That’s the thing with jealousy. It chews at your soul. And it doesn’t stop until you let it go.
“Hey,” Tobey says.
I don’t answer him. I spend the rest of the night on my side of the bed. Far away from what I eventually have to deal with.
CHAPTER 40
so much more
march 13, 5:25 p.m.
The fact that I’m in Sara’s room studying for my history midterm is astounding enough. But the fact that being with Sara still makes me want to study is incredible. Since it’s the middle of March, I’m assuming the Manhattan Music Academy people have pretty much made up their minds about me. What I do from here on out isn’t going to have much of an impact on their decision. But Sara’s making me keep my grades up anyway. And I’m fine with that, as long as I take frequent breaks.
Sara got over the whole sex scandal thing after a while. It wasn’t like there was this whole big makeup scene. She just gradually warmed up to me, opening back up a little more every day. Now we’re back to where we were before the hotel fiasco . . . but we still haven’t gone all the way.
I still feel bad about lying to her, but she doesn’t need to know it was Cynthia. Especially because Cynthia has a reputation for being easy. Sara wouldn’t understand. Plus, Cynthia asked me out last week. The girl is relentless. Sara doesn’t know this, either, and I intend to keep it that way. I’ve had to spend the past month convincing her that I don’t care if we don’t have sex. And I really am okay with it. Even though sex takes up the largest allocation of my pie-chart brain.
I take a surreptitious peek at her clock. We’ve been studying for over an hour. Time for a break.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” Sara says. She doesn’t turn around from her desk.
“We didn’t even have a snack.”
“How old are you? Five?”
“You know I always have a snack after school.”
“Well, I’m not hungry,” Sara says. “But you can get something if you want.”
“How can you not be hungry?”
“I’m just not.”
"Jeez. Well then . . . let’s take a break.”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Tobey.” Sara puts her pencil down. She turns to look at me. "Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take to be ready for midterms?”
“So . . . what, we can’t take breaks anymore?”
“Not after only an hour!”
"Oh. I wasn’t aware that we were following an itinerary.”
“There’s no—” Sara turns back to her pile of papers and books and notebooks and tons of other boring things. If we don’t do something fun in the next five minutes, I may snap.
“Look, let’s just go to the playground real quick. We could play with that ball-catcher thing.”
“Huh?” She shuffles some papers.
“You know. That thing on the pole where you throw the ball in it and it has those four tubes the ball comes out of? And the tubes are all different colors?”
“I think—”
"It’s the best. It’s the most exciting thing ever. There’s no way to know which tube the ball’s coming out of, and the suspense is the best part. I’m going. You have to come with me. You must come with me.” I go over to her chair and scrunch down next to her. “Please come with me?”
Sara sighs. "I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“It’s not very responsible.”
“Responsible?” Why can’t she ever be more spontaneous? It’s like we can never do anything unless it’s been penciled in her day planner for a week. She’s always studying. Like she’ll even remember this stuff by next year. But the things I want to do are experiences she can remember for the rest of her life. "Fuck that! What do you really want to do?”
“I want to ace my midterms! NYU’s going to look at these grades.”
“You’re still worried about that?” Sara is so getting into NYU. They’d be absurd not to take her. But ever since she sent in her application, she’s been stressing. She tried to apply early decision, but they didn’t get her SAT scores in time or something. Sara was devastated because she did everything she was supposed to, but someone else messed up. So now she’s paranoid other things might go wrong. As if worrying about something you have no control over helps anything.
“Okay, that? Is my future. It’s my first-choice college, Tobey. I think you know what that feels like.”
I get up and stand there, uncertain. Should I leave and let her work? Or should I stick around and try to smooth things out?
“You’re stressing too much. I think you’d feel better if you took a break with me. That’s all.”
“No, you’d feel better because you’d get out of studying. ” Sara shakes her head. “I should have known you weren’t serious about doing this for the rest of the year.”
“Yes I am!”
“So then why are you slacking again?”
“I’m not!”
“I know about the English paper.” Sara crosses her arms.
We had this huge report due for English. I was too exhausted to care. I figure with all the other work I’ve put into the class, I should still come out with a B. B-minus, worst.
“We had extra practices that week.” The band took a break for a while.Then Josh lined up more gigs for us. Now we’re back to practicing almost every day.
“What are you guys going to do next year?”
“I’m not thinking about later,” I say. “I’m living in the moment.”
“You’re forgetting about your priorities.”
“But the band’s taking off again. And if we don’t stay together I can put together a new group in New York and—”
“Everybody’s in a band!” Sara yells. “Don’t you get it? Anybody who wants to be a musician or an actor or a writer goes to New York. And sorry to be the one to tell you, but there aren’t that many job opportunities for starving artists. Unless you like being a waiter.”
“Don’t you think I’m good?”
“You know I do. But it doesn’t matter what I think. It only matters what the right people think. And they’re already swamped with everyone else who wants to do the exact same thing as you.”
