Someone I Wanted to Be (19 page)

I looked in Mr. Calvino’s door. The fluorescent lights were off. He liked natural light. He was sitting with his feet crossed on the desk and staring out the window at the mountain.

He noticed me, swung his feet onto the floor, and straightened the papers on his desk. “Hey, Leah. Didn’t think you were coming.”

“Sorry, I had a makeup test.” I stepped into the room. I felt a weight dragging behind me, a filthy torn parachute, all the stupid things I’d done.

“Come on over here and have a seat.”

I wandered in and sat on the top of a desk in the front row. “Yeah?”

“Can you sit in the seat? It will feel more like a conversation. So, how’s it going?”

I dropped my backpack and sat. “All right.”

“OK! Great. So, I would like to move you up to AP language arts next year. It’ll look good on college applications, and you can get college credit. But I need some metrics. Your test scores are good, but I need some demonstrated proof that you can do the work that I can put in your file. I need you to write me a couple of extra-credit papers, Leah. Eight to ten pages. What do you say?”

A warm blossoming inside me immediately turned black, a poisoned flower. “I don’t think so. You don’t want me in that class.”

“I think I do! You’re an excellent writer. You’ve got great ideas. You could easily do the work. I’d love to have you in the class.”

“I don’t like the kids in that class.” How could I tell him:
My mom won’t let me. She thinks I’m too dumb.

“Ah.” He sighed and started shaking the Diet Coke cans on his desk. “Leah, you’ve got to think beyond your immediate present and imagine a future that you want.”

I looked out at the mountain. What did he see when he stared out at it? Or when he looked at me?

“Leah? Leah.” He leaned forward. His shirt was all crumpled, the sleeves shoved up his hairy arms. He was so skinny, and with his five o’clock shadow, messy hair, and haunted eyes, he looked like a disaster survivor. “Leah, may I ask you a stupid adult question?”

I was sitting in natural light with Mr. Calvino. In those New Jersey eyes, I could see gray oceans, Coney Island, enormous cities looped with train tracks, huge apartment buildings, sidewalks rumbling with subways, a street of colored lights, tightly packed brick buildings, fruit sellers, people of every kind talking, riding by in the sad light of a bus, walking at night.

He looked at me like he saw me there.

“Nope.” I shook my head once and leaned over to pick up my backpack. “I got to go.” Without looking at him, I stood and walked toward the door.

“See you tomorrow, Leah,” he said softly.

Why did he have to say that? He’d be looking for me, paying attention, not allowing me to be invisible. It hurt being seen. Because then I was real, and everything that had happened to me was real. Being who I was usually felt like it would kill me.

In the doorway, I stopped and looked back. Because he was still watching me; I could feel it. He refused to allow me to disappear. “What did you want to ask, Mr. Calvino?”

He put his feet back up and rested his cheek on his fist. “You still interested in medicine?”

“Yes.”

It felt like the first word I’d ever said. Or a door swinging open. And all the other words were pressed up against the door, waiting to rush out.

I sat on the school’s concrete steps and waited for Kristy. I lit my last cigarette. It was spring, really spring, green grass and endless cloudless skies. All that blue exhausted me.

Fifteen minutes later, Kristy pulled up in front of the school. She was playing hip-hop so loud, I could feel the bass through the concrete. She blasted the horn when I was two feet away. I got into the car and turned down the music. “I have a headache.”

She finished her juice and threw the bottle into the backseat. “Want to go down to Torrance?”

“No. I just want to go home.”

“Want to see if Mr. Corduroy is at 7-Eleven?”

“God, Kristy, no! If we have to go somewhere, let’s go see Corinne.”

“How boring! Fine.” She pulled out into the street as she texted Corinne. A motorcycle blasted its horn and swerved out of her way.

She steered with her knees and dug a pack of gum out of her purse. She unwrapped five pieces and stuffed them into her mouth. She chewed with her mouth open and made horrible wet noises. Her big teeth were shiny with sugary spit. “God, I wish I’d been there the other night when you talked to Mr. Corduroy. . . .”

