Better Than Perfect (10 page)

“To say that interpretation of
Hamlet
is legitimate is simply grotesque. It's nothing short of an
outrage
. I admire your teacher for thinking freshmen could tackle the play, but I feel you have been done violence, yes
violence
by being fed such an
absurd analysis of the text.” Mr. Burton's arms flailed wildly. As I got to where he was standing, I had to duck in order to avoid getting whacked in the head by one of his hands.

I saw Jason sitting at the far corner of the room, and he saw me see him and gestured at the empty desk next to him. I turned slightly to point to Sofia, who was right behind me, and as I did, Mr. Burton said, “I am quite troubled, my boy.
Quite
troubled.”

Apparently feeling he had made his point, Mr. Burton finally moved toward the front of the room, opening up the space he had been blocking between the doorway and the student he was talking to. And as he did, someone said, “Jules!”

I snapped my head to look.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. It was as involuntary as breathing.

Standing there in my Honors English classroom was Declan.

He looked both exactly the same and ever so slightly different, as if I'd been remembering a blurry photo and here he was in focus. We stared at each other, neither of us saying a word, as my body registered what my mind had acknowledged the very first time I'd seen him—he was
hawt
. In his low-slung jeans and ancient CBGB T-shirt and black Doc Martens, he was smoking hot. Standing in front of him in my Honors English class, I could feel his hotness, just like I'd felt his hands on my body that night on the beach.

And suddenly, as if it were the answer to an SAT problem I'd been struggling with, I heard Sinead's voice in my head.
We've been living in Beijing for the past seven years.

“You're the Chinese exchange student.” My voice was strangely breathless.

“What happened to you the other night?” he asked, ignoring my non sequitur and leaning toward me to be heard over the chaos of the classroom. “What are you
doing
here?”

“What am
I
doing here? I've gone to school here since I was six. What are
you
doing here?” I hissed. We were close enough that I could smell something deliciously lemony on his skin. Soap? Laundry detergent? My nose struggled to place it.

“Do you guys know each other?” asked Sofia, eyes flickering between me and Declan.

“Do we—” Declan began.

The floor was tipping, slipping away from me, and I had the urge to grab Sofia before I toppled over. “We met at the club,” I said quickly, hysterically. I pulled my eyes from Declan's and looked at Sofia, willing her somehow to know and not to know. “The night. That I had to wait for you. He was with the band.
In
the band. He was in the band. I hung out with them.”

I couldn't tell if Sofia registered how strange and panicky I sounded. Eyes on some blank spot in the air between my face and Declan's, she said, “Hi. I'm Sofia.” Her voice was pitched higher than usual, and her cheeks were ever so slightly pink
.

“Ladies, Mr. Brennan. If you would be kind enough to take your seats.” Mr. Burton's voice made it clear we could take our seats or take a hike.

So that was his name. Declan Brennan.

“Come sit with us,” whispered Sofia. She led Declan over to where Jason had saved the two of us seats.

I went first, Sofia followed, and Declan took up the rear. James Gross was sitting in the empty seat next to the one Sofia sat in, but she said something to him and he moved over one desk. I sat down next to Jason and focused on the board, my eyes boring into it so hard they should have drilled a hole straight through to the next classroom.

My heart pounded in my chest, and my hands shook. This was impossible. For two weeks I had told myself to forget what had happened, and now what had happened was sitting two seats away from me in my English class. It wasn't fair. I followed the rules
all the time
.
Then one night I did
one
stupid thing because my entire fucking life was falling apart, and now I was being punished for it. Wasn't it enough that my parents were getting divorced? That my mother was in a mental hospital? Declan's showing up was such an insane and unfair twist it was all I could do not to put my head down on the desk and weep.

“Welcome to Honors English,” Mr. Burton announced. “And let us hope that the honor is not all yours.”

I wasn't looking at Declan, but my body hummed with his closeness.

“This is Jason,” whispered Sofia, and Jason whispered back, “Hey, man.”

“Hey, man.” I felt Declan's voice someplace deep in my lower back.

“For our purposes, the English language begins
here
.” Mr.
Burton slapped the map hanging in front of the blackboard. “And
here
.” He held up a book. Even if I hadn't been having a complete and total nervous breakdown, I would not have been able to read the title of the book he was holding. “With
Beowulf
, an Old English heroic epic poem. And when I say Old English, I mean capital
O
, capital
E
. Why is that, Mr. Chang?”

Behind Jack Chang's answer, I heard Sofia whisper, “Jason is Juliet's boyfriend. But she probably told you all about that when you met her.” Something dropped to the floor. There was the sound of a metal chair sliding slightly on linoleum, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Declan lean forward and retrieve a pen.

“No,” Declan answered Sofia. “I don't think she mentioned him.”

Mr. Burton gave a single sharp clap. “Excellent, Mr. Chang. That is correct. How nice to start the year off with an intelligent response.”

