The Girl Who Invented Romance

by Caroline B. Cooney

  “You are so like your mother,” said my father, exasperated and affectionate.

  Me? Eternally anxious? Hiding from reality? Busying myself with nothing much? Only smiling when Dad smiled first? Me?

  “Kelly,” said my father softly, “it’s okay to be needy. It’s okay to need love. You don’t have to be sorry you need it. You don’t have to fight back.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  “Kelly,” said Megan, “you are blind. You need a guide dog for dating.”

  At least she didn’t tell me I’m the dog, I thought.

  I washed my hands. There’s gray soap in the high school girls’ rooms. I don’t think a person can get clean with gray soap. It’s a contradiction.

  Megan sagged down the wall of the girls’ room, sinking dramatically onto the tile floor. Her hair draped over some obscene graffiti.

  “Don’t do that,” said Faith crossly. “They haven’t mopped in here since Carter was president.” Faith brushed her hair with such vigor that I cringed. If I were that rough, I’d be bald along with my other troubles. Faith never even notices the handfuls of hair she loses; she just fills the wastebaskets and moans about humidity and in the morning she has even more hair.

  “Here I knock myself out to arrange the perfect evening for you, Kelly, with Blaize, who is also perfect, and you goof up.”

  “Oh, Megan, don’t yell at me,” I said, fighting tears. “Don’t tell me I goofed up. Say we just weren’t right for each other.”

  Megan drummed her heels against the tiles. She was wearing good shoes with tiny sharp metal points on the high heels. She lifted her knees ever so slightly and accomplished a sitting-down tap dance. I was filled with admiration for her coordination. “Kelly, you should not get so emotional. It was only a date. You should have laughed your way through a great evening. You’re too intense. You cannot cannot cannot be intense about boys.”

  Then what’s the point? I thought. Who needs romance if it’s not intense?

  Faith said mournfully, “I’m awfully emotional about Angie. Do you think that’s why he doesn’t respond? We had such fun at lunch!” A lunch that had to have been a month ago. “We flirted and giggled and joked and it was perfect. So why won’t he ask me out?”

  Megan heaved a huge sigh and began explaining in detail why Faith and I were failures at love. At first I listened, because I really wanted to know, but about ten syllables in, I saw that it was going to be too depressing, so I checked out. Megan punctuated her lecture with heel taps. She was ruining her shoes, getting scuff marks all over them. She didn’t care. No boy would care either.

  I stared at myself in the mirror. All bathrooms at Cummington High are gray like their soap. There was probably some huge sale on gray tiles and gray sinks when they were building the school. I was happy they had saved all that money, but tired of so much grim, dark, sad gray in my life.

  I was even wearing gray. My oldest sweatshirt, the baggy one with words so faded that even I am not sure what they say. My oldest jeans, so pale they’ve become a reflection of my personality: pretend jeans covering a pretend girl.

  If we stay in this bathroom much longer, I thought, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown. Maybe I’m already having a nervous breakdown.

  “I’m having a nervous breakdown over Angie,” said Faith, “and he doesn’t even know it. I think of him every minute. Setting the table, doing math, watching TV, practicing the flute, and Angie is part of it. It’s as if his invisible clone stuck to me with some terrible glue I can’t melt.”

  I should add those to my board game, I thought. Pointless Crush. Total Obsession. Unrequited Love.

  Megan took about fifteen paper towels to dry her hands. One high school junior cleans up and the trash overflows.

  “It’s my name,” said Faith glumly. “I have this overwhelming need to be faithful. To have one guy in my life and love him forever.”

  Megan shuddered. “You’re right. You’re doomed. They’ll never feel that way. If you do, it’s over.” She made it sound as if boys wanted paper dolls, one dimension.

  “Let’s go,” said Faith. “Sociology next. We don’t want to be late. Maybe Angie will ask me for lunch again today.”

  Perhaps it was Angie who was one-dimensional. His attitudes never changed; his charm never dwindled. But what was inside? Anything? Was Faith in love with nothing?

