Candor (21 page)

“I don’t know why you like me,” Sherman says. He’s smiling back, all melty. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

The Listening Room gave him what he wanted. Sherman has no idea why Mandi wants him. But he knows it can’t be for real, still. I feel a little sorry for him.

Mandi’s radio beeps. Snookums staring time is over. She steps away to talk into the radio. The only person left for Sherman to stare at is me.

And he looks a little too hard. “What’s that?” Sherman points at my pocket.

At the corner of the brown bag sticking out. Leave it to Sherman to sniff out food.

“Nothing.” I jam it back in.

But sweet little Mandi drops her radio and shoves her hand in my pocket.

I yank her arm away. But she’s got the bag. It slips out of her hand and smacks onto the sidewalk. The rubber band holding it closed snaps.

All my precious M&M’s go rolling for the sewer.

“No!” I’m on my knees, saving them, all of them, for her.

But Mandi is there, too. Pushing them away. Shoving them into the drain. They rain into the water below. The sound is too loud for such tiny little things.

“Chocolate is bad for you,” she says. Firm, like she’s my mother. “It makes you fat, and it gives you zits, and it’s not nutritious.”

Combine a former beauty queen with the Messages and you have an anti-chocolate crusader. I’m surprised there hasn’t been a petition.

“I need them.” I scrabble away from her on the sidewalk, but she pushes forward on her hands and knees. Like a tiger hunting.

She slaps at my hand and it opens. Traitor. All of them gone, in the grass.

Sherman joins on the fun, stomping on them. Smashing my hope into multicolored bits on the grass.

“Bad treats! No good!” he says.

My face feels wet. Cold. Tears? Who put them there? Who let them come out, now?

I never cry.

Mandi’s voice is gentle. “It’s for the best.”

“You don’t know how much I needed those,” I tell her.

We’re sitting on the grass. Me flat on my wimp ass, breathing like I ran a race. Her on her knees. This time I’m the one who’s beat.

She leans forward and places one cold hand on my cheek. “Addiction is an ugly thing,” she whispers.

Our eyes meet and something tugs at me. I want to tell her.

You don’t even know you’re hooked, Mandi Able.

But her radio squawks again, something about litter in sector two. “Go home,” she says.

My fingers find one lump in the grass. Two.

A little dirty, maybe. But I can brush them off.

“I’m going.” I wrap my fingers around the candy that melts in your mouth, not in your hands.

Safe.

“We won’t tell,” she says.

I forgot to be afraid of that. As soon as I saw the candy rolling away, I knew what I was really afraid of. Losing my shot at making Nia remember.

“But you always tell,” I say.

“Let’s call it a favor.” Mandi looks at Sherman. “You can pay us back later.”

“Secrets!” Sherman shouts.

Mandi and I shush him at the same time.

“Yes,” she says, her voice low. “Oscar will help us with the secrets.”

That sounds like a bad idea. But she’s giving me an out and I need to take it.

“Thanks,” I tell Mandi. “I’ll go home now.”

I walk that way. They go the other way, together.

I keep my fist tight around the two M&M’s I have left. All the way home.

I FOLLOW NIA after school. She’s not riding her board anymore. Now she has a shiny pink NEV with white pinstripes and a license plate that reads SWEET.

She said she doesn’t want to talk to me. That will make things harder. But I’ll find a way. Today.

She’s alone. No friends to drop off. Just her, and me, going somewhere. Hopefully somewhere alone.

Nia swings into a place right behind the post office. Then she’s out, holding a brown-wrapped package. Moving fast.

Maybe nobody else will be near her. I have to try.

I block in two big SUVs and follow. But not too close.

The post office is a tall cylinder, painted blue with white metal awnings jutting over the doors and windows. Some famous architect designed it. Dad brags about it in all the brochures. Everything comes here: mail and boxes. No risky outsiders coming by our houses every day. No ugly mailboxes, either.

People think they love picking up their mail. They say it’s old-fashioned community building.

I say Dad thinks of everything. Almost.

Nia heaves open one of the heavy doors and bounces inside. I check my pocket to make sure I still have what I need.

It’s just Nia and me in the little lobby. The doors to the inside part are shut tight. This is my chance.

“I miss you,” I say.

Not what I planned. Not even on the top fifty opening lines. More like the bottom three.

“Oscar?” Her hand shoots into her bag. I hear the crackle of paper. “I don’t want …”

Can’t scare her. I rewind into normal. “Do you have change for a stamp?” I ask.

It actually works. Candor kids can’t not be helpful. She sets down her box and rummages through the monogrammed tote. Pink letters and ribbons ring the edge.

Can’t waste time. Someone could walk in any second.

Closer. Closer. Soon I’m just a foot away. “Want to try something?” I ask.

Great. First I sound pathetic. Now I sound like a pervy old man.

“No more presents, please. Even if—” Her eyes move over my face. “Even if you’re Oscar Banks.”

She holds the change out. I open my hand to accept it. The coins feel warm, as if they’ve been riding along in her pocket. I close my fingers around them slowly.

Our eyes meet. Something shifts in her face. The sweetness drops for a second. She remembers something, I can tell.

“Close your eyes,” I whisper.

She obeys. Then her eyes pop open. “You do bad things.”

What does she remember? Is this about the art I gave her at lunch? Or does she know something about our past? “Oscar Banks is a superior person,” I remind her.

She nods slowly. Closes her eyes again.

I yank the bag out of my pocket and rip it open. A precious M&M is between my thumb and finger. It’s red.

I look outside. Nobody’s near the post office.

