Forever for a Year (9 page)

About halfway through study hall, the teacher said, “Shouldn't you be getting some work done?” Right! To! Me! I was mortified. Oh my gosh. Mortified. I mean, Peggy was flirting with a boy, I wasn't saying anything, and I get in trouble? Oh my gosh. Everything was ruined.

So I pretended to do work, but I couldn't concentrate, so it wasn't real work. It was just me writing a long letter to Peggy that I knew I would never give her even before I finished.

After study hall, we met Katherine by her car in the parking lot. She would be driving us home on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Which was great. I mean, it was better than the bus, but even better than that would have been if I could have gone home with Kendra and her mom.

Anyway, the first thing Katherine said as she walked toward us at the car was, “So I talked to the new boy—”

I KNOW YOU DID, I screamed from behind my teeth, but I was silent. Obviously. I would never yell at Katherine, unless I wanted my face broken.

“Turns out he likes Peggy,” she said, just like that. Like it was nothing. Like those words could have been anything. Like those words didn't just destroy ALL MY DREAMS AND HAPPINESS AND EVERYTHING.

“He does?” Peggy said, confused, but also smiling. It was a super-small smile. Most people wouldn't have noticed. But I was her best friend so I could see it. I could see her smiling because the first boy I had ever really liked … liked her instead.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. It didn't matter that I told myself a gazillion times not to cry. I did.

“Carrie, goddamn,” Katherine started, rolling her eyes, “you can't cry over boys. Seriously. There's a million of them.”

“Yeah, Carrie, there's a million of them,” Peggy said. I nodded and tried to stop, but all I could think was that Trevor Santos, this boy who was supposed to be different from all the boys in junior high, was the same as them. No, it was worse. Because in junior high the boys didn't like Peggy either. So at least we were geeks together. But now I would be a geek alone.

I got in the back seat of Katherine's car, buried my head against the window, and ignored them. They probably didn't even try talking to me. They probably forgot I even existed by the time we pulled out of the parking lot.

*   *   *

When I got home, my mom was already in her bedroom watching television. There was a note on the fridge that said there was leftover pizza from her lunch but that she was tired and would probably fall asleep soon. It wasn't even four o'clock. I mean, she worked a five a.m. morning shift, but still, my mom never went to sleep this early.

I called Kendra, just to hear someone's voice, but I didn't tell her about Trevor liking Peggy, or about anything I was really feeling. When I thought I would cry again—for no reason!—I got off the phone. Then I just started bawling. I was such a mess. It was only the second day of my entire high school career, and nothing, nothing, nothing was what I wanted it to be.

*   *   *

On Wednesday morning before Katherine and Peggy picked me up—which I was looking forward to not at all!—and after my mom had left for work, my dad stopped by with donuts even though I've told him one thousand times that donuts are terrible for me. But I ate two in, like, two seconds anyway.

“What's wrong?” he asked, which I hated, because I hated him and hated him more because he knew something was wrong just by the way I ate donuts.

“Nothing, Dad,” I said.

“You called me ‘Dad,' so now I know something's wrong.” He did his big-smile thing, and it sort of worked even though I didn't want it to.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“I know you think I'm a terrible person…”

It made me so sad to think I thought my dad was a terrible person. And for him to know it. But it was true. So how could I stop thinking it just because it was sad?

“… but you are, without question, one of the best people. And the best people care a lot about a lot of people, and when you care a lot about a lot of people, you get hurt more.”

“Then maybe I shouldn't care so much!” I said, and because I'm a crying machine the tears started falling.

“No, Carolina, no,” he said, calling me by the right name even though he just found out about it Monday. “I know you are hurt and you feel vulnerable, but caring as much as you do will eventually give you strength—real, lasting strength. Not the fake strength that being mean gives others.”

“Oh, Dad,” I said, and then leaned toward him to let him know it was okay for him to hug me. And he did. And it felt so good, like when I was a kid, but even better because I thought I would never let him hug me again and yet here we were. My dad was so smart and wise and amazing and then I remembered he was also horrible and then I didn't know what to think anymore so I just let him hug me until I felt calm. Really calm. Calmer than I had since, I don't know, maybe ever.

“Do you want me to drive you to school?” he asked while still hugging me, which was the perfect thing he could have said, and I nodded without really moving my head. When I texted Peggy to say I didn't need a ride, I felt good, like I didn't need her. I don't know. I don't want to not need her but I don't want to need her either. Everything's complicated now.

As my dad dropped me off in front of school, he said a really weird thing, but he liked to say weird things so I guess it wasn't weird for him. He said, “In high school, everyone is figuring out who they're supposed to be. You just be who you want to be instead of who you're supposed to be and you'll know something no one else knows.”

“Okay, Scott,” I said. I don't even know why I didn't say “Dad” after he had been so nice, but sometimes when my dad tried to say smart things it made me frustrated because I wish he would just act smart (mainly with my mom) instead. I did give him a quick hug—really quick—before jumping out of the car and heading into school.

*   *   *

So. Okay. I made a decision as I walked to biology. A couple of decisions actually.

One: I really wasn't going to think about Trevor, or any boys, at all. Maybe after I got accepted to Stanford when I was a senior I would think about them again. But not until then. Now that I knew Trevor didn't like me, it wasn't as fun to think about him anyway.

Two: I was going to talk to Kendra more. Peggy was still my best friend, but, you know, I thought it would be a good idea if I talked to Kendra lots too.

Three: I wasn't going to listen to anything Katherine said about anything. I would pretend to listen because she would go psycho on me if she knew I was ignoring her, but I wouldn't really listen.

