Diary One: Dawn, Sunny, Maggie, Amalia, and Ducky Read online

  “Is he…coming back?” Maggie asks.

  “Who cares?” Sunny says.

  “Sunny, he is a big part of the band,” Dawn remarks.

  “If he’s going to be like that, I’d rather we cancel the rehearsal,” Maggie says.

  “He gets hotheaded,” I explain. “He doesn’t mean to act the way he does.”

  “You don’t have to defend him,” Bruce says.

  “He has no right to talk to Justin like that.” That’s Rico joining in. “Or Ducky.”

  “Not to mention Amalia,” Maggie adds.

  I still have this urge to explain away James’s behavior. But everyone seems mad at him, and I can’t disagree.

  All this time Marina is silent. I can tell she’s angry and upset but doesn’t want to speak up against her brother.

  The rehearsal ends early. Maggie offers me a ride home, which means a chauffeur and a big car, so I say yes.

  As we pull away, Maggie looks very concerned. I tell her what happened – all of it. Maggie is quiet for a second, thinking. Then she asks me what I’m going to do about James.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Call him, I guess. Try to figure him out.”

  Maggie is shaking her head. “Amalia, didn’t you say he almost hit you?”

  “Almost, but I got him angry. And he would never –”

  “Almost is too close. And it doesn’t matter how angry you got him, Amalia. People aren’t licensed to hit other people, for any reason.”

  “So what should I do?”

  Maggie leans forward and takes my hand. “You really want to know what I think?”

  “Yes.”

  “Break up with him. Now. The longer you wait, the sorrier you’ll be.”

  “I can’t break up with him!”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not really going out with him!”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  It’s a good question, Nbook.

  I don’t know the answer.

  Jan 9

  math

  Hallelujah. A sub today. I can sneak you in, Nbook.

  News of the day: James is a mess.

  The first time I see him is by the cafeteria door, before eighth-grade lunch. He’s usually pretty grungy to begin with, but today he’s worse than usual. His hair looks unwashed and he hasn’t shaved.

  I walk past him without saying a word. It’s not that I mean to ignore him. I’m just so afraid and guilty and confused, I don’t know what to say – and besides, I’m hoping he speaks first.

  But he says nothing either. He just stares at me.

  I grab a hot lunch. When I emerge from the lunch line, he’s gone.

  I sit with Cece and Marina. Marina tells me James didn’t come home last night until after midnight. Soon Maggie and Dawn and Sunny are sitting with us. My fortress.

  The count is unanimous. They all think I should break up with James — even Marina. (Add Isabel to the count too. Last night, when I told her what James had done, she freaked.)

  Afterward, as we’re all walking out of the cafeteria, James is at the door again. “Excuse me,” he says softly. “can I speak to you, Amalia?”

  Sunny just continues gabbing, raising her voice as if she hasn’t heard James at all. Everyone is pulling me along, away from him. I can’t stop, even if I want to.

  But he looks so sincere. So apologetic. As if he’s about to cry.

  I smile. “Later,” I say over my shoulder.

  I catch hell from Maggie for saying that.

  But I do want to talk to him. He is human.

  Jan 9

  5:23 P.M.

  They found him!

  Nbook, I am so happy.

  I walk into the house after school today, feeling totally miserable, and the first thing that happens is my sister jumps on me.

  Yes, dignified saint Isabel. She’s laughing and crying, and she says, “Ms. Hardwick just called. Mikey is all right!”

  Well, I let out a scream, which makes Isabel scream even louder.

  “The police found him with his dad in a fast-food place,” Isabel explains. “Boy, is the dad in trouble. Linda had gotten a restraining order on him, which meant he wasn’t legally allowed to go near Linda in the first place. Plus, Linda has legal custody of Mikey. So the police are holding the father in jail, and they returned Mikey to Linda.”

  “Can we visit them now?” I ask.

