You, Maybe, page 9
“And?”
“And my parents and my sister Veronica,” he said. “She’s at Brown, a junior. What else?”
“Are you mad at me?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“Why?”
“Nothing.” He pressed up against me and we made out a little. “I can’t wait to get you alone, a whole weekend of freedom in the mountains. You want to go, don’t you?”
“I have to ask my parents,” I said.
“I’m asking you,” he said. “Not your parents. Do you want to go?”
I hesitated, thinking for a sec, Do I want to go? I might have a party scheduled for one of those days, I couldn’t remember, I would have to check on my Tallulah calendar, and anyway, what would my parents say if I even asked them, Hey, can I go away for the weekend with my boyfriend? . . .
“I knew it,” Carson said, backing away from me. “I am so stupid.”
“What? I just, I think I have a party scheduled that weekend, and anyway I’m not sure my parents . . .”
Carson shook his head. “Forget it.” He walked out of the kitchen past the garage door to another room and slammed the door. I followed him, opened the door, and found him sitting against the laundry machine. I closed the door behind me and sat down next to him. “What’s wrong?” I asked him.
He wouldn’t look at me. “Nothing. I can’t do it anymore, Josie, that’s all. Everything I ask you, you say no. You toy with me like I’m a mouse and you’re a kitten just having some fun.”
“No,” I said. “How can you say . . .”
“It’s true. I thought maybe you were just scared, you have this incredible vulnerability under all your independence and strength and that’s part of what turned me on, turns me on, but, I don’t know. Maybe you’re too young. Maybe I’m an idiot for . . .”
“For what?”
“For telling Frankie I think I could, I could, fall in love with you.”
“You told him that?”
He looked at me. “I told him I’m falling in love with you, Josie. Isn’t that stupid?”
“No,” I said.
“Yes, it is,” he said. “He said I hardly knew you, how could I be falling in love with you, I was just horny, and I punched him for it. It’s not lust, I was telling him, it’s this, connection, we’re connected, me and Josie. There’s a word my grandmother uses for it: Beschert. Meant to be.”
“Beschert,” I said.
Carson shook his head. “He thinks that’s idiotic. But you know what I think?”
“Tell me,” I said. We are beschert, we are meant for each other.
“I think it’s stupid to fall in love with someone who isn’t in love with you.”
“How do you know I’m not?” I whispered.
“You’re not,” he said. “Everything I ask, you say no. Come to my house, come to the movies, come away for the weekend. All my friends will be there but my own girlfriend doesn’t even want to come, doesn’t even want to be with me!” He pounded the washing machine behind him with his fist. It didn’t dent but it made a loud noise. It scared me.
“I just said I have to ask my parents!”
“Right. That’s the first thing you said. I asked you if you want to come, you still haven’t answered. Forget it. I have your answer.” He shook his head. “You don’t love me.”
“Carson.”
He wouldn’t look at me. He studied his can of soda as if every answer might be printed on its side.
“Carson, listen to me.”
“Forget it,” he whispered.
“No,” I said. “Listen to me. I have never felt this way before. You have me all riled up, and confused. I’m not used to feeling this way. Yes, it started out as a game, as playing, flirting, fun. That’s all I ever expected it to be. But you know that flower you gave me?”
He didn’t move, but I could tell he was listening to me.
“I kept it, Carson.” I couldn’t believe I was actually admitting this, but he was listening, and I was telling him, and it felt intimate, adult, right. “The petals started to turn black, on the edges, but I keep it in water, I change the water every evening, and bring it to my room. I fall asleep each night looking at that rose, and it’s the first thing I see every morning when I wake up. It still has a little scent left in it, and I close my eyes and smell it and I think of you, Carson, and maybe you’re right, maybe I say no to you too much. I’m sorry. Yes, you scare me. Not because I’m too young. Not because I hate you, though sometimes I wish I did. Sometimes I think, Why did he have to change it, why couldn’t we just hook up sometimes? But then I realize how much I want to see you, be with you, all the time, how much I want to touch your fingers with my skin.”
