Crazy in Love (6 page)

Did Star really say what I thought she said?
We are
not
okay.

7

I’m still replaying
my scene with Star as I wait in line to drive out of the senior parking lot. The voices in my head agree that I really did see what I thought I saw, the evil Star poking through the pseudosweet one. They just can’t agree what I should do about the vision.

You should have decked Star Simons right there in the hall!
M.J.
insists.

But did you see how beautiful Star was, even when she gave you that evil look?
Plain Jane
points out.
Maybe you should get your hair cut like hers.

I want Alicia.

I fumble for my cell, find it, and hit my #1 speed dial.

As it rings, I picture Alicia sitting in class, her phone ringing in her big flowered bag. She’s always rejected backpacks and conventional book bags. Surely college couldn’t have changed her that much. She’s only been gone a few months, but it feels like years.

“What?” It’s Alicia’s voice, but she sounds sleepy. And angry. Maybe out of breath.

“Alicia? It’s me. Mary Jane.”

“Just a minute.”

Muffled voices. One of them male.

I picture Alicia, petite, five feet two, blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail. Bright blue eyes and teeny nose. She was the kind of girl guys would see and want to hug and protect. But talk to her for two seconds, and you’d know she didn’t need a guy to protect her. She dated a lot in high school. But she never had a real boyfriend. And she was fine with it.

She comes back to the phone. “Sorry, Mary Jane. Can you hang on a minute?”

“Is this a bad time, Alicia?” I ask.

Somebody, a guy, laughs in the background. “No!” he shouts, and I hear him over the phone. “It’s a great time! Just not to talk.”

“Shut up!” Alicia says, but not to me, and she’s laughing.

Plain Jane
is whining in my head.
You shouldn’t be bothering Alicia. Obviously, she’s moved on. She always was cooler than you.

I wish I hadn’t called. “Alicia?” I shout. “I’ll call back. Are you—?”

“There.” The only voice I hear on the other end of the line now is hers. “Sorry about that.”

“Who
was
that?” I ask.

“Colt. Can you believe it? That’s his real name, Mary Jane. Colton Caldwell. Doesn’t that sound like somebody we’d make up for a short story?”

“Yeah,” I agree. I’m not sure what else to say, how to start. Alicia and I have always been able to talk about anything. She’s understood me better than anybody I’ve ever known, including the rents. But now I don’t know what to say?

“Listen, Mary Jane. I’ve been meaning to call you. Well, first, I was going to wait until Thanksgiving to tell you, so we could hug and make girl sounds. But I can’t wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“I am in love!”

There’s silence. I know I should be making girl sounds, but they won’t come.

“I know,” she continues. “Shocker, huh? Alicia, the nonbeliever-in-love. I just hadn’t met Colt, I guess. Not that there are any guys like him in high school.”

“Wow,” I manage.

“You said it,” she says. “This is the real thing. I’ve never felt anything like this. He’s . . . he’s perfect, Mary Jane.”

“Perfect is good.”

“I want you to meet him. Hey! Maybe I can bring him home with me over Thanksgiving break! I’ve told him all about you.” Pause. “On the other hand, I’m not sure he’s ready to meet the rents.” Pause. “On the other hand, I don’t think I could go four days without seeing him!” Pause.

“That would be good,” I say. “I mean, if I met him. I want to meet him.” I pull onto Center Street and head for Roy Dale Special School for my sister’s game. “I should really call you back. I’m not great talking and driving.”

“Where are you anyway?” she asks.

“In Fred. Headed to Sandy’s basketball game.”

“Man, I miss her games! I miss Sandy. I even miss Fred. Tell your sister good luck for me, okay? Go, Dragons! And if she’s got a game over Thanksgiving, I’m there! Ooh—Colt, too! He would love a Special Olympics basketball game!”

“Okay.”

She starts to punch off. Then she hollers, “Wait! You still there?”

“I’m here.”

“So why did you call me? What’s up? You go for three weeks without talking to me—”

“We’ve e-mailed,” I interrupt, not sure why I feel accused when she’s the one who barely e-mails and never calls.

