The Symptoms of My Insanity (20 page)

“I’m sorry,” I say, walking over to him. “It’s just that … I didn’t want someone to come in, and we’re kind of in the middle of a—”

“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He repeats it, more like he’s trying to get rid of a verbal tick than apologize. “Come on.” He picks up the plate of cookies. “I’ll take you home.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I start to follow him out and then stop because
he’s
stopped and is checking his phone.

“My mom,” he says more to himself than to me without looking up. “Some stupid gift shop crisis and she needs me to—”

“Oh yeah, no, go. I’ll stay here. I mean, I’ll look around. Maybe I’ll go back and look at the new wing some more or … watch Roriago or … But yeah, I’m fine on my own so …” I stop talking, realizing that Blake is still not making eye contact. He’s just nodding and looking down at his right foot, which is tapping rapidly on the floor again.

“Okay, cool, I’ll find you later,” he mumbles as he bolts past me. It’s like he can’t get away from me fast enough.

Slowly I make my way back to the new wing. I’m trying not to wallow, but I can’t help thinking that you have to be one ginormous failure at doing things with guys to literally send them running back to their mothers.

The next forty-five minutes I spend sitting on a really artsy-looking uncomfortable chair across from Juliana Roriago, watching her play Mad Catter, and wishing I could ask her if she’s ever mortifyingly rejected a guy while he was trying to unhook her bra in the middle of a museum. Of course she wouldn’t answer me anyway, because she metaphorically wouldn’t be able to hear me, being so “plugged in.” Still, it would be nice if she’d break her artistic fourth wall for long enough to shout across to me, “Yes! Happens to me all the time, Izzy! Hang in there, girl!”

•   •   •

So far, the drive back from the DIA is remarkably quieter than the way there. It’s so silent, I’m actually wishing Jillian and her germy Tootsie Pop were still with us. I guess Blake doesn’t really have time to talk to me, being so glued to his phone. At every red light, or any time the car is stopped or going slow enough for him to manage, he’s reading or sending something on his phone. Who is he texting so much anyway?

When we pull into my driveway, I realize that fifty whole minutes of awkward car time have passed with only four lousy sentences exchanged between us:

Thanks for today. I really loved the new wing.

and

Good, yeah. No prob.

Then, to my horror, I find myself squeezing my mouth into what I hope looks like a smile and cueing that exchange again as I get out of the car.

Thanks for today. I really loved the new wing.

Good, yeah. No prob.

Unghhh.

I don’t even watch Blake pull out of the driveway. I just drag myself back into the house. I bolt the front door closed. Then my phone vibrates in my pocket, and I let out a pleased sigh. Maybe Blake’s just more comfortable communicating digitally.

See you soon!!

But it’s not Blake. It’s Meredith.

I drop my weight back against the front door, and then
suddenly straighten up. Meredith is on her way over. Meredith is on her way over, to fake sleep over, so we can sneak out and go to—oh God—Cara’s sister’s Becky’s boyfriend Phil’s cousin’s frat party.

I wasn’t aware until tonight how many combinations of boots, snow boots, and jeans exist. I think Meredith’s modeled just about all of them for me by now.

I’m slumped against my headboard, feeling the day in every muscle of my body. I check my phone again, hoping Jenna’s gotten back to me. Nope. I’ve already called her twice. I even asked her if she wanted to come over and just hang out, that I’d ditch going to the party, which I’m thinking I might do anyway.

Jenna’s not speaking to me, and my mom’s lying to me. Also, it’s pretty clear that my plans for a dance double date, or any date at all, are not happening.

Oh God. Blake is going to be at that party tonight. What if it’s even more awkward than this afternoon?

“Whatcha think?” Meredith models her latest combination.

“Looks great.” I smile and sit up, pretending to fuss with my own appearance in the dresser mirror, making a show of moving the bulk of my hair from one shoulder to the other.

“Do you think your mom will stay asleep?” Meredith asks, frowning at her reflection and then wiggling out of yet another pair of jeans.

“Yeah, she’s probably out for the night,” I say, moving my hair back to the left.

Mom was sleeping when I got home. Sleeping. At six p.m. When I went to check in on her and tell her Meredith was here, she just sleep-mumbled something about Allissa being out for the night and that there was food in the fridge and have Jenna help herself. I decided it was best, even in her foggy state, not to correct her.