  But in a really gray mood, you know that even love itself might be nothing.

  The other two hurtled toward class. I trudged. I hadn’t seen Will since the dance with Blaize. Now I knew that love was nothing, boys were paper dolls and I needed a guide dog. I certainly wouldn’t have a crush on Will. I probably wouldn’t even recognize Will.

  That made me feel better. Strong. Independent. Calm. Poised.

  In the doorway of the classroom stood Will.

  The face that had seemed bony was now full of interesting angles and planes.

  The eyebrows that usually expressed only conceit seemed inquisitive.

  The face that was so snobbish had a stranded expression—one of somebody needing a friend.

  Will looked at us.

  Vibrant Megan. Faith radiating her crush on Angie. And me in my sloppiest sweatshirt with my grayest emotions.

  “Hey, Kelly, how are you?” said Will, as if Megan and Faith were invisible.

  “William, William, you’re blocking the road,” said Megan, who cannot bear to be ignored and certainly not by a boy she herself just ignored.

  “Fine, thanks, Will,” I told him.

  He nodded and went to his desk.

  Only people who have suffered from really serious crushes—terminal crushes—know that a person can be wafted off for an entire class on “How are you?” and a nod.

  I was wearing one nice thing: my gold chain with the eighth-note gold charm. I fingered it while I looked at Will, hoping for a glance or smile to confirm his interest. To prove he wasn’t snubbing Megan, but was crazy about me. Will’s interest, however, was in the lecture. He took notes. He did not look up.

  I really care, I thought. Not so much about Will. Will and Blaize themselves hardly matter. I just want somebody to like me. I don’t care anymore who does the liking. I am desperate.

  What a terrible word in a girl’s vocabulary.

  “… to be special,” squeaked Ms. Simms. “You do library work, in your language arts classes and history. You translate paragraphs in foreign languages and attempt lab research in biology or chemistry. But for your sociology project, I want something special. Anything to do with the way one person interacts with another.”

  “The way boy interacts with girl?” piped up Angie.

  “Of course. Male-female relationships are complex. Any data you can supply to help us understand will be greatly appreciated.”

  Angie beamed. “Then my project’s finished. I’ve been working on it since my thirteenth birthday and I’ve already—”

  “I think not, Angelo,” said Ms. Simms. “Sexual expertise or the complete lack of it will not be considered.”

  Angie’s all show! I thought. He fooled everyone but Ms. Simms. It’s not that the girls don’t measure up to Angie’s standards; it’s that Angie doesn’t know what to do next and he won’t risk mistakes. Complete lack of expertise defines Angie.

  “Project ideas must be submitted within two weeks. If you are late, the grade will drop ten percent.”

  Lots of people take sociology as an easy A to prop their grade point average up. Now they’d have to exert themselves, which caused classwide groaning. Even Wendy whined. “But Ms. Simms, I do so much creative stuff already. I don’t have time to think up something else that’s special and wonderful.”

  This time Will looked my way and we rolled our eyes at each other. Did Wendy Newcombe have a high opinion of herself or what?

  Jeep spoke up on Wendy’s behalf, wanting Wendy to be exempt from the project, or be allowed to submit a soap script.

  Parker would have done that too, I though
t. He’s still on Wendy’s team, even though I don’t think she has a team. She’s captain, but for herself alone.

  I should put that on my board: a square to show that sometimes you love a person for what doesn’t exist. You’d have to pay a big penalty for that. Of course, you didn’t need a board game to pay penalties. All you had to do was fall in love.

  Romance was such a soft and beautiful word. In it were such hard and cruel divisions.

  And suddenly I was laughing, almost exulting. My romance game would be my sociology project. Not only a class activity, but one about male-female relationships and the complexity thereof. Ms. Simms would love it.

  The bell rang, the class vanished and I struggled to my feet. Skinny as I am, I should come out of a school desk like a trout through water, but I must have the wrong proportions. Never once have I stood up gracefully in school.

