Blind Spot (8 page)

I laughed. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it’s a good one about arrogance being man’s downfall.”

“You like quotes?” I pulled out my music. “I’ll find you a good one. Lyrics are full of them.”

He gave a snort. “It’s not the same. My quotes come from world-renowned authors, philosophers, the Bible.”

“Now who’s being arrogant?” I began scanning my playlists. “Come on, I bet I can find a lyric worth quoting.”

We started listening to each other’s music in search of wisdom. By the time we boarded the bus, the game had mutated into “Name That Tune” or, as Greg called it, “Try to Stump Roz”—because he rarely could.

The temperature yo-yoed the whole way home, causing downpours of alternating rain and hail. The road was a mess, keeping traffic at a crawl. It was well after ten o’clock when we arrived at the Birch bus terminal. “Is your mom picking you up?” Greg asked. “I can give you a ride.”

I flipped open my phone. Still no call. What the hell? The damp cold bit through me. I shivered and hugged my jacket close. Should I call him again or just forget it?

“That is, if you can brave it,” Greg said. “I’ve heard E.T. wouldn’t.”

Jonathan was probably too drunk to drive anyway. I grinned at Greg. “I think I can handle it.”

He opened the passenger door. I scooted in and buckled up. The interior of his car was spotless. Only the outlandish amount of room and the dashboard with its knobs, push buttons, and large gauges gave away its age. Everything else was in perfect condition. No rips or tears in the upholstery. No door handles falling off. It even had a new-car smell.

“I think it’s going to snow soon—the pond by my house has already started to freeze over,” Greg said, cranking up the heat. “I’m not looking forward to playing football once that happens.”

“Maybe it will hold off at least until homecoming. Did you nominate people for royalty in homeroom yesterday?” I slid my cell phone out again. Still nothing.

“Is someone calling you? You keep looking at that thing.”

I snapped the phone shut. “I thought Jonathan might. There was this party tonight.” I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I can give you a ride to Ethan’s party, if that’s where you want to be.”

“I don’t. I just want Jonathan to call me back. He was mad that I went to the museum.”

“Mad? Doesn’t he realize you need the credit?”

I shrugged. “I canceled our plans. He thought I was blowing him off.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. I had fun today.” He smiled over at me.

“Me too.” I smiled back at him—okay, at his ear. He tried to catch my eye, so I looked away. “My house is on the next street.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked. “You never make eye contact with me. You look at my ear or my shoulder, but never my face.”

“No!” He’d caught me off-guard. “To see your eyes, I have to look at your ear.” I gave a nervous laugh. “Weird, I know, but dots block things straight on, so I focus on something else and use my peripheral vision. Missy was always so creeped out by it—I figured she told you.”

“She only said you have a vision problem. Is it like a sunspot I’d have to blink to see around?”

I laughed in surprise. “Yeah! That’s exactly what it’s like.” That was the first time someone had ever understood my explanation. It felt—I don’t know—freeing?

He pulled into my driveway and parked. “I don’t think anyone’s home.”

“Never is.” I started fishing through my purse for my keys.

He flipped on the interior light. “How come you haven’t talked to Ratner yet about Dellian?”

I sighed and looked up from my bag. “I thought it would get better.”

“Well, it hasn’t. You should talk to him or sit in the back and let me take notes for you. I’m thorough. I record the lectures with my MP3 player for backup.”

My fingers found the jagged edges of my keys. “I’d like that, actually. The notes.” Dellian had started writing very small on the board. Even though I was sitting up front, it was hard to decipher them. “I’m not moving to the back, though.” I opened the car door and lingered. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. The day had been too much fun. “You want to come in? I have some photos I think you’d like.”

“If you don’t think your mom will mind.”

“She won’t mind.” I unlocked the door. “The photos are downstairs, on my bedroom ceiling.”

Greg kicked his shoes off and jumped up on my bed, standing on his tippy toes to examine each of the UFO photographs plastered on my ceiling. “These are amazing. Where’d you get them?”

“My dad.” I leaned back against my headboard. “He sends them in lieu of child support. Mom tried to sell one on eBay once, but no one bid. So she lets me have them.”

“How does he find all these?”

“People give them to him. He’s a . . . ufologist.”

“Ufologist? Is that a real job?” He looked down at me. “He gets paid to study UFOs?”