“Wow, good. So, I don’t think it’s supposed to snow tonight,” Meredith adds, grabbing various things from her overnight bag and throwing them into her purse.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard too.”

Meredith shifts her weight between a high-heeled boot and a ballet slipper. I make an executive decision to split my hair equally on each shoulder. Okay, I should just tell Meredith now.
Sorry Meredith, but I’ve decided not to go out to this party after all. I don’t really want to go without Jenna, and I really don’t want to run into Blake. See, I scolded him like a naughty child today when he tried to unhook my bra.
So … yeah.

“Boots or flats?” she asks me.

“Um … boots.” But maybe I
should
go. Maybe it’ll actually be fun. Maybe I’m just overreacting and it’ll be fine. Great, even. Maybe Blake will apologize. Or maybe I’ll apologize first. Or, maybe we’ll both apologize at the same time, and
then we’ll laugh about it. Plus, Mom’s already asleep, and it’s not like she’s going to wake up and have no idea where I am if she checks on me. I left her a note in the kitchen. Which I think, considering her total lack of information-sharing lately, is pretty generous.

“So Karin, Becca’s friend, is coming back to Broomington after, and she’s the one who’s gonna take you home,” Meredith informs me, reading off a message from her phone as if it’s top secret information she just received from the Pentagon.

“Oh. Okay.” Wait, no. No, maybe I shouldn’t go. I don’t want Mom to worry, especially if she’s already not feeling well. Plus, what if after we share a good laugh, Blake just wants to continue right where we left off at the museum? Do I want him to? Yes. Right? Yes. Sure, I was uptight today, but that’s because we were smack in the middle of a very public museum with his mom and Miss S. and his sister and all kinds of
strangers
just roaming around. But a public space, a museum space, is different than a party atmosphere. I’m sure I’ll be much more relaxed at a party. I hope.

What is wrong with me? I fantasized about that very moment, about Blake taking me to some private, romantic museum spot and holding me close and kissing me. And then it happened. It all happened, and I ruined it.

I watch as Meredith applies a really thick black line to the top of her eyelids. I personally think it looks kind of strange. But then again, what do I know? The last time I tried to put on eye makeup was for my cousin Michelle’s wedding
and I had to wash it all off before the ceremony even began because I looked—according to Allissa and the rest of our cousins—like a trampy raccoon.

No. I’m not going to go. I’ll tell Meredith right now that I’m not going.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Meredith unzips her overnight bag, rummages around, and pulls out a small plastic bag, which she hands to me.

My eyebrows raise as I take the bag. I peer inside and pull out one of those scoop-necks shirts, like the one Meredith was wearing on Thursday.

“Is this for me?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to say thank you for covering for me. And that … I’m glad you decided to come out with us tonight, Izzy.”

I unfold the shirt slowly and hold it against me.

“It’s gonna look so good! You’re wearing it tonight!”

To my surprise I find myself nodding and saying “Okay, thanks.”

“And I know you’re a little cleavage conscious,” she adds, “but I swear it’ll look great. And you could pair it with a cute little scarf, if you wanted to, or … go ahead, try it on!”

I swap out the button-down I’m wearing for my new scoop-neck and stand in front of the mirror.

“I told you!” Meredith says, looking at me and grinning.

Okay, even though I know this shirt would make Mom’s suggestive-detector eyeballs pop right out of her head, I have to admit, it does looks pretty good on me.

“Hey, can I swipe some of this?” Meredith asks.

“Sure.” I grimace as she picks up the bottle of raspberry hand lotion my mom got me last week that I think smells like dead flowers soaking in children’s cough syrup. “Actually, you can have that if you want.”

“Oooh, thanks!”

We make our way down the hall and tiptoe downstairs to the kitchen. Meredith throws her new lotion in her purse, looks at her watch, and then lets out a small yelp.

“Sorry,” she whispers, pursing her freshly glossed lips, “but what is that?”

I follow her repulsed gaze to our kitchen table and pick up the ceramic animal skull serving dish.

“It’s my mom’s,” I explain. “One of her clients makes them.”

“Oh.” Meredith eyes it, then takes a seat at the table, turning her back to the serving dish.

