The Difference Between You and Me Page 12

  I told my mom that I had to check in with Carol at the library about something on the way home and that’s why I’d be late to help with dinner on Friday. She was fine about it. She’s very big on honoring your commitments and showing the people who put their trust in you by hiring you that you’re responsible (partly because at her job as office manager of the Dower Group she’s always having to cover for people who don’t pull their own weight, so she really disapproves of slacking off of any kind). As soon as school was over on Friday, I went straight to the library, straight through the back entrance, and straight up the back stairs to the handicapped restroom on the third floor. Jesse didn’t get there until 3:05, so I had almost twenty-five minutes to gather my thoughts and prepare for exactly how I wanted to talk to her. I was more than ready to have the conversation I wanted to have with her by the time she knocked on the door.

  I started out totally reasonable and calm. I was like, Hey, I just wanted to talk to you for a second about what happened at that meeting, and I know we’re probably going to disagree about some things, but—

  Right away she cut me off. She was like, Yeah, we are. All snappish. I could see that she was totally upset.

  I could have stopped then or changed direction. I could have tried to calm her down or lied to her about how I felt, but I really wanted us to have an honest conversation, so I was like, Look, we don’t have to talk about the things you said about NorthStar, which I don’t happen to agree with, but—

  And she cut me off again. She was like, It’s not a question of you agreeing with me or not, the facts are the facts.

  I took a deep breath, like my mom always says to do whenever you find yourself in an escalating situation. I reminded myself that all I had to do was get her to see my side of things. I didn’t need to make her change her crazy mind.

  So I was like, Okay, whatever, the thing that I need you to know right now is that the NorthStar project is actually my baby, it’s really, really important to me, and I need you to not keep going with this campaign to get rid of them because it’s seriously messing up all my plans.

  She looked at me sort of funny then, and she was like, What do you mean, your “baby”?

  I explained my whole history with NorthStar, I was like, This is actually an idea I came up with on my own, I approached NorthStar personally and I made it happen and I’m working with them at their office once a week. I was like, It’s okay, I know you didn’t know that because I didn’t tell you but it’s actually been an incredible experience so far and also it’s a really big deal for Vander and you just need to please back off on this one. For me.

  Jesse was weirdly quiet then—kind of scary quiet.

  She was like, You’re working with them?

  I was like, Yeah. I told her about the unpaid internship and the office and the giant copier and how nice everyone is to me over there—all the things I wished I could have told her before—and she just kept getting weirder and weirder, quieter and quieter. I was like, Please don’t freak out, I know this is not something you would probably do but we just have to agree to disagree about this. And then I said the thing I had been planning to say all along, I was like, Working with NorthStar is just as important to me as your poster things are to you, so I really wish you would respect that and stop doing this right now. I’m not saying stop doing posters altogether, I’m just saying could you please go back to doing posters that are random, like before, where they didn’t actually have any effect on people or cause any damage, instead of using them to try to destroy my life like you are now?

  Jesse was like, My posters have never been random. Like, super pissed. She was all, Did you even look at the StarMart posters? Did you look at the flyers we handed out at your meeting? Everything on them is real. How can you keep working for them when you know all the horrible things they do? StarMart is the enemy.

  So I was like, That is so crazy, they are not the enemy, you might not agree with everything they do, but they actually do lots of amazing things for the world that you don’t even know about.

  She was like, Esther says they’re the single-most evil corporation in the world.

  I was like, Esther? Is she that girl you were with at the meeting? Do you like her or something?

  And Jesse was like, No.

  I was like, Is she your new girlfriend?

  And she was like, No!

  But she didn’t look at me when she said it.

