Текст книги "Fangirl"
Автор книги: Rainbow Rowell
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SIX
“Dad? Call me.”
___
“It’s Cath again. Call me.”
___
“Dad, stop ignoring my voice mail. Do you listen to your voice mail? Do you know how? Even if you don’t, I know you can see my number in your missed calls. Call me back, okay?”
___
“Dad. Call me. Or call Wren. No, call me. I’m worried about you. I don’t like worrying about you.”
___
“Don’t make me call the neighbors. They’ll come check on you, and you don’t speak any Spanish, and it’ll be embarrassing.”
___
“Dad?”
“Hey, Cath.”
“Dad. Why haven’t you called me? I left you a million messages.”
“You left me too many messages. You shouldn’t be calling me or even thinking about me. You’re in college now. Move on.”
“It’s just school, Dad. It’s not like we have irreconcilable differences.”
“Honey, I’ve watched a lot of 90210. The parents weren’t even on the show once Brandon and Brenda went to college. This is your time—you’re supposed to be going to frat parties and getting back together with Dylan.”
“Why does everybody want me to go to frat parties?”
“Who wants you to go to frat parties? I was just kidding. Don’t hang out with frat guys, Cath, they’re terrible. All they do is get drunk and watch 90210.”
“Dad, how are you?”
“I’m fine, honey.”
“Are you lonely?”
“Yes.”
“Are you eating?”
“Yes.”
“What are you eating?”
“Nutritious food.”
“What did you eat today? No lying.”
“Something ingenious I discovered at QuikTrip: It’s a sausage wrapped in a pancake, then cooked to perfection on a hot dog roller—”
“Dad.”
“Come on, Cath, you told me not to lie.”
“Could you just go to the grocery store or something?”
“You know I hate the grocery store.”
“They sell fruit at QuikTrip.”
“They do?”
“Yes. Ask somebody.”
“You know I hate to ask somebodies.”
“You’re making me worry about you.”
“Don’t worry about me, Cath. I’ll look for the fruit.”
“That is such a lame concession.…”
“Fine, I’ll go the grocery store.”
“No lying—promise?”
“I promise.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. Tell your sister I love her.”
___
“Cath, it’s your dad. I know it’s late, and you’re probably asleep. I hope you’re asleep! But I had this idea. It’s a great idea. Call me.”
___
“Cath? It’s your dad again. It’s still late, but I couldn’t wait to tell you this. You know how you guys want a bathroom upstairs? Your room is right over the bathroom. We could put in a trapdoor. And a ladder. It would be like a secret shortcut to the bathroom. Isn’t this a great idea? Call me. It’s your dad.”
___
“Cath! Not a ladder—a fireman’s pole! You’d still have to use the stairs to get up to your room—but, Cath, a fireman’s pole. I think I can do this myself. I mean, I’ll have to find a pole.…”
___
“Dad? Call me.”
___
“Call me, okay?”
___
“Dad, it’s Cath. Call me.”
* * *
It was Friday night, and Cath had the dorm room to herself.
She was trying to work on Carry On, Simon, but her mind kept wandering.… Today in class, Professor Piper had handed back the story that she and Nick wrote together. The professor had filled the margins with A’s and drawn a little caricature of herself in the corner, shouting, “AAAAAA!”
She had a few of the writing teams—the people who had done really well—read their stories out loud in class. Cath and Nick went last, trading paragraphs so they were always reading what the other person had written. They got tons of laughs. Probably because Nick acted like he was doing Shakespeare in the park. Cath’s cheeks and neck were burning by the time they sat down.
After class, Nick held up his pinkie to her. When she stared at it, he said, “Come on, we’re making an oath.”
She curled her finger around his, and he squeezed it. “Partners, automatically, any time we need one—deal?” His eyes were set so deep, it made everything he said more intense.
“Deal,” Cath said, looking away.
“Goddamn,” Nick said, his hand already gone. “We are so fucking good.”
“I don’t think she has any A’s left after our paper,” Cath said, following him out of the room. “People will be getting B-pluses for the next eight years because of us.”
“We should do this again.” He turned, suddenly, in the doorway.
Cath hip-checked him before she could stop herself. “We already swore an oath,” she said, stepping back.
