“IT’S THE BIG LINE OF goo,” Nina announced with some satisfaction as she surveyed the length of the cafeteria line. “More goo per square foot than has ever been brought together in one place. The home office of goo. Goo central. Warm goo, cold goo, goo the temperature of spit. Wait, that is spit. Goo with and without sauce. It’s a celebration of goo. A monument to goo.”
“So you’re saying goo?” Benjamin asked tolerantly.
“Well, the main course today seems to be paste studded with bits of dog food.”
“That’s the Friday special,” Benjamin agreed.
“The vegetable is green, but the bad news is, it’s carrots.”
“But seriously, folks.” Benjamin laughed, and Nina felt that semi-delirious feeling that came over her all too often when she was with Benjamin lately. Something between the early symptoms of flu and the giddy-moronic feeling when her dentist gave her nitrous oxide. Objectively speaking, it was basically an unpleasant feeling, except that it was intensely pleasurable.
He was just behind her in line, and when she stopped for the person in front of them, he bumped into her. She bumped back, playfully, and the half-sick feeling just got worse. Or better. She accepted a plate from the cafeteria ladies.
“Yours is up,” she told Benjamin. “About two inches left. Just follow the smell.”
He retrieved his plate and again bumped into her. This time Nina had stopped suddenly for no reason except that she wanted him to bump into her. Very juvenile, she scolded herself.
They were at the end of the line. This was one of the few places where Benjamin could actually use a hand. He could negotiate a lot of things using his remarkable memory, but the configuration of the lunchroom changed every day.
She guided his hand to her arm and led him to an empty table. As soon as Benjamin sat down, two sophomore girls sat down nearby, looking far, far too innocent to be innocent. Nina gave them a dirty look. Then she glanced over to her usual table. Zoey, Aisha, and unfortunately, Claire.
“Maybe I’ll sit with you today,” Nina said.
“You know I’d love that,” Benjamin said. “But I don’t think you should mess with tradition.”
“Yeah, tradition,” Nina said unenthusiastically. She and Zoey and Aisha and sometimes Claire had been eating lunch together for years, uninterrupted by boyfriends for the most part. She’d thought it was a great idea back in the days when she was the only one without a boyfriend. “Well, there are two girls here at the table to talk to. A pair of sophomores, and only one of them has really bad leprosy.”
Benjamin laughed again, and the two girls gave Nina cold stares.
“Hey, we’re going out tomorrow night, right?” Benjamin asked.
“Sure. Not tonight?”
Benjamin sighed. “I don’t think so. Zoey and I are going to see our dad at his new location.”
Nina winced. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. But tomorrow? I mean, if you can spare the time. It’s Richie Felix’s birthday party.”
Nina grinned. “I totally forgot. Richie’s birthday party. Remember last year when Melanie Amos hit that guy over the head with a bottle like she thought she was in a cowboy movie or something and he had to go get stitches?”
“And how many major boyfriend-girlfriend fights were there?” Benjamin asked. “I mean, I’m only counting ones where objects were thrown.”
“Too bad Richie’s such a strange kid. He has the world’s most bizarre parties.”
“You and I calling someone strange?” Benjamin said.
“Yeah. Well, your food’s getting cold and that isn’t going to help.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see you later.”
Nina leaned over and put her mouth beside Benjamin’s ear. “I have to tell you a secret.”
“What?” he whispered back.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said.
That stupid feeling was back, and Nina realized she was grinning like the kind of sappy little dip who made her sick. If she’d been looking at herself right now, she’d roll her eyes and make some smart, cutting remark. But it wouldn’t matter, she realized, because when you were in love it didn’t matter what anyone else on earth thought or said, because pretty much everyone aside from Benjamin had temporarily ceased to exist.
“I am making myself sick,” she muttered under her breath as she reluctantly carried her tray toward her usual table. She wiped the grin off her face and adopted a very cool expression that gave nothing away.
