Notes from the Blender (2 page)

HOW I ENDED UP AT A LITTLE RAINBOW-FLAG-FLYING
church in the next, much cooler town over, being comforted by a guy who looks like he might just become the next big serial killer, is a pretty complicated story. For the sake of sanity—yours and mine—I’ve broken it down into the following heinous personal equation:

Take four stomach-acid-inducing words:
We need to talk.

Multiply by three. (I’ve never believed in any superstitious stuff like
bad things come in threes
before, but after today, I just might start.)

Subtract one boyfriend and one best friend.

Add a formerly unknown, soon-to-be stepfather. (That makes two for me in the near future—one with my mom, one with my dad.)

What does it all equal?

My life. And if you hadn’t already figured this out, it’s an epic mess.

The gory details: so I pretty much understood it wasn’t going to be an enjoyable conversation when my boyfriend of half a year, the very sweet, very sexy, not-a-Rhodes-scholar-or-anything-but-who-cares-with-a-bod-like-that Sam uttered those words to me as I walked from AP history to media arts.

“Neilly, we need to talk.”

As everyone knows,
we need to talk
is the kiss of death—to short-term plans, long-term goals, and, most especially, relationships. The second clue I was in for it: he didn’t immediately shove his hand in my back pocket and pull me in close. And when he couldn’t meet my eyes? Strike three, I knew for sure I was outta there.

The combo platter of what he’d said and what he hadn’t done made my heart leapfrog up into my throat. “About what?” I asked, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible.

Sam stared down at his untied Pumas and took a deep breath. “I think we should see other people.”

His words hit me like bullets, leaving me way more wounded than I would’ve expected. I mean, it’s not like I was in love with the guy. And granted, he could be a total Neanderthal on the football field, as well as when he was with his boys. But over the past six months, I’d gotten to know the real Sam—not the big musclehead everyone at school seemed to be a little bit afraid of, but the gentle, protective teddy bear he was when it was just us two—and I’d discovered I truly liked him. A lot.

“Since when?” I felt compelled to ask once I was sure I wasn’t going to croak. As far as I knew, things had been totally warm and cozy between us lately.

He shrugged, his eyes still on the floor. “This weekend, I guess.”

This weekend, my dad had surprised me with a little father daughter bonding trip to San Francisco. And in between visiting Alcatraz, Chinatown, and Ghirardelli Square, he’d been sure to point out all the happy same-sex couples. Probably so I’d know everything was going to be cool, even after he married Uncle Roger.

But the thing was, I was already fine with his lifestyle. Yeah, it had taken a while to get over the shock of his leaving my mom for a guy, and I’d definitely had to toughen up a
lot
to survive the shit I took after the kids at school found out, but really. He didn’t need to fly me all the way to California to convince me he wasn’t defective. I was the one who’d spent the past two years defending him, the one who was always ready to throw down anytime I heard some cretin say “That’s so gay!” when really he meant something was stupid. So my dad had no worries when it came to me—I was already on board.

Sam, maybe, not as much. But even if he wasn’t quite as comfortable with the whole thing as I was, he’d always stood up for me—in his own silent way, puffing out his chest and glaring at any kid who dared to bring up the subject around him. That counted for a lot in my book, and it was just another thing I was going to miss about having Sam in my life.

“Is this about my dad’s commitment ceremony?” I asked gently, wondering if his mom and dad were giving him a hard time again about attending my father’s wedding. “I told you, it’s gonna be fine. Your parents will understand that being my date only means you’re supporting me, not necessarily gay marriage.”

“It’s not about your dad’s…thing. Or even my parents’ opinions,” he mumbled. “I just think we need some time apart, you know?”

Clearly, Sam wasn’t going to explain whatever was going on here. And probably there was a whole lot more explaining to do. If I were the kind of person who didn’t mind public displays of emotion, I would have definitely been bawling by now.

Good thing I am not that kind of person at all, at least not anymore.

When my parents first announced their divorce and I found out the reason why, I’d been as fragile as an eggshell. If anyone even looked at me the wrong way, I’d fall to pieces. But as time went by—and more and more kids decided the situation was funny, the stupid assholes—I’d transformed myself into the absolute queen of control. Nerves of Steely Neilly. Pinch a thigh, clench my jaw, count to one hundred backward in my head—anything so they wouldn’t see me cry. I’d be damned if I was going to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing how much they’d hurt me, and Sam breaking up with me in the halls between periods three and four was no exception.

“That’s cool,” I finally said with a little shrug that I hoped he’d interpret as meaning I really didn’t care one way or the other.

Sam dared to really look at me then, a relieved smile curving up at the ends of his lips. The ones I’d never get to kiss again. Damn. “I’m so glad you’re not mad at me, Neilly. I was worried you might freak out or something when I told you.”

I reached up and patted his cheek, my hands already regretting the fact they wouldn’t be touching his soft-but-stubbly face anymore. “I think you know me a lot better than that.”

Sam gave my shoulder an awkward squeeze and turned to walk away. He was almost halfway to the gym when he stopped short and turned back around. “Hey, Neilly?”

I was probably hoping for a movie-style ending. You know, like a touching romantic declaration—something along the lines of
I’ll always remember the great times we had together. You’re the only one who really understands me
—that would make the pain of the last five minutes bearable, because then I’d know the previous six months had really meant something. Instead, I got this:

“Don’t listen to what anyone says. It’s not you—it’s me.”

Though I thought I’d handled myself pretty well up until that moment, now I was
this
close to losing it.
It’s not you, it’s me
is such crap. It’s what people say when it really
is
you but they don’t have the balls to be honest about it.