“Not what I mean. Not for an assignment. We should do it just because it was good. You know?”
It was good. It was the most fun Cath had had since … well, since she got here, for sure. “Yeah,” she said. “All right.”
“I work Tuesday and Thursday nights,” Nick said. “You want to do this again Tuesday? Same time?”
“Sure,” Cath said.
She hadn’t stopped thinking about it since then. She wondered what they’d write. She wanted to talk to Wren about it. Cath had tried calling Wren earlier, but she hadn’t picked up. It was almost eleven now.…
Cath picked up the phone and hit Wren’s number.
Wren answered. “Yes, sister-sister?”
“Hey, can you talk?”
“Yes, sister-sister,” Wren said, giggling.
“Are you out?”
“I am on the tenth floor of Schramm Hall. This is where … all the tourists come when they visit Schramm Hall. The observation deck. ‘See the world from Tyler’s room’—that’s what it says on the postcards.’”
Wren’s voice was warm and liquid. Their dad always said that Wren and Cath had the same voice, but Wren was 33 rpm and Cath was 45.… This was different.
“Are you drunk?”
“I was drunk,” Wren said. “Now I think I’m something else.”
“Are you alone? Where’s Courtney?”
“She’s here. I might be sitting on her leg.”
“Wren, are you okay?”
“Yes-yes-yes, sister-sister. That’s why I answered the phone. To tell you I’m okay. So you can leave me alone for a while. Okay-okay?”
Cath felt her face tense. More from hurt now than worry. “I was just calling to talk to you about Dad.” Cath wished she didn’t use the word “just” so much. It was her passive-aggressive tell, like someone who twitched when they were lying. “And other stuff. Boy … stuff.”
Wren giggled. “Boy stuff? Is Simon coming out to Agatha again? Did Baz make him a vampire? Again? Are their fingers helplessly caught in each other’s hair? Have you got to the part where Baz calls him ‘Simon’ for the first time, because that’s always a tough one.… That’s always a three-alarm fire.”
Cath pulled the phone away so that it wasn’t touching her ear. “Fuck off,” she whispered. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Okay-okay,” Wren said, her voice an edgy singsong. Then she hung up.
Cath set the phone on her desk and leaned back away from it. Like it was something that would bite.
Wren must be drunk. Or high.
Wren never … would never.
She never teased Cath about Simon and Baz. Simon and Baz were …
Cath got up to turn off the light. Her fingers felt cold. She kicked off her jeans and climbed into bed.
Then she got up again to check that the door was locked, and looked out the peephole into the empty hallway.
She sat back on her bed. She stood back up.
She opened her laptop, booted it up, closed it again.
Wren must be high. Wren would never.
She knew what Simon and Baz were. What they meant. Simon and Baz were …
Cath lay back down in bed and shook out her wrists over the comforter, then twisted her hands in the hair at her temples until she could feel the pull.
Simon and Baz were untouchable.
* * *
“This isn’t any fun today,” Reagan said, staring glumly at the dining hall door.
Reagan was always cranky on weekend mornings (when she was around). She drank too much and slept too little. She hadn’t washed off last night’s makeup yet this morning, and she still smelled like sweat and cigarette smoke. Day-old Reagan, Cath thought.
But Cath didn’t worry about Reagan, not like she worried about Wren. Maybe because Reagan looked like the Big Bad Wolf—and Wren just looked like Cath with a better haircut.
A girl walked through the door wearing a red HUSKER FOOTBALL sweatshirt and skinny jeans. Reagan sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Cath asked.
“They all look alike on game days,” Reagan said. “I can’t see their ugly, deformed true selves.…” She turned to Cath. “What are you doing today?”
“Hiding in our room.”
“You look like you need some fresh air.”
“Me?” Cath gagged on her pot roast sandwich. “You look like you need fresh DNA.”
“I look like this because I’m alive,” Reagan said. “Because I’ve had experiences. Do you understand?”
Cath looked back up at Reagan and couldn’t help but smile.
Reagan wore eyeliner all the way around her eyes. Like a hard-ass Kate Middleton. And even though she was bigger than most girls—big hips, big chest, wide shoulders—she carried herself like she was exactly the size everyone else wanted to be. And everyone else went along with it—including Levi, and all the other guys who hung out in their room while Reagan finished getting ready.
