One, two, three, four...
No, I skipped one.
One, two, three, four, five, six...
I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. It's 4pm, and my last class ended about two hours ago. I made a bee-line back to my dorm afterward, like I had every other day this week, and focused on homework for roughly 20 minutes.
That was until I noticed the cracks sprouting from the light fixture between mine and Amy's bed.
Now, here I am, flat on my back, wondering why it's so hard to keep track of the little lines surrounding the light.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve...
There are 17 in total, in case you were wondering.
I roll onto my side, turning my attention to the scene outside our window.
It's not a very impressive view. Better than my view from Terrance Hall, that's for sure. I was stuck staring at a brick wall for that entire year. Still, it barely cures my insurmountable boredom. The small park across the street is vacant, as to be expected at 4 pm on a Thursday. A few puny trees still cling onto the memory of leaves even after the rest of nature has long forgotten. There are two girls studying on a bench on the far side. They're both dawning the Constantine uniform, a white button-up and pleated skirt, paired with a matching beige jacket and tie. Their clothes are the only thing familiar about them, I can't match a face to the rough outline I can see from the window. They look to be around my age.
It still shocks me how, after all these years, there are girls in my own grade that I've never met before. Saint Constantine School for Hurls is not very populous, but neither is my little bubble, I'm beginning to realize.
The girls pour over a textbook together, occasionally pausing to offer commentary or to crack a joke. The girl on the left does more of the talking and reading. The other just nods and listens, but her friend doesn't seem to mind. I think they like it that way.
I turn back towards the wall and bury my head in my pillow.
I've decided I hate those girls. Maybe it's from jealousy.
-
"I feel nauseous..."
Amy stirs around the peas on her plate, occasionally picking one up just to place it right back down. There's almost a green hue to her face.
"Gosh, Ames, did you eat something bad?"
"No." She rests her forehead in the palm of her hand. "I haven't had a chance to smoke this whole week with Ms. Lane on my back. It's killing me."
"Ain't that a bite... Maybe it's a sign. You know, that you should stop. "
"Yeah, yeah, Cameron. I hear you."
"Is that your only comeback? Calling me Cameron?"
"It's a good one, you've gotta admit," she sneers.
"No, I don't, because it isn't. I'm worried, Amy."
"You've got your own problems to worry about, and I've got mine. And that doesn't include my habits."
I sigh. There's no getting through to her, even when it's putting her in pain, and I know it.
"So," I say, redirecting the conversation to a more comfortable place, "are you excited our sentence is almost up?"
"Two more days..."
I can't tell if it's relief or exasperation lacing her words. Probably both.
"That's right, and it can't go by any quicker. I'm losing my mind being cooped up all day."
"I'm just ready for my Sunday phone call. I never thought I'd be relieved to hear Dalton's voice, but I'm getting dangerously close."
I look up from my plate. "What do you mean? Sunday correspondence is for family."
Amy's eyes widen as her mouth forms into an amused smile.
"Oh my god. There's no way you're still calling them, right? I thought everyone stopped that in, like, ninth grade."
"What?"
"Oh, this is golden. This is golden..." Amy repeats, all nausea eradicated from her face. "I don't know what I expected from Ms. Stick-Up-Her-Ass Albrecht, but it wasn't that."
I cross my arms, hoping the dim dining hall lighting conceals the red blossoming on my cheeks. "Ok, so, you call Charlie, then?"
"Yeah, or whoever else from their floor is nearby. They've got one communal phone, so I can't be too picky."
Why did I never think to phone a friend?
"Can I get the number?"
"Yeah, sure. It's written on the left side of the booth in Maxine's lobby, right above the flower with the initials 'V+C' in it. You can't miss it."
I nod a thank-you and redirect my focus back to my plate.
Seriously, why did I never think of that?
Silent scolds fill my mind as I take a bite out of my stale roll.
-
I take a deep breath, giving myself ample time to breathe out before entering the last digit of the phone number.
Amy was right; it was easy to find.
My fingers trace the carved numbers as the line rings. I try to think back to the previous weeks I used this exact phone and wonder how many times I read over that number without knowing who it was for. Probably a dozen, at least.
"Hello?"
A familiar voice brings me out of my thoughts.
"Hello? Who is this?" I question.
"Uh... This is Todd, Todd Anderson."
"Todd! Hey, perfect-" I break off my sentence, suddenly aware of Mrs. Stacey standing around the corner.
Shit, I forgot she's monitoring. How am I gonna do this?
"How's mom been?" I ask.
"Mom?" The boy questions. "Sorry, who is this?"
"Come on, Todd, it's Ivy! Your sister!"
"I..."
He's not picking up on it. I need to get Mrs. Stacey away, fast.
I let the line go silent for a moment while concocting my plan.
"Ok, I think you have the wrong number, I-"
"No!" I exclaim before he can hang up. "No, tell me it isn't so! One moment.." I cover the receiver and step out of the phone stall, turning to Mrs. Stacey.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I've just been told some dreadful news. Can I have a moment alone, please?" I plaster on a fake frown and pretend to wipe a tear.
