Meg & Linus Read online

  “Do you think you need to be placed in an easier class?” Ms. Gilbert asks patiently. “Because it’s not too late for that.”

  “Oh,” he says. “I don’t know about that. It’s more like—do you maybe—could you by any chance point me in the direction of someone who can tell me what was covered last semester, and I’m sure I can catch up on anything I missed—or, I don’t know—”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged if you just stop by toward the end of the day,” Ms. Gilbert assures him. “I’ll have a list of topics for you, and I have a few names of students you could ask for tutoring. If that helps.”

  “Yes! Thank you so much,” Danny says (politely, he’s polite; I file that away as one more thing that simply makes him perfect for Linus) and I put the rest of my things away and slowly walk from the room while waiting for them to finish their conversation and for him to gather his own things and follow after me.

  Now I really have an idea, and it’s a brilliant one, if I do say so myself.

  I wait outside the door pretending to be going through my bag until he walks right past me, and I quickly skip after him before he can get away, shout out just a little too loudly, “Danny!”

  He jumps a little, turns, stares at me wide-eyed. “Huh?” he says eloquently.

  I clear my throat, lower my voice to a slightly saner volume. “Sorry, sorry, I—um. Hi. I’m Meg.”

  “Danny,” he answers dumbly, then winces. “Obviously you know that already.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” I say quickly. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop just now,” I lie. “I just couldn’t help but overhear. You’re looking for a math tutor?”

  He nods, looking a little embarrassed. “Yeah, uh. It’s just—”

  “Oh no, I get it,” I assure him. “You’re new, right?”

  “Second day.” He sighs. “My other classes were okay, but apparently my last school was kind of behind in math.”

  “You want to catch up?”

  He nods again. “If I can find anyone to help me out.”

  “Well, you’re in luck.” I smile at him.

  “Are you a tutor?”

  “Oh.” I shake my head. “No. I mean, usually yes, but right now I have so many other commitments—anyway, my friend Linus is a fantastic tutor and I happen to know that he is still available, and you should totally ask him!”

  Danny looks a bit suspicious, which I guess is understandable after being stopped in the middle of a hallway at a new school by a strange girl who yells out your name as if you’re old friends. “Thanks,” he says. “But Ms. Gilbert said she’d give me some names; maybe I should wait for—”

  I wave a hand at him impatiently. “His name will be on that list, I can guarantee it. But you should ask him as soon as possible before someone else does. Everyone knows he’s a great tutor. He really is the best; if you’re serious about catching up, you’re definitely going to want his help!”

  Danny hesitates and I’m afraid I may have overdone it a little, but then he smiles and shrugs. “Okay. That sounds like it’s worth a shot. Thank you. Who is your friend?”

  I quickly show him a picture of Linus on my phone and explain the way to his locker, and Danny nods along and definitely looks interested.

  “You can find him at his locker after last period,” I say. “He’ll be there. Or I’ll tell him to find you. Whoever runs into the other first, then.” I grin.

  Danny looks a little red in the face, but he’s probably still just embarrassed about needing a tutor. I have to try to get Linus to approach him first, I decide. Just to make sure this will work.

  “Thank you,” he says. “I really appreciate your help!”

  “Not a problem,” I promise. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

  He looks grateful, and I guess being new at a place as big as this must be kind of scary. I make a mental note to keep my eyes out for him from now on regardless of whether he talks to Linus. I’m sure he could use some friends. And also, the more I talk to him, the better the chances of him and Linus connecting. I offer a parting smile before walking away. Now I just have to find Linus to convince him of the brilliance of my plan. In a way that won’t make him realize it is something that I planned.

  * * *

  Sometimes, all you need is just a little bit of luck.

  Luck, and really good ears, and a kind of psychic best-friend radar that allows you to locate your best friend even if he is currently busy hiding out under the stairs behind the cafeteria, waiting for the merry band of people in sports jerseys to pass so that he can make his way to English.

  Those Sports Jerseys are a bunch of assholes who kind of take offense to the fact that Linus is good at math and does his homework, as well as to the fact that he’s gay, as if that has anything to do with them. Funnily enough, they also insist on criticizing him for not looking like the athletic type—which is, frankly, just a bit mind-boggling. That especially was something that used to really set off Sophia whenever she heard it.

  It is usually not the smartest thing in the world to engage these jerks by talking back to them, but I will never forget the day Sophia walked up to them, hands on her hips and that disdainful look on her face she used to get when people were just being irrationally stupid in her presence, and told them, “For a bunch of straight guys who think it’s so weird for men to check out other men, you sure spend a lot of time staring at his ass, don’t you think?”

  When we got out into the parking lot after school that day, we found that they had egged her car, but it was still totally worth it for the looks on their faces. And Linus and I helped her clean it later and then went out for pizza, so it was a pretty good day, all things considered.

  But now I am thinking about Sophia again, which I don’t really want to be doing. Still, maybe details like this will help explain why I don’t want to dwell on any of this—life is different enough without her, without me constantly reminding myself of just how different it really is.

