Reasons to Be Happy Part 17

Back at the house, after picking my way through a Thai salad, the stylists arrived.

"I'm glad to be a doc.u.mentary filmmaker on nights like these," Izzy joked to my dad. "No one expects me to look as glamorous as you."

The time flew by in a blur as we got manicures, our hair styled, and our faces made up. "We don't do this every day," I a.s.sured Modesta, "but the Academy Awards is a really big deal."

"This I know," Modesta said, sounding the slightest bit offended.

My father was nominated for Best Actor for Blood Roses, and Aunt Izzy's film A Continent of Orphans was nominated for Best Doc.u.mentary. I was Dad's date. Modesta was Izzy's.

I wore a pale yellow silk gown that looked like a dress you'd go tango in-cut on the bias mid-s.h.i.+n, halter style-with some of my mother's diamond jewelry.

Modesta looked cla.s.sic and stunning in a pale pink sheath.

Aunt Izzy wore a stylish, s.e.xy plum gown.

And Dad-he looked like a movie star in his tux, you know? The old-fas.h.i.+oned, honest-to-goodness stars.

Jasper called to wish us luck just as our limo arrived. "We'll be watching," he promised. He was hosting an Oscar party at his house. "I can't wait to see what you're wearing."

"You'll probably see it again next year at prom," I told him, laughing.

I'd almost wrecked it with Jasper.

When I first got back to L.A., the house ambushed me. The bathroom, kitchen, and my bedroom taunted me with humiliating memories. Mom was everywhere-slipping in and out of rooms in the corner of my eye, in the s.h.i.+mmer of the sea gla.s.s door frame, in the scent of our lemon tree. Once Dad and I got over our excruciating silences and stuttering, peppy attempts at conversation, I'd emailed Jasper. My heart slammed against my ribs as I typed: I don't think I can wait until Monday. I'd really love to see you, but without the B-Squad watching. Let me know and I'll give you directions.

But when he wrote back, Thanks for the invite, but that's okay. I'll see you Monday, the words punched me in the stomach.

That's okay.

Did he not want to see me? Had I just made a fool of myself? Had I misinterpreted everything? "Don't eat the monkey, don't eat the monkey," I told myself.

When I stepped into the front school hallway on noodle legs, the piano music ran over me like warm water. I clutched my books, working up the courage to walk into the piano lounge, but when I did, Jasper didn't even stand up. He said, "Welcome back," but he kept right on playing. The B-Squad showed up-Brooke greeted me with, "You're not so tubby, but did you forget how to dress?"-and Jasper took his sheet music and left.

He may as well have slapped me. Why wouldn't he talk to me?

I ignored Brooke and tried to follow him, but got stopped in the hall by Kevin Sampson.

"You're back," he said, glee in his voice. "I missed you." He licked his lips.

I jerked my arm, but he wouldn't let go of me.

Itch. Itch. Itch. I shuddered from the bugs on my skin. Why did you think anything would change you, stupid, ugly girl? You know what you'll have to do to make these feelings go away.

"Shut up and leave me alone!" I said too loudly. Heads turned.

"Suit yourself." Kevin held up his hands as if in surrender.

The tardy bell rang. I rushed to Jasper's homeroom in time for the door to close in my face.

That sensation occurred about a hundred times before lunch.

Everywhere I turned, Kevin leered at me.

The B-Squad taunted me.

Jasper ignored me.

What? Did you think he was your boyfriend? Fat chance. What made you think any normal, nice boy would want you? Jasper doesn't want to be seen talking to you, you idiot.

"Don't eat the monkey," I vowed. "Don't you dare eat that monkey."

In DeTello's cla.s.s, I found Jasper sitting at a table talking to Laurie.

My cheeks heated up. I stood there, paralyzed. Don't cry. Don't cry. I wanted to fly back to Tafi Atome and never return. I knew how to be myself there. Being myself just backfired here.

May as well fire up the cook stove because that monkey was getting barbecued.

As my c.r.a.ppy luck would have it, DeTello made us form groups for something. Group work should be outlawed. It's nothing but torture.

I ignored the hissed, "Hannah! Back here!" from Brooke and looked to Jasper. He walked to Laurie's table. Roland joined them. They needed a fourth. I took a tentative step...but Kelly got there first.

I got stuck in the B-Squad.

