Temptation: A Novel (12 page)

33. A Voice from the Past

It’s a funny thing about girls.

Sometimes they seem to forget.

Other times they seem to remember.

The final week of summer school is fine, but fine isn’t on the same level as wonderful. Fine is riding in the backseat with your friends going somewhere fun. Wonderful is riding on your motorcycle with your girlfriend’s body draped around you.

Somehow it seems like my some kind of wonderful has turned into some kind of okay. Not because of anything Lily does, but what she doesn’t do. The whole day we spent together never gets acknowledged. Not that I want a personal write-up of her thoughts and feelings about July 4—although actually, come to think of it,
that
would be some kind of wonderful.

Instead I get the ordinary passing of time.

Occasionally she texts me, but even this isn’t particularly memorable.

The call I receive on Thursday, however, is quite memorable. And surprising.

I pick up the home phone, thinking it’s Lily, but a part of me should have known. Wouldn’t she be calling my cell phone now that she has that number?

The voice on the other end surprises me. It’s too high to be Lily’s, too soft and too unsure of itself.

“It’s Kelsey,” she says, helping to remind me.

“Hey, yeah, how are you?”

“Good.”

“Great.”

Awkward.

“My father said he saw you last week.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Are you back from your trip?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

Uncomfortable.

“I just wanted to see if you got my messages,” she says.

“Yeah, I did. I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

“It’s okay. I just was checking. I would’ve emailed, but I just thought—”

“No, it’s—I should’ve called back. I’m sorry, really. I’ve been busy with summer school and, you know—”

Summer school and girls named Lily …

“Sure, no problem,” Kelsey says.

There’s a pause that seems thirty minutes long. Then we both start to say something, then both pause, and do the go-ahead thing.

Why’d I pick up why?

“So are you like, uh, working this summer?” I finally get out.

“I’m working out at the Asheville Racquet Club.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you played.”

“Harrington doesn’t have much of a team, but I play in different leagues. I help run programs with kids for the summer.”

“That’s cool.”

“You like tennis?”

I can’t remember the last time I held a racquet in my hand.

“Sure.”

“Maybe we can play sometime,” Kelsey says.

“Sure.”

“When you’re not stuck in a classroom. Or on your motorcycle.”

I laugh, but overall this is a fail of a phone call.

And once again …

Silence.

“Well, you know, I just—” Kelsey starts to say, then pauses. “Just wanted to say hi, since I didn’t get a chance to see you much at the end of the year.”

After prom, she’s surely thinking.

After that dance, she’s probably wanting to say.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just, yeah.”

Those aren’t exactly the words I’m wanting to say.

Kelsey says a quick good-bye, and I hang up. For a moment I look at the phone.

It’s just, yeah.

What kind of moronic statement was that?

I sigh and feel bad. I feel bad for never even bothering to say anything after prom. Granted, I had some other issues going on with my life.

Issues someone like sweet Kelsey doesn’t need to know about.

Her voice is a reminder of last year. Of everything that happened.

Of all the things I’m desperately trying to forget.

I stand there feeling like a moron for a few moments until a text comes on my cell.

ONE MORE DAY OF SUMMER SCHOOL. WHATEVER WILL I DO WITH THE REST OF MY SUMMER?

It’s from Lily, who’s obviously being sarcastic. It’s good to hear from her. It’s good to hear from my summer life so I can forget about my spring self. Perhaps my summer life will result in a fall guy that I like a lot more than that kid talking on the phone with Kelsey, fumbling over his words and feeling like an idiot.

I spend the next hour texting Lily. We could be talking or hanging out, but at the moment this is still better than anything else I can think of.

34. Mess with the Bull You’ll Get the Horns

We’re all very upset that Mr. Taggart isn’t here on our final day of class.

And by upset I mean absolutely elated.

But that’s short-lived when some wise guy comes into class, stands before us all, just looking and staring, then says, “Well, well. Here we are.”

No one is impressed. Brick makes a fart noise.

“I want to congratulate you for being on time,” our new teacher says, then stops and shakes his head like he’s got some thought dying to come out. “Anybody? Anyone?”

All we can do is look at one another.

His name is Mr. Charleton, and he says he’s taking over for Mr. Taggart, who can’t be here. No other reason, no credentials listed, nothing like that. This guy could have killed Mr. Taggart and put him in his trunk and decided to fake us out—we don’t know. But everybody seems bored and ready for class to be over.

Mr. Charleton looks like he’s energetic and eager to do something. He seems like a nice enough guy—at least for a teacher. He looks like he’s my mom’s age.

“How many of you have heard of John Hughes?” an excited Mr. Charleton asks a totally dead class.

Nobody reacts. Then Brick asks if he’s an adult film actor, which makes us laugh.

“Seriously. No one has heard of the director John Hughes?”

“We have cable,” Lily says in a classic snotty-girl attitude.

“So that’s a yes?”

