The Journal, Page 4

  Beth wrote in an obviously teenage voice, but I’m a teenager, too. Her first entries were mostly boring—relating funny things that happened in class and mentioned a few of encounters with a couple boys she was interested in. It reminded me of my days spent crushing on Sebastian. Beth apparently had problems with her mom, too, as she detailed a couple of fights. The fights seemed really silly, but the emotion she wrote with was so familiar. I wondered if the fights I had with my mother would sound silly to others too, especially after 100 years.

  What would it be like to have been watching the TV news coverage of September 11th that day? Even more, what would it have been like to have been in one of those towers, as you felt the impact of the plane hit? What if you were too high and weren’t able to get out? What would happen to you then?

  “And what is Professor Julie Anne teaching you today?” Ms. Oscar’s own probing question startled me as I was jolted back from 2001.

  “Uh, umm...Professor Julie Anne is telling me—I mean teaching me—about the joy of gerunds. They’re really exciting,” I answered with a forced smile and a thumbs up.

  “Exciting? How so?” Ms. Oscar questioned doubtfully.

  “Umm...”

  “I see. It looks like you could use another play of this lecture.” My heart dropped. I knew what that meant: after school detention.

  “Yes, let’s see, 15:30 this afternoon would work for me, does it for you?” Ms. Oscar didn’t wait for me to respond; it was understood that if we didn’t pay attention to our lectures, we were required to make them up after school.

  I didn’t put up a fight, since the only option I had was to choose a different afternoon to stay.

  I sighed. That’s another point Beth and I had in common—she had a demanding teacher and I had an overbearing minder.

  “Oh, why couldn’t you have come over to my house for choose-your-own adventure Monday night?” Ryan whined to me as we talked in the lunch room over the school-provided lunch of mystery meat and overcooked potatoes. Oh yeah, that. “You missed a good one,” she continued. “Since you weren’t there, I invited Clara over.” Clara is a friend Ryan and I sometimes hung out with at school. “We chose for Parkina to break up with Fabio. For kicks, we decided she should go out with Lucio. So gross, I know, but they don’t know that they’re related! Don’t worry, we’ll make sure that she finds out soon, so nothing happens.”

  I’m not sure why Ryan thought I’d worry about what imaginary characters would do, but I tried to look like I cared to avoid her squabbling.

  “Tomorrow Clara and I are going to the mall to pick out new swimsuits.” I hadn’t thought Ryan and Clara were that close to spend two days in a week together. “All the new designs just came out. You must come—we can’t have you showing up to the pool in that ratty old blue one-piece again this summer!”

  Though we only had switched pools at my suggestion in order to run into Sebastian, Ryan and I still had plans to go back to Leigh Pool that summer. Or at least Ryan did. Yesterday she spent all lunch detailing how we were going to make Tate and Sebastian jealous, which included spending every spring afternoon running on the school track to get toned. Though I hadn’t agreed to the plan, apparently Ryan was convinced I would be joining her. After all, we always did everything together.

  Since I wouldn’t be able to work today, thanks to Ms. Oscar, I really needed to work tomorrow. I didn’t want Hasan to think I was flaking out on him. I had more books to earn. “You guys go ahead.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  Trying to think of any acceptable excuse to get out of swimsuit shopping, I decided to mention not having enough eCreds, which was true enough, considering most of my eCreds were now going to be spent traveling to Millennial Antiques a few times a week.

  I felt like someone was watching me, and when I looked up from the conversation, I saw it was Ming who was looking at me. When our eyes met, she gave me a pleasant smile before looking away. I just rolled my eyes…why was she watching me?

  “Amala? Hello?” Ryan asked annoyed.

  “Huh, what?”

  “You weren’t listening to me. Remember we’re talking about swimsuit shopping?” Ryan asked, barely keeping her annoyance in check.

  “I told you: I don’t have the eCreds for it.”

