Mean

by Justin Sayre

  I haven’t heard either, so I don’t have a lot to add. Bubbe asks me about school and how the Hebrew’s coming along. She tells me how pretty I’ve gotten and asks me if I have any boys after me. Dad says that Charlie’s around a lot, which perks Bubbe right up. “Now who’s this Charlie?”

  “My friend. He’s gay.”

  “Charlie’s gay?” Dad says, sounding sort of shocked. “Charlie doesn’t seem gay.”

  “Dad!” I yell back in a huff.

  Dad smiles a little and pours Bubbe and himself another glass of wine. Bubbe takes a sip and then asks, “But there’s no one else?”

  “No,” I answer, but from the twinkle in her eye, I know she thinks I’m lying. I start to yawn and then ask if I can go up to bed. I have to give Bubbe about ten kisses before she finally lets me go. Even though it’s sort of annoying, it’s also sort of nice to be loved out loud like that.

  Alone in my room, I look at myself in the mirror and wonder if I am really pretty or it’s just Bubbe being nice to me. It’s so hard to tell, and I don’t know if I’m the one who’s supposed to know. My face looks like me, but I don’t know what it looks like to other people. I’m being a total weirdo in the mirror for a while when I hear my phone ding with what seems like the twelfth text from Ducks.

  What’s wrong?

  Where have you been I’ve been texting all night

  My grandparents just got here sorry

  What’s wrong???

  Did you talk to Charlie?

  No. Why???

  I’ll talk to you in the morning.

  Are you ok?

  Yes.

  Night.

  I text Charlie right away to find out what happened, but he doesn’t answer. Something is definitely wrong.

  Chapter 9

  Okay, I haven’t totally been honest about everything so far. I mean, a lot of it is totally and painfully accurate, but there’s some stuff that I’ve left out because, well, I just didn’t want to say it. It’s hard for me to admit, really, and I didn’t want you to think that I was just being stupid about Allegra being in my Hebrew school. I mean, she’s terrible, and that’s the biggest part of why I didn’t want her there. I swear. The fact that she did a beeline right for Noah was just an addition to my already totally valid and awful feelings about her.

  But I mean, why wouldn’t she like Noah? He’s amazing. He smells good. He has great hands. And he’s nice. Do you know how hard it is to find a boy who’s actually nice? Who’s not like the rest of the loogie factories that pass as boys at my school? I mean, what is it about boys that they have that much spit? It’s disgusting. We have the same mouths and I don’t need to constantly snot-rocket all over the place like an exploding slug or something.

  But this boy’s not like that. And I like that. I like him. I have a crush. A big one. One that I haven’t told anyone in the world about. Not Ducks. Not Charlie. Not Sophie. Not even Hannah, and seriously, who would she tell? I haven’t told anyone because I worry that if I do, it won’t become anything. With Allegra there, I doubt it will anyway. But I have to admit it.

  I have a crush on Noah Wasserman.

  A huge one. One that makes it hard for me to breathe or think or look him directly in his beautiful eyes and form words. It’s that bad. And I don’t talk about it because I’m afraid of ruining it, even though I’m sure I’m already doing that and whatever I don’t ruin, I’m sure Allegra will screw up all on her own.

  I’ve only spoken to Noah four times. That’s it. I remember. I’ve counted. I just get so tongue-tied and awkward around him that all I want to do is die. So even though I like him, I avoid him. I try not to look at him. I don’t sit next to him. I mean, I’d probably faint or something worse. Maybe I’d pee my pants. I really don’t know what I would do or what I should do, so I just stay away. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to be close to him; I want to be all over him. I just don’t know how. And now, with Allegra, I might never find out.

  So, like, what’s Noah’s story?

  When I read it, I almost throw my phone in the garbage. There’s the ballgame, everybody! Pretty, Popular Allegra is after Prettier, More Popular Noah Wasserman! They’re a match made in my hell. I don’t type back for a long time. I think about saying he is gay. I think about saying he’s married, but Allegra’s not stupid enough to believe that. Even though she’s really stupid. So I just write back,

  No idea

  She doesn’t write back to me after that, so I know she’s up to something. I know she’s plotting her next move to trick him into liking her. And I know that he’ll probably fall for it, because even though he’s gorgeous and nice and everything good, he’s still a boy and boys seem to like girls like Allegra. Stupid, silly, irritating girls like Allegra. Well, good luck to them both, I hope they end up miserable. I know I will.

