Cloudburst (9 page)

In some ways, he reminded me of myself when I first entered the school. I was always afraid of getting into too many conversations, or long ones. The obvious fear was that I would reveal too many details about myself and damage the fiction Jordan had created about me, both for my benefit and for Kiera's. I was somewhat shy as well, having not had any friends my age for some time and also being quite intimidated by these well-off students who probably wasted in one day what my mother and I had lived off for a week.

I couldn't imagine why Ryder Garfield would be shy. Surely, because of his famous parents, he had been introduced to and often saw big movie stars. He was at fancy celebrations and award events. There was certainly nothing shy about his sister. What reminded me of myself was the way he seemed to be afraid that someone would discover who he really was, too.

Mr. Madeo gave us what he called a writing challenge midway through the period. He had different quotes from the remainder of
Hamlet
written on slips of paper and handed them out. Based on what we had done and learned so far, we were to interpret the quote and relate it to the rest of the play. I noticed it took Ryder only ten minutes to read his and write his answer. He glanced at me, and I looked up. As soon as I did so, he shifted his glance away.

“Too late,” I said.

He turned back. “Excuse me?”

“You were caught looking.”

He stared a moment, and then he shook his head and raised his hand.

“Yes, Ryder,” Mr. Madeo said.

“I'm done here. Can I hand it in and go to the restroom?”

“Done? You sure?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Madeo shrugged and picked up his paper. He glanced at it. “Man of few words?”

“I'll say,” Shayne Peters quipped from the back of the classroom. Everyone laughed. Ryder's face turned a shade of crimson.

“Okay,” Mr. Madeo said.

Ryder rose, scooped his book into his bag, and started out.

“Save me a seat!” Shayne shouted after him. Again, the class laughed.

I quickly finished the point I was making about my quote and raised my hand, too.

“Don't tell me you need to go to the restroom, too,” Mr. Madeo said with a smile.

I nodded. He picked up my paper, glanced at it, and just nodded. I got up quickly.

“Don't go to the same restroom,” Shayne shouted after me. The class started to titter again, but I stopped and looked at him.

“At least I know the difference,” I said.

There was a loud cheer, mostly from the other boys. Mr. Madeo called for silence, and I left.

As I was heading toward the girls' room, I looked out the side door that opened to the ballfields and saw Ryder sitting on a railing and looking down. I hesitated and then
headed for the door. He looked up when I stepped out.

“Class over? I didn't hear the bell,” he said, looking as if I had caught him doing something illegal.

“No, I was finished and asked to go to the girls' room.”

“Is it out here?”

“Very funny. I thought you were going to the boys' room.”

“That
is
out here,” he said, and I laughed. He looked away.

“You hate it here, don't you?” I asked.

“Not any more than I hated where I was,” he said, turning back. “You look pretty content. How come you're so popular?”

“Who said I was?”

“Didn't take me long to see that. What are you, disabled? That's what someone with modesty would be here.”

“Is that why you seem to be having trouble making many friends?”

“Friends? People don't make friends here. They make contacts. They use each other. It's in the air.”

“Didn't you have any real friends in your previous school?”

“No, and I didn't have any in grade school, either.” He glared at me, his eyes narrowing. “What's your idea of a friend, anyway? Someone to share lipstick with?”

“No. My God, you're so bitter.”

The bell rang, and he slipped off the railing.

“So,” he said, reaching for the door. “Next time you want to talk to me, bring some sugar.”

“I thought I had!” I shouted after him. He didn't look
back. I stamped the ground, hating myself for even making an effort. Maybe the girls were right about him, I thought, and vowed to do my best to ignore him.

I certainly wouldn't dream about him, I told myself, and opened the door.

I didn't calm down fast, either. Jessica and Joey came rushing toward me when they saw me.

“Was that a plan you made with him?” Jessica asked.

“What?”

“Getting out of class together like that. Did you and Ryder plan that?”

“Get real,” I said, starting away. My rage felt like fire around my face.

“We saw you come in the door soon after he did,” Joey called after me. “You were out there with him, weren't you?”

I turned around and smiled. “I was out there with Nobody,” I said, and continued walking away.

4
Jordan's Secret

W
henever you get angry, you lose control of yourself in so many ways,” my mother told me almost every time she got angry at my father. “No matter what, in the end, you're always the one who loses. Remember that.”

The immediate result of my rage took place in my next class. I was fuming so much I wasn't paying any attention, and when I was called on to answer a question, I didn't even realize I had been called upon, much less answer the question. The resounding sound of my name being repeated snapped me out of it. I saw everyone was looking my way—everyone but Ryder, who kept his face fixed forward as though he couldn't care less.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Leshner,” I said.

“Rein in your thoughts, Sasha,” he said.

I nodded. He didn't repeat the question for me. He went on to someone else. After class, I hurried up front to apologize to him.

“It's not like you to be daydreaming. Anything wrong?” he asked.

“No. It was just my being stupid,” I said.

“Don't make it a new habit, and we'll be fine,” he said. His forgiveness only made me feel worse.

