You, Maybe, page 12
“Um, so, you’re in love with Frankie, right?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
She thought about that for a minute, then said, “I’m happier when I’m with him. I’m stronger, more daring, more open. You know how when you’re ten, you are so much who you are? When I was ten I was like the senior of being a kid. I was into sports, of course, but I was also into politics, I read the paper, I organized a recycling drive, I did cartwheels just because I felt happy. Didn’t you?”
“Well,” I said, “I have never done a cartwheel. Maybe I’ve never been that happy.”
“No, you know what I mean. I was strong. And then in middle school I don’t know what happened exactly but I kind of got scared. I was tense a lot, and I started watching the other girls more than the news. And me—I used to inspect myself in the mirror, agonizing over every flaw.”
“You have flaws?” I asked her. “You’re perfect.”
“My eyes are too close together, my lips are like a duck’s, one of my ears is pointy . . .” She showed me. It was true. “Please. But the thing is, when I started going out with Frankie, he liked my pointy ear. I used to hide it all the time, in fear that somebody would see it. He calls it my elf ear. I don’t know.” She flopped down on the bed. “And he needs me, too. He has never said the words I love you to anybody but me. He doesn’t decide anything without asking me, because he trusts my judgment so much. Even about college. Well, partly because I’ll apply early wherever he goes. He’s my best friend.”
“Wow,” I said.
“When I’m not with him,” she went on, the words rushing out of her, “I think about him all the time—what he would think, or say, how he would calm me down and help me roll with it, with whatever. And when I’m with him, it’s just—easy. This might sound weird, but I’m more like I was when I was ten. Minus the cartwheels, plus a little, you know, different kind of physical stuff. I guess I know I’m in love with Frankie because I’m more like myself when I’m with him.”
“Sounds like love,” I admitted.
She flipped onto her stomach and looked at me. “How about you, with Carson?”
Before I could answer, there was a very faint knock on the door. She jumped up to open it and let Frankie in. “Hey, elf,” I heard him whisper.
I picked up my pajamas and my cosmetic bag. “Bye,” I said, on my way out. I don’t think they heard me. In the bathroom I changed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and reapplied a little bit of mascara. I wadded up my clothes and shoved them, on top of my cosmetic case, into a corner between the sink and the bathtub. Sneaking down the hall to Carson’s room, I heard the floorboards squeaking like cannon booms.
The door opened before I knocked. Carson was standing in a white T-shirt and white boxers and his ragg-wool socks. He pulled me into the room and kissed me, his arms closing the door behind me and then wrapping me up, pulling me close. We kissed standing there in the middle of room for a few minutes, until he pulled gently away. He took off his T-shirt. There was my earring, still hanging from the string around his neck. I touched it with my finger. He took my finger and kissed it lightly, then pulled me gently toward the far bed.
I followed him, but when he sat down, I stayed standing. He pulled gently on my hand, and said, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I whispered.
“Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not.” I started lifting the bottom of my camisole, edging it above my belly button, taking my time. His eyes flicked from my belly to my eyes and down again, and when they didn’t come back up, I turned around and let him watch my back as I pulled the camisole off. I turned my head to make sure he was still watching.
“Oh, Josie,” he said.
“It’s all coming off,” I whispered, crossing my arms over my chest. It was absolutely freezing in there. “I want to be completely naked with you.”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, Carson.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Do you love me?” I asked. “Tell me you love me.”
“Josie,” he said.
“What?” I was starting to shiver.
“Come on. Come here. You’re shivering.”
My teeth started to chatter. “That’s a no? You don’t love me?”
Carson stood up. I scrunched down on the floor and grabbed my camisole. “Josie, why are you doing this? Come on. Do you want to fool around or you want to fight?”
“Say it,” I said. “Say you don’t love me.”
I watched his feet, so near my head, in their adorable socks. His toes gripped the floor and then relaxed. “I don’t love you.”
I pressed my camisole against my naked chest. “Why did you drag me up here? Do you know what I did for you?”
“Not the martyr routine again.” He walked away. “I asked if you wanted to come. Whatever you did, you did for yourself, not for me. Don’t blame me for your choices, Josie. I mean really. Grow up.”
I swallowed. He was right. “But I love you,” I said, my voice sounding weirdly strangled. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
I didn’t wait for his answer. I dashed out of the room with the camisole pressed against my naked body, praying nobody would be in the hall, and ducked into the bathroom. With the door locked, I pulled on my camisole, and then my sweater from my pile of clothes. I climbed into the cold, dry bathtub and had a long silent cry.
When I was all cried out, I looked at myself in the mirror for a while. Then I sat on the closed toilet, trying to plan my next move. It was Friday night and I was stranded in the Poconos, with no way to get home, and nobody to love me. He doesn’t love me. I considered crying about that all over again but I guess I was done.
If Carson comes to the bathroom, I will forgive him, I decided. I can’t make him love me. I don’t really even need that. I love him. That could be enough, and maybe eventually he’ll love me. Less than two weeks ago he said he thought he could fall in love with me. Maybe what he meant tonight was that he doesn’t love me yet, that he needs more time. Obviously. And I was rushing him. I was pressuring him.
