Nothing

by Annie Barrows

  I nod again.

  “Say something!” she yells.

  “I’m thinking,” I say, and it’s true. Here’s what I’m thinking, in chronological order:

  1. There is no way this can turn out well. Really, there’s no way this can be anything other than awkward and weird. Because why would I go there? What do I want? Isn’t it enough that Sid and I talk about interesting things and like each other? Why do I need to see him? Why is it so important to, like, be in his physical presence? That’s the question that Sid will probably be asking himself—and that’s a freaky one, because physical presence = bodies = (this is really embarrassing to say, but it’s the reality) sex or the idea of it. So is my point to go up there and check him out, like to see if he’s hot? That’s so uncomfortable. It’s like I’m inspecting his manhood. Ew. Which by the way he probably doesn’t have, because he’s probably a little kid. At least thirty-five percent of the fifteen-year-old guy population is a little kid.

  2. Because it will be awkward and weird, Sid and I will probably stop being friends. I mean, we’ll send a few more texts, sort of pretending that everything’s the same and it’s great that we met and wasn’t it fun, and then it’ll just fall away and we won’t talk anymore.

  3. But is that tragic? Will that ruin my life? I don’t know. Maybe this is what should happen. I mean, this thing with him is probably just stupid. It’s giving me this idea that there’s some major destiny for us, when there probably is not. [Here I glance at Frankie, who’s watching me, and I think how funny it is that she’s doing this to prove that Taking Action Is the Key to Happiness, and what this event will probably prove is that, nah, it really isn’t. Forget these brackets, this is part of the same idea: I’m a big liar. I’ve been doing the romantic daydream thing about Sid for the last couple of months. What a hypocrite! I’m writing a book called Nothing, and at the same time, I’m thinking, If only I could meet Sid, I’d have this relationship, tra la, with the birdies singing. Yeah, sure. In some part of my mind, he’s been the plot that I tragically can’t have because we are tragically separated by five hundred miles. But maybe if I meet him, this will be finished, because I’m pretty fucking sure there is no plot.

  4. If there is no plot, what do I do? Am I afraid to lose this dreamy thing with the birdies? Yes. So afraid I won’t allow us to meet when we can? What a lame-ass! I should just go up there and meet him and face the fact that it’s not going to be some great Romance. Because—

  5. It’s fake the way it is. Texting. I know this. In a text, you make yourself a certain way. You set things up, you sound good. If you’re me, you put up cute pictures of yourself. It’s fake. My mom and dad are right about this (not that I’m going to tell them so): You find out more about people by spending one minute in the same room with them than you do in a year of texting. So my relationship with Sid is fake. (As of now.)

  6. Last but really, really not least is that I appreciate Frankie’s effort. Okay, so she’s being kind of controlling and manipulative (you are, Lester), but she’s trying to change my worldview because she loves me. She’s a good friend. She’s not dumping me. I doubted her and I was wrong. I have a really good friend.

  7. No, actually, this is the last thing: I’m not really worried about the two noses thing. I doubt he’s like, deformed. Still. He might be.

  It’s also amazing how fast I think all this. Frankie is only just beginning to hold her head and scream when my fingers start texting. You’re home, right?

  Yeah. Why?

  Long pause while I try to find the right words. It seems like I might be driving through Sisters this afternoon. Can I come and say hi? Send.

  I was wrong about number seven. Now I am thinking, What if he has scars, like big creepy ones, on his arms. Oh shit.

  What? Is he not going to answer me? Fucking pussy.

  But then it’s not on me!

  Don’t answer, don’t answer!

  Yay! I’m off the—

  Pulsing dots.

  Pulsing dots.

  Pulsing dots.

  Yes

  That’s it? Asshole. I hate him.

  Pulsing dots.

  Pulsing dots.

  Pulsing dots.

  Please

  Okay. I don’t hate him anymore. I don’t like him, but I don’t hate him, either. He is an acquaintance. I’ll drop by and see him, since he’s an acquaintance and it’s not that far.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Okay, I want to,” Frankie presses.

