Reasons to Be Happy (12 page)

“No. I mean…well, I
did
. At least I thought I did. I mean—I felt lucky that he liked me.”

“
Why?
”

What was it about the African sunlight that made it so easy to tell the truth?

“
He
liked
me
,” I said. “He was beautiful and popular, and I’m…not.”

She studied me a moment. “Huh,” she finally said.

I’d
been mean too, all because Kevin liked me.

Modesta gathered up her folded towels and said, “My mother told me, ‘Beauty will take you there, but character will bring you back.’”

I froze. “My-my mom used to say something like that. She said, ‘Pretty is as pretty does.’”

Modesta thought a moment then nodded. “Exactly.”

I took half of the towels from her arms and walked the dusty alley toward the house.

“Is there no boy that you truly like?” Modesta asked. “Someone who
does
pretty?”

Jasper flooded into my mind.

“Ah, I see from your face that you do. Why did you not tell me about this boy first?”

I smiled. “He’s not popular but he’s very kind. He’s been very nice to me.”

“Do you like him?”

I nodded.

“Why?”

Why?
I thought about that. “He gets this wonderful look on his face when he’s playing the piano. Like he’s in another world. He’s very smart…and curious. He’s nice to everyone. He’s—he’s brave. And different. Unique. He doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of him; he does what he wants to do. He has this yellow wedge in his eye that I can’t stop looking at when I’m around him. And this very slow smile. And his hair—”

I stopped, realizing Modesta had disappeared from my side. I turned back to see her standing still in the road. Two brown goats trotted past us.

“You do not
like
this person, Hah-nah. You
love
this person!”

I almost dropped the towels.

She caught up to me and peered into my face. “You do. Does he know this?”

I shook my head.

“You waste your time on this Bad Kevin when this beautiful boy is there?”

I shrugged. “I’m a chicken, Modesta.”

She pushed me in the shoulder. “You must be brave!”

“I-I can’t. I—he knows this thing about me. This ugly awful secret.”

Modesta stepped away from me, then eyed me up and down. “What secret?”

“It’s too…It’s gross.”

She narrowed her eyes at me then shook herself. “It is not so. Whatever this secret is, your true character cannot be hidden.”

I wasn’t so sure. My true character had been stuffed in a drawer so long with my secret stash of food that I wasn’t sure how to bring it back—at least, I didn’t know how to bring it back at home, and I couldn’t live here in Ghana forever.

“You must tell him.”

I joked, to make it easier. “Well, I can’t, can I? He’s not here.”

“Write it to him.”

“I’ll be home before a letter from here reaches him.”

She made the same exasperated clucking sound she’d made over Englebert. “Email him!”

I blinked. Modesta knew about email? I looked at the buildings surrounding us, buildings with no plumbing and no electricity.

She shuffled her bundle of towels and soap under one arm and grabbed my hand with the other. “We have email at the school! Come!”

Modesta led me by the hand, as if I were one of the small orphans. She took me into the school building, which was wide open—no locks because there were no doors—to one sole computer under a giant Tupperware tub on a metal desk. She directed me to the rickety chair at the desk, lifted the Tupperware, and turned the computer on.

I listened to the musical chord of it coming to life with disbelief. They didn’t have plumbing, but they had the Internet?

“This is where I study medicine,” she said, “so I can go to university.”

The Internet connection was fast—wireless. Satellites were easier to install than phone lines through the rain forest.

When I accessed my account, I blinked, stunned. My inbox was full of emails from my dad. A quick scan showed me he’d emailed me
every
day
. Often more than once.

My eyes stung. It was suddenly hard to swallow.

“He has already written you, this boy?” Modesta asked, looking at my face.

I shook my head. “No. No, my dad—”

She squeezed my shoulder. I scrolled through the dates and opened his first one:
I
hope
you
have
arrived
safely, Hannah Banana. What a great adventure you’re going to have. I miss you already. I love you, Dad.

He
did
miss me.

The next one, and the next, all of them, ended with
I
miss
you
so
much. I love you.

He wrote about rehab.
I’m doing well and learning a lot about myself. The work I need to do (on myself) is hard and humbling. I want to do it, but I hate admitting it’s not going to be easy. Or quick. How are you doing with your bulimia?

Wow. I wondered how hard it had been for him to type the word
bulimia
. He’d never said it aloud to me.

When I’d finished all of his emails, I realized Modesta had slipped away.

