The Book of David Read online

  “Where’d you learn how to do that?” I asked him.

  “English?” he asked. “I dunno. Just like reading, I guess.” He was smirking as he said it.

  “No, you jackass. Play the guitar and sing like that.”

  He shrugged and opened the door, tossing his bag onto the passenger seat. “Just picked it up.”

  He turned back to face me, and I realized I was standing sort of close to him—like I was going to climb into the Jeep behind him. He was maybe an inch taller than me, and his eyes caught me by surprise. My heart sped up and my knees went soft like they had that day in the hallway looking at the cast list.

  He said my name.

  I didn’t move.

  “Hey, man. You okay?”

  I realized I hadn’t taken a breath. I took one. I nodded. “Yeah . . . I’m . . .”

  Jon smiled. Then he raised his right hand and put it on my neck. His fingers were long and cool against my skin. His thumb cupped the square part of my jaw. “I gotta go.”

  He climbed into the Jeep and closed the door, turning the key and rolling down the window. I could still feel where his hand had rested on my skin, and my brain was a complete flat line.

  What was going on?

  All I knew was that I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to get out of the Jeep and . . .

  And what?

  Stay here? Hang out?

  I gave my head a quick shake as he popped the parking break and put the Jeep in reverse. “Yeah. Cool. But hey—wait.”

  He hit the break. “Yeah?”

  “We have to study. More. We have to study more. So I can . . .” My voice trailed off. Why wouldn’t my brain form complete sentences?

  Jon smiled. “So you can pass the test?”

  I nodded.

  “Yep. Same time tomorrow?”

  I smiled.

  He drove away.

  Wednesday, September 12

  English—Fifth Period

  Tyler is in rare form this morning. While I was grabbing my books out of my locker a few minutes ago, Erin was helping Tyler get his, and when she closed his locker, he lost his balance on the crutches and knocked the books out of her hands. Tyler yelled and slammed his fist into the locker.

  I reached over to help Erin pick up the books and smiled at Tyler. “It’s cool, dude. We got it.”

  “It’s not cool at all,” he huffed. Then he turned around and crutched down the hall toward English like there was a cash prize for being the first one at his desk.

  “Thanks.” Erin was juggling her purse and books, so I grabbed Tyler’s and helped her down the hall.

  “Is he always this charming, or just when it’s this early in the morning?”

  Erin smiled with her mouth, but not with her eyes, which suddenly brimmed with tears. “Dang it. I’m sorry.”

  “Hey—it’s okay.” I pulled her over to the alcove at the stairs by the door to Mrs. Harrison’s room.

  “It’s not okay,” she said, pulling a tissue out of her purse and dabbing under her eyes to keep from smearing her mascara. “Tyler is miserable and he’s making everybody else miserable.”

  “He invited me to that big party on Friday. That’ll be fun, right?”

  “Don’t count on it.” Erin blew her nose. Clearly, she had reached her limit.

  “You know, you don’t have to put up with his crap,” I said. “I’ve been best friends with him longer than anybody, and I know he can be . . .”

  “An asshole?”

  “I was gonna say ‘handful’ but . . . yeah. Let’s just call this what it is.”

  When I said this, Erin started laughing, and then I did, too. Monica and Jon raced around the corner just as Erin and I started into class, and the four of us got jammed up in the doorway. Monica made some crazy car crash noise, and Jon laughed, and right as the bell rang, we all slid into our seats.

  Mrs. Harrison wasn’t in the room yet, and in the general mayhem, Tyler leaned up in his desk and tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Hey, man. You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He was smiling, but I could tell something was up. “How was your date last night?”

  Monica heard this and whipped around in her seat. “I told you, he’s on English test lockdown.”

  Trevor’s eyes widened innocently. “Oh, I know he didn’t have a date with you. I was wondering how his date went with Jon.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We were studying.”

  “Ooooooh,” Tyler said. “A study date. Well, that sounds very romantic.”

