carefully everywhere descending (13 page)

“I think she would be the luckiest girl in the world to get you,” she says, “but I think in her present emotional state she may be less eager than you are. I mean, I think she needs a period of mourning.”

I'm barely listening. I get my textbook out of my bag and fish through it for my pens. “But isn't there a thing about moving on? Rebound? Isn't that what it's called?”

“No one wants to be the rebound date,” says Amber firmly. She shuts her locker door and looks straight at me. “I was at my last school, and it was humiliating. Kurt just wanted to show his ex that he had moved on, and he didn't care a thing about me. Audrey, I really think trying to start anything with Scarlett right now would be a bad idea.”

I focus on her. Amber is rarely this adamant. She also has more relationship knowledge and experience than I do. Plus I respect her more than anyone else at this school.

Reluctantly, I nod slightly. We walk to class.

Scarlett is in her seat, looking the same as always. But then I notice there's a repressed air about her, a lack of energy she normally exudes.

I take my seat by Amber and try not to stare at Scarlett and evaluate her condition. She doesn't speak or interact during the class and is the first one out the door.

“I've got to talk to her about our science project,” I reason to Amber at lunch. “It only makes sense I ask how she's doing when I do so.”

She closes her eyes and sighs.

“I won't say anything else, I promise. That's it. Just shop talk.”

In physics my eagerness to talk to her abates when I get close enough to see how tired she looks. She glances up at me, hovering by her desk while Mr. Nwaogu lethargically writes notes on the board, referring frequently to the sheet in his hand. The rest of the class mills around and sets up for the lesson. She looks a mixture of defiant and wary.

I hesitate, then say, “I've fallen behind a little on our project. I'm sorry.”

She blinks, and then her eyebrows wing upward. “You?”

“I got sidetracked yesterday with Spanish,” I say and don't add, “and your ex-girlfriend's bombshell.” “I still have to write up our combined results. Do you have the board otherwise done? I can finish and add the results this evening.”

She frowns at me. “Or I can do it, and add the final paper to the board myself tonight.”

“But I've already started.”

“So I'll finish.”

“But you don't have to.”

“I kinda do. We're both working on this thing.”

“Right, which is why
I'm
happy to do it tonight.”

“And it's also why
I
should pick up where you left off and finish it.”

“You guys,” Serhan, who is sitting two seats away, cuts in in exasperation. “
Both
of you work on it tonight. That's kinda the point of the assignment.”

Scarlett finds a balled-up gum wrapper on the floor and flings it over her shoulder without looking. It pings off Serhan's desk.

“Ew, man. That's disgusting. Who knows who may have stepped on that.”

“He has a point,” I say. “About the project. And the gum wrapper. Meet after school in the library?”

“I have soccer practice tonight. Will you be around at six? I can come by.”

“Uhh….” I stall, trying to think of an excuse. She's seen the inside of my house, true, but I doubt anyone's gone grocery shopping (unless Mom suddenly felt up to it), so if she's expecting me to provide dinner, I have no options.

“Okay, people, we're still talking magnetic flux,” calls out Mr. Nwaogu, writing Φ
B
on the board. He turns around. “Ms. Anderson, Ms. Coulton, please take a seat.”

I go back to my desk still trying to think of something. By the end of class, I've decided on the simplest response. “My house may not be the best for tonight. Why don't we use yours or a neutral third ground?” But once again, she's out the door before anyone else. I e-mail it to her instead.

Her response comes while I'm on the bus, neurotically reviewing my answers to the Spanish exam I just finished. I think I did A-work, but I never fully rest until the grade is in my hand.

 

My parents are having company over tonight. Yours will be fine. Don't sweat it.

See you soon.

S

 

Ugh. Why does it seem like my every interaction with her is a mixture of dread and elation?

I spend the time before she gets there frantically cleaning and tidying up. I'm soaping down the interior of the kitchen sink when the doorbell rings. I rinse and dry my hands and run to the door.