“Tell! What’s wrong? Man, I’m sorry, Mary Jane. How
me-me-me
of me. Talk.”

This sounds like the old Alicia, and it makes me want to crawl inside my cell to be with her.

“Do you remember Jackson House?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“
You
and Jackson House?” she exclaims. “He’s so hot! Way to go, Mary Jane!”

“It’s not like that. He’s still going with Star. Kind of. I guess. I just—”

“Well,” she interrupts, “does
he
feel the same way you do?”

“I don’t know.” I almost cruise past Sandy’s school and have to turn fast, without signaling, to make the drive. Someone behind me honks. “I’m at Roy Dale, Alicia. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“You sure you’re okay till then?”

I grin into the phone. “I’m sure.”

“Okay. But call me. I want to hear everything.”

I flip the phone off and jog into Roy Dale.

Roy Dale Special School has the feel of an old elementary school. It’s a small brick one-story building, where even though the sign says you have to check in at the office before you can go anywhere, it’s okay if you don’t. I wave to Madeline, who’s been the office person ever since Sandy started going to Roy Dale.

It was a good move, changing her from the regular school to this one. Here, she’s a star. When she went to my old elementary school, she was low man on the totem pole of lows.

That’s actually how Alicia and I first got to be friends. It was all because of Sandy. Alicia was in fourth grade, I was in third, and Sandy was mainstreamed to fifth grade, although she spent most of her time in the special class.

It was close to the beginning of the year, I think.I was waiting for Sandy at the school’s main door so I could walk her home. When she was late, I backtracked to her last class, an adapted history class that was still way over her head. It was her semi-mainstream class and the only class she didn’t like.

She wasn’t in the history room, so I figured she had to be back in her special classroom. I stormed back for her, hacked off that she was making me late. But she wasn’t there.

I remember the panic starting to take over. I ran down the hall, calling, “Sandy! Sandy!”

Then I heard somebody shouting. Only it wasn’t Sandy’s voice. Somebody was screaming, “Leave her alone! Stop it! I mean it. You leave her alone!”

I ran toward the voice, knowing Sandy was in the middle of something horrible.

I rounded the corner and can still picture the scene. Three of the bigger boys, who were probably from Sandy’s history class, were circling her like hungry wolves. Sandy stood in the middle, her books and coat at her feet, her hands covering her ears.

“Come on, retard!” the biggest boy was saying. “Just one little kiss and we’ll let you go home to your mommy.”

The other two boys laughed and kept moving in circles around Sandy.

And there, standing up to them, even though she wasn’t half their size, was Alicia. “Stop it, you idiots!” she screamed. “Or you’ll be sorry!” She ran at the biggest boy, Mark Something, and rammed her head into his stomach.

He grabbed his belly, which was fat, and doubled over.

The other two boys stopped circling.

I guess I was so shocked that I hadn’t moved. But I snapped out of it and ran to stand next to this blonde girl, who was a little shorter than I was. “Get out of here!” I shouted at them. I raised my fist. I’d never hit anyone in my whole life, but I would have. “Leave my sister alone!”

Alicia and I stood there, a tiny wall against boys twice our size.

“Back off!” The wiry kid I knew was in fifth grade, Blake, stepped toward us. “Unless you little girls want to give us a kiss, too?”

“You try to kiss any of us,” Alicia said, “and I’ll break your face.”

Blake didn’t laugh. I think he believed her. I know I did.

I stepped past them, grabbed Sandy, and pulled her behind us. I could hear her sobbing.

“Get ’em!” Mark hollered, still holding his belly.

“You do,” I promised, “and I’ll tell the principal, who just happens to be my dad’s best friend.” That part was a lie, a quick-on-your-feet lie Alicia admired later.

It was a standoff that seemed to last forever. I remember thinking how weird it was that nobody else was around. Like where did principals and teachers go when you needed them for anything bigger than yelling at you for running in the halls?

Then the kid who hadn’t said anything did. “Come on, you guys. Let’s get out of here.”

Blake took a couple of steps backward. “Yeah. Okay. This is stupid.”

