Jodi and I passed in the halls at school several times that week. Each time I responded with a slight nod, as if she were a casual acquaintance, someone I barely knew and had no interest in.
Chapter Eleven
"When did you and Christie start...?" Oz asked over the phone. "First date...second...?"
Saturday morning, eight o'clock. I was still in bed. I rolled over and shifted my cell phone to my other ear. I'd talked to Oz after homecoming. "Had a great time," he said. "Christie was elected Homecoming Queen. I even kissed her! God, I can't believe I kissed the queen. A couple of times."
Since homecoming, they'd been on three or four more dates.
Now he had this question for me.
"What?" I said, sitting up in bed. "When did we what?"
"You know..."
"Don't even think about it, Oz."
"I never heard you brag about it like a lot of guys, blabbing all the details..."
"Forget it."
"I think she likes me. I'm not sure, though. Maybe she still likes you. That's what I think."
"We're just friends, that's all. Don't try anything stupid with her."
"I really don't know a damned thing. I wouldn't admit this to anyone else.
"You don't want to get that involved. There's always a breakup. Big fights. Everyone gets hurt."
"I need some experience. Girls in college are going to think I'm weird. And I'm going to be scared shitless."
"Keep it simple, Oz. Be nice to her. Don't try anything. That's my best advice. I'm speaking from experience."
Monday, I spotted Christie in the hall at school, headed for the library. I caught her before she got to the door.
Christie Ridgeway, my ex-girlfriend, was the girl nearly all other high school girls want to be—tall, slender, and athletic with long dark hair, smoldering dark eyes and full lips. She was captain of the varsity cheerleading squad, but best of all she was a great girl. Neither a snot nor a snob, like a lot of other hot, talented girls. Everyone liked her.
I'd thought maybe I was in love with her and that maybe she was in love with me. But before I left for Ghost Bay last spring, she told me she didn't think she could spend most of the summer alone. "I'm trying to be honest with you," she said. That bit of honesty irritated the hell our of me. I threw my hands up and told her to do whatever she had to do—I needed time with my dad. When I came home from Ghost Bay, waiting for Dad to die, she told me she'd been seeing someone else, Kevin McCabe, a trumpet player in the band. Nothing serious between them, though. Maybe there was still a chance for us. I told her forget it. I didn't want to be involved with anyone anymore. I just didn't want to be involved at all. Grades, football, my pledge to my dad—I didn't have time for a girlfriend. That ended our relationship. Still, we managed to stay friendly. I was glad for that.
"Thanks for coming to my dad's funeral," I said now. "I know that's been weeks ago, but I haven't had a chance to tell you."
"Your Mom wrote me a nice note."
"I should've called, I guess."
"Your dad was a cool guy. Always teasing me about my long hair. How are you doing?"
She smiled at me. I loved her smile.
These were the first words we'd spoken to each other since after I'd come home in August and we had broken up. I was glad she was talking to me, smiling. I'd never wanted us to be enemies. "I'm getting along," I said. "Congratulations on being picked Queen."
"Thanks. And congratulations to you. All-state, all-conference, MVP—that's great. College scouts beating your door down?"
"I've gotten a lot of letters," I said. "And phone calls. It'll be hard to make up my mind. Heard you and Oz had a great time at the dance."
"Ozzie tell you that?"
"He mentioned it."
"Ozzie is nice." Her eyes lowered. "I know what you think about me, going out on you last summer, now dating your best friend—what a bitch I must be."
"I don't think that."
"I notice you haven't dated anyone. Kids are saying you're going to become a monk." She smiled. "But I know better."
And I smiled. "You're right."
"You were serious when you came home and told me you didn't want to be involved—it had nothing to do with me."
"That's right."
She looked at me with her huge brown eyes. "I'm still sorry about last summer—I mean it."
"I am, too."
"The thought of being alone all summer freaked me."
"What happened between you and Kevin McNabe?"
"Too much of a drinker. Too much of a hands-on guy"—she smiled again—"if you know what I mean."
"I understand."
At that instant Jodi pushed open the library doors, brushed by, and hurried down the hallway. I don't know if she spotted Christie and me or not, but my eyes followed her.
"You know that girl?" Christie asked.
"Sort of."
"She's new, isn't she?"
"I...think so."
Christie gave a little nod. "She looks pregnant. Congratulations again—"
My heart thumped. "What—?"
"On your football awards, congratulations."
"Oh...thanks..."
"I have to get to chemistry."
"See you."
Jodi and I passed in the halls at school several times that week. Each time I responded with a slight nod, as if she were a casual acquaintance, someone I barely knew and had no interest in.
Once I pulled up alongside her in the hall between classes and asked, "How are things going?" She wore jeans, and a blue sweatshirt that seemed too big.
Was she showing now? Is that how Christie suspected Jodi was pregnant? Is that why she was wearing a too-big sweatshirt?
How many months was this? August, September, October, November. Four. Probably time to show.
"Things are going fine," she said.
"Great."
I swung to the left, catching the stairs down to the first floor.
Friday, I spotted Jodi in the cafeteria, sitting alone, looking tiny and lost. Finished eating, I was carrying my tray to the dirty-dish counter when I decided to stop at her table. "Hey," I said.
She looked up. She seemed peaked. Vegetable soup, crackers, milk, and strawberry Jell-O were all she had on her tray. But it looked as if she hadn't touched a thing.
"The soup's never very good," I said. "In fact, none of the food is."
"It's not the food."
"Something wrong?"
"I'm pregnant, that's what's wrong. Smells from hamburgers, fries, soups—all kinds of food—make me feel sick."
I nodded woodenly.
Man, how could a girl deal with that, everyday smells making her sick all the time? What a kick in the butt.
Tray in hand, I stumbled on, feeling awkward and stupid. And guilty.
Coming Friday—Chapter Twelve: Jodi asks Michael for a favor
