The Sweet Revenge of Celia Door (10 page)

“How did your Spanish project go?” I blurted out.

“Oh, yeah, the ‘Spanish project.’ I need to tell you about that,” Drake said, still looking out the window. “That girl Sandy’s been my partner for
conversación
since the first day, and we’ve been talking a lot,” he said, “mostly in Spanish. So it’s pretty much a ‘
¿Cómo está usted?
’ kind of relationship. But then she started asking me other questions. How long am I staying in Hershey? Did I have a girlfriend in New York? Was I taking any more weekend trips back?”

Just thinking about Sandy talking to Drake this way made my fingers dig into my bedspread and my hands try to form into fists.

“I suck at Spanish, and I barely know her, so I gave her short answers, ‘one month, no girlfriend, no more weekend trips.’ Then, after school today, we were working on our photo essay about Barcelona and she said, ‘Drake, since you are new and you don’t have any friends here, I thought it would be nice of me to invite you to the homecoming dance. I could introduce you to a lot of people, and I think you should have at least one good memory of Hershey.’ Isn’t that hilarious?” Drake said, turning around from the window.

Maybe I have a poor sense of humor, but I didn’t find it the least bit funny. Sandy inviting Drake to homecoming. Sandy telling Drake he should have one good memory of Hershey. I was so stunned I could have passed out and fallen off the bed.

“I had already told her that I would still be in Hershey that weekend and that I didn’t have a girlfriend in New York, so I didn’t really have a good excuse for not going.”

The walls of the tunnel were vibrating in and out. Did Drake say
yes
? Was Drake about to tell me he was going to homecoming with my archenemy?

“So, I hope you’re not mad at me, but I said I couldn’t go with her because I was already going with you.”

I was still conscious and sitting on the bed. My head did not splash down on my rug.

“I know it’s not cool to use you as an excuse. You might want someone else to ask you, or you probably hate lame school dances. We don’t really have to go or anything,” Drake finished. “It was just the first thing I thought of to say.”

My brain struggled to catch up. This wasn’t bad news. In fact, it was the best news possible. Not only was Drake not interested in Sandy and didn’t want to be friends with her and wasn’t going to take her to homecoming, but also, he had just delivered into my hands the perfect backdrop for my revenge.

“Forgive me?” Drake asked.

“Totally.”

“Back to the book?” He held up
Dream It! Do It!

“Yes,” I said in a voice that sounded far away, as if it came from a blimp flying over the house.

“Great!” said Drake, sitting back down on the bed next to me. “Buddy Strong says that you need to start with the first exercise immediately, as soon as possible after you read the instructions. So tonight, we both need to articulate our Dream. Don’t worry if you aren’t sure what it is you want yet. Just trust your subconscious to articulate your Dream for you, okay?”

I nodded.

“I’m going to count to three and when I get there, we’re both going to say the thing that we want the most in the world. Okay?”

I nodded again.

“Are you ready?”

Third nod.

“One . . . two . . . three . . .”

As Drake said, “To be Japhy’s boyfriend,” I went with the first lie that my subconscious drummed up. “To be a successful poet,” is what I said when Drake counted to three. But that wasn’t what I was saying out loud in my own thoughts. The Dream declaring itself loudly inside of my conscious mind was
To get revenge
.

CHAPTER

19

The next day was Thursday. We were two weeks into high school, and it already felt like two years. I was bouncing along beside Drake on the way to school, still drunk on his news about Sandy and homecoming, happily daydreaming about my revenge, when Drake gave me a present—an affirmation for my locker. He had drawn a comic book–style picture of me to look like a photo on a book jacket with a caption that said:

Celia Door. Bestselling Poet

“Buddy Strong recommends affirmations in chapter three,” said Drake, riding his skateboard slowly while I walked next to him. “We’ll get to it soon.”

I already knew that affirmations are positive phrases like “I can do it!” or “My thoughts are creative!” When my dad moved to Atlanta in July, my mom started seeing a therapist who recommended using them. Mom taped affirmations up in the bathroom so that every time I went to brush my teeth I read, “I am worthy of love,” or “I am safe, it’s only change.” They kept multiplying until I had to peek into a little window of mirror to brush my hair.

“It looks just like me,” I said.

“Yeah, I love illustration.” Drake shrugged. “I draw my own comic book called
BlackJack
.”

“What’s it about?”

“A guy named Jack is taking a high school math test when he realizes that he has the power to read minds. So he runs away to Monte Carlo where he can play cards—blackjack, obviously—read other player’s minds, and wins millions of dollars. But the money doesn’t make him happy. So he decides to start fighting crime by using his wealth and mind-reading powers. Jack is fighting his own demons because his entire family died when a boat capsized, but he washed up on shore alive.”

I held the drawing in my hands like an ancient artifact. “I should make you one, too.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to have pictures of me and Japhy in my locker,” Drake answered, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t straight people have to come out? I wish everyone knew what it felt like to make an embarrassing, public declaration about who they’re attracted to. Once Japhy and I get together, then I’ll have a reason to come out. I’d rather say, ‘Hey, everyone, this is my boyfriend,’ instead of ‘Hey, everyone, I’m gay. Anybody want to date me?’”

