But it isn’t going to feel better to release it.
You could be a better person now, Terrence, but you were a jackass who made fun of my name and got punched in the face by my best friend. And that’s how I’ll always remember you.
Think it. Think it and then let it go.
“I’m good right here,” I answer.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Miley turn her face and I hear a cough that sounds more like a strangled chuckle.
“I’m sure you are. How’ve you been?” He now cradles his face in one hand, his eyes lazy in their wanderings of my face.
“Can’t complain.”
“Have you tried?”
The question takes me by surprise. But not more than when Miley gets up, her chair scraping as it’s forced back against the linoleum.
“Bathroom’s calling my name,” she announces in a way that makes me think she’s somehow turned into Snow White.
She doesn’t see the way my eyes squint in annoyance, aimed at her first and then the person sitting in front of me.
“Have I tried to complain?” I snort. “Complaining is easy. Keeping my frustrations to myself is a little more admirable than that.”
He nods, his other hand now drumming its fingertips on my desk. “I get that. But keeping so much inside of you isn’t healthy.”
“Who says I’m…”
“You can’t even forget about something that happened years ago.” One of his eyebrows goes up, as if he’s daring me to say otherwise.
Wise ass.
“You don’t know me. We haven’t spoken in years and even before then, we weren’t friends,” as I’d so kindly reminded you. “I’d take all of this a little more seriously if I knew it were coming from a genuine place and not because you’re looking for some sort of redemption or a quick lay.”
“You think it’s impossible for someone to just like you? To think you’re pretty and want to take you to prom?”
There’s a glint in his eyes that I don’t want to answer to or acknowledge. But I’m partly hypnotized.
Maybe it’s the way he shoves a truth he doesn’t realize is too potent down my throat with a jagged spoon.
In this moment, he hasn’t done a single thing wrong. He isn’t being disrespectful. And yet, I’m frustrated to the point of physical reaction. Fists clench and unclench; jaw follows suit.
“What’s it going to take to change your opinion of me?” he asks.
“Maybe a face transplant,” I tell him, offering a smile for the first time since he entered the room.
“You don’t like the one I’m wearing now?”
Something about his smirk tells me that in the time since our most memorable encounter, other girls have been praising it.
“You’re making it really hard to be nice to you.”
“Maybe you just aren’t a nice person,” he quips. “Maybe you’re just trying to be one instead of just being yourself.” He laughs at my stunned silence.
“As if you would know.”
“The right people will still love you if you’re a little bit of an asshole,” he says.
He gets up and walks off, his easy steps a direct contradiction to my sore jaw from holding menacing words back.
I don’t need to burden anyone for love.
Just like I don’t need a prom date so badly that I should have to endure Terrence’s presence and psychobabble bullshit.
HOW COULD a place so empty of human beings be so full of life?
These books hold more lives than anyone in this city will ever live.
I run my knuckles over my current page, reminiscing over the first kiss I’d read a few hours ago, my other hand’s fingers pressed lightly against my lips.
Maybe I’d only ever felt one kiss, but I’ve lived through too many to count.
Movement from the corner of my eye causes me to look up, and the very person I’d experienced my one and only kiss with is sauntering toward me.
Throughout the years, his changes had been tiny, insignificant things that hadn’t meant much in the moment. His shoes got whiter, as if he cared about what he looked like. His walk more confident, as if others had inflated him in ways I never could. His body grew stronger, as if he’d been bench pressing the girls who’d all fallen at his feet.
And I was still me. Still curly-haired, olive-skinned, and awkward. I’d grown hips and breasts, but the T-shirts and shorts I wear don’t flatter my figure in the ways the other girls proudly display their lady lumps.
“I figured I’d find you in here,” he says as he nearly falls into the chair across from me.
The place isn’t completely empty, so I glance around, hoping he doesn’t get louder than he is now.
His words shouldn’t bother me, but they make me wish I were a little more of a mystery to him.
His words don’t make you feel that way. Your insecurities do, I think to myself.
I read somewhere that my name came from Theophilus. Apparently, that meant friend of god.
How fucking appropriate. The friend-zoned girl’s name literally meant friend. Set up for failure.
My finger is pinched between the pages to hold my spot as I give him my attention. “Here I am,” I whisper. “What’s up?”
“Do you have a date to prom yet?” Elijah asks, the volume of his words matching mine.
And it makes me want to laugh because it isn’t like a ton of guys are lined up to claim the job title of my prom date.
Only one, and I have no interest in hashing that out with the young man sitting across from me, leaned in like we’re sharing secrets while I’m still keeping one.
I also want to ask him why he’s wondering. My heart jumps at the thought—the unrealistic hope that I don’t dare to even think…
Instead I just say, “No.”
“Me neither. Wanna go with me?”
That hope blooms in my chest, and I mask it as a deep breath, slow and deliberate. And an exhale that sounds more like a patient sigh.
