Among Friends (2 page)

I don’t know about this. A person could be sorry she wrote things down. I like Miss MacBeth, and I like her assignments, although sometimes it tires me out that no matter how clever I am, Jennie is cleverer. Miss MacBeth has this huge piece of purple paper on the board and in the center of it she puts the week’s best composition of any of her classes. I swear I am not exaggerating when I say that Jennie Quint has been there every single week for two years. A person should know when to back off. Jennie only knows when to surge on ahead.

In physics, of course, she’s the one with the laser experiment that makes all the rest of us look like third graders learning the four tables.

In English, of course, she’s written some fabulous short story, which is now up on the purple paper.

In German, of course, she sits next to Paul Classified and they flirt in foreign languages.

And now we hear from the Drama/Music Department that the Christmas production is an original pageant, music, costumes, and choreography by Miss Jennie Dunstan Quint.

I can’t stand it.

And the worst thing of all is, her complexion is always perfect. That girl has never known what it is to face the mirror in the morning and see yet another horrid spot bursting out on the tip of her nose.

Miss MacBeth gave us her solemn promise that these diaries would be guarded with her life and nobody else would read them and they would not be posted or excerpted from. Miss MacBeth, I don’t know whether to have faith in you or not.

I wonder what these journals will accomplish. Paul has so many secrets we could probably auction off his journal at the end of three months and pay for our whole junior prom. But I know Paul; he won’t give away a thing. Probably record the daily temperature instead of his thoughts. I still have my crush on Paul Classified. It’s funny how tantalizing he is just
because
he never responds! I think Paul Classified is so good-looking. Paul has a silent presence. You’re always aware of him: strong, tall, unbelievably quiet. Paul doesn’t fidget, or tap pencils. He doesn’t adjust his jacket or tell jokes. Before he talks there’s a slight pause: Paul planning ahead so that each sentence will reveal as little as possible. I want Paul Classified to love me.

Jennie’s all bright-eyed and starry about something. At first I thought it was Paul Classified, but no. “Oh, it’s this project I’m doing,” she said vaguely, as if I wouldn’t be able to understand the project.

Jennie and Emily and I were little girls again during passing period. It was fun, and it worked, just like it used to, but it doesn’t fit anymore. The Awesome Threesome. That used to be the pivot of my entire life: the trio of us. It’s different now. I still want to be friends, but I don’t want to be The Awesome Threesome.

I’m sick of Awesome.

I want Jennie to be ordinary again.

You transfer into another high school and people are curious. They know your name; the teacher puts it on the blackboard. But you’re anonymous in blue jeans and sweater. So they ask questions, as in, “Hi, Paul. I’m Jennie. Where are you from?”

Okay, she’s Jennie. Cute, sparkly. But I’m not going to tell anybody anything. They learn one thing, they’re going to want to know another. I’ve practiced my new smile in front of the mirror, and it’s a good one, stretches my lips back, and everything. I say to Jennie, “I move a lot.”

Right off, from the first day, I mean to stay away from Jennie, because she’s the type who will win: if she wants to know me bad enough, eventually she will. But I stay around her because she’s exciting. She’s my first genius. I might never meet another one.

In physics lab Jennie is assigned to be my partner.
Jennie flirts like mad, and I start liking her, but I keep a grip on myself.

Jennie says, “What do your parents do for a living that they have to move so often?”

The whole lab is listening, so I say pleasantly, “Oh, this and that. They blow hot and cold on lots of stuff.”

Next time we have lab Jennie says, “Paul R. Smith? That’s your name? My middle name is Dunstan. What does ‘R’ stand for?”

Again the whole lab is listening. Even the teacher. I manage to smile. I say, “Why should it stand for anything?”

Jennie laughs. She asks another question and it’s one I can’t answer with a crafty little quip. I wipe the grin off my face and pay attention to the lab. Jennie’s getting a little close for comfort. Things are bad for me and I can’t risk it.

Funny: I’ve moved four times and it takes months to find your slot and make friends. This time I swear off friends and overnight I’ve got status. I’m popular because I’m a mystery.

One day we’re filling out forms that request your middle name. “Oh, good! At least we can find out one thing about Paul,” cries Ansley. “His middle name!”

I can’t stand Ansley. First of all, that’s not a real name. Second, you can’t tell from the name she’s a girl. Third, Ansley is preppy. I don’t like preppy. Reminds me of my—

No.

This may be a journal, but that doesn’t mean I have to reveal any secrets.

The teacher looks at my paper. I’ve written the letter “R” where it says middle name. “So, Paul?” he teases. “Even your middle name is classified information, huh?”

Instantly The Awesome Threesome starts calling me
Paul Classified. The nickname circulates through the entire high school in like six minutes flat. The gym teacher, the kid with the locker next to me, the freshmen in my woodworking class, everybody in English—they’re all calling me Paul Classified.

At first I was going to put up a fight.

Then I think, it’s like armor. Whenever they get a little too close—Jennie is always a fraction too close, it’s her nature, I guess, closeness—I can say, “Classified,” and they laugh.

