Waiting for You

  “The only reason I’m here is because you wanted me to come.”

  Lately when I’m with Derek, it feels like he’s somewhere else or he wants to be somewhere else and he has to settle for being with me instead. As if I’m a consolation prize. And it doesn’t matter how many times he says he wants to be with me or that he doesn’t want to be with Sierra, it just doesn’t feel like the truth.

  “I know,” I say, “it just feels like . . . like you’re thinking about other things a lot of the time.”

  “So are you.”

  “Not the way you are.”

  “Look. I’m not a mind reader. If there’s something you want me to know, you have to tell me.”

  “I need you to be here for me and it doesn’t feel like you are.”

  “Then where am I?”

  “Yearbook!”

  “Is that what this is about? Again?”

  “You’re always staying after. I never see you during the week anymore.”

  “If you want to hang out more, why didn’t you just say so?”

  “I didn’t want to have to tell you. I wanted you to want to. Without me forcing you to.”

  “Why would you think I’d have to be forced to spend time with my girlfriend?”

  I want to say, Which one? But I don’t. I know I’m being a bitch. But I can’t help it. It’s like some force I can’t control has taken over my personality and turned me into this obsessive, paranoid freak. Who can’t be trusted to play nice in social environments.

  Here’s what I don’t want to admit: I’m scared. Because I recognize this feeling. The last time I felt like this, it was right before my major meltdown. And there was no way to stop the anxiety and depression from taking over my life, turning me into someone I never wanted to be. The same person I’m struggling never to become again.

  Derek goes, “How do you think it makes me feel to see you with Nash?”

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Yeah, but so are me and Sierra.”

  “But you guys used to go out. I never went out with Nash.”

  “But you go to him with your problems, right?”

  He’s right. It’s partly because I don’t want to bother Derek. No one wants to be with someone who always has problems.

  Is Derek actually jealous of Nash? Is that even possible?

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” Derek says.

  “I know. I don’t either.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  I wish I knew. Am I making a big deal over a problem that doesn’t even exist?

  “Sorry,” I say. “I just miss you.”

  “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  I want to believe that everything will be okay. But maybe it never is. Maybe there is no one perfect person and anyone you end up with will eventually make you think there’s someone better out there.

  41

  Over the next few days, I focus on being creative and calming my Derek anxiety. I develop two rolls of film. I write a new wall section. I practice violin. Bonus: Sandra doesn’t hassle me while I’m practicing in the bathroom.

  No major catastrophes have occurred. I’ve seen my dad a few times. This annoying girl from work quit. Most of my teachers assigned homework over break, but a lot of it is already done. Nash and I have hung out every day. And Derek said he wants to get together more.

  He’s over now, holding a pen in front of my face. It has sparkles and pink feathers on it.

  “Ooh!”

  “I knew you’d like it.”

  “Are you kidding? I love it!”

  “Cool.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  “Alphabets. It was the last one.”

  “Thanks.” Only Derek would do something so sweet for me. I don’t know if all boyfriends are like this, but if they’re not, they definitely should be.

  “Hey,” he says. “What are you doing Saturday?”

  “Finishing that stupid stock market project.”

  “I haven’t even started that thing,” Derek confesses. “I was planning to do it Sunday night.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  “Well . . . it’s a lot of work. I’ve already spent two days on it.”

  “Guess I’m screwed.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No worries. You can make it up to me.”

  “How?”

  “By hanging out with me Saturday night.”

  Why is he asking me this? He knows Sterling and I have our standing date every Saturday night. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  I give him a look like, You already know why not. “It’s Saturday? I’m already doing something with Sterling.”

  “But this is really important. Evan’s band is playing and I said we’d go.”

  “What about Sterling?”

  “What about her?” Derek has tone. “It’s not like you have to spend every single Saturday night with her, is it?”

  “Well, yeah. I kind of do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we promised!”

  “But wasn’t that some deal like where you’d go out on Saturdays until you had boyfriends?”

  “Exactly! Does Sterling have a boyfriend?” I don’t count Chris as an actual person.

  “No, but you do.”

  “So how fair would it be for me to ditch her like that?”

  “I’m sure she’d understand.”

  “She’d understand I’m a bad friend is what she’d understand.”

  “Dude,” Derek says. “If you don’t want to go, just tell me.”

  “No, I do.”

  “So we’re going.”

  How can I possibly tell Sterling? If the tables were turned and she did this to me? I’d definitely be mad. What makes me think she won’t feel the same way?

  But what if she never has a boyfriend? Do I have to keep going out with her every single Saturday night until we graduate?

  Derek’s right. I’m sure she’ll understand just this once. But when I call her, I’m still nervous.

  Sterling says, “What movie are we seeing Saturday?”

  “We need to talk about that.”

