My Life in Black and White Page 18

  “Oh my God,” I said again, thinking about Theo’s face in the truck. My stupid dying-of-heat comment.

  “Apparently, he and his sister were really close,” Ruthie was saying. “Which is why he feels so guilty.”

  “Why would he feel guilty?”

  “For not knowing she was sick. For not seeing the signs and getting her the help she needed…. I’m not saying he could have. It sounds like she was really good at hiding it.”

  “But he shouldn’t feel guilty. It wasn’t his fault!”

  Ruthie rolled her eyes. “Of course it wasn’t his fault. Guilt isn’t a rational thing.”

  I frowned down at my hands; half my cuticles were ragged. Then I looked back at my sister. “What do I say to him?”

  Ruthie shook her head. “I don’t know. There aren’t any magical words.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I was sorry. That I couldn’t imagine losing my sister … which is true. I can’t.”

  Neither of us spoke. I don’t know what Ruthie’s throat was doing, but mine was lumping up.

  “Will you do me a favor?” she asked finally.

  I nodded.

  “Don’t hurt him. He’s been through enough.”

  Immediately, I got defensive. “What are you talking about?”

  Ruthie raised an eyebrow.

  “He doesn’t like me,” I said. “He feels sorry for me. There’s a big difference.”

  “And what led you to this conclusion?”

  “Hello,” I said, pointing to my face.

  Ruthie snorted. “Seriously, Lex? You think the only reason anyone likes anyone is perfect skin?”

  “Well, not the only reason, but—”

  “Are you really that deluded?”

  “I’m not deluded,” I snapped.

  “You want to know what I think?”

  No.

  “I think you dated Ken doll for so long he warped your brain.”

  I shook my head. “This has nothing to do with Ryan.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, “but you can’t seem to get anything I say through that thick skull of yours.”

  I gave her my blankest stare.

  “What you look like is not who you are!” Ruthie was practically yelling. “Why do you think Theo asked you to hang out?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he has no friends.”

  “He has friends.”

  “Who?”

  “Guys from the paper, drama club … That’s not the point!”

  “Maybe he’s writing an article. ‘Butt-Faced Girl Goes Incognito at School Dance.’”

  “Oh my God!” Ruthie practically blew my ear off. “He likes you, freak show! It’s not about your face!”

  I blinked. “You just called me a freak show.”

  “Because you’re acting like one!”

  “Wow,” I said.

  Ruthie’s expression softened. “And because I love you and I want you to snap out of it.” She reached out a hand as though to pat me on the leg, then pinched me instead.

  “Hey!”

  “Snap out of it. He likes you.”

  In bed, I cocooned myself under the covers and closed my eyes. For the first time in hours, Taylor popped into my head. I pictured her face in the girls’ room—how miserable she’d looked when Heidi accused me of taking those photos. I got mad all over again, just thinking about it.

  Which made me think about my bike tires.

  Which made me think about having to walk home.

  Which made me think about Theo.

  Theo and his weird hat and pale skin and green, green eyes, how when they looked at you they seemed to see something no one else saw.

  This was the thought that finally got me to sleep—or it was the muscle atrophy I was experiencing after the five million punches Tiny made me throw. Either way, for the first time since the accident, I slept like a rock.

  In the morning, parked outside on the front walk, what did I find waiting for me? My bike. When Theo drove me home, my departure had been so spastic that I’d forgotten to take my bike out of the back of his truck.

  Now, here it was.

  I quickly unzipped the leather pouch under the seat, hoping to find a note. But nothing was there. Only a handful of pennies and an old gum wrapper.

  I tried not to feel disappointed. But I was, a little. Because I knew what I would have done if I liked someone and that person left their bike in my truck: I’d leave a note. The lack of note seemed to speak volumes; it proved that Ruthie was wrong. Theo didn’t like me. He was just doing the right thing: returning a bike to its rightful owner.

  I was surprised how much this bothered me, and I wondered why I cared if Theo liked me or not.

  Annoyed, I yanked open the garage door. As I walked my bike in, it took me a second to realize how smoothly it was rolling. I stopped and looked down at the tires. They were full.

  I looked for Theo in the parking lot—then in the hall before first bell—but I couldn’t find him.

  Taylor wasn’t in homeroom, either. When Mr. Ziff took attendance and she didn’t answer, I overheard Jenna Morelli whisper to Elodie Love that the photos had been deleted from MyPage, and Elodie whisper to Jenna that they were still circulating around school.

  As soon as Mr. Ziff finished announcements, I leaned toward Jenna’s desk. “Who has them?”

  Clearly, she was surprised to hear me speak. When she looked up and saw it was me, her tweezed eyebrows lifted and her shiny, pink mouth puckered into a circle.

  “The photos … who’s showing them around?”

  Elodie turned in her seat. “Why, have you seen them?”

  “Only on MyPage,” I said.

  “Me too. But some guys on the football team have them on their cells. I didn’t see because they always sit in the back, but my brother said everyone was texting them to each other on the bus this morning.”