“You know how dedicated you are to school?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s how I am about my music. I have dreams, too, Sara. Just because they’re not the same as yours doesn’t make them less important.”
“I’m not saying they are. But college needs to be your priority. Anything can happen.”
“Exactly. And I know it’s going to happen for me.”
“God!” She jumps up and walks to the other side of the room. Her optical-fiber lamp moves its stringy fingers up and down, red bleeding into purple bleeding into blue bleeding into— "Why are you doing this to yourself?”
"What?”
“You’re so much more than you’re letting yourself be.”
“And life is so much more than you’re letting it be.”
"Don’t do this. You’re like—if you screw this up now, you know what you’re going to be saying when you’re thirty?”
“What?”
“‘You want fries with that?’”
“So? What’s wrong with working at McDonald’s?” I know it’s the wrong thing to say right after I say it. Unfortunately, they haven’t invented a verbal delete button yet.
“If you don’t know how wrong it is, there is no way I can even begin to explain how wrong it is.” Sara flings her door open and stomps down the hall. The bathroom door slams.
I wonder what this means. Do I stay? I know I won’t be able to study anymore tonight and she’ll get mad. Do I leave? Then she’ll think I’m pissed, and she’ll get mad. And I guess I am, sort of. But she’s also sort of right. Either way, I lose. So I sit back down on her bed. And wait for her to make the next move.
CHAPTER 41
just not good enough
&n
bsp; march 17, 3:47 p.m.
I’ve been trying to be okay with the fact that there was another girl in Tobey’s bed before me. And I’ve been trying to be okay with the fact that Tobey’s first time wasn’t with me. But I’m not okay with the fact that he won’t tell me who she was. Or anything about her. Even though he denied it, I can’t get rid of this pressing feeling that it was Cynthia.
Tobey’s waiting for me at my locker while I pack my bag. I want to ask him about it again, but at the same time I don’t want to act so jealous and like I can’t trust him.
I slam my locker and turn around. And that’s when I see her.
Cynthia. Walking right toward us.
I look at Tobey to see how he’s reacting, but he looks normal.
“Hi, Tobey,” Cynthia says. Like I’m not even there.
“Uh. Hi.”
“How’s it going?” She doesn’t even glance in my direction.
Tobey looks annoyed. He’s like, “Yeah, we were actually—”
“Tobey,” Cynthia says. “Do you remember the time we went kayaking? Wasn’t that almost a year ago?”
“Why?”
“No, I was just thinking of it. . . .”
Then they exchange a look. It only lasts a second, but I can feel the history in that look.
“That’s nice, but . . . we have to go.”
“Whatever,” Cynthia says. “You don’t have to be so cold. You weren’t this cold last year.” She saunters off.
Now I know what it feels like when people say they were so mad their blood was boiling.
“What was that about?”
“Insanity. It runs in her family.” He’s obviously trying to be laid-back.
“What happened last year?”
“Nothing.”
“Seriously,” I say. “Did you sleep with her? In a kayak?”
Tobey glances behind me. “Do you really want to do this in the hall?” Which I know is bullshit, because he’s the last person who cares what other people think.
“Did you sleep with her or not?”
Tobey sighs. He reaches out to hold me, but I step back.
“Well?” I say.
I can tell from Tobey’s look already. “It was only a couple of times . . . but, yeah. We slept together.”
So it was Cynthia. I immediately feel inferior. She’s, like, the worst possible girl for it to be. Everyone knows she’s been doing guys since she’s fourteen. But she’s gorgeous and sexy, and any guy would die to be with her. I can’t compete.
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. And I’m sorry I lied to you.” Tobey reaches for my hand. I pull my hand away. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I know what you think about Cynthia.”
“Why’d you say it wasn’t her?”
“I didn’t think you’d understand. I—”
“So those lyrics were about her? She’s such a slut!”
“You read my notebook?” Tobey says.
Okay. So he lied and I snooped. But we’re nowhere near even.
“You said those things were only things you felt about me.”
“I thought I felt those things at the time. But it’s different now. I was in a different place then.” Tobey tries to hold my hand again. I still don’t let him. “Everything I said to you is true, Sara. Cynthia didn’t mean anything.”
“I just don’t get how you can sleep with someone and not have it mean anything.”
“It’s different for guys.”
“Oh! So, that’s how it would be with me? Just sex?”
“Of course not. You—”
“You know what?” I’m so furious it’s not even funny. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
I run down the hall. I can’t believe that Tobey is like every other guy, skanking around with whoever. I thought he was different. But I was wrong. He’s just another man-whore, like all the rest of them.
When I get home, I put on my Sade CD and play “By Your Side” on repeat mode. I cry for a really long time. When the phone rings, I hope it’s him.
“It’s me,” Tobey says. “Can we talk about this?”
“Fine. Talk.”
“I’m sorry.”
