Not so super -- Chapter 14

 

I took in several breaths of icy air, waiting for Zeta to put some distance between us.  There had been a hint of haste in her retreating form.  I judged that I didn't have long to wait.  I skulked into the building and headed towards my locker.  Two steps later, I stopped short, nearly tripping over myself.  I imagined that tight ponytail resting mischievously against my locker.  I turned around and headed the other way, towards history class.  I resigned myself to being that guy, the guy arriving late in his winter coat.

 

I came up to the classroom door and paused.  It suddenly hit me that my textbook was still in my locker.  It was bad enough that I was coming in late.  Now I was going to be the guy with a coat but no book.  I'd probably get to sit up front, too.  All my shameful disorganization would be on display.  No use dragging it out.  I took one last look at my watch and entered the room.

 

As I entered, Mr. Lucken’s voice barked and sputtered to an unseemly halt.  Mouth open, he gaped at the student who’d had the temerity to treat his class with such disrespect.  Channy chose that exact moment to DM me. Her buzz shattered the fragile silence which had so briefly pervaded the room.  My hand tried to snatch at my pocket.  I reigned it in.  Lucken was on the verge of having a heart attack, there and then.

 

In the restored, post-buzz silence, I performed a quick survey of the room.   There were no open chairs except a few up front.  Dro, Gers and Kenneth were clustered near the back, looking as sympathetic as they were useless.

 

I made my way forward, to the seat next to Eunice.  As I approached her, it struck me how much she looked like a younger Channy.  Taller, sure, but thin with similar glasses and dark features.  As she watched me approach, with those dark eyes behind thick glasses, I could imagine her thinking “I offered to rescue you, and you repay me by ignoring my DM?”  But she probably wasn’t thinking “Seinfeld rerun” about me at all.  I took my seat and Eunice went back to ignoring me.

 

Once Lucken resumed teaching, my nerves settled down.  Lucken wasn’t like any other teacher in school.  When he started lecturing his consciousness was drawn away from the class.  Lucken wrapped his favorite subjects around him, like a cloak protecting him from his students.  When this happened, he directed his lecture to the upper left corner of the room.  He gesticulated wildly, taking in the whole class, but it was almost as if we had ceased to matter.  His only audience was that musty corner which, alone, could share his love of colonial America.

 

As riveted as he was, I’d already lost the thread of what he was saying.  I tried to peek, surreptitiously, at Eunice’s book.  With pursed lips, she tilted it away from me.  She had joined Lucken, collaborating on my punishment for tardiness.  I turned back to face the teacher.  I was completely out of his cone of vision and it would probably be many minutes before he took any notice of the class.  I took out my notebook and started scribbling his phrases at random.

 

“...with the British at sea and the colonists on land…”

 

It was no good.  Unable to focus, I began to doodle.  This was something I did neither often nor well.  But as I looked at my handiwork, I felt that it had a rather passable likeness to Channy.  I had only managed to draw her face, neck and hair, but it was clearly Channy, the fairy-queen of sweater folding.  A sharp intake of breath caught my attention.  I looked over to see Eunice frowning at my paper.  It took me a second to realize what was happening.  Eunice clearly thought that I was drawing Eunice.

 

I made eye contact, apprehensively, and shook my head, to indicate that it wasn't her.  She rolled her eyes and turned her whole body away from me.  Under any other circumstances I would have been mortified.  But I had many problems today.  Eunice’s delusion of grandeur wasn't going to make the top ten.

 

“...a successful retreat, which would come to be understood as a watershed moment…”

 

Shed.  Suddenly I remembered the DM from Channy.  As stealthily as I could, I slipped the phone out of my pocket.  I turned it on, under my desk, praying that Lucken would be too worked up to notice.

 

=================================

**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Here’s hoping that your silence doesn't mean “he got me.” :-)

=================================

 

Not.  Funny.  

 

I decided that Channy didn't deserve a response.  I slipped the phone back into my pocket before it attracted unwanted attention.

 

Class eventually came to an end.  As I stood up, Eunice breezed past me, nose in the air.  Her posture clearly communicated that she would never deign to be the subject of my doodling.  I shuffled towards the door, wishing that Eunice’ rejection was the worst that was in store for me.  My friends were waiting in the hallway.

 

“You look pop tarts, man, seriously,” said a nervous, subdued Dro.

 

“Yeah,” said Kenneth, “did you even sleep last night?”

 

How could I explain?  Last night was bad.  The morning was worse.  I decided to stick with the night.