*   *   *

You know what? I did a really amazing job at doing all three things on Wednesday. And Thursday. And Friday. Like, really, by lunch on Friday, I couldn't even remember why I would have even wanted to like Trevor. I mean, he was cute and all, but he was just, I don't know, a boy. What could be so special about him? There were a million boys, right? (Yes, Katherine said this, but she said it before I decided to ignore her.) And I had ignored her! She kept telling me to wear more eyeliner and stuff my bra and chew gum to make me look less intense, but I didn't do any of that.

Kendra and I started becoming really close. She was just so nice, and even though she was quiet and maybe a little boring sometimes, she also really listened when you talked. Peggy started being more like old Peggy by Friday too. I think she started to see that Kendra and I were becoming better friends and didn't want me to become too good of friends with her. Maybe. That's mean for me to think. It doesn't matter. What matters is by the end of soccer practice on Friday, everything seemed almost normal. Not perfect. Okay, definitely not perfect. But normal. Like I could understand it. Like I was in control of my life again.

But then Friday night happened.

Oh. My. Gosh.

The party at Peggy and Katherine's.

My first high school party.

It changed everything.

It didn't ruin it. No.

(I'm going to stop saying everything's ruined unless it's really ruined. I really am. I need to stop being so dramatic. Really.)

So not ruined.

But changed.

Because suddenly I was not in control of anything. Not ANYTHING at all.

(I'm one thousand percent not being dramatic!)

 

14

Trevor decides not to give up on the world

“Trevor, do you need to talk?” Lily said as if she were my therapist, except she said it while holding a Barbie doll that was wearing a shirt but no pants. It was Tuesday after school, and I was thinking about moving to Europe or someplace awesome.

“No,” I said, then went back to sitting by myself in the basement, where we went only to watch TV, except I hadn't turned on the TV. Lily ignored my “no” and climbed onto the couch next to me. She didn't say anything. Just sat there, nestled close, combing her Barbie's hair with her fingers. My sister just understood people. I don't even think she knew she understood, but she understood them anyway and that's what made her goddamn magnificent. So eventually I said, “You making friends at school?”

“Yes, I'm very good at making friends. Not everyone likes me, which is okay. Because Mom says if everyone likes me, then that would mean I was trying too hard.”

“You've been talking to Mom?” I asked. I can't remember the last time I saw the two of them have a real conversation.

“You're hilarious. Of course I talk to Mom!”

“That's good. But, you know, Mom doesn't know everything.”

“Duh. I know.”

“No, Lil, some kids have moms that they can always trust. But we don't.”

She stopped looking at me, stopped fiddling with her Barbie. Even though Lily never said she was sad, hell, she never cried—seven-year-old girls should cry!—after I said what I said about Mom, I could almost see her spirit deflate. Even if it was only for a second. Seeing that made me sad. Almost made
me
want to cry. She's a little kid, not forty like you always think, Trevor! Just let her pretend our mom is a good mom.

So I said, “That girl I said I like, Carolina…”

Which made her perk up, sit on her knees, and face me. Excited. Which was why I said it.

“She's not as cool as I thought.”

“Trevor! What happened?” Lily asked, still thrilled to be a part of my personal life even if my personal life was depressing.

“Her friend, or maybe it was just her friend's sister, came and told me I couldn't like her.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. That's why school sucks. People just say stuff and try to control you and don't have any real reasons.”

“Did you ask her why her friend said you couldn't like her?”

“No, Lily, that's not how it works.”

“Why?”

“Because once someone says something, that's just the way it is.”

“But Carolina didn't say it,” Lily said, trying to act like she knew what she was talking about, but I knew she didn't.

“Forget it, Lily. Carolina's a loser.”

“Don't call people names, Trevor.”

“Goddamn it! You're just a kid! You don't know anything!” I pushed myself up from the couch, didn't look at Lily again, and went up two flights of stairs to my room. By the time I slammed my door shut, I knew I had been an asshole. Lily was just being Lily. But I didn't apologize because then I would have to really admit it.

When I opened my door for dinner a couple hours later, there was a folded piece of red construction paper in front of it. It was from Lily. Of course. I picked it up, opened it. There was a drawing of a girl and a taller boy. You know, like a seven-year-old would draw. And then, in her seven-year-old handwriting, but with her super-wise soul, it said:
I love my big brother forever.

And then, crap, I did cry. Not
cry
cry. But tears formed. I fought them, but a few fell down my cheek anyway. Crap! This whole world sucks, but my sister is so goddamn special I can't give up on the world. Not yet anyway.

*   *   *

So Wednesday and Thursday were just a waste of time, but they weren't a waste of time in an interesting way. Carolina never looked at me; I never looked at her. Which was fine by me. I kept having lunch with my cousin Henry and his friends even though I didn't like any of them, except Licker was sort of cool.

After Thursday's cross-country practice, which again ended with me collapsing to the ground and telling Coach Pasquini to go fuck himself in my head, he sat down on the curb next to my splayed-out carcass and asked, “You ready to hear a few things, or should I let you keep punishing yourself?”

This felt like a setup, so I didn't say anything. Lungs still being on fire might also have made it difficult to speak.

“You like pain,” he said, then paused. I remained quiet. Pasquini locked his eyes onto mine, like some possessed general from ancient history, and continued, “That wasn't a question. It's a fact. Which is good. Not good for your life, sorry to say, but it is good for running. To be a great runner, you must understand how to control the pain. If you always make running painful, you'll never know when to use your high threshold for pain to win. When you can control pain, you'll love the pain for what it gives you, not just what it makes you forget. And when you love the pain for the rewards, you'll love running, and then, and only then, will you be great.”

“Okay,” I said before I could tell my mouth to ignore him.

“Okay,” he said with that twisted grin of his. “Okay. Good. Tomorrow, your new life starts.”

“Okay,” I said, and crap, you know, I actually believed him. Even stranger, he turned out to be right.

 

15

Carolina tries on a new dress