We Are All Made of Molecules (12 page)

SHE HAD THE DOOR
open before I'd finished saying his name. “Jared asked you to be school mascot?”

I nodded. “He told the coach he thought I'd be perfect for the job. The guy who did it last year had a growth spurt. And it's a pretty small costume, so they needed someone who hasn't reached his full height potential yet. The only thing is, the head kind of reeks, like maybe the guy last year had halitosis—”

“Did you give Jared my message?”

“Yes. I did.”

“And did he say anything back?”

“Yes. He did.”

“What?”

“He said, ‘Tell Ashley to go on Facebook tonight so we can chat.' ”

Her face went all weird and rubbery, like she was working really hard not to smile. “Did he name a time?”

“He said around eight o'clock.”

“That was it?”

“That was it.”

“Then why are you still standing here?” She started to close her door, but I put my hand out.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Why does it bother you so much?”

“What?”

“Your dad being gay.”

“Why are you so interested? Maybe 'cause
you're
gay?”

“No, I'm pretty sure I'm straight. All my fantasies are about females—”

She slapped her hands over her ears. “Oh my God! You are so disgusting! You think I don't know what you were doing yesterday under that blanket?”

“Not what you think I was doing.”

“Oh, please—”

“I wasn't—”

“You were!”

“I wasn't! I was breathing in my mom's molecules!” I blurted.

She stared at me. “You were what?”

I tried to explain. “The human body is made up of trillions of molecules, right?”

“Maybe. Whatever.”

“Molecules are made of atoms. When someone dies, their molecules break down into smaller molecules as well as individual atoms. So, say a carbon atom is part of a molecule in a person's leg. When that person dies, that atom could become part of a molecule in something else, like a blooming flower, or even another human being. Or an oxygen atom in your sandwich could end up in a molecule as part of your brain.”

“Ew.”

“Right now, as I'm talking to you, you're probably picking up a few Stewart molecules and vice versa.”

She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Gross!”

“I don't think it's gross. I think it's kind of beautiful. Everything, and everyone, is interconnected.”

Schrödinger wandered up to me and started rubbing against my legs. I picked him up and held him close to me. “Right now I'm breathing in cat molecules.”

“You are so weird.”

“I don't think it's weird to want to stay connected to my mom in any way I can. A lot of her molecules were floating around our old house, so I always felt connected to her there. But then we moved here, and I had to use a specific object to breathe in her molecules.”

“That hideous blanket?”

“It's not hideous. She knitted it. It's called an afghan. When she was sick, she used to lie on the couch with it on top of her. So now I go under it once a day and breathe her in for a while. And I just remember her. It's kind of like I'm collecting a bit of her soul.”

Ashley just stared at me. “Still weird. And kind of creepy.”

I shrugged. I hadn't expected her to understand. I started to walk to my bedroom, holding Schrödinger.

“But I can't imagine what it must be like to have your mom go and die on you,” she continued. “So, I don't know…. Maybe, if I was in your shoes, I'd do some weird stuff, too.” Then she added, “Not
as
weird, though.”

“So why don't you try a little harder with your dad? I know he hurt you, but he's
alive
. He loves you—”

She closed her bedroom door.

Still, it was easily the best conversation Ashley and I had ever had.

SOMETIMES I WISH MY
life was a movie. Not my whole life, but certain moments. Like this morning. When I walked through the front doors of the school, it would have been perfect if it had been filmed in slow motion, with a wind machine blowing my long brown hair back, and a great pop song playing in the background. 'Cause it was that kind of day. The kind of day when I felt like a superstar.

As I strode down the corridor to my locker, I felt full of confidence and
joie de beaver
(that's French for just basically loving life). I was wearing my favorite ensemble: a pair of indigo skinny jeans paired with a loose white top that falls off one shoulder, and a big black belt to cinch it around my tiny waist. Silver ballet flats and a pair of silver hoop earrings
brought the whole look together. I am simply stating a fact when I say I looked fantastic.

I'd timed my arrival perfectly, too, because when I got to my locker, Lauren and Claudia were already at theirs. “Oh, hey,” I said in a voice that was super-casual yet tinged with an air of mystery. I waited for them to pick up on it.

That was when my movie went a little off-script. Because instead of picking up on my air of mystery, Claudia said, “We were just talking about Ms. Perrault and Mr. Hollinger.” She was referring to our French teacher and our history teacher. “Soon-Yi swears she saw them at the Cactus Club in Burnaby last weekend, holding hands across the table.”

“Ew,” Lauren replied. “Isn't Mr. Hollinger married?”

“Terrible,” I said, but vaguely, as if my mind was elsewhere. Then I laughed quietly to myself and shook my head slightly, like I was remembering something funny.

“What?” said Lauren.

