Angela stayed in her room most of Sunday. She found herself occasionally walking over to her window to look across the street for any sign of Brian but he seemed to be keeping a low profile too. The night before had been weird. That was the only word for it. Following the accident Brian had like practically admitted he was in love with her but last night he seemed different, almost cold. She felt strangely guilty, even ashamed, as though she had betrayed Brian by sleeping with Jordan. Why did she feel as though she needed to gain his approval? They had known one another for as long as she could remember, she thought back to the afternoons when their mothers had been at work and they had played card games at his kitchen table. One day Angela had found Brian hiding a card in his lap that would have allowed him to win the game in one turn. She had shouted at him at the time for allowing her to win when obviously she could have won without his help, but later Angela had begun to look differently upon his actions.
The door of Brian's house opened and he emerged with his mom. Jennifer Krakow was dressed impeccably as usual, her effortless elegance made Brian look even more like some kind of rag doll with his messy hair, his ill-fitting clothing and his oddball walk. They both got into the car.
It's strange; the things that make you feel most lonely.
Angela watched the car disappear away down the street.
The door to her bedroom opened suddenly and Angela pushed herself away from the window so fast she almost fell over. Patty appeared carrying a stack of laundry.
"That red t-shirt of yours has dyed my grey blouse a strange pink colour." Patty began sorting out the laundry on Angela's bed. "Still, perhaps it was a little dull,"
When I actually witness someone making the best of a bad situation, for some reason it kinda makes me wanna cry, like it makes your own thoughts suddenly feel really selfish.
Angela sat down next to the pile of laundry and began helping her mother to sort through it.
"Sorry,"
Patty looked up, "hmm?"
"About your blouse,"
Patty recognised the look in her daughter's face, she knew it was one of those rare occasions when Angela actually felt the need to confide in her. Patty relished these moments, especially now that she had begun to doubt Graham. She had felt so alone.
"Everything okay?"
Patty set aside a couple of t-shirts, which Angela then transferred to her drawers.
"Do you think Jordan is-, I mean do you-,"
Patty waited expectantly but it was clear Angela hadn't actually decided what it was she wanted to ask.
"So it's Jordan then. The reason you've been so quiet recently,"
"It's kind of like Jordan and me-,"
Patty took a deep breath, more than able to guess the rest of the sentence "I see,"
Angela looked up and knew immediately that her efforts to keep her secret from Patty had been totally futile.
Patty folded another set of t-shirts.
What I always hated when I was kid was the way my mom would fold clothes when she was angry with me, like she would do it just a little bit faster than normal as if a tiny bit of the anger slipped out.
"Mom, can you stop a minute?"
Patty sat down next to her daughter on the bed.
"Were you careful?"
"Mom,"
Patty knew it was the wrong thing to ask but she just had to make sure.
"I just-, I guess I just kinda wanted you to know,"
"Well I can't say I'm pleased. I mean maybe you could have waited, you know, a few years. Maybe until you were thirty,"
Angela looked up at her mother's face; Patty seemed to be staring off into space. Angela remembered when she was a child she always thought her mom was the most beautiful woman in the world, she remembered being proud of her when she came to collect her from kindergarten. It brought a tear to her eye to remember that.
Patty felt Angela's breath hitch next to her and she quickly wrapped her arms around her. As Angela sobbed into her shoulder Patty could feel her own tears rolling down her cheeks.
--
Jordan had watched nine episodes of a really crummy soap opera, which, for some reason, had been given a Sunday afternoon marathon. He had meant to turn the channel over eight episodes ago.
His father would be back in the evening and the house was a mess. Since the argument with Angela Jordan had barely ventured out; he hadn't been to school and had taken to eating cereal at every meal, since it was all that was left in the cupboards. He felt his cheek; three day's stubble.
The doorbell rang. For a split second Jordan thought it might be his father returned early but it quickly dawned on him that his dad would have no reason to use the bell.
He opened the door to the last person he would have expected.
