“Yeah, a grocery store is probably the worst place to work. My ex works at Foodstop. If they’re short-staffed, they don’t even give her breaks. I keep telling her to quit, but she never listens to anything I say. She’s very stubborn.”
I catch the bitterness in his voice. Seeing my reaction, he says, “Sorry. It’s just that she has a new boyfriend and it’s been getting to me. She dumped me after two years because she said we were looking for different things. What the hell does that mean?”
Uh-oh. Ex talk. A first date no-no.
“When did you break up?” Maybe it happened recently and the hurt is still fresh. I can understand that.
“Four months ago. Wait—four and a half. You should see how ugly her new boyfriend is. I don’t understand what she could possibly see in him.”
Okay, this is seriously not an appropriate conversation. I have to change the topic. “Have you eaten here before?”
“Oh, yes, it’s one of my favorite restaurants. Katarina and I used to come here all the time.”
“Ah.”
He must’ve caught the look on my face, because he says, “I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about her tonight.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m glad. I feel like I can tell you anything.”
From that point on, I feel like I’m his psychologist. He goes on and on about his ex, how perfect they were for each other, and how close he was to her family. I do a lot of nodding, but after a while I stop listening. I try several times to change the topic, but that’s not easy to do when he’s spilling his guts onto the table. The food, at least, is pretty good. I’ll have to come back here sometime—without Mikhail.
Couldn’t he just shut up and look cute? Is that too much to ask?
We must have been at the restaurant for three hours. Since he’s talking so much, it takes him forever to eat. Just when I think he’s finished, he orders coffee and dessert. Argh. I feel like my life is slipping away before my eyes.
Finally it’s time to pay the bill. He offers to pay, but when I say I’ll pay for myself, he doesn’t insist. Damn the feminist in me—now this night is a total loss!
“Want to go to Starbucks?” he suggests as we get up. “I could go for another coffee.”
“Sorry, but I really have to get home.”
“But it’s Friday night.” He glances at his watch. “And it’s only nine-thirty.”
“Yeah, well, I’m tired.”
He opens the door as I walk out, a far less impressive gesture now than when we came in. To my surprise, he goes in for a hug. I don’t resist. I suppose the guy deserves a hug, if not a second date.
“It was great talking to you, Kayla. You’re so easy to talk to.”
I paste on a fake smile. “I’ve been told.”
“Maybe we could get together Sunday after noon?”
If you’ll wear a muzzle, I want to say. Then, looking up at his eager face, I feel sorry for him. He deserves the truth.
“I’m sorry, Mikhail. I don’t see this happening.”
“Why not?” He seems genuinely surprised.
“I don’t think you’re over your ex.” The understatement of the eon!
“Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have talked about her.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Why won’t you give me a chance? Didn’t you say I should move on?”
“Yes, you should.” Just not with me. “Bye, Mikhail.”
twelve
Saturday night, baby! The plan is takeout, gossip and whatever smutty stations we can intercept with Amy’s satellite cable. Everyone is dying to hear about my date with Mikhail and Sharese’s confrontation with Zink at the youth group last night.
“Did he freak out when he saw you?” I ask her.
“He ignored me at first, but then he started whispering about me any chance he got. I knew what he was doing because people kept looking at me funny. You’d be so proud of me, guys. I finally stood up to him.”
“What’d you do?” We want to know.
“At the end of the night we all hold hands and bring up things to pray about. So I said, ‘My wish is that we understand that there are two sides to every story and that we don’t pass judgment on anybody. We should put an end to gossip because it’s hurtful and unchristian.’ Then Reverend Fielding went into a speech about how slander is a sin. I think it’ll shut him up. He may be a manipulative jerk, but now he has the fear of God in him.”
We clap for her.
“Now tell us about your date with the Hungarian guy!” Sharese says, and the focus shifts to me.
“He’s Romanian, but it doesn’t matter.” I look at each one of them, building the suspense. “It was the worst date ever!”
Amy shrieks. “Oh, my God, did he vomit on you or something?”
“Uh, no. But he talked about his ex the entire time. He’s looking for a counselor not a girlfriend.”
Ryan groans. “I hope you told him where to go.”
“No, but I told him there wouldn’t be a second date. And I told him he wasn’t over his ex.”
Sharese grimaces. “That is so pathetic. I thought from what you said that the guy had potential.”
“I thought so, too. He was cute, smart, but totally E.U.” My friends know that I don’t mean European Union, even if Romania is part of it, and I don’t know if it is. E.U. means emotionally unavailable.
Amy says, “What a waste of time! Good thing you’re rid of him.” Which is ironic because we all know that in her relationship with Chad, it’s Amy who’s E.U.
“How are things with Chad?” Viv asks, probably thinking the same thing I am.
“Good. Same old.” Her eyes narrow. “Are you asking me if he found out about what happened at the party? No, he didn’t.”
“You sound bored with him,” Viv says.
“I’m not. I’m very happy with him.” And she gives a big grin.
“If you want to keep him, go easy on the sexting,” Ryan says. “There was a group in the guys’ locker room checking out your pics.”