He looked up at me then.
“When you look at me, Carson, I know I belong to you. I know I’ll do anything for you. I love you.”
There. I said it. I waited, staring back into his eyes, thinking Please say you love me, too.
“No,” Carson said. “You don’t love me.”
“How can you say that?”
“You don’t,” he said, standing up. “You don’t love me. Forget it.”
He started to leave the laundry room. I grabbed him by the arm. “Why? How can you say that? I left my best friend on his birthday. I broke his heart, to be with you here today, because you asked me to. What do you want from me?”
He pulled his arm away from mine. “Go back to him, then.”
“Carson, why are you doing this?”
“Do you really?” he asked. “You really think you love me?”
“Yes,” I said. I tried to hug him, but he didn’t bend to me.
“I thought maybe you did,” he said. “I brought you here, everybody was like, really, a tenth grader? Who dresses up like a clown and runs away from you? But I was like no, you don’t know her. She’s the most extraordinary girl, mature and real and unlike anybody I’ve ever known. I think I’m falling in love with her. I’ve been making an ass of myself.”
“No.”
“I . . . God! I sang to you. In the locker room! I have never sung in my life to anybody, not since fourth grade. I made a fool of myself for you. Following you around like your little mouse, toy with me, toy with me. But I was wrong. God help me, I thought I loved you, and I thought you loved me.”
“I do,” I said.
“No,” he said. “You don’t love me.”
He stormed out of the room, almost ripping the door off its hinges on his way out. It swung open and shut in his wake. I stood there alone in the laundry room for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do next.
And then I knew.
I went to the bulletin board in the kitchen and found a pen, hanging by a string, and an envelope with an old invitation left over from New Year’s Eve. I crossed out the address on the front and wrote Carson’s name in big letters. I turned over the envelope and inside, in the white space under the flap, I wrote:
Yes. I do.
Then I reached up to my ear and for the first time all year, unfastened my great-grandmother’s diamond stud from my ear. It was beautiful, perfect and round and glittery, the most beautiful and valuable thing I have ever owned. Half of a perfect pair. I screwed the back onto the post and dropped it into the envelope. I sealed it shut and stuck it, with a pig magnet, to the front of Carson’s refrigerator. I grabbed my jacket and left quickly, before I could change my mind.
Nineteen
LUCKILY MY MOTHER doesn’t look at me all that much so she didn’t notice the missing earring. I had sweated in her yellow sweater so I hid it in my bottom desk drawer, to deal with it during the week, because she and my father were home by the time I got back from Carson’s. No lights were on at Michael’s house, but I figured that meant nothing; he was probably still watching the movies in his room and his parents were probably still at work. I considered going back over there but decided against it. He had made it pretty clear he didn’t want to see me, and before I could deal with him, I figured, it would be better to find out where things stood with Carson. I didn’t even want to call Zandra or Tru. I got in bed and read, to escape my life.
My stomach was churning so much I couldn’t eat dinner Sunday night or breakfast Monday morning. My mother seemed pleased. Maybe all the stress will be good for me, at least in my mother’s opinion: my jeans were practically falling off. “Why aren’t you eating?” she asked me.
I just shrugged.
“On a diet?”
“Sort of,” I said.
“Ooh, which? I need a new one.”
“May I be excused?” I asked, and brought my plate to the sink and went upstairs. I didn’t think the high-stress-personal-turmoil diet was exactly what they’d print in the pages of one of her magazines.
I woke up early and washed my hair and even blew it dry a little, before trying to braid it. It didn’t work. My fingers were shaking too much. I did a ponytail, as smooth as I could make it, and did my makeup slow and careful, a softer look than my usual dark lines, even curling my eyelashes. Carson hadn’t come over after the football game, so I had to figure we were probably history, but I wanted to look better than ever so he could be sad over what he was losing, at least.