"Hey,"
Rayanne tugged at the corners of her long plaid shirt, doing a sort of nervous dance in the doorway.
"So I saw Angela,"
Just the sound of her name seemed to draw all of the energy from his body, or what was left of it after several days of an all-cereal diet and no sleep.
"Yeah?"
"She said you guys had a fight or something,"
"So?"
"Well what's going on Catalano? Because I'm not having my girl crying over you,"
Jordan couldn't help but smile at the irony, "leave me alone Graf,"
He went to close the door but found Rayanne's reactions had not yet been dulled by alcohol and she managed to block the door with her foot just in time. Jordan allowed his head to fall back, taking a deep breath, resigned to the fact that Rayanne wasn't going to leave him alone until she got the answers she wanted. He took a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and place one between his lips only for Rayanne to immediately snatch it.
"Don't-," she threw it to the ground, "I'm trying to talk to you,"
Jordan placed a hand on either side of the doorframe and leant into the open doorway.
"So what have you got to say for yourself?"
Jordan shrugged.
Rayanne shook her head quickly, "well? You gonna explain to me what's going on?"
"I don't know,"
"I'm not leaving without some kinda explanation so spill,"
"Ask Angela,"
"I'm asking you dumbass,"
"I'm not talking to you, it-, it's not right. Not after we-, I'm not discussing Angela with you,"
"Fine; I'll talk, you can just listen. What happened between you two the other night meant something to Angela, she's not like other people, she's not like--me. She's not the kind of girl you can just play with Catalano,"
Jordan took a deep breath, why did no one understand how much he cared about Angela.
Rayanne pointed a finger at him, "I'm not having you mess her around," but Rayanne looked slightly embarrassed at her last comment given her own behaviour toward Angela. She slowly lowered the pointed finger, "I'm trying to make it up to her all right,"
"So am I,"
"Yeah--well," she dithered, "just so you know, I'm watching you Catalano,"
Jordan's jaw tightened at her tone. How dare she judge him? He watched Rayanne retreat back to the waiting car, which he recognised as Tino's, struck by a sense of betrayal and a feeling of loneliness that almost overwhelmed him. He closed the front door to the empty house and set about tidying away some of the mess.
At seven-thirty Jordan heard the key in the lock of the front door. The sound always sent a chill down his spine, it reminded him of the numerous times that his father had come home from work at lunchtime only to find his son bunking off school. Jordan never had quite enough time to clear away all of the signs of his presence from the living room and to flee to the back yard. There would inevitably be a row, insults were hurled, disappointment and guilt piled on by the shovel load.
His father pushed struggled through the door carrying a suitcase as well as his briefcase. Jordan walked over to hold open the door for him.
"Thank you," was the brief reply.
"How was it?" Jordan asked tentatively. He had never asked his father about his business trips before, like in his whole life.
His father looked up in some surprise, "profitable," his gaze steadied for a moment on his son, "thank you,"
Jordan watched as he carried the case up the stairs and listened for the bedroom door to close. He slumped back down into an armchair and imagined sitting with his father talking over his trip; the people he met, the deals he made, the air conditioning in the car – anything.
--
Angela guessed they had been out shopping; when Jennifer and Brian arrived back Brian was carrying several bags. They probably contained several of the shirts Brian always wore, probably in pastel colours; one of them would probably be tucked into his trousers for school tomorrow. She thought about Jordan, how he allowed his shirts to just kinda hang there, as if he didn't care, didn't need to. But Brian's shirt was always in place, tucked away neatly.
Angela looked in the mirror; at her black leggings, her burgundy shorts, her grey t-shirt and at her red plaid shirt that hung loosely over her hips. Slowly she took hold of a small section of the plaid fabric and pushed it into the waistband of the shorts. Gradually, with almost a ceremonial slowness, she tucked in the remaining sections of her shirt. She picked up her brush from the dressing table and brushed out her hair before neatly tucking it behind her ears.
