Reasons to Be Happy Part 19

I went inside and got Jasper his gift. I gave him the strip of kente cloth and told him all about the chief who'd taught me to bargain. "I thought maybe you could put that on your piano."

He ran his fingers over the fabric. "Someday, when I have my own piano, I certainly will."

"You don't have a piano?"

He shook his head. "That's why I practice at school all the time. Pam lets me in really early, before the school doors are unlocked. Dexter's let me in on weekends too."

"The more I learn about you, the more amazing you become."

He leaned forward, his face toward mine. Was he going to kiss me?

Panic made me duck my face, and I instantly regretted it. Why? Why? You big chicken!

He stood. "Now it's time for your gift." He went to his backpack on the ground near his bike and pulled out a long, flat box. As he walked back to me, I saw it was a See's Candy box. Now, See's Candy is very, very good, but...My smile tightened. You could give your teacher candy. You could give your grandmother candy. You could give anyone candy!

When he handed the box to me, it felt unusually heavy with my disappointment. "Thanks, Jasper." I forced my voice cheerful and perky.

He sat down beside me again. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"Oh! Would you like some?"

I didn't understand why he laughed until I opened the box.

Inside the box, in each of the little holes where a chocolate would go was a...rock.

"Take one," he urged.

I looked at his face, wary-was he mocking me?-but his expression was kind, eager.

I picked up one rock, but it was in two pieces. I held the top half and saw that inside this plain, gray rock were purple glittery sparkles. "Oh," I breathed.

The story. The story I'd told him, about realizing a bigger world existed. He'd remembered!

Jasper handed me the bottom half of the rock he'd picked up off the ground. In the s.p.a.ce where the rock had been was a folded piece of paper, the size of a fortune from a cookie. I unfolded it and read the words, You are a survivor.

"You are the coolest guy alive," I whispered.

Each of the rocks held a startling surprise inside, and each had a paper underneath. You are an incredible artist, You see the world in a unique way, I can tell you apart, You're authentic, Your hair is the exact color of honey, You're smart, You're funny, You can cut onions without crying, There is nothing fake about you, and You are brave.

My very, very favorite one was the last one I unfolded. You are beautiful inside and out.

I swallowed. The lemon tree's aroma suddenly seemed overwhelming.

He tossed his hair out of his eyes. "You thought it was just a lame box of candy, didn't you?"

I laughed and nodded.

He leaned in again.

This time I didn't duck.

He tasted minty and warm. My legs dissolved even though I already sat down.

I would've kissed Jasper all day.

I would've kissed Jasper forever.

But my dad came out on the deck and yelled in an odd, high-pitched voice that didn't sound like him at all, "Hey, you guys! You want some dinner?"

129. Kissing 130. Perfect, unique, special personal gifts 131. A good run when you feel like you're floating 132. Being in love 133. Kissing I thought about my first kiss, and all the kisses with Jasper since, as the awards ceremony crawled on.

At long last, the doc.u.mentary category rolled around.

I had to remember that they occasionally panned the audience, and they would certainly show my dad and I while Aunt Izzy was up-everyone milked our connection for all it was worth.

I smiled, but I felt sick. It took forever for the actress in pink sequins to open the envelope.

Aunt Izzy won. She held Modesta's hand and led her up the stairs to the stage.

Izzy gave a witty, quick speech as she always did. Images from my time in Ghana flooded my brain. I swear I could even smell palm oil.

Izzy guided Modesta to the microphone where my friend spoke with poise as if she'd been doing this all her life. She thanked the glamorous crowd for caring about so many children without parents, for the attention and resources that would help these orphans be able to "lead our world into a better place."

I sat there inspired to make up for the time I'd wasted.

Because of Modesta, I'd finally come up with a Make a Difference Project.

Jasper had shown my cities to his parents. They'd shown my cities to his Aunt Sena who had a gallery in Silver Lake. His Aunt Sena showed my cities to some clients who wanted to buy them. Buy them for ridiculous prices.

When that first one sold, I told Dad my idea. "I want to help pay for Modesta's college."

His face was unreadable. I told him all about the Make a Difference Project, how this would be perfect, since if Modesta became a doctor, she'd end up helping a bunch more people. "It would get the most mileage, you know? The ripple effect would be huge."

Dad still didn't speak. I jabbered on, over explaining, because I didn't know what to make of his silence. "So, I could put all the money I make from selling the cities into an account for Modesta. I don't know how all that would work yet, how to get money to her and all, but we could figure that out, right? I probably couldn't pay for it all, but I could help. It would be nice if maybe for once she didn't have to work so hard, you know?"

I ran out of words. Dad stared at me. Was he even listening to me? Did he think it was stupid?

"Dad?" I whispered.

"Hannah," he choked out. "That's beautiful. That's so beautiful. I wish your mother were here to see this. She'd be so, so proud of you. You know what she'd say, don't you?"

I nodded. Now I was the one unable to speak. I did know what she'd say. But what I'd never known before, though, was that pretty was also something you could feel.

But Dad had more news for me that day. My mom left a trust for me. A pretty big trust. Dad and I thought maybe we could help more than just Modesta. We could start a scholars.h.i.+p in Mom's name for other girls too.

Modesta accepted our intervention on her behalf with a calm grace, but she had conditions of her own: she'd keep supplying me with Philomel's figures for my cities, as well as beads and other trinkets from Ghana. I'd received a monthly package from her for the last two years.

As it turned out, Modesta might not need as much help from us as I'd originally worried. Her high academic scores had already earned her the promise of a scholars.h.i.+p in Accra.

Speaking of...my high school track coach had hinted I could probably run for a college team if I wanted. We'd see. I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep running compet.i.tively, although I knew I'd run-for myself-until my legs couldn't do it anymore.

