If We Kiss, page 8
“I have to go, too,” she said. “See you in school tomorrow. I feel so much better. Is that weird? Maybe I didn’t have to tell him I love him; I just had to tell somebody. No—I just had to tell you. Thanks, Charlie.”
She hung up before I could say you’re welcome. I hung up, too, and since I couldn’t even move off my bed, never mind to another state, I just lay there a hundred miles away from New Hampshire, until the phone in my hand rang again.
sixteen
“HI, IT’S GEORGE.”
“Hi,” I said.
“We have to talk.”
I hate when people say that. Even George.
“Why?” I asked. I was pretty talked out from the last phone call.
“Because sign language over the phone really sucks,” he said.
I smiled.
“Yes, like that. Can’t read you there.”
“I was smiling,” I told him.
“Oh. Okay. So. Um, obviously it’s not working out.”
“What isn’t?”
“Us,” he said.
I sat up. Are you dumping me? I thought, but what I said was, “Oh.”
“So,” he said. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“So, see ya.”
“I guess,” I answered.
“By the way—I knew that people sometimes put out plastic flamingoes on their lawns.”
“Oh,” I said. What?
He didn’t hang up but he didn’t say anything else, so I hung up. Then I flopped back down on my bed and cried. Not just about the humiliation of being tossed, but also about George, and how I had totally messed up my relationship with him when he is such a great guy and I am such an undeserving heap of poop. Then I cried about Kevin, and how he only used me when he really loved Tess all along, looking at her all happy to see her and like she looks good. Then I cried about Tess, and why does she get to be prettier than me and more confident and fun, and also what a bad friend I am to her, lusting after her boyfriend and keeping secrets from her when I know she would never do that to me. And then, just for good measure, I cried about nobody loving me best in the world since my father has his cute new family and always has to take a deep breath before he says a word to disorderly me, and my mother of all people (ha!) is all dreamy-eyed about some man and if they get married it won’t just be me and her anymore, looking at the lake; it will be him and her, with me probably shunted upstairs to play with the other kids.
The other kids being a brilliant little girl and, oh yeah, the crush of my life.
After that I was so dehydrated I needed to drink an entire liter of seltzer. I didn’t even have to pee, after. That’s how much I had cried.
Then I cut up a cucumber and put the slices on my eyes. I had read about doing that in a magazine Tess and I stole from her oldest sister, Isabel. It was an article called “The Best Revenge Is Looking Good.” We almost got caught in our theft, we were snorting so loud at the stupidity of it all. Who’d lie around with cucumber slices on her eyes, if she weren’t a dead fish on a platter at a catered brunch? For that matter, who’d cry her eyes out all night just because a boy dumped you?
A Pop-Tart, that’s who. What I always swore I’d never stoop to become.
I gave myself a stern talking to: Get over yourself, honey. Get some perspective on world events and real tragedy, huh?
So then I cried a little about what a shallow jerk I am.
I lay back down on the couch like a smoked trout. The cucumbers felt surprisingly refreshing. Maybe it would not be so bad to be an entrée.
I noticed that with my eyes covered my hearing was particularly acute. I heard Mom walk into the living room but pretended not to, until she asked, “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” I answered casually.
I listened to her sitting down in a chair, which scraped a bit on the floor.
“Tuesday night,” she said, “we’re going to have dinner with Joe, Kevin, and Samantha. I was thinking Mama Mexico might be fun.”
I sat up and the cucumbers fell, one on the floor and one on the couch. “Mom!”
“You know, there’s music, and I thought Samantha might enjoy that lady who makes the balloon animals.”
“I’m not going,” I said.
“Charlotte. Come on. We’re better than this, you and I.”
“It’s not . . . Mom, I honestly don’t care about your personal life,” I said in my most blasé voice. “Do what you want. But Tuesday I’m busy.”
“What?”
“Newspaper. Don’t you remember? I’m on the City News staff. I told you. Weren’t you listening?”