He’s not getting any favors from us today. Nope.

Mr. Charleton leans against his desk as he looks at all of us. He’s dressed casual—a polo shirt and jeans—and he acts casual. He just doesn’t realize how done we are with this class.

“I just quoted from one of his movies when I first came in. I was hoping … Well, honestly, I’m feeling a bit nostalgic today. Anybody heard of The Psychedelic Furs?”

Brick starts to say something, but Mr. Charleton gives him the cut-it signal. “Anybody?”

I raise my hand.

“Good man. Doesn’t make me feel
that
old. This band was one of my favorites in the eighties. Wrote the title song for
Pretty in Pink,
a Hughes classic.”

“That movie was lame,” Brick says.

“Anyway, they’re coming in concert tonight in Asheville, yet I’m going to be attending a swim meet for our eldest daughter, which is quite a shame …”

“Excuse me, sir?” Shawn says.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to be teaching anything today, because if not …”

Everyone laughs.

“Very funny. Listen, I’m going to show you a clip from the
The Breakfast Club.
”

I’ve seen the movie before. Twice, actually. He shows us a clip on his wide-screen laptop that seems about as big as the television at our cabin. The scene is when the teacher welcomes the five students making up the Breakfast Club to class, then gives them an assignment. Bender, the rebel, speaks out, and the teacher gives him the “Don’t mess with the bull, young man, you’ll get the horns” quote.

The clip runs for a couple of minutes, then Mr. Charleton shuts his screen.

“How many of you have seen that movie?”

We all raise our hands.

“There’s hope for your generation yet. So this is what we’re going to do today. Taggart—excuse me, Mr. Taggart—described you guys to me, and I thought—this will be perfect. I’m going to give you a task to do this morning.”

Brick raises his hand. “Are we going to have to write a thousand-word essay on who we are?”

“No, but close. I’m only going to make you come up with a hundred words.”

“Good,” Brick says. “I haven’t written a thousand words in my entire life.”

“One hundred words. That’s all. Describing who you think you are. It’s that simple.”

Lily, who already seems in a bit of a foul mood today, doesn’t raise her hand, but just blurts out a question. “And we just hand it in to you?”

“You share it at the end of class.”

There is a collective groan.

“Come on, indulge me. I’m sure you’d rather do that than spend time going over English and algebra, correct?”

“I think Mr. Taggart covered those topics pretty well for all of us,” Brick says.

Mr. Charleton chuckles and hands out a sheet a paper and a pen for everybody, just like in the movie.

“This will be fun. I’m curious as to what your answers will be.”

“Will you be counting our words?” Shawn asks.

“I’m sure you can manage to come up with one hundred. I have confidence in you.”

“Then you don’t know Shawn,” Roger says.

I stare at Lily, who rolls her eyes and taps the pen on the piece of paper in front of her. Then I glance back at my own page.

I don’t need a hundred words to define who I am. This piece of blank paper pretty much sums it up.

35. The Cold Hard Facts of Life

Roger volunteers to go first. He’s wearing a vest with a short-sleeved button-down shirt with a fancy design on it. His hair looks extra faux-hawked out, and his beard looks extra thinly cut. He smiles, and I wonder if he still thinks there’s a chance with him and Lily. I know the answer to that one. No vest is going to help him with that.

“This is me,” Roger says, and glances up from his paper to see if we’re listening.

“Wow, that’s truly moving,” Brick says.

The teacher tells him to be quiet and let Roger continue.

“This is me. Six foot one. One hundred seventy-five pounds. Loving and giving. Crazy and fearless. Hopeless romantic. A dog person, not a cat person, but could live with a cat person if she allowed a dog person into her life. Panthers fan. Tarheels fan. Sugarland fan.”

Roger keeps going like this. It begins to sound like an ad for a dating service. He apparently didn’t get the memo about one hundred words. He doesn’t mind sharing all these wonderful, random tidbits about himself with us.

When he finishes, Mr. Charleton nods and thanks him, then asks who’s next.

“I’ll go,” Shawn says, sliding out of his seat and heading up front. He adjusts his pants as he turns to face us.

“People don’t know this about me, but deep down I’m really shy,” Shawn starts. “Deep down I love grandmothers and help them across the street. I love puppies and mice. I like to babysit. I love vegetables, especially the green kind. I love doing homework and can’t get enough of school (that’s why I took summer school, you know). I love romantic comedies, especially when one of the characters dies in the end. I love dances and slow music. Oh, and I love Katy Perry and her music and videos. I love singing in the shower and working out. If you believe me you can call 1-800-it’s-a-lie.”

He looks around to see if anybody is laughing, but nobody thinks it’s funny. Especially not the teacher. Once he said, “deep down, I’m really shy,” I think we all got the joke.

Ha. Ha.

I’m wondering if Mr. Charleton is regretting assigning us this task. Especially now that Brick has come up to share his thoughts.

He clears his throat to be dramatic.

