“I-I would, but—”
Janie waits for Carrie to explain. Then it dawns on her.
“Oh,” she says. “I get it. Caller ID. Sheesh, Carrie.”
Carrie looks at her shoes, then slips out.
Janie checks the freezer for ice cream. She eats it out of the carton. She feels like shit. September 6, 2005, 7:35 a.m.
Carrie and Janie drive separately to school, because Janie has to work at 3 p.m. Janie waves from the window when she hears Carrie’s car horn beep. This is it, she thinks. Janie is only mildly excited to start her senior year of high school. And she is not at all excited to have study hall right after lunch.
She brushes her teeth and grabs her backpack, checking the mirror briefly before heading out the door. She is stopped by the flashing red lights of her former bus, and she smirks when she sees the noobs all climbing the steps to board it. Most of them are dressed in the styles of five years ago—hand-me-downs, or secondhand thrift clothing. “Get jobs, and get the hell out of South Fieldridge,” Janie mutters. At least there’s strength in numbers.
Ethel purrs.
Janie continues when the red lights stop. A block before the “bad” house on Waverly Road, she turns to take a detour. She’s not taking any chances. She slows as she sees someone walking toward her along the road, wearing a ratty backpack. At first, she doesn’t recognize him. And then, she does.
He looks different.
He’s not carrying a skateboard.
“You missed it,” Janie says through the open window. “Get in. I’ll drive you.”
Cabel eyes her warily. His features have matured. He’s wearing eyeglasses, the new cool rimless kind. His jaw is decidedly angular. He looks both thinner and more muscular at the same time. His hair, wavy at shoulder length, is layered slightly, no longer blue-black or greasy, but golden light brown. His long bangs that hung in his eyes last year are tucked behind his ears this year. And it looks freshly washed. He hesitates, and then opens the passenger door.
“Thanks.” His voice is low and gruff. “Jesus,” he remarks as he tries to fit his knees inside. Janie reaches down between her legs. “Grab yours too,” she says. He raises an eyebrow.
“Your seat adjustor, you ass. We have to pull them together. It’s a bench seat. As you can see.” They pull, and the seat moves back a notch. Janie checks the clutch to make sure she can still reach. She shifts into first as Cabel shuts his door.
“You’re on the wrong street,” he remarks.
“I know that.”
“I figured you were lost or something.”
“Oh, puhleeze. I-I take a detour. I don’t drive on Waverly anymore. I’m superstitious.”
He glances at her and shrugs. “Whatever.”
They ride in awkward silence for five minutes, until Janie rolls her eyes inwardly and says, “So. What’s your schedule?”
“I have no idea.”
“Okaaay…” The conversation fizzles.
After a moment, he opens his backpack and takes out a sealed envelope. He rips it open as if it’s a chore of great difficulty and looks over his schedule.
“English, math, Spanish, industrial tech, lunch, study hall, government, P.E.” He sounds bored. Janie cringes. “Hmmm. Interesting.”
“And yours?” He says it too politely, as if he is forced to chat with his grandmother.
“It’s, ah…actually…,” she sighs, “…pretty similar to that. Yeah.”
He laughs. “Don’t sound so fucking excited, Hannagan. I’ll let you cheat off my papers.”
She smiles wryly. “Yeah, right! Like I’d want to.”
He looks at her. “And your GPA is?”
“Three point eight.” She sniffs.
“Well, then, of course you don’t need help.”
“What’s yours?”
He shifts in the seat and shoves his schedule into his backpack. “I have no idea.”
That was the most Cabel Strumheller had ever spoken to Janie in all the years she’d known him. Combined. Including the three miles on the skateboard.
12:45 p.m.
Janie meets up with Carrie in study hall. Seniors have study hall in the library so they can access the books and computers and hopefully do actual work rather than sleep. Janie hopes for the best and finds a table in the far corner of the room.
“How’s it going?” Janie asks.
“Decent,” Carrie says. “The only class I have with Melinda is English. Hey, did you see the new guy?”
“What new guy?”
“In English class.”
Janie looks puzzled. “I didn’t notice.”
Carrie looks around sneakily. “Oh, shit!” she whispers.
“Here he comes.”
Janie glances up. Carrie is staring at her, not daring to turn around again. He nods in her direction. Janie waves her fingers at him. To Carrie, she says, “Oh, you mean him?”
“You did NOT just wave to him.”
“To who…er, whom? Yeah, that’s it. Whom?”
“The new guy! Aren’t you listening to me?” Carrie bounces in her chair. Janie grins innocently. “Watch this.” She gets up, walks to the table where the new guy sits, and pulls up a chair across from him so she can see Carrie watching.
“I have a question for you,” Janie says.
“I thought you didn’t need my help,” he replies, rummaging through his backpack.