I
haven’t binged in two weeks now, which feels great
, I wrote to Dad
. I have to admit I’ve wanted to, though, every single day, more than once. Sounds like we’re both in the middle of hard lessons. Africa is…overwhelming, but in a good way. This is going to change me; I can feel it. I miss you so much. I love you, Dad.

I moved all of Dad’s messages into a “Saved” folder. I couldn’t stand to delete any of them. All that remained in my inbox were three emails from Mrs. DeTello. Nobody else knew my email. I don’t have a Facebook or anything like that. Those things are too…complicated when you have famous parents.

DeTello was just checking in with me, wishing me well. I filled her in on some of my adventures so far, shared with her some of my progress, then asked her for a favor.
I
need
to
email
Jasper
Jones
about
something. Do you think you could ask him for his email address? I don’t know it and I don’t know how to get it from here.
I stared at the message a long time before I hit send. Did I really
want
to contact him? Why would he want to hear from me after what he’d seen? I groaned to remember; he’d seen me eating trash! Shoveling it into my mouth like some revolting animal. I put my head down on the desk.

“Hah-nah?” A voice behind me made me jump. I turned to see tall, handsome Philomel in the doorway. “Are you well?”

“Oh! Yes, thanks. I was just…waiting.” I gestured to the computer.

“I am looking for Modesta. Have you seen her?”

“She was just here with me. I’m not sure where she went.”

He slipped away as soundlessly as he’d come. I watched through the window as he walked his graceful way across the soccer field toward the orphan house.

Why hadn’t I thought to ask Modesta if
she
had a particular boy in mind?

• • •

I didn’t hear back from DeTello.

I thought I was being so cool and chill, waiting two whole agonizing hours to check the computer.

Nothing
.

I kept calculating the time change and figuring out, “Okay, she’s had Jasper in class already, so she could’ve asked him. She should have sent it to me by now.” Can you say obsessive?

Humiliation hung hot and heavy on my legs, like I struggled through quicksand.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” I told Modesta, miserable.

She put her hands on her bony hips and rolled her eyes.

“You don’t understand,” I said. “He saw me do something terrible! I bet the teacher asked him for the email and he said ‘No way. I don’t want to talk to her.’ He’s probably glad I’m gone. He hopes I never come back.”

“Hah-nah, Hah-nah, you talk crazy.”

“You don’t know! I’m a horrible person and he’d delete any message I sent him.”

“Stop. Just stop.”

“I’m mortified I even asked my teacher to ask him. I should’ve known better.”

“Hah-nah! Don’t eat the monkey!”

I shut up.
What
did
she
just
say?

She leaned toward me and repeated, “Slow. Down. Don’t eat the monkey.”

I watched her lips move, trying to decipher what she’d said. “What is
that
supposed to mean?”

Modesta laughed—a musical, rare sound. She slapped her knee. “It means
slow
down
and get the facts. Don’t make up this
kaka
in your head before you know the truth.”

“What does that have to do with
eating
monkeys?
”

She waved a hand at me as if impatient. “In Eastern Africa, they eat monkeys,” she said, disdain clear in her voice. “A French family moved to Kenya and brought their pet monkey. Their Kenyan cook’s brother came to visit when the French family was on a holiday. The cook’s brother’s wife caught the monkey and cooked it. They didn’t know it was a pet.”

Was I insane? What was she talking about? What a
horrible
story! “Why would they cook someone else’s monkey, even if they thought it was for food?”

She sighed. “Don’t eat the monkey until you
know
.”

I burst out laughing at the absurdity. And I tried. I
really
tried
. I did everything in my power not to eat the monkey while I checked email every half hour for the rest of the day.

• • •

When I was forced to give up and go to bed, I hardly slept, sweating and tossing in my tiny bed as horribly as I had that first night. In the morning, before I’d even bathed, I threw on shorts and a T-shirt and ran to the school in the early dawn light.

A message from DeTello popped up like salvation.

Jasper’s email was
jazzpurr
which made me smile. My heart kicked against my ribs.

Okay. Okay. Now what? Don’t be a chicken. What do you want to tell him? “
Hi, Jasper. Not sure if you want to talk to me, but I wanted to apologize for dropping off the face of the earth.
” I filled him in on where I was and what I was doing.

I really wanted to apologize for what he’d seen me doing in the cafeteria. I really wanted to explain
that
. But I didn’t know how.