  Admitting seems better. It at least lets me deal with the disappointment that I know is coming. But I wish I didn’t have to hide it. I don’t think that’s right, for me or for anybody else. Even if you’re going to screw up the whole thing, you should be able to admit how you feel.

  The next morning, I get Ducks on the phone to find out what’s up. A lot is up. Apparently Charlie asked Ducks out on a date. A gay date. To be gay together. I know, it’s crazy, and I don’t know how I missed it before; I guess that just goes to show how distracting tater tots are for me, but I am so happy. That is so great for them. By the sound of Ducks’s voice, I can hear that he doesn’t agree.

  “Well, what did you say?” I ask Ducks.

  “I said I couldn’t. I said I had plans with you,” Ducks whispers into the phone. I can hear his crazy loud grandmother screaming at him to put something away, so I know he can’t really talk. He says he’ll call me back but I just tell him to meet me at the park. It’ll be easier to tell me about it in person.

  It takes me longer to get to the park than I expected, because Bubbe stops me and asks me a thousand questions about my day and then makes me put on my helmet and my soccer shin guards in front of her, so she knows I’ll be safe. She gives me a twenty and tells me to be home for dinner. “Bring Ducks if you want.”

  For the first time probably ever, Ducks beats me to the park. He looks nervous and uncomfortable sitting on the bench near the statue of Lafayette and I wonder what he has to be so nervous about. I mean, it’s just a date. And it’s just Charlie. If anyone should be freaked out, truthfully, it should be me. I mean, if they end up hating each other, I’m going to be the one stuck in the middle. I don’t mention any of this, I just sit down and start to listen. He’s talking before my butt hits the bench.

  It was a whole thing, he and Charlie started texting. Charlie’s a really great guy, and even Ducks is saying that now. They started just checking in on each other and seeing what was up. Ducks started telling him about school and stuff, he even got into his opera stuff, and Charlie was happy to hear it all. Charlie started talking about his school too, and video games a little, and making Ducks laugh. Charlie’s funny like that, I know firsthand. Then last week, I guess, Charlie asked Ducks if he wanted to go and see a movie or something.

  “So I was like, ‘Sure, let me text Ellen.’” Ducks practically spits out, trying to get to the big part of the story, which I know he’s building up to. “But he was like, ‘Well, I just thought it could be you and me.’ And I’m like, ‘That’s weird.’ And he’s like, ‘Why is that weird?’ and I’m like, ‘Because we’re not really friends like that, are we?’”

  “You said what?” I scream at Ducks. Why would he say that? They’ve been talking for months, apparently. What kind of friends are they?

  “I know, it was so stupid. I didn’t mean it like that,” Ducks says, trying to get me to quiet down. “I just didn’t know why he wanted to go out alone.”

  I see on Ducks�
��s face that he’s lying. He knew what was happening, he just doesn’t want to admit it. He wants to go, but he’s just so nervous, he can’t let himself be happy. I’m sorry for him and I understand, because I’m doing the same thing. And neither of us deserve to be nervous or worried about liking someone. That person should be flattered.

  I know there’s more to it for Ducks. I know it’s a whole thing. But it’s not a thing for me. I know Ducks is gay. He’s never said it, and he’s never had a crush on a boy or anything, but I know. I see it. I see it now, sitting on this bench. I see how hard it is for him to say it. I see how he struggles with it, like there’s something wrong, but there isn’t. There’s nothing wrong with Ducks at all, and watching him count up all the things he thinks are wrong with him just kills me. Because to me, though I would never tell him this unless I absolutely had to, he’s great. I just wish he could see that too. Or at least see what I see.

  “Did he text you last night?” Ducks asks.

  “No,” I answer him. “I texted him, but I still haven’t heard back.”