  “I am dying to know what you’re thinking,” said Will, standing next to me. “The expressions that have been crossing your face in the last five minutes have been priceless. The trouble is, I didn’t figure out a single one.”

  I blushed. “Hard to explain,” I mumbled. Oh, no, I thought. I sound as if I don’t want to share my thoughts with him. Megan’s right. I do need a guide dog for romance.

  “Wendy’s kind of a jerk, isn’t she?” observed Will, going with me to the door.

  “I love hearing you say that!” I exclaimed. “You’re so removed and objective. If you say she’s a jerk, then she is.”

  “Me? Removed?”

  We reached the hall.

  “I’m sure your expressions meant something interesting,” said Will. “Would you tell me over a Coke? This afternoon?”

  CHAPTER

  11

  A soda with Will.

  If only I had on decent clothes.

  Of course I was in my worst sweatshirt and my oldest jeans for my first date. (I wasn’t counting Blaize as a first date. He was a punishment.)

  I dawdled, because I was afraid of Will. I had known him most of my life. Watched him in sports, where conceit serves him so well, and disliked him in class, where conceit is infuriating. What was there to be afraid of?

  He was waiting for me in the front foyer. Why wasn’t I running toward him, the way Wendy had run after Park and was now running toward Jeep? I wanted this so much: a boy asking for my company. It had come and I was dragging my feet.

  A thousand times I’d listened to Megan talk about her boyfriends. Never had fear come into her conversation. Desire, worry, adoration, frustration, concern, but not fear.

  “Hi,” said Will, grinning.

  There was no fear visible in Will. He is so tall that for him merely to stand there is to be on display. I felt as if the entire school watched me approach, saw my head tilt back to greet him. I’d always figured I’d love being on parade. But I was wishing we could be in private instead.

  “Hi,” I said, and blushed over the word hi, which I say to a hundred people every day.

  “Let’s go to Wendy’s,” he suggested.

  I was shocked. Wendy’s? Surely Will knew how mean she had been to my brother. Just a little while before, Will and I had agreed that Wendy was a jerk. Was the whole basketball team going out with Wendy? Was this going to be a double date with Jeep and Wendy? Was—

  “Wendy’s that serves hamburgers,” said Will. “Did you think I meant Wendy Newcombe?”

  “I guess she’s on my mind.”

  “She doesn’t deserve the space. Come on. My car’s in the east lot because I was late this morning. We have a hike.”

  We didn’t touch. We didn’t walk close. In spite of being afraid, I was disappointed. As long as you’re doing it, you should do it right. Tons of people were looking at us, or at least facing our way, and I wanted to give them something worth looking at.

  Am I sitting on both sides of this fence or what? I thought. How do I expect Will to have any idea what I’m thinking when I don’t have any idea what I’m thinking?

  My mind rushed down the paths of other minds, wondering what they were thinking, and constructing thoughts for them. My father’s path, my mother’s, Parker’s, Wendy’s, Faith’s, Megan’s—seeing with their eyes, deciding with their minds. I’ve always wondered if other people’s minds do this—divide, splinter, race headlong in multiples. Or do other people always know who they are?

  “You know, Kelly, I’ve come to a conclusion about you,” said Will.

  “What’s that?”

  “I figured you for solid as a rock but now I think you’re kind of flaky. A lot of girls, I psych them out, I know who they are, and I’m bored. With you I have this feeling that you don’t land. You only look as if you land. But really you’re flying out there somewhere and you’ve never landed.”

  It was strange and glorious to find myself in Will’s thoughts, to know that when his mind split, one path it took was through me. “I didn’t know you thought about me at all.”

  “A person has to think about something during sociology,” Will pointed out. “I’ve been working my way through all the girls in the class. Depends which way I’m facing. Like when I was facing Wendy, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what game she’s been playing with Jeep and Parker.”

  “Oh, me too. I’d give a lot to understand that.”

  Will opened the car door for me. I love little attentions.

  I thought of the thousand little attentions Dad gave Mom and for the umpteenth time in a month I wondered about my parents. I prayed they weren’t getting close to a—

  The real word crept into my mind.