“You don’t get to look like this,” Reagan said, pointing at her gray day-after face, “hiding in your room all weekend.”
“So noted,” Cath said.
“Let’s do something today.”
“Game day. The only smart thing to do is stay in our room and barricade the door.”
“Do you have anything red?” Reagan asked. “If we put on some red, we could just walk around campus and get free drinks.”
Cath’s phone rang. She looked down at it. Wren. She pushed Ignore.
“I have to write today,” she said.
* * *
When they got back to their room, Reagan took a shower and put on fresh makeup, sitting on her desk, holding a mirror.
She left and came back a few hours later with Target bags and a guy named Eric. Then she left again and didn’t come back until the sun was setting. Alone, this time.
Cath was still sitting at her desk.
“Enough!” Reagan half shouted.
“Jesus,” Cath said, turning toward her. It took a few seconds for Cath’s eyes to focus on something that wasn’t a computer screen.
“Get dressed,” Reagan said. “And don’t argue with me. I’m not playing this game with you.”
“What game?”
“You’re a sad little hermit, and it creeps me out. So get dressed. We’re going bowling.”
Cath laughed. “Bowling?”
“Oh, right,” Reagan said. “Like bowling is more pathetic than everything else you do.”
Cath pushed away from the desk. Her left leg had fallen asleep. She shook it out. “I’ve never been bowling. What should I wear?”
“You’ve never been bowling?” Reagan was incredulous. “Don’t people bowl in Omaha?”
Cath shrugged. “Really old people? Maybe?”
“Wear whatever. Wear something that doesn’t have Simon Snow on it, so that people won’t assume your brain stopped developing when you were seven.”
Cath put on her red CARRY ON T-shirt with jeans, and redid her ponytail.
Reagan frowned at her. “Do you have to wear your hair like that? Is it some kind of Mormon thing?”
“I’m not Mormon.”
“I said some kind.” There was a knock at the door, and Reagan opened it.
Levi was standing there, practically bouncing. He was wearing a white T-shirt, and he’d drawn on it with a Sharpie, adding a collar and buttons down the front, plus a chest pocket with The Strike Out King written above it in fancy script.
“Are we doing this?” he said.
* * *
Reagan and Levi were excellent bowlers. Apparently there was a bowling alley in Arnold. Not nearly as nice as this one, they said.
The three of them were the only people under forty bowling tonight, which didn’t stop Levi from talking to absolutely every single person in the whole building. He talked to the guy who was spraying the shoes, the retired couples in the next lane, a whole group of moms in some league who sent him away with ruffled hair and a pitcher of beer.…
Reagan acted like she didn’t notice.
“I think there’s a baby in the corner you forgot to kiss,” Cath said to him.
“Where’s a baby?” His eyes perked up.
“No,” she said. “I was just…” Just.
Levi set down the pitcher. He was balancing three glasses in his other hand; he let them drop on the table, and they landed without falling over.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?” He poured a beer and held it out to her. She took it without thinking, then set it down with distaste.
“Go so far out of your way to be nice to people?”
He smiled—but he was already smiling, so that just meant that he smiled more.
“Do you think I should be more like you?” he asked, then looked fondly over at Reagan, who was scowling (somehow voluptuously) over the ball return. “Or her?”
Cath rolled her eyes. “There’s got to be a happy medium.”
“I’m happy,” he said, “so this must be it.”
Cath bought herself a Cherry Coke from the bar and ignored the beer. Reagan bought two plates of drippy orange nachos. Levi bought three giant dill pickles that were so sour, they made them all cry.
Reagan won the first game. Then Levi won the second. Then, for the third, he talked the guy behind the counter into turning on the kiddie bumpers for Cath. She still didn’t pick up any strikes. Levi won again.
Cath had just enough money left to buy them all ice cream sandwiches from the vending machine.
“I really am the Strike Out King,” Levi said. “Everything I write on my shirt comes true.”
“It’ll definitely come true tonight at Muggsy’s,” Reagan said. Levi laughed and crumpled up his ice cream wrapper to throw at her. The way they smiled at each other made Cath look away. They were so easy together. Like they knew each other inside and out. Reagan was sweeter—and meaner—with Levi than she ever was with Cath.
