How to Ruin My Teenage Life (12 page)

He puts the machine down but still doesn't stick his hands underneath the fluorescent blue light. “Let's talk about Avi,” he says, still refusing to put his hands under the light.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I just want to know if you're still an item.”

“Dad, the word ‘item' went out in the seventies but yes, I still like him. I mean, we haven't been able to see each other but I'm hoping in the summer when we go back to Israel he'll get time off.” I take a sideways look at my dad. “You know he's my
non-boyfriend
, right?”

“What exactly does that mean?” he asks. “I've heard you and Jessica using the phrase, but I don't get it.”

I check my nails to see if they're still tacky and need more ultra-violet rays but they're as dry as my stepdad's liquor cabinet. I hop off the stool I've been sitting on, trying to explain the relationship label Avi wanted. “It means we can see other people because we obviously can't physically be together. There's no commitment. We're casual, great friends. Get it?”

He nods. “Got it.”

“Speaking of casual friends, I have a surprise for you.”

“It's not another online date, is it?”

“Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head vigorously. “It's a bunch of dates. Tonight. Speed dating at the Blues Bar on Chicago Avenue and you have to be there in fifteen minutes. Don't worry about impressing anyone. You only have three minutes for each date. It's all about making a connection.”

15

Israel is tiny, yet everyone fights over it.
I guess it's true that the biggest and best things come in small packages.

My manipulation skills obviously need help, because my dad refused to even step one foot inside the bar for the speed dating night.

Standing in front of the bar, I wait until the bouncer is preoccupied and slink inside without him noticing.

“He's not coming?” Marla is there, wearing a black scooped-neck dress. She got so excited when I told her about the speed dating she decided to sign up, too. She and my dad aren't compatible. She's into mushy romantic guys and my dad is … well, he's not. He's Israeli.

I walk up to the guy running the program, a balding guy with a ring of red hair around his scalp. He's got a nametag on his chest with the word LARRY in big black letters. “My dad couldn't make it,” I tell Larry, looking over his notes. The bar is crowded. I refuse to cancel my dad's reservation to date twenty women in an hour and a half.

Larry looks up at me. “Your dad?”

“Yeah, I kind of signed him up.”

“You can't do that. Did you read the rules?” The guy doesn't even question what a seventeen-year-old is doing in a bar in the first place.

Umm … “I'm not a rule kind of person.”

“What's his name?”

“Ron … Ron Barak.”

My mouth opens wide as he takes a big red pen and crosses off my dad's name from the list.

“You can't do that!” I say, totally upset now. I paid thirty-five dollars to sign my dad up for the speed dating night. Okay, to be completely honest Marla paid and I'm working it off. It's a little side business arrangement I made with her.

Marla takes a seat next to Larry and makes her lips all pouty. “Is there any way you could help her out?”

The guy shrugs. “What do you want me to do?”

Marla looks to me for an answer.

“Let me go on the dates in my dad's place.” I admit it isn't the most brilliant idea, but it does have potential. If I could find the perfect woman for him, screen her personally …

Before the guy comes to his senses, I pull a nametag and scorecard off the table.

“Women, please sit at your assigned places. Men, you'll go around to each woman, marking off either a ‘yes' or a ‘no' on the card. Women, you'll do the same for the men. Just write their number on your card and mark it with a ‘yes' or ‘no.' If you get two matching ‘yes' marks, we'll e-mail you each other's contact information. Everyone got it?”

Nope. But I can't say anything because I'll be kicked out of this ridiculous shenanigan. Right now I'm not blaming my dad. I'm so nervous, as if I'm going to be judged for my looks and brains and …

“Start!”

I head to the only open seat in the place. I'm sitting across from a woman with the name Dru on her nametag. She looks really confused. It takes me a minute to explain myself. “Hi, I'm Amy. My dad was supposed to be here, but couldn't make it. Well, actually he didn't want to come. It's kind of a long story, but ultimately I'm looking for a wife for my dad. What kinds of qualifications do you—”

“Switch!”

