Jack Kerouac is Dead to Me - Gae Polisner Page 0,14
thought you felt the same. We’re always talking about it, imagining it. Choosing from boys in our class. Pretending on dolls.
“Nothing. It’s just, that’s Janee Freese. With Rebecca Goldberg’s brother.”
“So?” Janee Freese is our friend Tanya’s sister, although we’re way better friends with Tanya, and Rebecca Goldberg is one of our newer friends we met through Tanya, because they went to camp together.
“Geez, JL, don’t you know the rules at all? Brothers are off-limits. Even across grades.”
“They are? How come?” You give me a look like I’m dumb. “Okay, got it,” I say, looking back at Janee with envy. But I don’t. Not completely. “But what if Rebecca doesn’t care?”
“Trust me, she’ll care.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Of course I’m going to tell her. That’s what friends do.”
Is it? I wonder.
I nod anyway, and try to work up a dislike for Janee the way you have. But I can’t seem to. So what if they’re kissing? It’s not like they’re stealing, or doing something wrong.
All through the Tilt-A-Whirl and Pirate Ship, I’m distracted and mad and sad. I want someone to kiss me one day the way Rebecca’s brother is kissing Janee. I want to tell you to mind your own business, to not start trouble where there is none. To leave Janee and What’s His Name alone. Is this what middle school is going to be full of?
* * *
After the Pirate Ship, I feel sick. I think about calling Dad to pick me up and take me home, but you grab my hand—me practically wincing at your touch—and say, “Shoot, JL, it’s past nine! Ethan is going to kill us!” and we break into a run. When we reach the ticket booth, he’s not even there, and you yell dramatically at the top of your lungs in some weird, unidentifiable accent, “The lying bastard!” and I bust out laughing at that, because I can’t even help myself, and just like that, everything is good between us again.
And, when we do find him, over by the goldfish game—the one where you have to toss quarters into the bowls—he’s holding court there, surrounded by a group of friends, mostly girls, clutching neon-colored stuffed animals, all fawning over him, his golden-haired self in the center, shining in the artificial lights. And all I can think about is what it must be like to be you, to be Ethan, to be either one of you super-perfect Anderssons.
But I don’t have to wonder because you grab my hand and pull me into the center of that circle, and say, “This is my sister, guys. Jean Louise. But everyone calls her JL.”
And everyone crowds around me, now, too, so in that moment, like so many moments with you, I can feel perfect, too.
LATE APRIL
TENTH GRADE
I let go of Max’s hand, and open the Velcro closure of the habitat, folding the mesh panel back and pressing it onto its hooks.
“These, over here?” I say. “The Jezebels? Predators can’t eat them because of their toxins. Their bright colors tell you that. Even before they hatch, you can tell from the neon yellow of their chrysalis.”
“Cool,” Max says. “And these?”
“Glasswings are the opposite, which makes them more susceptible. But they can store temporary toxins from the plants they eat. Plus, their transparency protects them.”
“Opposite of humans,” Max says.
I’m about to point out more nerdy butterfly facts, or try to urge a few of the butterflies out of the habitat, but I notice two Glasswings coupled and going at it unceremoniously in the corner. They look like one butterfly with eight wings.
Max notices, too.
“Get a room, huh?” he says, laughing. He sits back, watching them for a minute; then, as if they’ve given him the idea, he wraps his arms around me, and pulls me down, lowering me onto my carpet. He breathes into my hair like he’s trying to inhale me. “We could do like them, if you want to.”
“Max…” I whisper in warning, though to him or me lately I’m never really sure. “What happened to your chi thing?”
“I changed my mind,” he says. “Just a little more?”
“Okay, but just a little.” And then his tongue is meeting mine, and his hands are under my shirt, then under my bra, his fingers finding my nipples, sending my thoughts spinning, and me and this room careening into outer space.
LATE APRIL
TENTH GRADE
The front door closes, and my eyes snap open, confused.
The light has grown dim, slipping in weakly through the translucent shades of my window. We’ve fallen asleep