I see a major stalking problem coming on. Sterling doesn’t see anything but sparkly rainbows and puffy hearts. She was so excited when she found out that Chris is coming here I thought she would hyperventilate when she was telling me about it.
“He’s coming tomorrow!” she yelled.
“Where are you guys meeting?”
“Why?”
“Just to know. In case.”
“In case what?”
“In case something happens.”
You could tell that Sterling was suspicious that I would show up and crash her party, but I promised I wouldn’t. Of course I’m going, though. But she won’t know I’m there.
“We’re meeting at the park,” she went.
“When?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Just so I know.”
“In case something happens again?” Sterling said. But you could tell she was joking. She was flying high on a cloud of infatuation and couldn’t be bothered to let anyone bring her down. “Four.”
When I got to the park, I made sure that Sterling wouldn’t be able to see me. I found a spot behind a tree cluster that’s not too close. Sterling’s sitting on the merry-go-round, waiting for some random guy she’s hoping will rock her world. I check my watch. It’s almost four, but Chris isn’t here yet. You probably think I followed her to the park to be annoying, but actually no. I really am worried. Which is why I brought Nash with me.
“What does this guy look like?” Nash goes.
“I don’t know,” I say. “He’s older.”
“Like thirty?”
“Ew, no, he’s twenty-one.”
“And what are we supposed to do if he attacks her or something?”
“He won’t. That’s why she’s meeting him in a public place.”
“So why are we here again?”
“In case.”
“In case what?”
“Do you want me to swat you again?”
“No, you abuser.”
“In case something happens. In case she needs us.”
“Fine, but I’m not into physical violence. It’s not like I can kick this guy’s ass or anything.”
We wait. Even from all the way over here, I can tell that Sterling is getting impatient. She keeps checking her watch and crossing and recrossing her legs. It’s obvious that she wants to look around, but she’s trying not to. No one’s approaching her anyway.
“What if he doesn’t show?” Nash goes.
“Then Sterling will finally realize that meeting someone online is a stupid idea.”
Some boy sits on the merry-go-round sort of close to where Sterling’s sitting. She looks over at him, annoyed. Then she looks around for Chris.
“That’s him,” Nash says.
I don’t see anyone. “Where?”
“Right there. Sitting on the merry-go-round.”
“That’s not him. He’s way older.”
“I’m telling you,” Nash insists. “That’s him.”
I squint at the boy. I wish we had binoculars. Why didn’t we bring binoculars? They always bring binoculars for stakeouts in movies.
There’s something about the boy that’s familiar. I feel like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t remember where.
“That’s not him,” I go. “He’s too young. He’s like a freshman or something.”
“Doesn’t he go to school with us?”
Oh my god. That’s it. He
does
go to school with us. He’s that random freshman who plays the triangle!
I’m like, “I know him. Sort of. I mean, he’s in band.”
We watch him get up and approach Sterling. She looks at him like,
Do I know you?
He says something. It looks serious.
“We have to hear what they’re saying,” I go. “Can we get any closer?”
“Only if you want Sterling to see us.” There’s nothing but open grass between our tree cluster and the merry-go-round. Which means we’re not going to be able to hear anything. Hearing isn’t worth Sterling knowing that I was here. She’ll never trust me again if she finds out.
We hear Sterling scream,
“What?”
Then triangle boy says something else. He looks desperate. She looks pissed. She gets up and stalks away. Luckily, she’s not coming over this way. Triangle boy doesn’t follow her.
“Why is she leaving?” I ask. “She’ll miss Chris.”
“Dude. I keep telling you. That
was
Chris.”
“No way, that kid’s name is—”
Oh. I guess my brain was refusing to believe it. Even though I suspected Chris all along, I never suspected that he’d be the random freshman who plays the triangle. That’s really lame. I feel bad for Sterling, but I’m relieved that I can stop worrying now.
