Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [38]
Before every test, Katie likes to say, “This, too, shall pass.” Actually, what she says is, “This, too, shall pass, even if we don’t.” Mom says something a lot the same: “Time heals all wounds.” What with all the Dad stuff, I wonder if she still believes it. I don’t. Time makes things go away, but it doesn’t heal: it’s more like an anesthetic.
I check the other passengers. Nobody’s looking my way. They’re all staring straight ahead, brain dead. It’s like they walked in, sat down and went from Technicolor to gray. I’m in a train full of robots.
This idea makes me smile for the next three stops. Then I start obsessing about Jason again. It’s like that for the next couple of hours. I go from scared to bored to giddy and back again as I sit riding the subway back and forth across the city.
Finally, I start getting lonely too.
I check my watch. It’s almost five. Jason will’ve left school ages ago. Has he seen his room? What’s he doing? (Swimming down the toilet after my cell, ha ha?)
I get off at the stop near Katie’s and call her from the pay phone by the drug store.
“Hi, it’s Leslie.” I hear pots and pans and a bunch of people laughing.
“Leslie! Where were you this aft? I locked your locker. It was a mess.”
“Katie, I have to talk to you.”
“Sorry. My aunt and uncle are visiting from out of town. We’re having a reunion. I’m supposed to entertain my little cousin.”
“This is an emergency.”
In the background, Mrs. Kincaid hollers, “Katie, get off your cell. Chloe wants to play with you.”
“Okay,” Katie calls out, then whispers, “I gotta go. I’ll call you back later.”
“You can’t. I’m not at home. I don’t have my cell. Katie, I’m not safe. I’m—look, if you don’t see me again, it’s because I’m dead.”
“What?”
“I mean it.”
“Where are you? Call the police. No, wait, I’ll call the police.”
“Call the cops and Jason’ll kill me.”
“Leslie, don’t cry. Forget what I said. Come over right away. We’ll—I don’t know, we’ll figure out something.”
Twenty-Five
When I get there, Katie’s out front on the sidewalk. She’s got her cousin Chloe playing hopscotch. I’m pretty sure this is so I won’t have to ring the doorbell and get intercepted by her mom.
Chloe looks like a glass of skim milk, all scrubbed and polished like she’s going to church. Your basic trophy kid. The kind parents show off to make other parents jealous. I almost feel sorry for her. Instead of friends, I’ll bet all she has is a bunch of stuffed animals. I picture her playing house with them, all alone in a cheery antiseptic bedroom plastered with Disney characters.
At the sight of me her lip wobbles and her eyebrows do the Wave.
“It’s okay, Chloe,” Katie says. “This is my friend Leslie. Why don’t you go down to the basement and watch cartoons?”
Chloe does what she’s told. Fast.
“Leslie! You look awful!”
“No shit.” I tell her about the journal and Ms. James and Beachball and how me and Jason have broken up.
Katie’s all excited. I know she wants to jump up and down, but these days she’s making a big effort not to be so immature. She needs to work harder. This time, she shouts “Great!” at the top of her lungs.
“Don’t.” I shoot her a look. “I mean it. If you tell me God’s answered your prayers, I swear I’ll punch you.”
“I’m sorry. Only I’ve been so worried.”
“I know. Thanks.” I tell her about the nude photos. I don’t want to, but I can’t help myself, I can’t hold it in. Besides, she never blabbed about me getting hit.
Most of the girls at school would act shocked and give me a lecture. Then they’d ask to see for themselves. They’d pretend it was out of being a friend and wanting to share the horror, but really it’d be so they could act even more shocked and then run around telling everybody.
Not Katie. She gets very quiet, then hugs me.
Monster Mom sticks her head out the door. “Oh, hello, Leslie,” she says, not even pretending to smile. “May I have a word with