  “Stop being pushy,” I say.

  “Jesus Christ, first I’m unethical and now I’m pushy!” She really is getting mad. “I’m helping you get what you said you couldn’t have!”

  I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “I know. But you’re not me. You can’t make me want what you would want. I’m a ledge person. You’re a jump person.”

  Frankie shakes her head. “Loser.”

  There’s a blast of icy cold as the back door opens and slams shut, and then Max and Raina slide in the front. “It’s fucking freezing out there!” he squawks. “I thought this was only going to take a minute!”

  “Sorry,” says Frankie. “Someone was being a pain in the ass.”

  He turns around to look at her and me. “So?”

  “On to Sisters,” says Frankie.

  “I want to hear it from Charlotte,” he says.

  “Good luck with that,” mutters Frankie kind of bitterly.

  “Yitch,” I say to her, and then I smile big at Max. “I want to go. It’s really nice of you guys to do this, and I’m excited.”

  Raina turns around, and I see that she’s even prettier up close, in that same healthy, glowing way. She has incredible teeth. “This is the most fun I’ve had all break,” she says.

  Max turns around and grins at her, and she hits him on the leg. They are having a plot.

  How to Figure Out What Percentage of Your Life You’re about to Ruin

  “‘Oregon Welcomes You’,” said Frankie, reading the sign at the edge of the road.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Charlotte, turning to look.

  “I think it was an eagle,” said Raina.

  “It looked like a rabbit to me,” said Frankie.

  “Oh great,” said Charlotte. “So that’s what Oregonians do for fun, dick around with innocent travelers by putting up weird signs.” She’s nervous, thought Frankie. “They say Oregon welcomes you, and then they gaslight you with eagles that look like rabbits, so you say to yourself, Where are the rabbits? I don’t see any rabbits! I must be going insane! And what if you are a rabbit?” She turned to Frankie with wide eyes. “You think you’re safe here; you come scampering over the hills, thinking, At last I’ve found my place on earth and I am a fulfilled rabbit, and then what happens? You get fucking ripped apart by an eagle, that’s what!”

  “You’re nervous, aren’t you?” asked Raina.

  “Me?” said Charlotte.

  “Yes,” said Frankie.

  “I get nervous before tests,” Raina went on. “Fraud complex. Anyway, I do this thing that calms me down—”

  “Is it mindfulness?” Charlotte interrupted.

  Raina frowned. “No.”

  “Good,” said Frankie. “We’re sick of mindfulness.”

  “It’s this calculation thing where I think about how long I’ll actually have to pay for it if I screw up.”

  “What do you mean by pay for it?” asked Charlotte.

  “Ah, make up for it, feel bad about it—depends what it is. With a test, I think about how, if I flunk, I’ll have to make up the class another semester, and sure, that’ll suck, but the point—for me—is that there’s no way it’s going to set me back more than about six months, right? And then I figure out what fraction of my life that is.”

  “Lot of math,” observed Frankie.

  Raina smiled. “Yeah. It got way easier when I turned twenty. Once I figure it out, I realize that six months is only one-fortieth of my life—and getting less ever
y year—and how much do I have to worry about one-fortieth of my life? Not that much.” She looked at Charlotte. “It’s very comforting.”

  Charlotte nodded thoughtfully. “Hang on a sec.” She looked at Frankie. “How long will I feel bad if this ruins everything between me and Sid?”

  Frankie sucked on her lip, thinking. “A month? Maybe two?”

  “Make it three,” said Charlotte gloomily. “With little bad-feeling islands over the next year or so.”

  “Okay, let’s go with four, to be generous,” said Frankie.

  “Yeah, let’s be generous with my bad feelings,” said Charlotte. “Wait.” She closed one eye. “So that leaves eight months of the year that I’m okay, right?”

  Frankie nodded.

  “Which means I’ve got fourteen years and eight months of okay-ness versus four months of sucky-ness.”