When I get home, I want to call Sterling to see if she’s okay. But of course I can’t do that. I don’t want her to know that I saw everything. So I take out my new can of paint and brushes. My walls are already painted and Aunt Katie’s coming over to help me do the trim. I used her color book that has every possible color of paint in it to pick my wall and trim colors. I picked a light blue color called Zen Waterfall for the walls. It has a calming effect. And I picked a pale lavender for the trim. Aunt Katie came over a few days ago to help me paint the walls. They look awesome.
Shockingly, Sandra didn’t give me the hard time I expected about getting to repaint my room. Partly it’s because I used my own money to buy the paint. But I think it’s also because she’s my new nutritionist-slash-trainer, so we have a more professional relationship now.
After I repainted my walls, I decided not to write on them again. Or hang up a bunch of stuff in collages. I wanted to create a more peaceful space, so now my room has a very simple theme. There are only four photos on my main wall. I picked the best river photo that I took during each season, from last summer to this spring. Now they’re all in identical frames, hanging on my wall in a line. Together, they tell the story of a year in my life.
I hear a car in the driveway and run downstairs. I can’t wait to get the trim painted.
It’s Aunt Katie, but that isn’t her car. And she’s not driving it. A guy is dropping her off! I didn’t know she was dating anyone seriously enough to have them drop her off at her niece’s house, so I can’t wait to hear the sitch.
“Who’s that?” I demand when I open the door.
“Don’t say hi or anything.”
“Hi. Who’s that?”
“You didn’t recognize him?”
“I couldn’t really see.”
“It was Campbell,” Aunt Katie says like it’s nothing, climbing the stairs.
“Wait.
Campbell
Campbell?”
“Do you know any others?” She puts her bag on my bed and picks up a brush. “Is this the lavender?” She points to the paint can.
“Yeah. Are you guys . . . like . . . together again?”
“We seem to be.”
I’m dying to know what happened with that. I thought she didn’t like Campbell anymore. What makes a person want to get back together with someone she decided she didn’t want to be with?
Aunt Katie isn’t talking. So we paint the trim and there’s nothing but the
ffffwut-fffwut
sounds of our brushes. Which makes me miss sanding furniture with Dad. He doesn’t work out back anymore. I guess it makes sense that he’s totally out of the house now and all moved on with everything. It doesn’t mean that he’s moved on from me. Just moved on from a life that wasn’t working anymore.
I’m dying to know.
“So . . . how did you guys get back together?” I ask.
“Well,” Aunt Katie says, “it’s complicated.”
“I’ve got time.”
She laughs. “Why are you so fascinated by this?”
“I just thought you guys were so perfect together. And you said it was the best relationship you ever had. I couldn’t believe it when you broke up.”
“Yeah . . .”
“So why did you?”
“I was stupid. I made a stupid decision to break up with him because I thought I could find someone better.”
“But you loved him.”
“I know. I don’t mean better in terms of personality, but . . . better physically.”
“Oh.”
“How shallow can I get, right?”
Major revelation. Aunt Katie had a great relationship and she threw it all away because she was hoping she’d find a hotter guy. I guess that kind of stuff really does happen.
“I don’t think you were being shallow,” I say. I’m trying to choose my words carefully here. “You just . . . didn’t know.”
“I can’t believe how stupid I was.”
“I don’t think it’s stupid to want to be with a hottie. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”
“Yeah, but then you realize that this ‘whole package’ everyone’s looking for is unattainable. No one can be everything you want them to be.”
I never thought I’d hear Aunt Katie say that. Ever since she started talking to me about her dating life, she’s always been searching for the whole package. The guy who has everything she’s looking for. She made a list of things he had to be: smart, funny, cute, interesting. Now she’s admitting that was all just a fantasy?
“It’s so hard, with dating,” she says. “Everyone’s always on their best behavior for the first few months, so you don’t find out who they really are. You can feel like you’re totally connecting and everything is all euphoric at first—that’s the science of it. But after that, you’re usually disappointed. That’s why so many people—well, mostly women, really—are so surprised when they think they’ve met the person they’re meant to be with and then the guy ends up leaving them.”
