Downcast (3 page)

Over the summer, I had started thinking more and more about college, and like a seed that was planted, watered and exposed to light, my excitement about the prospect grew. I felt that I was ready for new people, new surroundings, new challenges. I was edging closer to a decision about whether to apply in-state or out-of-state, and the only reason I hesitated was because I didn’t know what to do or how to handle Mom’s insistence that if I did have to go to college, I would live at home with her—even if it meant selling our house and moving out of state together.

I bit the inside of my cheek as I stood in the small, cramped office, squinting a little in the extra-bright fluorescent lighting and looked through the various flyers.

Haley Smith walked in and came over to the rack of flyers, standing beside me. I glanced up at him, but didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say.

He absently picked up a brochure, unfolding it and flipping it over and back, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see he wasn’t paying any attention to it. He was looking at me, a slight smirk on his lips.

I felt my ears start to burn, and I finished grabbing all the flyers and hurried away, my heart beating quickly and awkwardly.

I heard footsteps behind me but refused looked around. Instinctively, I knew it was Haley. I ducked into the stairwell and ran down the steps to the cafeteria, which was in the basement. I reached two sets of double-doors to the cafeteria, and I couldn’t help myself. I had to look behind me.

Haley was just a few feet behind me, and he caught my eye and smiled a quick, wicked grin. He opened his mouth as if to say something, when practically out of nowhere, Jordan and her friends caught up with him.

“Hey!” she gushed, sliding around him so that she stood between us. “Come have lunch with us! I met your brother in chemistry, and he’s joining us, too.”

“I was actually—” Haley began to say, his eyes sliding from Jordan to me.

“Oh, come on!” Jordan squealed. “You’ll have such a good time, and you’ll meet all my friends. They’re so cool. They’re really nice. You’ll love them!”

He hesitated, his eyes still on me, and I bit my lip and turned away, slipping into the cafeteria, feeling like I had just had a narrow escape from being noticed by Jordan. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she had marked Haley for herself already, and anybody who got in her way would be very, very sorry. I definitely didn’t want trouble, and I certainly didn’t want Haley.

I headed toward the back of the cafeteria. It was ridiculously easy to map out the social structure of the big, square basement dining area. In one corner, you had the food line with its dubious-looking green beans, congealed mashed potatoes, and rubbery pizza. Next to it was a wall of vending machines and some microwaves that were certifiable bio-hazards.

The cafeteria itself was a soul-searing mix of pumpkin linoleum tile, stained ceiling tiles, and multicultural murals from the 90's, encouraging friendship and togetherness. Crappy laminate lunch tables and primary color plastic basket chairs completed the stellar interior design.

I had names for all the groups in the cafeteria. In the front, near the doors, the most popular guys and girls congregated, rearranging the chairs to cluster around each other. These were the Gaggle and the Jocks. The Gaggle was any combination of popular girls because of the way they clucked and squawked and honked together, just like nasty-tempered New England geese. The Jocks were, well, jocks.

The further back you got in the cafeteria, the less popular were. Maybe it had to do with how close you were forced to sit to the back wall with its dorky, happy, multi-cultural people mural.

Mid-way through the cafeteria, you'd have to run the gauntlet of the Goons. These were guys who were too lame for any girls to sit with them, but who were too mean to hang out with the nerds and geeks. The Goons kept themselves afloat, above the losers (aka the Snub Club), by tormenting them at every possible turn.

Finally, at the very back, there were a few tables where the rest of us sat, card-carrying members of the Snub Club: the computer geeks, the literature geeks, the science geeks, the math geeks, the music geeks...you get the idea.

I dropped my lunch bag onto a table where Helen and our other friend, Morris Chow, sat already.

"Hey, Morris!" I exclaimed, happy to see him after the summer. His mom had sent him to chemistry camp at the University of Massachusetts and then to distant relatives in New York City for Chinese culture lessons, so I hadn't had a chance to see him at all. Not that my mom would have actually let me spend time with a boy, even one as short and dorky as Morris.

