One Month Later

Chapter Eleven

My first year of college is officially over, and I am transferring to the Academy of Art because my old school, the Art Institute, is filled with total and complete snobs.

I realize that some people think they're better than others for fairly stupid reasons (think Kelly Prescott and Debbie Mancuso), but to be rude to others because they did something better than you? Well, that's just wrong.

Let me explain. I won the contest my bag was entered into, and it was picked up by Le Sportsac. Not a problem. In fact, it was wonderful. The problem is that some of my classmates were jealous. Apparently, I'm not artsy-fartsy enough for them, and so they just can't believe that my bag won, when their "better" bags could have won. I'm apparently a mere mortal among the gods and goddesses who rein the classroom because neither of my parents are musicians or artists or writers; my dad was a lawyer and my mom is a television news journalist, apparently not "art" material.

Whatever.

Oh, I tried to point out that in the American society, everyone has an equal chance for success, and I even used one of David's sermons about DNA and the usage of Prunnett squares to predict traits in offspring, and even some stuff about recessive and dominant genes, but they just didn't seem to care.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I'd been going on to Gina about this ever since she'd arrived at the airport, holding two of my handbags which, and this is not my fault, so don't start with me, were not cheap. One, she'd said, was for me, the other was for her. As if I wouldn't look too conceited by carrying around one of my own handbags or anything.

She was excited to see me again, along with the beaches and my stepbrothers. And Jesse. She wanted to meet Jesse. No, I got that wrong: she demanded to meet Jesse as soon as we were in my car, on the way to my mom's house. I called Jesse on my cell phone (hey, I finally got one!) and asked him if it would be all right for him to meet Gina (otherwise, he'd be girlfriendless). He said it would be okay, but I could of sworn he sounded funny about it. I tried to think why he would sound funny about meeting Gina. It could have been two reasons:

A) He was still mad at Gina because she called Spike ugly (likely. You just don't make fun of Jesse's baby, no matter how stinky or mean he is. The cat I mean, not Jesse), or
B) He didn't want to share me with anyone else (not likely. He says that he doesn't want me to miss out on valuable time with my family aka: Andy's gourmet dinners just because of him).

Gina squealed when she saw Jesse. Jesse, who was sitting on the couch, where he'd been reading the newspaper, looked taken aback, clearly not expecting Gina, who was nearly six feet tall with this time fiery red hair and a tongue ring, along with a newly added tattoo on her wrist, to squeal with delight when she'd seen him.

"Jesse," I said, "this is Gina Augustin, and Gina, this is Jesse de Silva, my boyfriend."

Gina smiled in a kind of bashful-stupid way. I could tell what she thought about Jesse without even asking her.

"Um, hi. I've heard a lot about you," she said.

"Please, sit down," Jesse said.

I sat down next to Jesse on the couch. Sorry, Gina. He's mine, babe, BACK OFF!

"I don't believe I can return the compliment," Jesse said. He was lying, but he was only doing it to protect our secret. He wants me to tell my family and friends. Right. I'll tell my friends and family that I'm a biological freak who can talk to the dead. And while I'm at it, I'll tell them all about how Jesse used to be dead. Then Jesse won't get to be a medical doctor, he'll just have to be a shrink instead. Only he doesn't see it that way. He says that if they love me, they'll understand. Right. I guess that's one more thing I have to tell him about. People who only believe in what they can see, I mean, because that's how my mom is. If she can't see it, it doesn't exist, with the exception of God. But even in God's case, I think it took a few miracles before she actually believed in Him.

The three of us sat there in a very awkward silence. Really, what was there to talk about? Jesse and Gina had nothing in common (that was obvious), and I had no real way of making them talk to each other. At least Jesse can talk to Adam and CeeCee. He loves them. But, then again, he may not have had much to say to Gina on account of Spike. Spike, who by the way, came waddling into the room to see Jesse. Spike hissed fiercely at Gina.

"Well, the cat's about as friendly as it looks," Gina said. "Suze, wasn't this your cat?"

"Yeah. Jesse wanted him," I said.

Jesse scratched Spike's ear. "I'm afraid he doesn't like girls very much," he said.

"Tell me about it," Gina said. I think she may have remembered what had happened last time she'd made any comments about Spike, the thing with the mirror, I mean.

After Gina and Jesse had a very boring conversation about Spike, Gina and I left Jesse to go home and unpack Gina's stuff.

"Jesse's kind of boring, don't you think?" Gina said as I was putting sheets on the day bed for her.

"No, not really. He just doesn't know you very well, that's all."

"Give up, Suze, you only like him because he's hot," Gina said, giggling.

She was wrong. Boy, was she ever wrong. That may have been true when I'd first met him, but I've known him for two and a half years, and that two and a half years has given me plenty of other reasons to like him.

"That's not true. I love him for a lot of reasons," I said.

"Like what?" she said. This time she was serious.

Oops.

"Well, I don't really want to get into that right now. I was going to tell you and CeeCee and David together. Let's just say it has something to do with my special skills."

The truth was, I just flat-out didn't want to tell her. I'd always felt that the reasons why I loved Jesse should stay between myself and Jesse, and no one else should know about them, but I'd opened my stupid mouth about it, so I had no choice but to tell her. But I could procrastinate about it for as long as possible.

"Okay. But you're not going to get away with not explaining yourself this time, Simon," I'm not leaving California until you give me an explanation."

Just then, David shouted up the stairs that it was time for dinner. It was no surprise to me that Brad and Jake practically fought over who would sit next to Gina. Andy got really mad (well, we were having surf 'n' turf in Gina's honor, and he didn't want anything to get cold) suggested to them that if it was all right with Gina, she could sit between them. Gina consented (she would want to sit between two hot guys. Well, she considered them hot, anyway).

I should have felt sorry for her because she had to sit between those two, but I didn't because I saw her and Jake playing footsie when I accidentally-on-purpose dropped my napkin.

Well, I knew how Gina would be spending her time, and once again, it wouldn't be with me because I was her best friend or anything.