It was back in January. The school day had just ended, and Jared and I were getting our stuff from our lockers when we saw a crowd gathering in the hallway. We went over to see what was going on, and saw idiot jock Declan McCall giving Evgeney Vraslov a wedgie as a bunch of people cheered him on. Evgeney’s glasses had skidded off on the floor, and his face was bright red with humiliation.
Jared dropped his book bag, strode up to Declan and grabbed the collar of his shirt, hoisting him backward. Evgeney dropped to the floor, and Declan stumbled. A hush came over the crowd. No one could believe that someone would dare challenge Declan.
“What the hell?” Declan glared at Jared, rubbing his neck where his collar had bit into it. “You promised me a wedgie, Dec.”
Now no one, I mean no one, called Declan “Dec,” apparently due to his dislike of being compared to patio furniture. Since Declan was a little slow, it took him a few seconds to realize that now he was the one who looked like a jackass in front of everyone.
Declan got up in Jared’s face. I felt my heart pumping with fear. He was big and brawny and had made mincemeat of plenty of guys on the football field. A ripple of excitement went through the crowd as everyone braced for Declan to throw a punch. Several guys started chanting, “Fight!”
Jared held his ground. Didn’t even flinch. I realized that although Declan was the bigger guy, Jared had something far more dangerous. He had a quiet, deadly confidence about him. A please take a shot at me because I’m just dying to hand you your ass look in his eye that made Declan stop in his tracks.
After a few tense moments, Declan turned and walked away. The crowd, revved up for a fight, erupted in boos.
If ever there was a romantic hero, it was Jared at that moment. He was a guy who’d known trouble in the past—had even been in juvie—and wanted nothing more than to avoid it now. But he’d put himself on the line for Evgeney.
How could I not have fallen in love with him?
two
Sunday night is Glamour Girl night for me and my friends. It’s our favorite show about rich, spoiled teens and their world of brand names, booze and love triangles. As usual, we’re in Viv’s basement in Park Slope. Some might think we’re a strange mix because we’re all so different. Viv, who’s from a strict Indian home, is an honors student. Amy is a blonde bombshell who’s always looking for a party. Ryan is a metrosexual—a guy who isn’t afraid to add frosty blond tips to his hair and doesn’t mind being compared to Ryan Seacrest. Sharese is a church-going debate-club member who’s never shy about sharing her opinion. As for me, I’m not sure, but I think I’m the one in the middle who brings their different personalities together. I’m also the Oracle of Dating, of course, but Viv is the only one who knows that (and I’d like to keep it that way).
I break the news. There’s dead silence for two seconds. Then…
Viv: “That jerk!”
Ryan: “Good-for-nothing ass clown!”
Sharese: “May all his Jonas Brothers hair fall out!”
Amy: “You’re way better-looking than him anyway.”
At that, I’m slightly comforted, even though I know it’s not true.
“We always thought he was weird,” Sharese says.
“You did?”
They all nod.
“He was too quiet,” Viv says. “It was kind of creepy sometimes.”
“He didn’t know how to dress,” Ryan points out.
I’m surprised by their reaction. I thought they liked Jared. “If you guys didn’t like him, you should’ve told me.”
“It’s not that we didn’t like him,” Sharese says. “We just thought he was weird.”
“No offense, Kayla,” Ryan says, “but you weren’t much fun when you were with him. You never went to parties.”
He’s right about that. Jared preferred that we spend time on our own, and I was happy to just hang out with him. I have to admit, parties mostly lost their appeal because I already had a guy and didn’t need to meet one.
“You’ll find someone else—don’t worry.” Amy smiles. “Maybe a guy on the soccer team?” Amy’s boyfriend, Chad, is on the soccer team, and Amy is a huge fan of the team’s, um, man power.
Viv turns to Amy. “Don’t pressure her to find another guy right away. She needs time to discover herself again.”
“Self-love, huh?” Amy smiles wickedly.
Viv’s eyes flash. “You’re such a perv!”
