16 Things I Thought were True Part 20

"I hope you never talk to her again," Amy says. Another truck whips past and throws some stones; they sprinkle up on the car.

"Oh my G.o.d," I say. "They're going to hurt Honey Mustard."

"Honey Mustard?"

"Your car. Obviously." I don't admit that that deep down, I still miss Lexi. And don't blame her. Not entirely. I want to forgive her, be her best friend again. Go back to the way it was. "Okay. Enough of me. We examined that in enough excruciating detail."

"Want to hear my embarra.s.sing moment?" Adam pipes up.

"Please," I say and turn around to face him.

He leans forward in the seat, his elbows resting on his knees. "So last year in biology cla.s.s, we were studying the human body. We had a dummy with all the parts, all the body parts. Mr. Jackson, my teacher, was at the front of the cla.s.s, pointing out things. And then, without warning, I sneezed and my gum shot out of my mouth and landed on the dummy's p.e.n.i.s."

I cover my mouth. Amy and I look at each other and then I clap my hands. "Okay. That is awesome. Awesome."

"For weeks, everyone called me p.e.n.i.s breath," he adds.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r I swallow my laughter, trying to think how it must have felt for him. "Okay. It was embarra.s.sing," I say. "But still, not viral...Okay, so what did you learn?"

"Not to chew gum in cla.s.s?" he says.

"Maybe to aim your sneezes?" I turn to Amy. "Okay. Your turn."

"Hmm. Embarra.s.sing? I don't know. I don't get embarra.s.sed that easily. How about that people make fun of me for being small?" she says. "But I actually think it's worse to be ignored."

I study her profile, her cute, perky nose. "I don't know. I don't think being ignored would be so bad," I tell her. "Actually, I'd kind of welcome it since the video went viral."

"Not me. I hate when people act like I'm invisible," she says.

I sit up taller. "Toward the end of the year in my homeroom, I would have given anything to be invisible."

Amy frowns. "Why?"

"Right after the video went wild, my homeroom teacher was taking attendance, calling out names, and waiting for everyone to yell 'here.'

He went down the cla.s.s list and everyone yelled back, but when he got to me, I couldn't make myself yell. I said, 'here' quietly, but he kept calling my name louder and louder. Everyone in the whole cla.s.s turned and stared at me. Finally a guy I've known since grade school says, 'Why doesn't she just yell it?' Mr. Todd stopped for a second and then got this really p.i.s.sed off look on his face and started walking toward my desk yelling, 'Scream! I want to hear you scream.'"

I pause and swallow, and the horrible feeling returns to my stom- ach as I remember. "But I couldn't. I sat there staring at my desk, hating myself and everyone around me."

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e There's silence. A big uncomfortable silence hangs in the car. I wonder if I've gone too far. Sweat forms on my upper lip. I might as well be sitting in my seat naked. Picking my nose. I try to think of a joke or something to say to lighten the moment.

"What a jerk," Adam finally says, and anger drips from his voice.

"Totally," Amy says. "A big fat jerkolia on a jerk stick."

I laugh out loud and fall a little more in love with her.

"Me?" Amy says. "I can't remember one time in my life when I couldn't talk. I wish my brain didn't spit out everything, but some- times it's like I have no control over my mouth. And I'm like blah, blah, blah." She reaches for a Cheezie and points it at me. "But remember, if the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off it."

Adam starts to laugh. The knot in my stomach loosens and I laugh too. Amy grins, and some of the shame I've been holding in for so long fades along with her stupid joke. It's a relief to share it.

It takes away a little of its power.

"I have to pee," Amy announces, and without warning, she sig- nals and pulls over to the side of the road. She leaves the car run- ning, opens her door, runs to the pa.s.senger side, and squats right on the road's shoulder. I glance back at Adam, but he's laughing so hard he's holding his stomach.

When she hops back in the car, Adam says, "Apparently you don't get embarra.s.sed."

"Maybe I have a clear conscience." She shrugs as she pulls on her seat belt, puts the car back into drive, checks over her shoulder, and pulls back out.

"Maybe you're missing the embarra.s.sment gene," Adam says.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "New topic," Amy calls. "Adam. Your turn."

I pa.s.s the cube back to him and he picks a card. "Describe a situ- ation where you did something you're sorry for," he reads.

"Is this game supposed to make us feel like losers?" I ask Amy.

"No. Not all the topics are sad. Go, Adam," she commands.

He clears his throat. "Really?"

"Really," she growls.

He's quiet for a minute. "Okay. Um. When I was twelve, my best friend, Dillon, had a birthday party. He decided to invite all the guys in our entire cla.s.s, including the fricking a.s.shole bully, James.

