I'm Not Her (8 page)

“Hey, Tess.”

The voice startles me and I stop and freeze, grabbing at my chest to make sure my heart stays where it’s supposed to. It’s Jeremy. The stalker.

“Where’re you going?” he asks.

“Home. Flu.” I fake a cough to prove my point.

The look on his face convinces me he knows I’m lying.

“What?” I wish he’d go away and leave me alone. “What do you want?”

“I saw you running down the hall so I told Mrs. Sheppard I had to go to the bathroom. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I wait for him to explain more but he says nothing.

I start walking again and he hurries along beside me. He’s not as tall as me and has to rush a little to keep up. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I saw Kristina,” he says softly.

My entire body freezes as a cold rush of fear goes through me. “What?” I repeat, but my voice is hardly recognizable as my own. I look around but it’s just the two of us. Everyone else is in class.

“At the hospital,” he whispers.

I open my mouth to lie, to tell him he’s wrong, but then I close it. If he’s seen her, how can I lie about that?

Jeremy takes me by the arm and pulls me along with him. “Come on.” We keep going until we reach the front door. He hurries to open the door and waits until I go first and then we’re on the front steps and the heavy doors close behind us. It’s cool outside and I’m not wearing a coat so I shiver a little, but nothing will make me go back inside the school.

“How did you know she was at the hospital? Are you seriously stalking her?”

Jeremy glares at me and his eyes shoot sparks of anger, but then he blinks and instantly they’re gone. He drops his gaze to his feet. “I’m not stalking her.” He looks in my eyes then. “I saw Kristina when I was visiting my mom. She’s being treated for breast cancer.”

I lower my gaze to the cement, and stare at initials someone etched into the top step years before. I wonder how that love affair turned out. If one of them got sick, or if they still remember the times they kissed. I hold my breath until my lungs shout for oxygen and then breathe out slowly and inhale again.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and wonder why people always say that when they find out bad news. Sorry? It’s not my fault, so exactly what am I actually sorry about? Am I sorry that his mom is sick, or sorry that I have to deal with the fact that he’s told me?

I’m expected to show him compassion and understanding because he’s suffering too. And I do. I feel bad, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to be forced to think of boobs as a source of disease and I don’t want to think about cancer.

“Thanks.” He lifts his shoulder and there’s pain but also quiet dignity in the movement. I look away and feel ashamed.

“How’s Kristina?” he asks.

“Terrible.” I sigh, and speaking the truth drains me.

“That’s about what I expected,” he says. “Cancer is horrible.”

His honesty has a surprising, calming effect on my anger. I realize if anyone is remotely close to understanding how I feel, it’s him. I look at him, really look at him. He’s a cute boy with his babyish face and his clean wrinkle-free clothes. Goes to show how deceiving appearances can be. He looks like he doesn’t have a problem in the world.

“She doesn’t want anyone to know about it,” I tell him. “No one.”

He smiles sadly and juts his chin down and then back up, in a sort of nod. “I’m not going to say anything, if you’re worried.”

“I’m not worried,” I tell him. We stare at each other for another minute. “Should I be?”

He shakes his head and even I can see the weight of sadness in his shoulders. He won’t say a word.

I start to walk down the steps and he follows.

“Aren’t you supposed to get back to class?” I ask him.

“Aren’t you?”

I gesture at my backpack. “I’m leaving.”

He nods without pointing out the obvious. I’m skipping my next class too. I’m leaving school without permission. Again.

“I’m sorry about your mom.” I mean it this time.

“I’m really sorry about your sister,” he says. “It must be hard for you.”

It’s the first time someone says that. The first time someone recognizes that I have to deal with it too. I wipe away sudden tears. “Thanks. You better go back. See you around, Stalker.” I give him a teeny smile.

He laughs. It warms my heart just a little to hear that people still laugh when the people they love have cancer.

I plow toward a group of kids across from the school yard, hanging out. I duck my head, hoping it’s not volleyball players or friends of Kristina who in the last few days have constantly been seeking me out for updates. I’m no longer invisible and it annoys the heck out of me. The sudden surge in popularity has nothing to do with me.

