Chapter Five
The rest of the day was a total waste, as far as concentrating went. Amanda was mad at me, Bruce was mad at me, and I didn't know how to fix any of it. When I got home, I told my mom I wasn't hungry, and I stayed in my room the rest of the evening with my iPod up high and my school books spread out in front of me. My life had spun out of control-I needed to concentrate on something else, something that wouldn't slip out from under me, like history or anatomy. I wouldn't wake up tomorrow and find out that the heart no longer controlled the flow of blood-that was a constant, something I could rely on.
I should have been excited when I got to school the next morning. It was Friday, and that's the day the school newspaper came out. Now, you're probably thinking, "My school doesn't have a weekly paper. What gives?" See, we do a smaller paper once a week-a single sheet, printed on both sides-and then a larger edition once a month. That one actually has, like, four pages and stuff. We didn't used to do that, but I mentioned that Colby has a one-track mind when it comes to . . . well, everything . . . right? When he was made editor-in-chief, he suggested the smaller installments and got permission. Something about school unity. My column, being one of the most popular, gets room on the second page every single time.
I grabbed a copy and skimmed it on my way to first period. It looked good. I nodded with satisfaction as I took my seat. Advice to the lovelorn-that was me. That's where I shone. I'd leave this whole serious-problem business to the professionals.
Two girls walked into class, giggling over their copies of the paper. As always, I wondered if one of them could have sent me a letter, and then I made myself think about something else. As tempting as it was sometimes, I wasn't supposed to play detective to figure out who wrote to me. Like I said before, it was all anonymous. And then Bruce popped back into my head. Sheesh! No matter what I did, my brain was just going to keep circling back around to Bruce. I knew I'd done the right thing-why couldn't I stop thinking about it? I was driving myself insane, and I couldn't get rid of the heavy weight that was sitting on my chest.
Dylan plunked down behind me and leaned forward. "Hey! Great column. I can see why you're so popular around here."
"Popular?"
"Yeah. You know, the Dr. Jill posters and stuff. Everyone knows who you are."
"That's not a sign of popularity. That's someone's idea of bullying."
"Bullying, admiration-it's a pretty fine line sometimes, don't you think?"
Class started and I thought about what he'd said. I seriously doubted those posters were a sign of admiration. Come on-what teenage girl wants her face superimposed over Dr. Phil's? He's hardly the symbol of coolness. Although he is the symbol of smartness, which is a compliment, in a way . . . I guess if I wanted to start thinking about things like Dylan did, I could see it as a positive. Oh, great-now I was going to start preaching about happy bunnies and pots of gold at the end of the rainbow. What was this guy doing to me?
"So, did you do your thing?" Dylan asked after class as we gathered up our stuff and walked out into the hallway.
"What thing?"
"Your hard thing. From yesterday."
I must have looked as lost as I felt.
"I challenged you and Amanda to do something hard, remember? She talked to Mario, I put in my bid to play Anne of Green Gables . . . "
Oh, yeah. I remembered that. "You were going to audition for Gilbert, not Anne."
"See, you do remember. And did you fulfill your part of the bargain?"
"I'm not sure I officially agreed."
"That is a specious argument. You can't back out just because you get cold feet."
"My argument is not specious." Can I just say, it was fun to use that word in an actual conversation? "And I didn't get cold feet. I just couldn't think of anything I wanted to do."
"Because nothing's too hard for you?"
"Argh!" I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. "Will everyone stop saying that?"
Dylan glanced around as if looking for help. "Um, I didn't realize everyone was saying that."
"Well, they are. And they're saying that I've never had a real problem in my life, and so how can I give advice to other people. They just don't know me at all."
Dylan motioned with his head and I followed him off to the side of the hall. "What's going on, Jill?"
I didn't mean to blurt everything out, but before I knew it, that's exactly what I was doing. "My parents are getting a divorce. At least, they think that's what they want to do. I'm positive that if they just took a few minutes and analyzed things, they'd realize that this isn't the best choice. And in the meantime, some kid is mad at me for turning his letter over to my student advisor. I was just following protocol and got slammed for it."
