“Hey.”
I walk over and stand next to her. It’s hard to resist touching her. We look out the window.
“Remember when you could see the Twin Towers over there?” she says.
“That was the only reason I’d come in here. It was such a rush.”
“Yeah.”
It’s very quiet. No one else is around.
We stand there for a long time without talking. Like, three whole minutes.
I look at her.
She looks at me.
I say, “Favorite tree?” Sara told me about the Game of Favorites. It rocks. In class, we alternate between Dots and Favorites. So far we’ve had the same favorite things almost every time. It’s bizarre how much we have in common.
“Weeping willow.”
“Why?”
“They always look so sad.”
“True.”
“Favorite ice-cream flavor?”
“Mint chocolate chip.”
“Mine, too!”
“No way.”
“Way.”
“How are you getting home?”
“Oh, um . . . I’ll wait for the late bus.”
Here’s what I really want to say:
Let’s go under the stairs so I can rip your clothes off.
Here’s what I actually say:
“Can I drive you?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
All of my organs slam against the front of my stomach.
We walk down the hall so closely I can feel her body heat. We’re the only ones still here except for a few teachers with no lives.
Mr. Hornby passes us. "Aha! Discussing that piece from class today, are we?”
“Exactly,” I say.
“Terrific.” Mr. Hornby scoots down the hall.
At the front doors, I button my coat. Sara’s trying to zip her hoodie, only it won’t zip.
“Here.” I put my hands over her hands on the zipper. I slowly pull the zipper up. “Watch your hair.”
“Yeah.” She lifts her hair out of the way.
All I can think about is kissing her.
We walk to my car. All of these ideas about what could happen on the ride home spin around in my brain.
“What kind of car is this?” Sara says.
“It’s a Chevy Malibu. Are you into cars?”
“Not especially.”
“Me, neither. That’s why I have this one.” I open the door for her.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I make sure her scarf is in before I close the door.
When I start the car, music blasts from the speakers. I quickly reach over and turn it down.
“Who is this?” Sara says.
“You don’t know R.E.M.?”
“No, but I’ve heard of them.”
“I’ll let you borrow it. They’re phenomenal.”
“Thanks. Hey, so, what are you doing over break?”
I pull out onto Pine Street. “Oh, you know, the usual. Survive too many family visits. Do the expected holiday crap.” I glance over at her. “As if Thanksgiving won’t be enough torture.”
“Totally!” she yells. "Sitting through another fake happy family scene is the worst form of torture that exists. Well, except maybe for gym.”
“I can think of worse forms.” Like how I have to watch Dave put his hands all over you every single day. That asshole.
Sara’s quiet for a while. Then she says, “Yeah. I can’t stand my mom.”
“Why?”
“She ignores me. It’s like I’m not even there. Or if she remembers that I exist, all I hear about is how I ruined her life.”
"That’s messed up.”
“Tell me about it. It’s so hard to deal with a single parent. They take out all their anxiety on you. It’s like, she’s so angry all the time. And I didn’t even do anything!”
“That’s so wrong.”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s your dad?”
“I don’t know. My mom had me when she was still in high school, so . . .”
“You don’t see him at all?”
“No, and I don’t want to. I have no interest in maintaining a relationship with someone who didn’t love me enough to stick around.”
“That’s rough. My dad’s been on my case about college, but he’s decent people.” I pop the R.E.M. CD out and put in The Cure.
“Please,” Sara says. “I wish my mom noticed how hard I work. I could be Laila and she still wouldn’t say anything.”
Trees whizz by in the silence. But it’s not like the kind of uncomfortable silence I always had with Cynthia where it felt like we were both struggling to think of something to say. It’s a peaceful silence. Like we don’t have to constantly be talking to prove that everything’s okay. It just is.
I pull into Sara’s driveway. I panic that she might not ask me to come in. Then I panic that she might.
“Well . . .” I want to say so much all at once. Everything’s all scrambled together.
