Crush

kitchen counter to him. He’d retreated to his room with the meal.

Now his mother cast an annoyed look at him, as if she’d just caught him tracking mud through the house.

“I need the phone,” she said.

“I’ll be done in a minute,” he said. “I’m downloading a file.”

“Well, I need to speak to your aunt.”

“Just one more minute.”

“Now,” she said, sounding really pissed off. “This house doesn’t revolve around you, you know?”

“Mom, it’s like one more minute.”

“Right now!”

The progress bar on his computer still showed a quarter of an inch before the song finished downloading. That could mean another thirty seconds or another three minutes the way his machine worked. It was like in the movies where a guy was waiting for a code, and if he didn’t get it in time something would explode.

In this case the something was his mother. He just didn’t feel strong enough to deal with it.

“Okay,” he said, grabbing his mouse and dragging the cursor over the box to close the connection. He jabbed the mouse button and the window vanished. “I’m done.”

His mother threw a final furious look at him. She backed out of the room and slammed the door.

Jonathan hit the desk with his palm, sending a bolt of pain up to his elbow.

Enough of this crap.

He rose from the chair and stomped across the room, threw open the door. In the hallway, he saw his mother’s shadow shrinking on the far wall. He charged forward, chasing the ever-smaller stain on the wall, following it into the kitchen and the television room, where he found his mother lifting the phone from its cradle.

Before she could even look up he started shouting.

“What is your problem?” he said. His mother stared at him, total deer-in-the-headlights startled. “Your life sucks, so you figure mine should suck too? Well, forget it. You’re miserable because you let yourself be miserable. You let Dad treat you like crap. You let your boss walk all over you. You let Aunt Judy tell you what a loser you are. You take it all because you like it. If you weren’t pissed off about the world, you wouldn’t have a damned thing to talk about. So go ahead and bitch about how crappy everything is, and guzzle your gallons of Chianti, but keep me out of it. I didn’t do anything but be born. And that’s your fault too. So you stay out of my room and stay out of my life until I can bail this crap shack. Then you can have the phone whenever the hell you want, as long as you aren’t using it to call me.”

His mother broke into tears and dropped the phone.

Jonathan smiled.

But none of that happened. He didn’t even get up from his desk. He remained in front of the computer screen, staring at the icon for the song he wanted, knowing it had not had time to finish downloading. His palm still ached from the slap he’d given the desk. His stomach roiled with acid, and his head throbbed.

Screw this, he thought. Screw it all.

Bitter night air cut through the collar of his jacket as Jonathan wandered the streets of Warren. He walked past the new housing development they were building next to his apartment complex. More rich people. More kids with high-tech gadgets and high-brow attitudes. Another wave of jerks to shove him or kids like him into lockers. It didn’t really matter. Pretty soon Jonathan’s family would have to move. The rents would go up like they had in Pierce Valley, and his dad would make them pack up and relocate, this time probably to a smaller apartment. They already lived in Crossroads, the total low-rent section of town. They weren’t likely to find anything cheaper unless they moved way out into the sticks. Great. Then he’d never see David. He wouldn’t be able to get to work, either. He might have to change schools.

Then he wouldn’t even have Emma’s smile to get him through the days.

Jonathan turned up the volume on his cheap MP3 player so that music overpowered the depressing voice in his head. Cars raced by. He felt the wind of their passing but couldn’t hear them. He didn’t want to hear anything but feral singing and brutal guitars: a soundtrack for his anger.

He walked through the intersection of Crossroads Boulevard and Periwinkle Street. Five blocks down on the right was his school, a nest for idiots like Toby Skabich and Ox and Cade. Burn it down, he thought. Break it apart with an earthquake and grind the rubble under with bulldozers. He didn’t know of whom he made this request. It didn’t matter. Nothing would change. The school would be there tomorrow and the next day and the next. It was like a temple to evil. Even if it fell, the world was full of them.

And evil tastes like candy. Everyone wants a lick.

Twenty minutes later, Jonathan stepped onto the brightly lit sidewalk of the Northside Mall. It wasn’t one of those big multi-layered malls like they had in Bellevue or Seattle, subterranean bunkers for the generals of retail. It was flat and quaint with covered walkways lined with shrubs. The mall had a DVD rental shop, a bunch of clothing stores he could never afford, an ice cream parlor where a single scoop cost three-fifty, and a coffee shop, Perky’s, the upstanding suburban equivalent of a crack house.

Jonathan peered through the window of Perky’s, knowing he didn’t have enough change in his pockets for even a small coffee, and he wasn’t touching his college-escape money for such a minor pleasure. If he wanted some bean, he’d have to buy it at the Super Stop convenience store down the street.

Inside, Emma O’Neil sat at a table with three other girls. They were in the middle of a really serious conversation, probably about Mr. Weaver. Jonathan imagined walking in and having Emma call him over to the table, but the thought made him suddenly angry.

Why am I wasting my time? She hardly knows I exist. I’m like an extra on a CW drama, and she’s the star, and no way are they calling me back for a second episode. It’s a stupid crush. Pointless. God, why can’t I obsess on a teen pop diva or something? That way, I wouldn’t have to see her every day, in the flesh, in the now, in the ridiculous fantasy my stupid head keeps building.

He grew angrier with himself. He couldn’t be angry with Emma. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She wasn’t mean to him. It wasn’t her fault she was perfect and Jonathan was nothing. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Life just worked out that way.

Jonathan looked away from her. The next face he saw made him feel no better.

Toby Skabich sat at a small table on the left with Tia Graves. Naturally, she was beautiful in the most predictable of ways, and a cheerleader. They held hands around their massive coffee mugs. Tia was all dreamy eyed, and Toby just kept talking. The perfect teen couple, living the American dream.

Toby never had to worry about his grades, because no teacher would let a star of the football team fail, plus every girl in the school was willing to do his homework if he just flexed his arms or flashed a smile. The tool already had everything—a nice house, a cool Mustang his dad had given him, the best-looking girl in school—but that wasn’t enough. Toby wanted more and more. He figured he deserved everything and didn’t have to do anything for it.

Must be nice.

Unable to deal with any more bad feelings, Jonathan turned away from the window.

She sat on a bench in front of the ice-cream parlor. A neon sugar cone glowed above her head, casting her face in shadow. But even with the veil of darkness covering her features, Jonathan recognized Kirsty Sabine.

She wore a long beige trench coat and distressed jeans, nearly white on the thighs. Her head was lowered, chin on her chest, so that her hair draped down either side of her face like frayed curtains.

Had she been there the whole time? Had he somehow missed her when he walked by the shop?

The chill on his neck fanned out over his shoulder blades, and he began to seriously shake. A gust of wind raced down the mall, chasing the sensation, adding to it.

“I couldn’t go in either,” Kirsty said, not raising her head. She sat thirty feet away, and her voice came to him like a whisper.

A bit creeped out, Jonathan smiled nervously and tried to think of an excuse for why he didn’t go into the coffee shop. He didn’t want to sound totally low rent by saying something like, “It’s too expensive,” but he also didn’t want to admit his cowardice over entering territory already claimed by Toby Skabich.

“I was just seeing if some friends were inside,” he said.

Kirsty nodded her head, a slow movement that lifted her chin only an inch from her chest before again resting