“Wait,” I go. “So you don’t think the whole package exists?” Because that’s exactly what I’ve been looking for, too. And I don’t want to find out I’m looking for something that isn’t out there.
“Maybe,” Aunt Katie says, “but maybe the package comes in a different shape than we originally thought it would. The most important thing? Is being with someone who really cares about you.”
Maybe that’s it then. Maybe it’s just hard to see what’s right in front of you while you’re frantically searching for it. And maybe I’ve finally found what I’m looking for.
53
Dirk is playing a song I’ve heard before, but I forget when I heard it or what it’s called. Right before this, he was ranting about how our school just got busted for not recycling. He has a letter from some official-sounding people in the part of Connecticut where they decide what we should learn. Dirk read the letter to us, which says that if the school doesn’t start recycling like it was supposed to be doing all along, it will get fined. And the story will be given to the press.
Before Dirk, we never knew how many scandalous horrors were consistently hidden from us. Don’t we have a right to know what’s going on with our school? Aren’t we people, too?
Dirk’s read so many interoffice memos and letters about teachers and students, even a ridiculously unfair letter the principal wrote about a student who was committed to a mental hospital. Dirk didn’t say which student, though. He only shouts you out if you’re a dumbass.
Dirk comes back on and says, “That’s ‘Treasure.’ The Cure’s intense, right? I usually listen to them when I’m bummed out. Something about the whole misery loves company thing.” Then he starts reading IMs from listeners. While he’s reading, I hear this dull clank that’s totally familiar. He goes, “Sorry, friends. Just knocked over something I bet you’d never guess was on my desk.”
Suddenly, it all clicks.
I know who Dirk is.
I go downstairs and sneak out the back door.
If this were a TV show, his room would be downstairs and I’d be able to just crawl through his window with no problem and land in his room. But since this is real life, I have to unlock the front door to get in. So when I get to his house, I look for the ceramic turtle where he hides his key. He used it one day when I came over after school and he didn’t have his keys.
I’m all nervous and shaky. It being my first time breaking into a house and all. I get the door open and manage to walk quietly to his room without getting caught.
His door is closed. I put my ear against it and listen. And that’s how I know I’m right.
Because he’s reading IMs from listeners.
I turn the doorknob. His door doesn’t lock, same as mine. I push the door open.
Nash is sitting at his desk with headphones on. His cowbell is knocked over.
He stops talking.
“Let’s kick it old-school, shall we?” he says. “Here’s some Dre, tellin’ it like it is.”
He takes his headphones off. “What are you doing here?” he says.
“I knew it was you.”
“How?”
“Remember that time in lunch when you were listening to your iPod?”
“Uh . . .”
“When we were too depressed to eat?”
“Sort of . . .”
“You were listening to ‘Treasure.’ And you said how it makes you feel better and that misery loves company.”
“You remember all that?”
“Apparently.”
“So.” Nash gets up. “What happens now?”
“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“I know.”
“You can just . . . keep doing the show. Everyone loves it.”
“Hm.” He thinks about that. “It’s gotta end sometime, right?”
“Why?”
“They’re trying to find out who I am. It’s only a matter of time until I get busted. I never thought I’d be on for this long anyway. It’s all good.”
The way he brings everyone together, just by talking about real things that matter to us, is amazing. I still can’t believe Dirk is actually Nash. I don’t want to be the reason he quits. “Trust me, I won’t tell—”
“I know you won’t. That’s not it.”
I’m like, “How did you—”
“Find out all that stuff about school?”
“Yeah.”
“I work in the office, remember?”
I totally forgot that Nash does service credit in the main office second period. He’s even told me how easy it is to get information in there. He has access to all these confidential files. And the teachers and secretaries totally talk about private things right in front of him, as if he can’t hear them or something.