  I thread my way through the Sports Jerseys, who are still hanging out outside the cafeteria—for all I know, they have forgotten their way to their next class and are just waiting around until one of them remembers how to use language and ask for directions.

  For some reason they’ve never been as mean to me as they have been to Linus. It’s not like they’re nice to me—they’ve said some pretty horrific stuff, and more than once one of them has offered to do things that would supposedly turn me straight, according to their promises.

  And, for the record, it’s not just the boys. It’s a lot of girls, too. Like Lizzie Harris in math class last year, sitting behind me with her friends before the teacher arrived and declaring loudly, “Well, you know, some people just have to turn lesbian when they realize no guy in his right mind would ever look at them twice.”

  I try not to react to this kind of comment, but it hurts.

  At least that kind of insult is better than some guy walking up to you when all you’re doing is talking to your girlfriend and suddenly you’re being told that “Okay, so that black chick is hot, but you know she’s not actually a dude, right? But I have some friends who would totally volunteer to show you what you’re missing out on,” punctuated with a wink, a laugh, and a shoulder-bump.

  It just boggles the mind the more you think about it.

  Because (1) I am perfectly happy not being straight, and (2) yeah, sure, if I wanted to magically discover the greatness of being straight I’d do it by making out with one of those idiots; I’m sure that would totally show me the light.

  I will just never understand how some people honestly believe that making another person feel severely uncomfortable is the best way to win them over. I guess it starts by telling little girls that boys only pull their pigtails because they like them.

  I tend to turn and walk away when they start, and they never follow me. I know not everyone is that lucky. (What a weird word to use in this context; I’m lucky that I’m only getting harassed a little. Yay!) Sophia
used to snark back at them. I usually used to find Sophia and tell her about what happened and most of the time that helped me feel better. This year so far they have left me alone, but I’m not counting on the peace to last. At least I’ve built up a certain tolerance to it, and it’s only ever been verbal harassment for me, plus those few times they’ve stolen my things and tossed them into Dumpsters or flushed them down the toilet. And it really is all kinds of messed up that I can count myself lucky it’s not been worse than this.

  Anyway. Sorry for the weird tangent, it’s just those Sports Jerseys. They make me uncomfortable.

  Linus is pretending to be reading something on his phone but looks up when I approach him.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  I grin at him. “Danny Singh—you know, the new kid? He’s looking for a math tutor!”

  He blinks at me. “… Okay?”

  “And you’re really good at math.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “So…?”

  “So, what?”

  I heave a sigh and roll my eyes to the ceiling. Which is really dirty, ew. Public schools, man. “Linus, you’re one of the smartest people I know—how are you not connecting the dots here?”

  He is still looking at me like I have suddenly grown a second head. “Meg, I get it, I do, but even you can see how this is a really bad idea, can’t you?”

  That just makes me frown. “No, I don’t,” I admit. “Why is it a bad idea?”

  “… Because.”

  “Have I ever told you I really admire your eloquence? You should be the president’s speechwriter.”

  “Ha-ha. Very funny.”

  “Look.” I take his arm as the Sports Jerseys finally dissolve their misshapen human circle and wander off, and I start steering him in the direction of his English classroom down the hall. “He needs someone to help him with math. You are good at both math and explaining things. And then there’s the added bonus that you’d get to spend time with him. How can you not think this is a good idea?”

  He groans. “Because that means I will have to talk to him!”

  I nod. “That would not only be unavoidable but also a rather beneficial side effect of this arrangement. Yes.”

  “What if I completely embarrass myself?”

  “Like, how?”

  He shrugs. “Failing to utter a single word, sweating profusely, and then passing out. Or what if I suddenly forget how English works and start speaking only in Klingon?”

  It’s my turn to blink at him, feeling just a little hurt. “Did you learn Klingon over the summer without telling me?”

  He laughs, pats my hand. “I wouldn’t do that to you. It was just an example.”

  “A bad one, in that case.” I shake my head at him, bump our shoulders together in a gesture I hope is encouraging. “I promise you that it won’t be as bad as you think it will be. Okay?”

  “What if he asks me for help, and I tutor him and just end up embarrassing myself? Or if he decides he doesn’t want me to tutor him after all?”

  I tilt my head at him. “I’m pretty sure that won’t happen. He’s new here, right? He doesn’t know anyone.”

  “Just indulge me here. It might be a disaster, you know?”

  “Okay.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, take a long breath. “So … on the off chance that something goes wrong, which it won’t—you’ll come straight to me and I’ll buy you a whole chocolate cake and we’ll come up with a new game plan.”

  “It will be embarrassing.”

  “Or it might lead to something really amazing,” I point out. “You won’t know until you try!”

  “You sound like a badly written greeting card with one of those kittens on the front that give you a thumbs-up or whatever,” he says.

  But I know that I at least got him thinking about it.

  Chapter 14

  Linus

  I AM NOT USUALLY SOMEONE who worries excessively. Or at least I don’t think I am. Most of the time I’m pretty happy, actually.

