You, Maybe, page 14
He once loved how strong and independent and real I was, so that’s what I should definitely pretend to be. Maybe he was testing me, seeing if I could handle the rough times, too; how can you make yourself vulnerable to someone, fall in love with her, until you know if she’ll stick with you no matter what? He gets so much attention for his looks and achievements—but that’s all earned love, in a way. That kind of love could disappear if his grades slipped or he got cut from a team or his face was horribly disfigured somehow. So maybe before he can fully fall in love with me is unconditional love. Isn’t that the highest form of loving somebody? To love him unconditionally?
I had to prove to him that I could take it, that I was strong, that I would love him no matter what. I put down my lunch and Wiffle bat and sat on an icy bench near the gate that led from the courtyard to the parking lot. Even though I didn’t fully believe it, I told myself: this is a test, it is only a test, a test of my love for him. Fine. I’m good at tests. I sat on my fingers to keep them warm, and watched the gangs of seniors heading toward me. Maybe today is the day I’ll finally pass this test. Soon everything will be easy and equal between us at last.
Carson. I could see his walk before I could make out his features, his long strides, so confident and balanced. I sucked in my breath. As he got closer I could see his gorgeous face, and then my eyes were drawn down. His hand was holding Emelina’s.
Twenty-eight
SIT STILL, I begged myself.
They came closer and closer. Maybe he will be embarrassed and drop her hand. Maybe he’s just comforting her about something, maybe she bombed a test, or got her finger slammed in a door and he’s just being a good friend. Don’t I want my boyfriend to be a good friend? To his ex-girlfriend?
Well, no. I don’t, actually.
I saw Margo see me, and Frankie. Frankie grabbed Carson’s arm and whispered something, and then Carson glanced toward me. He didn’t slow down, he didn’t smile. He didn’t drop Emelina’s hand.
Stay still, I told myself.
I stood up.
Carson reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. He handed them to Emelina. “Why don’t you pull my car around,” he said to her. “I’ll be right there.”
“Okay,” she answered.
“You sure?” Frankie asked him.
“Go ahead,” Carson told them.
Margo tried to catch my eye, but I wouldn’t look at her. I was staring at Carson.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello,” I said.
“How’s your mom?”
“Fine,” I said.
“That’s good.”
“Carson,” I said. “Listen, I know this has been a rough time. I’m sorry I’ve been . . . whatever I’ve been. I’m sorry. Can we just . . .” I smiled at him. “Let’s start over, okay? Hi, I’m Josie.” I held out my hand, to shake his.
He didn’t take my hand. “Don’t do this.”
I kept smiling, determinedly. “Tell me what you want me to do. Anything. I’ll do it, Carson.”
He shook his head. My hand was still sticking out, between us. Please, I thought, take my hand at least. Touch me. Let me at least once more touch your fingers with my skin.
“Carson, I love you.”
“It’s over, Josie. I gotta go.”
“You have to go to her? To Emelina? You’re back together?”
“Yes.”
I felt my fingers curling into fists. “Did you teach her to drive, too?”
“She taught me, actually,” he said softly. “Come on, Josie. Let’s end as friends.”
“Friends?” I was yelling by now but I didn’t care. “How can we end as friends? We weren’t friends to begin with. My friends are inside, waiting for me. My friends care about me. They love everything about me. You and me—we were just hooking up. We were never friends.”
“Don’t say that,” he murmured.
“We weren’t. We were nothing, and then you twisted me up and made me fall in love with you. You’re my first love, Carson. Don’t I mean anything to you?”
He glanced toward the parking lot.
I shrieked. It was a scary sound. I think I scared both of us. “Look at me! Look at me! I am crazy. About you. I belong to you. You are the only thing that matters to me, not even myself, not my, I gave, I’d give . . .” My head was reeling. “I gave you my great-grandmother’s earring. Don’t you know . . .”
He nodded. “I have it.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.
Out in the parking lot, the horn of his car beeped twice.
“Coming,” he called. “One sec!”
He opened his wallet and fished out a tissue with a tiny lump in it. He refolded his wallet, put it back in his pocket, and unwrapped the tissue. There it was, my great-grandmother’s sparkling diamond, in his creased hand.
“No!” I yelled. “It’s yours! I’m yours!”
“No,” he whispered. “It’s yours. You should keep it.”
I picked up the Wiffle bat with both hands and took aim at his horrible gorgeous head.
“What are you doing, Josie?” he asked, smiling kindly. “Come on. I thought you were a pacifist.”
“I’ve changed,” I said.
“You planning to kill me with a Wiffle bat?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” he asked.
The bat was shaking in my tight grip. “Because I don’t have my Minnie Mouse pillow,” I said.
He smiled for real. Oh, man, that smile.
“Carson . . .”
His smile dimmed. He held out the earring to me in his open palm.
I smashed his hand as hard as I could with the Wiffle bat.
“Ow!” he screamed.
My earring went flying.
Carson was rubbing his red palm, inspecting it for damage. “That hurt,” he shrieked. “You really hurt me.”