"'Sup, Steph," he said around a mouthful of sandwich, pushing his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose.

I gave the sandwich a meaningful look.

"It's roast beef, apparently," Helen said, interpreting my look perfectly.

"What happened to tuna?" I demanded. Morris had brought tuna fish for lunch every day, all last year. It had been bologna the year before that.

"Got tired of it," he said with a shrug.

"Makes sense," I conceded, trying not to laugh. "So how's it going?"

"We met one of the new senior twin brothers in Chemistry," Helen said. "Zack Smith."

"He's assigned as Helen's lab partner," Morris added, grinning.

"That a good thing or a bad thing?" I asked, pulling out my tiny container of salt-free tabouleh salad (
Did I know that salt was very bad for me and could lead to high blood pressure?
Yes, Mom.).

Helen wrinkled her nose. "I don't know yet, but I'm pretty sure it's a bad thing."

"I met the other Smith brother," I mentioned, opening the salt packet I had snagged from the condiment rack and pouring it over my salad. "Haley Smith."

"And?" Helen asked.

"He's kinda weird. I think Jordan likes him, though."

"Figures," she said, rolling her eyes and biting into her highly-processed, sodium-packed, delicious, delicious Hot Pocket. She pushed the other one over to me, just like she always did. A girl cannot live by tabouleh alone.

"Hey, you guys hear about the hot new librarian?" Morris piped up, wiping the last crumbs of his sandwich off his lips.

"No, but is she hot?" I asked innocently.

"Shut up!" he said, blushing a little. "She really is totally hot."

"Morris, have you been to the library already?" Helen asked with a laugh.

"Yeah," he retorted. "But, you already put all the homework due dates for chemistry in your phone. Who's the geek now?"

After lunch, Helen and Morris went off to Honors Physics and Honors Biology, and I spent the afternoon between Government and U.S. History.

Finally, I headed to the last class of the day, English with Mr. Lafitte. I met Helen at the door, and we walked into the classroom together.

Mr. Lafitte's classroom had the desks arranged in an open rectangle. I'd seen this sort of thing before in my American Literature class in sophomore year. It was supposed to “facilitate discussion.”' Well, whatever, how could teachers know it really just facilitated staring and gossip?

"How's the rest of your day been?" I asked Helen as we considered which seats to take. It seemed like the seats you chose on the first day ended up being the seats you stayed in for most of the year.

"Eff my life," she said flatly.

"That good?"

"Seriously. I have a feeling I'm going to end up a statistic. You know, one of those teenagers that collapses from overwork and exhaustion, has a nervous breakdown, and then goes on to write an amazing memoir about their time in a mental hospital."

"Sounds great."

"What about you?"

I opened my mouth to tell her all about the rest of my day when Haley and Zack Smith came in. They took the desks directly across the room from ours.

I studied Zack surreptitiously, curious as to what Haley's brother was like. What I found was that he couldn't have been more different.

He was blond, beautiful, and boisterous. Already, he was best friends with everyone in the class, flirting with the Gaggle and joking with the Jocks. He was the all-American, athletic, cute guy in jeans, Chucks, and a rumpled polo shirt.

Haley lounged long in his chair, sticking his legs out and toying with his pen laconically. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his expression darken as he looked between me and Zack.

"Hey, Helen," Zack called out, giving her a million dollar smile. "What did you think of Chemistry?"

"I think I wandered into the seventh circle of hell," Helen replied drily, unaffected by his charm offensive.

"Nah," Zack laughed and chucking his thumb at Haley. "He'd know if you did."

"What?" she asked, confused.

I was totally confused as well, though I couldn't help smiling at Zack's infectious good humor.

I risked a glance at Haley, and his frown disappeared as he smiled at me. It wasn't the mega-watt movie star grin of his brother. It was slower. Sexier. Like he had been waiting all day for me to smile at him, and now he wanted...more.

Parts of me tingled completely inappropriately, and I whipped out a frown and put it on. I knew I would be spending a lot of time over the next few days drilling it into my head that Haley was bad, off-limits, probably making fun of me behind my back, not interested in me, forbidden, and completely off my menu. Total ignoring was the only course of action.

