Solitary: A Novel (16 page)

"Like all of them. Guys who think they're better than the rest."

I wish I had the courage to tell her that I'm not one of them and never will be.

I wish I had the guts to hug her and whisper that in her ear.

But though I believe this, I don't have the strength to tell her.

I don't have the guts to show that belief.

"Let's go," she says.

"Home?"

"No. Let's just go."

She drives for ten minutes into the winding country backroads that seem to get darker by the minute. We don't say much-not about the dance, or the party, or anything. The rock music in her car is loud, strangely making me feel worse than any silence might. Jocelyn eventually slows and heads down a small drive that is grown over with weeds and bushes. She stops in front of a small, abandoned wooden cabin.

If I was with anybody else, I might be completely freaked out.

Instead, I'm insanely curious where this is going.

"I used to live there, believe it or not," she says, the car lights still on and shining into dark holes that used to be windows. "I lived there with my parents. I've been with my aunt ever since they passed away."

"I'm sorry," I tell her.

"It's okay. I know that you get it."

For a moment, I start to ask why but then assume she's talking about the move and my parents' divorce.

Jocelyn turns off the engine and the lights, then faces me.

There's a bright moon out tonight. It's partially shrouded behind the trees and some clouds, but it's letting off enough light that I can make out her face and her lips.

I can't help but wonder what we're doing here.

She puts a hand on my leg. "You're a good guy, Chris. And I just want you to know-I get it. I understand."

I nod, lost, not sure what it is she gets or understands.

Not that I care really. At this moment, she's touching me, and she's looking at me, and I might just pass out any second.

"It's easy to feel like you'll never recover, but you will."

I start to shake. She feels it.

"Come here," she says, so comfortable, so in control. "It's okay."

But this just causes me to shake more.

She moves over and kisses me on the lips.

I've kissed girls before. A couple. But this just feels-it's strange. It's one thing to imagine this-and I sure have imagined this-but I'm feeling off balance sitting in her car in the darkness.

I stop the kiss before she does.

I move back and watch her eyes slowly open.

"What?" she asks in a soft voice.

"Nothing. I'm just-I'm sorry. I'm a bit-surprised, I guess."

"Why?"

"I just am."

"Have you never been with a girl before?"

"No, I just-well, I mean-"

Not only is my body shaking, but my words are coming out all mangled and messy.

Her hand wanders in the darkness. I suddenly realize that she's trying to undo my belt buckle.

"Jocelyn, no, come on," I say.

But she doesn't stop.

With a trembling hand I hold hers and put it back in her lap. Her eyes and her expression grow cold and confused.

"What?"

"Look, just, hold on. I mean-what's happening here? What's going on?"

"You're kidding, right?" she says.

"What?"

"Don't tell me you don't want this."

"Don't want-what? You?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I-I mean, yeah, of course, but I don't even know you."

"What do you want, a biography or something?"

Her tone and her words seem cruel, callous.

"You've wanted this since the first time you laid eyes on me, and you know it."

I feel like hyperventilating.

What is happening here? What did I do, and am I really doing this? Am I really telling her no?

But nothing about this seems right.

"Jocelyn-it's no big secret that I like you. Just like the rest of the school."

"Like the rest of the school, huh? What do you know about the rest of the school?"

"I'm just saying-

"I thought you were different from the rest of them."

"Yeah, so?"

"So you have to be that different? Do you have to be such a gentleman and rub it in my face?"

"I'm not rubbing anything in anybody's face."

"You're making me feel like some whore."

I let out a crazy and angry laugh. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just go home."

I put my hand on her arm as it goes to start the car. She jerks it back, putting a finger back in my face. "Don't you dare touch me. Don't you dare put your hand on mine."

She's suddenly turned into a crazy woman.

I hold my hand out. "Jocelyn, talk to me."

"What?" she yells as she starts the car.

"Please, don't-don't drive just yet."

"This was a mistake."

"What's going on?"

"This was a mistake. Going to the dance and going to the party. The whole thing was a mistake. I should've never said yes."

I shake my head. "You asked me to go."

"No, I didn't. You asked. First it was the whole Rachel thing, but then I know what you said to Rachel. I know what you told her."

"What'd I tell her?"

