Monday (part 2)

M .3

When school ended, Jane was very, very glad to put her clothes back on. She'd managed to avoid being touched, except for fourth period and the beginning of school; for once in her life, she was glad nobody ever seemed to find her physically attractive. Sometimes it was an annoyance, being unable to attract attention, but right now it was all she wanted.

She was also glad her mother was late with the car that day and didn't see her dressing.

Of course, before school's end there were other things to worry about.

At the urging of several of her friends, she had joined the after-school choir; she had always liked singing, and it was a fun place to be, even if Arie wasn't quite the kind of person she would hang out with of her own choice. Arie was a little too... Unpredictable for Jane's tastes. She broke rules often and didn't seem to care, though they were never important ones—minor things, like, Don't talk during such-and-such a time, or Don't check the answers in the back of the book, or things like that. But Jane had been placed—Sorted, Mr. Gunderson joked, referring to the Harry Potter books—in the alto section, which was roughly the equivalent of the Hufflepuff house, in that altos had the boring but necessary job of holding the song together. It was also the best place for women to start because altos tended to have simple melody lines. Now they were knee-deep in music, some of which was boring and others of which were really nice.

Jane had figured it would be a fun, enjoyable experience—which it was. But she hadn't counted on the bizarre separation between Brandon and Meredith. But then, no one had.

The point was, during choir, she at least had the camouflage of Arie or Brandon to hide behind, because despite their renown, there still weren't a lot of people who would talk to them voluntarily. Jane didn't mind; she had experienced much the same over the course of her life.

And it was fun to sing.

When her mother came to pick her up, it was late, and Jane was already beginning to regret having joined choir—there'd barely be time for homework at this rate. Jane had maintained a solid 3.86 GPA over the course of her high school career—4.43, counting Advanced Placement classes, which were sometimes bumped up a number, depending on who you asked—and had no intention of slacking off, especially since they'd all be sending off college applications soon. But high GPAs took work, and work took time, and now she wasn't sure she had enough of it. It was true that, as a Program participant, she was exempt from homework that week, but if she allowed herself to slack off even one week, she knew she'd fall hopelessly behind. So, it was homework for her tonight, and probably nothing else.

Besides, schoolbooks were something she knew she could conquer. Which was more than she could say for some of the other challenges this week.

"Hi, Jane," said her mother as she settled into the car. Megan Myers had given her daughters her body shape—wide hips and slumped shoulders—and Jane had inherited a lot of her face as well. "How was school?" She just hoped Jane wasn't going to show up with her arthritis as well.

"Oh, it was pretty good, Mom," Jane said. "Nothing really happened." Which was the truth, even considering the fact that she'd been naked. True, she'd been shivering and cold all day, but nothing had really happened. Especially considering some of the crazy stuff that sometimes happened to other participants. "How's Lisa?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Myers. "I haven't seen her, actually. She called home and said not to come and pick her up until now. I think she's still on-campus somewhere."

Jane frowned. Lisa wasn't involved in any extra-curricular activities, so there was no reason she should still be here. "Did she say why?"

"No, she just asked to be left on-campus. She said it was for a good reason."

Thoughts and ideas condensed into understanding in Jane's mind. She opened the car door. "Excuse me."

Behind the baseball diamond was where all the couples went to be alone. It was remote, about as far away from the rest of the school as was possible to get, and people were shielded from prying eyes by the wooden wall behind the batting cage. Jane had never been there before: Brandon had never suggested it, she would never have agreed if he had, and there had never been anyone else. There was a 'don't-look don't-tell' policy behind the baseball diamond, by mutual agreement, but people would have known if she was there, and no one would have respected her again. So, she had never been.

Until now.

"Are you two done yet?" she said. Tommy and Lisa jumped and spun to face her. They had been so far under that they didn't even hear her coming.

"Oh! Jane!" said Lisa. "Hi!" She tugged at her shirt and tried to pretend that someone hadn't been attached to her face three seconds ago. "Choir's done, I guess?"

"Hi, Jane," said Tommy. "How are you doing?"

"Mom's here," Jane said to Lisa. "We've gotta go."

"Okay," said Lisa. She turned back to Tommy and touched his face. "Bye. See you tomorrow."

Tommy took her hand and kissed it. Jane turned away.