"Oh, I'm so sorry! Yes, absolutely. One moment.." The teacher turns and leaves, ducking into a nearby classroom.
Perfect.
I put the phone back to my ear, silently praying that Todd didn't hang up.
"Hello? Are you still there?"
"Ivy? What's going on?"
I let out a sigh of relief.
"I'm sorry, Todd, I don't mean to make such a dreadful second impression. I'm supposed to be calling family, and I didn't consider that the teacher monitoring me would hear what I was saying. I hope I didn't confuse you too much." My words pour out and it's a miracle they're intelligible.
"It's fine. Are you looking for someone specific, or...?" His sentence trails off.
"Not really. Anything beats the dead line I get when I try to call my family. How are things?"
"We're good. School's been tougher than I expected, but you know. I'm okay."
"I'm glad to hear it. How about the others?"
"I think they're fine. English class has been fun. Scary, but fun." He pauses. "Ivy, can you keep a secret?"
"For you, Todd, yes."
He chuckles awkwardly on the other side of the line. "Neil found this old annual a few weeks back, and we found our teacher in it. Mr. Keating, if you remember."
"Vaguely."
"Turns out, he's always been a poetry fanatic. There was this one club, called the 'Dead Poet's Society' that he was in. Neil got the idea to start it up again, so we've been doing that."
"That sounds interesting. What do you do?"
"The others read poems and stories and stuff. I just take notes."
"Oh, I'm sorry. They shouldn't be leaving you out."
"No, no," he reassures, "I like it this way. I hate reading out loud. Plus, I still feel a little... I don't know. Like an outsider, I guess? They have so much fun, I-I feel like I would just disrupt it." He sounds surprised, almost as if he's as shocked as I that he's opening up to me.
"No, I'm sure that's not true-"
My reassurance falters when I hear a faint voice join in on Todd's end. I only pick up some of the words, but it goes something like:
"Hey, who's....."
"It's....Amy's......yeah, that....."
"Uh..." Todd diverts his words back to me. "I think someone wants to talk to you."
"Oh, okay-" Rustling registers through the phone, presumably from Todd passing off the phone.
"Ivy Albrecht."
I can actually put a face to the voice.
"Meeks?"
"This is he," the boy responds. "Hey, I'm sorry, I can't talk long, but what are you doing next weekend?"
His forthright manner catches me off-guard. "Oh, uh, nothing, I guess. Amy and I's punishment runs out today, so I should be free."
"Perfect. How would you like to accompany me and Knox to a party?"
"A party? At Welton?"
"No, oh God no," Meeks interjects. "No, it's at..." The boy snaps his fingers. "What's her name?"
Knox's voice quietly comes through the phone. "Chris."
"Right, Chris. Her house. She invited Knox, and he roped me into it. Are you down?"
"I'm going to need more details, but... sure. I'd love to," I find myself saying.
Amy is going to lose her mind when I tell her about this.
"Great." I can practically hear his grin through the line. "Ok, I'm giving you back to Todd. Talk to you later."
I don't even open my mouth before the rustling noise comes back and I'm back with Todd. I hear a soft, "You did it, man!" in the background, but I don't point it out.
"I should probably go, my teacher could come back any moment," I explain, "but it was great talking to you, Todd. I'm glad to see you're warming up to everyone. We're kind of in the same position, you and I. Outsiders."
"I never thought about it like that. I guess we are, in a way."
"I think we're doing pretty good for ourselves, personally."
He pauses. "I might just have to agree with you."
"Bye, Todd," I say, my words intermingled with laughs.
"Goodbye, Ivy."
I don't know what surprised me more: Meek's unprovoked invitation, or Todd's uncharacteristically fluid conversation skills.
There's a soft click, and then silence. I hang the phone back up, walking out of the phone booth with a new pep in my step.
Exiting the building, I pass by the classroom Mrs. Stacey ducked into.
"Ivy? Is everything okay?" she asks, striding out of the classroom with her arms extended for a hug. She halts when she sees the large smile on my face, her pity being swapped out for confusion. "I thought something was wrong?"
My face falls.
"Oh, um..." I stumble over my words, the gears in my head whirring in search of a way out of this.
"I... it was about my dog," I manage to sputter out.
"Dog?"
"Yes," I decide, "my dog..." My words linger as I search for something, anything, that could work as a dog name. A bulletin board behind the teacher catches my eye. It's packed with flyers, but one sticks out: an advertisement for math tutoring.
"Tutu. My dog Tutu. She was missing, you see, but wouldn't you know it, she showed back up at the door during my call! What are the odds, truly?" My story is filled with so much uncertainty that I'm afraid she'll see right through it.
Mrs. Stacey's eyes slant, her lips slightly parting as she decides what to question first. I don't give her the time to gather her thoughts before I wave hasilty and leave the building.
Close one.