“Yes,” Mom said, “I know.” She was talking in her I’m so reasonable voice. I hate that voice. “We would have dinner after that, in the evening.”
“I’ll have homework.” I put a fresh couple of cucumber slices on my eyes and lay back down.
She just sat there not making a sound while I counted silently. I swore to myself I would not cave in and take off the cucumbers before a hundred at the earliest. At eighty-three I heard the chair squeak and her footsteps leaving the room.
I sat up, dumping the new pair of cukes. “I get a lot of homework this year, you know! Plus the whole journalism responsibility! What if there’s some . . . news? In the city? I might have to go out and cover it!”
Nothing.
I immediately thought of ten obnoxious things to yell but I knew she’d just ignore them so I didn’t waste my breath. I was considering getting really annoyed that she was acting so unimpressed with my single-minded devotion to my newspaper career, until I admitted to myself that so far I hadn’t done anything other than download phone numbers for the Board of Ed, and complain about how boring it was.
I moved on to Best Revenge/Looking Good plans. There was very little I could do right then to make a positive difference in the world, I rationalized, and though I had always thought of myself as a good person, I was evidently wrong, as even George had figured out. I might however be able to perk up my looks marginally. Maybe that was a way I could contribute to making the world a better place, a more beautiful place.
I knew that was a load of crap even as I thought it, and so it was with complete self-loathing that I marched into the kitchen with a recipe for apricot/egg facial mask to continue attempting to improve myself superficially.
seventeen
EVERY TIME I saw George he looked away from me. I tried to be casual as I spied around corners, trying to catch him popping up at some other girl’s locker. I’d scratch her eyes out.
I had a heck of a nerve being jealous, of course, but there you have it. The pope is unlikely to beatify me soon, in any event. He didn’t seem to be otherwise engaged, though, just going about his business. George, that is. The pope doesn’t go to my school.
Tess was back to talking more about training for a triathlon than about love, which was a relief. I may even have agreed to train with her, in my fit of gratitude at not hearing the name Kevin and the verb love in the same sentence.
I smiled at Kevin once, briefly, outside English, thinking purposefully: No matter what, I will not reveal my secret to you. This is another tip I got from Tess’s sister Isabel’s magazine. Have a secret; don’t reveal it. It matters not at all what your secret is. My secret was my middle name—Reese.
Kevin didn’t seem particularly intrigued.
After school the next afternoon, at newspaper, I was sitting next to Penelope, keeping a running tab of how many times she sighed (fourteen) on the top corner of my math homework and trying not to stare at Kevin, when Mr. McKinley stomped toward us.
“Charles,” he boomed, meaning me.
I twitched to show I had heard. Or maybe in fear. I was still unable to function near him.
“When you go to the next Board of Ed meeting, make sure your notes are good. Right?”
I nodded. So Penelope had told him what a disaster my notes were on the first one, obviously. The rat.
“You don’t want to misquote a Board of Ed member, right?”
I shook my head, proud of my impressive muscular control. How humiliating. It was my first time ever writing a newspaper article—maybe I could get a little instruction or support? Especially because, hello, I am not even interested in newspaper. I am here by accident!
“Where do you think we get our funding?” McKinley bellowed.
A problem: It is hard to answer a non–yes/no question with only slight head movements. I thought for a moment. Where do we get our funding? Our what? There was a buzzing sound in my head. What was the question?
“The Board of Ed,” he answered himself. Hard to tell if he was happy or pissed. He sounded both. I was staring at his scuffed brown shoes. They were fancier than you’d guess for a guy that big and gruff who walks tilted forward at about a forty-degree angle.
In case he was waiting for me to say something, I nodded slightly.
“But be impartial,” he bellowed, then turned to make sure everybody could hear him. In all of New England, maybe. “You cover your benefactors the same as anybody else. You must be fair, unbiased, objective. Because what is the most important element in a free society?”
“A free press!” everybody answered. Everybody except me.