I’m so good at masks now, they hardly ever slip with Elijah anymore.
“What about Lea?” Her name feels barbed as it makes its way out of my mouth, hurting me more than I know what to do with.
“She’ll be out of town.”
The idea of having to go with my best friend, just because his girlfriend won’t be around, doesn’t quite appeal to me.
“Don’t take pity on me, kid,” I say, opening my book again. As far as I’m concerned, the conversation is over.
“I don’t. Plenty of these motherfuckers want to take you. You just scare the shit out of ‘em.”
This piques my interest; the idea that I would scare anyone. But I scoff as he shakes his head.
“You have no idea, T.”
“Oh, yeah? What am I so clueless about?” I’m the one raising my voice and I don’t bother looking around because screw these people for a second.
“I have eyes and ears that work. Maybe yours are just broken,” he says as he reaches for my book, his fingers brushing the cover just as I yank it back toward me.
“My brain works perfectly fine and it’s having a hard time understanding what the hell you’re talking about.”
“You’re beautiful and scary as shit!”
The few people around us look up with wide eyes, as if they’re both curious and annoyed.
My remorse is immediate.
This is a sacred place, after all.
But…the last time Elijah said I was beautiful, we were in middle school and I figured he was saying it to save me from embarrassment at the hands of one of his conquests.
“I’m not scary.”
Or beautiful.
My hands shake.
“You’re so damn intense.”
I’m nothing compared to your eyes.
There’s no competition.
I think back to Terrence’s gaze. Probing.
Elijah’s eyes dive right into the heart of me. There’s no swagger, no façade. Just two people who’
ve known each other for too long to feel anything less than love.
Mine just happens to be romantic while his is platonic.
“How so?” I ask.
“You’re not impressed by these lame ass guys and their weak ass games.”
He’s leaning so close, I can see how full and thick his lashes are.
What a waste on an already beautiful face.
“You’re the one no one’s had yet,” he tells me.
“I’m not the only one no one’s slept with,” I whisper back. Fear pumps through my veins and pounds at my heart.
Look away. Don’t let yourself fall further.
“The only one everyone’s looking at…wondering about…”
Everyone except you.
I have to keep these things inside of me. Because outside of me, they either have the power to change everything or nothing at all.
Both would break my heart.
“Whatever. I’ll go with you.”
I am a serial masochist. But no pain is sweeter than what Elijah delivers. And I’ll go back every time, holding my hands out for more.
These tired hands of mine.
19
YOU CAME TO ME
I ’m convinced the songs that play in department stores are supposed to remind you of a time you don’t even really remember. Still, I hum along as I make my way through the maze of racks until I find myself at the entrance of the mall.
My eyes rove over the bodies seated in the food court, searching for my blonde best friend.
She’s supposed to help me look for a prom dress; one my parents can afford, although she offered her mother’s credit card without a moment’s hesitation.
I hear someone call my name, but the sound of a male voice has my brows drawn as I search for the source.
“I didn’t think you heard me,” Terrence says as he jogs toward me.
I don’t know what to do with myself as I wait for him to reach me, my arms dangling at my sides. “What’s up?”
Words that should sound warm are more of an exasperated sigh than anything else. Between Miley’s insistence that I give this guy a chance and the idea that I’m going to spend a night pining over my best friend while he remains oblivious, I’m not excited.
Still, I plan on putting on a smile. Much like the one I’m attempting to force now.
“Just seeing how you’re doing,” he says just as I spot Miley.
“I’m great. Nice seeing you,” I tell him as I start to walk away.
“Have you thought about what I asked you?” he calls after me.
There’s this deep-seated need to roll my eyes. To tell him I hadn’t thought about it because the idea is ridiculous.
Keep the poison inside and say the nice thing.
“It wasn’t really a question in the traditional sense. More like a half thought-out statement.” Not quite nice, but not incorrect, either.
“Why won’t you go to prom with me?”
Because I don’t want to.
“Because I already have a date,” I shout instead.
“Yeah?” He doesn’t look deterred. Challenged, if anything, his brows lifted and the ends of his lips move to match. “Who?”
“I decided to go with Elijah,” I utter, not feeling quite as confident as he is. I brace myself for a scold from this person who’s seen the history of our friendship and apparently paid more attention to it than I thought, if his frown is any indication.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” His words are punctuated with an awkward laugh, the kind that contradicts the action itself.
My cheeks heat as I turn on my heel, ready to be done with this conversation.
“Oh, come on.” He reaches for my arm and I yank it away. “You let him take you as some sort of weird friend thing instead of me? Someone who actually likes you in a way he can do something about?”
“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”
Keep it in, I try to remind myself, but it’s a fruitless endeavor when faced with this person and his opinionated words.
He shakes his head just as I notice Miley heading our way.
“I don’t know who I feel sorrier for, me or you,” he mutters, shrugging.
“You came to me,” I say when he turns away.
