Read Online Two or Three Things I Forgot to Tell You by Joyce Carol Oates - Free Book Online Page A

of her.)
    (Merissa had never learned if Tink had asked her other friends for a favor, too.)
    Hannah and Chloe approached Merissa at school, with hurt, accusing eyes. “Merissa, what’s wrong? Why are you avoiding us?”
    Merissa smiled her bright, indifferent smile.
    â€œI’ve been busy.”
    â€œIs something wrong?”
    â€œ Is something wrong? With who?” Merissa’s eyes were evasive.
    Merissa wore a long-sleeved jersey, not unlike a Tink jersey. Floppy sleeves over her wrists to hide whatever little scabs and scars circled her wrists like barbed wire.
    (Did Hannah see? Was Chloe suspicious?)
    But it seemed they wanted to talk to Merissa about their friend Nadia. For it seemed that people were saying things about Nadia that couldn’t be true—a rash of texts and posts calling Nadia S. a slut .
    â€œA slut? Nadia? ”
    Merissa was shocked. Then Merissa was disgusted.
    â€œWho would call Nadia a slut ? That’s crazy.”
    â€œSome guys.”
    â€œWho?”
    Hannah and Chloe named several senior boys. Merissa was grateful that Shaun Ryan hadn’t been named, though she was determined not to care.
    â€œWhy would they call Nadia a slut ? They don’t even know her.”
    Hannah said hesitantly that maybe Nadia had gone out once with one of these boys—Colin Brunner.
    â€œBrunner! Oh, I hate him. He’s crude .”
    Colin Brunner was a big, swaggering boy who played varsity football and basketball—the kind of Stereotype Jock you are always surprised actually exists outside TV sitcoms and movies like Animal House II .
    â€œHow’d Nadia get mixed up with that jackass? When was this?”
    Evidently, the previous weekend. Nadia hadn’t said a word to them but . . . people were talking.
    â€œThat isn’t like Nadia. Nadia wouldn’t.”
    Merissa spoke vehemently. She felt a wave of indignation, thinking, Anyone who insults my girlfriend insults me.
    But the feeling didn’t last. She was just too tired. The (secret) little cuts and scratches inside her clothes were hurting her.
    Â 
    I don’t want to hear it. I can’t help anyone. Couldn’t help Tink and can’t help myself.
    Â 
    â€œMerissa?”
    Reluctantly Merissa lingered to speak with Mr. Kessler after class.
    She could see the concern in the teacher’s eyes. She felt a stab of resentment and chagrin.
    â€œIs something wrong, Merissa? You’ve seemed distracted in class lately.”
    Merissa felt blood rush into her face. She felt a wild impulse to run out of the room.
    She hated it that other students would notice—were noticing. How Mr. Kessler was asking Merissa Carmichael to speak with him after class as he sometimes asked students who’d performed poorly or in some way required help—or discipline—while others left blithely, without a backward glance.
    Mr. Kessler was tactful, and considerate—speaking quietly so that no one else could hear. She knew that Virgil Nagy, who was always glancing at her, smiling at her, and trying to get her attention, was alert to their teacher’s interest in Merissa this afternoon, and was slow to leave the classroom.
    â€œThe work you’ve been doing lately—the past two weeks or so—just isn’t up to your usual high standards, Merissa. Not to mention last Friday’s test. Are you aware of this?”
    Merissa shrugged. It was very hard to meet Mr. Kessler’s gaze. “I—I guess so.”
    What an inane remark! Merissa felt her lips twitch, the impulse to smile was so strong.
    Mr. Kessler said he’d been checking with Merissa’s other teachers—Mrs. Conway, Mr. Doerr, Mr. Trocchi—and they’d all reported that Merissa had seemed distracted in class lately; and Mr. Trocchi had said how surprised he’d been that Merissa had dropped out of the senior play after the first week of rehearsals.
    â€œPlease tell me—or