“What, what?” I asked, like I had no idea what she was talking about.

“What's so funny?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about the cutest thing Jared said when we were chatting on Facebook last night.”

And just like that, we were back on-script. Claudia's eyes widened, and so did Lauren's. I felt a rush of pleasure.

“You were chatting to Jared on Facebook last night?” Lauren asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” I said, as if it was no big deal.

“That's kind of weird. I was chatting with him, too.”

Again: off-script. Claudia snorted. “Maybe he was
chatting with both of you at the same time,” she said, a little too gleefully, if you ask me.

I tried very hard to keep a neutral expression. “What did you chat about?”

“Oh, just homework and stuff.”

“Who started the chat?”

Lauren turned beet red, right up to the tips of her ears. “Why is that important?”

Oh, Lauren. Her nonanswer was my answer;
she
had obviously started chatting with
him
when she'd seen he was online. Meanwhile, Claudia's eyes darted from Lauren, back to me. She was clearly enjoying herself.

“He seems like a really nice guy, doesn't he?” I asked Lauren.

“He does.”

“Although kind of flirty.”

“In what way?”

“Well, you know, saying stuff like, ‘How can you not have a boyfriend?' and ‘You could be a supermodel.' ”

Lauren grew super-quiet. Claudia blew a huge bubble with her gum.

“He didn't say stuff like that to you?” I asked.

“No. We just talked homework.”

“Oh…sorry.”

“It's fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “I mean, I didn't ever think he liked me
that
way.”

“Okay, 'cause, you know, I wouldn't want to step on your toes or anything.”

“You're not.”

“Good. 'Cause he asked if we could hang out at my house
after school today. We're meeting at the front doors at three-fifteen.”

Lauren pasted on a bright smile. “That's so great, Ashley! I am super-happy for you!”

“Thanks, Lauren,” I said, meaning it. Then I let myself get truly excited for a moment. “Oh my God, Jared Mitchell is coming to my house!”

I grabbed Lauren's arms and she grabbed mine, and we jumped up and down, squealing in unison. And even though I knew it wasn't totally genuine on her part, I appreciated the effort.

Claudia, on the other hand, just sucked her bubble back in and snorted again.

I made a mental note to freeze her out for a few days.

—

WHEN I ARRIVED AT
the front doors after school, Jared was already there, waiting for me. He looked adorable in jeans, Vans, and a white button-up shirt with a baby-blue V-neck sweater on top.

Sometimes my eye for fashion is a curse, because being at Borden Secondary is a daily assault on my eyes. Monday to Friday I walk through a sea of fashion don'ts. The boys are the worst offenders—most of them just don't seem to care that they look like total slobs.

But not Jared. His wavy dark hair has that “just got out of bed” look that I happen to know takes a very long time and lots of hair product to perfect. Ditto the way his white button-up shirt is untucked on one side; this is a well-executed move by someone who has looked at his share of
fashion magazines. He clearly puts effort into his effortless look, and that says a lot about a person's character.

“Hey,” he said when he saw me. Then he grinned.
Oh, that smile!

“Hi.”

“I like your outfit.”

“Thanks. I like yours, too.”

“So, which way do we go?”

I nodded north, and we started to walk together. The area around the school was full of kids heading home, and again I had that movie-star feeling, knowing that many eyes were upon us. I could even see Claudia and Lauren and Yoko and Amira by one of the side entrances, and I knew they were watching us. I also knew that Jared and I looked very, very good together. Jared is almost six feet tall, and I am five-six, which is, according to my magazines, a perfect height difference.

I tried to think of something to say, but suddenly I felt super-shy. I kind of hoped he'd ask me questions about myself, but he didn't, so finally I said, “What school did you go to before Borden?” Even though I already knew.

“Saint Patrick's.”

“Private school?”

He just nodded.

“And why did you transfer?”

“It wasn't by choice. I was kicked out.”

I knew this, too. The rumor around school was that he'd hit someone. “How come?”

He shrugged. “Let's just say I dealt with someone who needed dealing with. Guy was a colossal turd, and everyone
knew it. But I'm the one who paid the price.” His beautiful chocolate-brown eyes clouded over, which made him even more irresistible; broodiness was a very good look on him.

“That's not fair,” I said as we turned onto my block.

“Totally. And now I'm stuck at a crap school.”

Even though I dissed Borden all the time, I felt kind of insulted. “It's not
all
crap.”

“No.” He grinned. “You go there.”

!!!!!

We arrived at my house. I unlocked the front door and we headed inside. All I could think about was that I had the next couple of hours alone with the best-looking boy at school, which made me both excited and butterfly-tummied all at once.

That's when I heard “Hey, Ashley. Hey, Jared!”

I'd forgotten all about Spewart.