Living with Jackie Chan (7 page)

She thinks I’m cute?

I sit down next to her. “I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it.”

She sighs and fiddles with the end of her belt. “One of Britt’s friends saw you and me at the park. He told Britt we were acting like more than friends.”

I move away from her a little. “Did you set him straight?”

“I tried, but he wouldn’t listen. He said he wanted to come see me, but I told him I had to come to practice. Then he hung up on me! I tried to call him back, but he wouldn’t answer. So now he thinks I’m cheating on him
and
I care more about karate than him.”

She stands up and starts pacing. “He’s so mad at me. I’ve ruined everything. Why do I have to be so stubborn? I should’ve just told him to come get me so we could talk. I know if we talked face-to-face, he’d believe me. He’s so damn jealous. I know it’s just because he loves me, but I wish he would
trust
me a little more. You know?”

She looks at me like she expects me to say something helpful or reassuring. But he sounds like kind of a jerk, and I’m sure that’s not what she wants to hear. So I just keep quiet.

“You two OK?” It’s Larry, calling from the doorway down the hall.

I give him a thumbs-up.

“Thanks for coming to check on me, Sam,” Stella says. “That was nice.”

“No problem.”

She smiles at me, and my heart skips. Or beats faster. Or whatever it is your heart does when a beautiful girl smiles at you like that. Only I don’t want it to. It can’t.

“About this Sam thing,” I say.

“What thing?”

“It’s just that —” I feel like such an idiot. “My name’s not actually Sam. It’s a nickname Larry made up a long time ago when I stayed with him.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried, but —”

“Well, whatever. So, what
is
your name, then?”

“Josh.”

“Josh. Really? But you look like a Sam to me.”

“That’s because you thought I was a Sam.”

“Josh,” she says again. “I don’t know if I like that.”

“Um. Thanks?”

She grins. “Sorry, Sammy.”

I groan. “Please don’t turn into Larry on me.”

She elbows me. “I’ll try.”

I stand up and hold out my hand. “C’mon. We better go back.”

She wipes her eyes and lets me pull her to her feet. Then we go back to class and spend the rest of the day learning our moves.

For the next three days, Stella and I mostly practice side by side. She doesn’t mention her boyfriend again, but the way she constantly checks her phone for texts every time we have a break makes me think they’re still together. Larry doesn’t seem to care either way, and constantly pairs us off. He makes annoying faces at me behind her back, gesturing at me to
Go for it.
I ignore him.

The thing about doing katas with the class is that it’s sort of like a dance, where everyone is in sync. You have to get your stance just right. And your timing. But when we’re all moving together, it feels like we’re part of one powerful force. I know it sounds lame, but that’s how it feels. I never in a million years thought I would be the type of guy who would be into something like this. But when I’m moving with everyone else, I feel like I’m part of something. Like a wave rolling in and back out. It feels strangely peaceful, which is weird, I know, since it’s karate. But when I’m moving with the group, I don’t think about anything else. I just think about moving with the force. It’s like we’re all part of something bigger than what we are by ourselves.

Maybe that’s what I like about it. For a few hours a day, I don’t feel so alone.

The weekend is predictably uneventful. Larry and Arielle go out with friends, and I stay home and watch way too many Jackie Chan movies. My mom calls me on Sunday and we talk briefly.

Mom: Honey! How are you?

Me: Fine.

Mom: Is Larry OK? Are you getting along?

Me: Yeah, of course.

Mom: Are you eating all right?

Me: Uh-huh.

Mom: Have you met any friends? Are you lonely? Why haven’t you called?

Me: I’m taking karate with Larry, so he’s keeping me busy.

Mom: That’s wonderful! Larry is a good guy.

Me: Yeah. He’s great.

Mom: I miss you, Josh. Your dad does, too.

Me: I miss you, too, Mom.

Clover jumps on my bed and I scratch her head. She purrs like crazy.

Mom: It’s nice to hear your voice, honey. Call more often to check in. All right? Please?

Me: I will.

Mom: Here’s your dad.

My mom and dad are actually home at the same time? There’s a first. My parents are masters at avoiding each other. Have been since I can remember. Dave and I used to wonder which of our parents would get divorced first, but for some reason, his parents have stuck together just like mine. Maybe living in denial is easier than actually doing something about it.

Dad: Hey, Joshy!

Me: Hey.

Dad: How’s it goin’ over there? Larry takin’ good care of you?

Me: Yeah, Dad. No worries.

Dad: All set for classes? Do you need money?

Me: I’m all set.

Dad: The house sure is quiet without you, kid.

Like I made so much noise? The house has
always
been quiet. Because no one in my family actually talks to one another.

Dad: Rosie really misses you.

Me: Give her a pat for me, OK? And don’t let her off that diet.

Dad: I won’t, bud. She’s doin’ pretty good.

I pet Clover again and try to swallow down the feeling in my chest that I haven’t felt since the time I woke up in the middle of the night during a sleepover at Caleb’s when I was in the third grade and wanted to go home so badly I had to cry myself back to sleep.

Dad: All right, then, bud. Let us know how the first day goes. We’ll be thinking of you.

Me: Thanks, Dad. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.

Dad: We’ll talk to you soon. You let us know if you need anything. Just call. Anytime.

Me: I will, Dad. Thanks. Bye.

Clover rubs her head under my hand.
We’ll
talk to you soon, he said.
We’ll.
As if he and my mom are an actual
we.
Weird.

I decide I should probably call Dave next, but he doesn’t pick up, so I leave a message. Two seconds later, he texts me back.

Dave:
i was wrong. she wanted 2 tell me she loves me. Dave FTW!


Yeah.

Dave FTW.

WTF?

