.”

“Well, we'll be right here behind you.” My mom puts an arm around Auntie Mina's shoulder. “We don't want him threatening you.”

Auntie Mina nods and opens the door.

“Hello, Randall,” she says without a single tremor in her voice, though her hands are clenched together, white-knuckled.

“Mina.” Uncle Randall is dressed in a dark, perfectly pressed three-piece suit, and he's holding a single yellow rose—Auntie Mina's favorite color. He says a few perfunctory hellos to my parents and smiles ingratiatingly. “Madam, I'd like to request the pleasure of your company at the Armstrongs' dinner party. Your chariot awaits.” He gestures at his Mercedes, parked on the street.

My mouth drops open. He's going to a
party
. Auntie Mina has been here, crying her eyes out, and he thinks she's going to want to go to a party with him? I start to say something, but my mom hushes me. I fidget, feeling like I want to burst.

“I don't think I'm up for a party,” Auntie Mina says carefully. “Not on a Monday night. I appreciate the thought, but … ”

Uncle Randall's still holding out the rose. He realizes she's not going to take it, and pulls his arm back. “What does it matter if it's Monday? You don't have work in the morning,” he says pointedly.

“No, not yet,” she says patiently. “I'm still waiting for a job offer.”

There's a long, tense pause.

“Okay, look. Mina. Can we talk for a minute?” he says. “Please?” His cajoling tone makes me grimace.

“Okay,” Auntie Mina says. “Go ahead.”

He clears his throat meaningfully. Auntie Mina stays silent, and my parents and I stay where we are.

“All right,” Uncle Randall says shortly. “I'll get to the point. I want you to come to this party with me, but I also want to find out when you're coming home.”

Auntie Mina swallows visibly. “I … need some time before we can have this conversation.”

“It's been almost two weeks. How much time do you need?” He's almost hissing now, as if he doesn't want anyone to overhear. “We planned to attend this party months ago. The Armstrongs are expecting to see you. What am I supposed to tell them?” My dad jerks a little, and my mom places a hand on his arm.

“I don't care what you tell them,” Mina says, frowning. “Tell them the truth. And I'm still figuring things out. I'll call you in a few days, okay?”

There's an ominous silence. Uncle Randall glances at his watch. “A few days, then,” he says. He holds out the yellow rose again until she finally gives in and takes it from him. Then he says, in a curt voice, “I'm not sure what you think this is going to accomplish, but I hope you get it out of your system.”

He turns around abruptly and walks down our front steps to his car.

And then my dad does open his mouth, but before he can say anything, Auntie Mina reaches out and shuts the door. She sags, leaning against the door with her head in her hands.

“He treats you like a child!” My dad is incredulous; angry. “And he thinks you're planning to go back to him as if nothing happened?”

“Ali!” My mom reaches out, massages one of his shoulders. “Let's all go into the kitchen. I brought home some pie from work. Come on. We'll talk more in there.”