Bang (9 page)

Five things Rowan rocks at:
1. Writing fake notes from our mother
2. Disrespecting my love
3. Being on time
4. Flying under the radar
5. Picking gorgeous boyfriends

There are many things Charles Broderick Banks is not.

He is not Italian. He’s not grumpy. He’s not hard on the

eyes. He’s also not American born. He’s South African–

Irish-English, he says. The lilt in his voice is swoony. No

wonder Rowan is in love.

Rowan and I huddle at a cubicle computer desk,

and I take him in: his deep umber eyes, sun-bleached

blond hair, and his tanned, lightly freckled skin that

makes him look as if he just came home from a trip to

the tropics. He has an adorable little scar on his head

that looks like an inch-long part in his hair. His smile is

warm and sweet, and I watch my little sister’s face come

to life when she talks to him. He and Rowan chitchat

awkwardly at first with me there, but soon they are bantering back and forth.

He seems to know only the nice things about me, and

he asks me pointed questions. “How’s your arm? Do you

get your cast off soon?”

“Soon,” I say. “Next week. It doesn’t hurt at all anymore. I practically forget it’s here except when I need to, you know, bend that wrist or something.”

He grins. “Rowan says you’re very brave.”
I blush. “Oh, really?” I glance at her and she smirks.

“She’s also very mean,” Rowan offers. “She made me

buy everyone breakfast this morning.”
“I’m sure you deserved it,” he says.
“Okay, I approve of this boy,” I say.
“Approved!” he says, doing an English version of The

Target Lady from

Saturday Night Live
. And then he turns

his head away from the camera, distracted by a distant

voice.

I look at Rowan. “Uh-oh? Or no?”
She shakes her head and listens. “No, it’s his tutor.
BANG

Oops, my bad. It’s his mom.” She watches for a second

until a tall blond woman appears. “Hi, Mom B!” She

waves at the screen.

“Hey, Ro,” the woman says. She’s wearing designer

workout clothes drenched in sweat but still somehow

manages to look gorgeous and radiant. “Who’s this?”

I wave weakly. “Hi, um, I’m Rowan’s sister.”

“Oh, Jules. Cool—heard a lot about you.”
I nod and smile.
So it seems
.
“We’re excited to see Rowan again. Thank your mom

and dad for us—I left a message the other day but I know

they’re really busy.”

I glance at Rowan as her face turns red. The little weasel erased it, I’ll bet.
Mrs. Banks continues. “We’ll be waiting at Baggage

Claim, and it’s a direct flight so there’s no way she’ll get

stranded somewhere. Just follow the signs to Baggage

Claim, hon.”
“And I’ll call you when I land,” Rowan says, like

they’ve rehearsed this.
“And me,” I say.
“Yes, I’ll call you, too.”
Charlie gives his mom a look, and she waves. “Okay,

gotta go. See you Sunday.”
Rowan calls out her good-bye, and she and Charlie

share a private joke I don’t get, and they’re all just . . .

carefree and having fun, and the biggest stress weighing

on them is wondering if rain will delay the flight.
I sit back in my chair, working my fingers through a

tangle in my hair, and just watch them. And I can’t wait

to have so few worries. I can’t wait to have fun again. I

can’t wait to have that kind of light, easy banter with the

guy I love.
After a while I excuse myself to let them do their

mushy talk in private, ahem. On the walk back to class, I

find myself wondering if something horrible will happen

while Rowan is gone. Worrying that my parents won’t

know where to find her or how to contact her. I clench my

jaw and force the thought away. Because that can’t happen.

It can’t and it won’t.
My stomach hurts.

At lunch we don’t talk about anything much.

We all just sort of sit there feeling glum. Sawyer holds his

spoon in front of him, staring at it.

“It’s in your spoon?” I ask.