She took the seat between Claire and Zoey. Claire was shaking her head in disgust. Both Aisha and Zoey were batting their lashes at her.
“What?” Nina said grouchily.
“She’s beaming again,” Aisha told Zoey.
“Eyes shining, dopey grin, face red,” Zoey confirmed.
Nina scowled. “What are you guys talking about?” She took a cigarette from her purse and planted it, unlit as always, in the corner of her mouth.
“Yeah, the cigarette is sure to hide that dweeby grin,” Aisha said, rolling her eyes.
“I never thought I’d have to use the word ‘Nina’ and the words ‘aww, isn’t that sweet’ in the same sentence,” Zoey said.
“I’m not at all surprised to have to use the word ‘Nina’ and the words ‘I may throw up’ in the same sentence,” Claire said. “Can we get past this and go on to the next step—Nina’s daily ritual of abusing the food?”
“Funny you should ask,” Nina said, glad to have the subject changed. She fumbled in her book bag and produced a sketchbook. She opened it to a black line drawing and shoved it in front of Claire.
Claire nodded thoughtfully. “Well, now I’m all the way sick.” She pushed her food away. “You know, I’ll never get fat as long as you’re around, Nina. It’s like a diet, almost.”
Aisha grabbed the sketchbook, looked it over, and laughed.
“I’m thinking what I’ll do is Xerox off like a hundred copies and spread them around the cafeteria Monday,” Nina said, laughing at the possibilities.
“You know, that’s a sickening cartoon,” Aisha pointed out, “but it’s kind of good, too.”
“It is good,” Zoey confirmed. “Since when do you draw?”
“It’s just a little cartoon.” Nina shrugged. “Any idiot could draw it.”
“And one idiot did,” Claire said.
“No, not any idiot could draw it,” Aisha argued.
“No, you’re right, it would take a particular idiot,” Claire agreed.
“I’m serious,” Aisha said.
“You know what you ought to do,” Zoey said. “You should take it to Mr. Schwarz and see if hell put it in the school paper. We’re short this week. I’d talk to him for you, but I’m not exactly his favorite student right now.”
Nina knew Zoey had recently refused to do a story on drug use by the football team, because the story would have implicated Jake. And since it had just been one incident, Zoey had argued it wasn’t a real story.
“I thought your teacher agreed it wasn’t enough of a story,” Claire said. Still looking out for Jake, Nina noted.
“He did, but he’s still pissed,” Zoey said. “He thinks I was influenced by the fact that I care about—” She paused, swallowed, and backed up. “I mean, that I used to care about Jake.” She quickly turned her attention back to Nina. “But I’m serious, Nina. You should show that to Mr. Schwarz. We’ve never had a cartoonist in the paper.”
Claire colored and concentrated on her food.
“Maybe I will,” Nina said. She gave Claire a triumphant look. “Then I won’t just be an idiot, I’ll be a published idiot.”
But there was no answer from Claire. Claire’s eyes were far away. An expression that, in anyone else, Nina would have taken for sadness.
Jake fell in beside Zoey as she climbed the stairs from the cafeteria up to the second floor for their English class. She was walking alone, looking distracted, lugging her books and notebooks like they were a great weight.
“Hey, Zoey,” he said, taking the steps two at a time to catch up with her.
She paused and waited for him, leaning against the rail to stay out of the flow of kids going up and down, a thin, almost fragile figure to Jake’s eyes, her wispy hair as usual not quite forming any recognizable style.
He felt an urge to touch her, to hold her hand, but resisted. Things weren’t that way between them, not anymore.
“Hi, Jake,” she said, forming a smile.
Suddenly he felt almost bashful, at a loss for words. “I was just . . . I just wanted to check and see if you were okay.”
“I’m doing okay. My dad’s moving out of the house.” Her lip quivered, but she overcame the emotion. “He’s always saying he can’t get to sleep because there’s too much noise from all of us, so I guess it will be good for him.”