I am such a jerk. Why am I so pushy? I don’t need to forgive him; I have to ask him to forgive me! What did he do wrong? I asked him a question and at least he respected me enough to answer honestly. Most boys would’ve been like sure, whatever, I love you, keep taking off your clothes. Not that I’m such a prize, naked, but if you believe some people, boys don’t care. Well, but that’s not true, I don’t think. Michael wouldn’t say he loved me just to get me naked; he just loves me. And Carson could’ve, but chose not to. Did I want him to lie? I should go apologize for freaking out like that, for rushing him, for blaming him. I should beg him to start the night over, fresh.
But I can’t go back in there, I thought. I will not be that girl chasing him around. No, not me, no way. Maybe he’s gathering the courage to come back in here right now, I thought. Maybe he’ll make some sort of grand gesture to show me he may not yet love me, but he is now teetering on the edge of falling in love with me.
I stood up fast and washed my face. He could be in here any second. No swollen eyes! Yuck! How could he love me when I look like a monster? I filled the sink with icy water and plunged my face into it. I stayed in there holding my breath for as long as I could stand it, then did it again and again until I had a headache. I dried off and applied my makeup as carefully as I could, curling my eyelashes, smudging on just a subtle bit of shadow.
Beside my feet was Margo’s cosmetic case. I opened it. Yes, lip gloss. I used some and put it back carefully. She wouldn’t mind, probably, I told myself. She’s so nice. Frankie loves her. They’re best friends. Why aren’t Carson and I best friends?
When I was as good as I could make myself look, I sat down on the toilet to wait. I allowed myself to check my watch only at five-minute intervals, telling myself if I checked in under five minutes, I would jinx it and he wouldn’t come.
After half an hour I started considering the possibility that he wasn’t coming anyway. After an hour I washed the makeup off again. My face felt raw from so much scrubbing in one night. I crawled into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain closed. There were frighteningly lifelike pictures of goldfish on the liner, and a white terry curtain outside. I counted the goldfish to keep from being scared or sad. I got lost in the sixties a few times but kept counting until, eventually, as the light started coming in through the window above my head, I fell asleep.
Twenty-four
I WOKE UP to the sound of water running, with no idea where I was. It took maybe two seconds for me to figure out that
a) I was in the bathroom,
b) in the tub,
c) not alone, and
d) that was not water running.
When I heard the toilet flush my theory was confirmed. What to do? If I said something, the person who just peed would be at least startled if not furious, and I would have to explain what I was doing fully dressed in the tub. I resolved to lie very still until the person finished washing his or her hands and with any luck that would be the end of it.
Clearly I was not having a lucky weekend. A hand, a boy hand, reached behind the shower curtain and turned on the water. The bath started filling. I was getting damp. Think, I thought. I needed a plan. The hand felt the water, adjusted it a little warmer, and turned the middle knob so the shower went on. I had to do something; the situation was only getting worse. When I saw the hand grasp the shower curtain, I realized that in about one second a naked boy was going to step onto me in the bathtub and most likely have a heart attack on the spot.
Think!
As reassuringly as I could, I said, “Don’t panic.”
Unfortunately, the clatter of the shower rings skidding across the pole and the thrumming of the water into the tub (and onto me) must have drowned out my voice, because Daniel, fully naked, lifted his leg to get into a tub I was lying in, unintentionally taking his shower.
“Stop,” I said, calmly, at the exact second, or maybe a split second after, he saw me.
He screamed. I screamed. I’m not sure why I screamed. I was startled, too, I guess, even though I’d had some time to prepare myself. It was a startling situation. He pulled the shower curtain closed between us but honestly it was too late. I had seen it all by then.
“What the hell are you doing in there?” Daniel yelled.
I decided I may as well turn off the water. “Taking a shower, apparently.”
He didn’t respond for a minute, and then said, “But . . . I turned on the water.”
“True,” I said. I stood up. Water dripped off me. My clothes felt extremely heavy.
“So you weren’t in the middle of your shower, when I came in.”
“Right again,” I said, wringing out my hair. “No wonder you got into Princeton. You’re a junior?”
“Sophomore,” he said.
I smiled at the goldfish pictures. “Oh.”
“Josie?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m going back to my room. When you’re done in here, leave the door open.”
“Okay,” I said, and then, since I couldn’t resist, added, “Nice seeing you.”
After the door closed, I opened the shower curtain again and stripped off my clothes. I grabbed a towel off the pile and scampered back to my room. Margo was gone and the beds were tightly made. I got dressed quickly and rubbed my hair dry. I was determined to be bright and fun, easy to get along with, smooth like Margo, confident like Emelina.
When I got down to the great room, Frankie and Margo were in the kitchen, trying to be subtle about watching Carson and Emelina, who were at the table, playing cards.
“Good morning,” I said, smiling brightly.
Nobody responded.
“Queen of spades,” Carson said, slapping a card onto the top of the pile. “I’m doomed.”
Emelina raised one eyebrow at him.
“You’re asking for it,” Carson said. He slapped his hand down.
