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11:22 a.m.
Cabel returns Janie’s call. Leaves a message on the answering machine.
12:14 p.m.
Janie calls Cabel. Gets his voice mail.
2:42 p.m.
The phone rings.
“Hello?” Janie says.
“I miss you like hell,” he says, laughing.
“Where are you?”
“At U of M. I had a thing to go to.”
“Fuck.”
“I know.”
There is silence.
“When will you be home?”
“Late,” he says. “I’m sorry, sweets.”
“Okay,” she says with a sigh. “See you tomorrow, maybe.”
“Yeah. Okay,” he says softly.
BIRTHDAY, UNDERCOVER
January 9, 2006, 7:05 a.m.
Janie wakes up on her birthday feeling terribly sorry for herself.
She should know better.
This happens every year.
It seems worse this year, somehow.
She greets her mother in the kitchen. Her mother gives her a half-grunt, fixes her morning drink, and disappears into her bedroom. Just like any ordinary day.
Janie fixes frozen waffles for breakfast. Sticks a goddamn candle in them. Lights it. Blows it out.
Happy birthday to me, she thinks.
Back when her grandma was alive, she at least got a present.
She gets to school late. Bashful gives her a tardy, and won’t reconsider.
Janie always hated Bashful.
Stupidest. Dwarf. Ever.
Psychology is interesting.
Not.
Mr. Wang is the most incompetent psych teacher in the history of the subject. So far, Janie knows more than he does. She’s pretty sure he’s just teaching until he makes his big break in showbiz. Apparently he likes to dance. Carrie told Janie that Melinda saw him in Lansing at a club, and he was tearing it up.
Funny, that. Because he seems very, very shy. Janie makes a note, and then spills her red POWERade over her notebook. It spatters on her shoe and soaks in.
And then, in chemistry, her beaker explodes.
Sends a shard of glass, like a throwing star, into her gut.
Rips her shirt.
She excuses herself from class to stop the bleeding. The school nurse tells her to be more careful. Janie rolls her eyes.
Back in class, Mr. Durbin asks if she’ll stop by the room after school to discuss what went wrong.
Lunch is barfaritos.
Dopey, Dippy, and Dumbass are all on their toes today. Somebody falls asleep in each of those classes, even PE, because they’re doing classroom studies on health today. Janie finally resorts to throwing paper clips at their heads to wake them up.
By the time she gets to study hall, she feels like crying. Carrie doesn’t remember her birthday, as usual. And then, Janie realizes with that keen, womanly sense of dread that she has her period.
She gets a hall pass and spends most of the hour in the bathroom, just getting away from everybody. She doesn’t have a tampon or a quarter to get one from the machine. So back to the school nurse for the second time that day.
The nurse is not very sympathetic.
Finally, with five minutes left of school, she heads back to the library. Cabel gives her a questioning look. She shakes her head to say everything’s cool.
He glances around. Slides into the seat across from her. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just having a shitty day.”
“Can I see you tonight?”
“I guess.”
“When can you come?”
She thinks. “I dunno. I’ve got some shit to take care of. Like five, maybe?”
“Feel like working out?”
Janie smiles. “Yeah.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
The bell rings. Janie finishes up her English homework, gathers up her backpack and coat, and heads over to Mr. Durbin’s room. She already knows why her beaker exploded, and she doesn’t feel like telling him what happened.
She opens the door. Mr. Durbin’s feet are propped up on the desk. His tie hangs loose around his neck, and the top button of his shirt is undone. His hair is standing up a bit, like he’s run his fingers through it. He’s grading papers on a clipboard in his lap. He looks up. “Hi, Janie. I’ll be just a second here.” He scribbles something.
She stands waiting, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She has cramps. And a headache.
Mr. Durbin scribbles a few more notes, then sets his pen down and looks at Janie. “So. Rough day?”
She grins, despite herself. “How can you tell?”
“Just a hunch,” he says. He looks like he’s trying to decide what to say next, and finally he says, “Why the cake and frosting?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Why did you put back the cake and frosting, out of all the other things you had in your cart?”
“I didn’t have enough cash on me.”