He nods. “It’s upside down, though, because of the

scientific nature of spoon reflections or whatever.”
Trey grunts like he knows what that’s called, but he

doesn’t offer up a term, and I don’t care enough at this

moment to put forth the effort to ask. Instead I ask the

broken-record question, “Do you see anything new?”
“Actually . . .” Sawyer trails off and keeps looking at

the spoon. “Hm.”
I sit up, watching him, and Trey raises an eyebrow.
“It’s weird,” Sawyer says. “My eyes focus on different

parts of it than they did before. I think . . . I think . . .”
Roxie and BFF Sarah come up to the table. “Admiring

your reflection?” Roxie asks. Her neck scratch is practically gone. Mine are still ugly. They stay hidden under my collar.
Sawyer doesn’t look up, so Roxie sticks her boobs out,

being way obvious, and I almost laugh at how stupid it

is to do that, like a peacock making sure everybody sees

his feathers. Only they’re not beautiful, colorful feathers,

they’re just boobs. Trey actually does laugh, in a snorty

fashion, and he rolls his eyes. But he can get away with

that. He’s a senior. He has nothing to fear from her.
Sawyer turns his head and looks at Roxie’s boobs, seeing as how they’re practically in his face, and, well, because he’s a guy. He wears a slightly bewildered look and then

raises his eyes to meet Roxie’s. “Oh, hey,” he mumbles.

“What’s up?” He scoots his chair over so he doesn’t actually get an eye poked out, and he glances at me with a worried expression like he thinks I might punch him in

the face.
Body language is so interesting, isn’t it? We’re learning

about it in Mr. Polselli’s class. I observe. Roxie takes the

tiniest step back and her shoulders relax. “Not much. Just

haven’t seen you in a while.” The boobs deflate slightly,

which makes me stop worrying about one of them accidentally bursting. And neither Roxie nor BFF Sarah so much as glances at me, but they both look at Trey and Sawyer. I

smile at Sawyer when he catches my eye, and he relaxes.

And it’s weird. I think I’m supposed to be jealous, but I’m

not. I don’t think I’m very good at being a stereotypical girl.
“I’ve been pretty busy,” Sawyer says coolly. He shrugs

and takes a small bite of his burger. “Attack anyone today?”
“Well, let me tell you,” Roxie says, ignoring his disdain. She shoves her butt against Sawyer in an attempt to get him to slide over so she can share the edge of his

chair. He stops chewing, but doesn’t move over, leaving

Roxie and her butt hovering weirdly. I just keep watching,

and it’s like I’m invisible or something. Like I’m not even

there. I glance at Trey, who is now finishing up his lunch

and ignoring the girls.
“Can you see me?” I ask him.
He looks. Narrows his eyes. “Only if I squint really

hard.”
I nod. “That’s what I thought.”
“It’s kind of a cool superpower, if you ask me.

Invisibility.”
“Yeah, you know? You’re right. Right, Roxie?”
No response.
“I don’t think she can hear invisible people,” Trey says.
I shrug. “So that’s two superpowers for me, if you

really think about it.”
Trey chugs down the rest of his iced tea and wipes his

mouth with his napkin. “I’ll give you that.”
“Thanks.”
“Who’s the other one again?”
I glance up. “That’s BFF Sarah.”
“BFF is her first name?”
“Ah . . . yes. Yes, it is.”
“Interesting.”
“Not much different from a name like J.T. or R.J. or

C.J.”
“Except there’s no
J
.”
“True.”
Sarah turns sharply and frowns at us. “You guys are

beyond weird.”
My eyes open wide. “You can see me?”
She shakes her head, disgusted, and tugs at Roxie,

who, after being denied, is now leaning over the table,

talking to Sawyer about Spring Fling, which is like prom

but not really, because it’s only for freshmen and sophomores and it’s lame.
“So you want to go with me?” Roxie asks him. “I got

my license. I’ll pick you up.”
“Um . . . Rox . . .”
“It’ll be like old times, you know? We can make out

behind the bleachers like when we were a couple.” She’s

speaking really loudly. And finally the jealous factor kicks

in. And it kicks in hard. Because I don’t know what she’s

talking about.
“Roxie, what the heck—” Sawyer begins, and I hear

anger in his voice.
I stand up and push my chair back, the heat rising to

my face.
Trey touches my arm. “I think we need to just sit and

watch this, don’t you?”
BFF Sarah crosses her arms, bored.
Roxie smiles at Sawyer.
Sawyer looks at me, his lips parted, eyes apologetic.

“Please don’t go,” he says.
I sit down again. “Yeah,” I say to Trey, “you’re right.”
But I can’t concentrate on what anybody else is saying

right now, because all I see is Sawyer and Roxie making

out behind the bleachers. And I feel like a stupid fool.