  I thought about Taylor. Then I thought about Ryan, who lived on the same street as Elodie and her brother and rode their bus. Even though I was afraid to ask, I had to. “Which guys?”

  Elodie shook her head. “I didn’t see. I don’t even know all their names.”

  This didn’t exactly surprise me. Elodie—who always got straight As and had starred in every school play since kindergarten—wasn’t the type to memorize the football roster.

  “I can’t believe Taylor did that,” Jenna sniffed. “I mean, it’s one thing to take off your clothes for your boyfriend. But stripping for the entire football team and letting them take pictures? That’s just gross.”

  Hearing this, I felt like I’d been slapped in the face, even though Jenna wasn’t talking about me. It was the same way I felt in sixth grade, when she told everyone I was so stuck-up she hoped I got run over.

  “That’s not what happened,” I said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know. It wasn’t the whole team, and she didn’t let them do anything. They did it without her consent.”

  Jenna eyed me suspiciously. For one nauseating second, I thought she might have caught wind of Heidi’s story that I was to blame for the photos. But then, with a wave of her hand, Jenna dismissed me. “You and Taylor aren’t even friends anymore.”

  Again, I felt the sting. Jenna wasn’t close with Taylor. She may have thought she was, but she wasn’t. They were homeroom acquaintances—which is to say, they discussed homework and extracurricular activities—but this hardly qualified Jenna as an expert on the status of Taylor’s and my relationship. It wasn’t even logical, what Jenna said. I could know the truth about what happened to Taylor at the dance whether or not we were friends. I was there.

  All morning, a vision kept popping into my head. Taylor, sprawled on the brown leather couch in her living room, stuffing her face with Pop-Tarts. My life is over, she is thinking. The whole world has seen me naked.

  Well. That’s what you get for making stupid choices.

  In trig, I stared across the room at Ryan, willing
him to look at me. Were you one of them? Were you?

  I tried to picture him in a mask, which made me remember, suddenly, this movie we saw together once. The Princess Bride. I teased Ryan the whole time we were watching it because he looked exactly like the farm boy, Westley, who breaks the beautiful Princess Buttercup’s heart by faking his own death and running off to become a pirate. For the longest time afterward, Ryan would say to me, “As you wish,” which was Westley’s secret way of telling Buttercup that he loved her—the only way she knew who he was in his pirate costume.

  I stared across the room at Ryan. Who are you? Westley the farm boy or the Dread Pirate Roberts?

  But his head was down the whole time. He never looked up.

  Fifth period, instead of going to the cafeteria, I walked straight to the darkroom. The red light was on, so I leaned my head against the door. “I’d knock,” I said, “but my arms hurt too much to move. I could barely get out of bed this morning.”

  “Bummer,” Theo said, and his voice was flat.

  “I’m really out of shape…. Tiny says I need to start running.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “If you open the door I could limp in and ruin your roll of film…”

  “No, thanks,” he said. Which wasn’t exactly the response I’d been hoping for.

  “Okay,” I said, starting to turn away, “if that’s how you feel.”

  Which is when the door opened. Theo was wearing a green crewneck sweater that made his eyes look like emeralds.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.”

  “How are you?”

  He shrugged. “Okay … you?”

  I shrugged, too, wracking my brain for what to say next. “Does anyone else ever use this room?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you have special permission or something … for the paper?”

  “Yup.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever go digital?”

  Theo snorted. “Digital cameras are for hacks.”

  “Right,” I said, nodding.

  Theo was silent.

  Finally, I couldn’t stand it a second longer. “Ruthie told me about your sister,” I blurted. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Theo didn’t respond right away. When he did, he looked me straight in the eye. “It’s pretty much the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  I nodded.

  “It’s left me incapable of bullshit.”

  I nodded again, though I wasn’t sure what he meant.

  “Before Becks got sick, I could have superficial conversations, and now…” He hesitated. “A lot of stuff I used to care about just doesn’t seem that important.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “No,” I said, “I do. Before my accident … I know it’s not the same as someone dying, but … I used to be different.”

  “How?” Theo said.

  “I don’t know…. I was just … normal, I guess. Just a normal, happy girl who wore … you know … cute clothes and got along with her mother and played field hockey and went to the mall with her friends.”

  “And now?”

  “Now…” My voice was so low even I could barely hear it. “I don’t do any of those things.”

  Theo didn’t react. He just kept looking at me.

  “I know this sounds stupid,” I said, glancing away, “but I feel like I’ve lost everything…. Like, Taylor used to be my best friend and Ryan used to be my boyfriend, and now they’re not … and I used to be beautiful.” I wanted to disappear after I said that. “I mean—not that I went around thinking that or anything, it’s just how other people defined me, my whole life. Alexa Mayer is beautiful. And now…” I forced myself to finish. “I don’t know how to act. I don’t know how to dress. I don’t know … who to be.”

  Theo nodded slowly.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m rambling. We were supposed to be talking about your sister.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No. I’m an idiot.”

  “You’re not an idiot.”

  “How do you know?”

  He looked amused.

