Reasons to Be Happy (4 page)

Before I could answer, Pam came out from the main kitchen.

“Jasper! What are you still doing back here? Go play!”

Go play? What, was he some kind of child?

He laughed and said, “I’m going! I’m going!” and pushed the now empty cart back to the door. Then he went, without another glance at me, tossing his plastic apron in the trash as he walked out the wide swinging doors. Pam didn’t notice me either; she turned around and walked back into the kitchen.

My heart pounded in my ears.
Perfect
. It was perfect. Could I pull it off?

• • •

Ten minutes later, I slipped out those doors and through the empty cafeteria to the bathrooms.

Piano music trailed me. That’s what Pam had meant by “Go play.”

I glanced up at the clock. I had five minutes until class started. I’d be late, but it was worth it.

51. Sleeping in on rainy mornings

52. Real whipping cream

53. Silly Putty

54. Slinkies

55. Hammocks

I sometimes had to repeat sections of my list just to get through the morning classes to lunch.

I lived for lunch and my kitchen job. Okay, I admit, mostly because I could keep stealing food, but also because it was one of the few places I felt like a real person. I could breathe, be competent, and think my own thoughts. I got good at noticing what needed to be done and taking care of it without asking. Nobody ever gave me the cold shoulder for what landed me there in the first place. They were all nice to me. To
me
. Not because of who my parents were.

It became important to me to prove to Jasper that I wasn’t like the rest of the B-Squad.

My status within the group had clearly changed. I didn’t belong to the Squad, but they wouldn’t truly release me to belong to anyone else either. Brooke hated me, and that meant Brittany and Bebe were required to as well, but Brooke couldn’t write me off the way she truly wanted to because of Kevin—the way Kevin sought me out, touched the back of my neck, and said, “Hannah’s cool” all forced Brooke to tolerate me. Plus, there was now the connection between Kevin and my dad, who were filming
Blood
Roses
together, and Brooke was obsessed with my dad. She worshipped Dad in spite of me.

Brittany has this picture of Dad, shirtless, hanging in her locker, this picture that was in
Entertainment
Weekly
. Bebe said Dad was “totally hot,” which is gross to say in front of me, but not as gross as what Brooke said. Right in front of me she said, “I’d marry him.”

Eww. That’s so wrong on
so
many levels.

Just like the rest of my life.

My SR has stopped working. I’ve gained weight. I have this giant, swollen, moon face with bloodshot eyes all bruised purple underneath. My teeth are stained gray, no matter how many Crest Whitening Strips I use.

The school counselor pulled me out of class for a talk. My pulse hammered in my ears as I walked to her office on legs filled with ice water. This was it. I was busted. I looked at the bright orange lockers, the green-and-white tiled floor, and thought
nothing
will
ever
be
the
same
.
Everything
is
about
to
change. My life is over
.

I trembled by the time I took a seat in her office. I tucked my hands under my thighs.

When she said, “Hannah, many of your teachers are concerned about you,” I wanted to throw myself to the floor, hug her legs, and beg, “Please! You can’t make me stop! I’ll die without it!”

She leaned toward me, elbows on her knees (I could see her pink lace bra), her forehead all wrinkled. “Hannah, are you using drugs?”

What?
My spine stiffened. Images of my dad’s mug shot flashed through my mind. “Are-are you asking that because of my dad’s past problems?” I made my voice as snotty and offended as I could muster through my surprise.

“No, we’re asking this because of your perpetually bloodshot eyes, your frequent nosebleeds, and your calm, high appearance when you arrive late every day to your after-lunch class.”

Wow
.

She thought I was “self-medicating” my grief over my mother’s cancer. I expected euphoria that they were so off base, but a crushing blanket of defeat settled on me, a blanket so heavy it felt like that awful lead thing the dentist drapes on you to take X-rays of your teeth. Part of me wanted them to know the truth and, more importantly, to
make
me
stop
it
.

That surprised me, the realization that I
wanted
to stop it.