Because I thought somehow Sawyer would have waited

for me like I waited for him. I thought our first kiss was

our first kiss. And it’s not; it was just my first. And even

though it’s ridiculous for me to expect that he hasn’t kissed

anybody else, because we’re sixteen, for crying out loud, it

still makes my throat ache.
When I can focus, I watch BFF Sarah grow impatient

and walk away.
And I see Sawyer’s mouth moving, and Roxie scowling

and getting angry. But I can’t comprehend anything.
After a minute, I look at Trey. “I really need to go,” I

say in a low voice.
“If you leave now, she’ll feel like she won something.

Just stay here and talk to me. Ignore them. She’s looking to

get a rise out of you, so don’t let her. You and Sawyer will

work this out. He’s a good guy, remember?”
“I know.” But he made out with Roxie. He was a
couple
with her. How did I not know this? Maybe because I’m a

freaking outcast, huh? Pretty stinking likely.
“So, about that other thing,” Trey says, keeping my

gaze locked on his. “Let’s meet up after school and do the

library again. I need to do some research for a term paper

anyway. Sound good?”
“Sure,” I say, my voice hollow. They’re talking about

me now. I stare at Trey, and he keeps talking. And then he

laughs, and I think it’s because Roxie just suggested Sawyer

was gay and having a secret relationship with Trey, and I

was acting as his beard. I can’t help it—I have to tune in.
Sawyer looks hard at Roxie for a long moment. And

then he says, “Yes, okay, I admit it. I’m gay, and I’m in love

with Trey.”
Roxie stares at him. “You are not.”
“You just said I was. And, well, it’s true.”
“I made out with a
gay
?”
The immediate area goes silent. Heads turn, everybody looking to see who the newly outed gay guy is. I hate this. I glance at Trey, who seems to be enjoying this

immensely.
“Well, I’m not just any old
gay
, I’m Sawyer the gay.”

His lip twitches. “That’s what we call each other.”
“True story,” Trey adds. “But I rejected him.”
“He did, yes. Multiple times, in fact.”
“But he’s still very much in love with me, and I like

that, because it kind of feels like I have power over him.

It’s a form of torture, and it’s fun.”
Sawyer nods. Then he shakes his head. “Not fun for

me, I mean. For him.”
A few people around us start snickering.
Roxie’s face turns red. I think she figured out they’re

teasing her and sort of throwing her own actions in her

face, but she says through gritted teeth, “So are you gay

or not?”
Sawyer drops the shtick. “Really? You’re asking me

this?”
“Obviously.”
Sawyer gives her an incredulous look. “Okay, well,

then I . . . I am.”
Her eyes bulge. “Were you gay when we made out?”
Sawyer holds his straight face. “Not before, but

after . . . well, then I was.”
A few people laugh, and Roxie falters, and I feel

sorry for her. Not because she’s gullible. But because it

means so damn much to her to know if she made out

with a
gay
.
“Okay, that’s enough, guys,” I mutter.
The bell rings. People around us turn back to gather

their stuff. Trey squeezes my shoulder and slips away.

Roxie stomps off, and I stand there, looking across the

table at Sawyer, who is searching my face with his eyes.

And I don’t know what to say, except “I guess I’ll see you

at the library after school.”
He sighs and looks down at the table. “Yeah. Okay.”
I stand there a second more, and then I take my tray

away. I have to run to make it to class on time.

And here’s the thing. I hate that junk. I hate that

whole whatever you want to call it—the misunderstanding-slash-thing-between-us story line. It’s on every TV

show, in every book you read, every movie. Something

always happens to put this stupid wedge in the budding

relationship, and the people don’t talk about it so they just

keep being misunderstood, and by the end of the movie,

maybe it all works out and maybe it doesn’t, but I hate it

and I wish this kind of crap didn’t happen. Why can’t the

two lovers just be together? Why can’t the fucking
plot
of

the fucking
story
of everybody’s
life
just be like, hey, you

finally find the person you want to
be
with, and you just

be with them, and that part is the good part? And the

conflict is something else, like a crash and an explosion, or

a school shooting, but you’re just still together with that

person as a team and you both fight
together
against some

other
enemy? Why does this have to happen? Because it’s

very clear to me that we just. Don’t. Need this. Right now.

