Wake (12 page)

Why am I surrounded by sluts and morons?

*

Paige volunteers to take Elwood in for x-rays. He’s convinced that he broke his ‘shoulder bone.’ He clearly has no idea what he’s talking about and the fact that he keeps repeating it is embarrassing.

As soon as Paige and the moron drive away, everyone drops the somber act and starts making plans.

Joey suggests a trip to the diner around the corner for an early dinner. Willa declines to go, and there’s no point hanging out with these people if she isn’t around, so I pass on the invite as well.

“Are you okay with driving me home? I can call my brother if you’re not.”

Willa gestures to her crappy car. “Get in. I’ll even let you control the music since you went a whole hour and a half without whining today.”

“I don’t whine that much.”

“Just did. I’m revoking your tuner privileges.”

When we get into the car I try to control the stereo anyway and Willa slaps my hand. “Pass me ‘Decent Day.’” She points to the glove box. Turns out that compartment is jam-packed with homemade mix tapes, all with stupid labels:
Hungry; Blue Days; Whining Scene Bands; Creepy Lead Singers; Attitude Adjustment.

“I assume there’s a system.”

Willa cranks the volume. “I label the tapes like theme music. Today was a decent day.”

“Just decent?”

“Good days are just bad days waiting to happen. Decent is as good as it gets.”

That’s a horrible outlook on life, but I don’t tell her so. I’m hardly an optimistic person either. Besides, this mix tape isn’t bad. It’s all acoustic folk with some top-forties, and when we pull into my driveway she lets “beautiful Thing” by Slaid Cleaves finish before turning off the car.

“It was kinda cool, you coming out today,” she says. “Did you have fun?”

“It was interesting.” I wasn’t part of the group, precisely, but I managed to blend in for once.

“You should come out with us more often.”

I agree for the sake of agreeing and invite Willa in for dinner.

“Thanks, but I have to go feed my brother.” Willa wishes me a good night. I like the way she says goodnight, like by wishing it on me she can actually will the night to be good. Then she reaches out and gives me a sideways hug across the seat.

Willa doesn’t hug me like I’m made of glass. She wraps her arms right around me and holds me like she wants me there. She throws herself into it and genuinely lends me her body for the space of that embrace.

“Now get out of my car.”

Elise has her face pressed to the front window as I walk up to the porch. I bet she watched that hug.

Now I’m never going to hear the end of it.

Wednesday

Willa and I spend the Social Studies period making graphs to chart the progress of our soil contamination project to date. She has
call Luke
written on the back of her hand again. She just saw him yesterday; what could she possibly have to say to him already? I make the mistake of asking and Willa deadpans, “We talk about you behind your back.” Her sarcasm does wonders for my mood.

Thursday

I habitually panic every time I hear the squeaky wheels of the book cart coming through the Dialysis Clinic. Then I see it’s an old man in a green volunteer vest today, and I relax. Luckily, I haven’t seen Will here for a while. It was embarrassing to be seen just the once. I didn’t know how to deal with it; I had no visitors other than family when I was still sick, and it’s hard to prepare for an awkward meeting like that.

I cling to the numbers the doctors and nurses give me on my blood tests, watching my kidney function fluctuate between sixty and eighty percent. My renal system was shot to shit by last November, and I was staring a kidney transplant in the face. But I got lucky: once the chemo was over my kidneys bounced back a little bit. I’ve been getting better, slowly. Maybe I won’t need dialysis in a few months.

Mom tosses aside her magazine and turns to me for conversation. “How was school?”

“Fine.”

“How are your friends?”

“They’re okay.”

“Elise is sure getting close with that boy she’s been mooning over.” Jesus Christ, I thought that phrase died with the dinosaurs.

“Is she?” Maybe that’s why Elise hasn’t been hanging around me lately, demanding attention; she has someone else to fix her annoying energies on. I’m almost hurt by that.

“Do you know him?”

“No.”

“Have you heard anything? Does he seem like a good kid?”

