The S-Word (22 page)

I smile, and just like that we’re back to business. “I’ll also be needing Marvin’s email address.”

“It’s [email protected]. Same as yours or mine.”

“I mean his personal email.”

“Why?”

“I need to verify something.”

“What?”

The fact that he painted Lizzie without her permission.

“None of your business,” I snap. “Do you have it or not?”

“Not,” she says.

“Well, maybe you should get it.”

She knows it’s a small price to pay to get off my shit list.

“Deal.”

AFTER MY MEETING
with Shelby, I stop off at the Drama room to practice my final monologue. I’m doing a scene from
The Children’s Hour,
a scene that was supposed to be Lizzie’s. After she died, I took it over to honor her memory. I used to sit in class, back turned to her, listening to the words roll off her tongue. We weren’t speaking then, so it was nice to hear her voice.

I memorized the monologue before it was mine.

Now I know it too well. It takes me all of five minutes to realize I can’t find distraction in this exercise, and I need it desperately. I can’t allow myself time to think. Can’t allow myself
time to rest, to catch my breath, to obsessively look at my phone. Every time I look, my inbox is empty.

Where is he?

I haven’t seen Jesse all day. He was gone when I woke up this morning. Normally, I’d see him in sixth period History, but since we’re on a different schedule for finals, I won’t have class with him until tomorrow. I keep telling myself not to worry.

I’m not really a psycho. I just play one at parties.

I need to give him time to gather his thoughts.

Still, as the seconds drag by, I begin to wonder. What if he’s not just taking time to think? What if something’s really wrong?

I glance at my phone.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

If only I had some excuse to call him. Some reason unrelated to
us
. I catch a glimpse of Shelby across the room—not the real Shelby, but a picture of her hanging on the wall. She’s dressed like Blanche DuBois from
A Streetcar Named Desire
.

It gives me an idea.

“I’m taking off,” I call to Madame Swarsky. She’s on the other side of the room, trying to keep some freshman from butchering
Dark of the Moon
. She nods, barely glancing my way, but I’m too busy to take offense. Already, I’ve hit the redial button on my phone.

Just when I’ve decided Jesse’s the only person in the world without voice mail, he picks up. “Hello?”

“I’ve got a question,” I say, crossing the parking lot. I’m not ready to go home yet, but I’m out of excuses for lingering at Verity.

“Okay.”

“It’s about the drawing of Lizzie. The one somebody sent you?”

“What about it?” He sounds impatient. Probably he just hates talking about this.

“Was it a forward or did it look like an original email?”

“Forward. I told you that.”

“Oh.” My little balloon wheezes air. “Right.”

“But I saw who sent it originally.”

“Do you remember the address?”

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say—

“No. But I’d recognize it if I saw it. It was something idiotic like Big Daddy or Pimp Master. Pretty much what you’d expect.”

“Thanks.”
Okay, Angie, hang up now
. “Hey, I missed you today.” Wow, that is not what I meant. I meant I missed seeing him at school. I meant he was literally missing. The longer he goes without saying “I missed you too,” the more excuses I come up with.

Finally he answers. My heart is, like, in my knees by then.

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. I needed to think about things.”

Told ya so.

“It’s finals week,” I say meekly. I’m standing next to my car, trying to unlock the door with shaking hands.

“I took my finals,” he says.

“Oh.” He must’ve ducked out the minute he was finished. “I guess I’ll let you go then.”

Don’t let me. Do not let me hang up the phone.

“Okay. I’ll see you.” He pauses. “Hey, Angie?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not trying to be a jerk.”

“I know.” I slip into my passenger seat. The door closes noiselessly, and then I’m contained.

“No, you don’t. Listen . . .”
What the hell else am I going to do?
“Last night was amazing.”

“Yeah?” If it was so amazing, why didn’t he wake me up before sneaking out the bedroom window?

“You are amazing. And I’m just completely losing it and completely freaked out.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Welcome to my world.”

“You don’t understand,” he says. “I’ve never done this before. And we just lost Lizzie, and . . .”

He doesn’t need any more reasons. I understand. But he keeps going.