You
were
a
good
friend
during
some
rough
times, so I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye. Hope all is well in the cafeteria and with your music.

I reread it about a hundred times. What a lame note. Oh well.

I hit send and immediately regretted it.

• • •

After I sent the message, I stretched, then went running. Running for real. Not running because I felt freaked and was trying to flee from my need to binge. I ran with a goal in mind, keeping track of it, timing myself, before the sun would make exertion impossible.

Modesta was right: my thighs and butt were shaped the way they were for a
reason
. They were strong. They were fast. I ran through the monkey sanctuary, on trails that went around the perimeter of the village.

“Are you all right?” Aunt Izzy asked me as I returned to the village pump, soaked with sweat and panting. “Why are you running?”

I looked at her concerned face. “Because it feels good,” I said. “Because it makes me feel strong. Because I’m going to train and join the track team again.”

She smiled. “Good. Those are all the right reasons.”

• • •

I vowed that I would not check email obsessively like I had the day before.

I bathed.

I wrote in my purple notebook:

119. The sounds of the rain forest at night

120. Fresh, hot (from the sun) pineapple out of the shell

121. Friends you can trust

122. Children singing in another language

123. Doing something you haven’t done in a really long time that you’ve really missed

I helped Modesta get the children dressed and off to school.

I watched Aunt Izzy and the team film for a while.

I lurked around the empty orphan house.

I tried to do some of my own homework.

Mid-morning, I finally went back to the school. Modesta, at her desk, saw me and lifted an eyebrow. She knew why I was there.

My heart clutched in my throat when I saw it. There it was, a message from him already. What if it said
Get
lost, freak?

I opened it.
Hannah! It was so cool to hear where you are. I was afraid you moved schools and I didn’t want to lose touch with you.

Really? He’d noticed I’d been gone? He’d noticed enough to wonder where I was? He wanted to stay in touch with me? I touched my hot cheeks, knowing I was blushing.

I
was
really
sorry
to
hear
about
your
dad
on
the
news. I hope he’s okay and you are too. If the universe could cut somebody a break right about now, I’d cast my vote for Hannah Carlisle.

P.S. Why would I not want to talk to you?

P.P.S. I’m really sorry I freaked you out that last day in the cafeteria.

Freaked
me
out? I thought I’d freaked
him
. Or totally made him sick.

I thought I should wait to write him back. Not seem too eager. But what the heck? I didn’t want to play games. I wanted to be honest.

Jasper, thanks for your message. I think the universe heard you and gave me a break. My dad is doing well in an in-patient rehab program and I’m doing better too. Ghana is beautiful. I’m trying to take it all in and not miss anything!
I pictured the yellow triangle in his eye. His long hair hanging in his eyes. His piano music. I just kept typing.
Um, about that day in the cafeteria? There’s no way you should be apologizing! I’m sorry you had to see that. I obviously have some issues I need to work on.

I looked at what I typed. What was wrong with me? He didn’t want to know this!

I’m surprised you’d want to talk to me after seeing something so disgusting.

Students got up from their desks for their lunch break. I shouldn’t hog the computer.

Anyway, thanks again. Hannah.

I smiled at the screen like an idiot. I felt kind of light, kind of warm…it took me a few minutes to recognize
happiness
.

• • •

I slept well, dreaming about my mother. We walked on the beach, hand in hand.

When I rose just before sunrise, I stretched and ran again.

After I bathed, I went to check my email before the students arrived at school.

Messages from Dad. A message from Jasper.

Jasper wrote:
Good
luck
working
on
your
“issue” as you call it. You also called it “disgusting,” but issues are nothing but human. Who doesn’t have issues? The look on your face that day was so sad and haunted, I hope you find a way to stop it. I’d hate for you to feel that way ever again. As for worrying that I’d never talk to you again, I don’t think there’s much of anything you could do to scare me away at this point.

I
hope
you
know
how
lucky
you
are
to
be
in
Ghana, getting to go to a place not many other Americans ever visit. I’ve always wanted to go to Africa—Ghana, Senegal, Egypt, Kenya. Please savor it for me. Soak it up like a sponge so you can give me every detail when you get back. Speaking of getting back…when do you?

I pressed a hand to my heart a moment. Then I started typing, typing faster than I’d ever typed before. I told Jasper all about the burned girl in the street that first day, the smells, how scary it was to bargain in the markets, the orphans with limbs missing in Kumasi.