The Exact Opposite of Okay(34)
Always coming to my rescue, Ajita chimes in with, “Sir, I believe it is an allusion to the sexually transmitted diseases my friend here may or may not have contracted according to the website Izzy O’Neill: World Class Whore. Anonymous source. Would you like my bibliography in the Harvard referencing style, or will footnotes suffice?”
Even I crack up at this point. People all around me are just dying, like actually expiring with the utter hilarity of the situation, and Mr Wong tries his very best to muster an “I’m-with-you-comrades” sort of grin, despite the fact he’s so disgusted he might possibly shit himself right here and now.
The only guy in the entire room whose face looks like a smacked fish? Danny. He glares as me disparagingly and grits his teeth.
And just like that I’m back to feeling like dirt.
1.04 p.m.
By lunchtime the mockery begins to focus on the garden bench picture. You know, the picture in which I am literally having sex on a garden bench. ?Wunderbar.
We’re in the cafeteria, which is actually pretty quiet because the entire sophomore year group is off at some careers fair in the city. It’s spaghetti and meatballs day, and the kitchen obviously forgot about the mass sophomore absence, so those of us still in school are enjoying mammoth bowls of the stuff.
A guy I half recognize as a member of the cross-country team (which is how I immediately know he is some form of psychopath, as a person who voluntarily runs without a gun pointing at his head) approaches the bench I’m sitting at with Ajita by my side. She is mid-rant about our absurd two-party political system and its failings, so is quite annoyed at the interruption.
“Hey, Izzy,” Psychopath Runner says, a nauseating grin combined with a strange fake-concerned expression on his face. “Are you all right? Would you like me to fetch the first-aid kit from the nurse’s office?”
I sigh. “All right, I’ll play along. Why would I require the first-aid kit?”
He’s beside himself with excitement at being granted the opportunity to recite his punchline. “Well, you’re bound to have splinters from rubbing your knees back and forth on that garden bench. And back. And forth. And back. And –”
“Yes, yes, very good, thank you,” Ajita says, slurping her Capri-Sun. [It actually is Capri-Sun for once. Even Ajita doesn’t drink beer at school. Yet. Give it time.] “Goodbye now.”
He disappears, receiving a multitude of fist-bumps from his fellow cross-country psychopaths.
Ajita finishes her juice pouch and scrunches it up. “Hey, I made you something.”
She attempts to toss the pouch in the nearby trash can, missing entirely, then starts digging around in her backpack until she triumphantly pulls out a glossy postcard.
It’s a printout of the garden bench pic, but she’s turned it into a work of art! I think she’s probably just applied one of those Photoshop filters that makes it look like stained glass, but still. It is funny and very Ajita.
I squeeze her hand. “Thank you. For . . . y’know.”
Standing by me. Making me laugh. Allowing me to feel like I might actually survive this ordeal, even though I’m too proud to ever dream of asking for help.
She squeezes mine back. “I know. You’re welcome.”
4.23 p.m.
A girl I vaguely recognize from math class comes up to me in the hallway before last period. She’s in a wheelchair and has mousy brown hair and little round glasses and I think her name is Meg.
“Izzy?”
I try very hard to maintain an air of detachedness, since there’s at least a ninety-five percent chance she’s about to mock me. “Yes, Meg? May I help you?”
“Erm, I . . .”
“If you are here to crack any sort of garden-bench-based joke whatsoever, please do it in the next five seconds because I’m going to be late for geography, and Lord knows rock formations are the number one thing on my mind right now. The last lesson ended on quite a cliffhanger.” [Geddit? Cliffhanger! Rock formations! The best jokes are the ones you have to explain.]
She shakes her head vehemently. “No! I wasn’t going to. I just wanted . . . well, I wanted to say that I think you’re really cool. And funny. You really made me laugh in math this morning. With the H McW thing. I wish I could be as funny as you.” She’s blushing furiously at this point.
A huge grin breaks out across my face. I can’t help it. The unexpected sweetness catches me so off guard that I completely forget the aloof vibe I was aiming for. “That’s such a nice thing to say, Meg! You should totally come and hang out with me and Ajita sometime. We make excellent nachos.”
“Ohmygosh, really?” she beams. “I would love that!”
I scribble down my phone digits for her and head to geography class, feeling very grateful for the few remaining nice people in the world.
5.16 p.m.
WTF?? Danny rocks up to Great Gatsby rehearsals carrying a bunch of tulips and a box of my favorite chocolates [Ferrero Rocher. Yes, my taste in confectionery is unreasonably pretentious given my financial situation]. Bearing in mind the last thing he said to me was “fuck you”, at first I foolishly think this is but a simple apology. Alas, that is not how the following events transpire.
He waltzes down the aisle between rows of seats. Everyone turns to stare. We’re about to start blocking the opening scene so everyone is on stage, and when he walks down, face completely obscured by the obnoxiously large bunch of flowers, an eerie silence falls over us.