It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,21

I stare at his phone number. His name lights up my mind, and I can see a Julian montage flash before my eyes. Julian with Rena and Eric and me tramping through the woods all those times. Julian playing hockey with Eric on our street, looking to me for approval when he scored. Julian that day when we went into the woods together, just the two of us. Julian in English class, head down, his body almost curling into itself.

Yes. I will help this boy. And I can be Jennifer when I do. That’s kind of cool. I tell myself that the best kind of giving is when the receiver doesn’t know the one giving the help, like I learned about from those books in the rabbi’s study. It wasn’t only the thirty-six saints. It was also Maimonides’s levels of charity. Apparently, it’s even nobler when the giver doesn’t know the recipient, but I figure I’ve got half the equation for the ideal selfless act here, and I’m disabled, so I’m feeling pretty good about the whole situation. I mean, I’m not saying I’m one of the thirty-six or anything, but…

I want Julian to feel special. That’s the point. I can do that for him. Because I know his heart.

My finger lands on his name and sticks there along with my eyes. I do the trick of staring so long, the numbers float around and appear to lift from my phone. Like that time in the rabbi’s study. I stare longer. I stare at it until it feels the number is burned into my retinas, like it’s been in my mind since I memorized it. Hadn’t I told myself one day I’d tell Julian how I still feel about him? Why not now?

I think about my first text. Me, not Jennifer. Or me as Jennifer. We are entwined with each other, each of us the positive or negative image of the other. I could speak to Julian. And he doesn’t have to know it’s me.

I construct my first text: You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you.

Satisfied with my message, since it hits on so many levels and still doesn’t give me away, I hit send. But then I am instantly hit with a wave of regret. My face heats, and my chest feels tight. Little beads of perspiration dot my neck and my upper lip. Lovely. And just like that I’m back to being Jenna. Stupid Jenna, staring at the screen wondering if he can trace this back to me.

But then he writes back. Who is this?

It’s weird. For a smart girl, I really hadn’t given this whole thing much thought.

What am I supposed to tell him now? I’m the girl who’s been in love with you since kindergarten? Or, I’m the person who knows so many things about you. Like how you look down when you don’t know the answer to a question in class. Or how you fidget when you’re nervous, the movements starting with your hands and progressing down to your legs. How you are always chewing gum, which makes me wonder what it would be like to kiss you. No! I’m definitely not going to say that last one. How about, I know how sad you looked in school today when Chip reminded you of your little grades problem.

I want to help you.

Is it that obvious that I need help?

No! I mean I want to help you adjust to your new school.

Oh. Right. So you knew me before?

A little.

Okay, so that’s an actual lie, but…

And I knew you?

Maybe.

We were friends?

Now that’s a hard one to answer. So I don’t.

How’s your schedule?

So we’re not in classes together.

Do you like your teachers?

You’re not going to answer any personal questions, are you?

Nope. Not one that will tell you who I am.

Why?

It’s an experiment.

See, I knew you were pranking me.

No. Not pranking you. A friend once told me that anyone can help someone else, but it’s most effective if it’s anonymous. I want to try that out.

I just totally riffed on Maimonides, but…

But you know who I am.

Yeah, there’s no way around that.

So how does this work, exactly?

Easy. If you have a school-related question, ask me.

Any question?

Except who I am, yeah.

Ok. Why is Mr. Fishborn such a tool?

You have Fishborn? Sorry. His wife left him last year.

Oh. That’s too bad. So he used to be nicer?

Nah. That’s why she left, I guess. But her leaving has made him meaner. If that’s possible.

Perfect.

Just be sure to turn in your