“Bull,” Emelina answered, low and sexy.
“Oh, yeah?” Carson asked, leaning close to her.
“Hey, Josie! Want some eggs?” Frankie offered. “I’m scrambling.”
“Sure.” I was relieved to hang with them in the kitchen, getting the butter, the salt, anything to keep from looking toward the table, until the eggs were done and plated. Carson and Emelina had just finished the game when we got out to the table. I sat down beside Carson and started to eat my eggs, without tasting them.
Margo picked up the cards. “Whose fortune can I tell?”
“Mine,” Frankie offered.
“Okay.” Margo smiled and shuffled, then started laying out cards as her eggs cooled. “Three cards here, four there, and I’ll do me at the same time.”
Frankie grinned up at her.
“Okay,” Margo said, considering the cards. “For you, I see a young love. You run away together.”
“I hope yours says the same.”
Margo tilted her head. “No, mine says I’ll fall in love with somebody old and rich and he’ll die and leave me alone, but very, very wealthy.”
Frankie pushed the cards away and said, “I’ll kill him.”
She grinned at him and took a bite of her eggs.
“Do mine,” Carson said.
“Okay.” Margo swallowed, shuffled, and laid a new array of cards on the table. “Let’s see, diamond, spade . . . hmm, I don’t know. I messed up.” She reached to sweep up the cards. Carson grabbed her hand and stopped her. “No,” he said. “The cards don’t lie. What? I die young or something?”
Margo didn’t answer. “It’s just a game,” she said, her voice quavering. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Let go of her arm, man,” Frankie said.
Carson let go, shoved his chair away from the table, and went to the front door. He stomped into his boots, grabbed his jacket from the coat rack, and went outside. Emelina stood up.
“Go,” Margo whispered to me.
I jumped up and followed Emelina to the door.
“I’ll go,” I said to Emelina, as we sat on the bench beside each other, putting on boots.
She stopped lacing hers up and considered me.
“You still love him, don’t you?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she said.
“Does he still love you?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed hard and grabbed my jacket off the hook. “What about me?”
Emelina shrugged.
I shook my head. “No. That’s not fair.”
“Fair? You think it’s a game?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
I pushed out the door into the cold morning. It had snowed a ton overnight. The cars looked like massive marshmallows. Everything was white. I clomped through the knee-high powder until I found Carson around the side of the house, sitting sideways on a snowmobile.
“Hey,” I said.
He looked up at me. “Hey.”
“Want to go for a ride?”
“Sure,” he said. “But I’m driving.”
“Deal.”
He got on and I sat behind him, pressed against his back with my arms hugging his waist. He turned it on and we started flying, fast and smooth, into the fields behind the house. He took a path through the woods and we went awhile like that. It was absolutely beautiful back there, the trees heavy with snow and no noise but the roaring of the snowmobile’s engine and the pounding of my heart. When we emerged we were on the far side of a pond, beyond which I could see the house, covered in snow, smoke billowing out of the chimney. It looked as peaceful and pleasant as a scene could look. Carson headed toward the house, around the lake, but three-quarters of the way there he hit the brakes and stopped. He turned off the engine.
I didn’t let go of him, and he didn’t release the handles. We just sat there for a few minutes in the quiet.
“You should never have come,” he finally said.
I rested my head on his back.
“I shouldn’t have made you come. This isn’t your scene, these aren’t your friends. You’re miserable and so am I.”
“I am not,” I said, though my tears were dripping onto his jacket. “I’m having a great time.”
“No, you’re not.” He pried my hands off him and turned his head toward me. “I think we need to end this before either of us gets hurt.”
“Too late!” I yelled. “I’m already hurt. How can you do this to me? You begged me to be your girlfriend. I told you it wouldn’t work but you convinced me. And now, when my heart is wrapped up, when I have given up everything to be your girlfriend—my friends, my job, my clothes, my . . . everything! Everybody is mad at me and now you’re just like, oh, sorry, never mind? What the hell is that? I am turning myself into a pretzel to be wherever you want, whenever you want, whoever you want, and you just throw me away like a piece of trash?”
“I guess you were right,” he said, calmly.
I shoved him off the snowmobile. He landed on his back in the snow. “Love is a brat, you think? No, love is fine. You are the brat, you spoiled, rotten brat!”
“Josie . . .”
I stood above him. It took all my self-control not to stomp his gorgeous face with my boot. “I love you!”
“Josie!” Someone was yelling my name, far away. “Josie!”
I turned and looked toward the house. Frankie was standing there in just his long johns, waving his arms. “Come here! Come in!”
I squinted toward him and saw the back door open. Michael walked through it. Michael? Michael! I started running toward the house, leaving Carson on the ground behind me.
Twenty-five
“MICHAEL!”
I got to the back deck out of breath and grabbed onto Michael’s jacket sleeves.
“I tried your cell,” Michael said. “I tried it like a hundred times.”
“There’s no service up here,” Emelina said, coming out of the house, too, in her boots and coat. “Notorious.”
“And the phone lines are down, so . . .”
“From the storm,” Emelina explained. “Gingy was just saying we got almost fifteen inches.”
