So Much Closer

  “Can we still be friends?”

  “I don’t know. I have to think about it.”

  Scott scoots his chair back and gets up. “Then I’ll give you some room to do that,” he says.

  And just like that, I’m back to being all alone.

  Twenty-two

  Welcome to the Worst Day Ever.

  “Don’t be friends with him,” Sadie advises. “That would be a world of pain.”

  “I can’t believe I moved here for him,” I say. “What was I thinking?”

  How can this be the end? It was just the beginning.

  When Sadie got to my place after school, I couldn’t tell her what happened with Scott right away. I couldn’t talk to her the whole day. I couldn’t talk to anyone. It felt like I was on the verge of crying every second. Despite desperately trying to remain calm, I had to run to the bathroom twice when tears suddenly started pouring down my face. I cut my last two classes and came home early. There’s no way I was sitting next to Scott the day after he broke my heart.

  Nothing is going to be okay. Nothing is ever okay.

  Sadie sinks lower into my beanbag chair, quiet for the first time since I asked her to come over. This day could not get any worse. It’s all cold and dreary out. A slogging, depressing wintry mix has been falling on and off. Oh yeah, and Scott doesn’t want to be my boyfriend anymore unless we keep things casual.

  I press a wet tissue against my eyes.

  “He wasn’t the right boy for you,” Sadie says. “The right boy would never make you feel this way.”

  “But I really believed he was.”

  “Relationships should move forward naturally. Both people should want that. If there’s resistance, you know there’s a problem.”

  “Oh, there’s a problem.”

  “Not anymore. Now you can find a boy who would do anything to be with you.”

  “I don’t want to be with anyone.”

  “No, I know you don’t now. But you will one day. And when you’re ready, you’ll know what to look for.”

  I pull a fresh tissue out of the box. It’s nice of Sadie to try to make me feel better. Being with someone new is the last thing I want to think about, but I know that everything she’s saying is right.

  “So ... how’s John doing in tutoring? Are you seeing any improvement?”

  “Some.” Things with John aren’t exactly the same anymore. I mean, we still talk about the same stuff and he still jokes around with me, but we haven’t gone to the High Line in forever. It’s too cold to stay out for more than a few minutes. It feels like being locked up in school has also locked part of him away from me.

  “As if I could think about anything other than Scott right now,” I say.

  “At least you have boy confidence,” Sadie notes. “At least you put yourself out there.”

  “Yeah. Look how well that worked out.”

  “But look at what you did. You were a freaking couple! You made it happen!”

  Sadie grabs her massive bag and rummages around in it until she finds a notebook. She throws the cover open. She rummages around some more, eventually producing her trademark glittery purple pen. Then she starts scribbling frantically.

  “What are you—”

  “Sshhh!” Sadie keeps scribbling, holding up a finger to get me to wait. A few minutes later, she yanks the page out of her notebook. “Can you fold this into any animal?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Can you do a lizard?”

  “Probably. Do I get to read it first?”

  “No.”

  “Or know who it’s for?”

  “I’ll tell you after.”

  I do my best to fold Sadie’s note into a lizard. His tail comes out sort of scrunched.

  “Awesome,” Sadie declares. “Let’s go.”

  Walking around in the gross wintry mix is the last thing I want to do, but Sadie insists. I grudgingly pull on my boots and everything else. My hat is still wet from before.

  When we’re on our way to somewhere she still won’t tell me, she says, “So here’s what I’m thinking. Boy confidence can only be gained by intense practice sessions. You’ve had boy confidence for a really long time. Not that moving here wasn’t hard for you, it was just easier since you were used to boys treating you a certain way.”

  “They didn’t—”

  Sadie gives me the hand. “You changed your whole life to be with Scott. The least I could do is try to be with Carlos.”

  “Finally!” I look around for Scott. I’m paranoid that I’ll see him.

  “He’s working today, so ...”

  “What does the note say?”

  “I went for the less-is-more strategy. It basically just has my number.”

  “Are you aware that you rule?”

  “I will rule when he calls me. Until then, I am still lame.”

  When we get to Rite Aid, I wait outside. It’s a weird feeling, being happy for your friend’s boy situation but depressed about your own at the same time.

  A few minutes later, Sadie comes out. She’s not happy the way I expected her to be. She’s more like devastated. And she still has the note.

  “What happened?” I say.

  “I couldn’t give it to him.”

  “Oh. Well, we’ll come back another day. You can try again.”

  “No. I couldn’t give it to him because he doesn’t work here anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. All the manager said was that Carlos gave notice two weeks ago. He doesn’t know where he went.”

  “We can still find him. Do you know his last name?”

  “No.”

  “We can ask the manager.”

  “What, so I can be known as the loser who hunts down random Rite Aid cashiers? I don’t think so.”

  “But—”

  “You know what we need?”

  “What?”

  “Cupcakes.”