Before I finish my question, I'm being rushed out of the chair. I take another empty seat and find myself across from another single, confused woman. She's looking a little old to be set up with my dad, and her gray roots need to be touched up. “How old are you?” I ask.

“Forty.”

“Have you tried nighttime moisturizing face cream?”

“I beg your pardon? This is a speed dating function, not a cosmetic consultation.”

“I know. I'm trying to find a woman for my dad, but—”

Oops, the lady is raising her hand, getting the attention of the organizers. I crane my neck to find Marla deep in conversation with a guy at the other end of the bar. At least one of us is having luck tonight.

“Switch!”

Larry stands over my chair. “Miss, you can't be here. This is a private function for adults only.”

I stand up, defeated. “I'm going, I'm going,” I say, then give a little wave to Marla and head outside.

In our condo, my dad is sitting at his desk, working.

“I'll have you know I went on two three-minute dates for you.”

“How were they?”

“Terrible. You know how they say there's a pot for every lid? I think you've got a pot in the shape of a trapezoid.”

“Is that bad?” he asks.

To be honest, the jury's out on that one. Being unique and different is good. But I suspect there's a fine line between being unique and needing major therapy.

16

Some people will think differently of me
because I'm Jewish.
Some people will call me names because I'm Jewish.
Some people will hate me because I'm Jewish.
Should I ignore them or confront them?

Before school the next day, I spot Mitch by his locker.

“You don't break up with someone right before the Valentine's Dance,” I tell him. “It's rude.”

He furrows his bushy eyebrows, which at one time I thought made him look rugged and adorable. “What do you want me to say?” he says, then closes his locker and walks away from me.

Why can girls be strong enough to confront boys with issues, but boys can't do the same? They make asinine statements and run away. I'm going to make a generalized statement about boys, so brace yourself:
Boys have an aversion to confrontation
. (And commitment, but that's a whole different story.)

But I am persistent. Catching up with Mitch, I tap him on the back and say as we're walking, “You hurt Jessica. That wasn't cool.”

Mitch stops, but his curly hair is still bouncing up and down on his head. “Lay off, Amy. I liked you, then I stopped liking you and fell for Jessica. Now I like someone else.”

“Can't you commit to someone?”

“Yeah, while I like 'em. When it's over, it's done. I'm a teenage guy. I can afford to be picky.”

I want to slap him.

While I'm still contemplating his egotistic statement, he leaves me in the hallway standing amongst the student body. How many of these teens are picky? Nathan told Marla I don't like him because he wears old clothes and has glasses.

That's not why.

I have the sudden urge to share with Nathan why I hate him. It's not that I'm picky, or rude, or think of myself as too good to be friends with him.

“Earth to Amy.”

I blink out of my daydreaming. Cami and Raine are standing in front of me, waving their arms in front of my face. “Welcome back to reality,” Cami says, laughing.

“What's on the menu for lunch?” I ask, trying to forget about Mitch and what he just told me. Besides, on Mondays sometimes they surprise us with Uno's pizza. (Another high carb food, I know … but just as worth it as sushi.)

“Forget lunch. Tell us about that Nathan guy and you going to the Valentine's Dance. Everyone's talking about it, if you haven't noticed. They're saying you've gone geek on us. First you kiss the guy in the lunchroom and then you sit at Miranda's table. What's gotten into you?”

I think about how cool Miranda was after I was rude and how quickly she took my apology without making me feel bad. She could have bitched me out, but she didn't. “Miranda's not so bad.”

Raine puts her manicured hands up. “She smells like Swiss cheese, Amy. You'd think that big Jewish honker of hers would notice it.”

