Second Helpings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [99]
Right?
“I tried to get you together because I thought you could make each other happy,” he said. “I really thought you two could be happy together.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I don’t think I was ever convinced of that.”
“Then why did you bother dating him at all?”
It got very quiet in the library as I tried to come up with an answer. In the silence, I could hear a familiar melody coming from the rec room. It really was time for Musical Memories because that sweeping piano and those swooning vocals could belong to only one adult contemporary artist.
“Barry Manilow,” I said.
Marcus cocked his head to the ceiling, then smiled.
“Yes. It’s none other than the showman of our time.”
Christ, this conversation was getting nostalgic.
“Do you still have that Greatest Hits eight-track in the Cadillac?”
His eyes darted around the room. “Can you keep a secret?”
“You know I can.”
“I listened to it so much,” he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “it blew up. Literally. Smoke and everything.”
“You’re lying to make me laugh!” I said, in between no-holds-barred cackles.
“I wish.”
When I remembered what question I was avoiding by talking about Mr. Copacabana, it got quiet again. Barry sang: “I’m ready to take a chance again / Ready to put my love on the line with you . . .”
“There you have it,” I said, clapping my hands together.
“Have what?”
“The answer.”
“Elaborate.”
“I was taking a chance. I decided to be very unlike me and take a chance on Len. And look what happened. I, unlike Barry, don’t think I’ll be ready to take a chance ever again.”
Marcus slid his butt back on the hearth. He pulled out a lighter. Flickclickflickclickflickclick.
“Did you know that during the teen years, the brain goes through an intense developmental phase comparable to that of a newborn baby?”
“Is that another conversational construct?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I have a point.”
“Make it.”
“During that phase, the cells and connections that are frequently used survive and flourish. And those that aren’t used just die away.”
“Point, please.”
“It was good that you gave Len a chance, even though it didn’t work out. You had to exercise that part of your brain, the part that lets you fall for someone, otherwise you’d never be able to fall in love with anyone. Ever.”
I gazed up at Marcus, who was now standing long and lean in front of me, all mischievous half-smile, sly eyes, and glass-cut cheekbones. I wanted to ask, Hey, Marcus, what happens to people with the opposite problem? The ones who fall three dozen times, plus three?
Instead I said thanks for the Psych lesson and left.
Later, when I got home, I consulted my textbook and found that Marcus wasn’t bullshitting about the brain stuff. The frontal cortex overproduces cells during puberty, and the brain has to get rid of some of them. Doing strengthens neural pathways and the cells survive. Not doing weakens them, and the cells die. So Marcus was right about the use-it-or-lose-it theory.
But the application—love!—was dubious at best.
March 1st
Dear Hope,
I NEVER thought I’d see the day when two of your daily e-mails sandwiched a message from none other than PAUL PARLIPIANO. My crush to end all crushes! Gay man of my dreams! OOOH!
I still can’t believe it. And how sweet was it that he apologized for not writing back sooner? Between the World Economic Summit and the Salt Lake City Olympics, he’s had a lot of nonviolent protests to organize this semester. Since I last talked to you, he actually INVITED me (via e-mail) to join him in PACO’s biggest nondiscriminatory demonstration against all forms of tyranny, the Annual Snake March (for the month of March, get it?).
I was like, “Yes! I’ll be there! That is so COOL!” even though a trip to NYC could interrupt the Toe Lint Super Bowl and I had no idea what the hell a Snake March even was. Thanks to Google, I now know that it’s when a huge crowd walks haphazardly around the streets to cause traffic jams and other forms of low-level mayhem. It’s an antiauthoritarian march that reflects