I laugh. I’m glad I have my friends. Too many girls make the mistake of drifting apart from their friends when they’re in a relationship—a mistake the Oracle always warns people against. Thank goodness I followed my own advice. I need my friends so much right now.
“What you deserve is a hot stone massage,” Ryan says. “Total pampering, total relaxation.”
“I can’t afford that, but I’ll do a mani and pedi.”
Ryan looks skeptical. “That’s all you ever do. You need to work more shifts at the Hole and save some money.”
The Hole, short for Hellhole, is Eddie’s Grocery, where Ryan and I work. I have three four-hour shifts a week and that’s enough for me. My greatest dream is to make enough money as the Oracle of Dating to be able to quit.
“No spa day is worth more time at Eddie’s.” I pick up the remote control.
Amy grabs it from me. “No, wait! Glamour Girl doesn’t start for five minutes and we need to hear more about the breakup. How did he do it?”
“What do you mean, how? He just did it. Over pizza.”
“Did he at least wait until you were finished eating?” Ryan asks.
“No. I was still on my first slice. But I forgot to leave money, so I guess he paid.”
“Damn straight, he should pay!” Sharese says.
“So how did he say it?” Amy asks.
“He said he needed to take a step back and figure stuff out.”
They all wince as if they’ve popped sour candies into their mouths. What Jared said was cliché and we all know it. Taking a step back is the same as needing space or a time-out. It’s almost as bad as “we’ve become different people.” Lots of my clients have had those lines thrown at them and the cliché seems to add to the insult. But then, what’s a guy to say? I’m not attracted to you anymore? You bore me?
“Was that it?” Viv asks. “Is that his only reason?”
“He’s really disappointed about not getting an art scholarship. He somehow blames it on being too into me and not focusing enough on his goals.”
“Maybe he’s trying to punish himself by breaking up with you,” Viv offers.
“Too into you?” Sharese says. “What crap.”
The others agree that it was a lame thing to say. The stupid part of it was, I believed him. But I guess he was just trying to save my pride. Maybe he thought it was kinder to tell me he’d been too into me than not into me enough.
It doesn’t help when Ryan says, “I’m sorry to say this, but he probably met another girl.”
Sharese elbows him. “Nice job upsetting her.”
“Ouch!” He rubs his ribs. “Well, it’s true. It’s better if we prepare her for it.”
“I believe him that there’s no one else, but there could be another girl soon, I know that.” Or would there? If he said he needs to take a step back, wouldn’t that apply to all girls? Maybe not. If I believe that, I’ll be deluding myself.
“You can find someone, too,” Amy says. “A rebound can be a beautiful thing.”
The red numbers on the clock read 12:27 a.m., but I’m nowhere near sleep. I can think of nothing but rebounding.
REbounding.
ReBOUNDING.
I get out of bed and switch my desk light and computer on. I look up rebounding on an online dictionary.
1: To spring or bounce back after hitting something.
2: To recover from a disappointment.
The first definition is a lot more fun. I don’t want to “recover” I want to bounce back. Jared is the wall I’m bouncing off. I’m going to bo
unce off, do a back flip and land in the arms of a cute guy.
I’m aware of what’s happening to me. It’s textbook for someone who’s been dumped. A void has opened up in my life and I am looking for the quickest way to fill it: what better way than with another guy? Textbook or not, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s not like I’m going to fill it with drugs or alcohol.
Come to think of it, I wrote something on rebounding a while ago. I search my archives, and find a blog from last November.
You Know You’re Rebounding If You:
are too embarrassed to tell your friends you’re dating someone new because they’ll say it’s too soon.
believe that dating someone else will prevent you from thinking about your ex.
keep thinking of how your ex would feel if he spotted you with your new date (in fact, you hope he will).
The Rebound Equation:
Calculate the number of days you were together and divide it by 8.
Add 30 days if you are the dumpee.
Subtract 20 days if you are the dumper.
Add 30 days if you fantasize about getting back together.
