FIVE

I know that guys my age usually look to athletes like LeBron or Brady or Lincecum for inspiration, but the person I admire most has got to be jazz pianist Thelonious Monk. Maybe that makes me weird or pretentious or whatever, but his music is the one thing in life that can make me feel relevant and make me feel free. Monk wasn’t afraid to be different, you know? He cut right through what other people called dissonance and he played outside the chords. That kind of vision takes guts.

It’s also the kind of vision I’m wishing I had during the morning break at school. That’s when I catch sight of Jenny Lacouture standing by her locker in the hallway. Her soft blond hair’s pulled off her neck and her slim legs are bare beneath her plaid skirt. We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, Jenny and I, so I’d like to think she’s standing there on purpose, just hoping I’ll notice her.

How could I not?

I walk over to her with butterflies flapping inside of me, good ones, the kind that make me feel like I could float. Jenny’s a junior like I am, and she plays piano, too, which is sort of perfect. Techniquewise, she might even be better than me, but that’s a lot harder to admit than it probably should be.

“I’m not holding your hand today,” I tell her.

Jenny’s brown eyes go wide and I can almost hear the wheels turning inside her head as she tries to figure out if I mean what I say. I do, of course, just not in the way she thinks.

“It’s my nerve thing,” I confess. “I’ve told you about that, haven’t I?”

She looks down to see the gloves, the way my arms are sort of cradled against my stomach.

“Oh,” she says. “What happened?”

“They went numb this morning. At breakfast.”

“But you’ll be okay?”

“I should be.”

“What’s it called again?”

“The neurologist thinks it’s a form of cataplexy, but that’s usually only seen with narcolepsy, and I don’t fall asleep in weird places or anything. So it’s idiopathic.”

“What does that word mean?” she asks. “Idiopathic?”

“It means they don’t know why it happens.” I roll my shoulders and force a bland expression on my face. I don’t tell Jenny about the other theory I have, the more embarrassing one: that it’s all in my mind, that my hands going numb is some sort of anxiety symptom, set off by high levels of stress and my basic inability to deal.

Luckily Jenny doesn’t ask more questions. Instead she presses her lips together and smiles that smile I like so much, the one that’s crooked and honest all at once.

“I’ve seen you fall asleep in class before,” she says. “You’re kind of cute when you sleep, Jamie Henry. I think I’d like it if you had that narcolepsy thing.”

I try smiling back but it’s weird. Sometimes the things Jenny says are so nice they can make me feel sad. Like right now. It’s my own personal paradox, I guess—either my brain doesn’t know how to be happy or my heart doesn’t know how to let me.

“I’d like it too if it meant being able to see your face when I woke up,” I say softly.

Hector Ramirez makes a barfing sound as he walks past us. “Jesus. What the fuck is this shit? A Disney movie? Just hump already and get it over with.”

“Shut up,” I snap. Goddamn Hector. Jenny shouldn’t have to hear crap like that. Ever. Unfortunately, I can’t flip him off.

Hector pauses. “So is it true?” he asks me.

“Is what true?”

“That Cate’s out.”

I tense. “Where’d you hear that?”

He lifts a dark eyebrow. “So it is true? Damn. That’s one rumor I didn’t want to believe, Henry. You know why. Crazy Cate.”

“Where’d you hear about Cate?” I repeat, although I think I might know.

Hector throws his hands in the air, feigning ignorance, and begins walking backward. “Dunno, man. Nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere. But your sister’s a bad girl. Bad, bad, bad. The worst, even. So you tell her she can come see me and we can talk face to face if she’s got a problem with my family this time. Tell her she doesn’t have to—”

“Stop,” I say weakly. “I’m not telling her anything, okay? I haven’t even talked to her. You probably know more than I do.”

“You have a sister?” Jenny asks, and a loose strand of hair dances across her collarbone in a way that entrances me. Like it’s got a mind of its own.

“Yes,” I say, pulling my gaze away. “Hector, you need to tell me what you heard.”

Jenny touches my shoulder. “Where’s your sister coming back from?”

“Jail,” I say, then: “I’m serious, Hector!”

“I’m serious, too,” he yells. Then he’s gone. Swallowed up by the crowd.

I turn back to Jenny. There’re people all around us, jostling, shouting, shoving, but she’s looking at me with concern. Me.

I take a deep breath.

I push down the sad feeling in my heart.

“Jenny,” I say. “Would you go out with me Friday night?”

“Yes.” She answers without hesitation, and right then my hands come back to life. Like magic.

I show her.

“Look at that.” I wiggle my fingers.

“So you’re all right?”

“More than all right. You did that.”

The look on her face is cautious. “I did?”

“Oh, sure,” I say earnestly. “You’re like my sun in winter.”