I laughed. “Don’t be too impressed. Mom made the same mistake—she heard the ‘ologist’ and saw dollar signs. Not sure if it’s a legit title. But I know he doesn’t make money doing it, just a grant here and there.” I pulled my cell phone out. It was a habit by now. I didn’t want to talk to Jonathan or go to the party anymore—I simply wanted to see if he’d called. So I could ignore it. “What’s your verdict? Do aliens exist?” I turned my eyes back up to Greg.

He was watching me. “Did he call?” There was a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

“No, just . . . checking.”

His hands left the ceiling. “Well, some of these probably are overexposure or sunspots. I’d have to look at where each was taken, the circumstances surrounding each incident, that sort of thing. They’re definitely awesome.” He stepped off the bed and leaned in an awkward pose against the dresser. “Your name, Roswell, makes sense now. I always wondered.”

“My dad’s idea. He said it was a family name. Mom says if she’d known it was a town in New Mexico, she never would’ve agreed.” I fiddled with the phone in my hand.

“I should get going.” He slipped his shoes back on and headed up the stairs.

“I had fun today,” I said when we reached the door.

“Did you?” He turned around. “You seem really eager to call him.”

“No! I mean, yes, I had fun. A lot of fun.” I tried to give him a reassuring smile. “I’m not eager. I just”—I rubbed my thumb across the face of my phone—“wanted to see if he’d called, if he was”—I shrugged—“missing me.”

“Roz, why—” Greg paused. “Never mind.” He pushed the screen door open. “I’ll get those notes to you Monday.”

An insane desperation came over me on Sunday. I called Jonathan’s cell every half hour. I walked by his house. I became the stalker I’d accused Greg of being. My heart pounded; my body shook. I could focus on nothing but making things right with him. I had to know that he still wanted me. That I was still beautiful.

Monday morning, he didn’t pick me up. I called him every three minutes until finally, out of time, I had to wake Mom up to drive me and then I beelined to Life Skills. I flew past Tricia spinning in the hallway and ran into the classroom.

Tricia followed. “Can’t say hi?”

“Leave me alone.” I surveyed the classroom. He wasn’t there yet. I threw my books down next to my desk and trotted back into the hallway.

Tricia trailed behind. “You know your name spelled backwards is Llew-sor?”

Clever. I made a mental scan of her name backwards, but got nothing. “You spend all weekend coming up with that?” The first bell rang. No Jonathan. I moved to the end of the hall, searching in both directions.

“Trouble in paradise?” Tricia said.

“No!” I snapped. “He’s just late.”

“Or off playing with his new toy.”

“Shouldn’t you be shooting whipped cream somewhere right now?”

“And miss this? Not a chance.”

“There is no
this.
I’m just waiting for my boyfriend.”

“Girls.” Mr. Dellian motioned into the room with his head.

Tricia leaned forward after he’d gone back inside. “Boyfriend? I saw him at Ethan’s Saturday, all wrapped up with his new doll—he’s done playing with you.” Tricia smiled her wicked smile and turned away.

I yanked her backwards by the hood of her cloak. “What are you talking about?”

“Watch it!” She examined her hood for a second, and then gave me an exaggerated look of sympathy. “Oh, you thought he really
liked
you? You were the payoff in my drug deal. Nothing more.”

“You’re sick.”

“Am I? I had no money, remember? He took you as collateral. But I’ve got my own payment plan now. Your services are no longer required.”

I hated her. “You self-absorbed witch. This has nothing to do with you.”

“I thought there was no ‘this’?”

“He asked me out.” I seethed. “We were dating.
Are
dating.” My voice got louder, angrier. “He’s mad because I couldn’t go out Saturday. Would he have got mad if I was just your—your—”

“Crack whore?” Tricia offered.

“Screw you,” I said, and left Tricia laughing in the hallway.

I couldn’t concentrate on anything, not even the chocolate éclairs Ruth had brought. I was too consumed by anger. And panic. What if he really had hooked up with someone else at Ethan’s party?

I tried to find him after class.

Again before third and fourth.

Left messages. Texts.

At lunch, I ran outside to the seniors’ parking lot. I got there just in time to see a brown blur getting into a shiny red blob a few yards away. The loud engine and boom of the base as it sped out of the school lot sent jealous waves through me. Tricia? What the hell was he doing with Tricia? I ripped out my phone as I came back inside.