As soon as class ended, I shoved my stuff into my bag and got to my feet. “I've gotta run.” My back was cold with sweat. All through class, I'd barely been able to hold my pen in my damp, twitching fingers.

“We're going to the same place,” said Jason, slowly gathering up his stuff.

But if I had to stay in that room for one more second,
I
was the one who was going to end up in a mental hospital. “I have
to get some water. I'll meet you in Latin.”

I was looking at Jason, but all I could see was Declan sitting next to Sofia.

I kept my eyes on Jason. He smiled. “Suit yourself.”

I tried to smile back, but nothing happened.

“Call me later!” Sofia yelled after me.

I barely nodded, just gathered my bag to my chest and tried not to drop anything. I could feel Declan watching me as I left the room. All the way down the hallway, long after it was possible, I felt his blue eyes on me, two bright flames burning against my back.

I'd had some idea that the sprint from English to Latin would clear my head, but all it did was make me breathless.

“Hey,” said Jason, sliding into the seat next to mine a minute behind me. “Did you get your water?”

“Yeah,” I lied as Ms. Croft entered the room.

Now was not the time to get confused about my priorities. Latin was my number one challenge for the year. If anything stood between me and Harvard, it was this class.

Last year, Latin had been, without a doubt, my worst subject. According to my report card, I had a ninety-six average, but the truth was that our teacher, Mr. Racine, was a little scared of our class. The Latin kids had a reputation for being the Smartest Kids in the School, so if I didn't know something or didn't do very well on a test, I felt like Mr. Racine somehow
got the idea that I really
did
know it or maybe he figured he hadn't given a very good test or something. In the end, my real average was probably more like an eighty-five than a ninety-six, but somehow he'd factored in class participation or, I didn't know, the cookies my mom and I gave him at Christmas, and so I got my A.

I'd wanted to drop Latin, figuring I'd quit while I was ahead, but Jason had convinced me not to. He said that even though I was a third-generation legacy, I shouldn't do anything that would give Harvard a reason to put me in the “maybe” pile.

“Welcome to AP Latin,” announced Ms. Croft. “This is the
sanctum sanctorum
, and you are the high priests of the study of an ancient and beautiful language, the keepers of the flame.”

On my notebook, Jason wrote,
Is she for real?
but I pushed his hand away, took out my pen, and started taking notes as Ms. Croft continued to talk.

The
Aeneid
is a Latin epic poem.

Declan Brennan does not exist.

Written by Virgil.

No one will ever find out about that night.

Dactylic hexameter

I love my boyfriend.

29–19 BCE

Jason drew a heart around the date, which I'd written at
the top of the page. Inside it, he put two
J
s, one facing forward, one backward.

J power.

“Want me to walk you to the pool?” Jason offered when class ended.

There was a strange buzzing in my head that made it hard to hear. “Sure,” I said.

I was going to get caught. Naturally I was going to get caught. It was delusional to think no one would find out, to say Declan didn't exist.

Of course he existed. He was in my fucking English class.

Jason put his arm around me as we walked. “What time are you done? Should I just get a ride with Stefan or do you want to coordinate?” He drew out the syllables of
coordinate
, like he was being ironic.

I shook my head. “I'm going to Sofia's.” I sounded jittery. Jason was sure to notice.

Why do you sound so nervous, J?

Just scared you're going to find out I cheated on you.

“I didn't know that,” said Jason. “Did you tell me that?”

I stopped walking. My heart stopped beating in my chest. “Wait,
what
?”

Jason cocked his head at me, a confused look on his face. “That you were going to Sofia's after practice. Did I know that?”

My heart started beating again, but inexplicably, relief made me irritable. “Dude, since when do I clear all my plans with you?” As soon as I said it, I smiled, like,
JK!

But I wasn't JK. Not exactly.

Jason tucked my hair behind my ear. “Just call my mom and tell her you won't be home for dinner, 'kay?”

“Seriously?” I asked. My voice had an edge to it.

“Well, I mean . . . she's expecting you.” Jason shrugged.

What was wrong with me? It wasn't as if it came as news to me that Jason's family had dinner together every night at seven. Now that I was living with them, of course Grace expected me to be at home by then or let them know I wouldn't be. It wasn't her fault that I was distracted by the fact that the boy I'd cheated on her son with had just shown up at school and shattered my world.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. I reached into my bag. “I'm just being crabby. I'll text her right now.” We started walking again.

“Thanks,” said Jason, and as I took out my phone, he kissed the top of my head. “Sorry you're feeling crabby. Is it about your mom?”

“No,” I said, “It's just—”

Oh my God, what was I
doing
? It was like I
wanted
him to ask why,
wanted
to tell him about me and Declan. “Yeah,” I said, doing a full one-eighty. “I guess it is about my mom.”

I didn't look at him as I lied, focusing instead on writing my text to his mom about dinner. I hit send just as we arrived
at the door to the pool. “Done,” I said proudly, holding up my phone so he could see I'd sent it.

“Thanks,” Jason said. He reached out his pinky, and I intertwined it with mine. “J power.”

