“No. You know what I need? For you and your girlfriend to leave me the hell alone.” I am furious, maybe not at Liam, though that doesn’t seem to be relevant right now. Gem and Crystal’s attacks used to be mostly subtle and stupid: my clothes or my laptop tattoos. Whatever. Now, after I talked to Liam for two minutes at a party, the bullying has become something altogether different. Sorry, but his chitchat really isn’t all that exciting. Definitely not worth this.
For a second, I play that game that sometimes soothes me: What would I be doing right now if I were in Chicago and we had never moved? I’d be at a newspaper meeting, or maybe yearbook, cropping pictures and picking fonts. I wouldn’t be happy, no. But I wouldn’t feel like this.
“What are you talking about?” Liam looks confused. I wonder if he is not so bright. According to Dri, he and Gem have been dating for six months, which is five months and twenty-nine days longer than he should have needed to realize that his girlfriend is a royal bitch.
Liam swings Earl off, rests him on the ground next to a car. A Tesla. Seriously, some kid at Wood Valley drives a freaking Tesla. Who the hell are these people?
“Forget it. Please just leave me alone. You talking to me? The opposite of helping,” I say.
“I don’t understand.”
“You want to know why I’m upset? Just go ask Gem,” I say, and finally, finally close those last few steps to my car.
“Wait,” he says. “Will you be, you know, working this afternoon?”
Of course I’m not driving or flying to Chicago today. There will be no signs, literal or otherwise. Escaping is mere fantasy. I have to save up first, since I barely have enough cash to fill my gas tank.
My body deflates—there will be no running, no hiding.
This, right here, this is my life.
This.
“Yeah, I’ll be there.” I get into my car, reverse out of my spot so fast I wonder if I’ve left skid marks.
I wait until school is far in my rearview mirror before I start weeping.
SN: watched Footloose yesterday. both versions. in your honor.
Me: and?
SN: they don’t make sense. you can’t have a local ordinance against dancing. that’s a restriction of our constitutional freedom of expression. not to mention the whole church/state thing.
Me: Groan.
SN: and even if you suspend disbelief on that MAJOR plot point…well…
Me: WHAT?!?!
SN: they just aren’t very good movies.
Me: Tell me how you really feel.
SN: but still, somehow I liked the idea of you liking them. does that make sense?
Me: Not at all, but I’ll take it. I’m having a shitty day. Considering hightailing it back to Chicago.
SN: NO!
Me: Ha. Love when your shift key comes out. And your day?
SN: my mom hasn’t left the couch once. brought her lunch. she didn’t eat it. so far gone she didn’t even look up at me.
Me: I’m so sorry. I wish I could help. What about your dad?
SN: he’s talking about sending her to rehab, but honestly, drugs aren’t really the problem. I mean, they are, but they’re more a symptom of the problem.
Me: What do you mean?
SN: she lost a kid. you don’t just bounce back from that.
Me: But she still has you.
SN: why was your day so bad?
Me: Nothing important. Just one of those days.
SN: don’t leave LA. please. you just can’t. promise?
I pause. What does a promise to Caleb mean? We’ve glided past his rejection of my coffee offer, have just dug in deeper, as if it never happened. Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that his complete unwillingness to hang out with me in real life doesn’t hurt.
Again today he didn’t say hello to me in the hallway. Just another phone salute.
I tell myself it’s because he’s scared of ruining our never-ending conversation, but I tell myself a lot of things I don’t actually believe.
So I lie.
Me: Promise.
When I get to work, Liam’s mom is behind the counter. Pure relief that I don’t have to face Liam. Instead of saying hello, she hands me a box of books, asks me to shelve them.
“Sure thing,” I say, looking through the pile. A lot of financial guides. Overnight Millionaire. Beat the Market. Money Now. I head over to the shelf that Liam’s mom has labeled GET RICH QUICK! and begin to sort the books alphabetically by author. For a second, I think about picking one up for my dad, but then I remember that (1) we are no longer on speaking terms, and (2) my dad could actually write one of these books, though it would be a bit short: Marry Up.
“I like your can-do spirit,” Liam’s mom says, since I shelve fast. Anything to keep busy. She smiles Liam’s smile at me. I’ve worked here for weeks now and I can’t remember her name. I just think of her as Liam’s mom, or sometimes, I guess, Mrs. Sandler. I bet if I ran into her somewhere else, un-bookstore-related, I wouldn’t recognize her. She looks a lot like the moms back home: no-nonsense hair, everything maximized for efficiency, not necessarily attractiveness. Like a real mom, not an aging actress.
I try to think about Caleb’s smile, but I’m not sure I’ve actually seen it. Which makes sense. SN is not exactly the smiley type. I can easily picture Ethan’s smile, though: how it unfolds across his face, from left to right, like a perfect sentence.
Clearly, I need to stop this Ethan obsession. Not healthy.