“Yeah, and I won’t make that mistake again.”
“YOU DON’T SEEM EXCITED, MIJA,” my mom says as she pushes the mascara wand back into the tube.
I stare at my reflection; at the way my hair is curled and the shimmer of makeup on my eyelids. At the sheen on my lips and the top of my dress.
It’s off-white but my mom uses the word “pearl” to describe it. She said it would complement my silhouette, but I don’t know much about things like that, so I trusted what she said.
She was right. Even as we walked out of the consignment shop, the trip to the mall with Miley being fruitless, I figured she would be.
My mom knows things. Not everything. But things I never thought one could learn.
Like how to read the spaces between my forced smiles.
“I’m fine,” I say, careful not to say too much so I don’t cry and ruin the makeup she spent an hour on. “I should get going.”
“I think it’s starting to grow on me,” my mom says as she rubs her thumb over the crescent moon in the crook of my arm.
Her initial reaction hadn’t been so calm and pleasant.
I smile, but it’s fleeting.
My skirt feels silky as I fist the fabric in one hand and stand. It reminds me of a demure Marilyn Monroe, its skirt longer and the halter top not as deep as hers was.
The doorbell rings just as I make it out of my room.
“You look sharp,” my dad says as my date crosses the threshold.
Miley smirks, stepping inside with her hands gripping the lapels of her suit jacket.
She looks amazing, her blonde hair slicked back and her heels making her body look even longer than it already is.
Her eyes catch sight of me as I descend the stairs and she lets out a low whistle.
“I’ll be the luckiest one there,” she says, and I try not to fall as I laugh. “You look great, girl.”
My smile is the fullest it’s been all day and I can’t deny that this is the best decision I could’ve made.
I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if Elijah will be there. I don’t know if he managed to get Lea to go with him.
I told him a week ago that Miley wanted to go together, and I imagined a disappointment in his eyes that contradicted the assurance that it was okay and he understood.
None of it matters anymore. High school is ending and now I’m looking toward the future, whatever that is.
I watch my father smile and talk with Miley and I wonder how hard he’s had to work to get here. And how furious he’ll be if I tell him college might not be the next move for me.
“Ready?” Miley asks, breaking me from my thoughts.
My mom’s been getting candid shots on her digital camera, wordlessly positioning us to her liking.
“Let’s do this,” I answer, gathering my skirt again so I don’t trip.
As soon as we’re outside, I laugh at the vehicle waiting for us.
“Just because you’re going with your best friend, doesn’t mean you aren’t getting the full treatment,” she says before scurrying toward the limo and ducking inside. She emerges again with a white box in her hand. “The cherry on top!”
My mom sniffles behind me and I resist the urge to remind her that I’m only going with my best friend.
Miley grabs my hand and I wince, her fingers pressing into a near fresh wound.
“You okay?” she asks before turning my hand over. “Shit, T. What happened?”
My palm is peppered in cuts and it shames me. But fear rolls in like clouds before a storm and all I can do is protect my darkness.
“Just broke some glass yesterday. It’s nothing.” I snatch my hand back and put the corsage on myself.
We take a few more pictures and then we’re in the limo, on our way to prom.
The champagne and amenities inside should dazzle me, but I can only nod and smile as Miley yammers on about this summer being the best one we’ll ever have before she goes away to New York for the Fashion Institute of Technology.
“You haven’t really talked about your plans,” she says before sipping on her glass of bubbly.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“We don’t have a ton of time, you know.”
I want to tell her to mind her business. To remind her that in no way am I set up the way she is and that even if I decided to go to school, I’d be signing my parents and myself up for mountains of debt, even with scholarships.
Is it worth it?
Who knows?
“I know,” I tell her. I down my own glass of champagne just as we come to a stop outside the aquarium.
The school tries to keep up with the themes, and this year is “Under the Sea”.
My mom clipped a starfish pin in my hair. That’s all I could muster for the occasion.
“Before we get in there, you need to put a damn smile on,” she says.
I turn to look at Miley and her brows are raised, daring me to do otherwise.
“How’s this?” I ask before smiling so big, my lips hurt and I’m pretty sure she can see all of my teeth.
With a frustrated groan, she reaches up and covers my mouth with her hand. When I jerk away, she presses her lips together, tasting her words before she utters them.
“What do you want, T? What’s gonna make you really smile?”
I’m pressing my hands into each other and staring at the discoloration; the way my fingertips turn white as I squeeze.
“Is it Elijah?” She whispers the question and I appreciate how she’s softened the blow.
But it still slices at me, in a way that even I’m unfamiliar with.
My fingers are so white until I let them go. I let it all go.
“Yes.” My whisper is somehow smaller than hers. And I feel like the smallest person in the world, admitting that I want someone who belongs to someone else. I’m coveting someone else’s prize.
I am the epitome of all the girls I disliked before.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Teófila’s Guide to Saving the Sun Page 9