Someone pulled on Cath’s ponytail, and her chin jerked up.
“You’re coming with us,” Levi asked, “right?”
“Where?”
“Out. To Muggsy’s. The night is young.”
“And so am I,” Cath said. “I can’t get into a bar.”
“You’ll be with us,” he said. “Nobody’ll stop you.”
“He’s right,” Reagan said. “Muggsy’s is for college dropouts and hopeless alcoholics. Freshmen never try to sneak in.”
Reagan put a cigarette in her mouth, but didn’t light it. Levi took it and put it between his lips.
Cath almost said yes.
Instead she shook her head.
* * *
When Cath got back up to her room, she thought about calling Wren.
She called her dad instead. He sounded tired, but he wasn’t trying to replace the stairs with a water slide, so that was an improvement. And he’d eaten two Healthy Choice meals for dinner.
“That sounds like a healthy choice,” Cath told him, trying to sound encouraging.
She did some reading for class. Then she stayed up working on Carry On until her eyes burned and she knew she’d fall asleep as soon as she climbed into bed.
“Words are very powerful,” Miss Possibelf said, stepping lightly between the rows of desks. “And they take on more power the more that they’re spoken.…
“The more that they’re said and read and written, in specific, consistent combinations.” She stopped in front of Simon’s desk and tapped it with a short, jeweled staff. “Up, up and away,” she said clearly.
Simon watched the floor move away from his feet. He grabbed at the edges of his desk, knocking over a pile of books and loose papers. Across the room, Basilton laughed.
Miss Possibelf nudged Simon’s trainer with her staff—“Hold your horses”—and his desk hovered three feet in the air.
“The key to casting a spell,” she said, “is tapping into that power. Not just saying the words, but summoning their meaning.…
“Now,” she said, “open your Magic Words books to page four. And Settle down there, Simon. Please.”
—from chapter 5, Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
SEVEN
When Cath saw Abel’s name pop up on her phone, she thought at first that it was a text, even though the phone was obviously ringing.
Abel never called her.
They e-mailed. They texted—they’d texted just last night. But they never actually talked unless it was in person.
“Hello?” she answered. She was waiting in her spot outside Andrews Hall, the English building. It was really too cold to be standing outside, but sometimes Nick would show up here before class, and they’d look over each other’s assignments or talk about the story they were writing together. (It was turning into another love story; Nick was the one turning it that way.)
“Cath?” Abel’s voice was gravelly and familiar.
“Hey,” she said, feeling warm suddenly. Surprisingly. Maybe she had missed Abel. She was still avoiding Wren—Cath hadn’t even eaten lunch at Selleck since Wren drunked at her. Maybe Cath just missed home. “Hey. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I just told you last night that I was fine.”
“Well. Yeah. I know. But it’s different on the phone.”
He sounded startled. “That’s exactly what Katie said.”
“Who’s Katie?”
“Katie is the reason I’m calling you. She’s, like, every reason I’m calling you.”
Cath cocked her head. “What?”
“Cath, I’ve met someone,” he said. Just like that. Like he was in some telenovela.
“Katie?”
“Yeah. And it’s, um, she made me realize that … well, that what you and I have isn’t real.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean our relationship, Cath—it isn’t real.” Why did he keep saying her name like that?
“Of course it’s real. Abel. We’ve been together for three years.”
“Well, sort of.”
“Not sort of,” Cath said.
“Well … at any rate”—his voice sounded firm—“I met somebody else.”
Cath turned to face the building and rested the top of her head against the bricks. “Katie.”
“And it’s more real,” he said. “We’re just … right together, you know? We can talk about everything—she’s a coder, too. And she got a thirty-four on the ACT.”
Cath got a thirty-two.
“You’re breaking up with me because I’m not smart enough?”
“This isn’t a breakup. It’s not like we’re really together.”
“Is that what you told Katie?”
“I told her we’d drifted apart.”
“Yes,” Cath spat out. “Because the only time you ever call is to break up with me.” She kicked the bricks, then instantly regretted it.
“Right. Like you call me all the time.”
“I would if you wanted me to,” she said.
“Would you?”
Cath kicked the wall again. “Maybe.”
Abel sighed. He sounded more exasperated than anything else—more than sad or sorry. “We haven’t really been together since junior year.”
