Part 13 (1/2)

What I don't know is why she acts like this. You'd think she'd be grateful for the gift I left her. That she wouldn't go behind my back, ignoring my warning like we never even talked.

Sometimes I wish I could just get her out of my head, but she's everywhere, in my thoughts, in my dreams. She's the first thing I think about when I wake up, the last thing to haunt me before I go to sleep. If she'd just listen to me, everything could be ok.

28.

I spend the next couple of days keeping my distance from Ben. I don't linger after chemistry, even though I know he wants to talk. I don't sit with him in the cafeteria, even though that's where he's been eating lunch lately.

And I don't let him touch me.

Even though he's been trying to.

He's been trying to hand me things, and brush by me, and make it so that we b.u.mp into each other in the hallway. Kimmie has this theory that Ben must have a touching fetish. Wes thinks the touching has more to do with control-sort of like he's marking his own personal groping territory. ”He knows you don't want to be touched,” he explains, ”and so he tries to do it anyway, to show you who's in charge.”

Personally, I don't know what the answer is. I just want it all to stop.

The thing is, ever since I've avoided talking to him, my life has has somewhat gone back to normal, as evidenced by this afternoon. somewhat gone back to normal, as evidenced by this afternoon.

It's after school and Kimmie, Wes, and I are at Brain Freeze sharing a Banana Bucket-basically a huge banana split with three shovels for spoons.

”People are still talking about the little scene you caused in the cafeteria the other day,” Wes says.

”I didn't cause it. John did, remember?” I thwack his shovel from my side of the pail, silently marking my ice-cream territory.

”Touchy, touchy,” he says.

”No pun intended, of course,” Kimmie adds. ”So, where were you last night?” She looks at Wes. ”I tried to call you, but your dad wouldn't say where you were.”

”Nothing big.” He shrugs, his mouth full of ice cream. ”Just out stalking some girls, taking random pictures of them when they least suspect it and leaving gifts outside their bedroom windows. The work of a stalker is never done, I tell you.” He lets out an exhausted sigh and then gives me a pointed look.

”I said I was sorry,” I remind him.

”I prefer a lot more groveling with my apologies. But, since we're on the topic of stalkers, did you guys hear about that Debbie girl? I heard Ben's been following her, leaving notes on her locker, totally s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with her head.”

”Wait, is this girl a freshman?” I ask, remembering how Matt mentioned something similar.

Wes nods. ”Debbie Marcus, captain of the JV swim team, currently dating Todd McCaffrey-”

”And supposedly getting stalked by Butcher Boy?” Kimmie interrupts.

”You heard it here first.”

”Exactly,” Kimmie snaps, dropping her shovel to the table. ”How come I I didn't hear this first?” didn't hear this first?”

”Getting a little behind on the gossip train, are we?” Wes smirks.

”No,” Kimmie says. ”I just don't hang out with freshmen.”

”For your information, I heard this from a fellow junior, who shall remain nameless.”

”Whatever.” Kimmie rolls her eyes. ”Did your mysterious informant give you any details?”

Wes shrugs, but he clearly has nothing else to add.

”The juice is in the details, my boy,” she says. ”Better take a seat in the caboose and let me me drive this train. I'll get the scoop.” drive this train. I'll get the scoop.”

”Well, get this scoop,” Wes says. ”I did spot the freshman in question chewing Ben out today and throwing a crumpled wad of paper in his face.”

”A crumpled wad of paper, or one of the suspicious locker notes of which you speak?”

Wes's face crinkles up. ”How the h.e.l.l am I supposed to know?”

”I repeat,” Kimmie says. ”Let me me drive this train.” drive this train.”

I take a giant shovelful of ice cream and lean back in my seat.

”Have you told your parents about all your drama?” Kimmie asks, turning to me.

”Not yet.”

”If it's really creeping you out, I think you should tell them,” she says. ”I bet some loser at school has seen you hanging out with Ben and thinks it'd be funny to mess with you.”

”Maybe,” I say. ”That's why I just want to wait a little longer-see if I can figure this out on my own first, instead of turning it into a big deal.”

”A victim's last words.” Wes snickers.

”Speaking of . . . ” Kimmie says, perhaps sensing my desire to change the subject, ”my mom's become my dad's victim. You should have seen the way he was ogling Nate's babysitter last night. Granted, the girl was wearing a hoochie-mama mini with a belly s.h.i.+rt and streetwalker boots, but still, she's barely even eighteen years old.”

”Care to lend me her number?” Wes asks.

”Get in line behind my horn-toad dad. After Hoochie-Mama left, he kept trying to convince my mom to shorten her skirt a full ten inches.”

”Now there's a sobering image,” he says.

”Not as sobering as you with a streaky orange face,” she tells him. ”I told you . . . self-tanners need to be applied evenly.”

”At least it's faded a bit,” I say, coming to his defense.

”My dad wouldn't even look at me,” he says. ”He said the sight of me made him sick.”

”So, does the sight of himself make him want to croak?” Kimmie asks. ”I mean, let's face it, he's not exactly Calvin Klein material.”

”Or even Target menswear material.” I grimace.