Then I put my other thumb on her chin and tug gently. Her bottom lip drops down. Pink tongue, poking out. Just a tiny bit.

I drag in a deep breath and lean close. My hand relaxes and the candy pings onto the floor.

Nia’s eyes fly open. She slaps both hands over her mouth. “What are you doing?”

“One more second,” I plead.

“I have to send this package. I have to get the mail. I have to get home and do homework. Academics are our top priority.”

The outer door to the lobby flies open. A man in a suit and tie walks in. Doesn’t bother to look at us. Goes straight inside.

His shoe barely misses the candy on the floor.

We’re safe. But my heart is pounding like I’ve been caught.

Nia picks up her box. “I have to go.”

“Wait. It’s for school. If you don’t help me, I’ll flunk the lab. Please.” I don’t care how desperate I sound. I’m so close. I don’t want to wait. “Academics are our top priority, like you said.”

“What class is this for?” she asks.

“Bio. Don’t worry. Would I hurt you?” I give her the patented Oscar smile that never used to work on her. The one all the other girls like.

She sighs and squeezes her eyes shut. Opens her mouth wide. Obedient baby bird. The old Nia never would have done that. But for now, her obedience is handy.

I pick up the chocolate. Wipe it on my pants. Drop it on her tongue.

“Chew.”

She does. Her eyes pop open, wide. “Chocolate.”

“M&M’s.” I wait for something to show on her face. More memories. Happiness. But she just looks disgusted.

“This isn’t healthy.” She sticks out her tongue. It has tiny red candy bits on it.

“Don’t you like it?”

Nia reaches into her tote bag and pulls out a thick pack of Kleenex. She picks one and wipes her tongue.

“It won’t kill you,” I say.

She balls the Kleenex into her fist. “Not even vanilla frozen yogurt tastes that good.”

I feel the plastic bag in my pocket. There’s one left. “Want to try again?”

The inside door opens. Suit man is leaving. Still moving fast. He leaves without looking. I think. I hope.

It breaks the spell.

“I don’t want any.” Nia hoists her tote bag higher on her shoulder, like she’s ready to go. Her hand runs up and down the slippery ribbon strap. “I had a dream about you.”

That has to be good. Stay cool. Casual. “Oh, yeah?” I feel sweat forming on the back of my neck. “Tell me.”

Nia looks up at the ceiling. “It was after you gave me that horrible art. I dreamed about pieces of paper, hundreds of them. They were clipped to clotheslines. And you were there, looking at them.”

“What was on the paper?”

Her hand grips the strap so tight that her knuckles turn white. “The papers were so pretty. And we were laughing, and—”

The stupid pushy dork inside me speaks up. “We kissed, didn’t we?”

She jumps like she’s been shocked. “Personal space in every place!”

“It was just a dream.” I say it to make her feel better. But it’s a lie. That dream wasn’t random. Part of her remembers.

I just have to keep trying.

“Package. Have to send my package,” Nia mutters. She picks up the brown box and goes to push open the door to the inside part of the post office.

I’ve been lucky. I won’t push more. Not today. “See you.”

But then she looks back at me. Her eyes are sharp now. “What kind of experiment was that?”

I stare, stupid with happiness. Too slow. Not remembering the lie I told her two minutes ago.

“With the candy?” A wicked look flits across her face, just a second. Like a butterfly flying over a snow bank. It doesn’t belong. But it’s beautiful.

“Oh. It was—a memory thing. To see if tastes make you remember things. But don’t tell. It’s for the science fair.”

She nods wisely. “Sorry it didn’t work.”

“Maybe you need more.” I hold up the plastic bag. One lonely green M&M.

Nia shakes her head. “Candy is unhealthy.”

“It’s a tiny little bit.” I take the bag and stuff it in between her textbooks. “For later.”

“I’ll just throw that away,” she warns.

“Do what you want.”

“I have to go.” Nia pushes open the door, then looks back at me. “Bye, Candy Man.”

“You used to call me Picasso,” I say. But the door’s already slammed shut.

NIA STAYS AWAY after the post office. Skitters away if we pass in the hall. Sits at a table full of kids, staring at a book.

I can never catch her eye. I can’t tell if something different is unfolding inside. She remembered something in the post office. Did it stick around? Is that why she doesn’t want to talk to me?

But I don’t chase her. Pushing her might make the real Nia hide. Or disappear. I want her to remember. And then I want her to come to me.

I avoid Mandi. As much as I want Nia to remember, I want Mandi to forget that night. How I was out after curfew, with something forbidden.

And no good excuse.

There are plenty of cardigan-wearing girls to sit with. I can’t escape. One goes away and another one shows up. They all audition to be my next girlfriend. I nod and smile. It’s the safe thing to do. Someone might be watching. But I never hear a word they say.

If I was the kind of person who needed company, I’d be lonely.

After my third girlfriend candidate of the day tries to trap me in an after-school SAT review, I decide to hide.

So I go to Mandi’s and my special place: the movie theater.

They always let us in for free. Being Campbell’s kid pays all kinds of dividends. Mandi used to bring her book light and a bag of baby carrots. I scored cartons of milk from the concession stand.

Nobody ever bothered us there. No begging for help with math homework. Or asking Mandi if she’d run a bake sale to save the cockroaches of Antarctica.

We didn’t talk. Did regular homework first. Then extra credit. It all got done faster if we sat together. We were always trying to prove who was smarter. Faster. Better.

Maybe it was weird. But it was our thing. I liked being somewhere dark, where people might not notice me. I got to be a normal kid sitting in the theater conjugating French verbs.