After Dakota (19 page)

Spencer and Kirk were both gone from the job by summer – Spencer joined the Air Force, maybe Kirk found somewhere to surf – and Cameron was promoted to pizza maker. He never told Bryce the story. The Jenny part would only show how Cameron chose to stay a virgin rather than do it with her. The Dakota part… well, Bryce would never believe that. Cameron himself barely believed it.

Dakota never mentioned that night again, nor was Cameron ever alone with her again.

If no one speaks of an event for a long enough time, does it become like that event never happened?

On the last night of break, somewhere in between chapters of
The Sword of Shannara
, Cameron settles on this conversation as the one that will take place Monday morning…

Rosemary: I’m so sorry I didn’t call you. Will you forgive me?

Him: I’ll think about it.

Rosemary: Please, pretty please? I thought about you all the time while I was gone. Did you think about me?

Him: Maybe.

Rosemary: Let’s go out again. We should be a couple.

The next day gets off to a bad start when he has to shovel snow off the driveway and because of that gets to school too late to get a safe parking spot. Then he and Bryce walk into their new first period class – Government – and see that Ms. Dickinson is now gray-haired Ms. Noonan, who wears sleeveless dresses that show off the highways of blue veins in her flabby arms.

At least now he can concentrate on learning something during first period for a change, without the constant distraction every time Ms. D crossed the room.

Later, he sits in Mrs. Gordon’s class watching the bow-tied substitute teacher write
Mr. Jameson
on the chalkboard. Smiles break out across each face as they enter the room and see this. Cameron is happy too but really, they just had two weeks off and Gordon can’t make it back to work? Mr. Jameson is halfway down the roll sheet when Rosemary comes in tardy. Cameron’s temperature and heart rate spike. As she passes him, she musses his hair with a black-gloved hand and, for the first time in days, he’s happy – if only for an instant, and except for the fact he’ll have to fix his hair in the bathroom after class.

When they step outside she asks, “How was your holiday?” Casual, chatty. She isn’t the one who should be asking questions.

“It was ok, I guess.”

“Mine was bloody awful. The baby screamed the entire time, from when we got on the plane till when we got back here. I need to join one of those cults that believes in child sacrifice.”

“Wow.” Come on, get to The Topic.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you.” Finally.

“Oh, no big deal,” he says with a hopefully casual wave of the hand.

She picks up an empty chocolate milk carton off the ground and drops it in the trash. “Did you hear? American Cruise missiles are stationed in the U.K. as of January one. A few miles from where I was staying, even!”

The only news he paid attention to had to do with a department store.

They arrive at her class, on the opposite side of campus from his. “Ciao” is the last thing she says, and the dramatic moment is over. He walks fast toward Geology but isn’t even halfway there when the tardy bell rings.

After school he and Bryce drive to the florist up the street. They could’ve walked there from campus in five minutes, but they once made a vow to each other that when they got their driver’s licenses they wouldn’t walk anywhere, not even out the front door to get the mail.

Bryce’s plan goes something like this: he’s made a list of potential girlfriends; he’s going to buy flowers; he’s going to have the flowers and a note sent to the girls’ classes; Bryce will be left with the awesome problem of too many chicks liking him.

Listening to it all, Cameron realizes how quiet his friend has been lately. How un-Bryce. How
off
. Now he struts into the florist like a king, like the old Bryce with an added booster shot of cockiness.

“Give me your finest dozen roses,” Bryce tells the Hispanic woman at the counter. Cameron watches her wrap the flowers and entertains a brief thought about getting one for Rosemary. He tries to remember the color-coding – friendship; love; you ruined my winter break.

Bryce hatched the plan on New Year’s Eve, further refined it in the days after, and put it into motion once back at school. He had no chance with a girl if he simply presented himself like any other guy (i.e., asking her out) so he needed a dramatic move. Their first day back they started reading
Don Quixote
in English. Mr. B showed up in a suit of plastic armor, stood on the desk and, in a Spanish accent, sang a song about chivalry and following one’s heart.

