Andrew never even participated? The only thing it’s disloyal to is my own imagination.
“Hmmm,” said Sal. “Thirty-second time lag here. Maybe the topic really is Andrew, Tommy.”
Both Sal and Tommy smiled at her now, and there was an overlapping quality to their smiles. Then, equally overlapping, they walked off together.
They had walked places together before. Their stride matched. The way they tilted their heads toward each other matched.
They liked each other.
How normal they looked. Ordinary friends, not touching, simply enjoying each other’s presence. No overwhelming half-crazed crushes here. No secret lives.
Either I’ll have a normal friendly friendship with Andrew, thought Mariah, or I’ll skip it. No more secret lives. I want to be content and easy and popular like Tommy and Sal.
Andrew had meant to arrive early, and search for the camcorder and erase the tape. But somehow when he woke up, it didn’t have much importance and he didn’t rush and now was actually in danger of arriving late.
Nothing, Andrew reassured himself, had happened last night. He decided to be amused instead of worried. He pondered the correct verb for what had happened to their bodies. Had they shadowed themselves? Smoked themselves? Disembodied themselves?
He found himself smiling. They had merely happened upon a teacher who, nervous in the dark, had gone home.
And yet when he parked, Andrew could not help checking the teachers’ lot for Mr. Phillips’s car. Mr. Phillips drove a car quite similar to himself: a dull, mustard-yellow, twelve-year-old Dodge, which had not had character when it was built, and was not gathering character as it aged.
The Dodge was not in the parking lot.
Andrew did not know whether to be relieved. He did not want to deal with Mr. Phillips, and yet he wanted to know that Mr. Phillips was all right.
Of course he’s all right, thought Andrew irritably. Nothing happened to make him otherwise.
Andrew got into his first period class moments before the late bell, and there was the principal, taking attendance. Andrew raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Phillips did not show up,” said the principal, clearly furious. “He did not even have the courtesy to call. Really. Substitutes think they will get permanent jobs in the system, but when they behave irresponsibly, how could they possibly imagine they would be asked back? Andrew, help me run this class. What chapter are you on?”
Andrew helped run the class.
He said to himself, Nothing happened. If Mr. Phillips didn’t show up it isn’t because he was scared to death and had a heart attack, it’s because—because—
Nothing happened, Andrew told himself again. Certainly nothing that I did.
Bevin made a decision he had never made before.
He gave up.
Always, even at the worst of times, Bevin had hung on. He had pressed up against a wall or a desk or a corner and somehow the pressure against his back gave him the strength to keep going.
But not today.
Today absolutely nothing happened, and yet the eyes and the plans of the bullies of the school were all over him, gauging him, taking his measure, weakening him with their laughter, leaving him ready for his attackers.
He walked out of the school, and found he could walk the distance home quite easily. During the walk there was only nature, which had no interest in him, and passing traffic, which had less.
Inside the house, he did not even turn on the radio.
He had the sense that the station would no longer tune in for his ears; that he had lost his only lifeline.
He was down to only two choices now: death or disappearance.
“Oh, hi, Andrew,” said the principal.
Andrew had been hanging around hoping to run into Mariah. She was usually everywhere. Where had she gone this time? “Hi, sir,” he said to the principal, “how are you.” It wasn’t a question, because Andrew didn’t actually care how the principal was.
“I’m lousy. Listen, remember I told you Mr. Phillips didn’t
“Hmmm,” said Sal. “Thirty-second time lag here. Maybe the topic really is Andrew, Tommy.”
Both Sal and Tommy smiled at her now, and there was an overlapping quality to their smiles. Then, equally overlapping, they walked off together.
They had walked places together before. Their stride matched. The way they tilted their heads toward each other matched.
They liked each other.
How normal they looked. Ordinary friends, not touching, simply enjoying each other’s presence. No overwhelming half-crazed crushes here. No secret lives.
Either I’ll have a normal friendly friendship with Andrew, thought Mariah, or I’ll skip it. No more secret lives. I want to be content and easy and popular like Tommy and Sal.
Andrew had meant to arrive early, and search for the camcorder and erase the tape. But somehow when he woke up, it didn’t have much importance and he didn’t rush and now was actually in danger of arriving late.
Nothing, Andrew reassured himself, had happened last night. He decided to be amused instead of worried. He pondered the correct verb for what had happened to their bodies. Had they shadowed themselves? Smoked themselves? Disembodied themselves?
He found himself smiling. They had merely happened upon a teacher who, nervous in the dark, had gone home.
And yet when he parked, Andrew could not help checking the teachers’ lot for Mr. Phillips’s car. Mr. Phillips drove a car quite similar to himself: a dull, mustard-yellow, twelve-year-old Dodge, which had not had character when it was built, and was not gathering character as it aged.
The Dodge was not in the parking lot.
Andrew did not know whether to be relieved. He did not want to deal with Mr. Phillips, and yet he wanted to know that Mr. Phillips was all right.
Of course he’s all right, thought Andrew irritably. Nothing happened to make him otherwise.
Andrew got into his first period class moments before the late bell, and there was the principal, taking attendance. Andrew raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Phillips did not show up,” said the principal, clearly furious. “He did not even have the courtesy to call. Really. Substitutes think they will get permanent jobs in the system, but when they behave irresponsibly, how could they possibly imagine they would be asked back? Andrew, help me run this class. What chapter are you on?”
Andrew helped run the class.
He said to himself, Nothing happened. If Mr. Phillips didn’t show up it isn’t because he was scared to death and had a heart attack, it’s because—because—
Nothing happened, Andrew told himself again. Certainly nothing that I did.
Bevin made a decision he had never made before.
He gave up.
Always, even at the worst of times, Bevin had hung on. He had pressed up against a wall or a desk or a corner and somehow the pressure against his back gave him the strength to keep going.
But not today.
Today absolutely nothing happened, and yet the eyes and the plans of the bullies of the school were all over him, gauging him, taking his measure, weakening him with their laughter, leaving him ready for his attackers.
He walked out of the school, and found he could walk the distance home quite easily. During the walk there was only nature, which had no interest in him, and passing traffic, which had less.
Inside the house, he did not even turn on the radio.
He had the sense that the station would no longer tune in for his ears; that he had lost his only lifeline.
He was down to only two choices now: death or disappearance.
“Oh, hi, Andrew,” said the principal.
Andrew had been hanging around hoping to run into Mariah. She was usually everywhere. Where had she gone this time? “Hi, sir,” he said to the principal, “how are you.” It wasn’t a question, because Andrew didn’t actually care how the principal was.
“I’m lousy. Listen, remember I told you Mr. Phillips didn’t
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