McKinley clapped me on the shoulder with his meaty hand and stomped away as the late bell rang. I was in such a rush to get the heck out of there, I almost crashed into Kevin in the doorway.
“Sorry,” I said.
“See ya,” he said. “Later.”
“My middle name is Reese,” I blurted.
“What?”
“That’s my . . .” What was I doing? “That’s a secret.” Ugh. I used to be within the spectrum of normal. “Don’t tell anyone,” I added feebly.
“Okay,” he said. “It’s your mother’s last name, right?”
I nodded. He knows stuff about me. I felt kind of naked and kind of scared and kind of, simultaneously, electrified. “That’s right,” I whispered.
“My father mentioned . . .” His voice trailed off. “Well, see you tonight, I guess.”
eighteen
THE MARIACHI BAND started playing right around the moment when Kevin’s father first mentioned Vermont. Until that moment it had been possible to pretend this was just one of those awkward/tedious dinners parents arrange so they can chat with each other and simultaneously pretend they are spending time with their children, because their children are around the same ages as each other and wouldn’t it be fun if they hit it off? I’ve endured these dinners with my mother’s college roommates and my father’s friends from the club. I know how to do it; you just smile a lot and say, “Oh, that’s great” and “Thank you” whenever you hear your name, and otherwise you are basically free to space out.
That’s how I was treating this dinner. Kevin, I decided, is just the son of my mother’s friend.
But then the mariachi band came over and started playing “La Bamba,” and Kevin’s father put his arm around my mother and said, “Over Christmas break we’re going up to Vermont.”
“Vermont?” my mother asked. “Oh, how wonderful.”
I shot her a look, chastising her for the false cheer. Ew.
“Oh, it is,” said Joe. “It’s wonderful. It’s on Sun-up Mountain, and it’s just this really cozy house. It belongs to my parents but they rarely use it these days. I love it there. So do Kevin and Samantha. It’s just great. We ski all day, build a fire afterward, just relax. Charlie, do you ski?”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling my face get red.
“Kevin is a great skier,” his father bragged. “And Samantha’s really learning, too.”
Samantha sipped her Shirley Temple and looked from face to face.
“Hey,” Joe said. “You two should come!”
“Well,” said Mom, all coy. “Charlie is supposed to be going to her father’s over Christmas this year.”
“Yeah,” I said. Then muttered, as I always do, “Unfortunately.”
“You can see she’s thrilled about it,” Mom said, instead of telling me not to be rude. “It really is very boring for her down at the Cape over Christmas. Actually, her father and I have been discussing maybe switching holidays, and I could have Charlie over Christmas and he could have her over Thanksgiving . . .”
“Am I involved in these negotiations at all?” I asked. “Or am I just a geranium you two pass back and forth?”
Mom smiled at me like a TV mom on a commercial about her rascally kid who has fully recovered from her cough. “You are a geranium.”
“That would be great, wouldn’t it, kids?” Mr. Lazarus asked his children. “Elizabeth and Charlie should come with us. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes,” Samantha answered obediently, and smiled sweetly at me. “You could sleep in my room. Kevin and I each have two beds in our rooms. Unless, I mean, I know you’re his friend, but . . .”
Mr. Lazarus chuckled his deep chuckle. “She’ll stay in your room, sweetheart,” he told his daughter.
I put on a fake smile and said to my mother, “And where will you be sleeping, Mom?”
“Well,” she said. “I . . .”
“Interesting question,” Kevin said.
I was too furious with my mother to thank him for the compliment.
“She could have my room,” said Mr. Lazarus. “And I would bunk in with Kevin. Of course.”
“Of course,” Mom said. “Well, let’s take it slow and think this through. It’s a very nice invitation. Thank you, Joe. There’s a lot to consider and it’s just an idea. . . .”