“Really?” She doesn’t seem displeased at all.
Viv stares at her. “You’re not naked in them, are you?”
“Of course not. I’m just showing a little skin, that’s all. It’s amazing how the sight of a bra strap can drive a guy wild. The pics are just fun. They’re not pornographic. Chad loved them. I told Bill about them, and he wanted to see them, too.”
“Bill wasn’t one of the guys in the room,” Ryan says. “He must’ve sent them to someone else.”
“So what? There’s nothing in there I’m ashamed of.” She looks at me. “If you do the same, I swear you’ll have another boyfriend within a week. We just need to get you a push-up bra.”
I cross my arms as if blocking her X-ray vision. “No, thanks.”
Amy turns to Sharese. “What about you? You’re rid of Zink now. You wouldn’t even need a push-up.”
“You’re insane, Amy. If I ever took pics of myself and my parents found out, they’d freak. I’d be condemned to hell, or worse—they’d send me to live with my grandma in Georgia.”
“Fine. Your loss.”
“What about me?” Viv looks slightly offended. “You’re not going to suggest I do it, too?”
“It’s pointless to suggest it. You’d never do it.”
“True, I never would. Never ever.”
“But if you did, you could benefit from a push-up, too.”
Viv rolls her eyes. “Thanks a lot.”
We move on to another topic, but I suspect my friends are as troubled by Amy’s sexting as I am. Not only is she putting her relationship with Chad in jeopardy, she’s messing with her own reputation. She doesn’t get it, though. She loves being the center of attention and wants to have endless guys after her.
When I get home that night, I decide to blog. It’s late and I’m tired, but it has to be done.
Attention My Fellow Teens:
A Warning about Sexting
&nbs
p; So you take a cute picture of yourself in your slinky pj’s, or while you’re changing, and you know your BF or a friend of yours will get a kick out of it. They love the picture and send it to someone they know. And it goes on from there. Who knows how many people will end up seeing that picture of you? Maybe you’re 100% sure your BF will closely guard the sexy pictures you send him. And he does. Until you break up, and he’s mad as hell. Next thing you know, everyone at school’s seen the pictures.
Some of you think that sending a provocative photo or sexy text message is the perfect way to flirt with a guy you like. It all sounds very innocent, right? It isn’t. Because every time you send a picture or an explicit text message into cyberspace, it can come back to haunt you.
How do you know if you’re going too far? Ask yourself this: how would I react if everyone at school were to see this picture, or if my parents or teachers were to read this text message? If the answer’s that it would be a little embarrassing but not a big deal, fine. But if the answer’s that you’d be totally humiliated, then that’s your clue that you must STOP SEXTING NOW.
And for those of you who enjoy sending around pictures that were sent to you…did you know that distributing sexual photos of a minor is a criminal offense? In fact, some states prose cute these crimes as distributing child pornography and can make you a sex offender! So be careful!
The Oracle of Dating
Monday morning I’m dying to get to chemistry class to hear about Evgeney’s date.
“So, how’d it go?”
Evgeney’s expression gives nothing away. “It was a pleasant date.”
“Pleasant? You’re not smiling.”
“The date was not quite what I had hoped.”
My heart sinks. “Why not?”
“I realized that we are not as well matched as I’d first thought. She is a lovely girl with a sweet disposition. But there was something lacking.”
“What was lacking? She seemed wonderful to me.”
“I do not believe she’s lacking in character. However, I didn’t feel it was an intellectual match.”
“But how do you know? Isn’t one date too soon to assess someone’s intelligence?”
“I am quite certain of my conclusion. Rose doesn’t seem to be academically inclined. And she takes little interest in world issues.”
“Yeah, but that’s true of a lot of teenage girls.”
“Certainly. But I know I am not compatible with someone who doesn’t share my intellectual interests.”
“Did you find out what her interests are?”
“Crafts of various kinds. I’m sure they require significant skill, and I appreciate the idea of having different interests than my girlfriend, but there must be some common ground. For instance, she did not realize that Bulgaria was in Eastern Europe.”
“Ouch. Where did she think it was?”
“I didn’t dare to ask. She also seemed uncomfortable when I attempted several different topics of conversation, such as politics, health care reform, the Catholic Church and classical music. It wasn’t just her lack of knowledge of these things, it was her lack of interest. She is a very nice girl and I do not wish to hurt her feelings. Unfortunately she appears to have a significant affection for me.” He gives me a pointed look. “Your strategy was very effective.”
“I can’t take credit for her feelings for you. She was already interested in you before I got involved.” It really was too easy. I’m so disappointed that this hasn’t worked out for Evgeney. I believed that he, of all people, would get the happy ending!
“Don’t feel badly, Kayla. I don’t. If I hadn’t gone on a date with Rose, I wouldn’t have known that we are not compatible. It was very worthwhile.”
“I know. But is intellect really that big of a deal?”
He raises a brow. “Perhaps you should pose that question to the Oracle.”
Evgeney is right, I decide as I’m sitting in my next class; the question of finding your intellectual match is definitely one the Oracle should explore.