  Isabel’s face droops. “Tomorrow. Ms. Hardwick says we should give them time to be alone together.”

  I groan and throw my book bag on the living room sofa.

  As I slump inside, I notice the answering machine ticker reads 5.

  I press the playback button. The voice on Message 1 is immediately familiar: “This is for Amalia. When she gets in, could she please call James?”

  Message 2: “Hi, James again. Just thought you might be in.”

  Message 3 was a hang-up.

  Message 4: “Hey, it’s Rico, for Amalia. Listen, rehearsal’s canceled for tonight. I think we should all chill for a week, okay? See you.”

  Message 5: “Hello, it’s James…Anybody there? I know you’re probably home by now…hmm, maybe you went shopping or something…Hello? Amalia?” click.

  Isabel looked disgusted. “Speaking of abusive men.”

  “He’s not a man,” I say. “And he’s not abusive.”

  “Oh? What do you call it when someone raises a hand to you?”

  “Come on, Isabel. You’ve done that to me. Should I call the police on you?”

  “Don’t be blind, sister. Everyone sees the truth but you. Tell me you are going to dump this guy.”

  “Maybe I will. Maybe not. It’s my life, Isabel.”

  “That’s what all of them say at GAEA. And look what ends up happening.”

  My mouth clanks open. “You’re comparing James to Robert, that — that horrible monster? How could you?”

  Isabel just shorts in disgust and walks away.

  And now I’m sitting at the kitchen table. I should go up to Mami and Papi’s room and call James. But right now I’m feeling a little chicken.

  I don’t know what I’ll say to him.

  Everyone else thinks this is so easy. “Hi. You’re a jerk. I never want to see you again.”

  But I can’t do it. At least not like that.

  James is not evil, Nbook. He’s trying.

  He deserves to have a chance.

  So I’ll listen to what he has to say. Then maybe I’ll know what to do.

  Okay, here goes. I will let you know what happens right away.

  Sat 1/10

  9:30 A.M.

  Sorry, Nbook. I lied.

  But I couldn’t help it. I was in no condition to write last night.

  I am scared.

  I feel like I’m living in a nightmare that gets worse and worse the more I try to wake up.

  I keep thinking of all the ifs that could have happened. If rehearsal hadn’t been canceled. If Ms. Hardwick had allowed Isabel and me to visit Linda. If Mami and Papi had been in a bad mood and forced me to stay home.

  If any of those things had occurred, last night would have been just fine.

  Slow down, Amalia.

  Take it from the top.

  Yesterday afternoon, just as I’m heading upstairs to call James, Mami and Papi come home from work.

  It’s Papi and Isabel’s turn to prepare dinner, so I finally run upstairs.

  I tap out James’s phone number. He picks up on the first ring. His voice is soft and almost formal.

  “Hello, Amalia,” he says. “Thanks for calling back.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I was wondering if we could meet. Now that rehearsal has been canceled, I’m free. You?”

  “Uh, sure. Want to come over?”

  “I thought the Firehouse Cafe might be a better idea. I’ll pick you up — I mean, if you want.”

  I check with Mami and Papi. Mami says I need to have dinner with the family. Papi says it’s ok
ay to go out afterward, now that the kidnapper has been caught.

  “After dinner, James,” I reply.

  “Is 7:30 okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I could wait longer.”

  “No. 7:30’s great.”

  We say good-bye. I’m kind of touched. I can tell James is trying hard to be considerate.

  After dinner I dress up. James arrives exactly on time. He is actually wearing beautiful clothes. He’s shaved, and his hair is pulled into a ponytail. I can tell he’s showered, because the hair is still wet. And he makes a point of getting out of the car and opening the passenger door for me.

  I have never seen a guy do that in Palo City.

  We listen to music on the way. We talk. Neither of us mentions what happened Thursday night.

  It is my first time going to the Firehouse Cafe. It really is a converted firehouse, with exposed brick walls and high-backed booths. Lots of privacy.

