What My Girlfriend Doesn't Know

  and there’s a few seconds

  when no one says anything.

  Finally, Eve blurts out,

  “Can you believe how gigantic that guy was?”

  And when everyone bursts out laughing,

  I can’t help noticing

  that Honk and Richard

  look almost as relieved

  as I am.

  At Café Paradiso

  We squeeze into a tiny booth and order our desserts.

  Then Tessa tosses out another one of her pop quizzes:

  “Okay,” she says. “What famous rock and roller said,

  ’I don’t know anything about music.

  In my line of business, you don’t have to’?”

  “Elvis,” I say instantly. “Next question?”

  Tessa groans and tries to strangle me,

  but Richard restrains her.

  “Use your words, Tessa, use your words …”

  She growls at him, then fires off another one:

  “Who said, ’Instead of getting married again,

  I’m just going to find a woman I don’t like

  and give her a house’?”

  “Beats me,” Honk says. “Me too,” Richard says.

  “I believe that would be Rod Stewart,” I say,

  ducking behind Eve for protection.

  Tessa slaps her forehead.

  “Damn! You are positively unstumpable!”

  “Bro,” Honk says, “if we ever play Trivial Pursuit,

  I want you on my team.”

  “Seriously,” Eve says.

  And as I look around the table at everyone,

  I think to myself,

  “So this is how it feels

  to hang with a whole table full of people

  who don’t even know

  what a Murphy is.”

  Unlike, Say, All the People at Cambridge High

  Who know full well what a Murphy is.

  And make it a point not to let me forget it.

  So school sucked today.

  For all the usual reasons:

  Rachel and Grace ignored Sophie.

  Again.

  Dylan swiped my hat.

  Again.

  And all day long,

  wherever Sophie and I went,

  random people

  committed random acts

  of unkindness.

  Bowling with a Vengeance

  Here’s the way

  Sophie and I play:

  we take aim,

  think of a name,

  imagine those pins

  are teeth or shins,

  pull back our arm

  for maximum harm,

  then let the ball fly—

  an eye for an eye.

  You get the gist?

  That ball’s a fist.

  We bowl

  with one goal:

  hurl that sucker

  down the lane

  and inflict

  pain.

  The Door to Studio B Swings Open

  And Richard enters,

  talking to a real tall girl

  who’s wearing this little tiger-striped jacket

  and these thigh-high spike-heeled boots and—

  Whoa!

  It’s that girl who flirted with me!

  That sexy refugee from MTV.

  The one who called me “babe.”

  As she struts toward me,

  sizzling like a lit fuse,

  my mind struggles to invent an explanation

  for what she could possibly be doing here:

  She must be a friend of Richard’s.

  No—she must be his sister; they’re both so tall.

  No—she’s probably a transfer student,

  joining the class a week late.

  When she sees me,

  a smile oozes onto her face like spilled honey.

  And when she blinks at me, in sultry slow motion,

  it’s like an invitation to a very private party.

  Then, in a voice as deep as a French kiss,

  she says, “Hello again.”

  And I almost fall over—

  she remembers me?

  So, with what I hope will pass

  as a rakish grin,

  I say, “Are you stalking me?”

  She laughs and says, “Absolutely, babe.”

  Wow!

  She did it again—

  she called me “babe”!

  She must think I’m really hot …

  And Then Without Any Warning

  Before I even have a chance

  to grasp what’s happening,

  before I even have a chance

  to gasp,

  she steps up onto the platform,

  right in front of me,

  unzips

  her thigh-high boots,

  and five seconds later—

  she’s stark raving naked!

  Honk’s Elbow Snaps Me Out of My Daze

  “You know her?” he whispers,

  with this real “omigod” sort of gleam in his eyes.

  “When you gonna introduce me to her?”

  But Felix beats me to it.

  “People,” he says, “allow me to present Berry.

  Isn’t she incredible?”

  Yeah, I think to myself.

  Berry incredible.

  And so is this situation …

  Felix gazes at her thoughtfully, then says,

  “Would you please take a horizontal pose

  and hold it for five minutes?”

  And that’s when Berry

  blinks at Felix in sultry slow motion,

  like she’s inviting him to a very private party,

  and says, “Sure thing … babe.”

  I Loiter After Class

  And time it so that I end up in the elevator

  with Honk, Tessa, Eve, and Richard,

  hoping maybe they’ll get the bright idea

  to invite me out to eat with them again.