Scarlett's standing there with her hair damp and therefore a little darker than it usually is. She must have showered after practice. She's also holding two bags of Chinese food.

“Hey,” she says, stepping inside as I cede the ground. “I didn't know what you liked, so I grabbed a selection for you to choose from.”

The food smells extremely delicious. My stomach rumbles so loud it's humiliating. Scarlett actually looks at me with concern.

“Sorry, just really hungry,” I say as it does it again. I press an arm to my midriff and push down to try to muffle the sound. “Thank you so much. Is it all right if we share with my little brother?”

“Yeah, of course.” I'm headed to Sam's room before Scarlett's finished speaking. Sam must be equally hungry as me, if not more; he's been going through a growth spurt.

I rap on the door a few times. “Sam? We've got food in the kitchen.”

“Really? Okay! Be right out.”

I head back to the kitchen, where Scarlett is unloading the little white boxes onto the table. I grab some plates and silverware and set them at three places (what I privately think of as the “good seats” facing the living room).

“Can I get you something to drink? Some water?”

“Do you have any Coke?”

“Er, I'm not sure.” Though I am. We rarely have any sodas on hand; it just seems like such a waste of money. I check the fridge anyway. There's only a tipped-over carton of mustard, a mostly empty jar of salsa, half a stick of butter, a hamburger bun bag with one half of a bun remaining, and a jug of milk with a line of liquid no wider than my thumb. It probably wouldn't even fill half a glass. I offer it anyway. “No Coke. We do have milk, though.”

“That's okay,” Scarlett says, directly behind me. I jump a little and move out of the way. She peers into the fridge as the door closes.

Sam's door opens, and he practically runs into the kitchen. I get three glasses and fill two with water.

“Holy crap! Chinese food? What kind?” He digs open the top of a box and peers inside.

“Sam! That's rude.” I set two glasses at the table and go to get the third.

“He's fine,” says Scarlett absently. She opens the freezer and glances around. Then she moves to the nearest cupboard and looks inside before shutting it and opening the one next to it.

“Are you looking for something?” I ask, holding the last glass under the pour from the faucet. I glance back at the table to see if anything's missing. Sam is now sitting obediently in his chair, practically vibrating with anticipation and staring ravenously at the Chinese food containers. He reminds me affectionately of a puppy at its food bowl. “Can I get you anything?”

“No,” says Scarlett darkly, shutting the last cupboard and turning abruptly around. “Let's eat.”

“Yes!” says Sam, punching the air.

“This is Sam, by the way. Sam, thank Scarlett for dinner.”

“Thank you,” says Sam, dumping half the carton of lo mein onto his plate. “Oh man. I can't remember the last time I had Chinese food.”

“Don't sweat it,” says Scarlett. She opens a box of rice and pushes it at me. “Help yourself.”

My mouth is watering so hard I have to swallow several times while loading my plate with steamed rice, broccoli and chicken, and ginger beef. I also get an egg roll and bite into it with a delicious crunch.

“So, Sam,” Scarlett says while Sam shovels food into his mouth. “Do you play any sports?”

“Nah,” says Sam, who's bypassed chopsticks and is trying to get as many noodles onto his fork as possible. “I like baseball, though. And I like watching basketball. You?”

“I play soccer. Midfield.”

“No way! That's so cool. How many games have you won?”

“We just won our fourth game of the season. We're undefeated at the moment.”

“So, so cool.”

“Congratulations,” I tell Scarlett. I hadn't known that. “Way to give it to Martinsville.” She gives me a little smile.

“Thanks.” She picks up a piece of beef with her chopsticks. “Are you going to try out for a baseball team, Sam?”

Sam shrugs. “Nah. I mean, I can't really get to and from practice, you know? Maybe in high school or something.”

Scarlett nods, but her brow is furrowed. She asks Sam about his favorite teams while I excuse myself from the table. If he had his way, Sam would talk about the Dodgers for hours.

I go to Mom and Dad's room and gently rap on the door. I wait a moment before entering.