Jake nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. I always liked both your folks.”
“Me too. I mean, your parents. Did anything—?”
He shook his head uncomfortably. “No. My mom is one of those people who doesn’t ever hear anything or see anything she doesn’t want to see, you know? Besides, she’s not like your mom. She’d be totally lost on her own. What can she do aside from bake pies? Your mom is so much more independent. Maybe that’s why my dad—” He waved the thought aside. It was just too gross to get into the whole question of why his father and Zoey’s mother would end up having an affair. He knew there was supposedly a history there, going back to a long time ago, but they were the people they were today, and it wasn’t nineteen years ago. It was now.
Zoey reached out and put her hand over his. It was a perfectly innocent gesture of comfort for a friend, Jake believed, but there were two facts that made that belief hard to sustain. First was the fact that the touch had a profound effect on him. Second was the fact that Claire chose that moment to pass by. Her dark eyes were cold and accusing, and Jake responded by jerking his hand away guiltily.
“Claire!” he called out.
Zoey turned, flushing pink.
A rushing group of freshman guys obscured Claire for a moment. Then she stepped forward with a look in her dark eyes that would have made Jake take a step back if he hadn’t already been pressed against the railing.
“Hi, Jake. Hi, Zoey. Is this a closed meeting of the mutual support society?”
“I was just asking Zoey if . . . if she was okay,” Jake said.
“And is she?” Claire asked. The words were silky, but cracked like a whip.
Jake nodded.
“Good,” Claire said. “And have you checked with Louise Kronenberger lately to see if she’s okay, too?”
Jake flushed. He wasn’t easily intimidated, but Claire was capable of an ice-cold fury that was just scary. In a part of his mind he couldn’t help but admire her. “Not lately,” he said.
“Too bad, because I like to make sure absolutely everyone is okay. Zoey, Louise, Lucas.” She turned on Zoey. “Is Lucas okay, too?”
Zoey was blushing darkly, her face set in resentment. “Yes, he’s okay,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Just okay?” Claire demanded. “I’m a little surprised. I found him much, much better than just okay.”
Claire hadn’t meant anything by it, Zoey told herself for the thousandth time in an hour. All through English, Claire’s snide remark had distracted and bothered Zoey. Which was probably just what Claire had intended. Claire had seen her touching Jake, and she obviously wasn’t ready to tolerate any unfaithfulness on his part.
Well, Zoey could hardly blame her. Infidelity wasn’t her favorite human failing right now, either.
So Claire had taken a shot. It hadn’t meant anything. How could it have?
Maybe she was referring back to the old days when she and Lucas were girlfriend and boyfriend. That was probably it.
Besides, when would there have been time or opportunity? Unless . . . had Lucas been on the afternoon ferry Thursday? No. She didn’t think so. And Claire?
But that was stupid. Aisha hadn’t been on the ferry, either. There were a million innocent reasons why Lucas might have stayed late on the mainland. And another million why Claire might also have stayed late.
And Lucas had come to her straightaway, even sneaking up to her room. The memory warmed her. She was being dumb. She was being stupidly suspicious. Just because her parents had cheated didn’t mean she should go around suspecting everyone else in the world of being unfaithful. Lucas wasn’t her father, after all. And she wasn’t her mother.
Lucas had come to see her, comforting her in the night, reminding her that there were still good things in the world. Those weren’t the actions of a guy who had cheated on her.
Claire stole a glance across the room at Zoey. Zoey looked preoccupied, even troubled.
Well, what did you expect, Claire? she asked herself. You wanted to lash out, and you did a swell job. Stupid. Inexcusably stupid. What would telling Zoey about Lucas accomplish? Break the two of them up? Oh yes, that would be brilliant. Then Zoey would be free for Jake. Yes, Claire, brilliant.
Not to mention the fact that it was a cheap shot at Zoey, who had enough problems in her life right now. So she’d managed to be stupid and cruel at one time.
