invitation to join them. I walk out the main doors of Roy Dale and head for my car. I’m not ten feet away when the voices are back at it:
Plain Jane: What’s wrong with you? Couldn’t you spare one night to have dinner with your family? Of course you wouldn’t want to actually eat a hamburger, since you could stand to lose a couple pounds, you know. But couldn’t you at least spend time with them?
M.J.: Don’t waste another minute thinking about stupid hamburgers! You know exactly what you want to do. Go directly home. Do not pass Go.
Call Jackson House.
9
Durling Phones
I lie on my bed, cell in hand, and stare at the black ceiling. Black, because in a fit of angst right before the start of my senior year, I redecorated my room, starting with the ceiling. M.J. had always wanted a totally black room. Fortunately, Plain Jane ’s voice kicked in before I had a chance to extend my black motif to the walls and floor.
I was halfway through blackening my ceiling and had decided it was a huge mistake when Mom walked in.
“Mary Jane!” she cried. “What is wrong with you? Only sick, sick, sick people paint their ceilings black. Are you taking drugs?”
Her reaction pretty much sealed my fate. “I love the black ceiling, Mom. And you said I could decorate any way I wanted to. It’s my room. And no. Not taking drugs. But thanks so much for asking.”
She left, but she sent Dad.
He stood in the doorway, staring in. “Your mother wants me to tell you that your room is still part of my house,” he said evenly. “Our house. Just tell me you’re not planning to paint the whole room black.”
I managed a nervous laugh. “Of course not, Dad.”
He nodded and backed away.
Alicia hadn’t left for college yet, so I made her come over. She’d seen in a magazine how some college kids had painted their dorm rooms with sponges, so the walls looked like marble, or cement, depending on the sponge. All I had was black paint, so she hijacked a gallon of white from her stepdad’s garage. He was too lazy to paint, so he’d never miss it. Then we mixed black and white and dipped sponges and turned my bedroom walls into gray marble cement. It all turned out okay, but I won’t miss my room when I’m off to ISU.
For the tenth time, I punch in Jackson’s phone number, which I’ve looked up and now memorized. But for the tenth time, I click END, instead of SEND. What would I say if he answered?
M.J.: Hey, handsome. Let’s quit dancing around each other and let Fate have her way with both of us. Meet me in fifteen. See ya.
Plain Jane: Tell the truth. You are so not interested in me, right? When you said “See ya,” you didn’t mean a thing by it, except maybe out of pity. I totally understand.
I pick up the pencil Jackson gave me. It’s white, like his teeth. There’s not a toothmark on it. I inhale the smell of lead and wood, close my eyes, and think of his deep brown eyes, his enormous arms and shoulders.
I am so going to call him. I punch in the number again and stare at my cell screen.
The phone rings. The real phone on my bedside table. I’m so shocked that I drop my cell. The phone rings again. I stare at it.
Finally, I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Hey!” It’s Alicia’s “hey,” and I feel my muscles relax.
“Hey, Alicia.”
“How’d Sandy do?”
“They won.”
“Great! Go, Dragons! Was Red there?”
“Nope. Alex was, though.”
“I got an e-mail from Red. She said Alex is working an eight-hour shift and taking eighteen credit hours. And he still has time to IM her constantly.”
Red and Alex’s relationship has always been a topic of conversation for Alicia and me. “True love, I guess.”
“Mmmm,” she agrees, as if she deeply understands now. “True love.”
I change the subject. “Sandy’s psyched about having you at her game. They’ve got a big one the day after Thanksgiving. I told her you’d be there.”
“And so will Colt! We’re on. I told him all about Sandy and
Plain Jane: What’s wrong with you? Couldn’t you spare one night to have dinner with your family? Of course you wouldn’t want to actually eat a hamburger, since you could stand to lose a couple pounds, you know. But couldn’t you at least spend time with them?
M.J.: Don’t waste another minute thinking about stupid hamburgers! You know exactly what you want to do. Go directly home. Do not pass Go.
Call Jackson House.
9
Durling Phones
I lie on my bed, cell in hand, and stare at the black ceiling. Black, because in a fit of angst right before the start of my senior year, I redecorated my room, starting with the ceiling. M.J. had always wanted a totally black room. Fortunately, Plain Jane ’s voice kicked in before I had a chance to extend my black motif to the walls and floor.
I was halfway through blackening my ceiling and had decided it was a huge mistake when Mom walked in.
“Mary Jane!” she cried. “What is wrong with you? Only sick, sick, sick people paint their ceilings black. Are you taking drugs?”
Her reaction pretty much sealed my fate. “I love the black ceiling, Mom. And you said I could decorate any way I wanted to. It’s my room. And no. Not taking drugs. But thanks so much for asking.”
She left, but she sent Dad.
He stood in the doorway, staring in. “Your mother wants me to tell you that your room is still part of my house,” he said evenly. “Our house. Just tell me you’re not planning to paint the whole room black.”
I managed a nervous laugh. “Of course not, Dad.”
He nodded and backed away.
Alicia hadn’t left for college yet, so I made her come over. She’d seen in a magazine how some college kids had painted their dorm rooms with sponges, so the walls looked like marble, or cement, depending on the sponge. All I had was black paint, so she hijacked a gallon of white from her stepdad’s garage. He was too lazy to paint, so he’d never miss it. Then we mixed black and white and dipped sponges and turned my bedroom walls into gray marble cement. It all turned out okay, but I won’t miss my room when I’m off to ISU.
For the tenth time, I punch in Jackson’s phone number, which I’ve looked up and now memorized. But for the tenth time, I click END, instead of SEND. What would I say if he answered?
M.J.: Hey, handsome. Let’s quit dancing around each other and let Fate have her way with both of us. Meet me in fifteen. See ya.
Plain Jane: Tell the truth. You are so not interested in me, right? When you said “See ya,” you didn’t mean a thing by it, except maybe out of pity. I totally understand.
I pick up the pencil Jackson gave me. It’s white, like his teeth. There’s not a toothmark on it. I inhale the smell of lead and wood, close my eyes, and think of his deep brown eyes, his enormous arms and shoulders.
I am so going to call him. I punch in the number again and stare at my cell screen.
The phone rings. The real phone on my bedside table. I’m so shocked that I drop my cell. The phone rings again. I stare at it.
Finally, I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Hey!” It’s Alicia’s “hey,” and I feel my muscles relax.
“Hey, Alicia.”
“How’d Sandy do?”
“They won.”
“Great! Go, Dragons! Was Red there?”
“Nope. Alex was, though.”
“I got an e-mail from Red. She said Alex is working an eight-hour shift and taking eighteen credit hours. And he still has time to IM her constantly.”
Red and Alex’s relationship has always been a topic of conversation for Alicia and me. “True love, I guess.”
“Mmmm,” she agrees, as if she deeply understands now. “True love.”
I change the subject. “Sandy’s psyched about having you at her game. They’ve got a big one the day after Thanksgiving. I told her you’d be there.”
“And so will Colt! We’re on. I told him all about Sandy and
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