  Divorce.

  Horrible, evil word. I let it sit quietly and then I picked it up, like a stone, and flung it away as far as I could.

  Will was still walking around the car. He got in on his side and put the key into the ignition, and the car began buzzing very loudly. “Put your seat belt on,” he yelled.

  I snapped it in place. “Our car has a sweet tinkling bell to remind you about the seat belts. Yours gets violent.”

  He started the engine. “Tell me why you want to understand Wendy. I’m not sure Wendy is worth understanding.”

  “Because of Parker. He’s hurt.”

  “I’ll bet. We could see it coming, but Park couldn’t. You couldn’t warn him or you’d be the enemy.”

  “Will you ever talk about it with him?” I asked.

  “I hope not.”

  How I love girl talk. Sprawled on the bedspread, indulging in long intimate heartbreaking silly giggly friendly talks. Girls love telling all. We always tell all.

  Or so I’d thought until I fell for Will. I hadn’t told anybody about that. Not even Faith. For some reason, especially not Faith.

  I was no longer afraid of Will. Talking released the anxiety. We arrived at Wendy’s and got in line. Will touched me for the first time, hand on my waist. Not light, not a half tickle, but a firm palm that ushered me ahead of him. I asked for chili; he ordered four hamburgers.

  “Four?” I said.

  “A person gets hungry.”

  I gazed up at him and found him looking down at me speculatively, the way I might look at a dress I’m thinking of buying, but have not yet made the final decision on.

  Nervousness came back like a blow. I was on the board game, getting and losing points.

  Will’s hand moved me forward again. The tray was handed over the counter and Will took it. One hand holding the tray aloft, the other at my waist, he walked us toward a table by the window on the far side.

  No wonder my mother loved all the little things Daddy did. They made you feel special. And who could not want to feel special? It’s so nice to be worth an effort.

  Again my thoughts split away, abandoning my date. Opening doors, holding the tray, choosing the table. What could be wrong with it? What were Parker and I thinking of, knocking Dad for showing Mom affection like that? And whatever were Mom and Dad thinking of, letting it fade? Over Ellen! Who didn’t matter to anybody!

  Did
Daddy still have Ellen’s letter in his wallet? Was he still staring at her photograph? Was he sorry he was married to the mother of his children and not to this other woman?

  “Now you have to tell me that,” said Will. “I refuse to be left in the dark.”

  “That what?” I said, though I knew.

  “That latest thought. Another intense one.” He took the food off the tray and slid the tray onto a vacant table behind us. Handing me a napkin and a straw, he got to work on burger number one. Three bites, fifteen seconds, and he was washing it down with his soda, not even pausing for breath.

  I was still lifting my spoon to approach the chili. “Wow,” I said.

  “I eat kind of fast.”

  “I guess so.”

  “But that doesn’t let you off the hook. What were you thinking of that made you look so far off?”

  I put the white plastic spoon into the chili, brought up a mouthful and lowered the spoon back into the bowl. I picked up a pack of crackers, although I don’t like crackers and never spoil my chili with them. I played with the cellophane packaging.

  “It’s my parents. I thought they had the most beautiful marriage on earth. I loved thinking about the way they loved each other and how someday I would live like that. But now, for the smallest dumbest reasons, it’s coming apart at the seams. Parker and I are standing there watching it split. It’s happening so fast, as though it never had any strength, when I thought it was the strongest in town. Sometimes just one word in an ordinary conversation makes me remember what’s going on with them and I get scared.”

  Will touched my hand. The cellophane rustled at the pressure. His hand dwarfed mine. The pressure of his fingers was comforting out of all proportion. “My folks are divorced and they remarried and they divorced again. You live through it. I won’t say it’s a picnic, but eventually everybody comes out on the other side without being destroyed.”

  “I don’t want to think about it. I can’t bear thinking about it.”

  “I don’t imagine they want to think about it either.”

  “If my mother would just act like an adult, it could be solved in a weekend.”