She stared at herself in the mirror. She looked odd; the tucked in fabric caused bulges and the shirt gaped awkwardly as a result of the modifications. But she liked it. The girl looking back at her reminded her a little more of the girl that existed before Rayanne Graf, before Jordan.
The following morning Angela found herself standing once again in front of the mirror. She wore a black skirt and the lavender top Sharon had bought her for her birthday the year before, and her hair was secured behind her ears with hair slides.
--
In high school clothes are your personality, like put on show. So when you change the way you dress people take notice because it's not just about the clothes it's about making a statement of who you are.
Angela pretended to be busy with something in her locker. She had caught sight of Jordan coming down the corridor out of the corner of her eye. But try as she might she couldn't stop herself from looking at him. He too seemed unable to simply pass by; in fact he stared at her, apparently surprised to see her dressed so differently. Angela pulled her top straight and made eye contact with him, attempting an act of defiance. But he looked so pale and sullen that she couldn't bring herself to torture him and so she looked away.
"Chase,"
She wasn't sure how long Brian had been standing behind her, time seemed to switch to slow motion whenever Jordan passed by. She turned.
"What is it Brian? Are you going to update me on the current school opinion of Angela Chase?"
"No. Why are you dressed like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like more how you used to,"
Angela glanced down at herself, "I didn't notice, my mom's kinda let the laundry slide,"
Why do I care so much about his opinion?
"Oh, well, it looks nice I guess," he muttered.
Brian had embarrassed himself; he quickly shuffled away down the corridor, daring a glance backwards.
Angela found it hard to explain the sense of warmth and contentment that spread through her body. Brian's words from the night before had hurt her, the idea of people in school talking about her was hard enough, but it was made worse by the fact that Brian himself now clearly knew something had happened between her and Jordan. It was as if Brian represented some part of her life that she longed to have back.
English was deafening. Angela could feel Jordan's gaze boring into her back; she could feel herself getting warm, her face flushing, images flashed across her mind; his eyes, his lips, his hands on her, she thought she could feel his breath on her neck, or was it wishful thinking? She shifted in her chair and very nearly allowed a small groan to escape her lips as a sharp flash of ecstasy shot through her body.
Brian was answering every question as usual, after Katimski had given up on anyone else actually responding to his Shakespeare challenges.
"As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport," Katimski looked up, once again, expectantly at the class, "what does Gloucester mean here?"
No answer.
"Brian?" Katminski sighed.
Brian inhaled, about to begin.
Angela raised her hand.
"Oh, Angela?"
Brian turned around.
"Justice," she began.
"Go on," Katimski urged.
"He's saying that we have no control over what happens and that sometimes stuff happens that doesn't seem right, like it shouldn't be us to has to put up with it. But it is. And we can't change it,"
Katimski looked around the class for any further response. He nodded, "good Angela. I'd like to here more from you in this class,"
Angela looked down at her desk, both embarrassed and proud of herself. She couldn't help but look up at Brian--just out of curiosity.
The bell rang for end of class and everyone made a dash for the door. As Angela turned to leave she caught sight of Jordan heading for the door, he turned to her and frowned. As Angela passed through the door she heard his voice.
"Why are you doing this?"
She turned, Jordan was leaning against the wall.
"Doing what?"
"Acting all like different?"
"I'm not acting anything,"
Jordan closed his eyes and leant back against the wall.
He looked tired. Angela was reminded of visiting him in the hospital when he had looked so vulnerable and all she had wanted to do was to take him in her arms and tell him how scared she had been by the thought of loosing him. His hand hung loosely at his side. Angela reached out brushed the back of her hand over his. He opened his eyes and turned fully toward her, taking hold of both her hands.
"I don't know Angela, it's like there's expectations, and then there's like reality. You gotta know the difference,"
He let go and walked away. Angela remained frozen to the spot, the warm tingling feeling still ringing in her fingertips.
It was the most profound thing he had ever said. And it would have been beautiful, if it hadn't been so true.