The band, by then, had wandered over to our table. They started playing the “Mexican Hat Dance.” Really loud. I crossed my arms over my chest and slumped in my chair, grimacing, waiting for these sweaty men to finish blaring their insipid song in my ears. When they did, Mr. Lazarus handed them a tip and they went on to the next table.
“Think about it,” said Mr. Lazarus. “I bet you would love Vermont, both of you. And we’d love to have you. Right, kids?”
“Right,” chimed Samantha.
“Bull,” said Kevin.
We all stared at him.
“Kevin,” his father chided.
“What a load of crap, Dad,” Kevin said. “Why do you have to lie to us? Put on this whole charade, as if you and Elizabeth hadn’t planned this, as if it hadn’t already all been discussed and agreed on by the two of you—as if we ‘kids’ had any say in it at all! Maybe Samantha is naïve enough to fall for that but not me and Charlie.”
Okay, I had fallen for it, or at least hadn’t been focused on that aspect of the situation, but no way was I opening my mouth and admitting it.
“Kevin,” his father said. “How about you calm down and we can . . .”
Kevin stood up. His chair almost smashed into the waitress behind him, who was balancing the tray with all our plates on it. “Calm down, my ass.”
“Kevin!”
“For once I would so love,” Kevin said, as the waitress put down his sizzling chicken fajitas, “some honesty. Everyone always makes excuses and hides behind convenient little stories—why doesn’t anybody just stand up and say this is what I want, or this is what I think? Everybody is so . . .”
“So . . . what?” Mr. Lazarus asked, his smile hardening slightly.
“So compromised.”
“Sit down, please, Kev, and eat your dinner.”
He shoved his chair toward the table. “Come on, Charlie.”
I had a barbecued rib in my mouth. I put it down, chewed quickly while wiping my mouth on my napkin, grabbed my bag, and followed him out. I was mad, too. I didn’t even say excuse me as I left.
We stomped across the parking lot. There was a Dumpster there, which Kevin punched. It was very loud and left a slight dent. He turned his back to me. I wasn’t sure if I should ask if he was all right or if I should wait silently or go back to the restaurant alone.
“I don’t even care if he and she are, you know.”
I didn’t answer. He sounded like he was trying not to cry.
“But they could have the courage to be honest about it. Do you know what I mean? About honesty?”
“Yeah,” I lied.
He turned around. “They lie and lie and lie—they don’t even realize they’re doing it. But they’ll do anything to avoid a confrontation.”
“Our parents?”
“All of them,” he said. “Adults. Most people.”
I nodded.
“But not you,” he said. “You don’t shy away from anything.”
“Me?” Good golly, the queen of conflict-averse.
He shook his head. “You’re different. That’s what’s so cool about you.”
“It is?”
“For a while I thought you were stuck-up. But then I realized it was just me, specifically, you were nasty to.”
“I was not!”
“Don’t start lying now, too. You know you were.”
“Not always,” I mumbled.
“No,” he whispered. “Not always.”
Whoa, Nelly! Take a breath and BACK OFF. “Maybe I’m just nasty,” I suggested.
“Maybe.” A hint of a smile lifted one side of his mouth. “But I think you’re probably the most honest person I know. I like that about you.”
I shrugged, unable to speak. I would never do anything to hurt Tess. My friendship with her is the most important relationship in my life with the possible—possible—exception of my mother. At the same time, there I was in the parking lot, really, really wanting to kiss my best friend’s boyfriend. How’s that for honest?
A car sped past on the road. I resisted the urge to turn and look at it, as I was resisting every other urge. I decided to stay completely still, to wait and see what he did first: my feeble attempt at maintaining my innocence.
His cell phone rang, which broke the tension. He took it out of his pocket, looked at it, then turned it toward me. The caller ID said TESS. I raised my eyebrows at him. He shrugged and let it ring until it stopped ringing. He kept it in his palm then, as if he was wondering what else it might start to do. But it just lay there, still as a rock. We both watched it. When the ringing started again, neither of us was surprised, until he looked at it and said, “It’s not mine.”