Dylan nodded. "So your parents' divorce isn't bothering you at all, but the thing with this kid has really gotten under your skin."
"What makes you say that?"
"Your tone of voice. You were perfectly calm until you said 'some kid.' Then I had to duck to avoid the sharpened nails flying out of your mouth. Metaphorically, of course."
I shrugged. "I guess. But I can handle it, right? I mean, it's what I do."
The look on Dylan's face said he didn't quite believe me.
Amanda joined us a moment later. "Okay, Jill, I'm going to do it."
"Do what?"
She held up her copy of the paper. "I'm the second letter."
"Shh! You aren't supposed to tell me that."
"But you're my best friend, and I tell you everything."
I took a deep breath. She was still my best friend, even after what had happened the day before? She really was quick to forgive-always had been-and I was grateful for that.
"Hold on. I can't remember which one that was." Dylan snatched the paper out of Jill's hand and began to read aloud, doing a falsetto version of a girl's voice.
"Dear Jill, I've had a crush on a boy in my language class ever since the start of the year. I haven't tried to talk to him or anything yet, but I'm dying to get to know him. How do I work up the courage?"
Amanda giggled. "I don't sound like that."
"I'm an actor-I don't do impressions. That's a very specific skill set." Dylan cleared his throat, and then continued in a slightly lower falsetto. "Don't be shy to show him that you're interested. Say hello, smile, and be friendly. If you really like him, walk up and tell him. He'll never know if you don't come right out with it. Get his attention in a clever way-bring him a balloon with a note tied to it, or his favorite candy bar. Take a risk and you just might be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams." He lowered the paper and looked at me. "A balloon?"
I shrugged. "It just came to me."
Dylan didn't reply, but turned to Amanda. "So you got the saying hello part out of the way yesterday, right?"
"Yes, and I smiled at him. So now I'm ready to take the next step." She reached out and grabbed my arm. "This is the whole 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained' thing, right?"
"Exactly." I glanced at Dylan and he nodded. "So go get 'em."
"Yes. Right. That's what I'll do. On Monday. In French class." Suddenly Amanda looked a little less excited and a little more nervous. "And I'll have to think about it all weekend. Why did today have to be Friday?"
***
I hadn't seen Bruce all day. Ordinarily, I would have been happy to go an entire day without his annoying presence, but today, nope. Wasn't going to think about it. My brain would just go right back into that guilt cycle, and I couldn't go there-it wasn't healthy for me or for him. He needed help, pure and simple.
When I got home, I saw suitcases in the living room by the door. My dad was carrying a box upstairs from his dungeon, and he paused when he saw me. "Hey, Jill. I'm glad you're home."
"So you're moving out." Generally speaking, I hate it when people point out the obvious. But sometimes there really is nothing to say, and so you fall back on the obvious just to keep the silence from taking over.
"I am. I know you'd like us to give it another try, and maybe we will. But your mother and I both need some time off first, time to figure out who we are and what we want. I'll be in touch, Jill. I'm not going to disappear."
I nodded. "I know, Dad. You're not a loser, like some kids' parents." Dylan flashed across my mind, and I wondered just how long it had been since he'd seen his dad. He'd said it was "a long time ago," but that was so vague.
"I'll call you tomorrow and let's set up some times for us to get together, okay? I know you want to see that new movie-can I take you?"
"Um, sure." That surprised me a little bit. My dad never took me to the movies-he was always too busy with work.
"Okay then." He walked over and kissed me on the forehead, which was a little awkward around the box he still held, and then he walked over to the door. "Want to give me a hand loading up?"
I paused for a second, my chest tightening. "Um, no offense, Dad, but if I help you, then I'd be helping you leave. And I don't want to do that."
He nodded. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
I went upstairs to my room so I wouldn't have to see him go, but I watched through my bedroom window anyway. As he put the car into reverse, I wanted to run after him and beg him to come back, but instead, I held on to the window sill and cried until I choked on all my tears.