I can’t help but think of my relationship with Jared and how good an intellectual fit we were. We could verbally spar on any topic under the sun in a way that I found totally stimulating. On the surface, you might think we weren’t well matched, since my marks were higher than his (except in art), but as we all know, grades in school aren’t necessarily a reflection of how smart we are.
And a related question is: does a couple need to have common interests to be happy? Mom and Erland have religion in common, which I’m sure is important to them. But I’m not convinced you need to have the same interests as your partner as long as you have some common ground. You might even take pleasure in being with someone whose interests are different from your own, as long as you have similar values.
I’m sure Evgeney did the right thing by trusting his instincts and deciding not to string Rose along. For some people, a partner’s intellect may not be important, but for someone like Evgeney, it’s essential.
I stay late after school to work on a paper. It’s around four-thirty by the time I grab my stuff from my locker. I notice that the lights are on in the art room. The door is closed but I peek through the glass and see Jared inside, painting. This room is where we first flirted and where we first kissed.
Jared looks up and squints at the glass. I’m not sure if he recognizes me from this distance, since he’s borderline in need of glasses, but I figure I’ll say hello anyway.
I open the door. “Hi.”
“Hey, Kayla. What are you doing here so late?”
“Finishing an essay.” I sit on a nearby table. “How’s the portfolio going?”
“Great, I think. I’m almost done. I just have one more to paint after this. I want to show them I can paint, not just draw. They’re looking for artists who can diversify.”
“I hope it works out for you.”
“Thanks.” He looks at the clock. “I’m finishing up. Do you want to get a coffee?”
I blink. I figured we might walk to the subway together, but coffee? Well, he did say that he wanted to be friends. Coffee couldn’t hurt. “Sure.”
I wait for him to pack up and we stop by his locker before leaving. We walk to the subway station, talking about nothing much along the way, and take the subway to the Tea Lounge, our old hangout. It has the same mellow, yuppie, granola atmosphere.
I order a soy latte and Jared gets a smoothie. We plunk down on one of the comfy couches, not hip to hip like we used to, but closer than we’ve been in a while. I remember those lips, how the bottom one is slightly fuller than the top. I know his smell, too—not cologne, but aloe deodorant.
It’s strange, this distance between us. A part of me wants to lay my head against his chest and give way to nostalgia. It doesn’t help that a romantic ballad is playing softly in the background.
Out the blue, he says, “You know, sometimes I wonder why we broke up.”
We didn’t break up—you broke up with me, I want to say. But I know it will sound bitchy, so I just give him a blank look.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
“It’s okay. So how’s Gina doing these days?”
“Business is booming. Even in a tough economy, transvestites invest in kinky clothes. Gina’s taking a trip to Italy in August. Hasn’t been in thirty years.”
“That’ll be great for her.”
“Yeah. I know it’ll be an adjustment for her when I move out in July, so it’s good she has the trip to look forward to.”
“You’re moving out?” But I shouldn’t be surprised. He always intended to move out when he turned eighteen, which happens on July 2. “I guess I didn’t picture you doing it so soon after your birthday.”
“There’s no point in delaying it. I have leads on a couple of places. And some guys I know were talking about moving out of their parents’ houses this summer, so that could work, too.”
I know it’s the right thing for him, but I can’t help but feel sorry for Gina. He
must guess what I’m thinking, because he says, “Gina won’t get rid of me so easy. I’ll still visit her.”
I know he will. That’s Jared, all right.
“This is fun,” I say. “Like old times, huh?”
“Yeah.” He smiles, kind of sadly.
I slap his arm playfully. “Stop. You’re getting sentimental, I can see it.”
“And you used to be the sentimental one.”
Our eyes meet, and we have a moment. Time has always had a way of standing still when we look at each other.
I’m thinking that love never goes away completely—unless, maybe, it’s replaced by hate. And despite the hurt he’s caused me, the connection is still there.
I guess it always will be.
When I get home, my heart feels heavy. I know it shouldn’t; Jared and I had a perfectly nice friendly time together, but the nostalgia is there. I’m inspired to post a blog.
On Having an Ex
Many people think that caring about your ex means you’re hung up on them. I disagree. Once you love someone, really love them, you will always care about them, no matter how much time passes. You’ll always remember, even if just a little, how it feels to know them deeply.
The reason so many people can’t move on from their exes is because they believe that if you still care about your ex, you should get back together. That isn’t always true. If you still care for your ex, it means you recognize that this person has enriched your life, even if they’re not a part of it anymore. Consider that a blessing. Cherish the good memories…and leave it at that.
The Oracle of Dating
I know Jared might see it, but there’s nothing in there that I’m ashamed of. In fact, I think it means I’ve come to a good place, where I can acknowledge that feelings are still between us, and be okay with that.
A few minutes later my phone rings. “Hi. I saw the blog.”
“Hey, Jared. I guess you know what inspired it.”
There’s a long pause. “I’m about to send you an email. Feel free to call me after you read it.”
The Oracle Rebounds Page 13