  I’m pretty comfortable being in competitive situations. I like to work hard, and I like to earn what I get. But I guess I sort of always assumed that I wouldn’t have to be in a competitive situation when it came to Jesse. The thing about being with Jesse that’s been so incredible for me since the beginning is that because we’re so different, because we barely agree on anything, I’ve always been able to feel how pure our feelings for each other are. It’s not like there’s any public part of our relationship, like with me and Michael, where other people want us to stay together, and it’s not like we agree with each other’s ideas or enjoy talking about things or have anything in common or anything. It’s deeper than that. It’s a soul connection. And I guess that’s why I never thought I would have to compete for Jesse’s attention.

  Not that I have any objection to that girl she was with at the meeting, I’m sure she has a really great personality and she’s probably good in school, which are both things I’m sure Jesse cares about a lot. She is a little weird looking, to be totally honest—those messy Heidi braids? those long old-lady skirts?—but she’s no weirder than Jesse is. I guess I just thought that wasn’t the kind of girl Jesse was interested in.

  I was thinking about this, about the kind of girls Jesse likes, when Jesse launched into this huge rant about NorthStar. She used to do this more before she realized that I’m basically immune to her insanity. And I have to say, as boring and annoying as it was when she used to rant about stuff that was hardly even real, like nuclear war or famine or whatever, this was so much worse. Listening to her rant about NorthStar, which she doesn’t even know anything about and which is part of our actual lives, just made me more and more and more angry. She was, like, thlomping back and forth across the bathroom in her hobo boots, going on and on about all the supposedly terrible things NorthStar does, and how they’re trying to take over the world, and asking me, like, don’t I care about workers in Honduras blah blah blah and don’t I care about protecting local stores blah blah and don’t I care about the poor little kids of StarMart employees who can’t even afford to go the doctor blah blah blabbedy blah and finally I was like, Stop, stop, stop !

  I was practically yelling at her—we were both practically yelling. We both totally forgot about staying quiet in our private place. I was like, None of that has anything to do with me! Even if some of that stuff is true about NorthStar, it’s totally beside the point! The point is I’m trying to do something good for our school, which will benefit everybody at Vander, including you!

  Then Jesse stopped pacing, and came over and stood really close to me and clamped her hands on my upper arms like she sometimes does, sort of holding me in place, and she looked deep into my eyes with that really intense laser-beam gaze she has, where it feels like she’s looking right through your body into a deeper space, right into the center of your private soul. I can remember every single time in my life Jesse has looked at me like that. Each time it’s been right before she’s touched me or kissed me so intensely that I’ve basically temporarily lost my mind. Each time it’s been right before she got closer to me than any other human being has ever been.

  She looked into my eyes like that, and I felt my stomach flip. My eyes closed. I was so ready for her. I was so ready for our fight to be over. I thought, Finally, she’s going to see my side. As soon as she kisses me, it’ll all be done.

  She was so close to me I felt the warmth of her breath on my face when she spoke. She did not kiss me. Instead she said very quietly, Do you even have a conscience, Emily? Do you even have a heart?

>   It was the first time I ever heard her say my name.

  I opened my eyes but I didn’t recognize her. She was four inches away from me—so close—and she looked like a total stranger. The features of her face were off-kilter and odd. Her face didn’t even look like a human face to me.

  I felt super scared. I felt super alone.

  I realized then that I was going to cry. It was so sudden and so incredible to me. I didn’t plan it. I just, like, felt the tears move up into position, felt that wavery feeling take over inside my chest, and then I was crying and crying and crying. It seemed like I was crying a year’s worth of tears. Once I started, I felt like I was never going to be able to stop. I felt like I was melting inside. I felt like I was falling down, down, down, and no one was ever going to be able to catch me. I covered my face with my hands and cried.

  Then I felt Jesse put her arms around me.

  Not looking at her, just feeling her hold me, I recognized her again. This was the Jesse I knew, the holding Jesse, the strong and quiet Jesse, the sweet-smelling Jesse who knows me so well, who makes me feel better in that one particular way than anyone else in the entire world.

