was curious. But that’s it so far.”
“Rebecca? Curious? Now there’s a shocker.”
“She said next time she and Ben want to go driving with us.”
“I’m not sure Ben would let us inside his Mercedes. We’d have to take our shoes off first.”
This one time, we went over to Ben’s house and he asked all of us to take off our shoes before we came inside. Justin and I found that hysterical. “Doesn’t he know that our socks are much nastier than our shoes?” Justin asked. It became one of our jokes.
“Don’t say anything to Rebecca,” I make Justin promise. He pretends to be zipping his lips. I relax.
I go and get my lunch, and when I come back, Rebecca and some other friends are at the table, so Justin and I are part of the big conversation instead of having our own. When the bell rings, I ask him if he can do something after school, and he says no, he has to work. He says it like I should have his work schedule memorized. But Target sends the email to him, not me.
I do not point this out. Instead, I remind myself that I am lucky I don’t have to work yet. I remind myself that Justin hates his job. I remind myself that yesterday was all about a choice, but not every day allows us to make our own choices.
The important thing is that when he had a chance, he chose me. And I have to hope that next time, he’ll choose me again.
He texts me when he gets home from work. Two words.
Long day.
I text him back one word.
Yeah.
Patterns. The next day, I think about patterns. Or, really, I think about ups and downs. I am used to ups and downs. Monday, when we were at the beach, was an up. I can see that.
But now – it’s neither an up nor a down. It’s like we’ve disappeared from the chart.
He’s not mad at me. I can feel that. But his love has gone passive.
I don’t understand. And there’s no one to talk to about it. Not Justin. Every time I mention the beach, it’s like it never happened. Not Rebecca. If I told her more, it might sound crazier than it really is. Not my mom. She and I don’t talk about ups or downs, as a way of not having them.
I know what he and I had on Monday is worth fighting for. But I have no one to fight, so I turn on myself instead.
I know I wasn’t imagining things.
But I seem to have been sent back to my imagination now.
Thursday I get to school first and wait for him. I don’t think that much about it. It’s just what I do.
“Jesus, Rhiannon,” he says when he gets out of the car. I step aside as he pulls out his bag and slams the door.
“What?” I ask.
“‘What?’ ” he mimics in a high, girly voice. It’s a voice his bad moods like to use.
“Crappy morning?”
He shakes his head. “Look. Rhiannon. Just let me have two minutes, okay? All I ask is for two minutes each day where nobody wants anything from me. Including you. That’s all.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I protest.
He looks at me, tired, and says, “Of course you do.” He’s right, I know.
He’s right, and that hurts a little.
Space. I want a boyfriend and he wants space.
Since I have plenty of space – empty space – I guess it’s hard for me to understand.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s all right. It’s just – you should see how you look there. Nobody else is just standing in the parking lot. I’m fine with seeing you. But when you stand like that, it’s like you’re waiting to pounce.”
“I get it,” I assure him. “I know.”
We’re at the doors now.
He sighs. “I’ll see you later.”
I guess I’m not going to his locker. I guess that’s okay.
“Sure you don’t want to run away?” I ask. I can feel the beach, the ocean talking through me.
“You have to stop saying that,” he says. “Keep giving me the idea, and one day I just might do it.”
He’s not asking me to come along.
I get my books out of my locker, get ready for the day. My heart isn’t in it, because my heart doesn’t feel like it’s anywhere near me.
I hear a voice say “hey” and don’t realize at first that it’s talking to me. I turn to my left and see this small Asian girl looking at me.
“Hey,” I say back. I have no idea who she is.
“Don’t worry – you don’t know me,” she says. “It’s just – it’s my first day here. I’m checking the school out. And I really like your skirt and your bag. So I thought, you know, I’d say hello. Because, to be honest, I am completely alone right now.”
Join the club, I want to say. But the last thing this girl needs is a view of what’s going through my mind. She already looks overwhelmed.
“I’m Rhiannon,” I tell her, putting my books down and shaking her hand. “Shouldn’t there be someone showing you around? Like, a welcoming committee?”
I feel this is totally Tiffany Chase’s job. She seems to take pride in showing people around. I’ve never understood her.
“I don’t know,” the girl says. She still hasn’t told me her name.
I tell her I’ll be happy to take her to the office. I think she’s supposed to sign in there, anyway.
This does not go over well.
“No!” the girl says, like I’ve just threatened to call the police. “It’s just . . . I’m not here officially. Actually, my parents don’t even know I’m doing this. They just told me we’re moving here, and I . . . I wanted to see it and decide whether I should be freaking out or not.”
Oh, you’re definitely freaking out, I think. But I don’t say that, because it will only freak her out more. Instead, I say, “That makes sense. So you’re cutting school in order to check school out?”
“Exactly.”
“What year are you?”
“A