  “Yeah, it’s not that I have extra eCreds on my account either, but I still want to look so that I know how much to ask my mom for. Please…” she begged in an annoying tone that probably would be the one she’d use to get those extra eCreds.

  “Uh, I’ll probably have to stay after school tomorrow as well. I have to listen to my English lecture today, but I’m so not getting geometry either, so I’m probably going to have to do that tomorrow.”

  “Geometry? Who cares? Just write down a bunch of circles and triangles on your homework…that’s all geometry is, anyway.”

  While that was very tempting, if I admitted that I didn’t need to stay after school, I’d have to come up with another explanation as to why I couldn’t go to the mall. I wasn’t about to tell Ryan about my new job at Millennial Antiques. She had already made her thoughts clear about that store.

  Early sophomore year—pre-Sebastian—I decided I would invite Ryan to go with me to Millennial Antiques. I suppose I naively thought that your best friend should be excited about what you found exciting.

  “What are you doing Tuesday?” I asked at the end of the choose-your-own adventure show that Monday afternoon.

  “Tomorrow? I don’t know, what do you have in mind?” Ryan responded.

  “Well, I’ve been to this store that I think is really neat, and I wanted to see if you wanted to come with me.”

  “Cool, what do they sell?” Clearly, I had piqued Ryan’s interest as her eyes brightened. “I could use a cute belt to go with my red dress, do you think they’d have one?”

  “Umm…probably not.”

  “Oh. What do they sell?”

  “Well, it’s an antique store.”

  “Antique? Not vintage? I can handle vintage—stuff from the 70s and 80s that can pass for new-old cool.” Ryan was clearly disappointed. Trying to be supportive, she asked, “So what antiques do they have?”

  “Well, mainly books,” I said trying to reign in my excitement. I just knew Ryan would love Millennial Antiques once I got her there.

  “Paper books? Why?” Ryan said loudly with disgust, as if they were printed on used toilet paper. “We can read anything we want through our chips!”

  “Yeah, but do you read?” I asked honestly. “We’ve never talked about books before. What was the last thing you read?” I tried to mask the growing hostility in my voice.

  “Well, I’m always reading the latest on Walta’s blog.”

  “I’m not talking about celebrity blogs. Or fashion ones,” I added quickly, guessing Ryan’s next rebuttal. “I’m talking about actual books that take more than 15 minutes to read.”

  “Well, we have to read for class. Why would I want to on my own time?” Ryan said, syncing our music and turning it up, effectively ending the discussion.

  To humor me, Ryan went with me to Millennial Antiques the next day, though she made me pay for the entire pod ride myself. She didn’t really look at much there, and we were heading back towards her house less than 5 minutes after we had entered the doors. I never brought up books with her again.

  Confronting

  After school, I stayed behind in Ms. Oscar’s classroom after most of the other students packed up their stuff and left. Likely chosen for the job because she was the strictest minder in school, Ms. Oscar was the after school minder. Having to stay after school to rewatch a lecture may not be fun, but it had the built-in perk of avoiding running into Sebastian and Kinsley in the crowd waiting for pods outside of school.

  I was tracing the pattern on my pants—swirls of differing sizes—when I heard a familiar voice: Sebastian’s voice. I looked up just in time to see him give a quick hand squeeze to Kinsley as she walked away from the clas
sroom.

  I guess I was wrong for thinking that detention was a way to avoid seeing Sebastian.

  He quickly sat down in a seat in a middle row of the classroom, near the door. I was in my usual place in the back row, so I had a good view of the back of his dark, wavy locks.

  As I put in my earbuds and turned on that day’s English lecture, I stopped trying to prevent myself from thinking about him. The lecture was no more interesting than it was that morning—though it had a few more mentions of my name, something that always happens more during detention than during school hours—but thankfully I was able to fake attentiveness to the satisfaction of Ms. Oscar. What she mistook for paying attention was really just me avoiding looking up and seeing Sebastian.