The tears damned up behind my eyes press harder to get out. I hurry past them, hoping I can make it by without starting to cry, and then slam hard into another body. I catch my breath when a hand grabs me.

“Hey, Freshie. Take it easy. You almost knocked me over.”

Nick.

He smiles like I’m amusing. My insides do the stomp from seeing him look at me like that. It pisses me off and I squirm to get away. I have an irrational urge to belt him in the stomach for making me crush on him and for looking happy when my world is falling apart. Fortunately, I’m sane enough to know that punching him in the stomach won’t solve anything, and might get me expelled or thrown into intensive mental therapy. So I just stare and round up the butterflies in my belly with an internal net.

“Whoa.” He stops smiling. “You okay? You look like your dog just died.”

“What if my dog did just die?” I snap.

His face reddens and his eyes dart around nervously. “Seriously? Your dog died?”

I bite my lip and shift from foot to foot. “Um, no. I don’t actually have a dog.”

He focuses back on me. Then his eyes flash. Guilt rattles me.

“Sorry,” I mutter. I seem to say that to him a lot. From the corner of my eye I see the group of kids moving away toward the front doors of the school.

He blinks, but then his expression relaxes and he holds a hand up to his ear. “What’s that? Did Surly Girl just say sorry? Apologize to me?” He grins.

“A miracle,” I say dryly.

“I’m glad your dog didn’t die. I’m partial to four-legged creatures.” He smoothes back his hair. “So you’re skipping classes again?”

I automatically look around to see if anyone heard him but no one is around. Everyone’s scattered off. I turn back to him and he’s grinning even wider.

“I see you’re becoming quite the delinquent. Must be bad for your academic record.” He actually tsks me.

“I have no strikes. My mom has covered all my ditching.” I glance around again in case anyone from the Honor Society is lurking around corners taking notes. For a moment a flash of fear rattles me, that they sent him to test my character.

“Must be nice to be so perfect,” Nick says. “You and your sister.”

His choice of words takes away my breath. I’ve never been called perfect in my life. Kristina’s always been the perfect one.

“I am so far from perfect it’s not even funny.” I think of Kristina and my heart pounds. She’s not so perfect anymore either.

“No? Well, what about your perfect grades? I heard you’re going to rule the world one day. Or at least try to change it.”

I breathe out slowly. “You heard wrong,” I say, and my voice is shaky. My perfect grades are slipping. I’ve handed in substandard work in three classes, including Mr. Pepson’s. I’ve not done homework. I’ve missed classes.

“Your sister okay?” he asks in a softer voice, as if somehow I’ve blown her cover. “She must be pretty sick to be missing all this school,” Nick adds.

God, can’t she miss school like other normal people, without search warrants being issued? This conversation is officially not any fun at all. I don’t care what Nick wants. I want him to leave me alone.

“Kristina’s fine.” I eye the parking lot and my horrible pink bike, the lone bike at the bike stand at the end. “Fine. Fine. Fine. As fine as the print on the bottom of a contract. Fine.”

“A contract?” he asks. He studies me as if I’m behind glass at a zoo, picking bugs from my fur or something. “You know you’re kind of weird, right, Freshie?”

I glare at him, daring him to say more, but he just grins. “In a good way. Listen, while I’ve got you here, being so friendly to me and all, I wanted to ask you a question.”

It’s just the two of us now. No cars pass on the street, no kids on the schoolyard. Nothing. People I associate with, the brainiacs and the art freaks, are all in class. Sitting at the front. Mouths closed, ears open, waiting to learn something new or show off what they already know.

I’m all alone. I want to run, but something about Nick keeps my feet planted on the spot, listening to him instead of taking off like I always seem to do lately. In the back of my mind I wonder how it’s possible I’m talking to a cute boy when the bell’s going to ring for the next class any minute and I’m outside the school instead of in it. My ears warm. When did Nick become cute in my mind?

“You’re a tough one to figure out, Freshie. What makes a girl like you start skipping school?” he asks as if he cares. I hear other unasked questions hanging in the air.

I try to think of something to say, a story that will throw him off the truth, keep him from finding out about Kristina’s sickness, but I got nothing.