And there it is. My first time since going through conversion someone saying a derogatory remark to me about Jews. More than derogatory. Racist, really. My heart is pounding faster and I feel my throat start to constrict. I'm getting a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“
I'm
Jewish,” I say, ready to defend my people even if it costs me popularity-wise. And let me tell you, being unpopular at Chicago Academy is like being a lone rabbit surrounded by a roomful of hunting dogs. Or wolves.

“Yeah, but not really. You're only half Jewish,” Raine says, not getting it.

Eww. Half. Like I can never be whole because my mom isn't Jewish? Wrong. “Um, I gotta disagree with you there, Raine. I'm all Jew. If you want to start throwing around Jewish jokes or insults, it's not gonna fly with me.”

Raine looks like she's smelling some bad cheese right about now. “Lighten up, Amy.”

“Don't tell me to lighten up when you insult my people,” I say.

“I insulted Miranda Cohen, Amy. Not you. Not the entire Jewish population or
your people
. Geez,” she says, then rolls her eyes.

I desperately want to walk away, to back down and remove myself from the situation like Mitch did to me. But I don't. Because I want Raine to know, or anyone else who wants to fling around Jewish insults, that it's not okay. It hurts. I can't even describe how much her words cut right through me, even though I know she doesn't realize it.

My heartbeat somewhat gets back to normal when Raine turns and walks away in a huff.

I turn to Cami, who's pretending to check in her book bag for something. I can tell she's just shuffling around stuff. “I'm not mad at you,” I tell Cami.

Cami looks up. “That was intense.”

“It wasn't meant to be.”

So now we're just standing here and I have to say something to break the silence. “You headed for the cafeteria?”

Cami hesitates before saying, “Nope. I have to go to the Resource Lab first. I'll meet up with you later.”

Yeah, sure. “Whatever,” I say, as if I don't care.

Walking into the cafeteria, I survey my surroundings. Raine is already here; she's talking with a couple of other girls with their heads together in obvious gossip-mode. Did I say gossip was underrated? Well, now that I'm on the other end of the Gossip Trail I'm not so happy about it. Payback sucks.

I'm standing in line, picking out food. Yesterday was a disaster with Nathan's kiss. Now Raine is gossiping about me being Jewish. I'm sure she's twisting the story around to make me look bad. I'm determined to avoid drawing attention to myself.

Oh, no. Nathan just walked in the room. He's about six people behind me in the cafeteria line. He's talking to Kyle. Better to know where he is so I'm not given another surprise kiss without being prepared for it.

Today I don't take a salad, especially because the lunchroom lady Gladys is watching me like a hawk. I order a turkey sandwich on sourdough bread, freshly made at the deli counter, and scan the lunchroom tables.

Here's where life gets tricky.

The lunchroom. Where the students classify and separate themselves like little granola clusters. Usually I'm attached to Jessica. Wherever she sits, I sit. Right now she's at the condiment counter, squirting ketchup into a little white cup for her fries. She has no clue Raine is talking about how she made fun of Miranda's Jewish nose.

Miranda is sitting with her usual cluster. They are not all Jewish. The thing they have in common is they all need fashion advice. They're also straight A students. Miranda waves over to me, and I wave back. She probably thinks I'm going to sit at her table like yesterday.

Jess sits in Raine's cluster before I can get her attention.

Looking back, Nathan is at the cashier about to pay for his two slices of pizza and bottle of Arizona Iced Tea.

Okay, time to make a decision. Cluster with Jessica and Raine, where I usually sit. Or sit with Miranda and her friends again. No time to dawdle, Amy. Popular girls don't dawdle.

As if I'm a programmed robot, I sit with my usual friends. I feel like a traitor, although when I glance over at Miranda, she's in a heated conversation with someone else and doesn't even notice I've chosen the popular girls who know what DKNY means, instead of her table, where they're probably discussing E=MC2.

When I take a seat next to Jessica, the table gets super quiet. Jess is confused.

“So, what's with you and the new guy Nathan?” Roxanne asks with a snicker. “You two put on a pretty good show yesterday. Any chance for a repeat performance?”