“The queer kids at this school look up to me. I’m the reason we have a Gay-Straight Alliance. They think I’m brave—”

“You are brave.”

“I’ve shown them not to be afraid to express themselves.”

“That’s great.”

“It is,” he agrees. “It is. And it shouldn’t matter at all, but if they find out I’m not who they thought I was, it’s going to mess with them.”

“So don’t mess with them.”

“I know, I just— Wait, what?”

“Don’t mess with them.”

“Do you mean that?”

“It sounds like they really need you. It’s only natural you’d want to be there for them.” Everything I’m saying, I’m saying about me. But he has no idea. I guess he doesn’t know me that well.

“Angie, you’re amazing.”

“You said that.” I laugh so as not to worry him. Inside, I feel like my heart is cracking and all the blood is oozing out. Really, there should be a limit to how many times that can happen in one life. “I just want you to be happy, Jesse. You’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

“I could kiss you,” he says.
Yeah, but not in public.
“Can I see you tonight? We could just hang out . . .”

“I’m sorry.” I tilt the rearview mirror down, so I can study my reflection. There’s something fascinating about watching myself slip further into the darkness. “I’ve got plans. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure, yeah. You’re really being great about this.”

“That’s me.” I give a big fake smile. “Supergreat. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Have a good night, Princess.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

I hang up the phone and call Drake. He answers right away. It’s like he was waiting by the phone.
Quite the opposite of Jesse’s disappearing act
, I think.

“Hey, sweetie,” he says in greeting.

“Hey, I’ve got a question.” Seems to be the theme of the day, doesn’t it?

“Sure.”

“Did you read the diary pages you found in your locker last week?”

“Wh-what?”

“It’s okay, Drake. I saw them in your hand.”

He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he knows anything he says can and will be used against him.

“I got some too.” I’m using the sweetest possible voice. “And I read them. It’s really okay. I just want to know what they were about.”

“What were yours about?” he asks after a few seconds.

Ah, so he wants to play that game? Well, how does he like this:

“She wrote about the play. I guess she didn’t really want to audition. Jesse Martinez convinced her,” I lie.

But I’m not the only one. He says, “I got the same thing. That guy’s a jerk.”

Liar. Liar. Pants on fire.

“Listen, Angie?”

I hardly hear him. My thoughts are spinning too fast. “Uh-huh?” I manage.

“I really want to see you. Would you please come by later?”

This time when I smile, it’s genuine. “I think I’d really enjoy that.”

D
RAKE TAKES MY
coat as I step into the house. The place feels like a furnace. His parents keep it at eighty degrees year-round. I guess it makes swimming in the indoor pool more pleasant.

“I’m so glad you came over tonight,” he gushes.

“I figured I owed you a chance to explain,” I say calmly, avoiding his gaze. I’ve walked through this doorway so many times. Seen the pristine, imported furniture and the wood-paneled walls. Through the door to the family room, that awful stag’s head is staring me down.

“That’s great.” Drake leads me through the foyer. “You’re great.”

“People keep telling me that.” Maybe I’m baiting him. But he’s either too distracted or too clueless to notice.

“Did you bring your suit?” he asks. “Dad and Cynthia won’t be home until late-late.”

I hold up my purse. “Got my bikini.”

His tongue just barely stays in his mouth. “Good. Great. Are you hungry?”

“Are you going to cook for me?”

“I thought I would.”

I give him my wryest smile. “Seriously?”

“Come on, Angie, you act like I only think of myself.” He pulls out a chair as I enter the kitchen.

“Okay, you’re right,” I say, sitting down. He pushes the chair in, to meet me. “Let’s just get the bad stuff out of the way.”

“Sure thing.”

“So look.” I cross my legs when I catch him looking at them. My jeans are so tight I can barely move. “I don’t care if you go out with people. It only really bugs me when they’re not conscious.”

“No.” He pulls up a chair right in front of me. His blue eyes are wide with concern. He looks innocent. The kind of guy you
want
to believe. “You got that all wrong. Cara came on to me and I told her I wasn’t interested. But she was so wasted she wouldn’t listen. I figured if I got her upstairs, she’d just pass out on the bed.”