  We sit in the back and order food. (I order dessert, since I already had dinner.)

  We’re alone now. I’m looking into James’s eyes, but he’s staring into his water glass.

  “You’re being nice to me today,” I say.

  “I’m trying,” James mumbles.

  “Well, I like that. It’s a start.”

  “I —” James’s voice cracks. He clears his throat. “Sometimes I don’t understand why you even want to see me.”

  “Sometimes I don’t either.”

  I mean that to sound lighthearted, but it comes out harsher than I expect.

  But James isn’t offended. In fact, he’s nodding. “I’m a total jerk, Amalia. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve any girlfriend.”

  “Hey, don’t go overboard —”

  “It’s true. If you were to tell me right now, ‘James, this is it. I never want to see you again’ — if you were to throw that glass of water in my face and walk out, I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “I’m not going to do that!”

  Now James looks me in the eye. “You’re not?”

  “Well, not the glass part.”

  “But you want to break up?”

  “I — we haven’t — maybe if we —” I stammer.

  “Tell me, Amalia. Because right now I feel like —” James cuts himself off. He takes a long swig from his water glass.

  “You feel like what?” I ask.

  James swallows hard. He looks off into the distance, his eyes glassy. “I’ve been having a rough time. It’s not only you and me. But the group, school, stuff at home…”

  I’m thinking: Vanish is doing great, James has decent grades in school, and he has never complained about his family before. “Did something happen?” I ask.

  “Not bad bad, like a death or anything. Just…pressure. It’s, like, life things, you know? Anyway, you were the only good thing happening to me. I mean, did I think I would like an eighth-grader more than anyone else I ever met? No way. But look what happened. And now — now I’ve messed that up too.”

  “Look, James, you don’t have to be so hard on yourself. We can talk this out —”

  “Hard on myself — that’s exactly it! See, you know my mind, Amalia. Even though you’re only 13. It’s, like, you could be a senior or something. I need people to understand me. No one does. All the ideas in my head, the creative stuff, the music and all — it’s, like, a different world in there. I can’t even talk to people about it. I can express it only in my guitar playing, you know? But when I met you, I said, ‘Wow. She knows. She can see.’”

  “You never told me you felt that way, James.”

  James leans forward. “I’ve gone out with a lot of girls, Amalia. I know what I need. You’re, like, it. Which is why I can’t lose you, Amalia. It’s like that old song, ‘I can’t live if livin’ is without you.’ That’s what I feel.”

  I don’t know how to take this. For some reason, I can’t help laughing. Not to make fun of him, but because he’s making me nervous. “You couldn’t live without me?”

  Right away I know I’ve reacted the wrong way. James is angry. His eyes have that same look they had on Thursday night. “Why am I spilling out my guts to you? Do you understand this language? Or are you just acting stupid?”

  The urge to laugh is way gone. A block of ice is forming in my stomach, and it’s spreading all over my body. “I do understand the language,” I say. “But I don’t understand you. You just said that I’m the only person who does understand you, and now you say I don’t understand you —”

  “Do you know how many people I show my feelings to? Nobody! And you’re just acting like it means nothing. So I have to deal with my anger with all these people around, hearing me, while you sit here eating a free meal —”

  That does it. I stand up from the table.

  “I do not have to be treated like this, James. I’ve listened enough to how you feel. You want to know how I feel? I’ll tell you. You care about one thing — yourself. You don’t have the slightest idea who I am.”

  “But I’m sure you’re going to let me know,” James says sarcastically.

  “No,” I reply. “Because I don’t ever want to see you again. There. Do you understand that language?”

  People in the cafe are staring at us now. James is rising. His fists are clenched, but I don’t care.

  I turn and walk away.

  James grabs my arm. “Wait. Your house is too far away. You can’t walk there.”

  “Oh no? Watch me.”

  “Don’t. Please don’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” James is pulling me back with both arms now. His voice sounds tender and bruised.