He smiles again. But it’s a different smile. It’s warmer and I hate to admit it, but it makes my stomach swoop a little. I am crushing. I’m a stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Crushing on juvie D’s is so not my style. Especially juvie D’s who are man-whores.

“Never mind,” he says when he sees my expression. “It’s not my business.” My heart skips. “I’ve seen your dad golfing a lot lately,” he says conversationally. “He’s taken a couple strokes off his game.”

I struggle to contain my reaction to him and snap, “Good for my dad.”

“Another touchy subject?” He holds up his hands in mock defense. “I’d better quit while I’m ahead. Okay, back to my real question. What are you doing after school?”

I picture myself that morning, promising Mom I’ll hop the bus after school and meet her at the hospital to keep her company with Kristina. I tried to get out of it, telling Mom how much homework I have, how I need my quiet time to study properly and keep my grades up. I explained that the Honor Society is watching closely and these are crucial times for me.

“Clubs are not everything, Tess. Priorities,” she said.

I wonder if I were the one sick if she would make Kristina miss volleyball practice. I’m glad I haven’t told her about the contest, afraid she’d try to take that away from me too. Trying to sketch my ideas and get the right feel is the one thing that’s helping me stay sane.

She doesn’t care about homework or my grades. How important the whole semester is. Or that I’m being judged on more than just my academic proficiency. She doesn’t know I’m avoiding my best friend. Or that I’ve found an art contest that could change my life, but can’t connect with my muse.

She doesn’t know any of it. She never asks.

I want to ask her why Dad isn’t missing work. Why he’s spending more time at the office and more time on the golf course instead of less. Why I’m the one who has to deal.

I drop that line of thinking and focus on Nick. He’s much nicer to think about than my mom.

Focus. What am I doing after school?

Oh. My. God.

I lose my breath, imagining for a brief second that he’s going to ask me for a date. My cheeks get hotter. As if, my brain tells me. As. If.

“Um,” I fumble my words around. “Uh, family stuff. Why?”

“What about Friday?” he asks.

I stare at him. “What about it?”

“You doing anything after school Friday?”

I don’t move. Me? He
is
going to ask me out? I tell my stupid fluttering heart to quit it. No way. I don’t
want
him to ask me out. I don’t care what my body is saying.

He needs something. He’s probably trying to find out more about Kristina. He is in the fan club after all. Even though he doesn’t know the group is about to disperse due to problems with the leader.

My lips press tight and I swallow. “Why?”

He flashes another smile. “Man, you’re not exactly an easy person to ask a question.”

My heart continues tapping out a fast tango. My cheeks are like a forest fire blazing out of control. “What question? Access to my sister or maybe a loan?” My mouth snaps out the insults without my permission.

His eyes narrow and he frowns.

I curse my brain for not stopping my mouth from spewing out words, and then he surprises me by throwing back his head and laughing.

“Your sister or a loan, huh?” he says. “Tess, why won’t you just answer my question?”

“I got to go.” I turn and run, heading for my bike as fast as my sneakers will take me.

I’m relieved yet bummed when his footsteps don’t follow. Deep down, a part of me is developing an unhealthy crush on that boy, and that’s so not a good thing. I don’t want to have a crush on a senior who gets drunk at parties, drives around volleyball girls, and thinks my sister is hot. Even I have enough sense to predict the outcome of that one.

My crushes are not usually so ridiculous. I tend to covet boys who don’t actually talk to me. Like celebrities. Or famous artists. My pheromones tend to hone in on unattainable intellectual types. Not that Nick is attainable. God! My face breaks out into a fresh flush of fire.

I run to my bike, longing for the days before cancer. The days when boys ignored me and I ignored them. I wonder what Nick was going to ask, but pretend it doesn’t matter. Pretend that I don’t hope he really planned to ask me for a date. Cause it sounded like it.

But no. How could that be?

A couple of days later, the deadline for the Oswald contest is looming and I’m no closer to finding my flash of artistic brilliance. Never has my ability to create been obstructed before. It’s like the cancer slithered over to poison me with some of its evil.