Cath wanted to argue with him, but she couldn’t think of anything convincing. But you took me to the military ball, she thought. But you taught me how to drive. “But your grandma always makes tres leches cake for my birthday.”
“She makes it anyway for the bakery.”
“Fine.” Cath turned and leaned back against the wall. She wished she could cry—just so that he’d have to deal with it. “So noted. Everything is noted. We’re not broken up, but we’re over.”
“We’re not over,” Abel said. “We can still be friends. I’ll still read your fic—Katie reads it, too. I mean, she always has. Isn’t that a coincidence?”
Cath shook her head, speechless.
Then Nick rounded the corner of the building and acknowledged her the way he always did, looking her in the eye and quickly jerking up his head. Cath lifted her chin in answer.
“Yeah,” she said into the phone. “Coincidence.”
Nick had set his backpack on a stone planter, and he was digging through his books and notebooks. His jacket was unbuttoned, and when he leaned over like that, she could kind of see down his shirt. Sort of. A few inches of pale skin and sparse black hair.
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
“Oh,” Abel said. “Okay. Do you still want to hang out over Thanksgiving?”
“I’ve got to go,” she said, and pressed End.
Cath took a slow breath. She felt lightheaded and strained, like something too big was hatching inside her ribs. She pushed her shoulders back into the bricks and looked down at the top of Nick’s head.
He looked up at her and smiled crookedly, holding out a few sheets of paper. “Will you read this? I think maybe it sucks. Or maybe it’s awesome. It’s probably awesome. Tell me it’s awesome, okay? Unless it sucks.”
* * *
Cath texted Wren just before Fiction-Writing started, hiding her phone behind Nick’s broad shoulders.
“abel broke up with me.”
“oh god. sorry. want me to come over?”
“yeah. at 5?”
“yeah. you OK?”
“think so. end tables end.”
* * *
“Have you cried yet?”
They were sitting on Cath’s bed, eating the last of the protein bars.
“No,” Cath said, “I don’t think I’m going to.”
Wren bit her lip. Literally.
“Say it,” Cath said.
“I don’t feel like I have to. I never thought that not saying it would be this satisfying.”
“Say it.”
“He wasn’t a real boyfriend! You never liked him like that!” Wren pushed Cath so hard, she fell over.
Cath laughed and sat back up, drawing her legs up into her arms. “I really thought I did, though.”
“How could you think that?” Wren was laughing, too.
Cath shrugged.
It was Thursday night, and Wren was already dressed to go out. She was wearing pale green eyeshadow that made her eyes look more green than blue, and her lips were a shiny red. Her short hair was parted on one side and swept glamorously across her forehead.
“Seriously,” Wren said, “you know what love feels like. I’ve read you describe it a thousand different ways.”
Cath pulled a face. “That’s different. That’s fantasy. That’s … ‘Simon reached out for Baz, and his name felt like a magic word on his lips.’”
“It’s not all fantasy…,” Wren said.
Cath thought of Levi’s eyes when Reagan teased him.
She thought of Nick tapping his short, even teeth with the tip of his tongue.
“I can’t believe Abel told me this girl’s ACT score,” she said. “What am I supposed to do with that? Offer her a scholarship?”
“Are you sad at all?” Wren reached under the bed and shook an empty protein bar box.
“Yeah … I’m embarrassed that I held on for so long. That I really thought we could go on like we were. And I’m sad because it feels like now high school is finally over. Like Abel was this piece of a really happy time that I thought I could take with me.”
“Do you remember when he bought you a laptop power cord for your birthday?”
“That was a good gift,” Cath said, pointing at her sister.
Wren grabbed her finger and pulled it down. “Did you think of him every time you booted up?”
“I needed a new power cord.” Cath leaned back against the wall again, facing Wren. “He kissed me that day, on our seventeenth birthday, for the first time. Or maybe I kissed him.”
“Was it charged with passion?”
Cath giggled. “No. But I remember thinking … that he made me feel safe.” She rubbed her head back against the painted cinder blocks. “I remember thinking that me and Abel would never be like Dad and Mom, that if Abel ever got tired of me, I’d survive it.”
Wren was still holding on to Cath’s hand. She squeezed it. Then she laid her head against the wall, mirroring Cath. Cath was crying now.