Mr. Lafitte came in and started class before the bell rang, taking us through the syllabus and piling on the homework already.

By the end of class, my brain was exhausted, both from Mr. Lafitte and from actively avoiding looking at Haley. I was so ready when the final bell rang. Helen and I got up and went downstairs to the senior hallway.

"Haley was staring at you all through class," she said.

"He's done that all day," I complained. "I don't see why. It's not like I'm trying to get his attention."

"He's really cute," she mused.

"Really? You think so?"

"Maybe he thinks you're cute?"

I gave her a look, and she nodded understandingly. We were both relatively attractive and prettier than some of the Gaggle, but our social status prevented us from being considered “cute,“ or, in other words, acceptable to date.

"See you tomorrow," she said, dropping me at my locker and heading down the hall to hers.

"Hey! Stephanie, right?"

I looked over to my left to see Zack Smith at his locker next to mine.

"Yeah," I replied with a quick nod and reached in for my rain jacket.

"Is it dry yet?" he joked, pointing to my jacket. "Mine was still soaked at lunch."

"It was supposed to be sunny today," I commented, hoping he didn't notice the smell. He grinned at me, and suddenly I found it much easier to talk to this Smith brother.

Despite being earmarked for popularity, Zack had a genuinely nice feel about him. I certainly didn't get the sense that he was looking down his nose at me. In fact, in his own way, he even seemed eager to be friendly and talk.

"It's not usually this cold and rainy this early in September," I added.

"It's gonna seriously mess up the football season."

"You play?"

"Yeah. I had a talk with the coach, and we're gonna see where I fit in."

"Cool." I prayed he didn't say anything else about football because I had no clue about the game. (
Did I know that football was a barbaric sport that only encouraged violence and exposed young athletes to traumatic head injuries on a regular basis?
)

Haley approached us. Without a word, he went to his locker next to Zack's and threw his notebook and pen in there.

"Meet you out at the car," Zack said to him over his shoulder. He grinned at me. "See ya, Steph!"

Then he was gone, and with him went all the ease and cheerfulness in the air. Something heavier took its place, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

Haley closed his locker, then turned toward me and leaned one shoulder against it. Keeping my head down, I jammed on my rain jacket and shut my locker with a bang. Humiliation loomed, and I was desperate to escape.

"Stephanie."

His low, gravelly voice stopped me in my tracks. Reluctantly, I turned and looked at him. He took a step toward me. I wanted to step backward, but I was frozen to the spot. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I had the miserable, prickly sensation inside my skin that always happened before a confrontation.

"What's your problem with me?" he asked gently, without any edge to his words.

I waited for him to say something else, but he just stood there, waiting for my answer.

The worst part was that I couldn't give him the real answer, which was we belonged in two different worlds. What could I say? That he was already popular, and I was totally the opposite? That I couldn't breathe his high altitude oxygen, and he'd suffocate in my ground-clinging smog?

The popular kids would be the first to tell you that they aren't popular, and that they don't believe in popularity and cliques. Sure, they have friends, but they'll always point to someone else as being really popular. But I was willing to bet that deep down in their secret souls, they knew exactly where they stood.

Just like I did.

That still left me without an answer.

"I don't have a problem with you," I said finally, fumbling with my zipper so I didn't have to look at him.

He took another step toward me, basically closing the gap between us so that my eyes were at the level of the first button on his shirt. He raised his hand, and with his fingertips touched the tip of my chin to tilt my face up to his. My breath caught in my throat at the cool sensation of his fingers against my skin as I looked into his eyes.

"Then maybe we can try again, tomorrow?" he asked, smiling slightly.

"Why?"

I could have slapped myself for letting that question slip out. If I couldn't spontaneously sink into the ground, I could at least turn away, but his eyes seemed to hold me fast. They were so black that I couldn't even tell where the iris ended and pupil began. They weren't an opaque black, either. They had a depth that seemed to go on forever.