I denied everything. She didn’t believe me. I walked back to class, and the orange lockers and the green-and-white tile mocked me.
Nothing
had changed. I was trapped.

So, this conversation with the counselor only accomplished the double anxiety of knowing I was still on my own in this, but that people were paying attention to me. I didn’t want anyone paying attention to me.

• • •

Unfortunately, the attention kept coming.

In art class, we’d been assigned to do life-size portraits of people cut out of thin wood.

Most people had chosen to paint themselves.

I had chosen to paint my mother.

Kevin chose to paint me.

Okay, okay, I admit when Kevin announced me as his subject, my heart raced. My stomach somersaulted. I thought I might have an asthma attack (and I don’t have asthma). Of all the people he could’ve chosen, he chose
me
.

“Ooh,” Brittany whispered. “I think he likes you.”

The thought made me dizzy.

I saw the tears in Brooke’s eyes before she cut class.

After a couple days of work, though, it became obvious that Jasper was painting me too. My stomach felt like it held a brick. Why was he doing this to me? I thought we were friends!

“Well, well, well,” Brooke said, “aren’t you just Little Miss Popular?”

“Ooh,” Bebe said, loud enough for him to hear, “maybe Jasper likes you too.”

The girls and Kevin all snickered as if they’d suggested some hideous mutant liked me.

What could I say? It was an impossible situation, a minute that lasted a hundred years. The B-Squad expected me to react, to snicker also or shriek “Eww!”

I looked at Jasper, whose head was bent over his painting, his hair in his eyes. He didn’t look at us, but I knew he was listening, waiting
. Why?
Why did he have to go and put us both in this position? Who asked him to paint me anyway?

There was no way to win. I just made a face at the girls, hoping I could convey to them my “whatever” sentiment without Jasper seeing it. But that wasn’t enough. “Oooh,” Brooke sang, “maybe Hannah likes him back!”

Kevin looked at me, curious.
Why?
Why was this happening?

“You’ve got competition, Kevin.” Brooke sneered.

Were my chances to be normal, to be liked, being ruined just because some strange boy had decided to draw me? How was this
my
fault?

Kevin asked, “Do you like him?”

My face
hurt
with heat. “No!” I whispered, the word a rasp that skinned my throat.

Fortunately, Jasper walked away to wash out his brushes in the sink. His back was to us and the water made a good masking noise.

The girls collapsed in giggles. Bebe mimed puking.

Kevin winked at me. “You’re my Mona Lisa,” he said. I floated for a moment, until Brooke’s wounded, hateful eyes burst my bubble, and Jasper’s back—spending far too long at the sink—made my throat ache.

• • •

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable yesterday in art,” Jasper said the next day while we shredded lettuce in the cafeteria kitchen.

I shrugged, hating
and
loving that he’d brought it up. I’d felt clumsy and pained, bumping around the incident without speaking of it. I couldn’t believe
he
was apologizing to
me
.

“That was awkward,” Jasper said.

I nodded. “I just—I wish you’d told me,” I said.

He paused, his gloved hands on the lettuce.

“I would’ve told you not to pick me,” I said. “They’re just going to be mean to you about it.”

He put his lettuce down and turned to face me. He tossed his hair out of his eyes and looked at my face like I’d written something there. He took his time to form his thoughts, like usual. While he did, it struck me that the golden triangle in the iris of his eye would be a pretty cool detail to capture in a painting.

“I wanted to paint you. They don’t have the power to stop me from doing what I want.”

The simplicity of those words filled me with awe. And sorrow.

And shame.

“So,
do
you like Kevin?” he asked. His face was hard to read, but I thought I saw genuine curiosity and maybe a little bewilderment.

“I just—I don’t know. He—he’s okay.” I sounded like a moron, but knew my hot, blazing face gave Jasper his answer.

He nodded once, as if checking in with himself that he’d said what he needed, then he returned to the lettuce.

• • •

Three Bad Things happened, almost in a row, after the New Year.