Bebe'd joined the track team too. We weren't, by any stretch of the imagination, real friends, but she was the first leg of the mile relay, and I was the last. She'd set a blistering pace, and I'd close any gaps the middle two legs allowed. Together we were unstoppable. She'd defected from the B-Squad a month or so after I did. That surprised me. I'd expected Brittany to leave, but she stuck by Brooke even now.

Leaving had been so much easier than I ever dreamed. Once I broke away, Brooke just ignored me. What had I really expected to happen? What had kept me afraid for so, so long?

Once Aunt Izzy collected her Oscar, the ceremony seemed to be moving at fast forward.

Best Supporting Actor came up.

Dad leaned over to whisper into my hair, "Remember, be polite. They might film our reaction if Kevin wins."

Oh, yeah. Did I forget to mention that? Kevin was nominated too. I guess I was just focusing on the good parts.

Kevin hadn't even looked at me at school for the rest of eighth grade. The first time I saw him after that nurse's office talk with Dad, Kevin froze in his tracks. I swear the expression that crossed his face was fear. He practically fled from me. I begged my dad to tell me what he'd said to Kevin, but he always stuck to his story: "I just told him to leave you alone."

"But how did you say it? What did you do?"

He'd sigh and laugh, then step close to my face and half-whisper like Clint Eastwood, "Leave my daughter the h.e.l.l alone."

And Kevin had done it.

Then, this past summer before we were soph.o.m.ores, Kevin had caused a drunk driving accident of his own. His scandal splashed all over the tabloids and entertainment shows. His parents hustled him into rehab.

One day last fall, Dad had come into my room and said, "I know you're no fan of Kevin. And I'm not either. But I think I might be able to help him. I'd like to go talk to him in rehab, if that's okay with you."

I couldn't believe Dad was asking my permission, but I loved him for it.

I kind of understood why Dad had wanted to help Kevin too.

I'd felt the same way about Brooke.

Brooke had changed freshman year, and not for the better. I'd been forced to be her lab partner once and had seen the faint scars on her forearms as she handled the microscope. Whatever. I hadn't lost too much sleep over it, but months later I came across her in the bathroom during a cla.s.s period (I was in there, honest to G.o.d, to simply pee). She stood at the sink, s.h.i.+rt hiked up exposing her midriff, a paper towel pressed to her ribs. The terror on her face when she wheeled to see who it was broke my heart. "What are you staring at?" she'd asked.

I could've said, "I'm staring at the b.l.o.o.d.y paper towel you're holding."

I could've said, "I'm staring at the fact that you obviously hurt yourself."

I could've said, "I'm staring at the fact that you have a serious problem."

But I didn't.

I just shut myself in a stall to pee.

When I came out, the red-splotched paper towels on top of the trash were the only evidence she'd been there.

Weeks later, I went to the counselor to explain what I knew. It was then I understood why Dad had gone to see Kevin.

Once you've been there yourself, once you've been so lost, miserable, and fumbling, and you've managed to crawl your way out, you can't help but want to help others who are as buried as you once were. No matter how hideous she'd been to me, I knew what she was going through was more hideous. She'd just chosen a different way of hurting herself than I had.

At the Oscars, they showed a clip of Kevin from Blood Roses and I fell for it again, just like I had when I'd seen the full film. When I'd attended the premiere with Dad, I'd tried to resist liking Kevin's performance at all, bracing myself to criticize it later. But the creep was very talented. I believed every word he said on screen. And those eyes-those eyes that had filled my brain with white noise-well, their affect was amplified on the big screen. It wasn't fair. Why should someone so sc.u.mmy get so much talent?

I caught myself clapping at the end of the clip in spite of myself.

Guess who won?

I rose to my feet along with Dad, smiling and clapping, even though I seethed inside. I'd wanted anyone else in that category to win besides Kevin.

As Kevin went to the podium, Modesta leaned toward me and said, "He is beautiful."

I made a face and whispered, "Only on the outside."

Modesta raised her magnificent eyebrows. I saw her remembering our conversation at the village pump. She tipped her head toward Kevin asking, Him?

I nodded.

Dad tapped my knee. Be polite.

Kevin at the podium wasn't at all like the Kevin in the swimming pool...but, then again, he was an actor and very skilled at pretending to be someone else. As he thanked everyone who had helped him, he was humble and even sheepish.

"But there's one person I need to thank above all others," Kevin said, drawing to a close. His voice grew husky. "I don't think I'd be alive today if it weren't for Caleb Carlisle."

I felt as if the breath had been punched out of my stomach.

Dad squeezed my hand. The cameras are on us, he was reminding me.

"Caleb is a survivor," Kevin said. "An amazing man. He stepped up to the plate when I was in trouble and even though he didn't have any reason to-and believe me, he really didn't have any reason to"-this he delivered with a self-deprecating laugh-"he helped me. He's a great actor and an even greater man and I will always, always be grateful to him. Thank you."

The place went wild. Standing ovation. I knew that the ovation was for my father, not just Kevin.

When we went to commercial break, Modesta said, "That was beautiful," of Kevin.

"Yes," I had to agree, "it was."

Finally, finally, as we grew terrifyingly close to the fourth hour of the ceremony, the Best Actor category was called. Third to last, with only Best Director and Best Film to go. I thought I'd felt sick over the doc.u.mentary, but it was nothing compared to the I'm-so-nervous-I-can't-breathe-or-swallow sensation that gripped me now.

They showed the clips. Oh, man, every single actor was so, so good. But please, oh, please let my dad get this!

He didn't.

It's so weird how everything leading up to a certain moment can be so intense, so crucial, so life-or-death-this feeling of he has to win. It's the only thing that can happen!

Then it doesn't.