We didn't have a chance to speak before Miss Clemmings cracked the whip. But after she did, and I took out my notebook and started doing my homework, Rob didn't lean over and grab it and start writing cute little notes to me, like he had on Friday. Instead he just sat there, reading his spy novel. It was a different spy novel from the one he'd had last week, and I suppose it was pretty engrossing and all, but come on. He could at least have said hi.
The fact that he didn't made me cranky. I suppose other girls would have gotten the message, but I had no experience in that department. I couldn't figure out what I had done. Was it the way I'd reacted when he'd kissed me? You know, almost falling off the back of his bike like that? I'll admit, that was pretty juvenile, but give me a break: it was my first kiss.
Maybe it was the girlfriend-store remark. Or the fact that I so obviously didn't fit in with Teri and Charleen. The fact that I didn't know made me even more cranky.
Which would probably explain why, when Hank Wendell leaned over and whispered, "Hey, Mastriani, what's this I hear about Wilkins slipping you the sausage last Friday?" I elbowed him in the throat.
Not hard enough to crush his larynx and cause him to lose consciousness (unfortunately), but hard enough to make him really, really mad.
But before Hank's fist could connect with my face (I was fully prepared to roll with the punch, as my father had taught me), this hand shot out, and Hank's arm was twisted up and out of my line of vision.
"I thought we agreed you were going to leave her alone." Rob had to lean over me to keep his grip on Hank. Consequently, his belt buckle was level with my nose. Not exactly a very dignified position.
It made me mad. Almost as mad as Hank's remark.
"Have you been going around telling people we had sex?" I demanded, craning my neck to see Rob's face.
Over on the stage, rehearsal had stopped dead. All the cast members of Endgame were staring at us. Miss Clemmings was going, "What's happening back there? Mr. Wilkins, release Mr. Wendell and sit down at once!"
"Jesus, Wilkins," Hank said in a strangled voice. Maybe I'd gotten him harder than I thought. "You're breaking my goddamned arm."
"I'll snap it off," Rob said, in this very scary voice I had never heard him use before, "if you don't leave her alone."
"Jesus, all right," Hank said, and Rob let him go.
Hank collapsed back into his seat. Rob retired to his. And Miss Clemmings, who'd been halfway up the aisle, paused and said, "That's better," in this very satisfied voice, as if the fight had broken up on account of something she'd done.
Right.
I was furious.
"What did he mean?" I hissed at Rob as soon as Miss Clemmings's back was turned. "What was he talking about?"
"Nothing," Rob said. He buried his face back in his book. "He's an asshole. Just cool it, will you?"
Okay, I might as well let you know now that one thing I really hate is when people tell me to cool it. For instance, people often make cracks about Douglas, and then tell me to cool it when I get mad. And I can't. I can't cool it.
"No, I will not cool it," I snarled. "I want to know what he was talking about. What the hell is going on? Did you tell your friends we did it?"
Rob looked up from his book then. He had absolutely no expression on his face as he said, "First of all, Wendell is not my friend."
On my left, Hank, still massaging his wrist, grunted. "You got that right."
"Secondly," Rob went on, "I didn't tell anybody anything about you, okay? So just calm down."
I hate it when people tell me to calm down, too.
"Look," I said. "I don't know what's going on here. But if I find out you've been telling people stuff about me behind my back, I will pound you. Understand?"
For the first time all day, he smiled at me. It was like he didn't want to, but he couldn't help it.
And Rob, well, he has one of those smiles. You know the kind.
Then again, maybe you don't. I forgot who I was writing this for.
Anyway, he went, "You're going to pound me?" in this very amused voice. Which just made me madder.
"Don't, man," Hank warned him. "She hits really hard, for a girl."
"Yeah," I said. "So you better watch it."
I don't know what—if anything—Rob would have replied, since Miss Clemmings went "Shhh," just then, in this way I suppose she meant to be threatening. Rob, looking as expressionless as ever, buried his head back in his book. I had no choice but to turn back to my homework.
But inside, I was fuming.
I was fuming even harder when, after Miss Clemmings let us go for the day, I walked outside and found that I had no ride home. Like an idiot, I had told Ruth not to bother picking me up. I had assumed Rob would give me a ride home.
Great. Just great.
I could have called my mom, I guess. But I was too wound up to stand around and wait for her. I felt like, if I didn't hit somebody, I would lose it. And when I feel like that, it's better not to be around people. Especially my mom.
So I just started walking. I didn't care about the two miles. I couldn't even feel my feet, I was that mad. It was nice out, not a cloud in the sky. No worrying about being struck by lightning today. Not that I cared. A thousand bolts of lightning could come down out of the sky and I wouldn't even notice.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so dumb?
I was walking parallel to the bleachers—scene of the crime—when I heard the purr of Rob's bike. He was coasting along by the curb.
"Jess," he said. "Come on."
I didn't even look at him. "Get lost," I said. I really meant it, too.
"What are you going to do, walk all the way home? Come on, I'll give you a ride."
I told him where he could stick his ride.
"Look," he said. "I'm sorry. I made a mistake, all right?"
I thought he was talking about having ignored me in detention.
"You better believe it," I said.
"I just thought you were older, okay?"
That stopped me right in my tracks. I turned around and looked at him.
"What do you mean, you thought I was older?" I demanded.
He didn't have his helmet on, so I could see his face. He looked uncomfortable.
"I didn't know you were only sixteen, okay? I mean, you don't act like a sixteen-year-old. You seem a lot more mature. Well, except for the whole punching-guys-who-are-a-lot-bigger-than-you-are thing."
I was having trouble making sense of this.
"What the hell does it matter," I demanded, "how old I am?"
"It matters," he said.
"I don't see why."
"It just does," he said.
I shook my head. "I still don't see why."
"Because I'm eighteen." He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the road beneath his boots. "And I'm on probation."
Probation? I had been out with a felon? My mom was going to die if she ever found out.
"What'd you do?" I asked.
"Nothing."
A Volkswagen went by, honking its horn. Rob was pulled way off to the side of the road, so I couldn't see what the problem was. Then the driver waved. It was Miss Clemmings. Toot-toot. Buh-bye, kids. See you in detention tomorrow.
"No, seriously," I said. "What'd you do?"
"Look," Rob said. "It was stupid, all right?"
"I want to know."
"Well, I'm not going to tell you, so you'd better just forget about it."
My imagination was working overtime. What had he done? Robbed a bank? No, you don't get probation for that. You go to jail. Ditto if he'd killed someone. What could he have done?
"So, I don't think it's such a good idea," he went on. "Us going out, I mean. Unless … When's your birthday?"