“Hey. Yeah.” Janie blows her nose loudly in some toilet paper to prove it.
“You look like hell,” Carrie says. “Your nose is all red.”
“Thank you.”
Carrie sits on the couch next to Janie.
“Funny…Cabel looks like hell too,” she says lightly.
“You sure you don’t have something you want to tell me?”
“Pretty sure, yeah.”
Carrie pouts. Then, she ruffles through her backpack and pulls out a folded piece of paper. She tosses it on the coffee table. “This is from him. You’re not preggers or something, are you?”
Janie looks at Carrie. “Ha-ha.”
“Well, jeez. Whatever it is, it’s got to be a big deal to keep you home from school. You haven’t missed a day since eighth grade. And, sorry to say, you might look like shit, but I don’t think you’re sick.”
“Think what you want,” Janie says dully. “I think you have to have sex in order to get pregnant, last I heard.”
“Aha, so it’s a sex thing!” Carrie shouts triumphantly.
“Go home, Carrie.”
Carrie grins. “You know where to find me. Sex tips and advice—just holler out the window.”
Janie holds back an urge to strangle her. “Good-bye,” she says pointedly.
“Okay, okay. I can take a hint.” She heads to the door and turns back to Janie, a curious expression on her face.
“This, by chance, doesn’t have anything to do with Cabel messing with drugs this weekend, does it?” She blinks rapidly, grinning.
“What?”
“He’s sort of a dealer, I guess—or, you know. One of those guys who works as a go-between. Whatever they’re called. So Shay danced with him at a party Sunday night. She was really high, though. I heard he got busted. Is that true?”
Janie’s stomach twists and shreds.
She’s going to be sick.
“No,” Janie says slowly, “it doesn’t have anything to do with that.” Tears well up in the corners of her eyes and she presses them back with her fingers.
Carrie’s face falls. “Oh, shit, Janie. You didn’t know.”
Janie shakes her head numbly.
She doesn’t notice when Carrie leaves.
October 19, 2005, 2:45 a.m.
Janie lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Arguing with herself. She knows she shouldn’t do it. But she has nothing to lose.
Feeling like a total creep, she gets dressed and slips out of the house. Runs softly through the yards,
avoiding the houses with dogs.
Sneaks up to Cabel’s house and sits outside his bedroom window, in the bushes. She leans up against the house and waits. The bricks snag her sweatshirt. It’s chilly. She puts her mittens on. Her butt falls asleep.
And her legs.
She gets terribly bored.
5:01 a.m.
She slips away while it’s still dark, feeling like a criminal. A criminal who walks away with nothing.
7:36 a.m.
She gathers her schoolbooks from the coffee table. The note is still there, where Carrie left it. She hesitates, and then opens it.
We really need to talk, Janie. Please. I’m begging. Cabe.
That’s all it says.
7:55 a.m.
Janie waits for the bell and slips into school. She gets to English class just before Mr. Purcell closes the door. “Feeling better, I presume, Miss Hannagan,” he intones. Janie presumes it’s a rhetorical question and ignores him. She can feel Cabel’s eyes on her.
She won’t look at him.
It’s torture, is what it is.
Every damn class, of every damn day.
Torture.
12:45 p.m.
He gives up.
Janie dreads study hall. But he gives up. He sits in the opposite corner of the library, removes his glasses, and rests his head on his arms.
She notes with satisfaction that he does, indeed, look like shit. Just as Carrie said. Carrie plops in the chair next to her.
If Cabel dreams, Janie doesn’t pick it up. Instead, she lays her head on her arms and tries to take in a nap. But she’s sucked into yet another falling dream. This time, it’s her own.
And then she’s pulled awake and Carrie is there. Or, rather, Janie is with Carrie. And Stu. Janie watches with curiosity.
Carrie looks like she’s enjoying it.
A lot.
Four times.
Once was enough for Janie.
And she really doesn’t think Stu’s dick could possibly be that large. He could have never fit behind the wheel of ol’ Ethel with that thing.
Now Janie knows what else she’s missing. She grunts when Carrie nudges her arm.
Gets up.
Two more classes.
Janie is weary. And she has to work a full shift tonight.
Apparently things get worse before they get better.
If they ever get better.
Janie’s doubtful.
10:14 p.m.
Miss Stubin is in a coma.
Hospice is in her room all evening.
Janie hovers anxiously.
And then Miss Stubin dies. Right there in front of Janie.
Janie cries. She’s not exactly sure why—she’s never cried over a resident’s death before. There was just something special about this one.
But she’s glad Miss Stubin got to make love with that nice young soldier, even if it was just a black-and-white dream.
The head nurse sends Janie home a little early. She says Janie still looks a bit under the weather. Janie is numb. And exhausted. She’s been awake since two a.m.