  By the time Professor Julie Anne was wrapping up her thoughts on gerunds in her all-too-chipper voice, I was more than ready to leave. Perhaps I got nothing out of the lecture, but I did vow to pay attention better the next day to avoid the extra time spent at school. Perhaps that’s all they intended with these after school sessions, anyway.

  As Ms. Oscar dismissed us, I walked slowly to the front of the classroom, careful to not walk too quickly so I didn’t catch up to Sebastian. I knew that he had seen me as he entered, and he appeared to want to avoid the awkward confrontation as well.

  Without even realizing what I was doing, I took a few quick steps, and put my hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, pulling him back so that he had to look at me.

  “Whoa, what?” Sebastian said, startled and annoyed.

  “We need to talk,” I said through clinched teeth. I tried to keep my voice down—which was hard—as most of the dozen other students still in the classroom were looking our direction with curiosity. Our relationship and the sudden end of it was no secret to the school gossip feed.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Meet me at the bench outside the back entrance in 5.”

  “Fine, whatever.”

  I was glad that Sebastian agreed, though he clearly was not any more excited about the thought of having this discussion than I was. I hurried off to the restroom, taking the time to look at myself in the mirror, fixing my low ponytail. I preferred wearing my thick dark hair in a way that would keep it from falling into my face.

  I pressed my hands against the sink, trying to keep them from shaking. I couldn’t believe that I had had the nerve to approach Sebastian, especially in front of other people.

  I stayed behind in the restroom a few extra minutes, hoping to make Sebastian wait. Either he would have time to fidget, or he’d chicken out. Part of me wished he would. I had no clue what to say.

  He didn’t chicken out.

  The walk to the bench seemed unusually long. As I rounded the last corner and saw him waiting for me, I shook my hands one last time, still trying to make the shaking stop.

  “Mally, I’m sorry,” Sebastian apologized while I was still ten feet from where he stood near the bench.

  “Don’t call me ‘Mally.’ I hate that name.” Only Sebastian ever called me that, but suddenly I found it irritating.

  “Uh, sorry.”

  “Is that all you have for me? ‘Sorry’s?”

  “Sorry. I mean, uh…”

  “Why’d you do it? Why did you get back with Kinsley? Scratch that—I’ve seen her short skirts. Tell me why you got back with her without breaking up with me first. That’s what I really want to know.”

  “Uh, I didn’t think I had to say anything to you. I knew you’d hear it through the gossip feed. Besides, you and I weren’t ever actually together.”

  “Clearly, Sebastian, you and I have different recollections of the past.”

  “Really? So did I black out during the conversation we had saying that we were official? Did I ever refer to you as the g-word?” He meant “girlfriend,” I think.

  “Uh, no. But we hung out all the time together,” I said, allowing my voice to get loud. “And, you know, the kissing.”

  “So? We were just having fun. You know that I had just broken up with Kinsley before we met. I wasn’t in the mood for another relationship. Look, Mally, I’m sorry if you thought we were anything more than friends, but that’s all we were. Really. And if you thought differently, perhaps it’s time for us no longer to be friends.”

  “So if we’re just friends, does that mean that we could kiss now? Kinsley wouldn’t care, right? We’re just friends, so it’s all good,” I said mimicking Sebastian’s words.

  “Uh, Mally. You know that’s not what I’m saying.” I cringed as he called me by that name again.

  “Well, then I don’t know what you’re saying. I’m glad we’re no longer friends. Good riddance.”

  When my pod reached our apartment building, I realized that I had not turned on a vid or any music. I had sat in silence the entire pod ride. When I thought back, I couldn’t even remember anything about the ride: nothing I had passed nor anything I had been thinking about. I was numb. I chipped Mom that I wasn’t feeling well and that I would be in my room for the rest of the evening, resting. When she got home from work, hopefully she would ignore me and not insist on waiting on me as if I were a sick child.

  I sat down at my desk, pulled out Beth’s journal from my drawer, and read.