  After the crying wound down and I got myself together again I went back to the conversation I had planned to have. I told her, point-blank, to please please please choose something else to protest. I told her that I know she always needs to have a cause or whatever, but couldn’t she please go save baby seals or help illegal immigrants become citizens or something? Anything, anything other than this? I kept my arms around her while I said it, so she couldn’t break free from me and start ranting again. And I tried to reassure her that NorthStar is actually a really good company with strong values and an incredible mission. I told her that she’s seriously overreacting when she talks about them trying to take over the world.

  I could feel her trying to figure out what to do. She was looking up at the ceiling and down at the floor and out the little frosted window above the sink but not at me, not at me. So I kissed her. I put my hands on her head like she always puts her hands on mine, and I turned her face to me and I kissed her. Thank God she kissed me back. It felt incredible. It was such a relief, like taking a first deep breath of air after being underwater for too long.

  We had a sort of scary-intense time after that. She was so… I don’t know, she was so hungry and bold. Somehow, at some point, she got my shirt all the way off. I let my shirt go, and then I let myself go. I gave in to her completely.

  Something amazing happened between us then—something deeper, and different from everything that came before. She didn’t say it to me out loud, but I know she’s going to drop the NorthStar protest. She has to. We’ve both made sacrifices for each other now, and I feel more bonded to her than ever.

  But I also feel like I have to be more careful from now on about how I interact with her, and how often. When I was walking home, more than an hour late to help my mom, I started to think that maybe we should take a little break from seeing each other, just for a while, just until we both cool down a little. When she was kissing me this time… I don’t know how to explain it. She was so aggressive. She bit me all over a little, hard and sharp. Like she was trying to leave marks.

  14

  Jesse

  First period on Monday morning, and Jesse is clutching the smooth wooden bathroom pass in her right hand. She hovers in the drinking-fountain alcove by the sophomore hall girls’ room, waiting for a pair of girls to clear out of there so she can go in and sweep the room for the last traces of the anti-StarMart campaign. Most of the yellow posters have already been taken down by teachers and custodians, the ones in the high-traffic areas: bulletin boards and fire doors and hallways. And of course, the campaign has already done what it was supposed to do: people can’t un-see what they’ve seen, un-talk-about what they’ve talked about. But for Emily’s sake, Jesse has decided to eradicate every last remnant of the poster campaign, the ones she knows are still up in nooks and crannies around the school: girls’ rooms, mostly, and out-of-the-way, high-up places where even custodians don’t think—or don’t bother—to look. The pockets of her cargo pants and the front pouch of her backpack are already full of crumpled goldenrod-yellow paper.

  She spent the past weekend in self-imposed isolation, ignoring phone calls from Esther and trying to keep her eyes closed as much as possible so she could stay in the memory of Emily in the bathroom on Friday afternoon. The feel of her skin against Jesse’s own, the explosion of softness and intensity, like an underground nuclear bomb test…. Jesse felt her loyalties melt away completely the moment she pulled Emily’s shirt off over her head. She felt ravenous, half blind with hunger, like an animal. When they left the bathroom, neither one of them could look the other one in the eye. And the aftershocks kept moving through Jesse all weekend. Esther called twice on Saturday to ask if Jesse was coming to the vigil again or not, but Jesse let the calls go to voice mail and didn’t call back. This morning on her way in to school, she was careful to avoid the freshman hall and head straight to homeroom, so she wouldn’t have to see Esther and explain herself to her.

  The two girls leave the bathroom at last, and Jesse slips in. There are four posters still on the wall in here, high above the bank of mirrors over the sinks. Apparently, it was easy enough to tape them up there in the first place—she must have leapt up onto the sinks like Superman and sailed back down: No fear. Was Esther with her in this bathroom, spotting her when she climbed up, tearing off pieces of tape and passing them to her? How can Jesse not remember what it was like to post these, which she herself personally did, only a few days ago? She was in a haze of purpose then. Only the plan existed, and the partnership between her and Esther—the logistical details were nothing to them, tiny hurdles they sailed over on wings of enthusiasm.