I avoided Ryder for the remainder of the day. My friends sensed that I was in a bad mood, and everyone kept her distance—everyone, that is, except Jessica, who always looked like someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown when there was something she didn't know about someone in school. She practically followed me to my car after school, waiting for me to tell her what really happened between me and Ryder Garfield. Finally, I spun on her so abruptly she stepped back like someone who thought she might be slapped.

“Look, Jessica, I'm really not interested in talking about him. I've had enough darkness and disappointment in my life to fill the Grand Canyon, and your pestering me about it doesn't help.”

“I'm sorry. I just—”

“Just stop,” I said, and got into my car. Before I started the engine, I saw him walking out with his sister beside him, her head down. I had the feeling he had been critical of her again. I thought the look on his face would stop a clock.

How can anyone go through life so unhappy?
I wondered, but shook the thought out of my head and backed out. Whether it was reflexive or whether despite my determination something inside me continually drew me to look at him, I don't know. But I looked into my rearview mirror to
see him walking to his car, and I did see him turn to look my way.

Why was he interested in seeing me leave?

It was exactly this confusion about him that fanned the flames of my interest, no matter how I tried to smother them. I was comfortable with most of the boys in this school, because they were, as Kiera might say, “as easy to see through as a new plate-glass window.” I hadn't met anyone who was clever and subtle enough to catch me off guard—anyone before Ryder Garfield, that is. Was I thinking about him because I was genuinely interested in him, or was I simply annoyed that I couldn't figure him out and pigeonhole him along with the other boys? Even the expert, Kiera March, would have trouble this time.

When I drove up to the house, I saw Jordan sitting out by the tennis courts. She was alone and looked as if she was so deep in thought she hadn't heard me drive up. As soon as I parked, I hurried over to her. I knew she was deep in thought because she didn't realize I was coming over to her until I was practically on top of her. She turned and smiled.

“Oh, you're home,” she said, and looked at her watch. “I had no idea how late it was.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “Once in a while, I like to stop to smell the roses, something Donald hasn't learned to do, apparently. Come, sit beside me,” she said, starting to move over on the bench, and then she stopped. “No, better yet, drop your schoolbag here, and let's walk to the lake. We had some geese on it last night, you know. They're flying south.”

I put my bag on the bench and walked beside her over the stone-tiled path.

“Did you hear the geese this morning?”

“No.” I didn't want to tell her I had gotten up late again. “I wasn't outside very long before I got into my car. They must have gone by then.”

“Oh, I bet you're the cat's meow with that car. My father loved that expression,
the cat's meow.
Ever hear anyone say it?”

I shook my head.

“My father said it a lot, especially if I was feeling a bit down. He'd boom, ‘What's the matter now?' and then, lowering the tone of his voice, he'd add, ‘You have nothing to worry about, Jordan. You're the cat's meow.' My brother, Gerald, always made fun of me when my father said that. He'd start meowing or hissing. Sometimes he does it even now. Can you imagine a man that age meowing on the phone? Imagine if his secretary overheard him doing that.”

She laughed.

“My brother, the big, important Washington lawyer.”

“Why doesn't he come here more often?” I asked. Since I had been at the Marches' home, Jordan's brother, Gerald Wilson, had been here only twice, and one time was to help with Kiera's legal troubles. He brought his wife, Danielle, only once. From what I could see, she rarely called Jordan. Their three boys had little contact with Jordan and Donald March.

“He's like Donald, too busy to breathe,” she muttered, not disguising her bitterness.

“Maybe you two should go on a holiday.”

She paused and looked out at the lake. “Yes, to recharge our love batteries,” she said. “It's what the doctor is ordering.”

“A real doctor?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “A therapist we see who specializes in marriage counseling.”

“Oh.” I hadn't realized she and her husband were seeing a marriage counselor, but it didn't completely surprise me. I heard her suck in air the way someone who was in pain would. She wiped her eyes before any tear could emerge.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, just silly stuff, I'm sure.”

There was a bench at the lake so people could sit and look out at the water. She sat, and I sat beside her. It was very quiet, the only sound being the gentle lapping of the water against the rowboats as the breeze combed the top of the lake and sent ripples across its surface. The sky was spotted here and there with small puffs of clouds. They looked dabbed on a blue velvet canvas.

“Donald might be having an affair or affairs,” she revealed, still staring at the water. “I was with someone last night who is convinced of it and couldn't wait to let me know. People can be like that, you know, especially your so-called good friends, so be aware of it.”

“Be like what?” I asked. Her words had nearly stolen away my breath.

“Eager to give you bad news and watch you wallow in it.”

“Why would friends be like that if they're your friends?”

She smiled. “You'll find out soon enough, if you haven't
already, that there are friends and there are friends. What you have most of the time are acquaintances. A real friend is so rare that if you have three during your entire lifetime, you're a very fortunate person, and that applies to relatives as well. Most will be envious or think themselves superior. A real friend would have avoided giving me any bad news for as long as possible and not jumped at the opportunity to tell me there was a possibility of it.”