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I told Nelson from now on I’d help him with his reading after school if he wanted to stay behind in the school library, but I thought him coming over should stop. To myself, I said I couldn’t go on this way ... liking him so much I thought I’d burst, yet, in his eyes, not existing.
He looked at me like I’d kicked him in the teeth, but it was more he’d kicked himself. He’d made me hope for something he clearly wasn’t ready to give, and hope had built inside, I’d convinced myself our time together was special, private, intimate. Only, it wasn’t and desperate to not be seen together, he’d proven it today.
I exited his car and went inside, falling down on the bed for a good cry. I wept until I couldn’t breathe then got up and took a shower to clear my head. I was better afterward. I dressed and came out. I ran into my mom in the hall.
“You’re back?” she said. “I thought you’d stay gone longer.”
“I’m back,” I replied. “Things will go back to normal now.”
Her face asked what I meant, but I didn’t explain. I was more determined than ever to overcome my hang-up over Nelson. No matter how hard it hurt, no matter how hard I had to try, I would go back to being me and not the silly, empty-headed girl who’d fallen head over heels for the boy she couldn’t have.
My knees grew weak with that thought, and I swallowed hard. Head over heels? Head over heels. I was in love with Nelson Trader, but he wasn’t, and would never be, in love with me.
“Mr. Trader, Miss Pink, if you’d give me a minute ...”
Nelson hung back, his hands in his pockets, not looking Pink’s direction, but he felt the weight of her presence just the same.
“Your grades improved, but you now seem to be struggling,” the teacher continued, her eyes primarily on him.
He rocked back on his heels. He’d known this day would come, that Mrs. Palmer would ask about his weak grades, and he’d decided to say whatever he had to in order to spare Pink any trouble. He owed her that much.
“You two are still working together?”
“No,” he said, clearing his throat. “We were ... we did for a while ... but I told her it’d be better if I figured it out alone.” He couldn’t look at her, refused to look at her.
Mid-October and they hadn’t spoken once. He couldn’t bring himself to text or call. She’d told him not to come over. Her offer to study in the library he’d seen through. She’d known he wouldn’t accept. Despite that, he’d thought about her every day, almost every hour of the day. He’d caught himself staring at her in the hallway more than once. He ached to say something when seated behind her. She’d become a fixation he couldn’t get around, something unattainable almost.
Mrs. Palmer switched her gaze to Pink but didn’t speak until she’d returned it back to him. “You’ve been reading the book?” she asked.
He nodded. “Every night, and I ask my dad for help when I’m stuck. It’s hard, but I get the gist.”
Standing up from her desk chair, Mrs. Palmer folded her arms over her chest. “I want you to have more than ‘the gist’,” she replied. “I want you to understand what you are reading.”
“I’m trying,” he said, “but I can’t think how it’ll matter once I graduate.”
“If you graduate,” Mrs. Palmer said. “I don’t think you understand how tenuous that is. It has come to light your ... methods of study ... over the last few years.”
A niggling began in the back of his brain. He’d asked once how she knew of his reading problem, but then he’d not pursued it. Now, facing her, it returned. How did she know?
Nelson coughed. “How ... how’d you find out?” he asked.
Her lips tight, she seemed to war with herself over giving a reply. “I won’t name names,” she finally said, “but a certain person came forward to say she helped you and provided enough details to tell us the truth.”
She. A girl. What girl? Did it even matter? Not given the sounds coming from Pink.
It hit him then how she felt ... like he’d done to her what he done to everyone else, only she had no idea she wasn’t like anyone else. In the past, he’d used whoever he could to get what he wanted and in that had been inherently selfish. Not until staring in her eyes had he seen it. She asked him to do better than that and, most of all, didn’t care what he’d been.
Nelson turned and forced himself to face her. She had on her usual baggy t-shirt and blue jeans, but what he saw was the girl in the green dress, the one he’d held in his arms. Regret the size of a mountain lodged craggy in his throat. He made no effort to hide it.
“While I appreciate your efforts,” Mrs. Palmer said in his ear. “I would like you to go over the book with a partner, so I’m assigning you and Miss Pink to each other. You will work together for an hour after school each day in any place of your choosing ....”
“Assigning?” Pink said. Moving into reverse, she backed across the room. “You can’t do that! You can’t force us to ‘work together.’ You can’t make me look at him and not ...” She stopped mid-sentence, apparently aware of her outburst. However, unwilling to face it, she spun around and ran.
