“I doubt that person exists.” And this isn’t charming Jack Masselin. This is a boy who is burdened by life. I make myself sit there, inside his skin. I do it for Atticus and for my mom.
“If you’re not careful, you’ll eat too much and get stuck in your house. Trust me. You think no one understands and you’re alone, and that makes you angrier, and Why don’t they see it? Why doesn’t someone say, ‘Hey, you seem burdened by the world. Let me take that burden for a while so you don’t have to carry it around all the time.’ But it’s on you to speak up.” And then I shout, “Speak up if you’ve got something to say!”
The other delinquents turn and stare at me, and I wave.
“You’re a very wise woman.”
“I am, actually. You’d be amazed. But I’ve had a lot of time to read and watch talk shows and think. A LOT. So much time to think. Sometimes all I did all day was just wander around in my mind.”
“So what makes you angry?”
“Stupid people. Fake people. Mean people. My thighs. You. Death. Gym class. I worry about dying all the time. Like, all the time.”
He shifts the can so he can see me better.
“My mom died when I was ten. She got up that morning like it was any other morning and I went to school and my dad went to work, and I only told her I loved her because she said it first. She drove herself to the hospital. She was feeling dizzy. By the time she got there, she wasn’t feeling dizzy anymore, but the doctors ordered some tests anyway.”
He sets the soda can down but doesn’t say a word.
“One minute she was talking to them, and the next minute she wasn’t. It all happened in an instant. Conscious.” I snap my fingers. “Unconscious. The doctors said the thing that caused it was a cerebral hemorrhage in the right hemisphere of her brain. Something just burst.”
“Like an aneurysm?”
“Kind of. I was pulled out of assembly, and my dad came to get me. We went to the hospital so I could say goodbye. My dad had to tell them to turn off the machines, and half an hour later, she died. One of the nurses said to me, ‘It can run in families.’ So I was convinced it was going to happen to me. It still might.” I check in with my heart rate. Yes, it seems okay. “I went to bed that night thinking, Last night she was here. This morning she was here. Now she’s gone, and not for a few days, but forever. How can something so final happen in an instant? No preparation. No warning. No chance to do all the things you planned to do. No chance to say goodbye.”
His eyebrows are drawn together in a V, and he’s looking at me like he can see straight into my heart and soul.
“Now you’re the only one who knows something about me.”
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
“I’m sorry too.” I stare at my lunch and realize I’m not hungry. In olden times, I would have eaten every last bite because it was in front of me. “I think that makes us even.”
“Does it?”
“You’re not punching me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He laughs. “It’s not.” In a minute he goes, “What do your shoes say?”
I hold my leg out to show him. “Just quotes I like from books.”
He points at the most recent one, written in purple marker, the one that says, More weight.
“Where have I heard that?”
“Giles Corey. From The Crucible. He was the last person put to death in the Salem witch trials. Those were his final words, a kind of FU to the people who were pressing him to death with stones.”
Mr. Sweeney appears and yells for us to get back inside.
As we’re collecting our trash and walking toward the doors, Jack goes, “Moses and who else?”
“The ones bullying Jonny Rumsford?” He nods. “His brother Malcolm and also Reed Young.”
“Malcolm?” Now I nod. “Shit. He’s the meanest of them all.”
“I think the other two must be seniors.”
“Thanks.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
“You’re welcome.”
The light catches his wild, wild hair and holds it. And wham!
Suddenly.
Just like that.
I’m completely conscious of his guyness next to me. His long legs. The way he walks, fluid, easy, like he’s made to walk through water. But at the same time with purpose, which makes him seem taller than he is. There aren’t a lot of guys my age who walk like this. With swagger.
It’s as if I’ve suddenly discovered he’s male. My face is hot and my back is damp and I’m thinking about Pauline Potter, sexing off all that weight, and I’m staring at his hands and I’m like, Stop staring at his hands. What are you doing? He’s the enemy! Well, maybe not the enemy, but you are absolutely not going to think of him like that.
I realize he’s talking and so I come zinging back to attention. He’s saying, “I want you, Libby Strout. I’ve always wanted you. It’s the reason I grabbed you.”
Or maybe he’s actually saying, “You can’t tell, but I’m smiling on the inside.”
I say, “I’m smiling back.” I try to keep my face a blank, even though I don’t have a split lip. But I can’t help it. For some reason, I smile so everyone can see.
It’s midnight when I walk Caroline to her door. On the step, I grab her by her waist and pull her in, and her body is rigid, like she’s made of broom handles and marble. I want to ask her what it is that makes her like this, all uptight and controlling and mean. I wonder where geeky Caroline is right now, if the other day was real or a fluke and this newer, shinier Caroline has really swallowed her whole. Is there anyone in there? I want to say. Instead I pull her in tighter and wrap both arms around her, and try to squeeze geeky, awkward, nice Caroline out of there.