“Right back at you,” I said. “Good-bye, Carson.”
He frowned, massaging his hand, the big baby. “I just wanted to end this nicely.”
“Yeah?” I cocked the bat back up to hit him again. “Well, this time you don’t get what you want.”
He backed away from me, toward his car. The passenger door flew open. He turned and sprinted the last few feet, flung himself into the passenger seat, and slammed the door shut. They peeled out, racing away from me.
I didn’t lower the bat or get down on my knees to search for my other earring—or cry—until they were gone. It took awhile but I didn’t give up until I found it, under an old brown leaf. I stood up and put my earring back where it belonged. Then I chucked the Wiffle bat into a garbage can, wiped my eyes dry, and headed inside.
Bonus Material
Tru’s Top 10 Favorite Books
1. You, Maybe: The Profound Asymmetry of Love in High School by Rachel Vail
It completely reminded me of this thing one of my best friends went through this year; weirdly true to life!
2. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
Anybody who stands alone, laughing, naked, on the edge of a cliff is either brilliant or seriously off, and definitely sexy.
3. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Smart, sexy, and romantic.
4. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Powerful story of friendship and sacrifice.
5. The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot
Fast, fun, and funny—and you know you secretly imagine being Mia!
6. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
Totally romantic and intense, and in Spain, where it’s hot!
7. The Complete Works of Shakespeare by you-know-who
Okay, the histories are boring but the comedies are seriously bawdy and the tragedies, well, it doesn’t get deeper than this.
8. A Separate Peace by John Knowles
Another great friendship story, with boys but still good anyway, and I have a total crush on Finny.
9. If We Kiss by Rachel Vail
If I ever kiss for the first (and second, and . . .) time, I want it to be as romantic and hot as when Charlotte kisses Kevin (or George!).
10. Atonement by Ian McEwan
Meant for adults but he totally nailed the voice of the thirteen-year-old.
Zandra’s Guide to Changing Your Looks but Keeping Your Self
DO:
1. Hair today . . .
It’s just hair. Do something way different! It can change both your looks and your outlook. Get a bob, dye a pink streak, attach a long ponytail. Don’t stress if it’s hideous. Even the most disastrous mistake grows out pretty quickly.
2. Change your clothes!
Again, go wild. I’m not talking bikinis in January. Self-preservation! But if you are usually goth, try something pretty and pastel, or vice versa. A funky jacket or a wacky pair of sneakers might make people (including yourself) look at you fresh. . . .
3. Make one thing up . . .
Choose a feature you want to emphasize. Eyes? Lips? Keep the rest of your makeup really simple (or skip it altogether) and go to town on that one feature. Maybe do big lashes this week. Next week, it’s all about lip gloss.
4. Clean up
Body odor and dirty nails are gross. Wash, brush, start fresh. Nobody wants to work on a dirty canvas!
DON’T:
1. Buy into the hype!
Ew, who wants to let a bunch of old people on Seventh Avenue decide what looks good on you? Also, if it’s totally in now, you will look way out of date in ten minutes. What do you like? Confidence is more gorgeous than any $$ jeans.
2. Put all your bread in the window . . .
That’s my grandmother’s expression for someone who shows all her, ahem, assets as much as possible. Honestly, it does look cheap. A little mystery goes a long way.
3. Be a pincushion
What did you think was cute five years ago? Ten? Still love it? Please. Think about that before you let somebody draw a tattoo on you. Plus, they have to use needles—yuck!
4. Ditch your friends for a guy
You can change up what you wear to catch his eye if you really want to (though I never would!), but ditching your friends for a guy is always ugly. And if things don’t work out with the guy, you’ll be sitting alone on the curb with mascara dripping down your face—also not the most flattering look. Trust me—been there. If your mascara’s gonna run (and it is, girl, someday it’ll be you crying the black rivers), you’ll need your pals to wipe your cheeks.
A Q&A with Michael
Q: How long have you been in love with Josie?
A: Who says I’m in love with her?
Q: Aren’t you?
A: Well, yes. I guess. No. Forever.
Q: Why didn’t you ever ask her out?
A: She was pretty clear about her feelings on that subject.
Q: What are your ambitions in life?
A: To be a musician. To save the world. To write the perfect song.
Q: What are you scared of?
A: Something bad happening to my parents, or disappointing them.
Q: Favorite food?
A: Red candy. Or sushi (not red).
Q: Bad habit?
A: Nail biting. Can’t seem to stop.
Q: What is the worst thing you ever did?
A: Used a friend.
Q: Why did you do that?
A: Revenge. And I was stupid, all messed up. And maybe horny.
Q: When?
A: The weekend Josie went away with SuperBoy. Saturday night. 10 P.M.
Q: What did you do?
A: I will never tell, and neither will Zandra.
Q: Zandra?!
A: I completely deny anything happened with me and Zandra that night.
Q: Is that why you drove up to get Josie during a blizzard the next day? Guilt?
A: Guilt. Love. Stupidity. Insanity. Hope. Kind of a chopped salad of dysfunction, huh?
Q: Do you want to end up with Josie, after all that has happened?