  September 12, 2001

  I’m still numb over what I saw on screen yesterday. Seeing those towers fall, not knowing how many people were dying at that very moment—or were already dead. Rescue workers have worked all day, and many people have been saved. But there is so much rubble: there must be so many people still in there, some may still be alive, but they’re probably the unlucky ones. What are the chances they’ll be found before…well, you know.

  Mom offered to let me stay home from school today, but I told her I’d rather go and at least pretend like it was a “normal” day. The hallways were unusually quiet and less crowded. There wasn’t the usual smack talking and boisterousness. No one was yelling, slapping each other, or calling each other names.

  In history class, Jason Stevens didn’t tease me like he usually does. Actually, he gave me a big hug. Faith Pennington was nice to me, too. We’ve never talked before, though we’ve had many of the same classes throughout middle and high school, but there is just something about a tragedy that brings strangers together as friends.

 

  September 16, 2001

  Friday as I was leaving history class, Faith asked me if I wanted to come to church with her this weekend. Though we haven’t talked before this week, I am already starting to connect with her.

  Sometimes Mom, Dad, and I will go to Forrest Pine Community Church. Meg, too, when she was still living at home. We like it okay, I guess, but only go every once in a while, when we’ve not had too busy of a weekend. Since this week has been hard, I thought it would be a good idea to join Beth at church, and Mom and Dad said that was fine.

  I had never been inside Immanuel Church before, where Faith goes. She introduced me to some of the other people in her youth group, and they actually were pretty nice to me. I could tell that they were all pretty shook up by September 11th as I was.

  The pastor spoke from Psalm 46. When I came home, I looked up these verses in my pink children’s Bible that I got for Christmas when I was 8 (I was too embarrassed to carry a children’s Bible to church so I left it at home!):

 

  “God is our refuge and strength,

  A very present help in trouble.

  Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change

  And though the mountains slip into the heart of the sea,

  Though its waters roar and foam

  Though the mountains quake at its swelling pride.”

 

  I’ve been so scared that something would happen to my family, so I could see how Faith finds these words comforting.

  That’s something new, I thought, when I sat at my desk that night after I read those words. I had heard of a Bible, usually in the context of “so-and-so’s book is the bible of fashion or a
rchery or baking,” but I had never seen or read one.

  Slumped in my chair, I looked the Bible up through my chip. I didn’t find the book online, which was unusual, but did find information about it. Apparently it was written a long time ago, finished about two thousand years ago. I always thought it was written by some guru on a mountain top, but apparently it was written by at least forty different men over a long period. It was the bestselling book in history so it’s odd that I couldn’t find it online. I found many links that I thought were it, but they were always broken. Whoever had put the Bible online in the past has long since abandoned it.

  I definitely had another book to look up at Hasan’s store.

  When I walked into Millennial Antiques that next afternoon, a sense of relief came over me. I was glad to be back, especially since I had already done the dusting on Tuesday. I knew I’d get to spend more time with my hands on the books. This was an especially comforting thought after a tense day at school, fighting off Ryan’s questions as well as my own brooding thoughts. I just wanted to put Sebastian behind me, but my thoughts weren’t exactly cooperating.

  As I expected, the cart of misplaced books I had pulled out on Tuesday was exactly where I left it. Hasan was behind his counter, his nose stuck in a book, exactly where I expected to find him. This time the book was Dostoevsky.

  “Hi, Hasan!”

  “Hi, dear,” Hasan said, barely looking up. “I’m sad I missed you yesterday. Can you work tomorrow to make it up?”

  “Yes, that’s fine. When you get a chance, I have a couple books that I’d like for you to find for me. I’m really loving the journal, by the way. Thank you, thank you! But I’m afraid it’s a Pandora’s box, as I now have several other books I want to read. She mentions several that I’d love to check into.”

  “I’ve long since found books to be a slippery slope. Why else would I go into a dying industry? If I hadn’t, I’d likely have been fired from whatever profession I had stumbled upon, as I have always had a hard time putting down a book once I’ve started it.”