  “Well, if he does, you have to tell him that we hung out.”

  “No way! You lied to him. I didn’t and I won’t,” I shout back.

  “I didn’t lie. I just said I couldn’t go because I had plans with you.”

  “Which you didn’t. So that’s a lie.” I laugh.

  “Nothing about this is funny, Ellen,” Ducks practically growls.

  “If you don’t like Charlie, why didn’t you just tell him you didn’t want to go on a date with him?” I ask, trying not to push the whole gay thing at least for a minute.

  “It’s not that I don’t like Charlie. He’s great. I just don’t like him like that. I’m not like that,” Ducks says, lying again. He looks at his hands, which are almost shaking as he says this last part. This is why he didn’t tell me about the texting. He’s so nervous about what saying yes to Charlie would mean and so nervous about how much he wanted to say yes.

  I want to hold his hands to stop them from shaking, but we don’t do things like that, so I just sit with him for a while without saying a word. Ducks tries not to cry.

  No one should have to feel that bad about liking someone. No one should have to hide their feelings even if there isn’t a chance in the world that it will ever happen, that the person will ever like them back. No one should have to be nervous and upset and trying not to cry when all they want to do is be close to someone they like. Liking someone is a nice thing, even if it doesn’t work out. Even if that someone likes someone else, even a stupid person like Allegra. It’s not worth hiding, and it’s not worth fighting your tears back in the park.

  I don’t want to do that about Noah. And I’m sorry I did.

  But I’m sorrier for Ducks.

  And the sorriest for Charlie.

  I get a text from him on my ride home.

  I’m OK.

  I text back.

  Good.

  Chapter 10

  Sophie’s freaking out Sunday morning when I tell her about Ducks. He hasn’t told her either. “Why wouldn’t he just go?” she shouts in my room.

  “Because it was a date,” I answer. “And he knew it was a date.”

  “Well, what’s so wrong about that?” Sophie says, sort of laughing, but also knowing that there’s a lot more to it than that. Neither of us thinks Ducks’s mom would be weird about it, because she’s pretty great. I mean, she’s making all the challah breads for my party. His grandmother’s a little tough, but I don’t think she’d be weirded out by this. It’s all Ducks.

  “What did you say to Charlie?” Sophie asks.

  “I didn’t lie. I think he knew not to ask,” I answer. I talked to Charlie last night on Xbox. He sounded a little upset, but we were killing things, so there wasn’t a lot of time to get into it. I said I would call him about it, but I don’t know if he wants me to. Part of me thinks he just wants everyone to forget it.

  “Ellen! Sophie!” Bubbe shouts up the stairs. “The car’s here, darlings.”

  Sophie’s being such a good sport about everything today. She’s shown up at my house early, and skipped out on church with her mom and auntie who she loves, and answered about a thousand questions from Bubbe, who kept kvelling about how pretty she was and how sweet she was to come along on this crazy day of dress shopping. Kvelling is another Yiddish word that means “being happy and proud,” and Bubbe was delighted. Sophie is beautiful and she’s a great friend to be part of this crazy day.

  Bubbe got us a car to take us into the city, which made us feel a little fancy, but the truth is, I just don’t think she’s up to riding the subway. Bubbe’s tired, I’m starting to see that now. Not tired like Zayde, but she’s tired and she needs a bit of a break. Or maybe she just wanted to have a fancy day. I’m up for both.

  The ride into Manhattan is slow, and we’re not even over the Brooklyn Bridge before Aunt Debbie starts texting us both and asking where we are. She’s decided that we’ll go to Macy’s first, and then we’ll hop around to different places. Bubbe doesn’t think we’ll find anything at Macy’s, but it’s certainly something to see, so why not?

  When we get to 34th Street, Bubbe starts to get excited. She used to live in New York, before she and Zayde moved to Florida.They lived on the Upper West Side, in an apartment that Aunt Claire lives in now, and I think sometimes she misses the city. She used to love the crowded streets and the people, and she especially loved the shopping. This is going to be a big day for her, and seeing her excited almost makes me excited. Almost.