A: No. Yes. Absolutely not. Maybe.
Rachel Vail on Her Inspiration for You, Maybe
AS I WAS WRITING my new book, You, Maybe: The Profound Asymmetry of Love in High School, the question in my mind was: What happens the first time love crashes over your head and pulls you in? What do you risk? What do you lose and what do you gain?
At the time, my son, Zachary, was ten, and performing in the Metropolitan Opera’s production of Carmen. I was never much of an opera fan, I admit. I had always thought of it as, well, a bunch of fat people shrieking in foreign languages. But Zachary loved it, and there he was up on that huge stage, so what was I going to do? Buy a ticket and watch. Of course. And listen. And slowly—despite my resistance—the beauty of it started reaching me.
But still, it’s true, my mind would wander. As I sat in my red velvet seat in the audience, I found myself, as always, working. Imagining. Bizet’s music became the soundtrack inside the mind of this cool tenth-grade girl I was creating, as she fell horribly in love with a devastatingly charismatic guy.
During the seventh performance, I figured out why I was getting such good work done there. It wasn’t just that I was trapped, unable to get distracted by e-mails and alphabetizing the refrigerator. It was much more fundamental: The opera Carmen was enacting the same story I was telling in my book!
I almost jumped up and shouted YES! But they frown on that in the opera house. Also one of my shoes had fallen off under the seat in front of me. I waited until the intermission, fished out my shoe, and then ran to a café across the street to write, write, write. Those hours when the story comes fast and furious are the best part of being a writer.
There are, of course, big differences between You, Maybe and Carmen. Nobody is singing in the book, certainly not in French, and the story takes place in Pennsylvania instead of Spain. Also, in Carmen, it is the guy who throws his life away for doomed romance. Gender switch! The flirtatious, sexy Gypsy Carmen became, in my book, the magnetic senior hottie Carson; Don José, the star-crossed soldier, became smart, strong, fragile Josie Dondorff. Also, in mine nobody ends up dead. In place of a knife there’s a waffle bat. But both are stories about losing yourself in love.
You may have fun going through and finding the many tricky little references to the opera—from settings to expressions. (Hint: Emelina is based on a bullfighter!) But you don’t have to go there at all. Either way, I hope you will enjoy this story on its own.
It was horrible and exciting, equally, becoming Josie as I wrote her story. I wanted to explore, as part of a tale of first love, dealing with hook-ups (the friends-with-benefits issue, as well as the not-even-really-friends-just-giving-benefits issue) and questions of different kinds of love (parent/teen love, friend love, romance). As always, I have many more questions than answers.
There is so much that happened in the lives of every character in this book that is not contained in the text. As I create characters, I write short stories and sentence completion tests and diary entries for each of them, even the ones who have tiny parts in the main book. It’s not efficient, but it is the best way I know to ensure that my characters are multidimensional and interesting. But then I can only include the stuff that propels the story along—so maybe 5% of what I write actually makes it into the final book. Sometimes even really juicy stuff doesn’t get in. Is it any wonder I sometimes have to write a new book from the perspective of one of the characters in a book I just finished? This is why for my next project, I am writing a trilogy about three sisters the summer their wealthy, beautiful, seemingly perfect family falls apart—one book from each sister’s point of view, so as you read, you find out more and more secrets they keep from everyone, even each other. . . .
For more on my books and how I write, as well as tips for your own projects, please visit my website. I’d also love to know your thoughts after you read You, Maybe or any of my other books. What would you have done in Josie’s situation? Have you ever felt so overwhelmed by your feelings that you ignored your own best rational thoughts? I’d love to read your opinions.
Visit me anytime at www.rachelvail.com.
Quiz: How Good Is Your Crush?
JOSIE IS SMART, strong, and independent, but when she falls for Carson Gold . . . well, not for nothing is it called a CRUSH. Take this quiz to find out just how bad you’ve got it—or how good!
1. When you see your crush, does your body freak out?
(a) My palms sweat, I can’t remember how to breathe, speak, or walk, and my heart makes every effort to evacuate through my ribs.
(b) No.
(c) My stomach tightens and my fingertips go frosty.
(d) I can’t stop smiling and my cheeks and ears heat up.
2. How do you feel when you spend time with your crush?
(a) excited, buzzy, nervous
(b) bored, distracted, itchy
(c) embarrassed, shaky, self-hating
(d) relaxed, happy, confident
3. Think of someone whose judgment you respect, who is totally on your side. What would they think of your crush?
(a) that we are a surprising match, but interesting, maybe
(b) that I deserve better
(c) that I should immediately delete his name from my phone, IM list, brain, and vocabulary
(d) that we are terrific for each other
4. If there is something I like to do that my crush is not into . . .
(a) I would just do it without him.
(b) I would stop doing it.
(c) I would pretend I am not, never have been, never would be into it.
(d) I would be excited to tell him about it.
5. If my crush is into something I am not . . .
(a) We’re actually into a lot of the same things, but I guess I’d be like, fine, whatever, we’re not supposed to be fused at the brain.