I take a bite of my turkey sandwich so I don't have to answer right away. I need time to think of a response, although I'm usually quick-witted.

Just as I'm swallowing my first bite, I hear Nathan's voice behind me. “Can I squeeze in?”

I look up at Nathan and want to say “No” because everyone is expecting us to start making out. Why doesn't he go sit with Kyle and his buddies? Or with the geeks at the geek table?

Jessica makes everyone move down so he can sit next to me. Ugh, all eyes are on us. I do want to talk to Nathan, but in private without being surrounded and stared at by the cluster.

“So, I hear you guys are going to the Valentine's Dance,” Roxanne says, her beady eyes focusing on my reaction. “Are you two, like, dating?”

I feel like the entire lunchroom is listening to my response.

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Didn't you know? It was love at first sight. Right, Nathan?”

It's either going to be me and Nathan against Roxanne and the rest of the bunch, or me against everyone.

I turn my head and look at Nathan, sitting beside me. The fluorescent lights of the cafeteria are reflected in his glasses, so I can't see his eyes. But those circular frames are definitely directed at me. “Yeah, right,” he says. “I guess it's true. Opposites attract.”

I chow on another bite of my sandwich, staring down at my food so I don't have to talk.

But I do see Nathan's fingers, reaching for his pizza. Within three minutes he's picking up the second piece. It's probably a world record in pizza eating. By the time he's done with his second slice, students are still entering the cafeteria.

One gulp of iced tea and he's done. I'm still trying to choke down my sandwich.

Nathan murmurs something to me in my ear that I can't understand, and leaves.

“What did he say?” Jess asks, obviously confused. She knows Nathan and I aren't even friends. Okay, we did kiss. But it was for show. I wasn't even a willing participant the second time.

“No idea,” I mumble, then take another bite.

After school, Jess catches up to me on the way to the bus stop.

“Amy,” she says. “I don't get it. You think Nathan is a dork—don't even argue with me because I know you better than your own mom does. Then you kiss him in front of the entire school while you're still hung up on Avi. Raine is telling everyone you've gone wacko on her. It doesn't make sense.”

“Life doesn't make sense, Jess. Do you hate me?”

“Why would I hate you? I may not understand you. I may get mad at you. But I could never hate you.”

Nathan is walking toward us, his uptight gait is so dorky I want to wince. I swear the guy needs a lesson in loosening up and being crazy. He probably dances like a sixty-year-old.

Avi is an amazing dancer. I remember in Israel last summer he was dancing with a girl and I got jealous so I picked a guy at random and pulled him out on the dance floor. Biggest mistake. Let's just say the end result almost had me arrested by the Israeli police.

When Nathan reaches us, Jessica walks to the bus stop to give us privacy. She's such a good friend. Totally mistaken about the situation between me and Nathan, but her heart is in the right place.

I tap Nathan on his elbow. “We need to talk.”

“Why? You want to kiss again?”

“And have your glasses whack me in the face again? I don't think so. I want to talk. The kind of talking where lips don't touch.”

“Sorry. No can do.”

The bus is turning the corner. “Well, we can't keep pretending to be dating.”

“Sure we can,” he says, putting his arm around me and leading me to the back so we sit with everyone else.

I shrug his arm off.

When we get to our stop, we climb off the bus and he puts his arm around my shoulders again as if we're a real couple. Before I can shrug him off again, I look up. My heart slams into my chest and I almost fall backward.

Standing at the front of my building, like an Abercrombie model posing without even meaning to, is Avi.

And he's watching me walk toward him with Nathan's arm around me. I'm too shocked to ask Avi how he got here, why he's here, how long he's going to stay, or if he still cares about me.

“Avi,” I say softly when we get closer to him. I swear I'm still in a trance when I add, “What are you doing here?”

“Who's this guy?” he answers back.