Subtract 20 days if you believe the breakup is for the best, even if you were the one dumped.
= ___ days before you should enter into another relation ship.
I grab a calculator. Jared and I were together for five months, three weeks and two days, for a total of 173 days. 173 divided by 8 is 22. He dumped me, so I add 30 days. I add another 30 days because, damn it, I have fantasized about getting back together. Do I believe it’s for the best? No!
Total number of days before I can start dating someone else: 82. No way!
Maybe I should reconsider my answers. Did he really dump me? Undoubtedly. Do I fantasize about getting back together? Yes. Is it for the best? Ha! That’s where I put the wrong answer. If Jared wanted to break up then, of course, it’s for the best. It can’t be anything but for the best. I should have answered yes.
I subtract 20, which leaves my total at 62 days.
62 days—that’s two months! That means I won’t be able to date anyone until the middle of May. What was I thinking when I made up the equation? I’m sixteen; I don’t have two months to waste!
Of course, I don’t have to take my own advice.
By the time I get to school on Monday, the breakup is headline news.
Midwood High School is where Brooklyn gamer kids, gangster kids, emo kids and normal kids (me and my friends) collide in a maze of gray hallways. You can hear a dozen different languages in the cafeteria on any given day, not to mention the fact that we have tons of clubs representing diverse nationalities, religions, interests and sexual orientations.
Everybody is tormenting me with questions about the breakup. I can’t tell everyone the truth, can I? Thankfully, my friends have already put out the official version of events, and I stick to the story. The official version: Jared and I mutually parted because we’ve been drifting apart and (Amy added this part) I wanted to see other people.
I know that Jared won’t contradict it. He isn’t the type to make me look bad. This is the same guy who briefly dated the most popular girl in school, Brooke Crossley, and tricked her into dumping him so he wouldn’t have to hurt her feelings.
Speaking of Brooke, she tracks me down in the hallway after first period and plies me with questions—like she has a right to know! Why does she care anyway? She’s back with the king of the jocks, Declan McCall.
“So what really happened?” Brooke demands.
“What do you mean?”
“With you and Jared. Come on, you dumped him, right?”
“Ah…it was pretty mutual.”
“Was he an asshole to you?” She has the nerve to put an arm around me. Puh-lease. We’ve never been anywhere close to friends.
“He wasn’t an asshole to me.”
“Were you an asshole to him?”
“No.”
She grimaces. Obviously this isn’t as cut-and-dried as she’d hoped. “Then why’d you break up?”
“We grew apart.”
“Grew apart? So you don’t think, like, he’s a total loser?”
“No. I’ve got nothing bad to say about him.”
She looks crestfallen. I’m almost sorry I can’t give her a better story. Then she tosses her hair and walks off.
It would have been the perfect opportunity to get revenge on Jared, but I just couldn’t do it. If he starts trash-talking me, then I suppose I should do the same to him. But that’s not Jared. And that’s not me either. I admit that part of me would love to hurt him the way he’s hurt me, but I can’t. Sure, I could start some drama, but there wouldn’t be a point. I can’t break his heart if he’s not still in love with me.
At least the official version leaves my ego intact. It makes it seem like I was restless, like I’d had enough of one guy. But the truth is, sticking with one person suits me. When I was with Jared, I didn’t want to be with anyone else.
I see Jared a few times in the hallway. We say hi, but neither of us stops walking. It’s up to him to stop, since he’s the one who did the dumping. If I stop, I’ll just seem desperate. Why can’t he ask how I’m doing?
His eyes—God, they’re bluer than ever—aren’t warm. They’re not cold either. I’d say they’re careful. Maybe they’re even a little angry. My friends, I admit, haven’t been mature about this. They give him dirty looks or turn away. Even Viv, who’s one of the kindest people on the planet, glares at him. I’ve told them to be nice, but they don’t listen. He hurt me, and they believe he deserves to be hurt, too.
