Running late. Marketing Academy stuff.
Ben is big with the Marketing Academy. Marketing kids are like student government kids on a lot of energy drinks. Marketing kids don’t plan dances. They plan marketing strategy and compete in state and national competitions. They aren’t just preparing to win; they are preparing to rule the world. To find jobs in finance or any of the management careers. But in high school, the end goal is simple: the nationals in California. Ben says it’s THE BIGS—his ticket to big business, world domination, and season’s passes to Disney. Ben’s a weird combo of things—some Machiavellian, some pretty mainstream.
I’m so busy musing about my bestie that I almost miss spotting him: Julian Van Beck. My Julian. It’s been years since I’ve seen him, seven to be exact, but I’d know him anywhere. Wavy red hair that used to be cute, but is now downright sexy in a Prince Harry way. He’s gotten tall, and even with his hoodie and baseball jacket, I can make out broad shoulders and what I have to assume is a pretty ripped body.
Part of me doesn’t want to run into him. Most of me doesn’t. I mean, here he is looking all grown up, and here I am, looking weak and worn out.
He leans against the wall in front of the guidance office, hands hanging loosely at his side. One foot is pressed against the wall, completely flat, and he gazes toward the ceiling. The look he always wore when he was avoiding something. Or someone. He’s got earbuds in and a piece of paper hanging out of his mouth, half chewed. He used to do that, chew paper, when he was nervous. I’ve got this sudden need to see if he’s okay, but I don’t get a chance. One of the girls in my class, super-flirty Tori Zimmer, saunters up to him. Tori is kind of an expert saunterer. I wait to see how he responds, my breath stuck inside me. Who could resist her siren call? But Julian barely manages a polite smile. Tori walks off, and I want to celebrate in my head. Even if he’s not mine, he’s not hers, either.
And then it hits me. Maybe he won’t recognize me. He probably doesn’t even remember me. Ben’s got this story of this guy he was friends with all through elementary school, in Washington, DC, where he grew up before he moved here. They were always together. Always. And then when he went back last summer, the dude acted like they’d never met. And when Ben forced the issue (because that’s the way he is), he acted like Ben was nuts. He ran his hand through his hair, look around at his new crew of friends, and said, “You’ve lost it, man. I don’t know you.” Like the guy was embarrassed to be around Ben. Like he couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Which pissed me off so much, I’d told myself I’d gladly give up my chance to be one of the thirty-six saints in order to open a can of whoop ass all over that idiot.
But now I’m wondering, is this going to be one of those situations?
I reverse my chair and aim toward my locker, hoping that Julian doesn’t see me.
“I’ve already got your things,” Mrs. Wilson says.
This is exactly why I can’t stand her. Just when I’m trying to stay on the down low, she’s throwing a big spotlight on me. Besides, she’s simply here for standby assist, not to treat me like a kid.
“Jenna, wait,” she says, persisting, and I wish I could run her over with my wheelchair. I would actually do it, make it look like an accident, if it wouldn’t draw even more attention to me. How could she possibly know what I need from my locker? Has she been in my locker? She holds up the books for my first three classes. “See? We’re all set.”
I glare at her.
“The administration let me into your locker so I could get your books. We want you all set to catch up, right?”
Is she kidding? I can’t turn away from her fast enough. Meanwhile my fingers feel sort of uncoordinated, which makes my lock that much harder to work. Mrs. Wilson takes my fumbling as a signal to hover over me. I hold up my hand. “I’ve got this.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Julian. Farther away now. Far enough away, I hope. I realize I came to school so I could see him, but now I just wish I could disappear. What was I thinking?
Kids pass by me. Lockers open and shut, Mrs. Wilson’s annoying presence hangs heavy over me. Then there’s a break in the clouds—Ben. I see his brown dress shoes, the ones he wears when he’s presenting a big campaign in class. And they are moving toward me. Thank God.
“Hey, girl.” He aims his books in the general direction of Julian’s departure. Then back at me. “Who’s that new kid?”
Ben is the only one who knows how I feel about Julian. How I’ve always felt. But when I told him, I admit, it felt safe, because Julian had moved away and was never coming back. My face gets hot. “Julian.”
He cranes his neck toward the boy and then turns back to me, an approving look on his face. “Your Julian?” He says it quietly, but in my mind his voice is amplified so loud that everyone can hear.
“Could you not…”
He leans against the locker next to mine and says in a much quieter tone, “That’s kind of cool, no?”
“Sure,” I manage. “I guess.”
“Tough crowd,” he says.
Mrs. Wilson jumps in. “Come on, she’s got to get going,”
The bell starts ringing.
Ben points at me. “Debrief later.” Then he’s off like a shot toward the 200 building, where the AP classes are held, like the rest of the go-getters. Where I should be going.
All of the sights and sounds in this hallway, coupled with the feelings of seeing Julian, make my head feel like it’s expanding. The throbbing that nested there earlier intensifies, and a darkness fills the corners of my eyes. I hear a song in my head. The words and music seem so familiar, but I can’t seem to place them. The song mixes with the sounds of a flock of birds screeching as they take flight. I can feel the wind blowing, and I know that’s not right. It can’t be. The lights crackle and flash and I brace for rain. Only that’s not right, either.
I feel myself being lifted, and then I know a seizure is coming. I know. But I can’t do anything to get out of its way.
* * *
I’m in the nurse’s office waiting for Mom to come get me, and my head is pounding.
My body is transmitting so many sensations that I can’t wrap my head around a single one of them, except for the dizzying nausea settled deep inside me.
The lights are low, and there’s music playing in the background. I think I hear Twenty One Pilots. Normally I would say something about how much I love this song, but right this second I am full of disdain for so many things, including all of the things I love. Embarrassed tears coat my cheeks, and it’s all I can do not to shake with how much I hate myself.
Did he see me? Did I pee myself? I can’t even tell. How screwed up is that? My body is slick with sweat, so I won’t actually know how bad this is until I get home and get changed.