On the first day of school, Larry makes me a huge breakfast. Luckily, it doesn’t involve raw egg. He’s so amped up, I swear he’s going to get out a camera and take a picture like I’m starting kindergarten. He asks me about five thousand times if I’m sure I have everything I need and if I’m sure I know how to get to the school.

“I don’t understand why you aren’t getting a ride with Stella,” he says, even though I already explained how there is no way I’m going to be a third wheel in that situation. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve explained this at least five times.

“You have to get over that,” I tell him.

He hands me a paper bag. “Lunch,” he says.

I take the bag, which is oddly heavy. “Thanks. You didn’t have to make me lunch.”

“It’s your first day!” He punches my arm, then gets all serious. “You’ll be OK? You can find the bus stop? You know where to get off?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

There’s a little bit of sadness in his eyes. When he sees me notice, he turns away. Maybe he’s thinking about how much it must suck to spend your senior year away from the friends you grew up with, at a new place where you don’t know a soul except for a girl who doesn’t want to be seen with you. Or maybe he knows all that is nothing compared to why I’m here in the first place.

When I leave the building, Stella’s sitting on the stoop with her backpack. She has jeans on, with a tight T-shirt. Her hair’s down, which I’ve never seen before. She looks beautiful. She also looks nervous.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” she says. “Are you taking the bus?”

“Yeah. You waiting for Britt?”

She glances down the street. “Yeah. I’d offer you a ride, but . . . you know how he is.”

“No worries.”

She keeps looking down the street, then back at me, until it finally dawns on me that she’s not nervous because it’s the first day of school, she’s nervous about Britt seeing us together and she wants me to get the hell away from her before he shows up.

“Oh,” I say. “Right. The jealous thing.” I know I sound like a wounded jerk, but whatever. This is so lame. The one friend I’ll know at school I have to pretend is a stranger. Perfect.

She doesn’t apologize. In fact, she looks annoyed with me.

Whatever.

“Have a good day!” I call over my shoulder, not really meaning it.

“You, too,” she says quietly, probably not meaning it, either.

At school, I follow the stream of students inside and check the postcard I got telling me where my homeroom and first class would be, along with my schedule. It feels different here from my old school. A little cleaner. A little more organized. And a lot bigger. When I find the room, I take a desk in the back. The desks are all drafting tables, like the one in my drafting class at my old school, but nicer. There, the tables were covered with carvings and permanent marker about who loves who, who does who, who has a big dick, who has no dick, and who should eat shit. Here, they are smooth and clean. Here, maybe no one cares about who should eat shit.

When the teacher walks in, he clears his throat and everyone gets quiet. He asks how everyone’s summer was but clearly doesn’t really want anyone to answer, because without even hesitating, he starts to take roll, then passes out our course syllabus and textbooks. We spend the next hour going over what we’ll be doing all year and why.

I get out my planner and start writing in the due dates for projects. I fill them all in, all the way to June. My whole year, all planned out.

Ten months.

Ten months, and then I’ll really be gone for good.

All morning, I look for Stella, but I don’t see her until lunch. She’s sitting at a table in the corner with who I can only assume is
Britt.
He has his arm around her while he eats with one hand. Seriously. That has to be a challenge. But Stella seems to like it. The rest of their table is full of what appears to be “the in-crowd.” This is obviously the popular table, and Britt is the leader. Every time he opens his mouth, the table erupts in laughter. They love the guy. Stella catches me watching them and quickly looks away. Clearly, there will be no invitation to join them.

I find an open spot at a table that seems mostly full of people who don’t know one another. They all look down at their lunches as if they are searching for some clue to how to get a life. I sit down and take out the lunch Larry made for me. Tofu sandwich. Carrot sticks. A chunk of cheese. An apple. Definitely no clues here. I open a paper napkin he stuck in the bag and a note falls out. I quickly glance around to see if anyone noticed, but everyone seems to be focused on not being noticed themselves. I put the note in my back pocket and start eating.

The kid sitting next to me opens a thermos of what smells like chicken noodle soup. When he spoons it out, I can tell it’s the gross kind that comes in a can, with the tiny squares of dark meat that is supposedly chicken. My dad used to make us that soup for lunch on Saturdays, when my mom was at work. We’d make peanut-butter crackers with saltines and dip them in the broth until the crackers got soggy and the peanut butter started to melt. I remember I always left the little chicken squares uneaten and gave them to Rosie.

“So, you’re Josh, right?” the kid asks.

“Yeah,” I say.

“We’re in first period together. I’m Jason.”

“Oh. Hey.”

He actually holds out his hand to shake. Who does that?

I shake it, feeling like I’ve just been inducted into the dork table. If Dave could see this, he’d laugh his ass off.

“You know what colleges you’re applying to yet?”

I shake my head.

“I can share my list of schools if you want. My parents are obsessed. I have a spreadsheet.”

“Oh, uh, that’s OK.”

“No, really. It’s actually kind of helpful. I don’t mind.”

He takes a huge slurp from his soup, and a little bit of broth dribbles down the side of his mouth.

My life.

“Thanks,” I say, and take a bite of my tasteless tofu sandwich.

“No problem. So, you’re new here, right?

“Yeah.”

He nods. I really wish I couldn’t smell that soup. I don’t know why it’s making me feel sick.

I wolf down my sandwich and stuff the rest of the food back in my lunch bag, then get up to leave.

“See you around!” Jason says.

I force myself to smile and nod. “Yeah. See ya.”

I head to my locker and throw my stuff inside. Then I reach for the note.

What is a true karate man?

Remember, and you’ll be fine.

— L

I crumple it into a ball and toss it in my locker.

Here’s an answer, Larry: A true karate man doesn’t embarrass the crap out of his nephew by leaving a note in his lunch on the first day of school senior year.