“That was smart of you.”

“Right? But she got sick before we got to the bedroom. Then you showed up, and—”

“Oh no.” I put a hand to my lips. “Oh Drake, I thought it was something totally different. I’m so sorry.”

“No,
I’m
sorry.” He tucks a hair behind my ear. My skin feels hot where he touches me, but it’s not the heat of desire anymore. “I shouldn’t have gone up there with her. What if she kissed me?”

“That would have been awful,” I tease.

“Come on.”

“Okay, say I believe you. What happens next?”

“We put it behind us.” He puts his hand on my knee. “I make you dinner. I rub that place on your neck that always gets tense.”

I giggle, leaning into him. “Then we swim?”

“Yeah. Totally. I mean, if you want to.”

“I want to,” I tell him. “I want to so bad, I could slip on my bikini right now.”

He’s choking on his Adam’s apple. “Sure, do it.”

“No. No, it’s silly.” I cover my face with my hand.

“I’ll do it too,” he insists.

“Okay, but there’s just one thing . . .” I lower my head, like I’m hiding.

“What?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Come on, tell me.”

I peek through my fingers. “I forgot to shave my legs.”

“Oh.” He frowns. He’s glancing at my jeans like I’m Sasquatch underneath. “It’s no big deal. You can use Cynthia’s razor.”

“Can I use your shower, though?”

“Only if I can come.”

I lean back. “I need to know that I can trust you, Drake. If I can’t trust you, I—”

He holds up his hands. “Hey, I was kidding. Use my shower. Take as long as you like.” He makes a shooing motion.

“Thanks, sweetie.” I smile, like the word just slipped out.

As I lean in, to give him a kiss on the cheek, he turns to try and catch my mouth. “This dinner is going to blow you away,” he says.

“Can’t wait.”

I slink out of the room and up the stairs.

When I get up to his bedroom the first thing I do is lock the door. See, the bathroom doesn’t have a lock. If I don’t block him out somehow, he’ll assume I want company.

Boys will be boys? No. But Drake will be Drake. Everything is a signal to him.

I start my search in the bathroom, turning on the water and going through the medicine cabinet. Nothing, nothing. Not even a questionable pill collection. The cupboard under the sink is filled
with these perfectly folded towels. Tight-ass Drake has really outdone himself.

I return to the bedroom.

A peek under the bed uncovers socks and dirty T-shirts. The mattress is hiding your typical perv-o porn. Inside the closet, his clothes are arranged
by color.
His shoes sit in a row on the floor. I get down on my hands and knees and feel around inside them. I’m starting to get that pathetic feeling again but I’ve already come so far. And the instinct pushing me to search Drake’s room is just
burning
in my chest, like a part of me knows I’m getting close. If I’ve learned anything from all this snooping around, it’s that maybe the universe does have some kind of consciousness that’s guiding me.

Or maybe I’ve gone completely insane.

Either way, I’m not going to give up until I’ve searched every inch of this room. I’ll pull up the carpet and check under the floorboards if I have to.

A hand jiggles the doorknob.

Drake.

He’s probably got a key. And I can’t yell at him to stay out because then he’ll know I’m not in the shower. I creep into the bathroom and wait.

After a minute the jiggling stops. I decide to take a chance. I shoot Drake a text to let him know I’m finishing up: “Almost done! I hope you’re ready for this.”

I figure it’ll buy me another five minutes. With bikini paradise so close at hand, he’ll have to be a good boy and wait.

Unfortunately, I’m starting to lose steam. I’ve searched everywhere I can except for that stupid antique bookshelf in the corner. I look up at the thick volumes. He’s got
Walden
and
War and Peace
and a gazillion other books he’ll never read. It’s this big fat hoax, staring back at me.

Like a hollowed-out Bible with a flask inside.

I start pulling books off the shelf like a crazy person, only taking minimal care to make sure they don’t crash to the ground. If I have to, I can tell Drake I fell in the shower. He’d totally believe it. He thinks I’m ditsy.

I let him think that.

The top row is clean. No secrets hiding behind any of the books. I start to pull off entire stacks, carrying them in my arms to the bed. The second row is also clean.