“You know he’s eighteen, right?”

“Age is just a number.”

“Not when your sixteen-year-old daughter is involved.”

Mom smiles condescendingly and strokes my cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You worry so much for such a young man,” she says. “You always were like that; an old soul, I guess.”

“Mom.”

She just chuckles at me. “When you were a baby the slightest things used to upset you. You were such a sensitive child.”

Time for a subject change. “Are you really going to let Elise go out with that guy?”

“He hasn’t asked her out yet.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Your dad and I haven’t discussed it.”

Dad will never go for it. Elise is a Daddy’s Girl; he’ll tell her to wait before dating…hopefully until she’s thirty.

Friday

We have a work period in Social Studies, and after she finishes the assigned questions, Willa begins to make a grocery list in her notebook. When she’s done that she starts making a list of stuff that can be found at the hardware store.

“Building something?”

“Yeah,” she answers absently.

“What?”

“Doing this project…”

“What is it?”

She’s so distracted that a noncommittal grunt is the only answer I receive. I prod her again and she adds, “With Frank and Luke.” She’s been hanging out with Luke a lot. He smiles at her too much. And touches her too often. I bet he has designs on her, too. Every guy seems to.

Do you?

Shut up.

She’d never go for it.

I don’t think of her like that.

Right.

She’s annoying.

I bet she’s a moaner…

Jesus Christ.

“Your shirt looks nice.”

“Eyes off the tits, Harper.”

“What tits?”

Perfectly palm-sized tits.

Will you shut the hell up?

She sees through you, you know.

She doesn’t know a goddamn thing about me.

That terrified, are you?

Willa puts a hand on my face and physically turns my head to get me to stop staring.

*

It’s Dad’s day off today, and he suggests we go to dinner as a family. I feel tired and my head hurts, but stuff like this means a lot to him. I’ll probably end up ordering the Jel -O dessert off the kids’ menu, but I can play along and pretend to have a good time.

We go to Swiss Chalet. Elise snags a children’s menu and a pack of crayons from the hostess station —she could have a promising career as a pickpocket—and orders the sorbet and Jel -O dessert so I don’t have to. The waitress has the nerve to give her a judgmental look.

“I bet she thinks I’m anorexic or something,” Elise says when the waitress leaves. I ordered the spring rolls on Elise’s behalf. She insists on keeping the kids’ menu though, and colors the cartoons on it while we wait for food. She’s half-finished with the duck on skis when she very suddenly quits and folds the menu away into her coat pocket.

“Did you suddenly remember your age?”

Elise completely ignores my question and leans back in her chair. I follow her gaze and see a table of teenagers across the dining room. Her favorite basketball player is among them. Mom notices too and smirks at Elise’s behavior.

For the next five minutes, Elise covertly watches the other table from around Eric’s shoulder. She looks a little peeved when the waitress flirts with them—only trying to improve her tip—and begins to fidget while we wait for food. Now is a really bad time for her to have forgotten her Ritalin.

“I have to use the restroom.” She pushes her chair back and gets up. It takes me a second to realize that the path to the restrooms will take her right by the other table.

“Me too.”

Elise doesn’t immediately notice me following her, but when she gets close to the other table her pace slows a bit, like she’s planning to stop and try the ‘I didn’t see you there’ line. My hand on her shoulder solves that problem as I march her forward to the restrooms at the end of the hall .

“Jem!” she hisses.

“Please, we’re in public—and you look desperate and stupid when you try to flirt.”

She gapes at me for a few seconds, and then the water works start. She kicks me in the shin and whirls away into the women’s restroom. I can hear her crying from the hall way. Shit.

I limp back to the table just in time for the food to arrive.

“Where’s Elise?”

“Restroom.”

I don’t have much of an appetite, but Eric is already laying into his chicken and I told myself I’d play along tonight. I pick at the Jel -O and sorbet Elise ordered. Mom knows something is up. She quietly slips away from the table a few minutes later and heads toward the restrooms. She’s gone for twenty minutes.