“One man scorned and covered with scars still strove with his last ounce of courage to reach the stars, and the world will be better for this.”

It’s a sign, this book at this moment. Time for Bryce to be that man.

Step 1: Make a list of girls. With the Fixx playing on the stereo, Bryce sat at the drawing table with his most recent yearbook. He eliminated any girls who were taken, or too freaky (like that one who had blue lips, and not from makeup). He eliminated girls so far out of his league – eight and higher – that no tactic could close the distance. He eliminated anyone younger than a junior; there would be no pride in success if he just ended up with going steady with a sophomore. He came up with a list of nine names to start with.

Step 2: Make a strategy. With art as his strength, he could create a personalized card for each girl. The upside was that they’d see his talents (or be reminded of them – it had been a while since the yearbook cover). The downside was that if he got turned down those pieces would be floating around, all the better to mock him. He needed something less permanent. Flowers were perfect. What girl doesn’t like flowers?

Step 3: Make a plan. Bryce couldn’t be anywhere nearby when a girl got her flower; she needed to be able to think about the sweetness of the gesture and the kind of guy that would do it. Then when she was primed and ready, Bryce would strike. As an aide in the counseling office fifth period, Cam has access to schedules and a delivery method. Perfect. Every Quixote needs his Sancho Panza.

Step 4: Get supplies. The lady at the flower store told Bryce to keep the roses refrigerated, but that meant the whole family seeing them. Instead he kept them in a vase of water in the coldest corner of the basement (courtesy of a draft from the window). He couldn’t send one to every girl on the same day or he’d look desperate, so he had to hope the flowers lived long enough. The note would be simple:
Will you go out with me?
While he wrote multiple copies of it in his best block writing, a commercial came on for a new show called
Airwolf
, about a super helicopter. It looked awesome – clearly another good omen.

Step 5: Execute. Sonja Weston is first on the list, not only because she’s cute, but because they’re approximately the same height. Bryce sits in Spanish, watching the clock and parroting back Mr. Acevedo’s phrases with equal attention.

“
Me gustaría leer un libro sobre África
.”

“
Yo le pediría ese libro a Carlos
.”

The black hand freezes at the top of the hour like it’s done every day, every year at this school. Sonja will be getting the flower right about now. All the other girls in her class will be jealous, will judge their boyfriends negatively against this new standard.

For the first time in a long time, Bryce smiles.

The last bell of the day rings, moment of truth. He finds Cam on the way to the parking lot and gets confirmation that Sonja was in class fifth period and received the flower. They pass the Smokers’ Tree, where a group of foreign exchange students debate with shouts and wild hand gestures.

They arrive at their cars and Cam says, “TIE fighter, eight o’clock.” Bryce turns right as he’s told not to, and there’s Sonja with her tall friends. One of them points at Bryce. Sonja weaves between parked cars, flower in hand.

“Act normal,” he says to Cam. Inside, his stomach loop-de-loops up into his throat; he’s back on The Scrambler at Uncle Cliff’s. Is this what a heart attack feels like? He can’t die now, not when he’s this close.

Tail pipes belch exhaust all around. A car full of cheerleaders drives past, toots the horn at someone.

Bryce scoops Tic-Tacs into his mouth. “Is she still coming? How far away? Wait, don’t look toward her – pretend we’re just talking.”

“What should we talk about?” Cam asks.

“I don’t know. Anything. Comics. No, not that. Music.” He raises his voice. “Yeah, man, that is a
rockin’
song.”

Sonja holds the rose toward him like a magic wand. Can’t she see he’s already Prince Charming, no spell needed? “You sent me this?” she asks in the wrong tone.

“Guilty as charged,” Bryce says.

She drops the flower on the hood of Cam’s car. “Thanks but no thanks.” Bryce doesn’t watch her walk away, back to her friends, doesn’t watch them watching him, making comments.

Cam – and everyone else nearby – stares at Bryce. He smiles and shrugs but it feels so fake next to the burning pit in his gut. He knew he wouldn’t hit a hundred percent – that’s why he bought a dozen roses instead of one. This is no time to think about the fact he started with Sonja because she seemed like the easiest target.