“Hi,” Greg said, walking up. “I’m still working on your notes. Tomorrow okay?”

“Fine,” I mumbled. I called Jonathan. He wouldn’t answer. Why wouldn’t he answer? Where were they going? I turned back to the door and stared out the window.

“You waiting for someone?” Greg asked.

“No, just—” I turned around and headed to the cafeteria. I needed to talk to Heather. Maybe she’d seen something at Ethan’s party. Heard something.

Heather wasn’t there yet. I sat down at our table to wait.

“I wrote my paper for Dellian.” Greg sat next to me. “The extra-credit one? Could you look it over?” He held it out to me. “Hope the font is large enough for you.”

He had nothing to do with my foul mood. But I was angry and frustrated and he was there, annoying me with petty things like notes and extra-credit papers—and the large-font comment put me over the top. I ripped a red pen from my purse and raged through his paper, slashing words at random, then threw it back at him.

“What is this?” Greg cried. “Why did you mark all over my paper?”

“Because it’s wrong!”

He rubbed at the red markings with his eraser, but couldn’t remove them. I don’t use erasable ink. “You didn’t even read it! How do you know it’s wrong?”

“Because you’re wrong!” Tears sprang to my eyes.

Greg stared at me. “About what?”

I turned away from him.

He leaned forward. “Look at me,” he whispered. When I wouldn’t, he stretched his body across the table until his face was directly in front of mine. “What’s wrong, Roz? Why are you upset with me?”

On the other side of the room I heard Missy laughing with her cronies. Her cackle made me realize Greg was not the enemy. “It’s not you.” I swiped at a tear before it could escape my eyelid. “Sorry about your paper.” I focused my eyes on the renegade curl that had fallen across his left eye. “Jonathan won’t talk to me.”

“Oh.” Greg recoiled, his eyes falling on the ink-riddled paper.

“I saw him leaving, with Tricia of all people. Why would he be with her? And she said he was with someone at Ethan’s. I thought she was just trying to get at me like she always does, but she was with him just now! I saw them!”

Greg stood up. “Maybe you should let sleeping dogs lie.” He picked up his essay and untouched lunch. “I have to go.”

“Whatever!” I muttered as he walked away. I snatched up my own untouched lunch and retreated to my locker.

Minutes later, while I slammed books around on the shelf, Jonathan slipped his arms around my waist. “Hey, Beautiful.”

“Jonathan!” I turned and hugged him hard. “Where’ve you been?”

“Around.” He nuzzled my neck. “You still mad at me?”

“I never was! You were mad at me because I went to the museum.”

“Yeah, I heard you went with some loser. What’s up with that?”

“You mean Greg?” I inhaled his musky smell. Relished the warmth of his arms around me. “I didn’t go
with
him. We were both there, so we hung out. Seriously, Greg’s just a . . .” What? A friend? Friends don’t ditch each other the way he had just ditched me in the cafeteria. “A classmate.”

Jonathan pulled me close. “Bet he wants to be more.” He kissed my chin.

I pushed away slightly. “Were you with Tricia at lunch?”

“Tricia? Nah.” He kissed my ear. “I just got here.”

“I saw her get into your car, Jonathan. I saw you two leaving.” I tried to stay focused, to stand my ground. My body was melting into his touch, though, losing the battle.

“You sure it was my car, Beautiful? You know you don’t see that well.”

“I thought it was your car,” I mumbled as his lips caressed my neck again. But I was already starting to doubt myself. I hadn’t actually seen
his
car, had I? Just a
red
car.

“Nah, wasn’t me.” He pulled me in tighter. “You know I’m up for King.” His lips brushed mine. “Be my homecoming date?”

My body surged as he kissed me again. “Yes!” I breathed.

He gently pulled away and slipped his hand in mine. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Hours later, while we were snuggling on my living room couch (I was too embarrassed by my UFO pictures to bring Jonathan into my room) and I was listening to Jonathan complain about Dellian’s attempts to get him off the hockey team, the doorbell rang.

“Shit,” he said. We scrambled to untangle our bodies. “Is that your mom?” He’d parked at his house and walked over in case she came home early, but still, we hadn’t really thought she would.