“If Japhy is gay, it doesn’t seem like he’s ready to come out. Do you think you guys would really just become boyfriends right away?” I asked.

Drake put one foot down and stopped his board. We were less than a block from school. He looked at me with disbelief. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, it just didn’t go so well when you tried to tell him—”

“I’m trying to banish negative talk from my life, Celia.”

“But, I mean,
realistically
, don’t you think—”

“
Realistically!
Buddy Strong says that ‘Dream Bashers’ are people who erode other people’s Dreams by saying they are unrealistic. I never thought
you
would be my Dream Basher.” Drake looked at me like he had caught me trying to drown a bag if puppies.

“I just think it’s a good idea to try and stay grounded—”

“Oh, I’m not
grounded
. Buddy Strong warned that other people would want to pull down the ropes on my hot-air balloon.” Drake shook his head and stepped back on his board.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to help you by being a voice of reason.”

“Now we can add
unreasonable
to the list of things wrong with me,” he said. “Forget I even told you about the book.” Drake pushed off hard on his skateboard and rode half a block before I could take a few feeble steps after him.

“Drake, wait!” I yelled, but he disappeared into a group of kids who were also making their way to the front doors.

It was probably the worst possible time for Clock to show up.

“Lovers’ spat?” His voice came from behind me. I swung around and saw myself staring back at me in his mirrored sunglasses. Clock’s dark hair was hanging to his shoulders and brushing the collar on his trench coat.

I scowled at myself in the glasses. “Join the circus and get out of my life already.”

“Relax, Weird, I was just trying to hand you the little picture you dropped. Did your boyfriend draw that for you?” Clock held up the affirmation Drake had given me. It must have slipped out of my hand when I ran after him. “Says here you’re a bestselling poet. I bet you’re real
deep
.”

He said the word
deep
in a whisper that made me flush all over. I reached up a hand to snatch the slip of paper back from him, but he pulled it away right as I went for it.

“It’s mine!” I yelled instinctively.

“But it’s such good advertising for your career as a bestselling poet,” he taunted. “I should keep this, and maybe it will be worth something when you’re famous.” He waved it around my face as he spoke, the way you use a feather to tease a kitten.

“Give it,” I managed to spit out as I grabbed for it again.

He pulled his arms back behind his head so that my body was bumping into his as I tried to reach past him for the note. I was practically pressed against him trying to grasp it.

“Hey, hands to yourself, I thought you had a boyfriend!” he said in a loud voice. I wrenched away from him and looked around. Kids were staring at us as they walked past toward the school building. I pulled my hood up over my head and wrapped my arms around my body.

Clock reached out his hand and offered me the drawing. I snatched it so hard that it ripped in half. Then I furiously grabbed the other half and muttered, “I hate you!” before spinning around and stomping off to school.

× × ×

It was impossible to concentrate all the way through first period. I toggled between murderous thoughts about Clock and confused feelings about Drake. Sandy Firestone was absent, so at least I didn’t have to deal with the added anxiety of having her within pheromone-smelling distance. Mandy was still there, but she made a disciplined effort to act as if I didn’t exist, which was perfect for me.

I was hoping to spend the morning gloating that Drake turned Sandy down for homecoming. But did it still count if he wasn’t speaking to me anymore?

“Ms. Door, when am I going to see your revised essay on ‘We Real Cool’?” Mr. Pearson asked in front of the entire class. “I expected it yesterday.”

“Tomorrow?” I mumbled, conscious of everyone looking at me.

“Hood off and articulate, Celia. Now, when can I expect that essay?”

I pulled down my hood and said, “TWO-MAUR-ROW.”

“Good. I expect you to keep that promise. Now, let’s discuss the theme of morality in
Mockingbird
. Greg.” Mr. Pearson pointed.

× × ×

Before the bell rang to end first period, I had made my own moral decision. I decided to do whatever I needed to do to make up with Drake. If that meant wearing healing crystals and chanting Buddy Strong’s name around a campfire while balancing a copy of
Dream It! Do It!
on my head, then I would start collecting firewood. I had spent the class working on a poem.

SWEAR

If this time the eggs don’t break,

freckling the sidewalk with yolk splatter,

coating the coffee and the paper towels,

dripping all over my white shoes,

I will never again swing the groceries

back and forth all the way home from the store,

singing and jumping the puddles,

until the bag hits my thigh and I hear

something inside of it crack.

The next time I saw Drake was third period in Earth Science. He was already seated two tables ahead of me when I walked in, and he didn’t turn around. I had to make it all the way through a discussion of plate tectonics wondering if he would still be my friend. When the bell rang, I dragged my boots over to his table and said, “Sorry about being a Dream Basher.”

Drake stacked his books and looked at me seriously. “You’re the only friend I’ve got in Hershey.” The blood drained out of my body and was replaced with liquid silver. We were still friends. He looked down at his hands and then looked back up at me, his brown eyes wet and his eyebrows pulled together. “Do I seem crazy to you for thinking I can be with Japhy?”

My heart flapped its wings hard in my chest.

I held up three fingers in imitation of the Girl Scout pledge. “I don’t think you’re crazy, and I will never bash your Dream again.”

He stood up and we put our arms around each other’s shoulders to walk, bumping backpacks as we tried to squeeze through the science door without letting go.