Along Came Jordan (6 page)

****

I found out later Laine had been at home puking while Jordan and I put up the signs. It must've killed her not to be there supervising. All I knew was she dragged herself to school right after lunch, and her face was still a strange shade of green.

We planned the Servant Sale for Friday after school, complete with a professional auctioneer — thanks to Laine, who knows everyone in town. But the eleventh grade history teacher Mr. Saines found out and pitched a fit, saying the whole thing was way too similar to a slave auction. So we nixed the auctioneer and decided to handle the bidding ourselves. We figured that would appease Mr. Saines.

Bud did the honors. On Friday afternoon, the whole school seemed electric. I never dreamed there'd be so much excitement over buying a servant. Everyone crowded around the stair landing where we were lined up. Kids were pushing and shoving for a better view. The blood rushed to my face. It was like being in a sideshow at a circus. I didn't remember feeling so naked when we did it at Bates. Sally and Margo were front and center, hoping to get Jordan. They'd pooled their money for a grand total of thirty-five dollars and twenty cents. If everyone brought that much money, we'd get more than four hundred bucks, easy.

Everyone in EC lined up in front of Bud. I ended up standing next to the griping blonde. I still didn't know her name, but I'd caught a glimpse of her class ring the other day, so I knew she was a senior.

She sneered at me. "Don't think anyone's forgotten this was your brilliant idea."

I shuffled as far away from her as I dared. She turned to face the mob of kids and pasted a huge smile on her face. She was a knockout, and I was sure she'd go first.

Bud raised one arm like a Greek performer and bellowed into the bullhorn. "Friends, fellow citizens, and avid environmental caretakers! This wonderful group of energetic, hard-working EC members is here to become your servants. As you know, there will be no cheating on homework, bullying, or abuse of any kind. If you even think about it, you lose your servant. Servant duties are to be done during the day in plain view. Am I clear?"

The student body cheered and hooted. I saw Mr. Saines standing against the wall of the office with his hands on his hips, and the look on his face would have scared a Marine.

"Up first is Melinda Strobel," Bud continued.

So, her name was Melinda. She stepped forward, took an exaggerated bow, and then looked hard at someone in the back.

"Twenty bucks!" a guy in the front yelled.

Some muscle guy — had to be a football player — shoved his way to the front. His shoulders bulged and the students parted for him like cheerleaders at the beginning of a game.

"I'll give twenty-one for her, and the bidding is closed." Nobody dared argue.

Bud smiled, took the money, and motioned for Melinda to step down. Melinda winked at the football player, jumped down, and put her arm through his.

"Next, we have Jordan Lawman. Who would like to donate for—"

Bud was cut off by Mr. Saines yelling from the back. He elbowed his way forward and grabbed the bullhorn from Bud. "Give it to me," he barked. "These shenanigans are over."

Bud's face wrinkled in confusion. "We got permission. We're good to go."

"And now you're not. Give Matt his money back." He turned and bellowed into the bullhorn, "Break it up, party's over."

Mr. Saines bulldozed his way to the office. The crowd started
boo
-ing as Mr. Oakes emerged into the area, looking like he'd crawled out of hibernation. The noise increased, and I saw his lips mouth, "What's going on?"

Mr. Saines took his arm and his head jerked back and forth with whatever he was saying. Mr. Oakes nodded and nodded then turned to all of us.

"Folks, there's been a mix-up. We're going to have to postpone or possibly cancel the event."

"He can't do this!" Laine cried. "LaShawna got permission."

LaShawna put her fist in the air. "I got permission."

Bud faced her, his hands on his hips. "Who said we could do this, LaShawna? Looks like Oakes didn't have a clue."

"I turned the request in to the office. Mrs. Atterbury took it. I figured she'd give it to Oakes."

Bud threw up his arms in surrender. "Great, just great. Obviously, she didn't."

It didn't matter. Everyone realized it was over, and they jostled for the doors and the stairs. I jumped out of the way and fell into Jordan. He hit the stair rail and pulled me into him, steadying us both. Hot fire raced through my body.

"S-s-sorry," I stammered, but I don't think he heard.

Once it was obvious neither of us would fall, he thrust me forward. Our eyes locked, and the annoyance I saw in his face made my heart cold. He jerked around and began up the stairs. I stepped back against the banister as the crowd swarmed up the steps toward their lockers. Some kids laughed, but mostly they complained — loud and furious. I heard snippets of, "Lame," "Stupid," "What a rip-off," "Who started this," and a few other choice words.

Great.

Ahead, Laine was talking. "Don't blame me, Janae. Emili started the whole thing. It's not my fault it blew up in our face."

I stopped and tried to shrivel into nothingness. Laine kept climbing the stairs with her booming voice announcing to anyone listening that the whole mess started "because of Emili". The crowd on the stairs began to thin, so I headed to my locker to grab my backpack. When I was almost to the second floor, Bud met me on his way down.