  “Jesus. Lay off, would you?”

  At that moment, Mrs. Harrison entered the room and told us to take out our journals. Tyler didn’t say anything back, but that shit-eating grin he had when I turned around and picked up my pen is still boring into my back. I can barely swallow, and my hand is sweating so badly I might drop my pen.

  Just. Keep. Writing.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I just saw Jon turn to look at me and glance back at Tyler.

  No eye contact. Don’t move. Don’t look. Don’t smile. Just. Keep. Writing.

  I can’t afford to get on Tyler’s bad side right now. He can make life a living hell when he’s got a bee up his ass about something.

  Study Hall—Fifth Period

  Jon texted me at lunch to say he was steering clear of the lunchroom and to see if I wanted to join him in the journalism classroom while he posted some articles on the blog. I texted back that I was eating with Monica.

  A few minutes later he wrote:

  Still on for tonight?

  I am so tired of feeling scared and worried about something when I have nothing to hide. Still, my fingers paused for longer over the screen than they should have.

  ?? Of course.

  A couple seconds later Jon replied:

  Cool. Just didn’t know if you were weirded out by Tyler’s comment.

  Dang. He was good. I was totally weirded out by it, but just the idea that Tyler would be able to control me by embarrassing me made me as angry as I’d been in English this morning. I punched at the screen with my thumbs:

  Nope. C U after practice.

  Jon wrote back a single word that made me laugh:

  *REHEARSAL*

  Later . . .

  Jon had to make good on his promise to sing “The One” again tonight for Tracy so she could make a video of it. It was somehow even better the second time around. Tracy dragged my mom into my room for the performance.

  Jon kept his eyes closed as he sang, his voice rich and light—just like last night. Only this time, when he got to the bridge, his eyes opened, and he looked straight in my direction:

  And

  I don’t know what happens now

  But

  I just have to tell you somehow

  You’re the one I’ve always wanted. . . .

  The air got really thick in the room. I couldn’t catch a breath. My heart pounded against my rib cage, trying to escape the prison of my chest.

  Is Jon singing this . . . to me?

  I glanced at my mom, but she was so amazed by Jon singing and playing that she didn’t even notice which direction he was looking. When he finished the song, Mom and Tracy clapped wildly, and Tracy rushed off to post the video online.

  Mom brought us ice cream sandwiches and told Jon she couldn’t wait to see him on stage in The Music Man.

  Eventually we got down to studying. I tried to put the song out of my head. We were both sprawled across my bed, which is queen-sized, but not so big when two guys and books and study guides are strewn all over it. After an hour of reviewing all the guides and rewriting the essay I worked on last night, Jon put down his pen and sat up.

  “You’re ready.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You know this stuff now.”

  “I guess we’ll see on Friday.”

  “Don’t wait until Friday. Take the test tomorrow.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Totally, man. If y
ou wait, you’ll just be freaked out about the game, and your concentration will be blown. Tell Harrison you want to take it tomorrow in study hall. You’ll be fresh.”

  I nodded. “Cool. Okay, I will.”

  Jon was gathering up the study guides. He handed them to me. “Hang on to these. Review them one more time before you hit the sack tonight.”

  “You have to get going?”

  Jon checked his watch. “Not yet,” he said.

  “Good. I want the full story.”

  His eyes narrowed. “About what?”

  “Dude. About Amy. What’s going on with you guys?”

  Jon rolled his eyes and groaned, flopping down next to me on the bed again. “Nothing.” He buried his face in the comforter, but when he looked back up, he had that smirk.

  “C’mon, man! Monica is working really hard to get you laid.”

  “Is she working hard to get you laid?” he asked.

  “Please. Waiting-for-Marriage Monica?”

  “Oh. Oh no.” Jon shook his head in mock sadness.

  “Oh. Oh yes,” I said. “She won’t even let me put my hand down her jeans. Should never have broken up with Maria de Soto.”

