Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Jules: Age Seventeen
Connecticut
Wednesday’s morning event went off without a hitch. Sadie carried the bulk of her performance with Rod—although no slapping was necessary, thank goodness—as Jules and Tom again listened in from the auditorium.
Hobbit was missing—but he showed up at lunch, right on time.
Jules was sitting in the cafeteria at a table that was mostly empty, but intentionally close to where Rod and his idiots—including Rugby-Shirt Jimmy—were throwing french fries at each other and laughing uproariously.
“Hey, there you are! What are you doing in here?”
Jules looked up into Hobbit’s puzzled but smiling face as he took another bite of his tasteless, horrible sandwich.
Plain peanut butter—he’d used up the grape jelly yesterday and he’d forgotten to add it to the grocery list. Without the jelly, the two slices of wheat bread were stuck together in a mass of sticky stupidity.
He spoke around it awkwardly as he answered as sullenly as he could manage, “Eating lunch. What does it look like I’m doing? ”
Hobbit’s smile faltered. God, he was a good actor.
And no, Jules wasn’t all that bad himself, but he did not enjoy it, not the way Hob did.
The kid kept talking about Jules auditioning for the spring musical, but that was not going to happen.
He’d go out for the role of audience member, thanks, and watch his new friends shine, safely from the school auditorium.
Hobbit started to pull out a chair, to sit down next to Jules, but Jules stopped him. “That seat’s taken.”
It so obviously wasn’t but Hobbit froze. “What?” he said, and the expression on his face made Jules’s stomach hurt.
God, maybe they should’ve rehearsed this—saying these lines was harder than it looked. Still, Jules pushed on.
“It’s taken. Don’t sit there.” Jules got a little louder, went a little heavier with his enunciation, as Hobbit had directed in the script. “I don’t want you to sit there.”
The two other kids—freshmen—who were sitting on the other end of the long table stood up, took their trays, and scuttled away. That’s right, children, run far, run fast...
“Oh.” Hob pushed the seat back in. The look in his eyes was full kicked-puppy as he looked nervously from Jules to the table where the soccer team was now watching—Hi, Rugby-Shirt Jimmy—and back again to Jules. “What... What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” Jules said getting louder still. “I just don’t want you to sit with me. How is that hard to understand? I mean, I know you’re not an idiot.”
“I just... I thought... I...”
“You follow me freaking everywhere,” Jules said even louder. “You need to stop.”
Hobbit’s expression shifted and changed—hardening a little with realization. “Oh, my God, it’s true isn’t it?” he asked. “Belle told me that she heard that David’s coming to see you this weekend, but I told her, no way.”
It was hard not to laugh or at least squirm in his seat, because that line was so freaking brilliant—and even better when Hobbit delivered it.
Let Rugby Shirt Jimmy share some juicy gossip with Suspect X, that Jules absolutely would not be at the party because his out-of-town boyfriend was visiting. Bravo, Hobbit!
“Welp,” he told Hobbit. “He is. I’m picking him up at the airport on Friday afternoon.”
“He dumped you,” Hobbit said hotly. “But just like that, he snaps his fingers and you’re gonna take him back?”
“Oh,” Jules said with mock sympathy. “Sweetie. Did you really think you actually had a shot at replacing him? Newsflash: You don’t. You never will. So will you please just go, just trot right off, and get a life of your own?”
Hobbit’s mouth had dropped open but now the hurt in his eyes had even more fire to it. He made a noise that was part pain, part outrage. “You’re the one who got drunk and was all over me!”
Jules threw his uneaten sandwich back into his lunch bag. “The two most important words in that sentence are got and drunk.”
Another outraged noise from Hob. “You gonna tell him about me?”
“Yeah,” Jules said. “We’ll share a good laugh.” Oof, his delivery of that cruel line was maybe too harsh, because Hobbit actually recoiled as if he’d been punched.
“Fuck you!” Do you like my hat?
“Fuck you!” I do not like your hat. They’d skipped a bit in the script, but indeed, it was time to bring this home.
Jules stood up, and yes, there were lots of eyes on them.
Twas brillig and the slithy toves… He got even louder with every word: “Stay away from me—not just you, but tell your crazy friends to back off, too. Because I’m done.
I’m fucking done. With you, with Belle, with your stupid Nancy Drew bullshit, with all of it.