Jennie is part of The Awesome Threesome. I don’t know if I’ve ever come across
three
best friends before. Jennie is the plainest of the bunch when she’s quiet: average height, weight, coloring. But Jennie is hardly ever quiet. She’s got enough sparkle to dim new-fallen snow on a sunny morning. Hillary is the prettiest: strawberry blond hair, green eyes, great legs. The third is Emily, with thin black hair, big soft dark eyes, and a back-of-the-room sort of personality.

Don’t notice me!
her posture says.

I wish
my
posture said that. People in this school notice me no matter what.

The Awesome Threesome likes to flirt with me. “Okay, Paul. So you won’t go out with one girl. Go out with three instead. Want to go skiing with us in Vermont this weekend? Don’t worry, Hill’s mother is chaperoning.”

“Thanks,” I tell them. “My family has plans.”

That happens to be the truth. We always have plans. Not plans I like, but plans I can’t do much about.

Just before sixth period, I’m going down the hallway, focusing on physics, which doesn’t come as easily to me as it does to Jennie (not that I’d tell her that) and The Awesome Threesome appears at the far end of the corridor. They have braided their hair together: Jennie’s brown,
Hillary’s red, and Emily’s black, into one fat tricolor braid, and Emily’s got the braid in her fist. The Awesome Threesome staggers down the middle of the hallway, six legs under one head of hair, taking up so much room everybody has to flatten against the walls to let them by. First Ansley, who’s thin as a bookmark anyway, and couldn’t get any flatter if you stuck her under a truck. Then her boyfriend Jared, who is so preppy I’m always surprised when he talks—up till then I’ve figured he’s a store window mannequin for ski togs. Then our history teacher, Miss Marcello, who probably weighs the same as the QE II, with a prow equally large. Miss Marcello can suck in her lungs all year, and she’s not going to get flat against the wall. The Awesome Threesome is laughing like crazy, their laughs braiding together like their hair: Jennie’s all breath, Em’s a high giggle, Hill’s a deep chuckle.

Jennie winks at me. I try to stop myself, but I wink back.

I can’t help it.

Her wink is all mine, all special.

And then I slip by fast.

If Jennie touches me, I’m gone, and I can’t afford it.

I, Ansley Augusta Morgan, begin my journal in the autumn of my junior year at Westerly High. I would prefer to be at Choate Rosemary Hall or Miss Porter’s, like
my friends, but my parents believe that the public school system is good for me. They are mistaken.

Look at the retards with whom I am forced to share the halls.

Jennie and her little buddies sashayed down the halls hanging onto each other’s hair, staggering like drunks attached at the roots, pushing everybody out of their way. Naturally they seized this chance to flirt with Paul Classified.

Everybody thinks Paul is so fascinating. Trust me. The only fascinating thing about Paul is that he has managed to convince the school he
is
fascinating. Underneath all that so-called mystery there’s just another jock with nothing to say.

And I swear every girl in this school has a crush on him, just the way every boy gets a crush on Jennie. It drives me
crazy
when all a person does is stand there showing off—and other people fall in love with them.

Thank goodness for Jared. Another seven weeks and Jared and I will have been officially going together for one year. A January anniversary. I’ll call it our Janiversary. Jared has been saying for weeks now that this winter he’s going camping in the mountains in the snow. I’m going to call his bluff and get him equipment for it.

After school Mother and Aunt Isabelle and I went to Lord & Taylor’s to get a few things for winter. Mother would like to ski in Italy this year. Jared wants me to stay at his family’s condo in Colorado instead. At least whatever clothes I buy will be right for either one. I’m so glad that bright rich colors are in this season; I look my best in strong colors.

For purposes of organization, each day will be divided into categories.

1. Car: Another week, I’ll have ten thousand miles on it. Remember to phone for mechanical check. First really cold day this year—heater works well. Funny jokes on morning radio.

2. School: Physics dull, lunch disgusting, English this assignment, Spanish B plus in quiz, did lay-ups all gym period, I hate basketball.

3. Girls: Ansley wore her new outfit, which looked exactly the same as what she wore yesterday, but luckily I didn’t say that. Ansley always looks good to me. Jennie, too. Jennie was being crazy in the halls again today—lurching around with her old Awesome Threesome like they were still in the third grade. At first I thought they were showing off for Paul Smith, who annoys me, but Jennie gave me her special grin when they passed me. She’s got a way of making you feel like God when she smiles at you. There are guys in this school who work hard to get one of Jennie’s smiles and she doesn’t even know.

The girls all know it, though. And boy, do they keep track of who has a crush on Jennie now! If I want Ansley to stay my girlfriend, Rule Number One is—don’t refer to Jennie.

Jennie has written a musical; they were talking about
it in the band room. The drummers were working on a percussion duet she wrote just for them. Think they don’t worship her! Miss Clinton, the band director, has been helping her. Miss Clinton said, “You know, in eleven years of teaching I’ve never had a Jennie. It’s just plain exciting to be around her.”