  “She your first?” he asked.

  “Second,” I said. “The first was this girl who lived in my old neighborhood.”

  Jon nodded. “So, no sex from Monica. She stingy with the blow jobs, too?”

  I sort of couldn’t believe that he asked me this, and I started laughing. “Dude, she wants to hand those out all the time. It’s her go-to instead of having the real deal.”

  “Well, not a bad consolation prize, right?”

  “Wrong! Oh my God, dude. She tries and everything, but the girl is all teeth.”

  Jon laughed and put both hands over his crotch. “No way! That’s the worst.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I said. “The worst is that when I try to show her how to do it, she gets all huffy and pouts and puts her clothes back on.”

  We lay on the bed, laughing like goons for a few seconds.

  “Man, that sucks,” he said.

  “Just for a minute, and then it bites.”

  We both cracked up again.

  “Okay, seriously, Jon. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Don’t play dumb. Have you gotten any action since you came south?”

  “Please. Mr. Wiggly’s been on bread and water since we packed the U-Haul.”

  I laughed so hard, I got the hiccups for a second. Jon handed me the bottle of water on my nightstand, and finally I recovered.

  “So there was somebody in Chicago.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Don’t kiss and tell.”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  “Likewise. I . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “You what?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I just . . .” He took a deep breath. “I really like hanging out with you, man. Thanks for being my friend.”

  “Phffff. Whatevs. You’re the one doing me a favor. Seriously. You’re gonna help me pass English, keep my scholarship a possibility. Plus you can charm the pants off Monica, my mom, and my freaking sister, and all you have to do is sing. Jesus. You’re magic.”

  Jon blushed and looked down at his hands. “Well, I really like you. You’re my first real friend here.”

  I smiled. “Jesus. I can’t believe neither one of us is getting laid.”

  Jon shrugged. “Seriously. It’s not like we’re ugly. And you’re the freaking quarterback.”

  “We’re gonna change this,” I said. “Whatcha doing Friday after the game?”

  “No plans.”

  “Cool. You and Amy are gonna double with me and Monica to Tyler’s party.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea?” Jon looked worried.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You know. Tyler doesn’t seem to be a big fan of mine.”

  “Screw him,” I said. “He’s just being a dick because of his knee. Besides, he’ll be so wasted on Friday night he won’t know who’s there anyway.”

  Jon nodded slowly. “I guess, if you think it’ll be cool.”

  “Guess? I know it’ll be cool. Trust me. I’m a quarterback. We’re natural-born leaders.”

  The smirk crept back onto his face. “I’d follow you anywhere.”

  Friday, September 14

  English—First Period

  Told Harrison I wanted to take the test yesterday. I think she was surprised, but I told her I was ready, so I sat in the back of her junior class during fifth period when I’m usually in study hall.

  This morning she had it graded and waiting for me when I walked by the lectern on the way to my desk.

  I got a B.

  That’s the best grade I’ve ever gotten in English.

  Ever.

  And the test didn’t even feel hard. I knew that stuff—I actually knew it. I just remembered what Jon and I had talked about and even the essay wasn’t too bad.

  Jon is such a good guy. He’s the kind of friend I didn’t know I wanted. I guess when all you have to compare friendship to is Tyler, you don’t really know what you’re missing.

  Not to get all mushy and weird, but Jon really seems to care for me. And not just me, but he seems to care for people in general. He doesn’t put people down and run around saying crass, stupid shit.

  I’ve never really had a friend like him before.

  Can’t wait to celebrate this with him. I flashed him the test right as I sat down, and he gave me a high five across the aisle.

  Of course, then Tyler made stupid kissing noises in my ear for the first five minutes of class, but who cares? Fuck him. This is a big deal for me. I’m gonna show Jon a good time tonight.

  I don’t give a shit what Tyler thinks.