  Now she’s wingless. Land-bound, with two left feet inside a pair of boots that couldn’t be more wrong for this operation. She feels unprepared, out of balance. As she starts to hoist herself up onto the sink, she catches her own reflection in the mirror.

  She doesn’t look like much. Dark, empty eyes. Backpack hanging, lopsided, off her shoulders. Ringer tee, cargo pants, and a suddenly girly haircut. Overnight, her hair has gone from just right to way too long. It does this—puffs up from badass to embarrassing over the course of what seems like a matter of hours. She needs to take her Swiss Army Knife to it as soon as she gets the chance. When she gazes back at herself from the mirror she looks shaggy and lost.

  Jesse scrambles awkwardly to her feet on the sink, but she’s wobbly in the boots, unsteady on the wet, slippery porcelain. She clutches desperately at the mirror’s narrow edge as she reaches for the first bright-yellow poster. When the burst of static comes from right outside the door, she’s about as hidden as a target at a shooting range.

  Jesse freezes mid-reach. She closes her eyes and feels the slight breeze move around her as the door creaks open. She senses more than sees Snediker’s squat, compact body anchored in the door frame down to her left.

  “Well, well, well,” Snediker whines. “This is getting to be kind of a habit with you.”

  Jesse swallows, and looks down at her. From this vantage point, with Snediker so short and Jesse up so high, the dean of students looks like a peevish elf. Her round, rosy face is placid, as always, under the tight cap of her perm. She props her small, balled fists up on either side of her belly. When she moves her arms, the ring of warden-keys she keeps bungee-corded around her wrist jingles.

  “I was trying to take it down,” Jesse says dumbly. She hasn’t moved since the door opened; her arm is still stretched over her head, reaching. Her big green boots are still propped wide on either side of the sink.

  Snediker smiles her miserly smile, her lips drawn into a short, straight line. “I’m afraid that’s neither here nor there.” The walkie-talkie clipped to her blazer pocket emits a staticky crackle. A voice on it says, “We have a situation in four ten, situation in four ten, over.”

  “Come
on down,” Snediker says, a chillingly friendly invitation. She beckons to Jesse. “You’re coming with me.”

  ***

  Snediker makes Jesse wait for some time in the row of red chairs lining the narrow hallway outside her office.

  “Ms. Yost is probably waiting for her pass… ?” Jesse suggests when Snediker seats her there, holding up the bathroom pass in question.

  “Ms. Yost knows where her pass is.” Snediker passes Jesses calmly, without looking at her. She goes into her office and shuts the door.

  The last time Jesse was remanded here, she only made it as far as the outside reception area. The inner sanctum, where she is now, is reserved for more serious offenders—Jesse has never been this far in before. She peers at the closed, featureless office door. Maybe Snediker actually does have something to do in there, or maybe this is just her tactic to get kids worked up into a frenzy of fear before she brings them in to skin, fillet, and fry them in oil.

  Jesse waits.

  It’s the opposite of the peace vigil. The longer Jesse stood still at the vigil, the more it felt right, and alive, and real. The more she felt like she was putting her body where her beliefs were. And she noticed more and more things about the world around her, too, the longer she stood there with Esther, Margaret, Charlie, and Arlo. The exact blue of the sky, the exact grain of the bark on the tree near the exact Ford Taurus parked near the exact toothpaste-green parking meter… the exact stride of Mike McDade striding down the sidewalk to the exact door with the exact bell of Murray and Sons Hardware.

  Now the details of the world around her are blurring, not sharpening. She sees less and less, hears less and less, sinks deeper and deeper into the murky tide of disgust and disappointment—mixed with a little bubbly water of fear—that’s rising up through her, taking over her whole midsection, the breathing and digesting parts of her body, making her feel like she’s drowning inside herself. What could Snediker have in store for her this time? If she went straight to ASP for the spirit-assembly window-leap, what will the sentence be for her second offense? Out-of-school suspension? For a week? For a month? And a big black mark on her permanent record that will ruin her chances of ever getting into NYU?