“So, uh, that got a little out of hand,” Trey says when

he gets to our table in sculpting class. “Sorry about that.

It was all in fun.”

“I know.”
“Why are you being so quiet?”
“I’m not sure.”
He nods, and we sit there in silence for once, working side by side making a bowl and painting fruit, both of us knowing that scary junk is coming, and the world is so

much bigger than this place, and these people, and a stupid

rivalry.

We meet up at the library after school and Trey wisely

goes to look for books for his research project, leaving me

and Sawyer alone on the couch in the library loft.

And the dude, to his credit, looks way more distraught

about what happened at lunch than he is over the visions

that are driving him crazy. “I’m sorry I never told you I

made out with Roxie,” he says. “We were never a couple, I

don’t care what she says. We made out twice at the beginning of ninth grade, more just to experience things and mess around.”

I listen and say, “You didn’t have to disclose any of that

to me, you know. People have pasts. It’s not a big deal. I

mean, I guess my reaction was more because of the way

she was approaching it, and approaching, um, you. And

just pretending I wasn’t there and throwing it in my face.”

“Boobs first?” He laughs.
I smile. “Yeah, you noticed? It’s kind of sad, actually.”

He nods. “She has no self-confidence. And . . . I think

I took the joke too far. I kept expecting her to get it, but

she got so hung up on whether she’d—well, yeah. You

were there.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “Well, thanks for explaining, and,

you know, I’m not mad or anything, I just don’t like her.

She used to be my friend and now she’s just . . . sad. And

mean.”

“So . . . you still like me?” he asks with a grin. He slips

his hand in mine.
“A little,” I agree.
By the time Trey comes back, Sawyer and I are both

on computers. I’m researching private schools; Sawyer’s

trying to get close-ups of every frame in his vision. “When

I was watching it in my spoon and everything was upside

down,” he says, “I thought I saw something through the

window.”
Trey looks at Sawyer’s screen automatically, even

though he and I both know we can’t see anything. He

laughs. “You picked ‘Surprised Kitty’ as the video to channel it?”
Sawyer is concentrating too hard to laugh. “Yeah. I

mean, why not entertain you guys.” He hits pause and

stares, then takes a screen shot that only he can see and

starts enlarging it.
I go back to looking up schools and start bookmarking them so I can show them all to Sawyer at once. And then he mutters, “Yesss,” and starts scribbling things on a

notepad. “There’s the road in relationship to the building.

Now I’m getting a bigger picture.”
Trey and I look over and wait for him to finish. We

haven’t had a “Yesss” in forever. I squeeze my eyes shut

and hope for a major breakthrough.
But when I open my eyes again, I see Trey looking at

his phone and muttering, “Shit,” and I see Sawyer looking

at the stairway and getting to his feet.
Because guess who’s here? Yay, it’s my dad.
Dad reaches the top of the stairs and spies us. Trey

types something quickly and stashes his phone, and he

stands up, so I stand up too.
“Hey, Dad,” Trey says. He puts his hands in his pockets. “What’s up?”
Dad stares at me, and then he looks at Sawyer.
“Hi, Mr. Demarco,” Sawyer says. His voice is calm.
I don’t say a word.
Dad looks like he’s trying to hold it in. His face is red.

But he won’t make a scene in a public place. Not in front

of potential customers. He doesn’t answer Sawyer, which

feels kind of jerkish to me. Instead he looks back at me and

says, “Tree research. Is that the same as chess club?”
“Dad—” I say.
“Don’t bother,” he says, and I’m a little freaked-out

that his voice is so quiet. “Both of you, it’s time to go.

Julia, you’re coming with me. Trey, come on. You take the

truck.”
“No, sorry, Dad. I’m still working—” Trey begins.
“You’ll get home in ten minutes or you’re grounded

too, like this one.”
“Dad, I’m eighteen,” Trey says. “I’m graduating from

high school in two and a half months.” He sits back down.

“You can’t ground me.”
“Watch me.”
“No, you watch
me
. Watch me sit here and do my

homework like an excellent student. What the heck is

wrong with you? I’ll be home when I’m finished with it,

and I’ll get a good grade like I always do, and then I’ll go

to work for you and do a good job there, too. But right

now, I’ll sit with Sawyer Angotti if I feel like it, so don’t

even go there. This stupid rivalry ends with your generation. It doesn’t exist in mine.”
Dad’s face twitches. He gives Trey a long, hard look

that scares the crap out of me, and then he looks at me.