Because Mom is out at some important charity luncheon with the professors’ wives, she asks me to leave school early to be with Kristina, so I take a cab to the hospital. When I walk into Kristina’s hospital room, she’s alone. Not even a nurse around. She’s lying on her bed and when I get closer my breath catches. Her eyes are closed, she’s motionless, and I’m compelled to check her chest to make sure she’s breathing. It’s rising and falling slightly but she doesn’t wake, so I pull a chair up beside the bed. I sit down and study her. Her cheek bones look more angular and her collarbones jut out from her blue hospital gown. I’d have to use different techniques to sketch her now. Her essence has changed. She’s less charcoal and more shading.

She’s thinner than me now. It kills me because just a few weeks ago it would have made her so happy.

After a while Kristina must sense me, because her eyelids start to flutter and then she opens her eyes. Her mouth morphs into a small smile but it disappears quickly.

“Hey, Tess.” It almost sounds like she’s glad to see me.

“Hi,” I say shyly.

“I feel like crap,” she says.

“I know.” It’s the best I can manage. “I’m sorry.”

She makes a tiny mewing sound, but it’s just a sigh. “I know you are.”

We don’t speak for a minute. “Do you want to see some sketches? I’m nowhere near where I need to be for the competition, but I’ve done some rough stuff.”

“What competition?”

She doesn’t remember.

“The Oswald. The winner gets showings of their winning piece and a scholarship to the Academy of Art University.” I don’t tell her my inspiration has dulled since she got sick.

“Really? Sure. Let me see.”

She doesn’t sound enthusiastic but I paw through my backpack and pull out the book and open it to some of the sketches I want her to see.

I’ve been working on volcano scenes. They’re raw with rippling lava and harsh lines. I hand her the pad and she holds it as if it weighs a hundred pounds. She is quiet as she flips through the pages.

“These aren’t exactly what I want,” I tell her as she studies the sketch that is closest to what I want to portray. “I’m trying to get across the unique unstable ground. Volcano ridges. Explosions. I’m not there yet.”

“I thought you just did portraits and animals, but this is amazing,” she says, and lays the book down on her chest like it’s too exhausting for her to look at it. “You’re really talented.”

My cheeks warm and I take the sketchbook off her. “Thanks.” I close it and slide it back into the backpack. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“Well, it’s true. You’re artistic and smart.” Her lips turn up at the corners, but she closes her eyes as she talks. “Being smart works for you. You’re so much stronger than me in some ways.”

“I am?” I ask.

“Yeah. You never worry what other people think. I know you think I care too much. But I can’t help it. I’m more like Mom that way.”

I snort softly. “I worry more than you know, Krissie. I mean, you, you’re so good with people. Everyone likes you and you know how to talk to them. I’d love to be able to do what you do with people. People think I’m weird.”

Kristina shakes her head but it’s a weak movement. “They don’t think you’re weird. They think that you’re judgmental. Or intimidating. With me, they only love who they think I am. Not who I really am. Or who I was.” She opens her eyes and turns her head to the wall. “I’m afraid, Tess,” she says, and a lone tear slides down her cheek. And then she closes her eyes again, her breathing slows, and she seems to drift to sleep.

“Krissie?” I whisper, but she doesn’t respond.

The conversation bothers me. I did think Kristina’s friends were shallow, but didn’t know it showed. Besides, it seemed kind of cool having a group to belong to like that. It surprises me that she has so little faith in them. Was being popular for Kristina just as lonely as not being popular for me?

“I’m afraid too,” I whisper, and vow to let her be whoever it is she wants to be. If she even knows anymore.

My thoughts whirl around my head, so I decide to get out of the room for a breather and head down to the cafeteria. As I ride the elevator to the main floor, I make deals in my head. Deals with God or whoever is in charge up there. Deals to help Kristina get better. I promise I won’t eat crappy food if Kristina’s cancer will go away. I won’t make fun of her friends. I add the Honor Society to my list. I won’t mind not making the Honor Society if Kristina gets better.

Guilt nibbles at me as I know Melissa would be upset if she knew I’d sacrifice it, but truthfully, since Kristina got sick, Melissa’s been negative and nasty and it’s like I’m seeing her through new lenses.

I don’t want to deal with that idea, and hurry through the cafeteria lines, ignoring the apple pie and sweet squares I want and picking out healthier choices. Salad. A whole wheat bun. A glass of skim milk. At the cash register, I glance back and spot Jeremy. Shoot. He’s in line with a tray of his own. I wave my hand, but turn back to the woman perched on the stool at the cash register. She gives me the total for my food, takes my money, and hands me change without expression.