  My body plops down in the seat. But my mind is heading out the door.

  James’s face is beet red. His lips are quivering. “I did it again. I blew it again — I am such a stupid idiot!”

  I say nothing. I feel nothing. He can yell at himself, he can apologize, it doesn’t matter.

  “Okay,” James says softly, trying to compose himself, “I will say it plainly. I need you. If I can’t have you, Amalia, say good-bye to me forever. I will die.”

  1/10

  2:12 P.M.

  Sorry, Nbook. I had to take a break. This is hard for me to write about.

  When James says that thing about dying, I start feeling sick. I tell him I need to go home.

  He pays the check and drives me back. This is our car ride:

  James is trying to make conversation about music and school and our friends. As if nothing weird has happened.

  Me? I am in shock. I am convinced he is a total maniac.

  But he drives me home safely. Maybe he makes a move to kiss me good-bye, but I wouldn’t know. I’m out that passenger door the moment the car stops.

  Mami and Papi are watching TV when I walk in. Isabel’s out with Simon. I say hello, go straight to my room, and crash.

  Now, I wish I could say that’s that and James is out of my life.

  But later that night the phone rings, and I hear Mami saying, “Hello, James.”

  When she comes up to my room, I pretend I’m fast asleep.

  And this morning, I wake up to find a message from him on the answering machine and then four hang-ups.

  Over breakfast I tell Mami, Papi, and Isabel that James and I have broken up. I keep the details to a minimum, but I make it clear that I don’t want to talk to him.

  Today James has called 3 more times. Luckily, I’ve been out of the house.

  I don’t know what is going to happen.

  I can’t let him think that I still want to go out with him. But how can I break up after what he told me?

  What if he’s serious?

  Okay. I have to calm down. I have to stop thinking about this.

  1/10

  5:30 P.M.

  I can’t.

  I can’t let it go.

  Isabel asks me to run some errands, and I figure that’ll keep my mind off James. So what do I talk about in the car? James.

  I tell her everything. And sh
e says two things that blow me away.

  First she says that James has an inferiority complex.

  Yes, inferiority.

  He feels inferior inside, so he needs someone on the outside to tell him how talented and wonderful he is. To him, I’m like a young, worshipping little doll. So when I show a mind of my own, he can’t take it.

  Which makes sense, when you think about it. But then comes the worst part.

  Isabel says that I do the same thing, in a way. I make James into something he isn’t.

  “No way, Isabel. I see him exactly the way he is.”

  “Now you do. You didn’t at first.”

  I tell her she’s crazy. But inside I know she’s not. When I first met James, what was I seeing? Not him, really. To me, he was somebody. I was feeling so insecure, this brand new helpless eighth-grader. But when I walked down the hall with him at Vista, I was somebody too. He was cool. So was I.

  All these thoughts are swirling through my head as Isabel and I pull up to the front of the house.

  James’s car is parked in front.

  And he’s inside it.

  “Uh-oh,” Isabel mutters.

  “Ignore him,” I say.

  We park in the garage. As we get out of the car, James is walking toward us. He’s holding a bouquet of flowers.

  He says hi. I say hi.

  “Can I talk to you a minute?” he asks.

  “Get lost,” Isabel says.

  She pulls me into the house before I can take the flowers. James stands there, watching.

  A few minutes later I’m up in my bedroom. I peek out the window and he’s still there.

  I duck under the windowsill. I want to tell Isabel, but I feel frozen. Maybe he’s seen me. If I stand up, he’ll know for sure.

  I must be down there, huddled on my bed, for ten minutes. When I finally have the courage to look back out the window, he’s gone.

  I’ve been up here ever since

  The phone just rang.

  I know it’s him. He won’t stop.

  What is happening to me?

  Sun 1/11

  7:10 A.M.

  Well, looks like you survived the night just fine, Nbook. Wish I could say the same about myself.