“Come on, Julia.”
I stand there. And my face is hot, and I feel like yelling,

and my stomach hurts.
“Julia,” my father says again, his voice ending on a

strained note, and I can tell he’s about to blow a gasket.
I press my lips together and swallow hard. I shake my

head. And I don’t move. We stare at each other for the

longest five seconds of my life. And then Trey says, “Jules,

go with Dad.”
I glance at him and frown, but his face is set. I look at

Sawyer, and he nods in agreement with Trey.
And I’m like, what the heck? I can’t even think clearly.

I feel like a total baby. I know I’m going to get reamed the

whole way home. And I have a life too—why should I have

to go with him?
“Julia!” Dad barks, and now people around us are

looking, which I’m sure Dad will blame me for later.
“Fine.” I throw the meatball truck keys at Trey’s

face, grab my backpack and coat, trying to shove my arm

through the hole but my stupid cast keeps catching on it.

When I give up and move around the table, Dad tries to

take my arm. I yank it away from him and run down the

steps, leaving Dad following me and Trey and Sawyer

standing there watching over the loft railing. I can’t even

look at them because I don’t want them to see me cry.

•••

We get into Dad’s car, and I’m immediately aware of how

seldom I ride anywhere with him. I can probably count the

number of times on my fingers. He hardly ever goes out,

and when he does, my mom almost always drives.

He leans forward, squinting at the windshield and

muttering under his breath as he eases out of the parking space. And for a split second, his mannerisms are so familiar. With a chill down my spine, I realize he

reminds me of
me
, trying to drive when I had a vision

clogging my windows and mirrors. I watch him in horror. Could it be?

And then he starts in on me. “I don’t know what to do

with you,” he says. “You lie to us about everything. I told

you that you weren’t allowed to talk to that one.”

“Will you stop calling him that? Sheesh, Dad.”

“Don’t talk when I’m talking!” he roars, his booming

voice taking over. “You need to go back to respecting me!”
“You mean being scared of you?”
“Dammit, Julia!” He slams his hand into the steering

wheel and for a second I’m scared he’s going to drive us

off the road. He comes to a hard stop at a light and I’m

tempted to just jump out, but that would only prolong this

and make it all worse.
I sit there, silent, so he can talk more. Yell more. Like

a big hypocrite, he hollers about trust, trust, trust, until I

want to throw up, because he has never trusted me, and I

no longer trust him. I close my eyes and rest my pounding

head on the window. And he goes on and on about what a

bad child I am.
And the truth is he’s right about the things I did. I lied

to him and Mom. I saw Sawyer when I wasn’t supposed to.

I faked some school projects so we could find time to work

on saving some lives. But as long as my parents are being

overprotective nutcases, I will have to continue disobeying

them, I guess. Because I’m not able to let people die when

I can stop it from happening.
Now, shall I try and explain that to Dad?
We pull into the parking lot behind the restaurant. I

get out without a word and close the door. It seems like

he’s done yelling. I stopped paying attention. But before

we walk into our apartment door, he says, “I’ll talk to your

mother about what your punishment will be. Be back

down for work in five minutes.”
And I look at him. “You’re not even going to let me

say anything?”
His jaw is set. “What do you want to say that I don’t

already know? That you’re pregnant, too?”
I almost laugh, because he just can’t let that idea go,

but it also makes me furious because he thinks he knows

me, and he thinks I’m out there banging people left and

right, and he’s just so wrong and that’s so not me in any

way, and it hurts. “Three things, Dad,” I say, winding up.

“I want to say three things.”
He folds his arms and waits like he’s doing me a big

favor.
I plunge into the rage headfirst. “One,” I say, “I’m not

pregnant. I’m not sure why you think constantly think I

am, but I am not sexually active, so you can just knock

it off with that.” I can’t look at him. “Two, I know about

your affair, so it’s kind of hard to take you seriously on

this whole trust thing. And three?” I forgot what three

was. And then I remember. “Three. Find yourself another

slave. I quit.” And before I can allow the shock on his face

to poke into my conscience and make me feel bad, I turn

on the wet cement step, open the door, and run up the

stairs and into my room.