I wait for more. Because that’s just not good enough.
“Hello?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Congratulations.”
“Can you tell me why you’re so upset?”
The thing is, Tobey should get this. I mean, he’s gotten everything else about me. And I don’t want to explain it all. So much of it has to do with jealousy, and I know it’s stupid to be mad at him because he had a life before me. But I am anyway.
“I can’t talk to you right now,” I say.
“Can I call you later?”
“I don’t think so.” If I talk to him anytime soon, I’m going to say a bunch of things I’ll regret. And I’m just so mad. “I need some space.”
“What?”
“I need some time alone. To think.”
Tobey’s quiet. I can hear him breathing. Then he goes, “What do you mean by space?”
“I have to take a break for a while.”
“What? From me? Why?”
“I just do.”
“Are you . . . You didn’t just break up with me, did you?”
"No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
I need to make sure this is the last time he lies to me. Maybe if he thinks I might leave him, he’ll realize what he has. And he won’t keep anything else from me ever again.
The next day in drafting while we’re doing photographic etchings, I put my stick down. I’m making a list on the DL.
Reasons Why I Should Be with Tobey
1. I love him.
2. I still think he’s my soul mate.
3. He gets me.
4. He makes me feel alive.
5. Everything we do together is new and feels like I’ve never done it before. Even everyday things like watching TV.
And then I have this other list I’ve been trying to do.
Reasons Not to Be with Tobey
1. He lied to me.
2.
I can’t think of anything else to add. Occasional slacking relapses aren’t a big enough reason. I decide to ask Mr. Slater about it. I wonder when he’s going to start charging me for being my personal counselor.
I raise my hand.
Mr. Slater comes over. “Etching issues?”
“Actually? I’m doing something else I’m not supposed to be doing.”
“Ah.” He sits down next to me.
I slide my paper over.
“Hmm,” he says. “Interesting.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s interesting about it?”
“That you wasted your time making lists that didn’t need to be made.”
“Lists help me figure out what to do.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to make these. You already knew what you wanted before you started.”
“How do you know?”
Mr. Slater picks up a purple marker. He circles item number two on the second list, which never got filled in. “It’s right here.”
He’s right. Nothing else is on that list, because I didn’t want anything to be there in the first place.
After school I put on my fuzzy pajamas and park myself in front of the TV and contemplate calling Tobey. I was the one who said they needed space. So that would imply that I’m the one who should let him know when I’m over it. And now I’m starting to miss him. But it’d be so much more romantic if he begged me to take him back. And I’m still mad.
Okay. If I click up three channels and there’s a commercial on, that’s a sign to call Tobey.
Click-click-click.
The Frugal Gourmet is doing something alarming with breadcrumbs.
Okay. If I click over to HBO and there’s something good on, that’s a sign to cal
l Tobey.
Legally Blonde Two is on. I loved the first one, but this one bites.
Okay. If I hear the refrigerator kick on in the next five minutes, that’s a sign to call Tobey.
After waiting for the humming noise for fifteen minutes—which of course is totally annoying and all up in my business whenever I need extreme quiet, but won’t come on now—I get in the shower. I decide that if the phone rings while I’m in here, that’s the universe telling me we’re meant to be together.
The phone never rings.
CHAPTER 42
space
march 22, 12:33 p.m.
It’s lunch, but we’re not in the cafeteria. Mike and I are in the gym, shooting hoops. Ever since Sara said she needed some space, I haven’t exactly had a killer appetite. Everyone knows needing some space is, like, the kiss of death.
“Are you guys still in a fight?” Mike says.
“Yeah.”
Mike passes me the ball. "Dude. Sucks to be you.”
“Tell me about it.”
“She’s probably just waiting for you to apologize.”
“I already tried that.” I bounce the ball. "It didn’t work. I blew it.” How could I have been so stupid? Why didn’t I tell her about Cynthia right from the start?
I didn’t realize how angry I was. But suddenly I’m so furious I don’t know what to do with myself. I slam the ball against the backboard.
“I hate when chicks pull that space shit. It’s like, you already said you’re sorry. What more does she want?”
“I wish I knew.”
“It would suck if she broke up with you.”
I’ve only been worried about that this whole time. Hearing it out loud from my alleged best friend is another story.
“Yo. Can I have the ball?”
I whip the ball at him so hard he stumbles backwards.
“Hey!” Mike yells. "What’s your problem?”
“My problem? My problem is that you are supposed to be on my side. But for some twisted reason, you’ve decided to be a fucking asshole instead.”
“Jesus. I’m only—”
“Don’t you think I already thought of that?” I run my hands through my hair. “She just said she needs some space.”
“Fine. Sorry, man.”
I bounce the ball.
“We’re never gonna understand women,” Mike says. “They’re way too complex. You’ve got too many variables to consider. PMS, bad hair days, miscellaneous mood swings . . . there’s no way to tell what’s causing their attitude.”