I closed my eyes.

I opened my eyes and grabbed her skinny little arm.

“Kristy. Listen to me. OK? Listen. Mr. Corduroy is a creep. Stay away from him. He’s twenty-six years old.”

“Um, could you let go? You’re breaking my arm. And you’re spraying spit all over the side of my face.”

She pulled her arm away, and tugged down the front of her shirt. At a stoplight, she stretched, looked in the rearview mirror, and ran her tongue over her teeth. She flopped back in her seat. “Sorry. Dude’s gorgeous.”

I stared at her. “He’s old. He’s disgusting. He’s probably a rapist.” I almost choked on the last word.

“Jealous . . .” she sang under her breath. She turned into Mountain View Estates. “And what’s up with your phone? I texted you last night.”

Kristy jerked the car to a stop in front of Corinne’s house, grabbed her purse and her cigarettes, slammed her door, and ran inside. On the walkway to Corinne’s front door, I tripped on a silver toy pistol and landed hard on my knee. I hobbled to the door with my bloody jeans sticking to my leg.

Corinne and Kristy sat on stools at the kitchen island with a bowl of trail mix between them. A wad of purple gum was stuck to the top of a pop can. Corinne stared at a cooking show on the kitchen TV. Her hair was pulled back with metal clips, and her face was so pale she looked anemic. She’d taken out her contacts and put on her glasses from junior high — peach plastic frames with scratched lenses.

The three older boys ran in a circle through the kitchen, living room, and dining room. One of the boys yanked Kristy’s hair as he darted past.

“Brat!” Kristy screamed.

Corinne yelled, “Quit running around, you little monsters.” She buried her hand in the trail mix. “Do you see that knife she’s using? I’m getting one of those for Christmas.”

I nearly fell on top of Jimmy. He banged into my leg with his plastic walker. He rammed my knee again, and I lifted him out. He was wearing a white fuzzy one-piece with yellow stains down the front. He wriggled, kicking his legs. He was like a warm, smelly loaf of bread. He stared into my eyes, pulled my finger into his mouth, and chewed it with his hard wet gums.

A commercial came on, and the boys ran through five more times. Corinne stared into the trail mix and scooped out a blue M&M with the tip of her nail.

“Oh, I forgot to show you!” Corinne pulled a brochure out of the stack of junk mail. A man in a white chef hat stood on a lawn stirring a pot in front of a brick bell tower. “I got this about Western University’s cooking institute. Only problem is that it’s super expensive.”

Kristy looked at the brochure for half a second and tossed it onto the counter.

“Kristy’s going to fashion school,” I said. “Her mom said it’s OK.”

Kristy stared at me like I was an imbecile. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You said the other day! Like in Florida or something.”

“No!” She made a noise of disgust in her throat and swiveled on the stool. “I’m thinking Boulder. . . .”

“That would be fun,” said Corinne. She tossed an M&M into the air and caught it in her mouth. “Party school.”

I said, “Isn’t it kinda hard to get in? What would you major in?”

Kristy stared at me like I was a dissected worm, closed her eyes, and slowly shook her head. “Leah, you’re so boring. . . . You sound like a mom.”

Jimmy let go of my finger. He gripped my wrist with both hands, grunted, and blew raspberries. His face turned deep red and his tiny eyes bulged. A terrible hot smell rose from his diaper. I was going to avoid any kind of medicine that had to do with poop or intestines.

Kristy abruptly stood up and covered her mouth like she was about to puke. “Let’s go have a smoke.”

“Put him in the playpen,” said Corinne, sliding off the stool.

When I tried to set Jimmy down in the playpen, he hung on to my arms and huffed. I pried off his hands and shook him loose. He wailed, clung to the webbing of the playpen, then fell backward on the toys and shrieked.

I stuck my head out the door. “What do I do?”

“Just leave him. He’s fine.” Corinne waved the smoke away from her face. “Leave the door cracked so I can hear.” I squeezed out the door and sat down next to her. “Guess what? Jason Coulter gave me a lift home.”