After cla.s.s, I stalked into the cafeteria on autopilot. When Jasper caught up with me, I shot him a look.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Like he really didn't know.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Was he serious? I shredded lettuce. Shredding was fitting. Shredding felt satisfying.

"Oh," he said, "so now you won't even talk to me when it's just us?"

I gaped. "Talk to y-? I've been trying to talk to you all morning!"

His face s.h.i.+fted. "I really thought things would be different," he said.

Before I could say, "So did I," Pam stepped in and told us to speed things up.

I didn't say another word to Jasper. At the end of lunch, he threw his plastic ap.r.o.n in the trash and walked out.

I stood there a moment, facing a pile of tomato slices. I should put these in a plastic container for tomorrow and get to cla.s.s.

But you're not going straight to cla.s.s, are you? Don't you have a little stop to make first?

No. Don't do it. It's been over a month. Don't do it.

You'll feel better. You'll feel nothing.

Call Dad. Call Dad instead.

I picked up a tomato slice. I took a bite.

That's it. That's a start.

I ate the slice, then picked up another.

I ate a third slice, knowing I'd eat the whole pile. Then I took a giant jar of apple sauce off the shelf above me. First I used a serving spoon to shovel it out of the jar, but then I lifted the jar to my mouth and drank it. While I chugged, I looked around. There were hamburger buns. And a whole tray of cookies. There was cheese and- "Hannah!"

I dropped the apple juice jar and it broke at my feet with a m.u.f.fled, wet whump.

"Why do you do this?" Jasper stepped toward me. "Please," he begged. "Don't."

When his hands touched the bare skin of my arm, I bolted. I slid in the applesauce and almost fell, but regained my footing and fled for the restroom.

"Hannah!" he yelled after me. "I know where you're going!"

So what? Unless he was going to come in and physically stop me, I didn't care. I shut myself in a stall and leaned over.

After I threw up, I stood up, panting. I didn't feel a rush.

I didn't feel any tingles.

But I didn't feel nothing. I still felt anger and sorrow and betrayal.

I tried again, but not very much came up.

I tried again but couldn't breathe. Everything stuck for a minute. A minute? I don't know.

A long time.

Black spots burned in my eyes. Panic welled in my choked-close throat.

What should I do? Should I go out to the hall? Find someone to do the Heimlich? Call 9-1-1?

You need to breathe.

I could do the Heimlich on myself! I'd done it before.

For real. You need to breathe.

I fumbled with the lock on the stall door, but the black dots burned wider. I could only see on the edges of the circles.

You're going to die here. You're going to die in a toilet!

I gave up on the door, locked both fists together and slammed them into my own belly.

Nothing.

I did it again.

And again.

My throat exploded.

That's what it felt like. I projectile vomited across the stall, splattering myself.

You are filthy, vile, sickening.

I sucked in a honking breath, then swallowed wrong, the acid burning in my windpipe.

Something tickled my chin, dripping.

I wiped my chin, but it dripped again.

Oh G.o.d. I tried to look through the dots, at the edges. Red. Dark, burgundy red.

My nose was bleeding.

I groped for the toilet paper dispenser with slick hands.

The spattering sound on the tile floor made my heart race. My nose was really gus.h.i.+ng.

"Hannah?" DeTello's voice. Concerned. Out of breath. Underwater? "Are you in here?"

"Yeah." I brought a giant wad of toilet tissue to my nose. It took a long time. The film had changed to slow motion.

The stall door rattled. "Open up. Are you all right?" DeTello's voice seemed far away.

I wanted to say I'm fine, but my mouth wouldn't work. I moved my head sideways to try to find the lock on the edges of the dots, but the edges were wavery and sparkly.

From deep down in a well, I heard DeTello say, "Hannah? Please, sweetie. Talk to me."

I tried. I tried to move my lips, but the sparkles got brighter and then I- * * *

Getting to the nurse's office was a blur. Blurred by relief. I wasn't dead. I wasn't blind.

DeTello and the nurse cleaned me up. They dressed me in a stranger's sweatpants and a turtleneck from the lost and found. They made me drink Gatorade and eat two cookies.

I woke up forty minutes later on the nurse's cot, with my dad leaning over me, kissing my forehead. "Hannah Banana," he whispered. "Rough day?"

I nodded, a tear burning down my cheek. My throat felt shredded.

The nurse slipped out and closed the door, giving us some privacy.