 

“Last night was bad,” I fumbled around.  “I screwed up.  I need to fix this.”

 

“We’re here for you, man, ducks on toast.”

 

“We’ve got your back.”

 

“Or what’s left of it when Zeta’s done.”

 

I looked from Dro to Kenneth to Gers.  I was doomed.  At least I had English between me and death.  After peeking around the corner, I snuck past my locker to lose my coat and grab “Pride and Prejudice.”  From there, I quickly hustled to class, arriving just before the bell.

 

For the next blissful class, I let myself fall into the regency period of England.  I'm not really sure what had drawn me to Austen.  I wasn't much of a reader under the best of circumstances.  Maybe it was the language, maybe it was the world she described.  Maybe it was the girls, who seemed datable.  Yeah, probably that.  I liked her girls more than the girls around me.  Certainly more than Eunice.  Maybe not Channy.  Or probably Zeta.

 

But if her girls were awesome, her guys her losers.  What was up with Darcy, anyway?   He had a little Gers in him, but mostly he was just a jerk.  I’d hate to hang out with him for the rest of my life.  I paused to wonder how Elizabeth would have handled Darcy showing up and saying ‘look, I've peeked at the end and we're going to get married, so stop whining and let me do my thing.’

 

She probably would have done better than me.

 

Suddenly, something was nagging at me.  I flipped to the front of the book.

 

“It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife.”

 

I frowned at the page.  I was in possession of virtually nothing.  What did I want with a wife?  Oddly, that turned my thoughts to Zeta.  She wasn't threatening to marry me.  Was that the appeal?  I couldn't believe I was even comparing them.

 

The bell rang, causing my stomach to implode.  English was over, leaving me one last class before lunch. 

 

Calculus.

 

Throughout English, I had been slouching increasingly lower in my chair.  By now, my chin was almost level with the desk.  As I watched the other kids getting up around me, I slowly raised myself up.  I packed my bag laboriously and dragged myself out of the classroom.  My mind was buzzing with thoughts -- mostly mine -- as I tried to formulate a plan.  Failing to do so I settled on the obvious: Walk in just after the bell and be forced into the nearest open seat. I prayed that Zeta hadn’t thought this through already.

 

I walked into class, but was unable to take it in, through the swirling thoughts in my mind.

 

“Please take a seat, Mr. Smith.”

 

There was no seat next to Zeta, but to my immediate right, Gers had saved a seat for me.  I owed him, big time.

 

As I slid into my seat, I briefly made eye contact with Zeta.  Her smile was shy, and not terribly meaningful.  She quickly turned her attention back to the front of the class.  The moment was brief, innocent and empty.  I began to doubt myself.  Maybe this was no big deal to her.  Maybe everything was in my head.  Channy was right.  Between Zeta and the guy this morning, I was becoming quite the drama queen.

 

But as the class wore on, evidence mounted to the contrary.  It felt like Zeta was fighting past the class in her attempt to answer every question.  Making it worse, after each answer, she'd sneak a peek back at me.  She was like some kind of insecure peacock, ruffling her feathers and then anxiously looking for approval.

 

I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of her.   Not for the first time, I wished that I could read minds, instead of just listening.  I imagined the class as a sea of URLs.  Desperately, I navigated to the site I needed:

 

https://www.calculus.edu/zeta/ThinksAboutRick/

 

Nothing.  Not even a 404 error.  All I heard was Mr. Leton, talking about sinusoidal functions.  I probably knew what those were.

 

When I opened my eyes, I was surprised to see a note on my desk.  I peered across the room, wondering if it could have come from Zeta.  But then I recognized Gers’ handwriting.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

You can't hide forever.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

I blew out a quiet breath and scrawled my answer back.

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

Can you give me until after lunch?

 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

 

He rolled his head to the left and gave me a look of mild indigestion.  For Gers, that counted as withering disapproval.

 

I tried to pay attention to the rest of the class.  Honestly.  But between Zeta’s playing the needy teacher’s pet and Gers’ petulance, my own thoughts were too loud to hear.

 

The bell took me by surprise.  I felt my limbs moving before my head put the plan together. Despite the lack of preparation, I was still the first out of class.  My plan was simply to be elsewhere.  This I accomplished by quickly nipping into the stairway and going up to the second floor.  I reckoned that my locker was where she'd end up so it was off limits.  I was walking with no particular destination in mind when my phone buzzed.  I ducked into an empty classroom and stood behind the door, so I could read the DM in peace.