  Macy’s is a huge department store that’s been around since forever, and it has practically everything. Bubbe gets a little nervous when we get inside, but only that Sophie and I don’t run off. We make our way through the perfume and makeup department where all these women dressed in black keep trying to spray us with stuff. Bubbe just laughs at my reactions and gets Sophie and me up to the second floor as fast as she can.

  We find Aunt Debbie and Shelley pretty easily; they’re the loud ladies already holding five or six dresses hanging over their arms and looking for more. Bubbe’s right, we’re not going to find anything here. At least I’m not going to, even if Aunt Debbie and Shelley are.

  “Oh, look who’s here!” Aunt Debbie shouts when she sees us. “The lady of the hour!”

  Bubbe and Aunt Debbie hug each other and start looking through Debbie’s pickings, and Shelley comes over to us and says hello. Shelley’s pretty nice, but she’s a little dumb. I know that’s not nice to say, but it’s true. Shelley’s just kind of basic, but not in a mean way or an evil way. She just doesn’t think about things, besides maybe Starbucks and clothes. Actually, today might be a great day for Shelley; who knows, she might be the one to save us all. I have this flicker of hope, until Shelley holds up the first of her picks and it’s terrible. It’s so bad I don’t want to touch it, because I’m afraid it might suck me into another world where sequins reign supreme.

  Luckily for me, Sophie takes over. She’s so good with Shelley almost immediately that I can’t help but smile. Sophie’s able to sort through Shelley’s pile of clothes and get rid of half of them in a few minutes, leaving only the less bad for me to try on. I forgot that part. I’m going to have to try every single one on, and worse than that, I’m going to have to model them all for Bubbe and Aunt Debbie and Shelley and Sophie and every other woman in the dressing rooms, because I know Aunt Debbie will tell everyone why we’re there and will want to make an even bigger deal over the day than she currently is.

  With a pile of about ten dresses, none of them my choice, we head into the dressing rooms to start the fashion show with only one model. It’s only halfway there that I start to think about my bra. I try so hard to forget about my boobs during the week, it worked a little too well today, and now I’m in two sports bras without a thought about trying on all this stuff. I pull Sophie to the side
on our walk over.

  “I don’t have a bra,” I whisper to her.

  “You’re not wearing one at all?” Sophie whispers back.

  “No. I mean yes. But sports bras,” I whisper. I keep trying to slow the whole thing down, but Bubbe and Aunt Debbie are waving us over to the dressing rooms to show off the first disaster, but I just can’t yet. These boobs are nothing but endless trouble. Shelley turns around and sees us whispering so she comes over to the door.

  “Do you have a bra?” Shelley asks.

  How did she know what we were talking about? Maybe being dumb gives Shelley superstrong hearing?

  “No,” I say, sort of trying to get her to stop this whole thing.

  Shelley yells back to Aunt Debbie and Bubbe that we’ll be right back. She takes us up a floor and right into the frilliest and girliest part of the store. The ladies’ underwear department. The whole place makes me want to barf.

  “What size do you wear?” Shelley asks.

  “Medium,” I answer. Sophie looks confused at that answer, but Shelley just looks at us both and starts pulling the pinkest, laciest bras off a rack and takes me to the back. We all squeeze into one small dressing room before I can say no to the lace, when Shelley tells me to strip. Sophie says she can leave, but I grab her arm and ask her to stay. I need her here to help me deal with Shelley. And the boobs.

  I take off my sweatshirt slowly, and before I turn around, I can hear their shock that I’m wearing not just one sports bra, but two. They’re probably also seeing the red lines I get on my back from how hard the sports bras squeeze everything in.

  “How do you breathe?” Shelley asks.

  “Fine! Now turn around,” I yell. I take off the first sports bra and then the second, and my boobs bounce out with a sigh, like they’ve actually been suffocating inside. I tell Shelley to hand me the first new bra, and she does without turning around. I put it on but I can’t do up the back. I ask for the next, but that one doesn’t fit either. Shelley says she has to turn around so she can see what she’s dealing with. She can’t size me if she can’t see. I finally agree but she has to be quick. On the count of three. One. Two. Thr—