  So we go to Crumbs. Sometimes in the midst of all your boy drama, you just need a cupcake.

  One thing I love about New York is how quickly your life can change. Take right now, for example. I’m suddenly on my way to NYU. While I was waiting for Sadie to pick which cupcake she wanted at Crumbs (she went with the Good Guy), I was looking at their big bulletin board where you can post flyers about local events and stuff. There was a flyer for this urban-planning-project presentation at NYU. Which saved me, because otherwise I would have gone home and cried about Scott all night.

  When I was doing research for that career project we had for the Box, I found out about urban planning. It’s the exact field I was thinking about, except I didn’t know it was called urban planning. Urban planners create green spaces like the High Line, or develop ways to make built structures more appealing to city residents, or focus on ways to incorporate more natural light and green energy into renovated buildings. If I decide to become an urban planner, I can major in environmental studies or sociology as an undergrad, then get a master’s degree in urban planning. So when I saw the flyer, I knew I had to go.

  I’ve seen college brochures featuring pictures of sprawling campuses with lots of grass and massive, scholarly looking buildings all spread out. NYU isn’t like that. There’s not enough space here for it to have an actual campus. Even though it’s basically just some buildings bunched together over a few blocks, I can still feel the energy of college life. Students are swishing past me in all directions, some underdressed in bulky sweatshirts and thick scarves, others sealed up tight in puffy coats. I imagine what it must feel like to be on your own, throwing on a sweatshirt in your dorm room and running to class at the last minute, all excited for a first date you have with that cute boy from economics later. Everyone rushes past me while I try to find the right building. It’s a relief when I finally find it because I’m freezing.

  As soon as I get to the conference room, this jolt of inspiration hits me. For the first time ever, I can totally see myself at a place like this, working toward a
life that won’t only make me happy but will make other people happy as well.

  I’ve never been to a grad student–project presentation before, or any college event. It’s way more crowded than I expected. And kind of upscale. Even though this is a really old building, the conference room is all renovated, with shiny hardwood floors and big, new windows. You can see Washington Square Park with its illuminated arch. There’s even a coat check that I almost walk right by until a girl calls after me, “Would you like to check your coat?” I just smile and take my coat off and try not to look as intimidated as I feel.

  There are rows of long tables with students standing behind their areas. The room is filled with people weaving around the rows. People who belong here. I am so out of place I don’t even know which way to go.

  Other people appear to be going right up to the presenters and asking them about their projects. Trying to blend in, I slowly walk along the first row of tables. Each student’s area has a big, foam-core poster board bent in three sections with their project description. Some of them also have laptops showing videos. And there are all kinds of materials, like glass samples and building models and even a wind turbine.

  I stop to read a poster board about the built environment. There’s a synopsis of a study about how increased personal investment in urban living spaces decreases poverty levels. Then there’s a project on MillionTreesNYC, which is this initiative to plant one million new trees throughout the city. The idea is to encourage neighborhood revitalization, help reduce pollutants, and introduce a cooling factor to the urban heat island effect. These projects are incredible. There are so many ways I could share my passion for this city by becoming an urban planner. I can almost feel the synapses firing in my brain, processing ideas.

  One girl has a huge picture of the High Line on her poster board. I go up to her.

  “The High Line rules,” I say.

  “I know, isn’t it phenomenal?”

  “Beyond phenomenal. What’s your project about?”

  “Green building design. I’m interested in how green spaces and green architecture improve the well-being of urban residents.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m interested in!”

  “Would you like to hear about what I’m doing?”

  I nod enthusiastically. As she explains the parts of her project, I’m blown away. The more she explains, the more intense this calming sensation of clarity becomes.

  Suddenly, The Knowing comes in. And I know without a shadow of a doubt that this is what I’m meant to do.

  Twenty-three

  Something’s wrong with John.

  It’s been hard enough trying to function normally since the breakup. Trying to put my issues aside so I can help John with this time zones worksheet is even harder. But trying to help John when he’s being so hostile? Is practically impossible.

  “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” I ask. I’ve already asked John what’s wrong and he’s already told me nothing. I don’t believe him. He’s totally low energy today. And he’s been giving off these angry vibes ever since I sat down at our usual table.

  “Can we just do this?” John goes. “What’s that thing about the International Date Line again?”

  “Why are you mad at me?”

  John clicks his pen on and off a bunch of times. Then he drops it on the worksheet. “Does December twenty-third mean anything to you?”

  “Um ... not really.”

  “No? Let me refresh your memory. We were supposed to meet at the Film Forum to see Office Space. Ring a bell now?”

  “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I completely forgot!”

  “Ya think?”

  “I was really looking forward to it.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Scott called a few hours before about this thing that happened with his brother and I had to go over and—”

  “You could have at least called.”

  “I know! I was going to and then ...” I don’t know what to say to John. I totally forgot to call him that night before the movie started. I kept meaning to call him and apologize over break, but it just slipped away.

