him?”
“He’s a Peeping Tom,” Marcus says. “He’s a freak. He looked in Hannah’s window, so why not break his?”
“And you?” I ask. “What did you do?”
For a moment, his eyes stare through me. Then he blinks.
“Nothing. It’s ridiculous,” he says. “I don’t belong on those tapes. Hannah just wanted an excuse to kill herself.”
I let the rock drop onto the sidewalk. It was either that or smash it in his face right there.
“Get the hell away from me,” I tell him.
“It’s my street, Clay.”
My fingers close and tighten into a fist. I look down at the rock, aching to pick it back up.
But I turn away. Fast. I walk the full length of the sidewalk in front of Tyler’s house without looking at the window. I can’t let myself think. I pull the headphones from my neck and place them back in my ears. I reach into my pocket and hit Play.
Was I disappointed when you said good-bye to me, Courtney?
Not much. It’s hard to be disappointed when what you expected turns out to be true.
Keep walking, Clay.
But did I feel used? Absolutely.
And yet the whole time Courtney was using me, she probably thought she was polishing up her image in my eyes. Can you say…backfire?
That party turned into a night of firsts for me. I saw my very first fistfight-which was horrible. I have no idea what it was about, but it started right behind me. Two guys were shouting, and when I turned around, their chests were about an inch apart. A crowd began to form, egging them on. The mob became a thick wall, not about to let the situation die down. All they needed was for one chest to close the gap, even accidentally, and it was on.
And that’s what happened.
The bump of a chest turned into a shove, which, right away, became a fist pounding a jaw.
After two more punches, I turned away and pushed through the wall of people, which, by that time, was four bodies deep. Some in the back were standing on tiptoes for a better view.
Disgusting.
I ran inside, searching for a bathroom to hide in. I didn’t feel physically sick. But mentally…my mind was twisting in so many ways. The only thing I could think of was that I needed to vomit.
I pull out my map and look for the nearest star that isn’t Courtney’s. I’m not going there. I’m not listening to Hannah talk about her while I stare at her dark, empty house.
I’m on to the next thing.
In Health, we once saw a documentary on migraines. One of the men interviewed used to fall on his knees and bang his head against the floor, over and over during attacks. This diverted the pain from deep inside his brain, where he couldn’t reach it, to a pain outside that he had control over. And in a way, by vomiting, that’s what I hoped to do.
The exact locations of the red stars are hard to see if I don’t stop walking, if I don’t stand still beneath a streetlamp. But I can’t stop walking. Not even for a moment.
Watching those guys pummel each other so no one would suspect them of being weak was too much for me. Their reputations were more important than their faces. And Courtney’s reputation was more important than my reputation.
Did anyone at that party actually believe she brought me there as a friend? Or did they simply think I was her latest charity case?
I guess I’ll never know.
I refold the map and tuck it under my arm.
Unfortunately, the only bathroom I found was occupied…so I went back outside. The fistfight was over, everything had returned to normal, and I needed to leave.
The temperature continues to fall and I tighten my arms around my chest as I walk.
When I approached the gate, the same gate where I entered the party, guess who was standing there all by himself.
Tyler Down…fully equipped with his camera.
It’s time to leave Tyler alone, Hannah.
When he saw me, the look on his face was priceless. And pitiful. He crossed his arms, trying to shield the camera from my view. But why would he do that? Everyone knows he’s on the yearbook staff.
But I asked anyway. “What’s that for, Tyler?”
“What? Oh…this? Um…yearbook.”
And then, from behind me, someone called my name. I’m not going to tell you who because it doesn’t matter. Like the person who grabbed my ass at Blue Spot Liquor, what he was about to say was just an aftereffect of someone else’s actions-someone else’s callousness.
“Courtney said I should talk to you,” he said.
I exhale quickly. After this, your reputation is ruined, Courtney.
I looked behind him. At the far end of the yard, three silver kegs sat in the middle of an inflatable pool full of ice. Beside the pool, Courtney was talking to three boys from another school.
The boy standing in front of me took a slow sip from his beer. “She says you’re fun to hang out with.”
And I started to soften. I started letting my guard down. Sure, maybe I was right and Courtney was only concerned with saving her image. Maybe she thought that by sending a cute boy over to talk to me I’d forget all about her ignoring me at the party.
Yes, he was kind of cute. And okay, maybe I was willing to have a little selective amnesia.
But something happened, Hannah. What?
After we spoke for a while, this guy said he had a confession to make. Courtney didn’t actually send him over to talk to me. But he did overhear her talking about me and that’s why he came and found me.
I asked him what Courtney said, and he just smiled and looked down at the grass.
I was through with these games! I demanded to know what she said about me.
“That you’re fun to hang out with,” he repeated.
I started rebuilding my guard, brick by brick. “Fun…how?”
He shrugged.
“How?”
Ready for this, everyone? Our sweet little Miss Crimsen told this guy, and whoever else was standing within earshot, that I’ve got a few surprises buried in my dresser drawers.
My breath stops like I’ve been sucker punched in the stomach.
She made that up! Courtney completely made that up.
And out of the corner of my eye, I watched Tyler Down start walking away.
By now, the tears were welling up. “Did she say what was in there?” I asked.
Again, he smiled.
My face felt so hot, my hands started shaking, and I asked him why he believed her. “Do you believe everything people say about me?”
He told me to calm down, that it didn’t matter.
“Yes!” I told him. “It does matter.”
I left him to have a little conversation over by the keg pool. But on my way there, I had a better idea. I ran up to Tyler and stood in front of him. “You want a picture?” I said. “Follow me.” Then I grabbed his arm and led him across the yard.
The picture! The one from the scribble book.
Tyler protested the whole way, thinking I wanted him to take a picture of the keg pool. “They’ll never print it,” he said. “You know, underage drinking?”
Right. Why would they want a yearbook that showed actual student life?
“Not that,” I said. “I want you to take a picture of me. Me and Courtney.”
I swear, at that moment his forehead was glistening. Me and the backrub girl, together again.