"So what was all that about," Jane asked as they started the long trek back to the car.

"Nothing," Lisa said. She was almost as tall as Jane, but more slender, and took better care of herself; her bronze hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, her clothes fit better, and her complexion was clearer. "We were kissing."

"Oh, was that all," Jane said acidly.

"Yeah," said Lisa, unconcerned. "That's all."

"Lisa, he just asked you out this morning!" Jane exclaimed. "You haven't even gone on a date yet!"

"... So?" said Lisa.

"So, it was months before I kissed Brandon!" Jane said.

Lisa stared at her. "God, no wonder you broke up with him. What a wimp."

Jane frowned. "No, I mean, I didn't let him kiss me."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "God, no wonder he broke up with you."

"I don't think that's accurate," Jane said uncomfortably.

"I do," Lisa said. "I don't know where you got all these Puritanical values from, Jane, but it's a different world now. You can kiss on the first date. You can fuck on the first date too, if you want, but that's rarer. The point is, it's not the 1800s. You can kiss someone without being betrothed to them."

"I know that," Jane said, feeling uncomfortable.

"You sure don't live it," Lisa said.

"So I don't want to be one of those loose women who sleeps with everyone," Jane retorted. "Is that a crime?"

"No, it's not," Lisa said. "But there's such thing as loosening up, and it's something you might want to do nowadays."

"So this is what my younger sister says," Jane said.

"Yeah," Lisa said, turning calm eyes to her. "It is. Jane, you can keep living in that little corner of your own head if you want, but you'll never get anywhere if you do."

"That's not true," Jane said. "I'll get somewhere. I'm going to college."

"Fine, then," Lisa snorted. "Misinterpret however you want. But I know how many people will cry at your funeral."

"What, am I going to die soon," Jane retorted. "Are you planning to kill me or something to keep Tommy from having to deal with your dorky older sister?"

"It's something I heard Brandon tell you once," Lisa said. "He said life is a giant room. You put your possessions there and you put your friends there. When you die, the things disappear, and the friends are the ones who cry at your funeral."

"Okay, so?"

"So, I'm just saying. I know how many people are going to cry at your funeral."

Jane looked at her younger sister. The implication was ridiculous. She had plenty of friends and family members. They'd all be there, and they'd all be sad. Of course they would. Who wouldn't be when someone died? They'd all come, and then they'd all go, and she'd look down from heaven and feel happy that they'd showed up. Right?

She looked up at the October sun, sinking into the west, but it held no answers. God. This is why I didn't want to go into The Program in the first place.

She was scared that Lisa would tell their mother that Jane had been thrown into The Program again, but she kept quiet. Jane herself said nothing. She had determined that she was going to brazen this out, regardless of what it cost her. If it sent her to the hospital again, well, fine, but let her finish her week first. Let her be done with this infernal Program once and for all.

She glanced out at the trees whizzing by and suddenly didn't recognize the route. "Mom, where are we going?"

"To Katrina Stanton's, remember," said Mom. "Your appointment's at 5:30."

Jane remembered. It had taken them almost two months to find a therapist Jane felt comfortable talking to. Katrina Stanton didn't have a Ph.D., only a Master's and a counselor's license, which was why she wasn't Dr. Stanton, but she had a warm, nurturing presence. Her husband Ned served the school district in much the same capacity; sometimes he sat in on their sessions, letting his quick humor leaven the occasional tension and draw out the client. Their daughter Emma was a freshman at Central High. Jane liked them because she never felt judged—which was difficult to achieve; Jane often felt the lurking presence of others over her shoulder, watching every move and decision she made, even when there was no one there.

Mom had brought a book; Lisa dug out her homework; they made themselves at home in the waiting room outside. Jane went in. She stretched out on the sofa, staring towards the ceiling. She felt strangely stupid every time she did that—who did she think was interviewing her, Sigmund Freud? But it was nice to stretch out, to relax a bit, to look up at the blank, uncharted ceiling and see no eyes, feel no gaze. It was as if she could somehow be alone.

At first it was just the usual formalities. How are you? Okay. How is your family? Good. Same time next week? Yeah.

But, of course, there was a lot to talk about.

"They put me back in The Program," Jane said.

Katrina steepled her fingers in front of her face. "Were you expecting it?"