Please Don't Tell Part 11

DON'T I?.

EIGHT.

July 16 Grace THE FIELD BEHIND THE MIDDLE SCHOOL IS wet, but that doesn't stop anybody from sitting on it. Kennedy, Ben, Sarah: three out of the five artsy seniors. Ca.s.sius isn't here and neither is Adam. I've never talked to them before, and they don't seem interested in starting. They've barely said a word to Joy or November either, even though November's in their grade.

The middle school road is dark, except for the pool of yellow light from the streetlamp. It's a bad idea to do this in the open.

"Quit checking the road. The cops won't come," Joy says confidently. Like she's smoked weed (bud? pot?) under the stars with the seniors before. Like I'm the only one doing this for the first time. She's wearing November's too-small sweatshirt. She rocks back on her knees, watching the seniors poke gra.s.sy stuff into a little gla.s.s pipe (bowl? bong?) and pa.s.s it in a circle.

I miss the trick to what they're doing. November exhales smoke, holds the pipe to me.

"No thank you," I say like a kindergartner.

"No problem," says November kindly. She turns to Joy. Moves her like a doll, adjusts her hands around the pipe (bowl?). Lights it for her. Murmurs instructions. Joy's eyes cross. I blush for her, but Kennedy-Ben-Sarah aren't watching. They're on their backs, arms tangled up like they're not conscious of their bodies. What's it like to not be conscious of your body?

Joy coughs. Hard. Forever. November pats her back.

"f.u.c.k middle school," Kennedy says. "It's like a crypt of bad memories."

I wish I could say it: f.u.c.k middle school. Anything I don't like, just: f.u.c.k it.

"Remember what a b.i.t.c.h you were, Ken?"

"Remember all the s.h.i.tty anime I watched?"

"I was sooo depressed in eighth grade. . . ."

There's no way they, too, were b.a.l.l.s of silence and fear back then, or ever. Kennedy has pastel-pink hair. Ben's wearing a tie. Sarah's shirt quotes The Great Gatsby. They're like teenagers in books, and movies made out of books, with deep thoughts, quirky hobbies. They fall in love and it fixes them. They're interesting.

I'm never going to be broken in a way that makes someone fall in love with me. My sadness will never be interesting. I'm not a girl who makes a good story.

Joy makes a good story.

"I don't know if it's working," she keeps saying. She rolls around in the gra.s.s. Getting soaked. "Grace, remember our lunch table by the stairs in middle school? I wonder who sits there now. What do you think Cat and them are doing tonight? Making out with an SAT prep book?"

I haven't seen my old friends since school ended last month. Maybe that means they're not my friends anymore. Strange how it can happen, just like that.

"You know that Halloween-themed fair they have every year on this field?" she asks. "We didn't go last year. We went every year before then. We should go this year."

Everybody in our whole town goes to that fair. Teachers, doctors, they all make the twin comments wherever they run into us: how we look the same but they can tell us apart. Like we're theirs because they can see the difference.

Joy faces November. "Did you like middle school, Nov?"

"The people who liked middle school are the reasons why everybody else hated middle school." November's got one earbud in again. She's apart from everyone.

"How come you were gone our soph.o.m.ore year?" Ben asks bluntly. There's something aggressive in his expression. "I always wondered."

She plays with the rubber bands on her wrists. There's a long silence.

Finally Joy says, "Do you guys have any more weed? I don't feel anything."

Everyone rea.s.sures her: they didn't feel it their first time either, don't exhale right away. She nods, mimes taking notes. She's always been able to turn herself into a project.

"Remember how you punched me in elementary school for making fun of your sister's paintings?" Ben asks her, grinning. "I was a grade above you, too."

"I did!" She's delighted.

I lie on the gra.s.s. There's peace in being forgotten. This would be a good moment to think some profound thoughts about the stars. But I'm too anxious. I want to go home.

I close my eyes. I hear the lighter flick on. Joy coughs again. Then the darkness glows behind my eyelids. Headlights. I shoot upright, but it's not cop lights.

"I invited Adam," Ben says. "Hope that's cool."

Oh no. I have to fix my shirt. Have to fix my hair. I'm wearing too much makeup. Maybe he won't notice in the dark. Of course he'll notice.

And then Joy's arms fall over my shoulders. "Oh my G.o.d, this is your chance." Her eyes are red.

By the road, Adam hops the little fence. His guitar case bounces against his back with each step.

"'Sup, all," he says once he reaches us. Does he see me?

"Help us out with this." Ben hands him the pipe. Adam lights it easily. He knows. I have to pretend I know. He inhales smoke and holds it out to me, ignoring everyone else.

He does see me!

"I didn't know you knew Ben and them," he says.

I shrug. Cringe. "I don't. Not really."

"Don't make me smoke this alone." He sits cross-legged. Next to me. "There's a s.h.i.t ton in here."

