Chapter 25 #2
“So whatever, they took me with them to the college, there was an exhibit at the gallery they thought I’d like.
After I went through the exhibit I stopped at an animal rights rally happening on the quad, got some material about slaughterhouses.
And Lincoln was there. He’d driven there specifically for the rally.
He’s a vegetarian, too, so we have that in common.
Actually, he’s a vegan. He’s been trying to convert me, but no mac and cheese? I might have to see him naked first.”
The fact that she’s talking about a boy having the potential to influence any of her decisions surprises me. Asha always talks about boys like they’re one step above zombies—largely brain-dead but a possible threat if you don’t keep the upper hand.
“Sounds like that ‘helplessly in love’ thing might be a smidge mutual,” I say.
“So far so good, I guess,” she says. “What about you? I got the distinct impression there was trouble in paradise.”
“Turns out he was not such a great guy.”
“Oh, that sucks, Hatts. I was afraid of that.”
“What tipped you off?”
“I don’t know, he seems a little, um, lacking in authenticity.”
“Oh my gosh, that’s exactly what Mason”—I catch myself just in time—“would have said.”
“You think?”
“He would have called Richard human aspartame.”
Asha barks out a laugh and shakes her head.
“You see? Special bond. That sounds exactly like him.” We’re both quiet for a minute, and I can almost hear Mason’s voice in my mind.
Asha must be thinking something similar, because when I look at her, her eyes are shining with unshed tears.
Then she says, “All right, well, I’ve gotta go catch up with Lincoln.
” She stands, straightening several bracelets that have gotten tangled at her wrist, and throws the strap of her bag over her head.
“Wait,” I say, wanting to hold on to the connection that I let lapse, desperate to keep the conversation going. “You didn’t tell me how you got pinned with destruction of property.”
She laughs again, and the sound is so contagious, I laugh, too, before I even know what we’re laughing at. “We snuck into the cafeteria kitchen and threw out all the pork products. The hot dogs, the deli ham, everything.”
I gasp. “You did not.”
She nods. “We did. Did you know that pigs are smarter than chimpanzees? They can play video games, for fuck’s sake! We should eat some of the bros in our grade before we eat pork.”
Only Asha could end up breaking the behavior code while maintaining the moral high ground. I grin. “Well, that explains why there’s been no BLTuesdays at lunch recently,” I say. “And the other part of the ‘we’ was Lincoln?”
“We are coconspirators,” she says, rolling the word around in her mouth like it’s delicious. “Poor kid, he insisted we make a statement. He painted ‘Who’s the pig now?’ on the fridge in red paint, but then he tracked paint all the way to his locker. I confessed in solidarity.”
“Very loyal of you.” I nod.
She pauses now, looking at me. “So is that what was twisting you into an emotional pretzel? Richard’s slithery behavior? Or Mason?”
Yes on both counts. Plus … “There’s something else.”
“What is it?” I can almost feel the trademark Chawla intensity bubble forming around us as her eyes hold mine.
Where to begin? “I’m defective.”
The criticism breaks her intent gaze. “What?” she asks, incredulous.
“They didn’t make me right in the factory.”
Asha puts her hands on her hips. “Hattie, speak English. What the hell are you talking about?”
Spitting it out is the only way. “My mom made me go to the doctor and they ran a million tests and it turns out I have the same thing as my dad and am now slowly, inevitably going blind.”
The admission sits like a stone on the window ledge between us. A stone that I would love to pick up and hurl through the window. What’s going to happen now? I steel myself for all the questions she’ll undoubtedly have, the confusion about what exactly that means and what there is to be done.
But there’s no interrogation. Asha touches my arm. “That’s brutal,” she finally says.
“Yeah.”
“And having watched your dad going through it, knowing exactly what you’re in for …”
“Makes it worse,” I finish.
“Well, so we’ll handle it. One day at a time.” I notice the “we” in there and I almost cry from the comfort. She’s got her intensity face on. I can feel her energy encircling me. “Shit, I can’t believe you’ve been holding this on your own. How are you feeling?”
“Honestly, right now I’m just feeling relieved to have told someone. And to have it, you know, be you.”
“I’m glad you told me.” Then she grins. “No wonder you’ve been assaulting people in the hallways.”
I groan. “Yeah, I guess I haven’t been coping the best.”
She waves my guilt away. “Totally normal and understandable.”
“Well, you better go catch up with your partner in crime,” I say.
“Nah, I’m here with you. He’ll wait. Let’s talk through this.”
I love her. “Thanks, Ash, but I think I’m tapped. I’ve got to get used to this ‘being vulnerable’ thing in small chunks.”
She cocks her head. “You sure?”
I nod.
“All right. To be continued,” she says, giving me a quick hug, then opening the fire door.
“But Asha?”
“Hmm?”
“Want to sleep over? If you can get away, of course, from all the mustache kissing.” I am sort of curious to know what it feels like to kiss a mustache. Another thing we can talk about when she comes over.
Now the smile on her face is open and easy, and I can tell we’re back in sync. “Yeah, sounds good.”
Phew.
I get home to an empty house. Good. I need some time to think, not talk.
I drop my stuff by the front door and head straight into the pantry for a sugar fix.
Mom has recently stocked it with healthy crap like chips made out of chickpeas and quinoa and little bags of snack mix that look deceptively full of fun surprises but are really mostly dried cranberries.
I can’t find a single cookie. I give up on the dessert shelf and rummage in the back of the baking box.
Score. I bring a whole king-sized bag of M I knew that Asha didn’t really approve of Richard.
And neither did Mason. I need to start seeing things the way they do.
Shit—understanding things the way they do.
I hate that I use metaphorical vision words all the time.
And it wasn’t just the pheromones that clouded my judgment, either, because I also misjudged Amanda.
Like, by a lot. So someone I thought was amazing was actually a douche and someone I thought was a supervillain was actually just trying to be my friend.
Who else am I getting wrong? Am I getting myself wrong?
Am I worse than I think, or better? Why are human beings so freaking confusing?
I’ve even been getting a ghost wrong. I thought Mason was being mean when he materialized in front of the car, but he was trying to keep me safe. I can’t be too mad at myself for misunderstanding that one, though. His method was pretty rough. Rough, but effective.
He was so calm when I told him about the RP. It didn’t seem to change his view of me at all. Same with Asha. I guess people aren’t as into perfection as I think. Maybe that’s my problem.
The red M&M’s are all gone now, too. Coming up here without a big glass of milk was a tactical error.
I’m in chocolate overdose mode, so I scoop up the rest of my rainbow and dump it back in the bag.
Except for the greens. The greens I put in a little pile next to my alarm clock on my nightstand, for later.
As I pad downstairs to hide the depleted bag back in the baking box, I think again about my last conversation with Mason, about why he’s here.
He thinks I’m wrong, but if he’s not here to help me, then what’s my part in all this?
Why keep haunting me or whatever? I think about Richard and Amanda and Asha. Not everything’s about you, Hattie.
Wait. Maybe that’s it. It seems glaringly obvious in retrospect, but what if I’m supposed to help him?
He said that the “almost living” part was the punishment, that it felt excruciating.
Yep. Makes total sense to me. I know how painful being powerless is on a wide variety of levels.
But maybe I could give him some power by acting on his behalf, by doing something that he would do himself if he had a moment to be fully alive again.
I’m not sure what exactly he would do, but I have an idea where to start.