Bitter End (5 page)

He sat in the seat facing me, leaning forward on his elbows. The leather sleeves of his Pine Gate jacket creaked underneath
him. “Yeah? What?”

I dug around in my backpack for a few minutes and then pulled out an old sheet of notebook paper. I handed it to him without
saying anything. Truth was, I was so nervous I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t exactly used to letting anyone other than
teachers look at my writing. And Cole wasn’t just anyone, either. For some reason, I wanted to impress him.

He gazed at the paper for a while, a crease between his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said, finally, his eyes lighting up. “This is your
poem! The one that won you an award, right?”

I nodded, my eyes feeling like they would burn right out of their sockets. “You don’t have to read it, though.”

“I want to,” he said, and he read aloud:

“I cannot swallow your hardened eyes

Sightless of my shrinking heart

My caving chest

Shoulders to the polished floor

“I cannot swallow your bound arms

My throat the leg of a drowned man

Rubber of a smoldering tire

Your pointed elbows stabbing my temples

“I cannot swallow your cool tongue

Clicking behind your teeth as you

List my failures

I can only cry a dusty tumbleweed

A weathered fence post

A handful of rusted nails

Rolling out of me like marbles”

For a long time after he finished, he didn’t say a word. Just sat there and stared at the paper. My face started to feel hot,
and I felt a tug in my rib cage, embarrassment welling up inside me.

I hadn’t ever shown anyone that poem, except Mrs. Moody. When I finally let her read it, she took off her reading glasses
and rubbed the imprints left on the bridge of her nose, then told me she knew exactly what I needed to do with it. She’d given
me a printout the next day of the guidelines for a youth poetry contest held by some college writ
ing group. She told me she thought I really had a chance. Two months later, when I found out I’d won first place, I was ecstatic.
But still embarrassed. That poem was like a part of my soul. My thoughts. My private feelings. Showing them around would have
felt like going to class in my underwear.

“There probably weren’t very many entries,” I said at last, my voice sounding electric and crackly in the silent room. I reached
for the paper in Cole’s hand. He snatched it away.

“Are you kidding?” he said. “It’s really good. I mean
really
good.”

I felt my cheeks pull up into a smile, even though the embarrassment was still so intense I squirmed. “Yeah?” I said.

He finally looked up, his lips parted. “Oh, yeah. Definitely. I don’t read a lot of poetry, but this…” He gazed at the paper
again. “Wow. You’re like… Emily Dickinson or something.”

“Ha! Thanks,” I said.

He looked at me, and our eyes locked. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn he looked… moved.

Finally, I broke eye contact and busied myself pulling my notebook out of my backpack and slapping it down on the desk between
us industriously. “So what do you have to work on today?” I asked.

But he was still staring at me, only now the dimple was there, perched above the corner of his lip. “Does it have a title?”
he asked.

I thought about it, feeling really self-conscious now. In a good way, but still. I cleared my throat and grinned.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s called ‘My Sparkling Personality and Unforgettable Good Looks.’ ” Our inside joke.

He smiled for real this time, and held it for a few seconds before cracking up. He handed me back my poem, and I stuffed it
into my backpack, feeling the unease and self-consciousness melt away.

“Can we get to work now?” I asked, glancing at the clock. “Mrs. Moody would kill me if she knew I was wasting lab time showing
you my poems.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, reaching to the desk behind him to pick up his English textbook. He plopped it on the table next to
my notebook and started flipping through the pages. “If you insist. But personally, I don’t think it was a waste of time at
all.”

He continued flipping the pages of his book, but when I glanced up at him, he was looking straight at me. I looked down again
quickly, blushing and telling myself that his look was nothing. He was just impressed by the poem was all.

Still. Whatever the stare was about, there was no denying, I could feel its intensity right down to my toes.

I barreled through Bethany’s front door without even knocking. We’d been friends long enough that her parents just expected
it. When we were little, Bethany lived right across the street from Zack and me. We barged in and out of one another’s houses
so freely nobody even seemed to notice anymore. By the time Bethany moved to the other side of town, in sixth grade, the habit
was so ingrained in me, I still did it anyway.