“Thanks for the ride,” Sara says.
“Of course.”
“So . . .” She looks over at me.
All rational thought processes disintegrate. I start to lean toward her.
“Thanks again,” she says.
“Anytime,” I say.
I lean over some more. . . .
CHAPTER 27
real love
november 7, 4:46 p.m.
I recognize The Look. And this overwhelming feeling that goes with it. I already know I’m not going to be able to focus on my homework tonight. Or probably for the rest of the year. I’m just sitting here with Tobey in his car, but just this much is already too exciting.
I try to remember how to breathe.
I try to remember that I already have a boyfriend.
I have to get out of this car.
My eyes scan his. I want to memorize every detail of his face. I never want to forget how this feels.
Tobey is still leaning toward me. The force of the energy between us is so strong. It would be so easy to kiss him right now. Every part of me wants to.
But it wouldn’t be right. Not yet.
“I guess I better go,” I say.
He stops leaning.
It takes all of my strength to push open the door.
I go around to Tobey’s side and stand there. The world spins around me. For the first time I can remember, I’m not freezing outside in November. It actually feels warm.
I stare at Tobey. He looks back at me with such an intensity I expect the glass to shatter.
I press my hand against his window. He presses his hand on the other side of mine.
For a while, we stay like that. With our hands pressed together, separated by glass.
It’s good that the next day is Saturday, because I would be a total zombie if there was school. I think I fell asleep around four thirty. All I could think about was Tobey. And what to tell Dave. Not that Dave would be trying to hear it right now. I’ve been kind of pulling away and avoiding him. Then I told him I needed to take a break this weekend for some alone time.
The bad part about today being Saturday is that I’m still waiting for Tobey to call. I’ve been waiting all morning. I glance at the clock. It says 12:32. Why hasn’t he called? Maybe he sleeps really late. And we don’t have call-waiting, so I’m not calling anyone until I hear from Tobey. I called Laila and Maggie last night, so they know everything. Maggie totally thinks I should go for it. Laila said I shouldn’t have even gotten a ride home from Tobey until I broke up with Dave. Which completely goes against what she was saying before, but whatever. It’s obvious that I have to dump Dave.
I decide to do a new page in my sketchbook about yesterday and another one about how to tell Dave it’s over. That should kill a couple of hours. Then it’ll be afternoon, and Tobey will probably call by then. But what if he feels shot down because I didn’t kiss him yesterday? Doesn’t he know how much I like him? I’m sure he knows that I wanted to kiss him, but I can’t kiss him and still be Dave’s girlfriend. Even if it is just a technicality at this point.
After an hour of staring at my blank sketchbook page, it’s obvious that capturing the feelings of yesterday on a page is impossible. I decide that working on my dream-home design would probably be more effective. I pick out a thin charcoal stick and outline the master bedroom.
I glance at the clock. It’s 1:46.
Is he thinking about me at all?
I sketch the walk-in closet and bathroom. The bathroom is huge with separate areas for the sink and bathtub. And post-modern faucets with water flowing over a chrome plate into the tub, like a mini waterfall.
It’s 2:17. Why doesn’t the boy call?
I throw my pencil down on my desk. I stomp into the living room, fling myself on the couch, and pick up the remote. Seventy-three channels and nothing’s on! Not even a repeat of
Dawson’s Creek
makes me feel better.
3:05.
I try to eat an apple. But I’m too nervous to eat it all. I throw the other half out.
3:11.
Maybe I should take a nap. Why don’t boys come with a user’s manual?
I lie down on my bed and toss my blanket on top of me. I close my eyes. Tobey is all my eyes can see. Even when they’re closed. Which just reminds me that he still hasn’t called.
By the time I get up, the clock says 5:48. I’m going to be insane if the phone doesn’t ring right now.
Right now right now right now.
No response from the phone.
Does he even remember who I am?
Trying to do my homework would be pointless. I camp out in front of the TV for the next few hours.
