Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [55]
“Except when nothing means something, right?”
“Ha! Of course.”
[Pause.]
“Since you’re so good at guessing games, guess what school, of all the schools in the entire country, was the first to benefit from the Do Better High School Storytellers project?”
“Pineville High?”
“It was no accident, of course.”
“Jessica, there are no accidents.”
“Wait. What? Did you just say there are no accidents? How can you really believe that, Marcus?”
“As a fan of strange-but-true stories, Jessica, I would think that you, too, would believe in a causally connected reality.”
“Spare me the quasi-Bodhi-shitty wisdom, Marcus.”
“What wisdom?” ‘There are no accidents. We are all life, and all life is limitless. One is all and all is one. I am he as you are he as you are me and we are the walrus, goo goo g’joob.’
“I was actually referring to Jung’s notion of the collective unconscious.”
“Woooow.”
“What now, woooow?”
“Woooow, now look who’s getting all highbrow.”
“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”
“Just a little bit.”
“See what I get for trying to elevate myself to your level?”
“Perhaps you should stick to the Rocky IV references from now on.”
“I’ll keep that under consideration. However, since you’re a lover of strange-but-true stories, I’m sure you know this one: Carl Jung has a patient who dreams of a rare golden scarab, then a scarab flies in through his office window.”
“Yes, it’s a fantastic if timeworn strange-but-true story, Marcus. But you don’t believe in accidents? Really?”
“I believe …”
“You could tell me a million strange-but-true stories, and they still cannot prove that we experience everything in life by cosmic design. And you know why, Marcus? Because there are accidents. Horrible, tragic accidents that hurt innocent people who don’t deserve it.”
[Pause.]
“If I said something wrong, Jessica, I’m sorry.”
[Pause.]
“You owe me a dollar.”
[Pause.]
“Seriously, Jessica. You seem upset. I’m sorry.”
“Seriously, Marcus. You really suck at the no-apologies game. You owe me another dollar.”
“Jessica …”
“Just drop it, okay?”
“Here’s your money.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I guess.”
“And fuck you, Byron, wherever you are.”
six
(intriguing slush)
“Now, Marcus, what was I saying before everyone within earshot rolled their eyes at the pretentious turn in our conversation?”
“Pineville.”
“Oh yeah. How I ended up back at Pineville High. Even after all these years, Cinthia still feels so guilty about Bubblegum Bimbos and Assembly-Line Meatballers and how it, you know, immortalized our high school as a symbol of all that’s dumb and debauched about suburban youth. She kind of forced me to go there first as a way of making up for past sins.”
“I haven’t been within a half-mile of that place since we graduated. Oh, man, that must have been…”
“Surreal. You thought navigating the cafeteria was treacherous? There’s a little place called the teacher’s lounge, my friend, and it is where the human spirit goes to die.”
“I can’t even imagine. Are our old teachers still there?”
“I think the Class of ‘02 might have forced them all into early retirement. Except for good ol’ Miss Haviland, who is still giving power to the young people, still rocking our nation back to its revolutionary roots one Honors English class at a time.”
“You know, in retrospect, she really wasn’t all that bad. She was just trying to motivate us, which is more than I can say for just about every other teacher I had.”
“I know. And once I got to know Haviland as, like, a real person, she’s actually pretty cool in a crazy-hippie-lady kind of way. I actually felt kind of bad about nicknaming her Miss Havisham for all those years. But there was no mistaking her gratitude for the infusion of funds. Pineville had eliminated all its expendable arts programs. No more music, no more drama, and no more extracurricular writing, including her beloved newspaper, The Seagull’s Voice.”
“And we thought Pineville sucked when we were there.”
“I assure you that it sucks even more now. But at least I