She pulls your gla.s.ses off and you hear them hit the floor. "Wait," you say. "I can"t lose those. Let me just..." You flail your arm in the dark until you click on the bedside lamp. Jenny is not good looking. She isn"t Rebecca Hall level, but her chin is peppered with pimples and she has a s.p.a.ce between her two front teeth. You recover the gla.s.ses and put them on, which doesn"t improve matters. She"s a five. At most.
"What grade are you in?" you ask, hoping to buy time, to make the best of this opportunity.
She laughs and shows that s.p.a.ce in her mouth. "Thirteenth. Are we getting to know each other?"
"Well, I was wondering, y"know, what you like to do for fun."
"I like to hang out with cute boys." She leans down to your ear. "Oh look, there"s one right here." She bites your earlobe; you shudder, not in a good way.
"I have to go." You wiggle out from under her. "Sorry, I really do." You should"ve kept the lamp off. Stupid idiot. But also, you don"t even know her. Shouldn"t you like someone just a little bit to do it with them, especially your first time?
Back in the empty den the record player goes shhh-b.u.mp, shhh-b.u.mp. No sign of Spencer or Kirk. Of course not, because they"re normal guys who take advantage of opportunities, unlike you.
You go out the front door into the first freezing morning of 1982.
You wait for forty minutes at the nearest bus stop, stamping your feet to stay warm, then give up and start walking. Polyester is not the best material for weather like this. You pa.s.s Dairy Queen (the DQ where the Famous Two once walked into the drive-thru lane, ordered a whole bunch of food into the speaker, and then ran away). Chili fries sound good right now you"re so, so hungry but alas, all the lights are off.
You think you"re hallucinating the Star Wars theme until a white car sputters up alongside you. Dakota rolls down the pa.s.senger window, letting the music free, and asks, "Need a ride?" You"ve never been so happy to see anyone in your life and wonder if you ever will be again.
"The heater doesn"t work in here," she says. She keeps wiping the windshield with her jacket sleeve.
"I didn"t know you like Star Wars," you say.
"That belongs to someone who will never ride in this car again." She looks down to eject the tape, which makes her swerve into the oncoming lane. "Here, take it."
"Really?"
"Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukah. Think of me when you listen to it."
She runs a red light, then almost runs the next one. Your sphincter tightens.
"Are you ok to drive?" you ask.
"Just distracted by your grumbling stomach. Grab those chips in the back seat."
You find an open bag of nacho cheese Doritos, not normally a favorite (especially after Trevor"s orange loogie-in-the-retainer routine), but at this moment they are spectacularly tasty. You see the ghost pattern of a bare foot on the inside of the windshield, appearing and disappearing as the car pa.s.ses under streetlights.
"Did you leave that party because of me?"
"I left to get as far away from a certain a.s.shole as possible," she says.
Dakota reaches into the bag when she finally does stop at a red light. "Don"t bogart, buddy."
"Those guys will think I"m a total loser," you say.
"So tell "em to f.u.c.k off."
Oh, sure. Why not just suggest spinning the Earth backwards, like in the Superman movie?
"I wish I was a senior. I hate all this stuff."
She says, "Senior year isn"t any better you"re still dealing with the same s.h.i.t, except people think you"re suddenly so mature." She turns onto the dark cul-de-sac; the only lights on are at Steve and Bo"s. When she shuts off the engine the car rattles like it won"t ever start again. "Graduation"s in six months and I have no idea what I"m doing next year."
"Where do you want to go to college?" you ask.
She shoots you with a finger pistol. "First, do me a favor and never ask that again. I get enough from my parents and my counselor. Like, with these college essays I just want to say to them, "Does it even matter what I write in this essay? You"re not gonna know me, you"re just gonna know the version of me I show you.""
You look out at the dark yards and dark luminarias, and wonder what Bryce and the guys are doing next door at this moment. Dakota takes the empty Doritos bag, pours the orange powder into her mouth.
You try to think of something to say, but decide it best to not say anything at all; you generally look a lot cooler that way.
"Did you get with Jenny tonight?" she asks in a different voice. Thicker.
You shake your head and hope you won"t have to confess further.
"Poor baby."
Her hair, or maybe her coat, smells like pot. You stare at the broken heater k.n.o.b, then the empty tape deck.
"Cameron," she says in a way that makes you turn. Her eyes glisten, almost like she"s been crying, but the thought evaporates and all you know is that your two faces are now really, really close.