Kristy scraped the Folgers can across the concrete. “I can still smell the kid’s shit pants. Could you maybe, possibly, change him?”

Corinne shook her head and silently laughed. She pulled the coffee can back next to her leg and looked at the sky.

For a while, we were quiet. The concrete slab was cold. Our backs curled against the rough wood siding. Jimmy’s screams slowed down to sobs, then to hiccups. The spring afternoon shone bluely over the cedar privacy fence. It was almost possible to believe that everything was normal, nothing had changed. My little world with Kristy and Corinne was just the same as it had been, and it always would be the same. My heart beat in my chest; vague thoughts floated like clouds through my mind. Mr. Calvino wanted to move me up to AP language arts. The spring wind blew through and washed everything clean.

Kristy disturbed the peace. She tossed her pack into my lap. “Why aren’t you smoking?”

I decided it that second. “I quit.”

“You quit? Why?” said Kristy. She tapped her ash into the grass. “Did Slutella talk you into it?”

“I can’t afford it.” My knee ached. I started to roll up the leg of my jeans, but my calf looked enormous and bristled with hairs. “Plus, I hate stinking like smoke.”

Kristy wiggled around as if she had ants crawling up her back. “Whatever, Chubs. Let’s go down to the park Saturday night? Corinne? Hello?”

“Sure. Why not?” said Corinne.

There was a crash in the kitchen, and Jimmy screamed. Corinne’s head dropped between her knees. The TV volume went up in the living room. The boys started shouting. The phone rang.

“I’m telling Mom that you’re not helping Jimmy,” Alex yelled.

Kristy raked her fingers through her hair. She jumped to her feet and poked out her hip. She shook her keys and fluttered her fingers like a stressed-out movie star.

“Get that kid to shut up,” she said, “or I’m leaving.”

Corinne raised her face. She had a stony expression behind her peach glasses. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”

Kristy’s face went white. She swayed on the heels of her little cowboy boots. “OK! That’s nice, Corinne. See you later! I don’t know how you can stand spending time in this shit hole. Come on, Leah!”

The sun went behind a cloud; it was suddenly shadowy and cool. Corinne’s eyes were tired behind her glasses, but her jaw was tight. “Kristy, I’m not sure I can go to the park Saturday. I might be hanging out with Kelsey.”

“Bitch,” said Kristy.

Alex stuck his head out the door. “Mom wants to talk to you immediately!”

Corinne stabbed out her cigarette and pushed up off the concrete.

“I’m staying,” I said.

“You want to stay? Fine. Have fun, Chubs! I’m out of here.” Kristy picked her way across the yard, texting the entire way, and slammed the gate shut behind her. It bounced back open.

I went into the kitchen, lifted Jimmy out of the pen, and held him against my chest. His face was red and swollen and streaked with snot and tears. He arched his back and tried to scratch my face. The smell from his diaper made me gag, but I held him and swayed. His crying gradually slowed and his body relaxed. He leaned his head against my shoulder, stared out the glass door, and blinked his spiky wet lashes.

Corinne hung up the phone. She walked over and stared at Jimmy. “God, he reeks.” She looked pale and empty, like someone had taken a vacuum and sucked out all her Corinne-ness.

“Maybe you should change him before he falls asleep.”

“In a minute.” She turned on the kitchen TV and leaned on the counter. The talk show was interrupted by a news bulletin. A blond man wearing a navy blazer stared from the TV screen.

“Police say that a twenty-two-year-old woman was abducted as she walked to her apartment on Costilla Street at approximately one a.m. last night. Police say the woman was raped, beaten, and left . . .”

Corinne flipped through the channels with the remote. “
Top Chef
’s coming on in five minutes. Have you been watching?”

My head rang like someone was pressing a doorbell and wouldn’t let off. Jimmy felt like he weighed three hundred pounds and would pull me over onto the kitchen floor that was covered with hair and splotches of dried spaghetti sauce. “Corinne, take him! I feel like I’m about to pass out. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Corinne sighed and pushed away from the counter. She pried Jimmy from me. “Come on, Fatso. Let’s go change you before Mom gets home.”