Then the phone finally rings.
I try to adjust my voice so it won’t sound like I think it might be him. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Tobey says.
This tidal wave of relief crashes over me. “Hey, you.”
“Sorry for calling so late. My dad was going over college stuff with me all day.”
“Oh . . . that’s okay. It’s not that late.” I glance at the clock. It says 9:25.
This was officially the longest day of my life.
“I wanted to tell you that I had a great time yesterday, ” Tobey says.
I swear, he’s, like, the perfect boy.
“Me, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool,” he says. “So, what’d you do today?”
“Not much. Just . . . work and . . . stuff.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah.”
“So, I was wondering. If . . . you were thinking about . . . like, do you think you should tell Dave about . . . um . . . ?”
“Yeah,” I say.
"Yeah?”say. "year?"
"Yeah.”
“Cool.”
I think I just agreed to break up with Dave.
So the next day at the arcade, I go, “We need to talk.”
Maggie taps the eight ball. It falls into the corner pocket.
“Let me guess,” Laila says. “No, wait. I don’t have to. I’m sure it’s about Tobey.”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you decided—”
“Can I just tell you what happened?”
“Something happened?” Maggie says. “Like,
happened
happened?”
I bite my lip to stop the smile, but the smile wins. “Yeah,” I tell the orange ball.
They race to my side of the pool table and crowd around me.
“Tobey called me last night. And I agreed to break up with Dave.”
Maggie’s eyes are huge.
Laila goes, “So when are you dumping him?”
“I’m seeing if he can drive me to the mall after school tomorrow. I’m going to do it there.”
“Good,” Laila says. “I like the public-place approach. That way if he gets in your face, he’ll look like a psycho.”
“Anyway, it’s not like he’ll be surprised,” I say. “Things haven’t been right between us for a while.”
Maggie nods. “It’s a case of fake love. It’s classic. I used to do this all the time.”
I go, “Huh?”
“You know, fake love. As opposed to real love.”
“Define.” Laila puts down her pool stick.
“It’s like fake love is what you had with Dave,” Maggie explains. “You wanted to be in love with him so badly that you convinced yourself it was possible. And he’s not really who you wished he was, but you wanted a boyfriend so you settled for him. But all along you were like, ‘I want the whole package. I know he’s out there.’ And then Tobey comes along, and everything clicks. And now you realize he’s what you wanted all along.” Maggie taps her pool stick on the table. “That’s real love.”
“The thing with Tobey and me is . . . we’re just so connected.”
“Sounds like something real.” Laila clears her throat.
“You love that,” I say.
Laila smiles. “I’ll admit it’s sweet. But the whole idea of true love is ludicrous.”
“I disagree!” Maggie says. “Anyway, I’m psyched for you! Everything you want is finally happening.” She hugs me. “Too bad . . .
my
life is over.”
And just like that, she’s crying.
Laila shoots me a look.
I hug Maggie back. “What’s wrong?”
She sniffs. “I found out something last night. . . .” She starts crying even harder.
I’m paralyzed with fear, imagining what it could be. Laila digs in her bag for a tissue.
Maggie takes a shaky breath. “It’s my dad.”
“What happened?” Laila asks.
“Is he okay?” I say.
“Sure. He’s just great.” Maggie blows her nose. “Him and his
whole other family
in New York.”
“
What?
” I say.
“My dad has this whole other family in New York. We found out last night. He came back from one of his business trips, and Mom started yelling at him. She knew something was going on the whole time. But she never said anything to me.”
“Shit,” Laila says.
“They went into their room, and I could hear them fighting. Well, more like Mom was hysterical and Dad was trying to calm her down. Then he left with his suitcase. He didn’t even say bye to me or anything.”
“That is so messed up,” I say.
“And get this. It turns out every time he went to New York overnight, which was, like, every time, he would stay at his other house with his girlfriend and her two kids.” Her voice cracks. “They don’t even know about me.”