  Saturday, September 15

  Jon was gone already this morning when I woke up. I can’t believe I didn’t hear him leave. I guess I was drunker than I thought I was last night. My head feels like somebody parked a Land Rover on it.

  The weird part is that I feel sort of . . . I dunno. Disappointed? Is disappointed the right word? The right idea? I mean, that’s what I feel. As soon as I opened my eyes and looked over to the other side of the sectional, I saw that the blanket Jon had used and the shorts of mine he’d borrowed last night were folded up neatly. I knew he was gone then, and I felt totally bummed out.

  Is that normal?

  Jesus. Nothing about this is normal. I rolled off my side of couch onto the floor and just lay there for a minute with my face pressed into the carpet. Then I pushed myself up and was so sore—which was when I remembered that Jon and I had lifted weights last night, drunk as hell. It all came rushing back to me, and I started laughing, which made my head hurt even worse.

  I grabbed the shorts Jon wore last night and the comforter I pulled off my bed for him and went to get some Advil and a bottle of water. Nobody else is awake yet, so I came up to my room and was gonna get back in bed, but I just knew that between my head hurting from the Maker’s last night and this weird sad feeling in my stomach, I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. I honestly don’t know which thing feels worse.

  That’s why I want to write about it, I guess. Seems like I’ve been doing that a lot lately.

  Anyway, before I started writing, I sent Jon a text:

  Dude. U left. U OK?

  Now I’m checking my phone every twenty seconds like a crackhead to see if he’s written back. Nothing yet. Sometimes I think it’s better to just not text people at all. The only thing that’s worse than not getting a text from someone first is sending them a text and then having them not respond. It’s excruciating. Like my headache.

  Screw it. As long as I’m up and waiting on a text message, I might as well write about last night—which was mostly fun, with a few moments of complete bullshit thrown in.

  The fun part started with winning the game. Almost every pass I threw connected. The guys were just on fire yesterday. Tracker could ca
tch anything I tossed him. He was sprinting, leaping, and scrambling to get open. He was a pass magnet. And Watters was like magic. Anytime I couldn’t find Tracker, Mike would just pop up and I’d zip it to him, low and tight. At halftime, I’d already passed for 260 yards, including three touchdowns, and we were up twenty-one to three.

  Coach was actually smiling.

  Coach. Never. Smiles.

  Second half was more of the same. I broke the school record for passing yards in a single game—which I didn’t actually know until I came out of the locker room and Roger Jackson asked me how it felt. I just blinked at him and smiled. He badgered me with questions for his column in the paper as Alicia Stevenson introduced me to the lead recruiter for OU and almost got knocked off her heels by the recruiter from University of Arkansas, this tall bald guy with a goatee who looks like he could be a professional wrestler. He charged right up and stepped into the circle and interrupted Alicia, who was interrupting Roger:

  “Bill Harris. U of A. We can make you a star. I’ve got a full ride with your name on it and a guarantee you’ll start as a sophomore.”

  I had seen this guy before.

  I had heard these words before.

  Bill Harris had made this same offer to Tyler after practice, two weeks before school started. I remember, because I was standing right there when he charged up and introduced himself.

  This time, he was saying these words to me, and right as he said them, I saw Tyler, Erin, Monica, Jon, and Amy standing behind him. They’d all come over to congratulate me. We were headed to the party at Tyler’s. The look on Tyler’s face when Bill Harris said these words told me that our plans would probably change.

  “What the hell?”

  Tyler’s voice was loud, angry, and carried halfway across the field. Bill Harris jumped when he heard it and spun around to see Tyler on his crutches, red-faced and pissed as all hell.

  Bill held up both hands. “Take it easy, son. I’m sorry about your injury, but—”

  “Take it easy? You asshole. You just gave my best friend my scholarship offer. Get the hell out of my face.” Tyler was spitting, he was yelling so hard. Erin put a tentative hand on his arm, but he shook it off.