Jerry Spinelli - Jason and Marceline

As the bus went roaring past, three middle fingers popped up in front of three faces grinning out of the back window.

See? I said.

See what? said Marceline.

Theyre laughing at us.

Not to mention giving us the finger.

Thats right. Great way to start off ninth grade. Laughed at and fingered in the first five minutes.

She pulled out her sunglasses, shook open the arms. You could be on that bus. Laughing at me. She slid the shades on.

No, I said, I wouldnt. And you know why? She stared straight ahead. You wanna know why? Her head swiveled slow and looked down on medown more than usual, because the sidewalk sloped toward the street, and she was on the high side. The shades owled at me. She didnt speak. Because, I said, it wouldnt bother you.

Her head swiveled away. Should it?

Yeah, it should, yeah. When people laugh at you, its supposed to bother you. If I was on that bus, Id laugh at me too. Who walks to school when they live far enough away to take the bus? Its crazy. I deserve to be laughed at, and it bothers me, yeah. Im not the one thats unusual. You are.

Guess Im just a freak of nature.

Another bus went by. More laughing faces. I wished she would take the shades off.

Marceline I held my arm out, stopping hertell the truth. If a whole busload of kids came along, and the bus stopped, right hereright hereand everybody on the buseverybodycrowded at the windows and started laughing their asses off and pointing and allat youyou mean to tell me that wouldnt bother you?

She pushed my arm out of the way with her trombone case and moved on. I took this chance to slip around to the high side of her; now my eyes were almost even with hers. I nudged her. Huh? Tell me it wouldnt.

She sighed. Jason, why do you keep trying to make me into something Im not? So Richie Bell will approve of me?

Stop changing the subject.

That is the subject. You trying to change me. You wish I were shorter. You wish I didnt play the trombone. You wish I wouldnt wear sunglasses, especially on the way to school. You wish I would ride the bus. If I have so many faults, what are you doing here with me?

Good question. Since the end of the summer before eighth gradethirteen months agoMarceline McAllister and I have been I dont know something. I mean, were more than just friends. I think. Im sure. On my side, anyway. Like, we talk a lot and ride bikes and do stuff together. She was inside my house (once). I was inside hers (about ten times, mostly in the kitchen; thats where we play Scrabble). I hold doors open for her sometimesjust because I feel like itand sometimes she holds doors open for me. No Christmas presents. But birthday cards. We never kissed. Yet. But I like her better than the two girls I have kissed. So what do you call us? What are we?

Youre crazy, I told her. I never said anything about sunglasses.

She just smirked, the way she does to let me know she knows Im lying. Shes better than my mother at reading my mind.

Why dont you give me some credit, I said. I am here.

You wish you werent.

Thats a lie. How can you say I dont like being with you?

Youd rather be alone with me. It makes you nervous to know other people are watching. Youre terrified I might do something to embarrass you.

I laughed. Terrified?

Then: radio music, horn blaring, shouting.

Yo, Herkimer!

Hey, Herk the Jerk!

Tires squealing, crunching the curb. It was Vesto and his car. Vesto turned sixteen over the summerby far the oldest kid at Avon Oaks J.H.S., maybe at any junior high. His car was a big old Buick, with one door all putty and Rust-Oleum, no hubcaps, and the trunk tied shut with a rope. It was beautiful. And jammed with guysbodies coming out the tailpipe.

A door twanged open. Little Looie Lopezia fell out, like something from an overstuffed locker. He picked himself up and tunneled his way back in. Among the legs and arms and earphones, Richies face came into view, practically upside down. Cmon, Herk. Jump in.

Marceline was half a block up the street and moving.

Nah, tsokay, no room.

Yeah there islook Bodies shifting. Grunts. Curses. Squawks. Therecmon.

If any space was there, I sure couldnt see it. Forget it, man. What do I look like, a maggot?

Hell with im, came Vestos voice. The car shot off, leaving me with a faceful of gas and howls.

Marceline was now not only up the street, she was on the other side. Just as I caught up with her, she recrossed.

Hey, I called over, waddaya doing?

Freeing you.

From what?

Me.

I stepped down from the curb. She wheeled. Dont you dare!

I froze. Huh?

Stay there.

I kind of laughed, stepped back onto the curb. I looked around. I prayed no bus would come along. Whatre you talking about?

She didnt answer. She went on walking.

Marceline, Im supposed to be walking you to school.

Im not a dog. You dont walk me anywhere.

With you. Im supposed to be walking with you.

You are.

This was insane. Wacko. I had to get back over to her, had to

She wheeled again: No!

I backed up onto the curb. Was this happening? Was I dreaming? Was I really walking a girl to school on opposite sides of the street?