“They call me Brick and think I’m a hick

They see my hair and think I don’t care

They hear my tone and then leave me alone

They see my friends and think they offend

They grade my tests and never let it rest

They think I’m poor but never wanna know more

They see me smoke and think I’m a joke

They close the books without a second look

’Cause they always look but they never really see

They seem to hear but they never really truly listen

They think they know but they will never—ever—fully know.”

Brick folds up the piece of paper and takes a bow as we all clap. I gotta admit—his little poem was actually quite good.

“Thank you,” Mr. Charleton says. “Great job. Who’s next?”

Harris goes up and reads his piece on why he loves flowers. He goes through every known flower he can think of until he gets to—surprise—his favorite flower, the lily. He pauses for dramatic effect and glances at Lily to see her shaking her head and saying “corny” out loud.

Gin is next, and everybody seems to know that this is going to be interesting. I’m thinking that none of us will even understand what she even says, but then again, I’m wondering if she understood the assignment.

“My name is Yin, yet I live in a Lin/Jen/Gin world that I’ve grown accustomed to,” she says in the most ordinary, American, non-accented voice I’ve ever heard.

Roger and Shawn look at each other, and even Brick laughs out loud.

“It’s easy to hide behind big glasses and long hair. Sometimes it’s easier that way. While they think I’m doing math equations and eating Peking duck, I’m beating them online at a video game or eating fried chicken while watching
Battlestar Galactica.”

“Awesome,” Brick says.

I can’t help but laugh.

You’re a nice surprise, Yin.

“They have a phrase called fanboys, and they lump them with nerds and geeks who love sci-fi and
Lost
and comic-book movies. But what if—what if among these you included a girl with a Taiwanese background who blends in and never gets noticed?”

She looks up at us and smiles. “We live in a different time and age right now when a book shouldn’t be judged by its cover. Because frankly, nobody is buying books anymore. They download them. They pop up instantly.”

Suddenly I feel a bit ashamed. I definitely judged this book by its cover.

“My name is Yin, and I have always been part of the background as far as everybody knows. But little do they know that when I go home and turn on my computer, I’m part of their world and their conversations and their lives. Just under another name and another persona.”

She walks back to the back of the room, and we all look at her, stunned and wondering who in the world this Yin girl is. Where’d she come from?

No way I can top that.

“All right, great job,
Yin,
” Mr. Charleton says. “Final two?”

I glance at Lily, who says, “All yours.”

I open my sheet of paper.

“For a long time I considered myself a Foo Fighters or a Snow Patrol song. Cool and upbeat, but nothing
that
terribly different. Yet ever since coming to Solitary, I’ve realized that I’m really not that at all. I’m a Cure song off
Disintegration.
I’m a Smiths song off
Meat Is Murder.
I’m a Tears for Fears song from
The Hurting.
”

They’re looking at me, not really getting it. Or at least that’s what I think.

Except for Lily. She’s looking and smiling and getting it. Getting me.

“I never knew who I was deep down until I moved here and realized that in many ways, I was living in the wrong decade. I should’ve been living in my mother’s and uncle’s decade, where songs reflected—well, me.”

I look back at the teacher. “That was one hundred, exactly.”

“The Cure, huh?” he asks with a big grin. “How’d you discover them?”

“My uncle.”

Or more like my uncle’s closet.

“He’s got good taste. Thank you, Chris. Okay, Lily?”

We all watch her like we usually do—all the guys anyway—as she walks to the front. She’s wearing a black tank top with really tight white pants. Her shoes aren’t very high heels, but high enough for a summer school course.

“For the record, I think this assignment was rather lame,” Lily says.

“Thank you,” Mr. Charleton says.

For a second, standing there, Lily glances at me. Then she gives me a nice little smile.

What’s that mean?

I’m not sure. Like many things with girls and especially
this
girl, I don’t know. I can’t know. I’m only beginning to try and know.

“I grew up a happy girl, loving life and loving those around me. The future was always like a colorful movie poster with beautiful smiling stars on it. I found love and my leading actor and lost myself in them.”

Something strange is happening. Right at the time Lily said
I found love
, her voice starting shaking a bit. Now her eyes are tearing up a bit as she pauses.

Now this is really something.

“Being lost in love is dangerous. Because once you lose that someone, you can lose yourself. You can suddenly look out and wonder what happened to the story. You question whether the whole thing was made up to begin with. Your hero is just another hired gun. That movie poster suddenly turns from color to black and blue.”

Lily pauses and wipes her eyes and doesn’t look at any of us. I’d like to rush to her side and give her a hug, but then again, so would most of the others around me.

“I’ve realized that you don’t start over again. There are no do-overs. There are no second chances. Some lives are like epic movies. Some are just sad reruns.”

Lily turns and faces the teacher, who seems as surprised as all of us. “You happy with that? Those hundred words good enough for you?”

She flings her piece of paper his way and walks out of the room.