I cannot wait for David to get here so I can spend time with someone who isn’t a lonely, pathetic child. ”
As he stomped away, Hobbit shouted after Jules, giving himself free rein to improv, which for sure was his strength: “Have fun—until he gets tired of you—which he will—and he dumps you again! Which he absolutely will! You’re the stupid, pathetic child, believing he gives a flying fuck about you! Have a nice life!”
God, there was so much truth in those words and Jules knew that this time he was the one who flinched, but his stage direction was to flip Hobbit a backwards bird, so he did that, but God, that had felt so shamefully real.
As he approached the door to the hallway, he burned to turn around, thinking, Okay, Hob, now you get the hell out of there, too, because a dramatic gay breakup in front of a high school lunch table filled with jocks could be perilous.
It was possible Rodney was thinking the same thing, too, because when Jules finally did risk a glance back, he saw that Rod had started pelting Hobbit with french fries.
“Run away, run away,” he taunted—or possibly advised—the younger boy, who did just that, leaving through a different door than Jules.
Who sagged against the wall as soon as he pushed his own way through the doors to the hall. Shit, his heart was pounding damn near out of his chest.
That had felt a little too raw. Like he was living in some alternative universe where his friendship with Hobbit had turned into something more.
As if Jules really were the type to mess around with other boys despite his hope that, yes, David would somehow see the light and come running back to him.
As if Jules could ever be that cruel.
We’ll share a good laugh. That line had been hard to choke out, but he’d said it. It left a bad taste in his mouth, a queasy-feeling in his gut, and a headache starting behind his eyes.
Hobbit had fired back hard with his improv. You’re the stupid child. Ouch.
Because there was truth in his words. Have fun—until he gets tired of you—which he will—and he dumps you again! Which he absolutely will!
Have a nice life!
Jules closed his eyes against a rush of tears as he focused on breathing.
That had been hard and unpleasant, but still, knowing that Suspect X would get wind of their angry words and think he could continue his crime spree unabated made the awfulness worthwhile.
What Jules didn’t count on—but actually made sense the way gossip raged through the small school—was that the news of his “break up” not just with Hobbit but with all of his “crazy” friends, too, would make its way to Mr. Harrison’s very sharp ears.
In fact it was just after Jules had gotten hard nos, rolled eyes, and In what universe would we have that kind of money from both Topher and Joey to his questions about travel to Mexico or Europe that Mr. H. pulled Jules side.
“Where’s Kevin today?” he asked, just a wee bit too casually, and Jules instantly froze.
“He’s... not... feeling well?” he tried.
“Jesus, you’re a terrible liar,” Harrison said.
“Yeah,” Jules admitted, “I’m not good with direct confrontation—I gotta work on that.
See, I was trying to figure out exactly what you heard—which is probably everything—and how to explain.
.. Well, truth is probably best since you’re not likely to go running to Rugby-Shirt Jimmy and correct his misperception, so. ..”
Harrison’s face was one giant Who the hell is Rugby-Shirt Jimmy?
!, so Jules quickly tried to nutshell it.
“There’s a kid we believe is friends with our prime suspect.
Thanks to the information I got from you, we now have a prime suspect—so we’re feeding him—this kid—disinformation, in this case a fake-fight, so that he—our suspect—will think it’s safe for him to target another girl this weekend, at which point, we’ll catch him. ”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Harrison said. “Don’t tell me anything more.” But then he asked, “So, all this week, all this high drama swirling around Belle and Tom—”
“Yes.” Jules cut him off. “Just... Yes. Might you have a video camera that we can borrow?” Tom had rejoined AV, but quickly discovered that the sole camera available had already been reserved by some kid named Albert for Friday and Saturday.
And Jules didn’t want to go to Belle’s Plan B just yet.
His goal was to do this without any of them getting grounded—or worse.
“And... may I ask you to stay relatively close to your phone on Friday evening?” He didn’t say the rest—I’d love it if you could be there along with my mother when we catch the rapist and call the police.
But Harrison as usual, didn’t need it spelled out. He understood. And he started to laugh. It was not just his trademark single-syllable Hah, but a real, belly-deep chuckle that went on for a while. “You honestly think you’re gonna get this done on Friday?”
“Oh absolutely,” Jules said. “We’re gonna catch this motherfucker before he hurts anyone else.”