 

=================================

**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

Just thinking of you :-)

=================================

 

Seriously?  I scanned through our conversation.  She had never sent me anything like that before.  Honestly, it was kind of creepy.

 

Then I noticed the jpeg she had sent.  It was a picture of her at Starbucks, holding a hot chocolate.  Like on our date.

 

My heart melted twice.  First, as I recognized ChannyThree, peeking out from behind her Twitter account.  Second as I realized that I still hadn't told her anything.  I felt faithless and two-faced.  Well, responding was the least I could do.

 

=================================

**Rick Smith

@LittleTwerp

 

Thinking of you, too.

I wish that I had a latte.

=================================

 

Her response came fast, like she was as needy as Zeta.

 

=================================

**Channing

@MyFakeWife

 

I'm glad you got away safely.

=================================

 

I was about to respond when two seniors walked into the room.  They jumped when they saw me.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I was just studying,” I lied.  “I can go elsewhere.”

 

I left before they could ask anything else.  For several seconds, I stood, indecisively, out in the hall.  By now, I was good and hungry.  I could have headed over to the vending machines behind the gym, but that would have meant spending what little cash I had on pure junk.  I marveled, briefly, on the weirdness of having a girlfriend with a credit card.  But her card did me no good now.  I didn't want her riding to my rescue, anyway.  Giving in to reality, I started back towards my locker.

 

I walked gingerly down the stairs, holding my backpack in front of me, protectively.  As I got close, I stopped and peeked around the corner.  Zeta and Emma, one of her friends, were sitting down the hall.  I ducked back around and almost ran into Jenny.

 

But not the Jenny I knew, not Jenny Sunshine.  If the pink streak in her hair wasn't offputting enough, the dark eye shadow made her look positively demonic.  Even worse was the totally natural, angry red in her cheeks.

 

“What's wrong with you?” she accused.

 

“Nothing…” I stammered.

 

She pressed her palms to the wall, one on either side of me, and stared up into my face.

 

“Mind who you're talking to.  You don't get to lie to me.” 

 

I felt the oddest feeling of transparency.  It was like Jenny had some secret superpower of her own, to see through my lies in a way Zeta, Channy and even Mom couldn't.  I gaped down at her, looking for evidence that she knew more than she should.  But her face was impassive and her brain silent. 

 

“I need to break it off with Zeta.  I will.  I promise I will.”

 

She took her arms away, but continued to intimidate me with her inscrutable gaze.

 

“Okay,” she said, her body still tense and dubious.  “But if you need any help, you let me know.”

 

What was up with girls wanting to rescue me today?

 

Jenny slowly walked away, towards Zeta.  I peeked around the corner to watch.  Jenny walked by, coldly and deliberately.  She didn't even acknowledge Zeta.  Zeta watched her wordlessly, with a bewildered, maybe hurt, expression.  I wondered whether those two even liked each other.

 

I ducked back around the corner and ran straight into Kenneth, who had watched the whole thing.

 

“I feel bad for you, son,” he said, in a strange drawling accent.

 

“What?”

 

“Girl problems?” he asked, uncertainly, with a little less drawl.

 

“Oh.  Yeah.  You don’t know the half of it.”  I agreed guiltily.

 

“I’m beginning to think I might…” he trailed off, looking at where Jenny had been.  Had Jenny joined Eunice on my list of faux-crushes?

 

Only then did I notice Linda holding his right arm.  She was looking at me with a strange mixture of respect and sympathy.

 

“I didn’t know you were such a player,” she shook her head.

 

“I clearly am not,” I admitted.

 

“Well you’re also clearly not going that way, or you’d have gone that way,” she said.  We’ll run interference for you.  Go on and scoot.”

 

That brought the count up to three offered rescues from the female persuasion.  But I accepted this one and slunk off, towards the vending machine.

 

After lunch, the afternoon was a blur.  I had made up my mind to call it off with Zeta.  All along, I had known what Channy knew, that we had to trust her dreams.  They had led her to me and they promised a good life if I did my part.  But that knowledge did nothing to mitigate my fears.  By now, I knew how much of Channy’s serenity was a facade.  Uncertainty was always hiding underneath the surface.  What she knew was such a small percentage of what would happen.  And she felt vulnerable because every dream lived was a chance for her to blow it.