The door glided shut behind her.
“Young man, whatever happened, I suggest you fix it,” she said.
He nodded. He would, and he had an idea how.
I’d reacted badly. I knew that. Nelson was sorry for what had happened, and I ought to let it go. But doing so felt like I was opening myself up to heartache again. Not that running away was helping because it wasn’t. I hurt just as bad, if not worse, while trying to avoid him. That said, I wasn’t about to seek him out and so went about the next few days trying to pretend like things were great.
Saturday, I slept in, ate breakfast at around ten, then spent a couple hours in the backyard helping my dad. At noon, my mom called us in for lunch, and we rinsed off, wiping dirt off our faces. I wandered into the kitchen but came to a stop at the sight of Nelson.
Nelson at my house on a Saturday? He was dressed up nice, too. Khaki slacks, a blue button-up. He’d brushed his hair to the side. In his hand was a book.
“I want to read you something,” he said.
My mom was smiling funny. I didn’t necessarily think she was behind his being there, but the last few days, she had followed me around, asking a lot of questions about us. I hadn’t told her anything, of course, but knew she wondered what we’d broken up over.
“Here?” I asked.
“Maybe in the living room,” he replied.
With a nod, I moved ahead of him, taking a place on the couch, my head craned upward. Nelson positioned himself in front of me, the book in his hand, and flipped through the pages to a certain spot. He cleared his throat.
“I spent way too much time staring at her,” Nelson read. “But she was the most beau-ti-ful girl I’d ever seen.” He licked his lips and exhaled. “She had this way about her ... a tilt to her head that made me want to kiss her neck, a curl in her hair that begged for my fingers.”
My eyes misted. Sarah Jane, book two, his reading it stuck in my throat.
“I couldn’t tell her that though. It was some unwritten rule between us. My life was appar ...” He paused. “Apparently there to admire her and nothing more. Why couldn’t ... I tell her exactly how I felt? Because we were two different people?”
He flipped the page.
“Because she was better than me? She was better than me, and I was nothing without her.”
He hushed then, releasing the book, and the pages folded shut. I couldn’t half see for the tears in my eyes, couldn’t speak for the catch in my throat. He reached for me and pulled me to my feet.
“I’m a jerk,” he said. “I’m not embarrassed by you. I’m embarrassed by myself ... because I can’t read, because I used people, because I thought I’d graduate without anyone finding out. And I never want who I am to reflect on you. You’re better than me.”
He tipped my chin up with two fingers.
“You’ll always be better than me, Brigitte. For one reason. You make me more than what I am. I’m not some hero. I can’t save you from anything. I can only be myself ... Nelson Trader, nitwit, the boy who pushed you aside for the sake of his pride and shouldn’t have. I’m here to say I’m really sorry. If I fail English, if I fail twelfth grade, it won’t matter as long as you’re my friend.”
“Friend?” I asked.
His head tilted, he slid his hand to my cheek, and I leaned against his palm.
“More than friends,” he said. “In fact, I’m breaking up with Sarah Jane. I’m tired of dating a phantom. I want a girl I can talk to, touch. I want the one I admire.”
I had a hard time applying that description to myself, yet he’d said all these nice things.
“How ... are you going to do it?” I asked. Break up with Sarah Jane, I meant.
His smile widened. “You leave that to me,” he said. “I have a plan.”
I didn’t know what Nelson had planned, so come Monday I was on pins and needles, wondering. I decided, getting dressed, that I ought to put some effort into what I wore for once. I picked out a knee-length tweed skirt and a white blouse. I fixed my hair, put on makeup. I admit I was nervous about what kids would say, but more than determined to show up dressed that way.
My mom dropped me off, and my books in my hands, I took the usual route to my locker, doing my best not to look around at peoples’ faces. Surprisingly, the first person to say something was Tiffany.
“Wow. You look great,” she said.
I smiled. “Thanks.”
She walked off, glancing over her shoulder.
I ran into Jose next.
“Punk is pretty,” he said.
My face heated. He was a guy, after all. Still, I accepted his assessment with a nod. I closed my locker and headed for the stairs. At the door, I ran into Nelson’s friend, Isaac.
He leaped in place. “I ... I didn’t recognize you.”
That was as good as a compliment. Accepting it, I continued up the stairs and into Mrs. Palmer’s class where I took my seat.