“Mom?” I say quietly, shutting the door after me. “We have food. Are you hungry?”

“Not right now, sweetie.” Her thin, wavery voice drifts up from the mound of twisted blankets on the bed. “Thank you.”

“Okay. We'll save you some. Do you want me to open a window? It's nice out.”

“That would be wonderful, dear.”

I find my way carefully through the dark to the window with its broken shade that doesn't lift and reach behind it to crack open the window a couple of inches. A fresh-scented wind immediately drifts in to clear out some of the stuffiness of the room.

As I get back to the door, Mom says, “I love you,” still in that fragile tone.

“I love you too, Mom,” I say. I wish she would get help. “Sleep tight.”

Sam's finished his food and is out of his chair, demonstrating a play from the Dodgers' most recent game against the Giants. Scarlett is reclining in her chair, front legs off the floor, grinning and clicking her chopsticks around the empty steamed rice carton to pick out and eat the few remaining pieces. Sam's voice is excited and high-pitched in that cute, still-a-little-kid way he gets when he's super into something. He mimes swinging the bat and makes with his tongue the
crack
of a ball being hit. He pretends to watch the ball fly away with a hand over his eyes, protecting them from imaginary stadium lights, before dropping his “bat” and running bases. He then switches to an outfielder position, running backward and leaping in dramatic slow-mo to catch a fly ball. Scarlett chuckles.

I only have a few bites left on my plate, and I eat them quickly before packing up the remaining food to put in the fridge. We didn't even open the fried rice. It will be perfect for Jimmy when he gets home.

“I can't thank you enough for this,” I say, closing the fridge. An old magnet to a used-car dealership falls down, and I scoop it back up and restick it.

“No problem.” She drops her chair back to all four legs. “Wanna get started?”

“Yes. Let's set up in the living room.”

Sam's face falls when he realizes he's losing his audience. “Aww. Homework?”

“Yes, and you should do yours, speaking of which,” I say sternly.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm almost done.” He clomps back to his room, and his country music starts up almost as soon as his door shuts.

Without him there as a buffer, I'm once again aware of the reality of Scarlett West, basically unsupervised, alone in my house. Bringer of food.

I left my bag next to the couch, so I grab the straps while Scarlett goes to get hers from her car. She comes back, powers up her laptop, and it takes ridiculously little time to finish the board and write-up. Before a full hour has elapsed, we're done. I compulsively check everything three times to make sure we did it all correctly.

“Well, that's that,” says Scarlett. She stretches her arms above her head and leans back against the sofa, so her hips are near the end of the cushion. The bottom of her shirt is just at the point where her jeans stop. There may be a sliver of space between the two fabrics, but I can't tell for sure in the fuzzy light of the living room.

“I think we did good work, but do you think it will get us to Chicago?” I ask. I'm seized by sudden doubt. “Do you think we should have tried something more advanced? Like robots? Do we have time to build a robot?”

Scarlett laughs and drops her arms. “It will be fine. Don't second-guess yourself at this stage, Audrey. Everything will be fine.” Her face twists and goes dark.

I bet she's thinking of Carolina. Do I say something? Does she know that I know? Does she
think
I know? How would she react to my knowing?

“Carolina broke up with me,” she says abruptly.

Well.

“I'm so, so sorry, Scarlett,” I say. “I… I heard something, but, but wasn't sure.”

That's not entirely true, since I was sure as I could be, overhearing directly from the source.

“It sucks, Audrey,” she says. “She said she wanted space and to get her life together. I guess I don't understand that. Wasn't it together enough while we were—together?”

I don't have anything to say. My heart is constricted in my chest, and it hurts to breathe. I don't know if she realizes how painful this is for me.

“At least it's not someone else,” she says.

Oh, no. Now I'm caught in a moral dilemma. I open my mouth but don't know how to proceed. I mean, Carolina didn't
explicitly
say she was interested in Serhan instead, right?

But it was heavily implied. Wouldn't it be better to hear about it as soon as possible?