The Adoration of Jenna Fox (11 page)

Ethan pulls into the parking lot at the
charter. "All I know is that a lot of 'intelligent and qualified people'
screwed up my life two years ago." He throws the gear into park. "So
much for intelligence, huh?" It seems our conversation has taken a sudden
turn that I wasn't expecting. Ethan's voice is rigid, like the day I called us
all freaks at the market. He leaves to go into the charter, not waiting for us.

Allys
lets out a huff of air. "He
can really go off sometimes.'' She rolls her eyes and reaches for her braces. I
watch him walk away, wondering if his life changed just about the same time
mine did. And like me, he is still getting over it, though I don't know what
the
it
is, and I'm afraid to ask, but I'm sure it's why he's at the
charter now.

I wait outside for Ethan to take me home. I
have already
conferenced
with Rae, and now Ethan's
conference is going over.

"Hello."

Dane surprises me from behind. I haven't talked
to him much since that first day. He's been out. Rae didn't say why, and Mitch
only groaned when
Allys
asked.

"How are things going?" His voice is
warm and eager and I like the sound of it, but I also remember what Ethan said
about him.

"Good," I answer.

"Like your project?"

"Yes."

"Need a ride?"

"No."

He blows out a heavy breath, obviously annoyed
at my short responses. He swings around in front of me and grabs my hand.
"C'mon. Has Ethan been saying bad things about me? You're not going to
listen to him, are you?"

His hand is warm, firmly clasped around mine. I
look up and urn surprised at how closely his eyes match the color of the sky
behind him. "I have a problem," he says. "I admit it. I'm
honest. Like when I said you walked funny. I don't think any less of you
because you do, and I didn't mean anything bad by it. You're not going to hold
that against me, are you?"

"No."

He loosens his grip on my hand, but I notice he
doesn't let go. "We all have our problems, and Ethan's is he can't deal
with the truth. He can't even tell the truth. I'd stay away from him if I were
you, but I guess you'll figure that out on your own. You're obviously
smart." He smiles, but it doesn't mesmerize me like the day I first saw
him at his house. I'm changing daily. I can see things in faces that I couldn't
see just a few days ago. Things that I think other people can't even see. And what
I see in Dane's perfectly beautiful face disturbs me.
Emptiness.
The
word is strong in my head, and yet I wonder if it could be the wrong one.

"Friends?" he asks.

Friends. That's why I wanted to come to school
in the first place. Maybe Dane had friends like I once did, friends who are
gone now, and he misses them the way I miss Kara and Locke.

"Friends," I repeat because I know it
would be rude not to. And because I think maybe. Maybe.

"Then I'll stop by sometime, since I just
live down the street?" he says as he walks away.

"Sure."

"Thanks for the invite, neighbor," he
calls over his shoulder.

Did I invite him?

Contents

Empty adj.
1. Containing nothing,
having none of the usual or appropriate contents. 2. Vacant, unoccupied. 3.
Destitute of some quality or qualities.

Now, a day later, I wonder
what friends
means
to Dane. I wonder at his voice that is so different from his eyes. I wonder if
I know anything at all. But I do know this: The word I felt when I looked into
his face was the right word.

Home

The house is empty. Saturdays are empty, I
decide. There is no banging. No restoration. No school. No anything. Mother
left early in the morning. She didn't tell me where she was going but asked me
to stay close by. I wanted to say no. But I didn't.

Lily's been out in her greenhouse all morning.
She didn't invite me to join her. I wouldn't want to anyway. I've looked out my
bedroom window twice, trying to see what she is doing, but most of the inside
of the greenhouse is out of view. I don't care what she is doing.

I lie back on my bed and look at the ceiling. A
Cotswold ceiling is fairly uneventful. It matches me.

Mother and Lily don't know, but Father was
right. My memory is coming back.

It is curious how it comes. Each day, a rush of
pieces, loosely connected, unimportant bits, snake through me. They click,
click, click into my brain, like links being snapped together. And then they
are done. A small chain of memories that fill in one tiny part of my life. They
come out of nowhere, and most are not important.

I remember shopping for socks, feeling the
socks, paying for the socks, looking at the receipt for the socks. Every detail
of a sock-shopping outing that happened five years ago. Who cares about socks?

But then others . . . those come out of
nowhere, too. Last night in the hallway, I was dizzy with the rush of this
memory. I had to lean against the wall in the dark and close my eyes. It was so
clear. I was sobbing. Screaming for Mother. I saw her crying. A tear, briefly,
before she walked away. I cried for her to come back. I tried to reach out for
her, but Father held me back. No. He held me. I was a toddler. Maybe eighteen
months old.

I wore a bright red coat; Father, a black one.
He kissed my cheek. Wiped my tears. Promised she would return. I kicked my
feet. He held me tighter. I remember it like it was yesterday. How can I
remember this?

If I have to remember a lifetime of memories, bits
at a time, will it take me another whole lifetime to reclaim them all? Or one
day will they all connect up and explode inside of me?

I peek out my window again. No sign of Lily.
The floor creaks beneath my feet. I walk to the other upstairs rooms. They are
all still empty. Will Claire ever fill them? But with what? With only me? I go
downstairs. I have never really properly explored the downstairs rooms. Other
than a hurried rush to Claire's bathroom when I cut my knee, I have never spent
any time in the rooms beyond the hallway. It only just now strikes me as odd
that I have been like a houseguest, confining myself to my room and the shared
rooms only, never feeling free to roam the rest of the house.
Stay close by,
Jenna.
I am.