“Well, you did,” Wren said. “Survive it.”
Cath laughed and pushed her fingers up behind her glasses to wipe her eyes. Wren took hold of that hand, too. “You know my stand on this,” she said.
“Fire and rain,” Cath whispered. She felt Wren’s fingers circle her wrists.
“We’re unbreakable.”
Cath looked at Wren’s smooth brown hair and the glint of steel, the crown of gray, that circled the green in her eyes.
You are, she thought.
“Does this mean no more tres leches cake on our birthday?” Wren asked.
“There’s something else I want to tell you,” Cath said before she could think it through. “There’s, I mean, I think there’s … this guy.”
Wren raised her eyebrows. But before Cath could say anything more, they heard voices and a key in the door. Wren let go of Cath’s wrists, and the door swung open. Reagan barreled in and dropped her duffel bag on the floor. She rushed out again before Levi even made it into the room.
“Hey, Cath,” he said, already smiling, “are you—?” He looked at the bed and stopped.
“Levi,” Cath said, “this is my sister, Wren.”
Wren held out her hand.
Levi’s eyes were as wide as Cath’d ever seen them. He grinned at Wren and took her hand, shaking it. “Wren,” he said. “Such fascinating names in your family.”
“Our mom didn’t know she was having twins,” Wren said. “And she didn’t feel like coming up with another name.”
“Cather, Wren…” Levi looked like he’d just now discovered sliced bread. “Catherine.”
Cath rolled her eyes. Wren just smiled. “Clever, right?”
“Cath,” Levi said, and tried to sit next to Wren on the bed, even though there wasn’t enough room. Wren laughed and scooted toward Cath. Cath scooted, too. Reluctantly. If you give Levi an inch …
“I didn’t know you had a mother,” he said. “Or a sister. What else are you hiding?”
“Five cousins,” Wren said. “And a string of ill-fated hamsters, all named Simon.”
Levi opened his smile up completely.
“Oh, put that away,” Cath said with distaste. “I don’t want you to get charm all over my sister—what if we can’t get it out?”
Reagan walked back through the open door and glanced over at Cath. She noticed Wren and shuddered. “Is this your twin?”
“You knew about the twin?” Levi asked.
“Wren, Reagan,” Cath said.
“Hello,” Reagan said, frowning.
“Don’t take any of this personally,” Cath said to Wren. “They’re both like this with everyone.”
“I have to go anyway.” Wren slid cheerfully off the bed. She was wearing a pink dress and brown tights, and brown ankle boots with heels and little green buttons up the side. They were Cath’s boots, but Cath was never brave enough to wear them.
“Nice meeting you, everybody,” Wren said, smiling at Reagan and Levi. “See you at lunch tomorrow,” she said to Cath.
Reagan ignored her. Levi waved.
As soon as the door closed, Levi popped his eyes again. Bluely. “That’s your twin sister?”
“Identical,” Reagan said, like she had a mouth full of hair.
Cath nodded and sat down at her desk.
“Wow.” Levi scooted down the bed so he was sitting across from her.
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Cath said, “but I think it’s offensive.”
“How can the fact that your identical twin sister is super hot be offensive to you?”
“Because,” Cath said, still too encouraged by Wren and, weirdly, by Abel, and maybe even by Nick to let this get to her right now. “It makes me feel like the Ugly One.”
“You’re not the ugly one.” Levi grinned. “You’re just the Clark Kent.”
Cath started checking her e-mail.
“Hey, Cath,” Levi said, kicking her chair. She could hear the teasing in his voice. “Will you warn me when you take off your glasses?”
Agatha Wellbelove was the loveliest witch at Watford. Everyone knew it—every boy, every girl, all the teachers … The bats in the belfry, the snakes in the cellars …
Agatha herself knew it. Which you might think would detract from her charm and her beauty. But Agatha, at fourteen, never used this knowledge to harm or hold over others.
She knew she was lovely, and she shared it like a gift. Every smile from Agatha was like waking up to a perfect sunny day. Agatha knew it. And she smiled at everyone who crossed her path, as if it were the most generous thing she could offer.
—from chapter 15, Simon Snow and the Selkies Four, copyright © 2007 Gemma T. Leslie