So? I tried to be objective, checking myself out. Should be easy to be objective, I thought—there is so much to object to. No, no, what I like best about myself is my flawless beauty. Well, my flawed beauty. One earring down, I looked off-balance, on top of all the usual stuff. I vowed not to cry through my non-waterproof mascara. I sniffed my flower and stood up straight. I am a strong girl, I told myself. I can handle this. I love him; I am willing to sacrifice half of my most valuable possession to let him know it. He doubted me, and who could blame him? He was right. I’ve been holding back. I hadn’t let him know how I feel, so of course he eventually had to pull back and protect himself. He’d made himself vulnerable to me. He may look strong and confident but inside he was clearly feeling scared. How many people get to see that side of Carson Gold, the Golden Boy? I am the only one. He let me in, and I played the tease. What a jerk I am. I hurt him.
I have to show him that I love him.
I have to be strong, I told myself, at the bus stop. Michael wasn’t there. I guess he got his mom to drive him. Maybe he didn’t want to face me. Well, I told myself, his feelings are not my responsibility. I am in love with Carson, and Michael will have to cope with that.
I crossed my fingers like a baby the whole ride to school, praying please, Carson, forgive me. Please give me another chance. Please love me.
Relationships are work, I told myself. Am I afraid of work? Well, I am lazy, it is true, about most things, but on the other hand I am not always afraid of hard work. Am I? No. I work hard at something. What? Writing song lyrics. Ugh. At least I did. Will Michael and I stop writing songs together now? I guess so. Oh, Michael. No, Josie: focus. What was I convincing myself of? Oh, right, that I am not afraid. Of hard work. That was it. Well, also, I built my Tallulah the Clown business from nothing, from doing magic tricks for the kids down the street three years ago into a real job; I have already made almost a thousand dollars. Guests almost always ask for my number while I’m cleaning up, telling me what a great job I did. I am only a mediocre magician, but I run a good party and I work really hard at it. I like to. So if I’m happy to work at becoming Tallulah the Clown, I can certainly work at becoming Carson’s girlfriend, right?
It’s just different makeup.
I smoothed on some extra lip gloss, stalling at my locker. I smoothed down the pink sweater I was wearing for the first time, the tight, light pink sweater my mother had bought me for my birthday despite the fact that I have not worn light pink since kindergarten when I stopped being her dress-up doll and started wearing black stuff held together with safety pins. It’s a costume, that’s all. The black stuff, the pink stuff, the Tallulah multicolor stripes—it’s all just costumes.
“Whoa,” Zandra said when she saw me. “What have you done to yourself now?”
“That’s pretty funny coming from you,” I said, nodding at her newly green hair. “What did your mother say to that?”
“She called my shrink again,” Zandra said. “Emergency meeting this afternoon.”
“And you’re going?”
“I’m turning over a new leaf,” she said. “Therapy could be fun, I’m thinking.”
“Holy . . .” Tru stopped in her tracks and stared at me. “I thought Zandra was talking to a BP! Josie?”
“Overreact much?” I turned away from their stares to spin my combination. “How about her hair?”
“What?” Tru said. “Roy G. Biv. G for Green. We did it yesterday. But what is this getup for? Oh! Is this all for Carson?”
“Obviously,” Zandra said. “How’d it go yesterday? Hey, where’s your earring?”
I opened my lock and then my locker. On the shelf was the envelope I had left for Carson, with the address crossed out and his name on it. He was giving it back. “Oh, no.”
I grabbed it off the shelf and tore open the envelope. Out fell his car keys. Not my great-grandmother’s earring but Carson’s car keys. I picked them up and uncrumpled the envelope, looking for a note. Nothing. I ripped it open some more. There was my note, my Yes. I do. He hadn’t written anything back.
“What is it?” Tru asked.
I held up the car keys.
“What does it mean?” Zandra said.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he’s giving you his car.”
I pushed her on her forehead. “I don’t think so.”
“Did you have a fight with him?” Tru asked.