“I understand that. Hate when that happens. But why didn’t you put back the grapes or carrots or something?”
Janie narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Is it your birthday? Don’t lie, because I checked your records.”
Janie shrugs and looks away. “Who needs a cake, anyway,” she says. Her voice is thin, and she fights off the tears.
He regards her thoughtfully. She can’t read his expression. And then he changes the subject. “So. Tell me about your little explosion.”
She cringes.
Sighs.
Points at the chalkboard.
“I’m having some trouble reading the board,” she says.
Mr. Durbin taps his chin. “Well, that’ll do it.” He smiles and slides his chair back. “Have you been to the eye doctor yet?”
She hesitates. “Not yet.” She looks down.
“When’s your appointment?” he asks pointedly. He stands up, gathers a beaker and the components for the formula, and sets them at her lab table. Waves her over.
“I don’t have one yet.”
“Do you need some financial help, Janie?” His voice is kind.
“No . . . ,” she says. “I have some money.” She blushes. She’s not a charity case.
Mr. Durbin looks down at the formula. “Sorry, Janie. I’m just trying to help. You’re a terrific student. I want you to be able to see.”
She is silent.
“Shall we try this experiment again?” He pushes the beaker toward her.
Janie puts on her safety glasses, and lights the burner.
Squints at the instructions and measures carefully.
“That’s one quarter, not one half,” he says, pointing.
“Thanks,” she mutters, concentrating.
She’s not going to fuck this up again.
Mixes it up. Stirs evenly for two minutes.
Lets it come to a boil.
Times it perfectly.
Cuts the heat.
Waits.
It turns a glorious purple.
Smells like cough syrup.
It’s perfect.
Mr. Durbin pats her on the shoulder. “Nicely done, Janie.”
She grins. Takes off her safety glasses.
And his hand is still on her shoulder.
Caressing it now.
Janie’s stomach churns. Oh god, she thinks. She wants to get away.
He’s smiling proudly at her. His hand slides down her back just a little, so lightly she can hardly feel it, and then to the small of her back. She’s uncomfortable.
“Happy birthday, Janie,” he says in a low voice, too close to her ear.
Janie fights back a shudder. Tries to breathe normally. Handle it, Hannagan, she tells herself.
He steps away and begins to help her clean up the lab table.
Janie wants to run. Knows she needs to keep her cool, but instead she escapes at the first reasonable opportunity. It was one thing talking about what might happen, and it was an entir
ely different thing to actually experience it. Janie shudders and forces herself to walk calmly. Get her thoughts together.
She heads outside for the parking lot. And then she remembers she left her goddamned backpack on the goddamned lab table.
Her keys are in that bag.
The office is closed by now.
And she doesn’t have a fucking cell phone. Hi, this is 2006, calling to tell you you’re a loser.
She goes back anyway, feeling like a dork, and meets Mr. Durbin halfway. He’s carrying it. “Thought I might find you on your way back for this,” he says.
Janie thinks fast. Knows what she needs to do. She struggles to get over the creep factor. “Thanks, Mr. Durbin,” she says. “You’re the best.” She gives his arm a quick squeeze, and flashes a coy smile. And then she turns and heads down the hallway, taking long, loose strides. She knows what he’s looking at.
When she rounds the corner, she glances over her shoulder at him. He’s standing there, watching her, arms folded across his chest. She waves and disappears.
And now she doesn’t want to tell Cabel.
He’s going to be upset.
She drives home and looks up Captain’s number. Calls her cell phone.
Tells her about her hunch.
“Good job, Janie. You’re a natural,” she says. “You okay?”
“I think so.”
“Can you keep it going for a while?”
“I—I’m pretty sure I can, yes.”
“I know you can. Now I want you to research. Isn’t there a chemistry fair or something? A high-school statewide competition that Fieldridge sends a team to? Something like that?”
“I don’t know. Yeah, I think so. There must be. There’s one for math, anyway.”
“Check into it. If there is one, and this Durbin goes to it, I want you to sign up. We’ll pay for it, don’t worry about that. I’ve been racking my brain, and I can’t think of any other way you’re going to land in his or some of the other students’ dreams. Can you?”