Bethany’s mom was sitting on the couch, holding Bethany’s little brother’s head in her lap, a pair of tweezers poised over
one ear. He was squirming and ranting, his glossy red hair flouncing up against her arm.

“Hi, Alex,” she said when I came through the door. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an extra hand?”

“Sure,” I said. I was already late as it was. Zack had probably already eaten all the pizza, and he and Bethany
were probably cooking up a “punishment” for me. Last time Bethany was late to a Vacay Day, Zack made her let us videotape
her while she sang “I’m Too Sexy” and then upload it on her Facebook page. But Bethany’s mom was so nice and always so frazzled
watching after Bethany’s four insane little brothers, I kind of felt sorry for her.

“He stuck a raisin in there,” she said, handing me the tweezers and pointing to his ear. “I can see it, but he won’t stay
still long enough for me to get it.”

I hesitated. “You want me to get it?”

She nodded. “I’ve done it a million times before. Trust me, as long as you don’t push it farther down in there, it’ll be no
problem. You’d think they’d learn. Stop, Ryan,” she hissed at Bethany’s brother, clamping his legs under her now-free arm.

“I don’t know if I…”

Ryan let out another wail and a new series of kicks with even more vigor than before, almost freeing his head from under his
mom’s arm. “Ryan! No!” she said, and swatted his bottom. Now he was screeching as well as wiggling. “You’ll be fine, Alex.
Just do it fast.”

I bent over and held my breath, hoping against hope that Bethany’s little brother didn’t suddenly break loose and get an eardrum
full of tweezer. My face was right next to Bethany’s mom’s. It was lined and looked weary. She smelled like macaroni and cheese.
Quickly, before thinking about it too much, I stuck the tweezers into Ryan’s ear and plucked out the raisin, which—thank God—came
out in
one piece. Bethany’s mom let go of Ryan and he bolted out the front door, screaming and holding his ear as if I’d punctured
it.

I handed Bethany’s mom the tweezers, and the raisin dropped into her lap. She let out a deep breath and ran her free hand
through her tangled strawberry blond hair.

“Boys,” she said, and then chuckled. “Thanks for the help, honey.”

“No problem,” I said, but before I could say anything else, there was a crash from the kitchen, followed by rapid-fire barking
issued by Bethany’s dog, Perry, and another of her brothers shouting “
Mom!
” Bethany’s mom gritted her teeth, slapped her palms on her thighs a few times, and got up.

Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I’d trade my so-silent-it-hurts life with Bethany’s wild and crazy one if you paid me a million
dollars. Her house was in constant chaos, and her brothers destroyed everything. Her dad worked some weird night shift and
was never home and awake when everyone else was, so studious and obedient Bethany often stepped in as second mother to the
boys. No doubt, she wanted to save the Earth because it seemed so much more savable than her own household.

I picked up my purse and scurried to Bethany’s bedroom, where she and Zack were already sitting on her bed with the laptop
open. A box of pizza lay next to them, and Zack was chewing and laughing at the same time, his eyes glued to the laptop screen.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said, tossing my purse on Bethany’s dresser and grabbing a slice of pizza. I took a bite. “I was on the
phone.” As I said it, I felt my face redden and suddenly wasn’t sure if, no matter how long I chewed the pizza, I’d be able
to swallow it.

This was new, but I was starting to feel it more and more often whenever I thought of or talked to or saw Cole. After I’d
shown him my poem on Monday, he’d seemed to be around more often, tossing a shy “Hi, Alex” my way or waving at me from across
the parking lot or whatever. I was starting to get a vibe off him that there was more to it than coincidence.

And tonight he’d called my cell just as I was getting ready to walk out the door.

“Hey, Emily Dickinson,” he’d said, and immediately I felt as if I was trying to breathe on the top of a mountain. The air
felt thin around me.

“No biggie,” Bethany said, reaching under her bed and pulling out the green binder we’d all started calling the Obsessive
Files. It was crammed beyond capacity with everything about Colorado she could get her hands on. There were itineraries and
computer printouts, coupons, guidebooks, even ancient, crayon-written lists we’d once made of which celebrities we would be
on the lookout for (Ricky Martin and the Spice Girls were at the top of the list). “We haven’t started yet.”

“But you will be punished,” Zack said in his game show announcer voice.