I nodded, trying not to cry. “Yesterday.”
“Did he break up with you?”
I shrugged.
“Why didn’t you call us?” Tru asked.
“Behind you,” Zandra whispered.
I spun around and there was Carson. “Hi,” I said.
He started to unbutton his shirt.
“Carson, what are you . . .”
There was a string tied around his neck, making a loose necklace. He gripped the string with his finger and thumb, and pulled up my earring, which was hanging by the back, from the string. He stood there holding it.
“What are you doing seventh?” he asked.
“You, maybe,” I managed to say.
“Bring my keys.” He slipped the string back into his shirt and buttoned up. Then he slung his arm around me, kissed me on the mouth, and walked me away from my friends, to homeroom, as everybody turned to watch us pass.
Twenty
CARSON MET ME before lunch, and we went out to the courtyard. Emelina pulled a small pink ball out of her bag and all the guys cheered. What a hero she is. I sat down on a bench, warning myself not to pout. I could bring a ball sometime, that’s not a big deal, I thought. I could definitely bring a ball, if that’s such a great thing. I could bring a Wiffle bat. Wouldn’t that be fun? Luckily, Margo sat down beside me on the bench before I could work myself too deep into a funk. She really is very nice. I like her, despite how pretty she is. She complimented my sweater, asked me where I got it. I didn’t know. She checked the tag and said it was from a really cool store. She was impressed that my mother is in advertising and very glamorous; I didn’t tell her about the fart account. When the bell rang, Carson ran over to the bench red-cheeked and out of breath, and he put his arm around me to walk back into school.
Seventh period, I got to the back exit before Carson, and had my usual brief panic that maybe he was blowing me off. I have his keys, I reminded myself. He’s going nowhere without me.
When he showed up, he kissed me, a nice slow make-out kiss, right there in the back hallway, just as the bell was ringing. “Hello, boyfriend,” I said.
He flashed me his smile, took my hand, and led me out into the cold. At his car, he held out his hand. I put my hand in it. “The keys,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, and handed him the keys. What a dope I am. Did I think I was just going to plop into the driver’s seat and drive his car, instantly? I walked around behind the car, settled into the passenger seat, and turned on the radio, looking for a good song while the car warmed up.
“How about . . .”
“What?” I asked him.
“Maybe just some quiet, today, okay?”
I turned off the radio. “Okay.” I sat back and buckled my seat belt. “Are you mad at me?”
“No,” he said. “Stop asking me that.” He pulled out of the parking spot. “We won’t do reverse today, but pay attention. You want to press the clutch before you shift, and ease the . . .”
Honestly, I was just listening to his voice, rather than his words. He glanced at me from time to time, so I nodded, but I was busy memorizing his beautiful profile. I love you, I said silently to him. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I am yours. I love you.
He made the turn into my development.
“Oh,” I said, with a fake laugh. “I thought, I mean . . . I thought you were going to teach me how to drive. But, that’s okay. You don’t have to . . .”
“Josie . . .”
“I’m not complaining,” I quickly assured him. “You want to go, you know, explode some eggs? Ha, ha?”
“No.”
“I was, it’s a joke,” I said, smiling so he’d understand. “I meant, we could just go fool around, in my room. That’s fine.” I was sweating. I put my hand on his thigh.
He stopped the car. “I’m going to teach you to drive, remember?”
“But . . .”
“So chill, okay? There’s no traffic here, so you can go slow.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s fine. Sure. That’ll be great.” My teeth were chattering. It was a pretty cold day, despite my full-body sweat. Maybe I was nervous. Maybe I was scared witless. He was getting out of the car and so was I. I touched the dent on the roof of his car for luck, as I always did, and walked around the front. He kissed me as we passed each other. I got into the driver’s seat for the first time ever, illegally, only fifteen. I could be arrested and go to jail. What if I did it wrong? What if I wrecked his car? What if he thought I was an uncoordinated loser?