“J power,” I repeated. I watched him heading down the hall to the locker room, and I remembered when we were first going out and I would go to Jason's soccer games. Sofia and Margaret and Elise and a bunch of these other girls we were friends with would sit in the stands and I would watch Jason and I would think,
We are a couple.
It made me feel safe and special, and watching him now, I felt the very same way.
We are a couple.

Nobody was going to mess that up.

Not even me.

On the way to school the next morning, Jason abruptly turned my car into the parking lot at Jaybo's.

“I am in urgent need of a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich,” he declared. “And I would be honored to buy you an enormous cup of coffee.”

“I could use it,” I said, rubbing at my eyes, which felt raw in the harsh morning light. I hadn't finished my Latin homework until almost one in the morning, but that wasn't the reason my eyes burned and my head felt too heavy for my neck. After getting in bed, I'd lain awake for hours trying to figure out what to do about the situation with Declan. Finally I gave up on sleep, threw my covers off, and tiptoed over to my backpack. I slipped a piece of paper out of my notebook, wincing as the paper tore with a screech guaranteed to wake Bella. But she
hadn't stirred, and I'd gotten the paper out and written a note by the light of my phone.
Declan, I need to talk to you.
At the bottom I'd put my name and my cell, hesitating for a while about whether to write
Jules
or
Juliet
. Finally I'd written
Juliet
. It was my name, after all, and it wasn't like he and I knew each other well enough for him to have a nickname for me.

Well, not really, anyway.

“I'll go in and get the stuff,” I said. “Salt and pepper on the sandwich?”

“You know it,” said Jason, “and buy yourself something nice.” Winking, he handed me his wallet.

Jaybo's was crowded with kids from Milltown and guys in work boots and paint-spattered pants, and I waited on line for Jason's sandwich before getting my coffee. My whole body ached with sleepiness; I had to squint to read the labels on the different coffee carafes. Aunt Kathy had emailed me that she'd talked to my mother's doctor, who'd said my mom was settling into Roaring Brook and doing well and that she could have visitors in two weeks. I hadn't seen my mom since that night in the emergency room, and I tried to imagine what it would be like to visit her at a mental hospital. All I could think of was parents' weekend at Yale a year ago, how my parents and I had gone up to see Oliver and he'd shown us his room and introduced us to his roommate and then given us a tour of the campus. Was that what visiting my mother was going to
be like? The image was parodic, but somehow it didn't make me laugh.

“Are you going to explain what happened the other night?”

I gave a little yelp, jumped, spilled my coffee on my hand, and gave an even bigger yelp. Heads all over the deli turned to look at me. “Shit!” I said, shaking my hand, which stung from the hot coffee. “Shit!”

Declan handed me a wad of napkins, and I didn't look at him as I wiped off my hand and the counter, not bothering to deal with my T-shirt, which was black anyway. I thought of the note I'd spent so much time composing and how it was at that moment in my bag in the car.

Why was it nothing ever turned out the way I planned it anymore?

I wadded up the soaked napkins and tossed them and the half-empty cup in the hole in the counter where the garbage went. Finally, I forced myself to look at Declan.

He was standing a foot or so away from me, wearing a pair of black jeans and a red T-shirt so faded it was almost pink. His hair was damp. I couldn't smell the lemony scent over all the other Jaybo smells, and I was grateful for that. Still, there was something about his physical presence that my body reacted to. I
sensed
his nearness, like bats echolocate walls and doorways. It was disconcerting—to feel him without touching him—and as we stood there, looking at each other, I was sure that when I opened my mouth to say something, no words would come out.

Amazingly enough, though, they did. “Look,” I said, my voice reassuringly level. “I was really . . . that was a very bad night for me, and I'm sorry for what I did. I really am.” In books, characters are always communicating with their eyes, but even though we stared at each other for at least a count of five, I had no idea what Declan was thinking and I was pretty sure he wasn't reading my mind either.

“Yo, Declan!” Rob Noel, a guy in our class I didn't know very well, was standing at the door.

“Whatever,” Declan said finally. “It was no big deal.” I watched him follow Rob outside and head to Rob's BMW, the little bell dinging when the door of the deli swung shut.

The car was cool, and I slid gratefully into the smooth leather seat. I took the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich out of the paper bag and handed it to Jason.

“Thanks, J,” he said. “Where's your coffee?”

I looked out the window. Everything on the other side of the glass looked as hot and wilted in the September heat as I felt.

“J?” said Jason.

“Yeah?” I asked, startled.

“Your coffee?”

“Oh I . . . I realized it wasn't what I was in the mood for,” I said. “I should probably drink less coffee anyway.”

Jason took a bite and put the sandwich in his lap. “Not first semester senior year you shouldn't,” he said. He put the car in
drive and pulled out of the parking lot. “Now is not the time to make major changes to your routine.” We eased into the traffic on Judson Road.

“You're right,” I said, still looking out the window. “Now's not the time.”