"I know about your family, Chris. I know about your father. I know he died just a year ago."

My mind is trying to catch up, but it's doing a lousy job computing. "Who told you that?"

"Rachel. She told me. And I just felt awful. Because I can relate."

"My father isn't dead."

"What?"

For the first time since I pushed her away from me, Jocelyn is looking at me.

"My parents got a divorce. My father's very much alive, still living in Illinois."

"But she told me that you guys ended up moving...." Jocelyn thinks for a minute, then curses. "I don't believe her."

"She lied to get you to go out with me."

"I'm going to kill her," Jocelyn says. "I'm going to strangle her. I mean it."

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? No wonder you were a little confused. I just-she told me you were still feeling down and still grieving for your father. And I just-I felt sorry for you. I could relate. And I just wanted you-I wanted you to forget. That's why-I didn't know."

"I didn't mean to push you away."

"No, it's fine. This whole night-it's just been a misunderstanding."

I take Jocelyn's hand in both of mine. "Please, just listen to me. You're right. Since the moment I saw you in that murky school, you've been the one sole bright spot in it. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. And everything in me wants this-wants you. It's just -I just-I can't, Jocelyn. I don't know what to tell you."

"You're shaking."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"You don't need to."

"I feel like an idiot here. I feel like-I feel like a kid."

"Chris, stop," she says. "This was-I was just-I'm just really messed up. Look, you don't want to be with someone like me."

"But I do."

"No, you don't, Chris. Don't ruin yourself I'm used goods."

"Stop it."

"I am," she says, her voice choking a bit despite the lack of tears in her eyes. "There's a reason those guys look at me the way they do."

"It's because you're beautiful."

"No, I'm not. You strip this away and there's nothing down inside. Nothing."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. I was just-I just wanted you to forget. And I guess I wanted to forget too."

"Forget what?"

"This life. I just wanted to escape for a moment. To leave all this emptiness behind."

I sit across from her in the car feeling wounded and wrecked and wasted.

I don't know what to say.

This is so beyond my comprehension that I'm beginning to shut down.

I can tell she's already shut down.

She backs up the car, and we leave the little empty shell of a house to the darkness.

There are a hundred things I want to tell Jocelyn-right after watching her car leave my driveway.

These words stalk me on Sunday as I count down the minutes until I can see her again.

I question everything I said and did. Every response I gave. Everything.

Doubt is a terrible thing, but there's nothing you can do with it except let it go. But that's not happening. Not on this day.

I don't feel like going outside. It's a bit chilly and overcast. I assume it's going to rain. It always seems to rain on Halloween. Instead I lose myself in Uncle Robert's music in the snug room upstairs.

Mom asks about last night, and I try to play it off cool. She knows something's up but doesn't pry. She knows it won't go anywhere.

The beauty in being a teen is that adults remember this and put you in a box. A box in which the bad can't be all that bad. A box in which drama is simply teen drama and doesn't necessarily count.

But it hurts and it counts. Just because you're sixteen doesn't mean you can't hurt.

Speaking of boxes, I discover another one filled with albums in the walk-in closet-more old eighties records. I listen to whole albums with fascination. The Psychedelic Furs. Peter Gabriel. Level 42. Information Society. Howard Jones. The Human League. A-Ha. Some of the songs are so unabashedly corny that I almost blush listening to them. Others sound poppy and fun. Some of them are magical.

Why go outside when I can lose myself like this?

I find a group called Simple Minds and play the album titled New Gold Dream (81-82-83-84). The first song sends me somewhere far off.

As the music plays, I map out strategies in my mind.

What I will say and what I will do.

Knowing I'll say and do none of those things.

I'll still be in this room tomorrow, the songs still playing in my mind.

I want to look at my clothes to see if they're on fire.

I want to smell them to see if I accidentally rolled around in cow manure this morning.

I want to check my back to see if there's a sign that says DEAD MAN WALKING on it.

I want to figure out exactly why every single student I pass is staring at me.

This is worse than normal. And normal is bad enough.

I make it to my locker without seeing Jocelyn. I open it up and find a note taped on the back of the door.

Not again, Rachel. This time whatever you're saying, I'm not buying.

I open it up and read it.