In American history class, I can’t concentrate. I keep asking myself what I did wrong. I’ll make a list…
Top Eight Reasons Jared Got Annoyed with Me
1. I play my favorite songs over and over. Which wouldn’t be so bad except:
2. I have no taste in music to begin with (in his opinion). I see nothing wrong with pop music, but he seems to think it’s an evil invention meant to enslave the human race.
3. I’m indecisive. Pizza or Chinese is a decision, for example, that takes many minutes of contemplation and perhaps a pros and cons list.
4. He says I don’t know how to stop and smell the roses, and that I’m always walking too fast and talking too fast and doing too much.
5. I have been known to complain, especially when I have a bad shift at Eddie’s (which, I admit, is practically every shift).
6. People-watching, for me, can be an afternoon’s entertainment. I can set up shop at the mall and observe them for hours. For Jared, it’s a dead bore.
7. When he gives an opinion, I get upset if it’s not what I want to hear. I take things too personally. I take any bit of criticism to heart.
8. I’m a little too focused on Glamour Girl. Yes, I have visited the Glamour Girl message boards a time or two. Is that a crime?
I read over my list. As far as I can tell, none of those reasons justify breaking up with me.
Another possibility comes to mind. Was I too clingy? We’d talked pretty much every day. But half the time he’d initiated it, so he can’t blame me for that, can he?
I know that what-ifs won’t get me anywhere. The cold, hard truth is that if Jared had wanted me to do something differently, he could have asked me. Since he didn’t, I can only assume he didn’t want to work things out.
In chemistry class, my lab partner is Evgeney Vraslov. Skinny, with curly red hair, he’s known to most people at school as “The Bulgarian Supergeek.” But most people are callous and unfair—Evgeney’s a pretty cool guy if you can decipher his thick accent. And smart as all hell, too. I just know he’s going to be the next Bill Gates and his former classmates will be kissing his ass.
I have new respect for Evgeney after seeing him do an awesome dance performance months back at the Halloween dance. And he dresses far better than he used to, thanks to the fashion advice on my website. In fact, Evgeney is one of my most loyal clients. He approaches dating like it’s a sci
ence and appears to study everything I post with the same rigor he gives a chemistry experiment. Anyway, I like chatting with him, and we’ve become friends. Whenever he decides to go to the cafeteria for lunch instead of hiding away in the computer lab, he sits with me and my friends.
When I drop my books beside him, he says, “I am sorry for your loss.” Which is what you’d say if someone died, not after a breakup. But the weird thing is, it touches a chord, and I have to bite my lip to keep it from trembling.
“Thanks, Evgeney. It’s for the best.”
He looks puzzled. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It just is.”
I admit, I’d gushed about Jared. Evgeney had asked me about our relationship and I was all too happy to tell him. It’s no wonder this new turn of events doesn’t make sense to him.
I should come clean. Since he’s all about studying relationships, I owe him the truth about mine. Evgeney’s faced a lot of rejection himself; he faces it in the hallways of our school every day because he’s different. There’s no need to put up a facade in front of him.
“Actually,” I say quietly, “it was Jared’s decision, not mine. It took me by surprise.”
He gives a sad nod. “I’m sorry.”
I can tell he means it.
By lunchtime, the breakup is old news. Everything is as it used to be, except that Jared isn’t sitting with us. He’s on the other side of the caf with Tom Leeson and Said Abdullah, two friends he jams with most Thursday nights. Jared doesn’t look my way, not even once. I’m so miserable that my stomach feels queasy. How can he ignore me like that?
It’s as if the past six months have been erased and Jared is now a stranger. The guy who claimed he couldn’t get enough of me has had enough. The guy who could hardly be near me without touching me in some way—entwining his fingers with mine, squeezing my waist—now can’t spare me a glance.
I remember the first time he kissed me. It was after school in the art room. I’d felt a hunger inside him that lit me up, scorching us both, forging our connection. Over the next months his kiss had become familiar to me, but the fire had always been there. The hunger for each other. And for me, at least, our connection had only grown stronger over time.