Mark’s face was bright red. “Where are you going?” he screamed after his buddies, who were running down the hall now. When he turned back to us, he didn’t look so brave. “Go on! Get her out of here. Who wants to kiss a retard anyway?”

“You’re right, you idiot,” Alicia said. “Nobody will ever want to kiss
you!
”

That was Alicia. That’s why I’ve missed her so much.

And as I make my way to the Roy Dale gym, I’ve got a feeling that sooner or later, I’m going to wish I had her standing by me again, facing off the bullies.

8

"Marwyjan! Sandy cries
her own special version of my name and leaves the basketball court when she sees me walk in. They haven’t started the real game yet, although my sister would have left the court to greet me even if they had.

I hold out my arms, and she barrels into me for a hug, as if it’s been years since we’ve seen each other, instead of hours. The voices in my head shout,
Hug her back!
and I do. Loving Sandy is one of the few things my voices agree on.

“Purple!” she shouts, stepping back and holding out the sides of her basketball shorts like they’re her ballet skirt. Her thin brown hair falls carelessly to her shoulders. She has the face of an angel.

“Very purple,” I say. Purple is and always has been Sandy’s favorite color. “New uniforms? They look great, Sandy!” I spin her around so I can see the back of her uniform, where it says DRAGONS and 55. “Go, Dragons!” I shout. “Oh, and I talked to Alicia, and she said to tell you good luck and go, Dragons.”

Sandy jumps twice and looks toward the door. “Is she coming? Is ’Licia coming?”

“No. She’s away at school. Remember? But she’s coming home for Thanksgiving, and she wants to see you play.”

Michelle, the new coach for the Dragons, keeps glaring over at us. Our last coach, Jeff, was all about the kids. This one’s all about winning.

“You better go back with your team,” I tell Sandy.

But I barely get the words out when I hear thundering tennis shoes. I look up to see Sandy’s buddies stampeding over to us.

“Mary Jane! Mary Jane!” Leslie cries in her soft voice.

Brent, Eric, Chris, and John are way taller than I am. They’re all trying to tell me different things at the same time: “Watch me!” “I made a basket last time!” “I shoot!”

We’re having our own unofficial team huddle on the sidelines. Jerry, the shortest player, never talks. He just whispers things I can’t understand, whispers intently at me, then pats me on the head.

I pretend to fall backward and tumble to the floor, taking Sandy with me. She laughs—loud and without a trace of self-consciousness. Her laugh reminds me of geese honking. It’s impossible to hear it and not laugh, too. I’d do almost anything for that laugh . . . and have.

Jerry and Eric fall on top of Sandy and me. The rest of them follow suit until we’re in a football pileup on the basketball floor. I laugh so hard I can’t stop.

I haven’t even felt like laughing since . . . since . . . since the last time I came to one of Sandy’s games.

There are no arguments in my head. Nobody’s shouting. I could stay like this, wrapped in a cocoon of Sandy-ness, forever.

“Back to the free throw line!” Michelle stands frowning over us. “Come on! Game starts in fifteen.” She points to the free-throw line to make sure the kids know exactly which line she wants them to go to. Here, the free-throw line goes by many names. Sandy calls it “the mistake spot.”

Sandy gets up and hugs Michelle before shuffle-trotting off. You can tell Michelle isn’t the huggy type. The others pile off of me and follow Sandy. Chris, the Dragons’ star player, hustles up to walk next to my sister, and not for the first time I wonder if he
likes
her, as in
like
likes her. I uncurl and get to my feet. “Hey, Michelle. Great uniforms.”

“We’re two short,” she says. “We better get them by the Richmond game.”

“That the big game this year?” I ask.

“It’s the only game I think we could have trouble with,” Michelle confides. “We could win district this year. If we can beat Richmond, we could play at ISU.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m sure the kids will come through.” I can see how desperately she wants this. “So when’s the big game?”

“The day after Thanksgiving. Pretty foul timing. I think Carl had something to do with it. He’s the coach at Richmond. He’s so arrogant. They’ve won the last three years, and he thinks it will go on forever. Well, not this year.”

The visiting team’s coach blows a whistle, and the players on that side of the court file back to their benches.

Michelle runs back to our team and herds them to the sidelines.