  As soon as the doors slide shut,

  they start debating where to dine—

  the girls arguing for Cafe Algiers,

  the guys for the Greenhouse.

  No one even thinks of asking me if I want to come.

  I guess four’s company, five’s a crowd.

  So I just stand here staring at my sneakers,

  with my heart falling faster than the elevator.

  But then Eve slips her arm through mine

  and says, “Which one do you want to go to, Robin?”

  “Yeah, bro,” Honk says,

  tossing his arm over my shoulder.

  “We’re counting on you to settle the tie.”

  At Café Algiers

  Tessa tears into her lamb kebab.

  “Mmm …” she says.

  “I’d almost forgotten how good real food tastes.”

  “Me, too,” Honk says, scarfing down his falafel.

  “I’m so fed up with that inedible crap

  they serve in the freshman dining hall.”

  “Seriously,” Richard says.

  “What was that disgusting concoction

  they tried to palm off on us tonight?”

  “The sign said ‘beef fajita fettuccini,’” Eve says.

  “Whatsa matter you, señorita?” I say.

  “You got something against Mexican Italians?”

  Which cracks everyone up,

  and helps to distract them from wondering

  why they’ve never seen me in the dining hall.

  And a minute later, when they all start talking

  about what classes they’re taking,

  I excuse myself nonchalantly

  and head off to the bathroom.

  I Tell Sophie

  That I don’t exactly know

  if things at school have been much worse lately,

  or if it only seems that way in comparison

  to when I’m hanging with the people at Harvard.

  B
ecause when I’m with them,

  it’s like I’m living in an alternate universe—

  a universe where Murphy is just

  my last name.

  I tell Sophie that when I’m at Harvard

  I feel like a completely different person,

  because I’m not the butt of the jokes;

  I’m the one telling them.

  And Sophie tells me

  how happy she is for me.

  How I’m just getting

  what I’ve deserved all along.

  So I don’t tell her that the best part of all

  is that when I’m at Harvard,

  I get to take a little break

  from feeling like a total scumbag

  for wrecking her life.

  Don’t Get Me Wrong

  I mean, Sophie never tries

  to make me feel guilty or anything.

  In fact, she tries real hard

  not to make me feel guilty.

  But when we’re at school

  and I see how everyone’s treating her,

  it pretty much makes me want to throw myself

  under the wheels of a Hummer.

  Like today, in the cafeteria,

  when we walked by Rachel and Grace’s table.

  Sophie said hey, but they just acted as if

  she wasn’t even a blip on their radar screen.

  Which really got to me.

  Because even though Sophie tried to pretend

  like she couldn’t care less,

  I saw the lights in her eyes flicker

  and go out.

  T.G.I.F.

  I’m heading to English class,

  in a kind of near-dream state,

  thinking about how there’s only

  ninety-seven minutes left till the final bell rings,

  thinking that if Sophie and I can just manage

  to survive till the end of this endless week,

  we’ll finally be able to escape from this Alcatraz

  and spend some time alone together.

  Because on Saturday

  my parents are heading up to Vermont

  to this weird preschool convention

  that they go to every February.

  Which means Sophie and I will have

  the house to ourselves all day long!

  So I’m practically floating down the corridor,

  thinking about how we’re gonna be

  alone in my kitchen, alone in my living room,

  alone in my bedroom, alone in my bed …

  when I happen to turn the corner

  just in time to see Grace trip over

  her own Converse high-tops and go flying.

  Just in time to see her crash to the floor.

  Just in time to hear everyone within earshot

  start snickering when Dylan shouts out,

  “Whoa … Grace …

  You are such a Stein.”

  Such a What?!

  I stagger back,

  feeling like a rifle blast

  has just torn my chest to shreds.

  He couldn’t have said

  what I think he said,

  could he?

  But the answer slaps me hard

  across the face:

  He said it, all right.

  And he didn’t even see me

  when I came around the corner.

  So he couldn’t have only been saying it

  to get to me.

  He was just saying it.

  Like it was the most natural thing

  in the world to say.

  Like it was something

  people say all the time.

  Which means—

  Oh, God!

  They probably do say it

  all the time!

  No …

  No …

  No …

  No …

  No …

  No …

  No …

  No !!!