First, Brooke invited me to her pool party.

I was relieved and terrified to get the invitation. I might’ve made up some excuse not to go, but one day when my mom felt good enough to pick me up from school, Brooke had yelled, “See you at the party, Hannah Anne Carlisle!”

“What party?” my mom had asked, glowing with joy like
she’d
been invited. It struck me: Mom worried that I was a dork and had no friends. I told her I didn’t really want to go, but she was so
into
it. I wanted so much to make her happy. I was trying so hard to lose weight so she could see me beautiful just once. So I could be “pretty is as pretty does.” I knew I was neither, but I wanted to be at least one for her. She wanted me to go to the party. So I went.

I pulled that green bikini out of the drawer where I’d stuffed it the day I bought it.

The thing was, Mom was
right
about the bikini. I wore it, but then felt so uncomfortable, like I was on display. I
thought
I wanted the boys to look at me like they looked at Brooke, but when they did, I hated it.

From the moment I arrived, I only wanted to be home.

Bebe made fun of me for going off the diving board and actually swimming. Hello, wasn’t this a
pool
party? I longed to honestly
swim
, just like I longed to run. I’d started having dreams about running. In the dreams, I was tiny and ran in one of my own miniature cities where everything was tidy and perfect. Mom had asked about my cities recently, and in an attempt to do
something
she could admire, I’d started making a new one. I was halfway finished. I wished I was home doing that, instead of in Brooke’s swimming pool.

At least in the water I was sort of hidden, instead of posing around the edges trying to suck in my belly and keep my arms crossed over my chest. In the deeper end, where it was dark and out of the lights, Kevin swam over to me and said, “Who’s that beautiful mermaid I see?” He was
so
cute
he made my brain go to mush. The word
beautiful
turned me into an idiot. I grinned at him, so grateful. I held on to the side of the pool under the diving board, and he swam up right beside me. Our bare shoulders touched, sending a shudder all through me.

But then, I could hardly believe what happened next. I know, I know, what a cliché, right? But I
mean
it. I literally could not believe it was happening. Under the water, where no one else could see, Kevin grabbed my butt! When I shoved his hand away, he laughed and tried to put his hand on my
chest
.

I froze, the white noise in my head so loud. For a split second I actually thought
Is
this
what
I’m supposed to do? Am I supposed to let him?

I saw Max squinting through the dark at us. I pushed Kevin hard. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

“What do you
think
I’m doing, you moron?”

Nice.
You
moron?
Yeah, like that was really going to convince me to let him!

He swam back to me again with his hands out, chuckling, so I splashed him in the face then climbed out of the pool.

Oh my God! He’d never even kissed me! I couldn’t believe he did that right there in the pool with everyone about twenty yards away from us. I wrapped myself in my towel and stood near the other girls, but Brooke sneered, “Have fun in there?”

By this point the boys were gathered in a circle in the pool whispering and snickering. I hated them all. I just wanted to leave. All of a sudden, it hit me: the idea that I could use my SR right there to feel better. If only I could feel good and relaxed, then I’d be able to sit there like the other girls and have fun.

Here’s the thing: once I
thought
about my SR, it took hold of me. There was no turning back. I was going to do it.

There wasn’t much to eat out by the pool, just some chips and pretzels. I took my gym bag into the house and took everything I could find in the cupboards. I found good pasta salad in the fridge. Brooke’s mom almost caught me, but I put the Tupperware container into my bag just in time. She was all paranoid about why I was in the house. I think she thought I was going to steal something, since everybody knew I got caught stealing at school. It struck me that she was
right
. I’d turned into a thief and a liar. Everything felt so out of control. I told her I had to use the bathroom, dashed in there, and turned the fan on high. I didn’t think I could do it—with her knocking on the door, I couldn’t eat very much. I only had a few handfuls of the pasta salad. The SR felt totally different. It was harder, and I saw lots of white sparkling lights and my fingers swelled up.