  “Whatever,” John goes. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  “Please don’t be mad. It was stupid of me not to call. I’m really sorry.”

  I’m so mad at myself for hurting John. I owe him a lot. My urban-planning epiphany at NYU last night was initially inspired by him. He was the first one to show me that other people feel the same energy I do just by being here. I talked to lots of students last night, and seeing how passionate they were made me realize that John and I aren’t alone.

  Those days on the High Line with John pointing out all these amazing details I might never have noticed ... I didn’t realize it at the time, but he woke me up. He made me care about where my life is going.

  “I knew it had to do with Scott,” John grumbles.

  “What did?”

  “You know what?” John yanks his bag up on the table, jamming his stuff in. “I’m done.”

  “But I thought you wanted to go over the International Date Line again.”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  Watching him leave, I’m not relieved to get out of tutoring the way I would have been before. Tutoring him has done more for me than I expected. I didn’t expect to be inspired. I didn’t expect to wake up. And I definitely didn’t expect to figure out what my future would look like. John helped me understand who I am and he doesn’t even know it.

  Every time the phone rings, my heart races.

  I keep hoping Scott will call.

  He keeps not calling.

  Here’s one for the Of Course file. While I’m in the bathroom, the doorbell rings. I have no idea who it is. Whoever it is only rings once.

  I’m sure it was Scott. He was walking by and realized he doesn’t want to lose me. He’s desperate to get me back. And I missed sharing this revelation because I was in the freaking bathroom.

  Eff.

  Okay, think. If it was Scott, where would he be going? There’s a possibility he came over to see if I was home and then went back to his place. But if he wasn’t being spontaneous about ringing my bell, wouldn’t he have called first?

  The sandwich shop is closer to my place than his. I bet he’s on his way there. Maybe I’ll just swing by to see if Scott’s there. If he’s there and he looks happy to see me, then I’ll know for sure it was him.

  Skulking by the sandwich shop, I casually glance in.

  Scott is at his usual table.

  With Leslie.

  Dad just got home, which is shocking. He never gets home before seven. I used to believe him when he said he’d be home for dinner. I believed him when he said we’d go running along the river every Sunday, or that we’d do something touristy some weekend. It didn’t take long to realize that Dad’s never home for dinner. We only went running like three times and then he totally forgot about it. We don’t spend time together at all. The few times Dad has eaten dinner with me, he was talking on the phone or watching the news. He’s never going to change his habits, no matter how many times he promises that tomorrow will be different. Because when tomorrow comes, he’ll still be the same person he was the day before. Just another guy who’s let me down.

  I am extraneous. I am nonessential. I’m just someone taking up space in the guest room.

  I should have never come here. Did I really think that everything would turn out the way I hoped it would? Life doesn’t work that way.

  People always let you down. Even the ones you trust.

  Especially the ones you trust.

  “Brooke?” Dad yells from the kitchen. “You here? I got Chinese.”

  The air fills with his coming-home sounds. Keys clanking against the table. Take-out bags landing on the counter. The TV turning on. All the same sounds that he would make even if no one else was here to listen.

  My father’s daughter moved in with him and he hasn’t changed his life at all.

&n
bsp; I go out to the living room. Dad’s on the couch, already clicking away on his laptop.

  “Hey there, kiddo,” he says. “Dinner’s in the kitchen.”

  “Since when?”

  Dad looks up from his laptop. “Since ... I brought home Chinese?”

  “How could you do that to us?”

  “I thought you liked Chinese.”

  “How could you walk out on your family? What kind of father leaves his kid like that?”

  It’s obvious that Dad wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting to say these things, either, but there you go. The past doesn’t just disappear after it’s happened. The rage I’ve been trying to ignore can’t be ignored any longer.

  “I wanted to stay in your life,” Dad says. “You know that.”

  “You’re not even with that other woman anymore. Was it more important to be with some random woman for like two seconds than to stay with your family?”

  “It might have looked that way, but I can assure you that wasn’t the case. Staying with your mother would have been the worst decision for all of us.”

  “At least Mom was easier to get along with when you were there. Do you know how hard it is to talk to her now? All she ever does is tear me apart for not doing better in school. All these years of fighting with her are your fault.”

  “Brooke.” Dad looks at the wall, as if what he should say next will be written there. “Your mother became impossible to live with. Would you rather I stayed so you could see us fighting all the time? That would have been worse for you.”

  “There were other ways to stay in my life.”

  “Which you didn’t want any part of!” Dad yells. “You never returned my calls. You didn’t visit when I invited you. Can you blame me for eventually giving up?”

  “You didn’t want me!” I yell back. “You were just doing those things so you could feel better about yourself for leaving.”

  “That’s not—”

  “What would we have done if I called you back? Talk on the phone every few weeks? Maybe I’d visit you once a year? What kind of family is that?”