  I’ve Got to Get Away from Here

  Got to be alone …

  but where?

  I stumble down the hall,

  find the bathroom door,

  shove it open quick,

  rush into a stall,

  lock the door behind me,

  lean against the wall,

  and let the tears

  fall.

  I’m Waiting for Sophie After School

  Right here by the goalpost, like I always do.

  But now that I’ve caught sight of her,

  hurrying across the field to me

  like a dream come true,

  with such a big smile on her face

  that I can even make it out from here,

  now that I’ve seen

  how carefree she looks,

  how unsuspecting,

  how totally clueless she is

  about what I’m getting ready to do—

  I suddenly realize

  that there’s just no way

  that I’ll be able

  to do it.

  And Before I Even Know What’s Happening

  I’m running—

  running as far away

  and as fast away

  from Sophie as I can get.

  Sprinting past the bleachers,

  cutting through the bushes,

  racing down the sidewalk,

  not looking back.

  I’m running

  from having to face her,

  running from having to tell her,

  running from having to say it out loud:

  we’re going to have to break up.

  But Just Thinking About Having to Do That

  Makes me feel like a nuclear bomb

  is whizzing straight toward me.

  We have to break up, though.

  We have to.

  Because people have started treating Sophie

  like they’ve always treated me.

  And I wouldn’t wish that

  on my worst enemy.

  Well, actually, maybe I would wish that

  on my worst enemy.

  But I sure wouldn’t wish it

  on Sophie.

  When I Get Home

  Mom takes one look at me,

  then hurries over

  and gives me a quick, fierce hug.

  She tries to brush the hair off my forehead,

  but I duck out of reach.

  “Want me to make you some hot cocoa?” she says.

  “No, thanks,” I say, running up the stairs.

  “And if Sophie comes to see me or calls,

  tell her I’m not home, okay?”

  “Well…

  if that’s what you

  really want me to do …”

  “Just do it!” I scream,

  suddenly gripped by an overwhelming urge

  to put my fist right through the wall.

  Then I rage into my bedroom,

  slam the door behind me,

  fling myself onto the bed,

  and smash my pillow down over my face.

  A Few Minutes Later, the Doorbell Rings

  I hear the sound

  of the front door opening.

  I hear the murmur of Sophie’s voice

  mingled with Mom’s.

  I hear the sound

  of the door closing.

  I go to the window

  and watch Sophie walking away.

  Even her back

  looks sad …

  I Fling Myself Back onto My Bed

  And just then, my cell phone rings,

  jolting me like a zap from a Taser.

  It’s got to be Sophie!

  (No one else even has the number

  except for my parents.)

  I rush over to my backpack

  and start digging for it,

  like I’m this half-starved dog

  and there’s a nice meaty bone buried in there.

  But when I finally find it,

  I don’t answer it.


  I just stand here staring at it,

  beeping away in the palm of my hand.

  And then—

  I switch it off.

  At Dinnertime

  My parents

  don’t even ask me

  if I want to come down.

  They just show up at my bedroom door

  with a steaming bow!

  of chicken noodle soup

  on a tray.

  Man …

  my favorite food

  from when I was little …

  I almost lose it.

  “Thanks,” I manage to croak.

  “No problem,” Dad says,

  giving me a thumbs-up.

  Then he cocks his head to the side,

  the way he always does

  when he’s worried about me,

  like I’m this message

  written in a secret code

  that he’s trying real hard

  to crack.

  Mom reaches

  to brush the hair off my forehead,

  and this time,

  I let her.

  “You want to talk about it?” she says.

  I shake my head no,

  trying hard not to choke

  on the enormous lump in my throat.

  I Have Got to Get My Mind Off Sophie

  I guess I’ll try doing my math homework …

  Problem:

  If

  a guy

  wants to

  avoid talking

  to his girlfriend,

  so he switches off

  his cell phone at 4:30

  p.m., but then his girlfriend

  starts calling him on the land

  line every ten minutes, only his

  parents don’t want to have to lie

  and tell her he isn’t home, so they

  let the answering machine pick up

  all the calls, but the answering machine

  refuses to answer each call till the

  phone’s rung at least 100 times, how many

  times will the phone have to ring before

  the guy TOTALLY LOSES IT????????

  Around Ten O’Clock

  My parents slip back into my room

  and sit down on the edge of my bed.

  A second later, the phone starts ringing,