I quickly put out the distress signal to my BFF. Thumbs moving furiously, I texted
3rd fl bathroom. Bldg C. Now!!!

She hit me up immediately, just like I knew she would.
Coming
. I could always count on Lulu to have my back.

I made a beeline to the girls’ room and locked myself in a stall, fingers pressing hard against my temples. I waited until I felt positive I wasn’t going to cry, then flushed the toilet to make it seem like I’d been peeing the whole time, washed my hands, and splashed a little cold water on my face.

“You okay, Neilly?” I looked up to find Suzy Melendez, wannabe Gossip Girl, peering at me in the mirror like maybe if she looked long enough, she could just skip the questions and go straight to reading my mind.

I patted my face with one of those horribly scratchy brown paper towels that absorb nothing and gave her a fake smile. “Sure, fine. Just freshening up before class.”

“Oh, good,” she said, sounding way more disappointed than happy. “I thought maybe you were upset about what happened Saturday night.”

It obviously had something to do with Sam and what he’d been up to while I was out of town with my dad. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to give Suzy the satisfaction of being the one to tell me all the sordid details and then witness my sure-to-be-horrified reaction, so I bluffed my way out of it. “I know what happened this weekend,” I said. “It’s totally cool.”

Suzy’s eyes got so big and round she ended up looking like an anime character. “Wow, that’s loyalty. I wish I had a friend as good as you.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back against the sink—all casual, all cool, all the time. “Yup, that’s me. Loyal as hell.”

Before Suzy could push it any further, Lulu came flying through the girls’ room door, her face all red and sweaty. I was touched she’d made such a humongous effort to get to me before the final bell, and I was just about to tell her so when Suzy started stirring things up again.

“Hey, Lulu, you’re so lucky to have Neilly as a friend. I mean, she’s not even mad at you for kissing Sam at Crane’s party! I guess you guys really do share everything, huh?”

I blinked hard. So my best friend and my boyfriend had hooked up while I was in San Fran? I’d only been gone for two days, for chrissakes! I knew high school guys were total horndogs, but couldn’t Sam have waited until I got home if he needed to make out with someone so badly?

“I wouldn’t exactly say everything.” I could barely see Lulu through the narrow slits that had suddenly become my eyes.

“Neilly, please. We need to talk,” Lulu said, like I hadn’t already figured that one out.

Suzy just stood there, probably taking notes in her head to blab and blog about later. “I thought you already heard all about this?”

“Oh, I’ve heard everything I need to hear,” I spat, taking off with Lulu hot on my trail and Suzy stalking right behind her like the paparazzi.

“Neilly, will you please just stop and listen to what I have to say?”

Um, no, Lulu. I didn’t want the entire universe to witness my complete and utter humiliation, so I picked up the pace. But just when I thought I was home free, Lu grabbed a hunk of my hoodie and stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Neilly, it’s like this. Sam and I were just talking,” she began, then turned to Suzy. “Do you mind? We’d like a little privacy here.”

Suzy reluctantly left us alone, but I still wasn’t about to let Lu get away with her lame-ass excuses. “The last I knew, talking and hooking up weren’t exactly the same thing.”

Lu twisted a clump of auburn hair around her finger, a habit she tends to fall back on when she’s (a) nervous, (b) caught in a lie, or (c) both. I assumed it was “c” in this instance. “Please, Neilly, you have to believe me. It wasn’t like that at all.”

“Then what
was
it like, Lu? What could you possibly say to make this okay?”

She shrugged pathetically. “I don’t know.… I wasn’t feeling well so I was lying down…and then suddenly there was Sam, telling me how much he loved you…and how he was worried about going to your dad’s ceremony…and then …”

Her story totally wasn’t working for me, so I made up a better ending. Too bad it was only make believe. “You pulled a tragic rock-star move, choked on your own puke, and he had to do mouth-to-mouth to save your life but everyone mistakenly assumed you were making out?”

Lulu opened and closed her mouth several times before any words came out. “Not exactly, but—”

“No buts, bitch. You’re officially dead to me.”

I stormed away as Lu yelled, “Neilly, I’m sorry! I never meant for it to happen, and it will never happen again! I’d take it all back if I could!”

It’s three miles to my house from school, I am currently carless, and I was wearing fashionable but uncomfortable moccasins at the time. None of that stopped me from running like hell to get home. I just wanted to crawl under a blanket and nurse my wounded pride with Wubster (my nearly-worn-through stuffed bunny), a few episodes of
The Secret Life of the American Teenager
(my drama is nothing compared to those kids), and a pint of Cherry Garcia (my absolute favorite comfort food).

All of which was a great idea, except when I finally made it to my front door, I couldn’t find my key anywhere. I patted all my pockets, checked all over the ground, searched every inch of my backpack. Still nothing. So I limped around to the backyard—blisters had replaced the things formerly known as the backs of my heels—and retrieved the spare from its hiding place inside a fake rock. (Like robbers totally wouldn’t be able to tell the gray plastic thing was different than the other real brown rocks back there—but whatever, it makes my mother feel better knowing I won’t ever be locked out.)

Gimping back up front, I turned the key in the lock. I wasn’t expecting my mom for another five hours or so—maybe even more, since she’d been working late and traveling on business a lot more in the past few months—and I was actually grateful to be alone in my misery. My plan was to wallow a bit, rage a bit, and then make my mom feel really sorry for me when she got home so she’d totally baby me.

But a triple whammy hit me instead. I walked inside my house to find that not only was my mother already there but she was also making lunch in the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel. What’s worse, a nondescript middle-aged guy, dressed in the same appalling way, was chopping vegetables right next to her. And the final kicker: he was nibbling away at the red peppers
and
my mom’s ear.