I hurry all the way back to my locker, threading through the crowd of students. I flip open the lock and slide into the jacket, safe undercover again. When I shut the door, I’m surprised that Jackson has followed me. He’s just standing there on the other side.
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
Around us, people bang lockers open and shut, scuttle to class, and still, Jackson says nothing. There’s a couple of loud minutes where it doesn’t matter that we’re not talking because everyone else is talking all at once. The warning bell rings, and then the noise fades as people drift into class and we don’t. I am waiting for him and I don’t know what he’s waiting for. The jacket crinkles as I shift back and forth.
We’ve been standing here so long the hall is empty again.
“I’m just going to go,” he finally says.
I don’t know if he means he’s going to class or he’s going to the Netherlands, and I realize that in some way, it’s the same thing. When he turns down the hall, it feels like someone takes a sledgehammer to the concrete block in my belly. Now the construction dust and dead butterfly parts are making it hurt to swallow.
What did I think? He’d throw himself at my parka and tell me he’s madly in love with me? And then when we FaceTimed over the Atlantic every night I could position the laptop so my boobs were out of the frame? And then Maggie would be wrong and I could get everything I said I wanted?
Well, I didn’t not think that.
“You know,” I say, my voice loud and shaky. He stops and turns. “Not everyone can just run from place to place till we find the one we like.”
The Adam’s apple in his throat pulses hard, like he’s swallowing the same dust I am. The corners of his eyes narrow. For a second I wonder what I’ve done. And then his jaw goes tight, like it does when he’s growling at Quinlan.
“And we can’t all just hide under a sweatshirt if we don’t like the life we’ve got.”
I watch him disappear down the hallway, walking faster than most people run. Even from behind, I can tell that he is wiping his eyes. I don’t understand what just happened but I understand that I am hurt and angry, and that Jackson is hurt and angry, too, and that I don’t know how to fix it for either one of us. And this makes me even angrier.
Last year, we all went to Boston during one of Dad’s work trips. Mom booked us on a whale-watching boat. Sometimes you go out to sea and don’t see anything at all, but when we went, it was whale Coachella. Tons of whales, breaching, fluking, spouting—all the whale greatest hits—right next to the ship. The crew made everyone under sixteen wear a life jacket, except that none of the ones they had taken out would zip over my chest. I decided I was close enough to sixteen to skip it and could probably tread water long enough for some whale watcher to spot me if I went overboard, but the first mate disagreed. He found me a skanky old jacket that might have fit an actual whale, and the captain didn’t start the tour until I was strapped into it. The thing was so oversized that I would have floated right out of it and been strangled by the straps if the Dolphinia IV hit an iceberg.
So my boobs weren’t only annoying and embarrassing; they might have actually gotten me killed. I stood at the railing pissed the whole time, not oohing and aahing over the whales. Not giggling when a spray of the Atlantic sprinkled everyone’s cameras. Not feeling profoundly guilty when the guide told us about the danger global climate change poses to these most ancient and majestic mammals. I just stood there feeling angry. Angry at the Coast Guard for making stupid rules. Angry at the captain for enforcing them. Angry at the life jackets. Angry at Tyler for wearing one that fit. Angry at the damn whales for showing off, for not giving a shit about how ridiculously big and dumb-looking they were, just jumping and splashing and having a ball.
But mostly, angry at me.
Angry at
them.
I’m not even smiling in the photo of me and Tyler that’s got a whale hula-hooping in the background.
And now I feel angry like that.
I am still holding one of Melinda Oates’s perfect mountaintop scones, and I chuck it as hard as I can at the locker across from mine. It explodes into a billion crumbs and leaves a violet streak down the door. And I burn inside my parka as I walk alone to math.
CHAPTER 65
We’re playing Ironwood, a tough team, and we’re down two of our strongest players. It’s the last game of the season, and Coach asked Jessa to play with varsity, which is a great opportunity for her but not so great for us. Sylvie’s got mono, but she’s come to watch, sitting with the varsity girls. This leaves Nasrah, me, and Kate Wood to hold things together. We can’t afford to lose any of us. There was a game two weeks ago that would have made Misty May-Treanor proud. Today we’ll be lucky if we don’t get destroyed.
The gym is packed. All the parents and friends who skipped the rest of the season came to this one. Plus basketball finished yesterday, and we are the only sport still going. Rafael and Maggie are sitting two rows ahead of Mom, Dad, and Tyler. Max and some of his friends are here, but no Jackson, of course. A ton of people in purple are here for Ironwood.
Warming up, I am determined to stay focused, but I keep replaying the conversation this morning with Jackson, especially the part about hiding under a sweatshirt. He has no idea. It must be easy to be Jackson.
I pull at my jersey, miss the rotation in the warmup drill, and get knocked in the head with a ball. So much for staying focused. Jessa’s off the court with the varsity players, but she gives me a what-was-that kind of face I haven’t seen in a while.
I’m glad I’m not on the other side of the net, where the Ironwood coach can’t stop screaming at his players. At one point, he grabs the water bottle out of a girl’s hand and squirts it in her face. “Did I say to take a water break?”
We take our places on the court. I’m going to stay focused, I remind myself, even though I’m not used to seeing the gym this full. I scan the bleachers. There are tons of people I would not expect to see at a game. It looks like the whole school. Kids from the musical. Most of the baseball team. Soccer players, with a varsity player’s number written on their cheeks. Kids I’ve known since we were little. Kids I barely know at all. Griffin Townsend. Elliana the German class stalker. The whole Vang side and the whole Ellis side of Khloe’s family. Mr. Feiler. Natalie and Tahlia with a big group. Kurtis and Omar. Nella. A part of me wishes I was the one with mono. But I am part of this team, and I am determined to play like Jessa always plays: all in. I adjust my jersey again.
The game should be starting but the coaches’ meeting with the referee is taking longer than usual. Standing out here not playing gets everybody more jittery, but the coaches are disagreeing about something.
The ref steps out and says, “There is a uniform challenge against Kennedy High. There will be a five-minute courtesy delay.”