Two minutes later, Nelson came in. He spotted me and his brow wrinkled, then he smiled wide. Making his way my direction, he slid into his desk chair.
He didn’t say anything, but then, that had been our rule from the start.
Mrs. Palmer appeared from somewhere in the supply closet. She took a seat at her desk right as the bell rang and opened her attendance book. “Ainsley,” she called.
“Here,” replied the student in question.
“Beck,” she continued and received a following response. She went through all the names, including mine and Nelson’s, then closed the book and moved to a place in front of the class. “I’ve decided today to have some of you read.”
I tensed. Obviously, she knew of Nelson’s problem and so it seemed like she wouldn’t call on him. She wouldn’t deliberately embarrass him in front of the entire class.
“If you hear your name,” she continued, “then turn to the page and paragraph I state and read to us, out loud. I hope you brought your books ....”
A lot of rustling and smacking noises took over the room, everyone taking out the book. But gradually, the noise died down, and she called the first name.
“Melissa Clark, page 20, second paragraph.”
Melissa, a girl I’d known since eighth grade, flatting the spine of hers with her palm. “The abbey was dark at this hour,” she read, “none of the monks speaking. Prayers were said beneath their breaths, each one prostrate at the altar, his face ground into the aged stones.”
She looked up, and Mrs. Palmer smiled. “Thank you. That was excellent. Next, is Devon Matthews.”
Time passed, and I’d begun to believe I was right. She wasn’t going to call Nelson. I breathed out my relief. It was only five minutes until the bell, and she looked to be done. Her skirt swishing, she started to turn aside.
Then, Nelson raised his hand. I started.
“Yes, Nelson?” Mrs. Palmer asked.
“I’d like to read,” he said.
I spun around, my eyes wide. He was volunteering? Why would he do that? Yet he smiled at me, confident.
“If you like ... why don’t you read from wherever you ended last?”
He nodded and flipped through his book. However, the corner pinched between his thumb and forefinger, he raised his gaze to mine.
“It’d been five years since Walter last saw Sarah Jane.”
A rumble began in the room. My forehead drew tight. What was he doing?
“In all that time, he’d never forgotten how much he loved her,” he continued.
“Mr. Trader, what’s this?” Mrs. Palmer asked, interrupting.
The rumble became a lot of hissed whispers, his name and mine floating around the room. Nelson didn’t appear fazed by that at all.
“Though they’d been apart for such a long time,” he said, “all the reasons they belonged together remained clear in his mind. The curl of her eyelashes, the arch of her cheeks, the delicate tuck of her lips ...”
The noise in the room faded to an ethereal hush. I was both stunned he was saying all this and confused by the content because nowhere in any of the Sarah Jane books had I ever read that scene. It came to me, realizing it, that this was his plan. He’d written all this ... for me. Once more, he’d written the ending.
My throat clogged, my heart moving to a clear place on my sleeve.
“Looking was no longer enough,” he continued, “or the brief conversations they had over the phone. She was real and right here and everything he could ever want. He wanted her to know.”
Mrs. Palmer coughed. “I’m sure that’s very nice, but ....”
Nelson held up one hand. “I’m not done,” he said. He shut his book then and leaned over the desk. Cupping my chin in his hand, he raised my lips to his and kissed me.
The following August
“You nervous?” Brigitte asked.
Nelson opened his arms and gathered her to him, tucking her head beneath his chin. She sighed, her breath warm on his chest.
“Not at all,” he replied. “My tutor trained me well. I not only graduated. I am now taking a college entrance exam, which I will pass.”
He felt her smile rather than saw it.
“And then?” Her voice emerged muffled by his shirt.
“And then I will go on to become an amazing success, make millions, and buy us a condo on Miami Beach.”
She wriggled to free herself and, her head peeled back, stared upward. “Miami Beach?”
“Well, New York is too cold. Besides, I have a hankering to see you in a bikini.”
She laughed and fell against him again. “That can happen way before you graduate from college.”
Raising one hand to the back of her head, he turned her face upward. “Don’t tease a guy who’s about to spend hours taking a long, horrible, complicated test ... Wish me luck,” he said.
Standing on her tiptoes, Brigitte mashed their lips together. “Good luck, and another one of those when I come back.”
“Motivation.” Nelson separated himself, shaking his arms out. He drew in a steadying breath. “I like it.”
The End