What was the matter with her? She was acting like a jealous little ninny. So Jake had gotten drunk and slept with Louise. She and Jake technically weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend at that point. Technically.
Claire realized she was squeezing a pencil so hard it was in danger of snapping. With a will she relaxed her muscles.
Technically not boyfriend and girlfriend, because Jake had been busy trying to get away from Claire. She’d had to manipulate him into coming back. Manipulating was something she was good at. Unlike Zoey, who just had to look sweet and winsome and guys would fall in love. Guys didn’t fall in love with Claire, at least not that way. Why? Was Nina right? Was Claire some sort of inhuman ice princess? Was she really ruthless and self-serving? Was that why Lucas remained fixated on Zoey, despite everything? Was that why Jake still nursed his private love for Zoey? Was that why Benjamin, who had once seemed so desperately in love with Claire, now acted like he was lucky to have escaped her?
Did Jake still love her at all, even a little? They were supposed to be going out Saturday night. Richie Felix’s party. Their first real date since the ski weekend. They’d probably end up spending at least part of the evening with Zoey and Lucas. Which should be very interesting, at least.
Jake peeked from under his hand at Zoey, then shifted his gaze to Claire. Day and night. Sweet and sour. Good and evil. No, that was too strong. Claire wasn’t evil. Claire was just . . . he didn’t know. What was Claire exactly?
Self-contained, like she needed no one. Like the whole rest of the world could disappear tomorrow and she’d shrug it off. A perfectly beautiful creature made of stainless steel and diamonds. Indestructible, unapproachable, unstoppable.
She wasn’t without feeling, she had proved that. Not without a capacity to care, because she had cared about him, perhaps still did. But her feelings and emotions were under lock and key, allowed out only when she chose to show them, turned off like a light switch whenever she wanted.
And Zoey? Zoey struck him to the heart with her vulnerability. She was her emotions.
Had Claire been telling the truth? Was there something between her and Lucas? It wasn’t impossible, he realized sadly. And after Louise Kronenberger, he wasn’t in a very good position to complain. Still, if Claire was being unfaithful, he should be very angry. He was in love with Claire, after all.
Wasn’t he?
And was Claire in love with him? She’d certainly acted like she was jealous. But in love? Well, maybe something she thought was love.
But of course, Claire’s only true love was Claire.
BENJAMIN
It isn’t that the idea of my parents divorcing didn’t hurt me; it did. But I guess, unlike my sister, I’m more prepared for bad things to happen. I guess the reason for that is fairly obvious—when I lost my sight it was like a bolt of lightning out of a clear blue sky, so I know that bad things can happen. I know it on a deep, emotional level that Zoey doesn’t yet.
And maybe even before that I was more of a realist; I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the way I am. Not cynical, exactly, but guarded. A little bit hunkered down. Tensing up for the next beating but already telling myself it’s okay, Benjamin, you’ll ride through it, and thinking ha, I can take whatever the world wants to hit me with.
No, I never expected my parents to get divorced. But it didn’t devastate me. The funny thing was that even during that terrible, awkward scene where they made the big announcement, I was mostly just concerned for Zoey. And oddly enough, my thoughts were less on what was happening to my family than on this new person . . . this supposed half-sister.
That probably sounds cold of me. But I’ll tell you—I’ve done bitterness and despair. Been there, done it. It’s a big damn hole that almost swallowed me up some years ago when I woke up in a hospital bed, opened my eyes, and realized that it was going to be nighttime for the rest of my life.
I don’t go back to those feelings for anyone or anything. I take a wide path around them because I’ve learned some respect for the power of depression.
Now I focus on what I can do and what I still have, not what I’ve lost. And I think, well, it could have been worse. So in a weird way I guess I’m a sort of optimist. Just out of self-preservation.
You think about it and you realize that irrational hope is the most rational thing in the world.