The Bionic Man was in three of my classes.
Three too many, I thought as he sat in front of me in English class on Thursday afternoon, blocking my view. His dark green sweater smelled like sheep.
We were studying Wuthering Heights, by Emily Brontë, which had been my and Rachel’s favorite book since we were twelve. I’d read it at least four times.
As the clock crept toward dismissal, Mr. Herbert gave us an assignment. “Instead of a traditional essay, I want you to adapt a portion of the novel—your choice which part. Turn it into a screenplay, a radio play, or a stage play. Or a poem, or the lyrics for a song—whatever you want. The objective is simply to be creative. You’ll present your finished work to the class.”
I let out a sigh. Mr. Herbert is young for a teacher, and he believes that thinking outside the box—and wearing Fluevog shoes and Mavi jeans—gives him a dash of cool.
Nope.
“It’s due in two weeks,” he continued. “And to make it a little more fun, you’ll be working in pairs.”
No. Nononononononono.
In less than a minute everyone had a partner, including the Girl Formerly Known as My Best Friend. Even Alonzo, my one ray of hope, had paired up.
“All right, anyone without a partner?” asked Mr. Herbert.
I slowly raised my hand.
So did the Bionic Man.
He turned around in his seat and grinned. “Looks like it’s you and me, Petunia.”
My skin felt clammy. My heart started pounding. Pairs were for the socially adept. I would have to talk to Mr. Watley. Get an exemption, for medical reasons. He could write me a note: No longer plays well with others.
When the bell rang I hurried out of class. But Jacob matched my stride. He followed me to my locker. “So, Petunia—
“My name is not Petunia! Do I look like a Petunia?”
He gazed at my quilted floral vest and felt flower earrings and I felt the blood rush to my face. “You really want me to answer that?”
“Who would name their kid Petunia? It’s Petula.”
“No offense, but who would name their kid Petula?”
I swiveled my lock. “My mom and dad tossed a coin. He got to choose my first name and she got to choose my middle. And one of Dad’s favorite singers is Petula Clark.” The Bionic Man gave me a blank look. “ ‘Don’t Sleep in the Subway’?”
“Oh. Sure. My bubbe loves that song.”
I shot a quick glance at him. He was just this side of good-looking, like one of the lesser Baldwin brothers.
“So what’s your middle name?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
“It can’t be worse than mine.”
“What’s yours?”
“If I tell you, will you tell me?”
“Fine.”
“Schlomo.”
“Really?”
“Really. Your turn.”
“Harriet.”
“Harriet.”
“Yep. After Harriet the Spy.”
He made a face. “I’ve seen that movie. It wasn’t very good.”
“It was a terrible movie! I’m talking about the book.”
“There’s a book?”
My mouth dropped open. “You haven’t read Harriet the Spy?”
“I’m not much of a reader.”
Good God. “Harriet the Spy is only the best kids’ book ever written. Louise Fitzhugh gave the world a whole new type of female protagonist. One that was feisty and opinionated and sometimes quite mean.”
“Sounds like you.”
“Please, you don’t even know me.”
“I know that you have cats.”
That gave me the creeps. “How do you know I have cats?”
“Because you are covered in cat hair.”
My face burned. Normally I remembered to roll a lint catcher over my clothes before heading to school, but this morning had been crazy. Dad had discovered Alice and Stanley, and as predicted, he’d been furious. I didn’t want him or Mom to have anything else to stress about, so I’d fed the cats, scooped their poop, made myself a quick breakfast, packed us all lunch, and tossed in a load of laundry, all before leaving.
I pulled on my peacoat to hide my shame and shoved my cat hat on my head. Then I closed my locker door and scooted around him.
“Hang on. We still need to talk about our assignment.”
I kept going. I pushed open the doors with my elbows and barreled down the front steps.
Rachel, the Girl Formerly Known as My Best Friend, was huddled with a gaggle of girls in the middle of the walkway.
I froze. I could join her, I thought. I could walk up to her right now. Smile and say hi. One foot in front of the other! Be bold! Be your best self!