“What happened? Where’s Elise?” Dad asks when Mom finally gets back to the table.

“She wasn’t feeling well. I took her home.”

Aw, hell.

When we get home I try to apologize to Elise, but she won’t open her bedroom door and yells some very colorful things at me when I try to apologize.

“Let her cool off until morning,” Mom says. I wonder how much Elise told her about what happened.

Saturday

I wake up to a note on my pillow:
You’re a jerk.
I write
I know. Sorry,
on it and slip it under Elise’s door.

Mom is at work in her office already. The rest of the house is still asleep, so I seek out a solitary breakfast.

I don’t even think about my plans before I jump in the shower. Today is Saturday, so naturally I will go to the Kirk house to harass my friend and project partner. That’s just the way weekends work now.

I pinch myself as I shower, trying to judge where the weight is gaining back fastest. My thighs seem to have gained the most, but my midsection is a close second. It’s still only eight pounds; not even enough to keep my hipbones from poking out like this. The only significant improvement is that my lowest ribs aren’t as obvious through the skin anymore. I can’t wait until I can get rid of the stupid Hickman.

I wonder who the hell that guy is as I pass the mirror on my way to get dressed. I throw on my one shirt and pair of jeans that actually fit. These clothes have the odd il usion of making me look
less
thin, which is weird. I guess it’s because I don’t swim in them. This is the shirt that made Willa touch me that one time, when I was feeling awful. She had the most disconcerting look of unguarded desire on her face. It turned my whole day around.

I’m digging through my drawer for my black toque when Elise knocks on the doorframe. She doesn’t look happy.

“Are you going out?”

“Yeah.”

“Could you drop me off at Carey’s house on your way?” I owe her, but…

“I’m headed in the opposite direction.”

“Where are you going?”

“Willa’s.” Mom should be able to give her a ride to her friend’s house. I’m probably the last person Elise wants to be alone in a car with right now; she only asked out of convenience. I grab my shoes out of the closet and straighten up to find her giving me a shrewd look.

“You’re not falling for her, are you?”

“For Willa? What planet are you on?”

Elise smiles with satisfaction. “Good. Sorry, it was just an errant thought.”

“well keep those to yourself.” I put my shoes on and make myself scarce before she remembers to ask about a ride again.

*

When I get to Willa’s house, the garage door is open and she’s working in an oversized plaid shirt. The garage floor is covered in a rough grid of two-by-fours. She walks around them with a measuring tape and pencil, marking the wood.

“Hi.”

“You again?” she says without looking up. “What time is it?”

“About eleven-thirty.”

“How long are you here for?”

I shrug. “Whatever.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Sort of.”

“Want to help me measure the frame?”

“Is this the project you’re doing with Luke?”

“Part of it.” She can never answer a question with a complete answer, can she? It’s like her mission in life is to arouse my curiosity at every possible opportunity “I’ll help you.”

“Soup first,” she declares. “Want to help?”

We leave the wooden skeleton in the garage and go inside. We chop and boil and measure out the seasonings for the original carrot and pea soup. Willa catches me licking honey off my finger and smiles.

“You’ve got a dirty mind, Kirk.”

She scoffs. “You’re sweet, not sexy.” And my ego crawls away to die.

“I think you’re a pretentious bitch.”

“I think you’re a narcissistic asshole.”

You know, I’m kind of glad we got that out of the way. It eases the tension.

Willa reaches up on her toes to grab the blender off the top shelf and the highest button on her shirt pops open. She glares at me accusatorily and tells me to stop undressing her with my eyes. I burst out laughing while she deadpans.

“Don’t die laughing,” she says as she plugs in the blender. “I had a much more dramatic murder in mind for you.”

“still planning to kill me, are you?” I tease her. She points a spatula at me like a gun and tells me to count on it.

I put the boiled vegetables in the blender jug while Willa measures out the seasonings and honey.

“Do you have anything important to say?” she asks with her finger hovering over the power button.