  “Forget it,” I muttered.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Dismiss yourself like that. You say ‘forget it’ like what you think doesn’t matter. It does.”

  Before I could respond, Theo said, “You want to know how I know you’re not an idiot? … For starters, Ruth told me how much she admires you. And she wouldn’t admire an idiot.”

  This, more than anything else, came as a shock. My sister—my straight-A honor student, trombone virtuoso, bound for the Ivy League sister—told Theo she admires me? Me?

  Theo must have read my expression, because he said, “It’s true. Last year in home ec, when she was telling me about you, she said, and I quote, ‘My sister is the most socially competent person I know.’ She said you were amazing.”

  I shook my head.

  “You think I’m making this up?”

  “No.” I frowned down at his shoes—navy blue Converse. “Just, I’m not that girl anymore.”

  “I think you are.”

  “That’s nice of you to say—”

  “I’m not saying it to be nice,” he insisted. “I’ve seen it. For the past month, I’ve watched you walking around school with your head held high…. Okay, so you’re always wearing a hood and you don’t really talk to anyone, but still, here you are, going to class, hitting badminton birdies….”

  I stared at him. “You were watching me … that day in gym?”

  Theo smiled a little. “I’m not a stalker, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m a reporter. It’s my job to notice things.”

  I shook my head, stunned.

  “My point is … okay, there’s this term in boxing, kissing the canvas. It’s when someone gets knocked down face-first. After Becks died, that was me. I could barely get out of bed, let alone put on a costume and show my face at a school dance. But you … you kissed the canvas and got up.” He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “That sounded way cheesier than I meant it.”

  “No,” I said. “I mean—I like cheese.”

  Theo got quiet for a moment. Then he said, “She was my best friend.”

  At first, I didn’t understand what he meant, but then I realized he was talking about his sister. “I know what it’s like,” I said, “to lose your best friend.”

  “Lexi … Taylor’s still alive.”

  I felt like a heel, and I started to apologize, but Theo said, “No … that’s what I’m saying. Life is too short for bullshit. If Taylor’s your best friend and she means that much to you, fight for her.”

  “Even if she stabbed me in the back?” I said. “Even if she screwed me over in the worst possible way a girl could screw over her best friend, I should just forgive her?”

  Theo shrugged. “Is she worth it?”

  From a far corner of the room, the bell rang.

  “It’s sixth period,” I said.

  “Yup.”

  “We should probably go.”

  “We probably should.”

  But we just stood there, looking at each other. It was like one of the staring contests Ruthie and I used to have when we were younger. I’d never stared at anyone else for this long, not even Ryan. In a way, it felt more intimate than kissing.

  “I can’t believe you fixed my tires,” I said finally.

  Theo smiled. “Stick around. I’m full of surprises.”

  It Doesn’t Take Nancy Drew

  to Figure It Out

  THE NEXT MORNING, I did the unthinkable. I woke at 5:00 a.m., wriggled into my jog bra, laced up my running shoes, and pedaled my flabby self to the high school track—the same track Taylor and I had run on all summer. When I got there, the sky was just beginning to get light, but already someone was there. A stocky figure in a cotton-candy-pink sweat suit at the far end of the track.

  I wasn
’t going very fast—Tiny had said to start off easy—but Cotton Candy was jogging so slowly she might as well have been walking, and I caught up to her within seconds. That’s when I saw the two bunches of frizzy brown hair sticking out on either side of her head and the charm bracelet clinking on her wrist.

  Crap. Crapcrappitycrappitycrap.

  “On your right,” I murmured. Because that is running etiquette, no matter who you’re about to pass.

  Heidi came to a screeching halt. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?” I threw back over my shoulder.

  “Right,” she muttered. “Of course.”

  I turned around, jogging in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why is Heidi at the track?” she said, her voice mocking. “She shouldn’t be running. She should be sumo wrestling.”

  I stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Please,” Heidi snorted. “I’ve heard it my whole life. From you and everyone else.”

  “I’m sorry, but if you can’t be more specific, then maybe you shouldn’t go accusing people of things they didn’t do … again.”

  “Okay, Miss I-Can-Do-No-Wrong,” Heidi said. “How about the time I put on my Brownie uniform and you and Taylor said I looked like a Thanksgiving turkey?”

  “When was that?” I said, genuinely baffled. “Third grade?”

  “Second.”

  I stopped jogging in place. “You remember what I said to you in second grade?”

  “I remember everything. I remember when we went to sell cookies, every time it was your turn to ring the bell, people would open their door, take one look at you, and say, ‘Ohhh, aren’t you adorable! I’ll take ten boxes!’ But when it was my turn they said, ‘Looks like someone’s been doing more eating than selling.’”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Heidi said. “You probably don’t remember Jason Saccovitch calling me ‘Lard Ass Engle’ on the playground, either, and everyone laughing. Or how I was always the last girl picked for kickball in gym and you were always first. ‘We want Lexi!’” she cried. “‘Lexi’s so pretty! Lexi’s so awesome! Lexi gets whatever she wants!’”