I couldn’t do it. I veered to the left, giving the group a wide berth. But those indecisive seconds were all Jacob needed to catch up to me. He had the stride of a giraffe. “What’s up with you and that girl? What’s her name, Rachel?”
“Nothing.”
“You stare at her in class all the time.”
“You’d only know that if you were staring at me.”
“Not really, no. I’m just a keen observer of human behavior. I have to be if I’m going to be a director.” He waved his flesh-and-bone hand at me. “For example, I look at you, with your homemade earrings and quilted vest, and I can guess that you’re the creative type.”
I allowed myself a minuscule smile.
“And I look at the way you slouch when you walk, like you’re ashamed of your height instead of being proud of it and owning it. I see the scowl on your face, which is growing even as I speak, and the way you keep to yourself at school. This leads me to the conclusion that you’re a loner. An unhappy, creative loner with a dark side and not a lot of people skills—”
“Shut up!” I yelled, impulsively slugging him in the arm.
“Ow!”
I’d punched his robot arm. He grabbed it protectively with his real hand. “Oh, man. I think you broke it. Look. It’s not moving.”
“I’m sorry!” Tears pricked my eyes. I’d had some impulse control issues since Maxine’s death, but I was trying to work on them. “I’m so sorry.”
I heard an electronic whir. He extended a bionic finger toward me and grinned. “E.T. phone home,” he said. “I was kidding, Petula. The arm is fine.”
I almost slugged him again. “You are such a jerk!”
“It’s made out of carbon fiber. It’s super resilient. Watch.” He made a fist with the hand and punched a nearby garbage can. It toppled to the curb. “See?” He set the can upright. “Not even a scratch. Makes me feel like Steve Austin.”
“Who?”
“TV series from the seventies. The Six Million Dollar Man. But Steve Austin had two bionic legs, one bionic arm, and one bionic eye. I’ve just got the arm, up to the elbow.”
I made a left turn to avoid going past the construction site. He turned, too. My curiosity got the better of me. “Can I ask how…?”
“Of course. I was out hiking by myself last year. A boulder came out of nowhere and pinned my arm down. I couldn’t move. I kept hoping someone would come by, but day turned to night, night turned to day…I thought I was going to die. After a few days I realized I had no choice: if I wanted to live, I was going to have to saw through my own arm with a Swiss Army knife.”
I stared at him. “Let me guess. You were trapped for one hundred twenty-seven hours.”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“Because that’s the plot of 127 Hours.”
“Excellent movie. I was pretty happy with how they dealt with my story. And casting James Franco, well”—he indicated himself—“separated at birth.”
“It wasn’t your story. It was Aron Ralston’s story. I read the book he wrote.”
“Huh. I didn’t know there was a book.”
“Of course you didn’t.” I shook my head. “You are such a liar.”
“I prefer the term storyteller.”
“Except you’re not even telling your own story, you’re ripping off someone else’s.”
“Again, I prefer the term homage.”
We arrived outside the Arcadia. “This is where I live, so.”
He glanced up the street. “Hang on. Isn’t the school just three blocks that way?”
“Yes.”
“So why did you take a detour?”
I didn’t answer. There was no point telling him about the woman killed by a slab of falling concrete in the U.K., or the man run over by a cement mixer in Tennessee, or any of the other freak deaths that had befallen innocent pedestrians as they walked past construction sites.
My head felt itchy, so I pulled off my cat hat. There was still a lot of rainbow glitter stuck in the wool from Ivan’s stunt the week before. Little flecks of it floated down, onto my coat and onto the ground.
Jacob’s face lost all color. “I know where I saw you.”
It was like he’d been pricked with a pin. He deflated. His bravado vanished.
I patted his non-bionic arm with my mittened hand. “I had that counselor, too. She’s truly awful. So, word of advice: you do not, I repeat do not, have to keep seeing her. You have options.”
He didn’t answer. He’d gone elsewhere.
I headed up the walk and went inside.
He was still standing on the sidewalk when I glanced back.