“Share a table?” Jeremy calls.

I fake a smile. “Sure.”

To offset all the healthy stuff, I slather butter on my bread as he sits opposite me, clutching his tray. I look at his selection of food. A triangle-shaped sandwich wrapped in plastic cling wrap, a glass of white milk, and a bowl of mixed fruit for dessert. Mom would approve.

He sits and begins unwrapping plastic from the sandwich.

“You here visiting your Mom?” I ask, stating the obvious.

He nods, a serious expression on his face. “Yeah. She’s having a nap. How’s Kristina?”

“Sleeping.”

He nods again. “Chemo is really hard on the body.”

I stop chewing and stare at the table. “Yeah,” I manage to say.

“How’re things with you?” he asks. “You hear anything about the Honor Society yet?”

I glare at him.

“Clark said the selections will come in soon,” he says.

I resume chewing. “I guess. I don’t know, I’ve missed more classes lately then I did my entire junior high career. And I haven’t exactly been a model student.” My stomach gurgles and I put down my bread.

He chews slowly, watching me. “The school must be pretty good about it though. Under the circumstances.”

“Maybe. In theory they’re not supposed to know. Outside of the principal. I think they do. But no one is talking.” At tables around us, different colored scrubs gather for lunch. I see two women wearing hot pink. One is holding a clipped-out obituary from the newspaper and showing it to her lunch mate. I wonder if it’s a patient they lost. If they care or it’s just gossip.

“Yeah,” Jeremy says. “People don’t like to talk about cancer.”

I see real sympathy in his eyes and then he turns the conversation over to less emotional ground. We talk about reality TV shows and I’m intrigued to find out he’s also a huge fan of
MythBusters
. When we finish eating, I tell him I should get back to Kristina’s room. Jeremy puts away his tray and heads out with me. I don’t prevent him from walking with me to her room, but he stops in the hallway.

“I should get back to my mom,” he says.

“Jeremy?” Kristina’s hoarse voice calls.

He glances inside the room and the eagerness in his expression makes my insides flutter with a weird mix of happy and sad for my sister and him.

I hold out my hand for him to go in ahead of me.

“Hey,” he says, and the sparkle in his simple greeting lightens the heaviness in the room.

I see Kristina struggling to sit up. He hurries to her side to help, but it’s not awkward or patronizing. Her face glows with more happiness than I’ve seen in days.

“Beauty sleep seems to be working,” he tells her. He doesn’t let her hand go right away.

“Shut up,” she tells him, but her lips curl up at the corners.

“Think it would work for me?” I ask, trying to be funny.

They both stare at me and then Kristina lets go of Jeremy’s hand. “She wants you to tell her she’s beautiful,” Kristina says, but she smiles at him.

My cheeks turn red. “No, I don’t.” I’m horrified. Was I really looking for a compliment in the middle of all this?

“You’re beautiful. Just like your big sister,” Jeremy says.

“He’s a smooth talker,” Kristina says to me. “Watch out for him.”

My mouth remains shut. I avoid looking at either of them.

“Nah. I am most decidedly not a smooth talker,” Jeremy says with a shrug. “Mostly I’m a dork.”

The thing is, he doesn’t sound unhappy or apologetic about. Just accepting.

“You are not. You’re sweet.” Kristina points at the MP3 player on the end table by the window. “He burned me an entire disk of Neil Diamond songs and loaded them on my iPod.” She looks back at Jeremy. “I think he made a copy for himself.”

She’s teasing and my insides relax a little, enjoying their easy sparring.

“Maybe.” Jeremy glances at me. “I stop by and see Kristina whenever I’m here. Last time, we were talking about the music our parents made us listen to growing up. She professed an undying love for Neil. Instead of mocking her, I had my own confession.” He seems to be trying to involve me in the conversation.

I pretend to gag as the two of them riff off of each other, but it’s nice. I’m surprised I’m actually envious. Kristina eventually gets quieter and more tired and Jeremy notices too and excuses himself.

