Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [63]
“Keep your money.”
“You sure?”
“I’m positive.”
[Pause.]
“You could call her.”
“I could, but…”
“You don’t want to talk to her in front of me, do you?”
“What?”
“You avoided your sister, you avoided Hope …”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t want anyone to know that you’re here with me.”
“Woooow! Where did that come from? You’re—”
“Presumptuous. Who am I to jump to such conclusions about you? Especially when I haven’t spoken to you in three years? Who am I to do that?”
“Actually, I was going to accuse you of being stuck in arrested development.”
“Stunted at seventeen.”
“Which means you, Marcus Flutie, are still the Poet/Addict Man-whore. And I, Jessica Darling, am still the Cynical Girl Who Has It All and Yet Has Nothing at All. And that makes Hope the Idealized Best Friend Who Isn’t Around Anymore and Would Never Understand My Relationship with Marcus Flutie.”
“Is that your subtle way of telling me I’m wrong?”
“Right.”
“Then why not call her back, if not to apologize, then at least to thank her for the donkey porn?”
“I figure I’ve got limited time to talk to you, and you know, I live with her, so …”
“You can talk to her anytime, but who knows when you’ll ever see me again. This is a one-time-only opportunity. It’s now or never again.”
[Cough.] “Uh, right.”
“May I ask you a serious question, then, since our time together is limited?”
[Pause.]
“Jessica?”
“Uh … yeah… uh … okay. Sure. Shoot.”
[Dramatic pause.]
“Why is Barry Manilow your ring tone?”
“Ha! That’s your big question?”
“Yup, that’s it.”
“Whew. I was worried there.”
“Obviously. But why?”
“I was just worried that you’d ask something I wouldn’t be capable of answering.”
“Such as?”
“Marcus, we have done a commendable job at keeping this conversation within a certain comfort zone. Let’s not ruin it by trying to …”
“To what? What do you think I’m trying to do?”
“I don’t think you’re trying to do anything … yet. Which is why this conversation has been so pleasant. But with the time ticking … What time is it any—huh. That’s strange.”
“What?”
“My watch stopped.”
“The battery?”
“I don’t know. I just got this watch yesterday from my mom for my—I mean, it’s brand-new.”
“Do you have to wind it?”
“Wind it? I have no idea. Ask me to churn butter or wire a telegram while you’re at it. Seriously, who wears watches anymore, anyway? … Hey, you’re wearing a watch. What time do you have?”
[Throat clearing.] “It doesn’t.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t?”
“This watch doesn’t tell time.”
“It’s broken?”
“No, it’s … It’s not a watch that tells time. It doesn’t have hands or numbers.”
“What? Let me see. This watch doesn’t have any hands. Or numbers.”
“I told you.”
“Well, duh, Marcus. Duh.”
“I know. Duh.”
“I mean, really. Duh. What is this? Some pretentious statement about the illusory nature of time? How it’s just an artificial construct created by humankind to make sense of the natural world? Duuuuuuh.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you. It was a gift.”
“That’s the biggest dumbass gift ever.”
“Again, I completely agree.”
“Then why do you wear it?!”
“Why do you have a Barry Manilow ring tone?”
[Long pause.]
“How about this, Jessica? You tell me the story of the ring tone, and I’ll tell you the story of the dumbass watch. Then we’ll be even.”
“No, I’ll still be ahead by a buck.”
“Ah, but the conversation isn’t over yet.”
“But time is ticking. Or it would be if you wore a functional watch.”
“Need I remind you that your watch isn’t working, either? This isn’t merely a case of arrested development, Jessica. We have officially stopped the arrow of time.”
[Pause.]
“Why are you looking at me like that, Jessica?”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to stab me with a spoon. Or beat me with your discarded tea bag.”
“Why do you think I’m looking at you like that?