"Sorry, Emili. What a mess. You okay? Man, I should've double-checked on LaShawna. That was my fault."

"It was a dumb idea."

"No, it wasn't a dumb idea. It was stupid Mr. Saines. Oakes didn't even know." He reached over and took my arm. "You tried. Sorry."

I grimaced and shrugged. "Stuff happens. It's not your fault."

I continued up the stairs but noticed everyone on their way down gawking at me.

"Aren't you Emili?" some guy asked.

I nodded.

"You're the one," another guy said. "Nice job, Emili." It wasn't a compliment.

"It's not her fault," a girl said and slapped his back. "It was Saines and Oakes. They're creeps."

"True, but she started the whole thing," he replied. "Whatever. Another standard Edgemont High fiasco."

I kept my eyes down and made it to my locker. If I didn't start laughing soon, I'd cry. Surely there was something funny in this. I felt tears well up.
Priceless.
Now I could be the girl who had the stupid idea and a big fat crybaby to boot.

Someone bumped me from behind, and I turned around to see both Sally and Margo standing there with pity in their eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," Margo said and gave me a hug.

I wiped at my eyes and blinked. "Thanks."

"Oh great, we made her cry," Sally said. "Emili, it was old goat Saines, and everyone already hates him, so don't worry."

"Don't forget LaShawna," Margo said. "I wouldn't put her in charge of a lemonade stand. And to think we were so close to having Jordan for a week."

Margo gazed upward with a dreamy look on her face. Then she flinched and looked at me. "Who cares, anyway? It was still fun to see Matthew lay claim to Melinda. Did you see the look on his face when Walter bid on her?"

"Too romantic for words," Sally said. "Wish someone would lay claim to me."

"Someone will, wait and see," Margo reassured her.

"Never gonna happen."

I slung my backpack over my shoulder. "Thanks, guys, for the support. See you tomorrow."

"Don't worry," Margo said. "It'll blow over in a New York minute. Always does."

I nodded and shrugged. "
Right.
Thanks anyway."

I had to wait for Dad to pick me up since I thought the Servant Sale would last a lot longer. When he did show up, I climbed into the car, and except for him coughing about four hundred times, neither of us said a word the whole way home. I couldn't get to my room fast enough. All I wanted to do was dive under the covers and stay there for — let me see — the rest of my life.

I barely got in my room, though, when Sarah appeared. She stood at my door, staring at my wall like the undead.

"Sarah?" I walked to her and pulled her arm. "Come on, let's sit."

I sat her on my bed. "What's up?"

Her eyes pivoted until they met mine. "I hate it."

"Hate what?"

"My life."

So did I. I gathered her in my arms, rested my chin on the top of her head, and whispered, "I know."

Sarah took a huge gasping gulp of air and burrowed more tightly into me. I held her and smoothed her hair, following the long blonde strands down her back. Her tears soaked through my shirt, but I didn't move.

We sat together, the two of us, for the next twenty minutes.

At six, I still hadn't heard the kitchen door, so I knew Mom wasn't home yet — which had become her new routine. If I asked her where she'd been, I got a rock wall. Whenever I brought it up to Dad, his face would tighten and his lips would mold into a straight line. No one was happy with this new, secretive mother.

At six-thirty, the door opened and banged shut. Sarah heard it, and she jerked upright. "Mom's here."

"At last."

"Don't tell her I cried." Sarah's face held a worried expression, and she eyed the bedroom door.

"I won't say a thing."

"Did Dad tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"What happened when I got in trouble?" She looked down and picked at the tip of her fingernail.

Oh wow. I'd been so wrapped up in myself, I'd forgotten all about Dad's appointment with her principal. "No."

"I threw my math and language books in the toilet."

My mouth dropped. "Why?"

"I don't know. I wanted to."

"You weren't suspended?"

"Dad got me out of it, but the books cost one hundred and thirty-two dollars."

"Uh oh."

Sarah stood and pulled at the pockets of her pants. "I made it all worse. Never thought about it costing money."

"Everyone screws up sometimes."

I almost told her about the major screw-up with the Servant Sale but decided two of us moaning wouldn't help anything.

"Don't tell them I talked, either."

"Sarah, they're worried."

"I know, but I can't talk to them."

"Okay, I won't tell." Promising her didn't feel right. Deep in my gut, I was becoming suspicious that Sarah's silence was more than a little kid's rough adjustment.

Dinner was quiet. Dad ate as if he was competing in an obsessive-compulsive tournament, cutting each piece of food into tiny squares and making sure no one food touched another. Mom watched him with covert disdain, pretending to be enamored with her own meal. Sarah shoved her food around the plate, not eating, while I observed and wondered what had happened to my family.