  “Oh, no. I am not seeing that part three whatever rah-rah.”

  “That’s not it. It’s . . . I can’t go.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m going out with Derek.”

  “On Saturday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Our Saturday?”

  “I know, but—”

  “I knew this would happen,” Sterling says.

  “What?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t be able to stick with me. The second you got a boyfriend, everything started changing.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Yes, it is. You just can’t see it because you’re the one who’s in it.”

  Okay, I felt bad before? But now she’s getting me mad. “I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to make other plans,” I say.

  “And I didn’t know you wanted to.”

  “I don’t. It’s—I can’t go out with you every single Saturday, is all.”

  “Gee, I’m sorry it’s been such a sacrifice for you. I was under the impression that you liked spending time with me.”

  “I do! You know that.”

  “Umm. I thought I did. But now I think Chris was right about you.”

  Oh, no he didn’t. Some creepy online guy is talking trash about me when he doesn’t even know me?

  I’m like, “Don’t take this the wrong way, because I think it’s great that you’re so excited about talking to this guy Chris and everything, it’s just . . . you don’t even know him. You don’t know what he’s really like.”

  “I do know him. I know he’s sweet and caring and funny and we have a lot in common. So I really don’t appreciate you being all weirded out by it.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.”


  “Or maybe you’re just jealous.”

  “Jealous? Of what?”

  “Um, I don’t know, maybe because I have a boyfriend who actually notices me?”

  “Boyfriend? You don’t even know him!”

  “Will you quit saying that?” Sterling yells. “I know Chris a lot better than you know Derek!”

  “Sterling—”

  “I keep giving you chances. I keep thinking things will get better, but they just keep getting worse.”

  “No, they don’t!”

  “I gotta go,” she says.

  And then she hangs up on me.

  42

  The next day, I expect Sterling to call and say she’s sorry. But that doesn’t happen. She doesn’t call or IM or text or anything. When we go back to school, Sterling’s all clinging to these girls from French Club. They’re the same girls we used to make fun of and say how stuck-up they were. I guess Sterling forgot about that. Or maybe she doesn’t care. When I pass her in the hall, she looks away. She’s so angry. Which I feel horrible about, but what did I do? Get a boyfriend? As if she doesn’t want Chris to be hers.

  Oh. And another thing? Is that Sterling dyed her hair back to brown.

  I try to forget about it and focus on my other friends, the way Sterling’s doing. Like today, Derek and I are hanging out after school with Evan and Julia. Everyone was wondering when they’d finally start going out. We’ve only hung out with them once before, which was kind of lame because I don’t have anything in common with either of them. There’s never anything to talk about. Sometimes it’s a struggle to think of stuff to say around Julia.

  She’s good at bowling, though. So after school the four of us go to Cosmic Bowling, where they turn off the lights and the lanes light up. They have glow-in-the-dark bowling balls and black lights, so all the bowling shoes have white stripes on them. They even have strobe lights and a fog machine.

  Maybe we just needed an activity other than doing nothing, because I’m having a blast. It’s boys against girls and we’re actually winning.

  “Do-over!” Evan yells at me.

  “No way!” I yell back. “That was totally legal.”

  “Your shoe crossed the line.”

  “It did not!”

  “Yuh-huh!”

  I stick my tongue out at him.

  “Really mature,” Evan taunts.

  “I think it was in,” Derek says.

  “My hero,” I coo.

  And then we’re kind of just standing there, all googly eyes and cheesy smiles.

  Julia goes, “Y’all want us to leave, or . . . ?”

  “No, we’re done,” Derek says, still googly.

  The song changes and the lights flicker with the beat.

  “That’s my song, yo!” Evan yells. He busts out this ridiculous dance move that cracks us up.

  I brought my camera. Every time I go bowling I’m like, I have to bring my camera next time, and then I always forget. But this time, I remembered.

  When Derek goes up to roll, I point the lens at him.

  “Are you getting a good angle?” Derek says. He bends over. “How about this?”

  “Nice,” Julia says.

  Evan glares at her.

  “What?” she says. “I can’t look?”

  “No, you can’t,” Evan says. “Anyway, why would you want to when you have me?”

  “Yes!” Derek goes. “Strike!”

  I shoot a roll of film. I can’t wait to see how the photos come out, so I develop them as soon as I get home. They’re righteous. There’s one I took of Derek that’s kind of blurry, the lights a smudge of purple and blue behind him. I love it. So when it’s done, I take it up to my room and slip it into my new binder cover. Time ticks away as I sit on my bed, decorating my binder around the picture of him.

  Sandra walks into my room through our bathroom.

  “You could knock,” I say.

  “You could be less of a dork,” she says.

  “Talking to yourself again?”

  “You wish.” Sandra sits on my bed and looks at my binder. “Who’s that?”