 

In an odd way, I felt like I was getting a taste of what Channy experienced.  She’d never dreamt this scene.  She could never dream it, because she wasn't in it.  Now it was I who had to get my lines right.  If I screwed this up, I could lose Channy like Dad lost Mom.  I wasn't in love.  Channy was too different, too old for me to be attracted to her.  But I trusted her dreams and I didn't want to lose that.

 

So now I wished that I did know my lines.  How could I dump Zeta to avoid losing Channy?  More importantly, how could I do it without making Zeta feel bad, or get angry?

 

I resolved that it was time to come clean.  I couldn't tell her everything.  She’d get me locked up.  But I had to tell her I was seeing someone.  I had to tell her it was a secret and that I hadn't known how to react yesterday.  She'd understand.  Maybe she'd even become my confidant.  Maybe this would be good.

 

When the last bell rung, I was ready.  I sat up straight, closed my eyes, and let the sound of rising students swirl around me.   I knew my lines and I was in the right state of mind.  I’d shove everything in my locker so I could have my hands free.  Maybe we'd even hug after we talked -- the beginning of a relationship of sharing.

 

I walked back to my locker, trying to gather the appearance of serenity.  I knew how this would turn out.  Channy had practically told me.

 

When I got to the locker, she was already there.

 

She was resting jauntily against my locker.  Her jacket was hanging loosely from her hand and her knapsack was at her feet.  Even from fifteen feet away, I caught a whiff of something she was wearing.  She smelt good.  But even more so, she looked good.

 

I ducked around Gingy, and approached Zeta.  Piece by piece, or taken as a whole, she was stunning.  Her hair was starting to curl out, fighting through the scrunchy that was holding her ponytail together.  Her sweater was loose enough to make it clear how tight the shirt was.  And while nobody would have called the neckline plunging, but it was enough to hint at the curves underneath -- curves that Channy would probably never have.

 

She was also wearing jeans, not the ripped, pre-tattered jeans that were popular around school, but nice, crisp jeans.  And heels.  Of course.  Somehow everyone but me knew how much I liked them.

 

I suddenly realized just how far away I was from making eye contact.  With great effort, I pulled my gaze back until her face came into view.  There were those eyes, full of sparkle and mischief.  And there was that triumphant smile.

 

That smug smile.

 

And that's when clarity finally emerged.  I’d known Zeta for years.  Until recently, I wouldn't have known to say she was beautiful.  But she was beautiful.  She was probably more beautiful than Channy would ever be.  But that's not what life was about.  Life was about doing the right thing.  Deep down, I’d never had any doubt about what that was.  But the right thing wasn't the easy thing.  So I’d dragged my feet, hoping for an easy way out.  Since none emerged, I launched into my prepared remarks.

 

“Wow.  Like, so, I… geez.”

 

Zeta smiled more broadly, fully aware that her beauty was interfering with my ability to speak.

 

“Yeah.  So, yesterday, after the bus and all, I didn't really… ‘cause I was all surprised.  And, like, with the guys there… so, that's why… you know, when you asked me and all, I was just like… well I don't know what I was like, right?  So.  I'm sorry, but… I'm sorry but I can't.”

 

When I had begun, I was firmly making eye contact, but by the end my eyes were focusing somewhere down, and to the left.  That's probably why I had no idea where her fist was flying.

 

It collided with the lockers between us, creating a shock that reverberated up and down the hall.  I stumbled backwards, into Gingy.  My leg hooked inside of hers and down we went.  As many as twenty other heads looked up towards the commotion.

 

“I knew it!” she spat, pointing an accusatory finger, down at me.

 

“This is all about that fake wife of yours.  She's dangerous.  I was trying to protect you.”

 

Her purpling face framed her reddening eyes.  The moisture in them were tears of unmitigated rage.  Her shoulders, heaving up and down, gave me the sense of anger being manually inflated.  Somehow, Channy didn't seem like the most dangerous girl in my life, right now.

 

“There's something wrong with her and there's something wrong with you,” she screamed.

 

“You haven't even met her.  For all you know, she's a dude.  She's probably a forty year old dude.  You're being played.”

 

The rage tears were beginning to slop down her cheeks.  Her unkempt, curly, kinky hair swung about wildly, dragging the defeated scrunchy with it.  She was clearly looking to make an exit.

 

“Well I was going to be there for you, but you've ruined that!  Don't come crying to me when you're dead!”

 

And with that, she stormed off.  Slowly, I unwound myself from Gingy.

 

“I'm really sorry about all that,” I apologized.

 

“Remind me never to date you,” she said.