Claire’s P.E. class is the unlucky one that gets swimming in January. At least one girl per day claims to be on her period so she doesn’t have to dress. Thick steam rises off the water like some primordial swamp. Coach Bowles sits in a lifeguard chair on the deck, blowing her whistle when the boys start dunking and splashing. Doing laps is no problem for Claire after all the swimming lessons and practice at home – she’s still going while many of the others hang off the edge, nothing more than shapes in the mist.

Everyone in Advanced Photo seems to know each other already. Claire sits as far in back as she can; the “My Life” collages from last semester hang on the wall above her. After all the time she spent making her pictures perfectly straight, she sees from this distance that one is crooked – Bryce playing a video game on his beanbag – and fights the urge to climb up on the counter and straighten it.

“You totally look like Pat,” Claire says to Meredith as they walk to the pharmacy. The post-holiday cruise version of Meredith has a face bronzed to the edges of her scalp; the rest of her is wrapped in winter garb.

“Pat’s on a grapefruit diet because of how much weight she supposedly gained on the ship. You can literally eat twenty four hours a day aboard those things.”

“Is she a total whale now?”

“She thinks so.” They slide along a patch of ice on the street, arms out to their sides. “What was your report card?”

“Two
B
’s. My parents think high school is so much harder than middle school, so now I’m like some kind of kid genius,” Claire says.

“My dad said he’d buy me this necklace for straight
A
’s. I got one
B
.”

“That sucks.”

“It’s because of my stupid English teacher, Mr. Holliday. He wouldn’t take this book report I forgot to bring on the due date. He said, ‘I’m not penalizing you, I just can’t give you the points.’ Like, thanks a lot, dicko, now I don’t get the necklace.”

They unwrap their scarves in the pharmacy’s baking air. Out pop Meredith’s new hoop earrings. Right inside the door is a 50% OFF sign. Below it, a display of leftover Christmas cards, boxes of chocolate, and little stuffed snowmen that play music if you squeeze them.

While Meredith looks at the romance books, Claire can’t decide between two colors of nail polish. She takes both; the pockets in the new coat are nice and deep. An old woman with a feather duster freshens up the shampoo aisle.

On the walk back home, Claire offers Meredith half a Twix bar. “No, thanks.”

“Since when? Are you on the grapefruit diet, too?”

“I’ve been getting a ton of zits lately.”

Claire eats both halves. The nail polish bottles click together in her pocket.

“I also don’t really wanna steal anymore,” Meredith says. “You shouldn’t either. If you ever get caught…”

“C’mon, it’s the dumb old pharmacy.”

“I don’t think it’s right, is all.”

Claire had been waiting for the topic of Ricky to come up; then she’d mention
doing it
with him all casual-like and watch Meredith freak out. Now she looks at the person next to her on the sidewalk and feels like they might as well be walking in different countries.

* * *

Claire’s mom sets the humidifier on Claire’s desk, facing the bed.

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” she says. “Can I get you anything else? Some juice?” Crinkles all around her eyes – when had this happened?

“No, I think I’ll go to sleep,” Claire replies.

“I remember when you were little, your favorite thing to eat was tomato soup with little crackers. Do you remember how you’d count the crackers?”

“Can we not talk about that? Thinking about food makes me want to gag.”

Her mom adjusts the covers. “Your father and I are so proud of you getting into that photography class.”

“Thanks.”

“I hope we get to see all your pictures.”

Claire yawns; her mom finally gets the hint and stands up.

On her way out the door she says, “When you’re feeling better, I think we should go get our nails done at the salon. Does that sound good?”

“Sure.”

A fake cold isn’t the worst thing – you get to eat dinner in your room and everyone’s nice. The humidifier hums soothingly as dampness settles in the air. Claire mentally recites the most recent poem, which was waiting in her locker after school today:

Now that I’ve found you my life is complete

You have put an end to my wandering feet

I want only to hold you by night and by day

And let the rest of the world go away