I look at him. He looks back with his dark eyes, darker at night. He lights the bowl for me. Does he know this is my first time? His chest brushes my shoulders. I do what everyone told Joy to do: breathe in, take my thumb off the hole, don't breathe out- "Hey, you wouldn't do it with me!" Joy's next to me suddenly, upset. I breathe out the smoke too early.

"Can you two get a ride home?" November says to us. She's glaring at Adam. "I feel like going to bed."

"Oh, let me guess," he groans. "In the last two seconds I've managed to do something that contributes to the worldwide oppression of women, gay people, and everyone else probably."

"Or sometimes people just want to go to sleep," she says coolly, but her eyes are knives.

"Fine." He fake salutes. "Night. Miss ya already."

"You are such an a.s.shole."

His eyes get darker. Kennedy-Ben-Sarah clump together, useless. Joy's normally the first to join a fight, but her gaze is unfocused.

"Can you not?" I say to November.

Adam grins at me. My stomach swoops. November scowls hard. She whispers something to Joy, hugs her quickly, turns to go.

"What, I don't get a hug?" Adam teases.

"Die."

Her hate is so pure that I'm amazed Adam doesn't bleed.

"Do you guys have any idea what her problem is?" he asks once she's gone. "Hasn't she always been a b.i.t.c.h to me, Ben? Pretty sure she just hates me because I'm a straight white guy."

"She used to like you," says Ben, smirking.

Joy stares after November as she walks alone across the field.

"Thanks for sticking up for me." Adam gives me a brief tight squeeze. I'm warm everywhere. Blossoming.

Joy scoots toward us. She pulls me aside, down into the gra.s.s, away from Adam.

"Nov said to make sure we didn't go anywhere with Adam alone," she whispers.

"She hates him." I feel brave. "It's like she hates every guy. It's stupid."

"Nov's our friend."

"She's your friend," I say. She blinks at me. I sigh, murmur, "Joy, I like him."

She rubs her eyes. "Just be sure you don't put him before us."

I don't think she's paying attention to what's coming out of her mouth. "You've been putting November before us."

"Are we fighting? I'm confused."

"You said you'd give him a chance. You've never even talked to him."

"Fine. I'll talk to him." And then she's wobbling back toward the group. "Where's Ca.s.sius tonight?" she asks Adam, like a challenge. My scalp gets hot.

"f.u.c.k if I know." He's stretched out, shirt riding up. "I need a break from him sometimes. Guy has a lot of weird thoughts."

Next week is when he wants to paint me. I haven't told Joy-she wouldn't understand that I'm doing it for her.

"Don't say that about your husband!" Sarah chirps. "You guys are so married."

"He's not my type."

He looks at me and smiles!

After awhile, Joy brings out a whiskey bottle-how she had that in her bag I don't know. But now we're drinking and the night's blurring.

"Okay, everyone. I have an announcement to make." Joy struggles to her feet. "I hate secrets. Secrets are s.h.i.t. Can we agree on that? Oh, wait." She bends over, takes off her shoes, and throws them several feet away before continuing. "Secrets keep people apart."

Kennedy-Ben-Sarah crack up. Adam grins. I grin, too. My dumb cute sister.

"So in the interest of that, all of you should know . . . wow . . . Okay, this gra.s.s feels amazing. All of you should take off your shoes right now, and then after that, you should know that she"-she points at me-"likes him." She points at Adam. "And you, Adam, you be good to her, or I'll kick your a.s.s."

I freeze.

I'm dying.

I hate her.

"Aw," Sarah coos into Kennedy's shoulder. "That's so cute."

I can't look at Adam. But I feel him sidle up.

"So you like me?"

"She's high," I say weakly. "She doesn't know what she's saying." Except she does. I don't get why she always screws things up for no reason.

But he's not laughing. Not rea.s.suring everyone he only dates thin girls. He's still looking at me. And it's really nice to have him look at me.

I'm sorry, I tell Joy in my head. She's picking at blades of gra.s.s, giggling. I don't hate you. I'm not mad. Not ever.

"Talk to me, Grace Morris." Adam brushes my shoulder. "Tell me your story."

I don't have one.

"I'd rather hear yours," I manage.

"I'm still writing mine. It's going to be a good one. There's a lot I plan on getting done in this life. You ever thought about what you want to do?"

Get good grades. "I don't know. Be a doctor. Help people, I guess?"

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not one of those people who talks about wanting to help others. That's very nave. They're doing it to make themselves feel good. I want to get famous for my sake, and I'm going to be honest about that."

I wish I hadn't said anything.

"Not one single person who lives in this town is interesting," he says.

Don't disappoint him. Be interesting.

"It's like we get held to a different set of standards . . . because we're smarter," I say. Cringe. I'm not smarter than anyone, not in any way that counts.

But he says, "f.u.c.kin' right."