Kristina goes to sleep almost as soon as he’s gone and I move my chair up beside her bed until Mom arrives from her late lunch. Kristina is still asleep so we make hand signals over her sleeping body and get up to leave.

We drive home in silence until Mom pulls the car to a stop at a red light. My head rests against the passenger window and I’m thinking about Kristina. And about how nice Jeremy is. Easy to talk to.

“Tess?” she says, as if my name is a question.

I consider pretending to be asleep but she knows me well enough to know I can’t sleep in cars. I wish she’d leave me alone to think. Or not think. Just alone.

“Gee’s mom called me today. She told me the girls are really worried about your sister. Apparently, the team had a meeting about it. They wanted to come by the house as a group with some magazines and books and stuff for Kristina.” Her voice drops off. “She wanted to know if I wanted to come to the next game with her. She said they miss me in the stands. My cheering.”

“What’d you tell her?” I ask, still looking out the window.

“I said it was a nice gesture but that Kristina wasn’t up for visitors and I didn’t feel comfortable going to the games until Kristina is well enough to come with me. But I miss them too. I miss the other moms and I miss the games.”

Her answer makes my stomach hurt and I turn to look at her. She’s gripping the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.

“Then she asked if she could bring over food or something. The girls want to do something for her. To show they miss her. That they care.”

“Well, you can’t expect Kristina to just drop off the planet without her friends noticing. It’s a major source of gossip.”

“I know. I just want to respect your sister’s privacy right now. I want to do what’s best for her.”

I don’t answer that. I have my doubts about her motives.

“I need a favor,” she says.

I want to tell her no before I even hear what it is. On principle. She’s making me do enough things I don’t want to do already. Missing school. Sitting with my sister, trying to think of things to talk about. Keeping her cancer a big friggin’ secret.

“What?” I ask with a deep sigh, bracing myself.

She reaches across the console separating us and takes my hand and holds it. I have an urge to pull away. It makes my skin scratchy but I don’t move.

“You think I’m silly,” she says and her voice is sad. “You think my life is silly.”

“No, I don’t,” I say, but it doesn’t sound convincing, even to me.

She smoothes her fingers over my skin, patting me. I’m dying to break the contact.

“I’d like to take you shopping,” she says, and her voice catches.

I pull my hand away. “What?”

The light changes to green and a car behind us honks but she doesn’t move yet. “I don’t know what to do, Tess. I don’t know how to handle this. I’m lying to people. I don’t know how to help my own child.” She starts to cry. “When I’m upset, I shop. And I know it’s silly and I know you think it’s stupid, I’m stupid. But I’d really like it if you would go shopping with me.”

The car behind us honks again and she starts driving.

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I mean, don’t cry. Kristina’s going to be all right. I’ll go shopping with you. Don’t cry.”

It feels surreal. My sister is in the hospital getting chemo and not one of her friends is aware of it. My dad seems to have disappeared, and now my mom is crying and wants to take me shopping?

Mom’s foot presses hard on the accelerator and she speeds up and drives to the mall. When we’re inside, she drags me into her favorite stores.

“Try on a pair of these jeans,” she says, and holds up an expensive pair of low-riding jeans that I would never in a million years wear.

“Those are Kristina jeans, not me.”

Her eyes are lit up like patio lanterns at midnight and she ignores my comment. “Oh, come on, Tess, live a little. You’re so skinny—you can wear these. They’ll show off your long legs…”

I shake my head, but she’s already grabbed one pair and then she grabs a few others and pushes me toward a changing room. A salesgirl sensing a woman with a wallet and a purpose runs toward us and Mom sends her off in search of cute shirts to go with the jeans.

Mom drapes the jeans over my arm. “Go,” she says, and pushes me inside the dressing room.

Mumbling and grumbling and ignoring my pasty white skin that looks even sicklier in the fluorescent lights, I turn from the full-size mirror and pull on the first set of jeans. I can’t even do up the zipper. I suck in my stomach, but the zipper won’t budge. I check the size and shake my head as I pull them off. Good thing I don’t have a complex, because they are my size but they definitely are too small. The next pair is too baggy around my nonexistent hips. Sighing, I toss them to the ground, remembering with vivid clarity why I hate shopping so much.