The rest is dream logic.
The two of you are kissing; you hope you"re doing it well enough. You imagine a neighbor coming outside and seeing these shapes in the car. Her parents. Your mom. Bryce and the guys.
She reaches into your lap, into your pants. Her hand is so soft and you"re just the opposite. She squeezes and Holy. s.h.i.t. Again.
"Oh," she says, pulling back.
You look only at a tear in the upholstery on the car"s ceiling. You can"t face her. The shame radiates off you like heat off asphalt. If you could die right then, sitting here with your pants undone, you would.
The rustling must be her wiping her hand off somewhere.
"Well, Cameron, thanks for keeping me company. I need to go in and pa.s.s out now." Casual, like the two of you have been discussing something of the real world.
Then you"re on the sidewalk. As Dakota starts up her driveway she says, "Hey." You turn and she adds, "You"re a really nice guy. Don"t ever change."
The heater is blasting at what must be ninety degrees when you get inside your house. Your mom is asleep on the couch in her San Diego State T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. Makeup perfect. A bottle of wine and an empty gla.s.s her new habit rest on the end table. When you asked why she suddenly started buying wine she said, "I"m tired of denying myself things."
You go up to your room, take the Star Wars ca.s.sette from your coat pocket. There, in bed, after the humiliation dies down, you want another chance with Dakota in the car, in your bed, as her boyfriend, so badly that you feel dizzy.
Spencer and Kirk were both gone from the job by summer Spencer joined the Air Force, maybe Kirk found somewhere to surf and Cameron was promoted to pizza maker. He never told Bryce the story. The Jenny part would only show how Cameron chose to stay a virgin rather than do it with her. The Dakota part... well, Bryce would never believe that. Cameron himself barely believed it.
Dakota never mentioned that night again, nor was Cameron ever alone with her again.
If no one speaks of an event for a long enough time, does it become like that event never happened?
SECOND SEMESTER.
JANUARY JUNE, 1984
66.
On the last night of break, somewhere in between chapters of The Sword of Shannara, Cameron settles on this conversation as the one that will take place Monday morning...
Rosemary: I"m so sorry I didn"t call you. Will you forgive me?
Him: I"ll think about it.
Rosemary: Please, pretty please? I thought about you all the time while I was gone. Did you think about me?
Him: Maybe.
Rosemary: Let"s go out again. We should be a couple.
The next day gets off to a bad start when he has to shovel snow off the driveway and because of that gets to school too late to get a safe parking spot. Then he and Bryce walk into their new first period cla.s.s Government and see that Ms. d.i.c.kinson is now gray-haired Ms. Noonan, who wears sleeveless dresses that show off the highways of blue veins in her flabby arms.
At least now he can concentrate on learning something during first period for a change, without the constant distraction every time Ms. D crossed the room.
Later, he sits in Mrs. Gordon"s cla.s.s watching the bow-tied subst.i.tute teacher write Mr. Jameson on the chalkboard. Smiles break out across each face as they enter the room and see this. Cameron is happy too but really, they just had two weeks off and Gordon can"t make it back to work? Mr. Jameson is halfway down the roll sheet when Rosemary comes in tardy. Cameron"s temperature and heart rate spike. As she pa.s.ses him, she musses his hair with a black-gloved hand and, for the first time in days, he"s happy if only for an instant, and except for the fact he"ll have to fix his hair in the bathroom after cla.s.s.
When they step outside she asks, "How was your holiday?" Casual, chatty. She isn"t the one who should be asking questions.
"It was ok, I guess."
"Mine was b.l.o.o.d.y awful. The baby screamed the entire time, from when we got on the plane till when we got back here. I need to join one of those cults that believes in child sacrifice."
"Wow." Come on, get to The Topic.
"Sorry I couldn"t call you." Finally.
"Oh, no big deal," he says with a hopefully casual wave of the hand.
She picks up an empty chocolate milk carton off the ground and drops it in the trash. "Did you hear? American Cruise missiles are stationed in the U.K. as of January one. A few miles from where I was staying, even!"
The only news he paid attention to had to do with a department store.
They arrive at her cla.s.s, on the opposite side of campus from his. "Ciao" is the last thing she says, and the dramatic moment is over. He walks fast toward Geology but isn"t even halfway there when the tardy bell rings.
