The F- It List Part 2

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about me at all. I dumped Doug later that eve ning (morning, really) after he touched my b.o.o.b one too many times without my blessing.

When Leo pa.s.sed by me at my locker, I caught a hint of his green eyes. I couldn't tell if they were looking at me. Then he walked com- pletely out of sight, and I sagged a little at my inappropriate hope.

What had I hoped for anyway? Thinking about Leo and horror movies was wrong at a time when I was supposed to be consoling or a.s.sisting or mourning my best friend who may or may not have cancer.

The footsteps that should have been getting fainter became louder again. And then Leo reappeared, looking at me with that intense, serious look he always had. As many scary movies as I watched, Leo's gaze made my heart beat harder than any of them. He must have been at least six foot three, maybe four. At fi ve two, I was pet.i.te but not dainty, at least I liked to think. Still, it helped his imposing pres- ence. He stuck his left hand into his jacket pocket and with two fi n- gers pulled out a cigarette. "Smoke?" he asked, and I almost looked around me to see who he was talking to. Since it had never been me.

My brain Jell- O, all I managed to say was, "No. I don't smoke."

He shrugged, tucked the cigarette behind his ear, and walked away. For good that time.

If things were diff erent, would I have thought more clearly to accept his off er? Not that I smoked. Or liked when other people smoked.

Or normally ditched cla.s.s.

I wasn't going to allow myself to think any further about Leo.

Not until I could get to Becca. Wherever or however she was.

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CHAPTER.

4.

After school I caught Jenna in the hall. She wasn't easy to fi nd, with her dwindling size and her always abuzz social persona.

I discovered her in a locker section one over from mine, regaling with woe what I a.s.sumed was Becca's story- my story to hear, and certainly not hers to tell. When she saw me, she actually let out a "Ssshhh!" to the gathered crowd, and the people sea- parted to allow me by. "Jenna." I glanced around at the group she had ama.s.sed, mostly drama club folk who I only knew from visits to Becca back- stage. Freshman year I joined stage crew, but when I learned about the long hours required I quit. I already had my time- sucker of hor- ror movies, whether it was watching or attempting to write my own.

Spending my weeknights in the catwalk with a bunch of people dressed in all black versus splayed across my bed watching Basket Case was a no- brainer.

-1- I never knocked Becca for her acting aspirations, nor did she 0- knock me for my fi lmmaking dreams. It actually worked out perfectly,

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seeing as I always had an actress for my movies and she then had experience for her college applications. Or her resume. Sometimes Becca spoke grandiosely about her dream to skip college altogether and make it straight to Hollywood, do not pa.s.s go, do not even wait tables until her big break. Becca strictly believed in becoming famous instantly, and I never for a moment doubted she could manage it.

If she made it that long.

"Can we talk away from your mob scene, please?" I looked directly at Jenna, not wanting to inadvertently make eye contact with any of her gang. Looks of pity weren't helpful. I needed facts, of which I had approximately none. She excused her entourage with a fl ick of her wrist. It made me smile. Two years ago and six jean sizes, Jenna was the chubby girl who only landed the supporting cast roles of mother, grandmother, or, once, uncle. Here she was, thirty pounds lighter, lead- ing a group of undercla.s.smen around like baby pull toys.

When we were relatively alone, aside from the people whose actual lockers were housed in that section, Jenna placed her hand on my shoulder and a.s.sured me, "Anything you need, Alex, I'm here for you."

Gag. "What I don't need is this bulls.h.i.+t pity party you're throw- ing me. I need details, Jenna. What do you actually know?"

She straightened herself up, a little insulted, but still the Keeper of Information. Then she transitioned into gossip mode, complete with hand held next to her mouth as if she were hiding the news from those only on one side of her. Drama divas. "My mom takes pilates with Becca's mom, and she told her that at the beginning of the sum- mer Becca started to get sick. Like, sick all the time. They thought it was all sorts of things, like a pulled muscle and the fl u and asthma, and fi nally she was in so much pain and they ended up in the hospital, --1 draining fl uid from her chest."

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"Jesus f.u.c.k." My stomach turned. "Is she going through chemo?

Is that what she has to do?" My knowledge of cancer was limited to what I read in books, watched on TV, and remembered from my mom's friends. But, really, it wasn't much. All I knew was wigs and death and probably a whole lot of awful in between.

"She started her fi rst round this week. That's why she's not at school. Do you want me to give a message to my mom to give to her mom?"

That p.i.s.sed me off . Just because I didn't know anything didn't mean that Jenna's mom had some sort of one- up on me when it came to Becca. "No. I'm going over there now."

"You sure? I don't know if Becca wants visitors."

"That'll do, Donkey," I warned Jenna. She meekly accepted defeat, and I walked away and out of the school. I knew she meant well, but this was my best friend she was talking about. Estranged, maybe, but that would be over once I saw her.

Would she be bald? Hooked up to a machine? Gorier than the goriest of my horror movies? I felt utterly clueless.

I found my dad's station wagon in the parking lot, bequeathed to me by my mom after his death. She said that my having a car would help alleviate some of the stress of trying to get everyone every- where. It may have alleviated that stress, but the idea of me driving after my dad was killed in a car accident had my mom shaken and stirred. I tried to quell some of the anxiety by reminding her that he wasn't wearing a seat belt, and he was in a taxi, being driven by someone we didn't know. Mom trained me as a road warrior herself, and I wouldn't dare leave the garage, or anywhere else, without a seat -1- belt. That I promised her. She made me ditch my nicely aged Ford 0- Escort for the upgrade to the safety- sealed Volvo. It was fi ne for

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driving to school, work, the video store, and the library, pretty much all I did. My brothers took almost everything Mom had, which wasn't entirely bad. At least she was forced to focus on something other than my dead dad. Too bad they were mutant t.u.r.ds with skateboards.

The traffi c G.o.ds were kind, and I made it to Becca's house quickly.

I parked my car on the street outside Becca's house, just in case some- one needed to get in or out of the garage in a hurry. Becca lived on a quiet cul- de- sac in one of the nicer subdivisions that fed into our high school. I lived in a one- step- down subdivision, which meant that the houses were a little older and a little smaller. Becca had the good for- tune of having her own bathroom, being the only child. Did good fortune matter if you were the one with cancer?

Instead of sitting dazed in my car, I decided on the rip- the- Band- Aid- off approach and forced myself to get out. The doorbell, a cla.s.sic dingdong edition versus the bleepy, robotic one my dad installed at our house, rang in the pit of my stomach. The antic.i.p.ation of are they home or not hung in the air, until the telltale shuffl e of Becca's mom's slippers (it was a take- your- shoes- off - when- you- enter house) approached the door. Upon seeing me, her tired face brightened, and she opened the screen door and ushered me in. Before I could say "sorry," or, "Is Becca home?" or what ever the appropriate thing that wasn't coming out of my mouth, Mrs. Mason enveloped me in her lean arms and said, "Alex, so good to see you. Becca missed you. I knew you'd fi x what ever it was that you were fi ghting about this time."

Not surprising that Becca didn't tell her mom this par tic u lar fi ght had her sleeping with my boyfriend, so I said, "Yeah. I just needed some time."

"Of course. Becca is upstairs. She might be sleeping, but I'm sure --1 she'll want to see you. Go right up."

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Maybe I had wanted Mrs. Mason to detain me for longer, tell me all that I'd missed or ask me how my family was doing or even repri- mand me for staying away so long. I didn't expect heading up to my best friend's room so soon to be so diffi cult. My best friend, Becca, who had cancer.

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CHAPTER.

5.