Break(28)

“They should heal okay.”

“I know.

“I’m worried about you. This is beginning to look more and more like one of those suicide cry-for-attention things.”

I start hitting my head against the ground. “You’re not supposed to just ask me that. You’re supposed to dance around the subject and call a hotline if you’re so f*cking concerned.”

He lowers his voice. “Jonah, what’s up?”

“Nothing.” I flap my arms over my face. He tapes me and it hurts. “What’s up with you?” I snap. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I am eating.” Rip of more tape. “This one might hurt.”

I chew my tongue. “Is this like an eating disorder?”

“I’m allergic to everything. It’s already like the ultimate eating disorder.”

I throw my hands away. “Look, if you don’t eat, you’re going to get worse. You’re going to lose tolerance and you won’t be able to eat anything. If you think starving’s fun now, wait until you don’t have any choice.”

“I’m eating.”

“Stop blowing me off.”

He pulls one of my toes and I swear. “I am not blowing you off,” he says, “but you have some nerve to lecture me about how to take care of myself. Now shut up and let me finish here.”

I exhale. “We’re gonna be really late.”

“It’s okay. I’ll drive fast.”

I say, “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“You’ve done enough.” And it doesn’t sound like a compliment.

“What?”

“Jonah, relax, okay? Just let me tape.”

I could throw up.

He finishes, and I examine his handiwork. My toes are secured in a wonky line like drunk soldiers.

“All right. Here we go.” Jess takes my good arm and hauls me off the ground. “You all right?”

My head’s about to split open, but my feet feel okay. “Yeah.”

“Just keep your weight on your heels and the tape should hold up.”

“Thanks, brother.”

“Uh-huh.” He pulls his sweaty hair back in his fist. “I’m gonna shower. Get yourself a granola bar or something and let’s get out of here.”

“Okay.”

He starts to go, then pauses with his hand on the door frame. “Jo.”

“Problem?”

He shrugs. “Can you try to do something about the baby before we go?”

There’s this desperation in his voice.

“I’ll try,” I say.





twenty-two


NAOMI’S WEARING MY SWEATSHIRT AGAIN, AND the cuffs are folded over but still cover her hands. She grumbles in the back of her throat. “I can’t believe you did this without me.”

“It was impulsive. Barely intentional.”


“You couldn’t have waited?”

I wiggle my shoulders. “No, I couldn’t.”

“You’re like an addict.”

“Hush. This isn’t about you. Look, I have to stop doing this. For real. It’s bothering Jesse.”

“What’s up with Jesse?”

“I don’t even know.” I lead her down the south hallway. “Ever since his reaction he’s been all weird and combative. He never used to argue with me, and now it’s like . . . I don’t know.” My eyes feel like they’re coated in sandpaper.

She crosses her arms. “I’ll talk to him.”

“He’s not your responsibility.” We arrive outside the AP Bio classroom just as the kids start pouring out. I watch them, one by one, each of them an Ivy League–bound robot. Except my girl.

“He listens to me,” Naomi says. “What the hell are we doing here, anyway?”

Charlotte emerges, her hair pinned up in a Spanish orchid.

My girl who knows real life like it’s one of her songs.

Naomi fixes her baseball cap. “Oh.”

I do my best to wrap up our conversation before Charlotte gets to me. “Just leave Jess alone. He’s got enough on his plate. Figuratively.”

“Fuck you.”

I leave her to be pissed off and go bear-hug Charlotte. She giggles inside my arms, like a chorus of tiny violins.

“You smell fantastic,” she says.

“Hey, backatcha.”

I hear the smattering of combat boots and unbury my face from Charlotte’s curls. Naomi is stomping away, making as much noise as she can.

Charlotte’s lips peek open in her what-the-heck? face. “What’s wrong with her?”

“No clue. She’s mad about something.”

“You know what it is, don’t you?” She takes my arm and we stroll back toward our lockers. It’s almost like she’s my girlfriend. My feet hurt, but not so much that I care. “She’s jealous.”

“Please. Naomi would fall in love with you before she’d fall in love with me.”

Charlotte says, “Hmm.”

“She’s not gay.”

“Someone has to be gay.”

“Well, not Naomi.”