  There is some bad stuff sometimes, but I think everyone has things like that occasionally. Like that time I was twelve and thought my parents would be getting a divorce. The parents of a kid in my neighborhood had just gotten divorced a year before and suddenly Mom and Dad were fighting all the time. For all of one week. As it turns out, even people who are married sometimes get pretty mad at each other, especially when one of them forgets to lock the car and it gets stolen. (Dad still feels bad about that, even if Mom forgave him years ago.)

  Then there was that afternoon last year when I borrowed Meg’s car and it broke down by the side of the road and while I was waiting for help, I imagined all the ways I could have broken it and how mad Meg was going to be at me and I started speculating how much it would cost to have it fixed up and how many tutoring sessions I was going to have to give to pay for it. I was so relieved I nearly cried when Meg was not mad and it turned out that it was only a faulty fuel gauge and I had merely run out of gas. (And actually the afternoon got pretty awesome later because Meg and I watched the Firefly episode “Out of Gas” and ate cookies, and don’t most things usually eventually work out okay?)

  Of course I worried when my grandma was in the hospital for days and they couldn’t find out what was wrong with her. And of course I worried when Mom lost her job and couldn’t find a new one for a few months. But who wouldn’t worry about these things?

  My point is, I may seem like a worrier to you at first glance because I’m awkward and I do a lot of things that involve a lot of thinking. Many people get thinking and worrying all mixed up; they are not the same thing and they don’t always have a lot to do with each other. But I really am not a worrier.

  I’m also not traditionally shy, despite the fact that so many people think I should be, because I’m good with numbers and I’m a little short and I’m a little chubby. I’m not usually shy, but I’m awkward and I’m really bad at small talk.

  Maybe “selectively shy” is a good way to describe my approach to social situations. Like, I have no problem walking up to most people and starting a conversation. I get along with the school librarians, I always have a chat with the checkout people at the grocery store, and I’m on a first-name basis with most of the bus drivers from all the times I couldn’t get a ride home with anyone and didn’t feel much like walking.

  The only problem is that I have absolutely no idea what to say when I meet people I really want to have a conversation with. I have a tendency to panic.

  Like that time I was out looking at colleges with my dad and we ran into Alan Tudyk. In a sandwich shop. To this day I have no idea what he was doing there. Well, he was probably buying a sandwich. And I didn’t even recognize him at first, because who expects that to happen? But then my dad was like, “Hey, isn’t that the dude from that show you forced me to watch?” And, well, yeah, it was him.

  I mean, I wouldn’t have gone up to him even if my legs hadn’t decided to go all weird and wobbly all of a sudden. Because, seriously, let the guy buy a sandwich in peace. But my point is that a normal person could have made the conscious decision to leave him alone instead of turning really pale and then blushing tomato red and then being unable to utter more than one-syllable words for the next fifteen minutes.

  So, talking to Danny? Agreeing to tutor him? It could be a massive disaster of previously undiscovered proportions. There is absolutely no telling what might happen if I attempt this.

  And yet, the thought doesn’t leave me alone all through bio class—it is almost too good to be true. And it’s not like I expect anything, I don’t really want anything from him, I just … oh god no, I couldn’t do it. It’s too weird.

  I just hope that Meg isn’t going to be disappointed. I’m still feeling a little bit guilty about talking to Sophia behind her back. I should really tell her about it as soon as possible before it gets too weird. Because if I wait too long, it will just look like I didn’t want to tell her.

  I always find that not letting th
ings pile up all around you until they overwhelm you is the best secret to avoid excessive worrying.

  Not letting things pile up, however, doesn’t do a whole lot to calm your nerves when you’re standing by your locker after last period to put some things away, and someone clears his throat next to you, and when you look up it’s the guy you’ve been thinking about all day.

  It’s Danny. Standing right there next to me. He waves one hand in an awkward wave and looks a little embarrassed.

  “Hi,” he says.

  I stare at him, can’t even remember how to blink, opening and closing my mouth dumbly. How do words work again?

  “Uhh,” I manage after a long moment of silence.

  “Linus, right?” Danny asks, flickers a little smile at me, and I forcefully pull myself out of my shocked stupor.

  “Linus,” I repeat. “Me. I mean. That’s me. I’m Linus.” I wince, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

  “I’m Danny,” he tells me.

  “I know,” I reply immediately, and resist the urge to bury my face in my hands.

  He looks surprised, but not in a bad way, and I’d probably take that as a good sign if I weren’t having so much trouble breathing properly. My palms are tingling.

  “You do?” he asks.

  “Well…” I panic a little, because how do I make this sound as noncreepy as possible? “From the coffee shop,” I make myself explain. “Um. I mean, I was there a lot, and … and you were there a lot, too.… Because you work there, of course. And you wore a name tag. But you know that. I’m—sorry.” I snap my mouth shut, and I can feel my face burning from my ears all the way down to my neck.

  “Yeah, I remember you,” he says, and I can’t quite read the tone in his voice.

  “Cool,” I say lamely.

  He takes a breath. “I’m sorry to just—um.” He bites his lip, his right hand fiddling with the hem of his left sleeve. “I don’t mean to be weird, but I heard that you’re kind of good at math and that you tutor occasionally? Because—uh. I’m new here and I was just—looking. Um. For a tutor. If you do that kind of thing.”