Bethany rolled her eyes. “He has an Oreo in his sock,” she said.

“Ew,” I said, flopping on the bed next to Zack. “I’m not eating it if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Nice, Spoiler Sally,” he said to Bethany. “You got any soda?”

“In the fridge,” Bethany said absently, flipping through a stack of maps. “Bring me one.”

“Me too,” I added.

“Oh, well, I do live to serve, after all,” he said, hopping off the bed. “Hey, Mrs. M!” I heard him bellow when he left the
room.

I took my chance while he was gone.

“Beth,” I hissed.

“Hmm?” she responded, scratching her chin and studying the map. “Hey, you know, I think there’s this dinosaur museum or something
on the way there.”

“Bethany!” I said again, louder this time. “Quick, while Zack’s not in here.” I motioned for her to sit on the bed next to
me.

She looked up and shut the notebook, then sat next to me. “What?” she said, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, and resting
the notebook in her lap.

“Guess who called me.”

“Who?”

“Cole.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Hot Guy Cole?”

I nodded, unable to keep my smile at bay.

“What did he want?”

I shook my head. “English class. He had a question about this Ray Bradbury novel they’re reading. But then we talked about
stupid stuff, too. You know, like that assembly we had last week. That kind of thing.”

Bethany looked confused. “So why is this a big deal?”

I flopped back against her pillow and groaned. “I don’t know,” I said. “I just… it’s not, is it?”

“Not unless you like him.”

I giggled and smacked her with a Dr Pepper pillow. “Shut up; you know I kind of do,” I said.

Her eyes got big. “You’re finally admitting it?”

Holding back a huge laugh that wanted, for some reason I didn’t even understand, to burst out of me, I nodded slowly. “Yeah,”
I said.

“And you think he likes you, too?”

Again, I nodded, feeling like a big happy dork with my smile.

“That’s awesome,” she said. “He’s really cute, Alex. You should make your move.”

“No way,” I said, hitting her with the pillow again. Pieces of her hair floofed up, and she had to wrangle them down again.
“And don’t tell Zack. You know how he gets. The whole world would know tomorrow.”

“Oh, please, Zack is the last person I would tell,” she said. But then we could hear Zack coming down the hall, talking to
one of Bethany’s little brothers. Bethany opened the notebook again just in time for Zack
to open the door, carrying the entire twelve-pack of Dr Pepper.

He stood in the doorway eyeing us. “Okay, I missed something,” he said.

Bethany and I hovered over the notebook as if it was the most absorbing thing we’d ever seen in our lives.

“Uh-huh. Just so you know,” he said, shutting the door with his foot and digging cans of soda out of the box, “I’m not going
to any girly spa and wearing a short robe and cucumbers on my eyes while we’re out there, if that’s what you’re planning.”

Bethany and I glanced at each other and cracked up.

“But you can get massages at those places,” I said.

“Yeah,” Bethany agreed. “With lots of oil and maybe a hot masseuse walking on your back. Topless.”

Zack tossed Dr Peppers onto the bed and flopped down next to them. “Alex,” he said, smacking the back of my head as if he’d
just had a brilliant idea, “I think I just thought of your punishment!”

“Ew!” I said, rolling away from him. “I am not coming near you with my bare feet. Or bare anything else, for that matter.”

“Come on, Alex,” he teased. “Best friends share everything. It’s in the rule book. Rule number seventy-seven: Best friends
don’t keep things from each other.”

Bethany and I locked eyes over his head and then giggled. For now, Zack didn’t need to know that I was totally crushing on
Cole.

I was still glowing from the phone call and Bethany’s excitement for me when I got to school on Monday. Something about saying
it out loud made my crush on Cole seem more real. I found myself looking around everywhere I went, hoping I’d see him and
we’d get a chance to wave at each other. Maybe say hi. Maybe lock eyes. Which all seemed kind of goofy and oh-so-middle-school,
but that was the way I’d started feeling when I was around Cole—like crushes were new to me.

But by seventh period, when he didn’t show at tutoring, it was obvious that he was absent, and I felt a little deflated. By
Tuesday, when he still wasn’t back, I started to get anxious, and by Wednesday I was trying hard not to take it personally.
I sat in the lab by myself, writing poems and wondering where Cole was.