He hated my guts. Dillon told me not to worry, so I pretended to believe him. The night of the party, we were in the bas.e.m.e.nt wait- ing for pizza. We were playing video games and listening to music.

James came over and started ripping into me and another guy sit- ting by the TV, Cameron. Cameron was a nice kid, just kind of overweight and quiet.

"We both sat there taking his s.h.i.+t, pretending not to mind, until James started punching Cameron in the stomach. Over and over and over. For no reason. And everyone just laughed along with him or looked away and said nothing.

"I tried to say something, but he turned and lifted his fist, so I shut my mouth. And then he grinned, knowing he was getting away with being a d.i.c.k and I wasn't going to stop him. He loved that I didn't do anything. His expression was so happy. A few days later, I told my parents and they called Cameron and James's parents."

Adam presses the window down as if the story fouled up the air in the back of the car and he needs fresh air.

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e "So what happened?" Amy asks.

"James beat the s.h.i.+t out of me. He punched me and I bled. I'd never been beat up before. Or since," Adam says and sighs. "It wasn't very fun."

"That's terrible." My heart stings for twelve- year- old Adam. I watch him, trying to imagine what he looked like at that age.

"Yeah. No one, not Dillon, not even Cameron, wanted to hang out with me after that. I became the narc." He lifts his shoulder.

"Whatever. I got over it. The next year we went to junior high and I made new friends. But the thing I was sorry for was that I never did anything while he was punching Cameron. I was just so glad it wasn't me at the time. But I ended up getting beat up anyway. I wish I would have stood up to him."

"Did you know that lots of famous people were bullied when they were young?" Amy says. "Tom Cruise was bullied for being dyslexic."

"Bullies smell out sensitive kids like spammers sense unfiltered blogs," I say.

Amy and Adam stare at me. "I thought of a time when I did get embarra.s.sed. Want to hear it?" Amy says.

"Yes!" Adam and I say at the same time.

"My mom caught me masturbating," Amy blurts out. "She walked in on me in my room."

My mouth drops open. "Amy!" My hands fly up to cover my eyes. My whole face is on fire.

"What? It's not like you've never done it before."

I peek at her through my fingers, and she glances in the rearview mirror at Adam. "And especially you."

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "What," he asks, "is that supposed to imply?"

I look back and he has his hand over his mouth, trying to conceal his laughter.

"You're a guy," Amy says.

"Why thank you," he tosses back.

"I heard four out of ten women prefer it to actually having s.e.x,"

she adds.

"Well, thank G.o.d for the other six," Adam quips.

"Amy," I say, "is there any topic off limits to you?"

She's quiet for a minute, as if she's really pondering it. "Yeah.

Maybe one or two," she says.

I can't even imagine. A giggle starts building in my belly. I try to suppress it, but the more I do that, the harder it is to stop. Amy looks sideways at me and frowns, but the urge travels up and bursts out of my nose and mouth. I laugh and laugh, as if I've been hold- ing it in for days. I laugh until my stomach hurts and my cheeks are sore and I'm too weak to go on.

Amy and Adam laugh with me. And when it finally dies down, I close my eyes, smile, lean my head against the side window, and breathe; it feels like I've lost a few pounds of weight in my stomach.

"Holy fudgsicle sticks!" Amy screams.

My eyes open. I stare ahead and groan.

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chapter twelve.

7. The only thing crying the blues gets you is good lyrics for a country song. #thingsIthoughtweretrue T he line of cars waiting for the ferry crossing is long and deep.

Amy pulls up and sighs. "I hope we can get on."

"What do you mean hope? We might not get on? Are you serious?

I thought you made a reservation with your dad's MasterCard?"

"I did. But we're late. Sometimes you miss the boat. Like, literally."

"No! We can't miss this ferry!" My leg bounces up and down. We have to get on. I can't be late. I hate bad omens.

Amy and Adam trade whale facts, oblivious to the freaking out inside my head. "Humpbacks sing to attract mates," Adam says.

"Good thing you're not a whale," Amy answers. "Your singing voice kind of sucks."

Adam throws a potato chip at her head. The s.p.a.ce in the car shrinks, and I roll down the window, watching parents playing with a toddler outside the car, swinging her up in the air, each holding a hand. The dad is laughing and the mom's head is thrown back, soaking up sun. I hope they drop the baby on her b.u.t.t.

We have to make this ferry. I can't deal with a blip in my plans. I can't handle it. I can't.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r "You can see lots of humpbacks near Whidbey Island," Amy is saying. "My dad took me to Whidbey a couple of years ago. We took a day off work and school and went on a whale tour." She smiles for a moment, remembering. The image of her and a dad who would do something like that makes my eyes water.

"Have you seen the video of the humpback whale breaching in front of a fis.h.i.+ng boat by Whidbey?" Amy asks me.