  “Duh! Derek?” I turn the binder around so she can see it. “See?”

  “Oh. It’s kind of blurry.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “Why would you want a blurry picture on your binder?”

  “It’s an artistic choice. Did you want something?”

  Sandra gets fidgety in that way she does when she’s about to ask me something big. So far, she’s asked me how to use a tampon and some sex stuff. It’s not like we don’t talk to Mom, but it’s way less embarrassing to talk to each other.

  “Say a boy always teases you,” Sandra goes. “Does that mean he likes you or hates you?”

  “Who’s teasing you?”

  “It’s a hypothetical question.”

  “I see.”

  “So . . . what does it mean?”

  “Well, it depends on how he’s teasing you. Hypothetically.”

  “Let’s assume he sits behind you in a class. Like physical science. And he’s always poking you. And when you turn around, he pretends he didn’t poke you. Is he just being annoying, or would that mean he likes me—the person?”

  Was my life ever that simple? Where my biggest problem was whether some immature boy liked me?

  “I would say he likes you. I mean, the person. The hypothetical person.” I’m trying really hard not to laugh. “Because if he didn’t, then why would he be paying so much attention to this person?”

  “I know, right? That’s what I thought.”

  “Not that I’m an expert or anything.”

  “You know about these things. You have a boyfriend.”

  Derek looks so cute in this photo. The blur somehow makes him look even cuter.

  Sandra says, “Okay, so . . . say, hypothetically, this person might possibly like the boy who’s teasing her. What should she do?”

  “Um . . . how about nothing because she’s not old enough to date yet?”

  “I am, too!”

  “Says who?”

  “Dad.”

  “You asked Dad if you’re allowed to go out on dates?”

  “No, but I will.”

  “When? I want to be there for that one.”

  “When I know for sure that he likes me.”

  “Does he have a name, or are we going to keep pretending he’s not real?”

  “That’s all the information you will be receiving at this time,” Sandra informs me in a crisp tone. Then she whisks back into her room with an official air.

  I pick up my binder and kiss blurry Derek. We had so much fun today. It felt exactly like when we first started going out, when everything was perfect and we had zero problems. And just because he’s on yearbook with Sierra doesn’t mean anything serious is going on with them. She might like him, but love goes both ways.

  My IM signal pings.

  dorkbot10013: Busy?

  f-stop: not really

  dorkbot10013: Did you do your English paper?

  f-stop: ugh! no. you?

  dorkbot10013: Mine’s been done for two days.

  f-stop: could you BE any more annoying?

  dorkbot10013: It’s a possibility. What did you have in mind?

  f-stop: ha ha

  dorkbot10013: What are you doing Saturday night?

  f-stop: i’m booked.

  dorkbot10013: With what?

  f-stop: i have plans with derek.

  dorkbot10013: What happened to your Saturday nights with Sterling?

  f-stop: we’re not speaking.

  dorkbot10013: Why not?

  f-stop: it’s complicated. mostly, it’s because she hates me now.

  dorkbot10013: That’s harsh.

  f-stop: ☹

  dorkbot10013: What did you do?

  f-stop: nothing! why do you automatically assume it’s my fault?

  dorkbot10013: Well, why does she suddenly hate you?

  f-stop: i told you. it’s complic
ated.

  dorkbot10013: But you’re busy Saturday.

  f-stop: yeah.

  dorkbot10013: I guess I can’t ask you, then.

  f-stop: ask me what?

  dorkbot10013: To come with me to the Dorkbot finals.

  f-stop: *gasp* shut up!

  dorkbot10013: It’s Saturday at 8.

  f-stop: i’m so there.

  dorkbot10013: What about Derek?

  f-stop: he’ll understand.

  dorkbot10013: Are you sure?

  f-stop: just tell me where to meet you.

  dorkbot10013: I’ll pick you up.

  f-stop: oooh! like a datebot!

  dorkbot10013: (no response)

  f-stop: that was a joke.

  dorkbot10013: Oh! Now I get it.

  f-stop: i can hear your sarcasm through the screen.

  dorkbot10013: Good, then it’s working.

  f-stop:

  dorkbot10013: Hey, good luck with that paper.

  f-stop: i hate you.

  dorkbot10013: The feeling is mutual.

  43

  When I told Nash that Derek would understand about going to the Dorkbot finals on Saturday, I was sort of lying. Because I knew he’d be mad. He didn’t say much when I told him I was going—just that I’d be missing a good time—but it was so worth it. The projects at Dorkbot were amazing. There was this really cute one called Warm Fuzzy. It was a heart pillow that lit up in different colors according to your mood when you squeezed it. For his project, Nash made this motion detector that can power small appliances instead of using batteries or electricity. It blows my mind that he actually made something so complex. He totally should have won instead of coming in third place.