Chris doesn’t call back for four days. Finally I get a text.
Sorry, I can’t get involved. Luv u tho.
I leave a message for Derek. “Hey, it’s, um, Gretchen. You know, Gretchen Daniels, from NYU, T’s—um anyway, I just wanted to call to... I don’t know. I...never mind.”
I hang up. Derek sends me a message the next day asking if I’m all right and if I want to talk. I don’t reply.
I don’t call Toni. I don’t text Toni. I don’t email Toni.
Those are the rules. They seemed so easy when we came up with them. Much better than the alternative.
All of this sucks. It sucks more every day.
At first I blocked Toni’s updates from my feed. Then I wound up going to Toni’s profile every half hour to see if there was anything new. Finally I gave up and undid the block.
For a week and a half, Toni’s updates about having too much work and needing more coffee and hanging out with fabulous Harvard people have been my only proof that Toni still exists.
I’ve become obsessed with my phone charger. I bought an extra one and I carry it with me everywhere. I plug it in every time I see an outlet, even if it’s just for a couple of seconds.
I never take the subway if I can help it since I don’t get service down there. I sleep with my phone next to my pillow so it’ll wake me up if a text buzzes.
Still there’s no call. No apology. No I made a huge mistake. Let’s pretend it never happened.
I thought this part would be over by now. I thought it would be over a long time ago.
I did everything wrong. I’ve been doing everything wrong ever since I decided to mail that stupid form back to NYU.
I thought I was being bold. Taking a risk. When really I was signing away everything that was good in my life.
“You’re taking a break,” Carroll tells me over breakfast Wednesday morning. “It’s time to get over yourself, my dear. Some of us have real problems.”
I hug Carroll. He’s right.
He came out to his parents over the break. It didn’t go well. He hasn’t told me the details, but I got the gist of it from his expression when we first came back into town.
Hugging Carroll reminds me that it doesn’t matter if all my old friends—who are really Toni’s friends anyway—don’t want to talk to me.
Carroll’s my friend. I don’t need anyone else. Having fun together is what Carroll and I do best.
Enough moping around. Enough desperate waiting. It’s time for a distraction.
“You know what we should do?” I say. “We should go out to that club again. The one we went to at the beginning of the year. We’ll get wasted and dance with the sketchiest people we can find.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Carroll says, yawning. “Let’s go right now.”
It’s nine in the morning. We’re in the dining hall, having coffee and edamame. We have class in twenty minutes. I look up the club on my phone.
“They don’t open until ten p.m.,” I say. “Oh, and tonight they’re closed for a private event. We could go tomorrow.”
“I can’t last until tomorrow. I’ll have to find some sketchy guy to hook up with online tonight. It’ll be your fault because you put the idea in my head.”
“Oh, don’t act like I’m your enabler.”
“Blow me.”
Samantha sits down next to Carroll with a tray full of eggs and bacon. The sight makes me want to gag.
“Gretchen? Are you okay?” Samantha asks. “You look green.”
“She’s fine,” Carroll says. “Give her a carrot or something.”
“She looks sick,” Samantha says.
“I’m not sick.” I sit up straight again. “Carroll and I are going dancing tomorrow. Want to come?”
Carroll glares at me, but I don’t care. It’s not as if Sam will come anyway.
“Don’t you have your paper due for Met Studies?” Sam asks.
“I’ll do it, don’t worry,” I say. “Come on, we’ll get dressed up. You can wear your new silver fishnets.”
“I’ll pass,” she says.
“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Don’t you like fun?”
“Not as much as you two do, apparently.”
“You’re right,” Carroll says, rubbing his eyes. “Gretchen and me, we are the party-down duo.”
Sam and I have our first class in the same building, so we walk over together after breakfast.
“Hey,” I say as we pass under some scaffolding. “I just had the best idea. Can you dye my hair black? I’ll pick up the stuff at Ricky’s and we can do it tonight. It’ll go great with this outfit I want to wear to the club tomorrow.”
“Since when do you care about hair?” Samantha asks. “Or outfits?”
“Since...I don’t know, whenever.”
“Do you think you’ll look good with black hair? You’re so pale.”
“Hey, you’re into the vampire look, right?” I laugh. “Please just say you’ll do it.”
“I’ll do it if you want me to, but you’re making me nervous with this stuff. Look, I know it’s got to be hard. You and your girlfriend were together for so long, and—”