“Mrs. Burk,” I whisper-explain, “she’s redoing her house, and her husband hunts, and he wants her to use antlers and skulls for decoration,” I ramble nervously. “Mom’s trying to convince her that their current color scheme doesn’t really go with dead things.”

Meredith smiles at me indulgently, and I finally shut up.

When we get Cara’s text at last, I gesture for Meredith to go out our back entrance. I’ve mastered the art of closing the sliding back door in silence after years of studying Allissa. I watch as Meredith cautiously cuts across our crusty snow-covered lawn in her high-heeled boots. We make our way
to the street, but I don’t see any sign of Cara. In fact, the street’s completely empty of cars except for a giant conversion van parked across the way.

“That’s them!” Meredith rushes toward the van.

“What’s up guys, welcome to
mi casa
!” I walk into the van and see Ryan Paulson at the wheel.

“This is a boat.” Meredith laughs and walks to the very back to join Cara.

“I know, totally a boat.” Cara nods, and waves to me.

The van is huge, with big leather seats and interior lights framing each window like some sort of auto-show Christmas.

“All the seats come out too,” Ryan informs us through a huge dimpled grin. “We fit a whole sectional and a flat-screen in here once.”

Ryan’s dad owns “Just a Man and His Van” moving company. Which technically is fleets of men and their different-sized vans, but whatever.

“Pretty cool,” I tell Ryan, sinking into one of the heated leather seats.

“So where’s Jenna?” Ryan asks me, leaning forward to adjust his rearview mirror. “Is she not coming out?”

I shake my head.

“Oh … okay. Just thought she’d like to see the van and all since I told her we could use it for set load-out.”

I nod, and watch as he moves his seat forward as far as it can go, thinking that maybe Ryan’s not quite tall enough yet to be a conversion van driver.

“Okay, here we gooooooo!” Ryan shouts out, sounding like a little boy just before an airplane’s about to take off, and then in a calmer tone adds, “I’ve driven this like once before, no worries.”

•   •   •

It’s really loud at Cara’s sister Becca’s boyfriend Phil’s cousin’s frat house. So loud, in fact, that you can’t really talk. Which is fine, because I don’t really have anyone trying to talk to me. I’m just standing here by myself under a giant poster of dogs smoking cigars, holding a foamy beer in a dirty plastic cup that I have no intention of drinking, and watching people dance. Well, I’m not totally by myself. It’s impossible to be by yourself in a living room crammed with people. But Meredith and Cara are gone, off in search of a bathroom, or at least I think that’s what they said. I should have gone with them, but by the time I decided to follow, they were already lost in the sweaty, beer-reeking crowd.

My head is suddenly cold. Why is my head cold? Why does my head feel cold and wet? Oh, probably because the tall guy standing next to me is casually using my head as his own personal coaster. Really? I duck out from under the beer and push my way through the crowd until I reach a giant staircase.

“Bathroom?” I ask the girl lean-dancing against the banister.

She points upstairs.

As I’m leaving the bathroom, sore from squatting and
really wishing I’d remembered my hand sanitizer, I see Meredith charging toward me.

“Izzy!” she screams, and throws her arms around me like I’ve been lost at sea.

“Hi,” I say, laughing.

“Oh my God, this party sucks, why do these things always suck? And I lost Cara. Cara!” she screeches down the hall, and then starts opening bedroom doors. “Cara! Cara!”

“Stop,” I say, laughing harder now. “She’s not in one of those roo—” And then we see Cara, in one of those rooms. She’s just sitting on a lone mattress, making a dent in a bag of pretzels.

“What are you doing?” Meredith joins her, giggling.

“I’m bored. Totally bored,” Cara says, leaning back on the mattress, which is basically the only “furniture” in the room except for a mini fridge and an alarm clock. I join them on the floor, sitting as close as I can to the edge of the mattress, trying not to think about the stale-beer-dirty-socks-guacamole smell.

“Please tell me you did not find those in here?” Meredith’s smoky-lined eyes widen.

“No, kitchen pantry, totally stole them from the kitchen pantry.”

“Ladies! Whatcha doing?” Nate strolls into the room and leans against the dirty white wall, Jacob following after him.

“Izzy,” Nate talk-laughs at me, eyeing my new shirt. “Bow-chicka-bow-bow!”