Is it me, or are people staring? I’ve gotten way too used to the wonderful sense of anonymity in these halls, but now Trumpet Kid and Flute Girl right there just eyed me. Quick glances, not like my gawking at Faith yesterday, but definitely making eye contact.
At my locker Becca catches up and shoulders me softly. “Hey, you.”
I see she’s wearing eyeliner. Impressive. “Hi. I tried calling you last night, but nobody answered.”
“Yeah, we were having dinner at Didi’s.”
“Didi!” I laugh. “Why do I picture someone with poofy white hair and leathery skin?”
From Becca’s frozen face, I’d say I’m not too far off with that description. “Hey, don’t make fun of poor Didi! She works real hard to get her hair to puff up like that.”
“Wow, I was right? You gotta introduce me to her. She sounds smashing, baby.”
“She is,” Becca says with a laugh. “Did you do your English homework?”
Did I do my English homework? “Of course I did. Why? Didn’t you?” Too busy reanalyzing all of Flesh’s lyrics last night, now that you’re one with him?
“Yeah, I did, but first I needed some inspiration.” She pulls out a Crossfire CD insert from the front pocket of her bookbag and starts reading aloud some of Dad’s phenomenal lines.
“Good lord, Becca. Put that away.”
“What do you think your dad meant by ‘The melody calls, it beckons and falls, its rhythm explodes, my body—it holds’?”
Some kid with geeky hair just looked at me too. “I think he meant for you to read it over and over until you’re completely crazy.”
“I think he was probably experiencing some sort of temptation, from the sound of it, don’t you?”
“Whatever, dude. Think whatever you wanna think, Beck. That’s why he’s called an artist.”
We head off toward first period. The hallway’s packed with students going through their morning routines. Something’s slightly off. Are people whispering?
“Rain forest.”
“Mountain,” someone says in a tiny voice as two skinny kids whisk past me.
“Did you hear what those jerks just said to me?” I turn around quickly, only to see the idiots disappear around the corner laughing.
“No, what’d they say?” Becca asks.
“Nothing, forget it.” Yes, I’m definitely drawing attention. Did I put clothes on this morning? Becca wouldn’t have blabbed already, would she?
For a few seconds Room 214 falls silent when we walk in. Then the chatter starts up again as Ms. Smigla comes around, collecting our homework. She nabs my crappy poems, glances at them, and looks up with a grin. She either likes my writing or my name still amuses her. Either way, she says nothing. Very unlike Smig.
Liam rushes in just as the bell rings and looks over at me quickly. I can’t quite read his expression, but there’s no smile today. I was going to call him last night, but after dealing with Faith yesterday, I was in a pretty sour mood. Now he’ll probably think I’m not the least bit interested. I should’ve called!
Ms. Smigla begins class by reading through the poems without mentioning anyone’s name. She pretends to like them all, hard to believe, but I know she’s trying to encourage everyone’s creativity. You can tell the ones she really likes from the way she stops and dwells in discussion.
“‘Will you cast stones at what you perceive?’” she asks the class in that melodramatic way of hers.
My ears perk up.
“Interesting parallel to someone significant. Anyone know to whom this poem refers?” She looks up, searching for an answer.
Nobody grabs this one. It’s a case of “Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?” from that Ferris movie, but there are no takers, just a couple of coughs. Oh, for crying out loud. Jesus! Jesus Christ! Doesn’t anyone watch the History Channel?
Liam raises his hand. Ms. Smigla happily calls on him. “That’s about that prostitute in the Bible, when everyone wants to stone her. But Jesus makes them all feel guilty.”
Yes! And the points keep pouring in for Liam Blanco!
“That’s right. Someone here feels persecuted,” Ms. Smigla says, glancing around.
If she looks directly at me, I will personally see to her crucifixion. Lucky for her, she doesn’t. She then adds, “I suppose we all do sometimes.” She goes on to the next poem.
Kuntz glances over. Kuntz has always been in his own little world over there. Weird that he would suddenly notice me. But then Pigtails glances over. Pigtails has never shown me her face. All right, enough. I know what’s going on here. My pen scribbles like mad.
Who did you tell?
I push the scrap onto Becca’s desk.
She reads it and gives me a quizzical look. Then she writes something and hands it back.
What are you talking about?
Why would everyone be staring at me
today unless you said something??!!
I haven’t said anything!!! I swore I wouldn’t!
Then tell me why people have been
giving me weird looks today!
How the hell should I know??
Well, if it wasn’t her, then who was it? Nobody knows but her!
Nobody knows but you.
Becca reads this and pauses, faking attention to Ms. Smigla. Then, she jots down:
That you know of.
She turns up her palm and shrugs. Ms. Smigla gives us a warning look.
She’s right. Maybe someone finally checked the Crossfire fan-site and saw my name in Dad’s bio. Damn. Well, what did I expect? If everyone knows about me, then fine, I can pass right through the initial shock phase and move on with my life. Becca took it well, right? We’re still friends. The only thing is, I was hoping to know Liam better before the beans were spilled.
Liam does not turn around the entire fifty-five minutes of Smigla’s lecture. When the bell rings, I’ll just go over and explain that I was really busy unpacking this weekend and had things to do. He’ll understand. Then I’ll definitely call him tonight. That’ll get the message through to him.
The bell eventually rings, and Liam bolts from his seat and out the door. Not a hello, a smile, a request for an explanation, nothing. Did he really expect me to swoon all over him after knowing each other for one day? Go on, Liam, get out of here! Run off to your next class! Look, you even left your stupid disc case again.
Next class? Great, next period is physics with Liam. Aurelio, the guy that sits next to him in this class, holds up the abandoned black case. “Anybody see Liam next period?”
I’m walking out of the same aisle, so I snatch it up. “I do. Gimme.”
This is turning out to be a lovely day.
Becca meets me by the door and begins, “Desert, I would never tell anyone what you told me, okay? Why? Who’s giving you weird looks?” She follows me down the hall, toward the science wing.
“Everyone.”
“Like who?”
“Like people I don’t even know.” Just leave me alone.
“Well, is there some way maybe someone else knows about you? I mean, you yourself said that your name’s on a bunch of websites, maybe someone saw it, maybe someone—”
“Maybe.” Go the hell away.
“Desert, you don’t really think it was me, do you?”
I stop and face her. “I don’t know what to think, okay? Just…go to class. I’ll see you later.”
“Desert?” She stands there, confused and hurt, as I walk off. She just doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand what this is like, what a bane to my freakin’ existence it is to have this celebrity bullshit hanging over my head!
At the end of the hall, there’s a crowd buzzing. They’re facing the wall, looking up at something. I need to get through. “Excuse me.” Dammit, people, move!
“That’s her,” someone says.
I look up to see all eyes on me. Those aren’t grades on the bulletin board everyone’s gaping at. They’re photos. Of me and Dad.