I go to the first doorway on the right in the
downstairs hall-way. Lily's room, I think. I push open the door, but it's an
office. Claire's office, by the looks of the blueprints, fabric samples, and
design books. It is cluttered and disorganized. Not what I would expect of Claire.

I move to the next doorway on the right. I turn
the knob. The hinges squeal, startling me. Mother has still not updated the
hardware and keys of the house. Maybe she thinks it makes the Cotswold more
authentic, but it makes moving about unnoticed much more of a challenge. I find
a large room, simply furnished. Yes, Lily's room. A pair of her shoes sits
neatly in the corner. On the bureau is a scattering of framed pictures. Claire.
My grandfather and Lily. And another one of a little girl in a pink party dress
and black shiny shoes. A little girl who holds Lily's hand. The little girl
Lily loved. I walk over and lay it facedown. So what if she knows. What can she
do? Hate me? I feel empowered and I kick her shoes out of alignment, and I'm
amazed that such a small action could feel so good. Enough of Lily's room for
one day.

The next door on the left side of the hallway
is locked. I move on to Claire's room. The master suite is large. Adjoining the
bedroom is a sitting area furnished with two overstuffed chairs and a small
library. An arched doorway on the other side of the bedroom leads to a dressing
area, closets, and a bathroom. The closets form the same odd tunneling
arrangement as mine does. Multiple closets for different needs. Overkill. The
largest closet has another door at the back of it that leads toward the center
of the house, so I know it would be a windowless room. I put my ear to the door
and hear something. A faint hum. I jiggle the lever, but it is firmly locked.

The mattress. Mattress. Mattress.
I walk to Claire's bed, throw back
the bottom corner of the spread, and slide my hand beneath the mattress. I pull
out my hand and try another corner. It is there. A key. I grab it and stand.
For once I remember something about Claire that is useful.

"What are you doing?"

I slip my hand into my pocket.
"Nothing."

"Looks like something to me."

I look at the ruffled corners. "I was just
straightening Claire's bed. She left it unmade. There's nothing else to do
around here.''

Lily looks into my eyes, like she's searching
for something. I finger the key in my pocket, and she watches but doesn't say
anything except, "There's someone outside looking for you."

I find Ethan on the front walkway. He shifts
awkwardly and then smiles. He almost looks like he is in pain.
"Hello," he says.

"Hello." I look at him and wait,
wondering what I am supposed to do.

"Oh!" He reaches into his jeans
pocket and his strained smile vanishes. "I found these keys in my truck. I
thought they might be yours?" He holds out a ring with two card keys
dangling from it.

"No. Not mine."

"Oh." He doesn't move.

"Maybe they're
Allys's
,"
I offer.

"Maybe."

He shoves the keys back into his pocket, and
the painful smile returns. "I'll see you on Monday, then?"

"Your smile is so fake," I say.
"You need more practice."

His brows come together, and he snorts like he
is offended. "And of course you're the expert on smiles. Anything you
don't know?"

"Not much." I smile. Large and
sustained.

He shakes his head and looks sideways at me.
"You win. I can't beat that."

I ask him if he'd like a tour, and he says yes,
he has nothing better to do. Nothing better? Yes, definitely Mr. Personality.
He seems interested in the new walkway the workers have laid and also in the dismantling
and rebuilding of our chimney. When we walk around to the back, I see that Lily
has returned to her greenhouse. I feel the key in my pocket. I could ask him to
leave. This might be my only chance to be alone in the house for a long while.
But I don't want him to leave either. The key or Ethan. I choose Ethan for now.

We walk to the edge of the pond and he admires
it. "Not too many people have a pond in their backyard."

I hadn't thought about it. We surely didn't
have a pond in Boston. Ethan and I sit down opposite each other on a flat
granite rock near the edge, and I appreciate the pond's beauty for the first
time, seeing it through Ethan's eyes. Clusters of reeds shoot up like spiked
anchors around the perimeter. On Mr. Bender's side, some coot hens swim in and
out of view between-the cattails. "I hear frogs at night," I tell
him. "Even in February. Lily thinks it's strange."

"Not so strange for here," he says.

"Are you from here?"

He hesitates, looks at me like I have just
asked him to give me a pint of blood rather than asked him a simple question.
His answer is just as odd.

"Yeah."

It is not the word, but the way it is said.
Drawn out with a slight nod and a sigh. I recognize it. From somewhere. Maybe I
saw it on Jenna's face or heard it in her voice on one of the video discs. A
simple word that said more than was intended.
Resignation. Enough. Stop.
What do you want from me?
Yeah. Things I think Mother never wanted me to
see on those discs. Things that I think even the old Jenna never saw.

"Here
is a problem for you," I say.

"That's why I go to the charter," he
answers. "A lot of people around here know me. It's easier there."

"Because you can hide?"

"You put things together fast."

"No. Not really. You said everyone has a
reason for being at the charter. I was just waiting to hear yours."

He leans forward, his arms resting on his
knees. "I spent a year in the state juvenile facility. I beat someone up.
When I got out I couldn't go back to the academy, so I went to the
charter."

"You don't look the type," I say.

"The type who would beat someone up until
he's more dead than alive?" He looks past me, his eyes unfocused. I can
hear the knot in his throat pulling tight. "You just never know."

I lean forward, my arms on my knees so our
positions are mirror images of each other.
You never know.
Ethan knows
more about himself than he ever wanted to know, and I know less than I should.
It seems wrong that his dark past should elevate my own blank one. His eyes are
dark, full,
as full as Dane's are empty. I come forward so I am on my
knees. So close to his face I should be embarrassed, but I'm not.