After school he and Bryce drive to the florist up the street. They could"ve walked there from campus in five minutes, but they once made a vow to each other that when they got their driver"s licenses they wouldn"t walk anywhere, not even out the front door to get the mail.
Bryce"s plan goes something like this: he"s made a list of potential girlfriends; he"s going to buy flowers; he"s going to have the flowers and a note sent to the girls" cla.s.ses; Bryce will be left with the awesome problem of too many chicks liking him.
Listening to it all, Cameron realizes how quiet his friend has been lately. How un-Bryce. How off. Now he struts into the florist like a king, like the old Bryce with an added booster shot of c.o.c.kiness.
"Give me your finest dozen roses," Bryce tells the Hispanic woman at the counter. Cameron watches her wrap the flowers and entertains a brief thought about getting one for Rosemary. He tries to remember the color-coding friendship; love; you ruined my winter break.
67.
Bryce hatched the plan on New Year"s Eve, further refined it in the days after, and put it into motion once back at school. He had no chance with a girl if he simply presented himself like any other guy (i.e., asking her out) so he needed a dramatic move. Their first day back they started reading Don Quixote in English. Mr. B showed up in a suit of plastic armor, stood on the desk and, in a Spanish accent, sang a song about chivalry and following one"s heart.
"One man scorned and covered with scars still strove with his last ounce of courage to reach the stars, and the world will be better for this."
It"s a sign, this book at this moment. Time for Bryce to be that man.
Step 1: Make a list of girls. With the Fixx playing on the stereo, Bryce sat at the drawing table with his most recent yearbook. He eliminated any girls who were taken, or too freaky (like that one who had blue lips, and not from makeup). He eliminated girls so far out of his league eight and higher that no tactic could close the distance. He eliminated anyone younger than a junior; there would be no pride in success if he just ended up with going steady with a soph.o.m.ore. He came up with a list of nine names to start with.
Step 2: Make a strategy. With art as his strength, he could create a personalized card for each girl. The upside was that they"d see his talents (or be reminded of them it had been a while since the yearbook cover). The downside was that if he got turned down those pieces would be floating around, all the better to mock him. He needed something less permanent. Flowers were perfect. What girl doesn"t like flowers?
Step 3: Make a plan. Bryce couldn"t be anywhere nearby when a girl got her flower; she needed to be able to think about the sweetness of the gesture and the kind of guy that would do it. Then when she was primed and ready, Bryce would strike. As an aide in the counseling office fifth period, Cam has access to schedules and a delivery method. Perfect. Every Quixote needs his Sancho Panza.
Step 4: Get supplies. The lady at the flower store told Bryce to keep the roses refrigerated, but that meant the whole family seeing them. Instead he kept them in a vase of water in the coldest corner of the bas.e.m.e.nt (courtesy of a draft from the window). He couldn"t send one to every girl on the same day or he"d look desperate, so he had to hope the flowers lived long enough. The note would be simple: Will you go out with me? While he wrote multiple copies of it in his best block writing, a commercial came on for a new show called Airwolf, about a super helicopter. It looked awesome clearly another good omen.
Step 5: Execute. Sonja Weston is first on the list, not only because she"s cute, but because they"re approximately the same height. Bryce sits in Spanish, watching the clock and parroting back Mr. Acevedo"s phrases with equal attention.
"Me gustaria leer un libro sobre africa."
"Yo le pediria ese libro a Carlos."
The black hand freezes at the top of the hour like it"s done every day, every year at this school. Sonja will be getting the flower right about now. All the other girls in her cla.s.s will be jealous, will judge their boyfriends negatively against this new standard.
For the first time in a long time, Bryce smiles.
The last bell of the day rings, moment of truth. He finds Cam on the way to the parking lot and gets confirmation that Sonja was in cla.s.s fifth period and received the flower. They pa.s.s the Smokers" Tree, where a group of foreign exchange students debate with shouts and wild hand gestures.
They arrive at their cars and Cam says, "TIE fighter, eight o"clock." Bryce turns right as he"s told not to, and there"s Sonja with her tall friends. One of them points at Bryce. Sonja weaves between parked cars, flower in hand.
"Act normal," he says to Cam. Inside, his stomach loop-de-loops up into his throat; he"s back on The Scrambler at Uncle Cliff"s. Is this what a heart attack feels like? He can"t die now, not when he"s this close.