Later in bed, I remembered the Servant Sale signs were still plastered all over the school. I'd have to wait through the whole weekend to tear them down. I flopped onto my side and groaned. No one would forget in a New York minute with those signs glaring from every corner.

****

First thing Monday morning I asked Dad to take me to school early, but he couldn't. Instead, I took the bus with Sarah as usual. When we pulled into the middle school, Sarah didn't budge.

"We're here," I prodded her.

She sat motionless, staring straight ahead.

"Sarah, get up. We're here."

The bus driver's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. He frowned and jerked his head toward the door.

"Sarah! Get up!" I hollered.

Like a terminally ill patient, she stood and dragged herself forward, trailing down the steps without a backward glance.

Could things be worse? I settled back into the seat and counted the seconds until we pulled into the high school parking lot. The driver barely had his foot on the brakes before I jumped up and hurtled the steps. There were already groups of students milling around. I pushed through them into the school.

"No running," the officer warned after I burst through the doors.

"Sorry," I said and grabbed the first poster I saw off the wall. By the time I rushed to the other two floors and pulled them all off, the bell was about to ring.

I crammed the posters into a nearby trashcan and looked up to see Jordan. He was standing two yards away, watching me. I smiled at him and shrugged.

He walked over. "Getting rid of the evidence, huh?"

"Sure am."

"It was a sort of disaster."

I shook my head. "I'm hoping everyone has pushed delete."

He chuckled. "Well, it's over now."

"Maybe for you, since you're not the one being blamed."

"Oh?" He rubbed his chin.

Was I having a civil conversation with Jordan the Iceman? The warning bell buzzed.

"It
was
your idea, though, not mine," he said, his voice now devoid of humor.

Civil conversation? Scratch that. I hurried to my locker and grabbed my books. The halls were full of kids laughing, yelling, and darting every which way.

I walked to class alone.

****

During seventh period, I made a decision to call Marc when I got home. Days and days had passed, and not even a text. The last time I saw him, I was sure he was still interested. I thought he'd forgiven me for dumping him for Lance, the Creep. Was I so off base?

The Marc hole in my heart stretched wide. I needed someone to talk to, someone who liked me and knew me. Thank goodness I didn't have to attend any more involuntary meetings that afternoon. I caught the bus, sat by the ever-silent Sarah, and arrived home to find Dad once again parked on the couch.

"How was your day?" he asked for the millionth time.

I knew he was making an effort, which I guess I appreciated, but I was surprised he even asked anymore. Sarah ignored him and marched straight through the living room to her bedroom.

I said, "Fine," and went into my room. Marc was blazoned on my mind.

I checked the time.
He should be home
,
unless his coach called an extra conditioning class.
I perched on the edge of my bed and took a deep breath. My stomach was doing cartwheels, and nausea rose to my mouth.

I swallowed past the brick of tension in my throat and, before I could change my mind, speed-dialed his number. I counted each ring as beads of sweat popped out on my upper lip.
One
…
two
…
three
…
four
…

"Emili?"

Too late now, I couldn't hang up.

"Hi, Marc."

Awkward silence. Then, "How are you?"

"Fine," I lied.

"I've been meaning to call. I've been super busy."

"Me, too," I lied again.

"How's Edgemont High?"

"It's okay." A lump grew in my throat.

"I've thought about you," he said. His voice sounded funny — distant, cautious. "I've wondered how you were doing."

"Yeah, well."

"Jeannie was wondering, too."

Jeannie? Was he with Jeannie again? I thought their relationship had died a quick death right before I transferred to public school. Were they together? Was that why he hadn't called or texted?

Mental note: Check Marc
'
s
online
status
.

"Tell Jeannie I'm fine." I tried to keep my voice light, but knew I was failing.

"Okay."

Another awkward silence.

"I thought I'd call and say hi," I said.
How lame.

"Glad you did," Marc replied. He cleared his throat. "I
was
going to call you, Emili."

"It's okay. I don't deserve it."

"It's not that," he said. His voice warmed, and he sounded like the Marc I knew. "It's been busy."

"So you said."

"Emili…"

"What?"

"It's difficult."

"What is?"

His breath gushed out. "You and me."

"What do you mean?"

"You hurt me."

I cringed at the pain in his voice and knew he still suffered. "I know, and I'm sorry."

"I tried to forget. Honest, I did. It's hard. Jeannie says it takes time."

I bit my lip, and something claw-like grabbed my stomach. "Jeannie's right. I shouldn't have called. See you later, Marc."

"Sorry, Emili."

"Nothing to be sorry for. Bye." I snapped my phone closed and held it to my chest. I fell sideways onto my bed, and an icy stiffness came over my heart. It was my fault. How could I blame Marc for not wanting me back? I'd treated him like dirt when I lost my brain the previous month. How could I have been so stupid? It served me right.

I had no friends and no boyfriend. I was on my own in the charming world of Edgemont High.