  “Which means,” Raina paused to multiply, “. . . plus eight is one hundred seventy-six months against four months. ”

  “You’re fast,” said Frankie.

  “I do this a lot. One hundred seventy-six out of one-eighty total. That means”—she closed her eyes—“ninety-seven-plus percent of your life is okay. Only two and a little bit percent is sucky.” She opened her eyes. “Doesn’t that make you feel better?”

  Charlotte nodded. “It does, actually. What’s two percent? Almost nothing.”

  “A rounding error,” called Max.

  “And the percent gets smaller every year you live,” Raina added encouragingly.

  “Two percent!” scoffed Charlotte. “Psht! Like two percent even counts!”

  “She’s still nervous,” said Frankie to Raina.

  Charlotte studied the map on her phone. “Okay, I’m going to redo my eyeliner in Bend,” she announced.

  “Good plan,” said Frankie, also studying her phone.

  “I’m not stopping so you can redo your eyeliner,” called Max.

  “I don’t need you to stop,” Charlotte called back. “So there.” She glanced at Frankie. “Is this what it’s like with him around? All this judgment all the time?”

  Frankie nodded. “My life is a nightmare.”

  “Hey!” yelled Max. “Am I driving you two up to Oregon or am I not?”

  “Oops. Sorry. You’re amazing, Max,” said Charlotte. “Give us some more of those great judgments.”

  “Yeah,” called Frankie. “We want to improve ourselves.”

  “You could stop talking about how you look all the time,” said Max. “That’d be an improvement.”

  Raina stuck her head between the front seats, and she and Frankie and Charlotte made kill-me-now faces at each other.

  “And after that, you could stop talking about how people you don’t even know look,” Max continued. “I mean, who the hell cares about Whatsername Jenner’s lips?”

  “Okay, we’re good now,” Frankie said. “That’s enough improvement.”

  “You asked.”

  There was a silence. Then Charlotte said, “You know, Max, I think it’s sort of sad that you don’t care about Kylie Jenner’s lips. A little bit lacking in empathy. It’s like you’re saying that we should only care about stuff that’s directly related to us, but that’s pretty self-absorbed, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” Frankie agreed. “When I think about Kylie Jenner and her lips, my world gets a little bigger.”

  “And my heart gets a little fuller,” said Charlotte. “It’s like soul collagen!”

  They snickered.

  “How can we be in Three Rivers?” said Charlotte. She looked at her phone. “We’re not supposed to be here yet.”

  “It’s only four hours and twenty minutes if you drive the speed limit,” Max said. He looked in his rearview mirror. “Which we’re not.”

  “How long before Sisters?” asked Charlotte.

  “Depends on whether we get stuck behind a truck,” he said.

  “Frankie?” Charlotte searched for her hand.

  “Wait, wait, I’m texting Mom,” said Frankie. “Again.”

  Max frowned. “Is she freaking?”

  Frankie shook her head. “No. She’s fine. We’re taking a scenic drive to a restaurant that Raina really likes that’s a little farther north.”

  He laughed. “Good one.”

  “And we really like Raina—that part’s not a lie—and you guys seem really happy—that part’s not a lie either—and we’re all having lots of fun.”

  “Good clean fun,” Charlotte added.

  “And we’ll be home pretty late, but Mom shouldn’t worry because Raina’s going to help drive home,” Frankie concluded.

  “That part’s not a lie, either,” said Raina. She looked at Max. “You’re tired, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I got up early.”

  “Poor M.” Raina touched his shoulder. “We’ll take a break in Sisters.”

  “We need to make the restaurant not a lie, too,” he said. “I’m hungry.”

  With a soft groan, Max pulled into a parking space outside the First Pour Brewpub. Almost before the engine was off, he was out of the car.

  “Wow,” he said, rubbing his back. “That’s a lot of driving.”

  Slowly Frankie and Charlotte emerged from the car. They exchanged glances.

  “Um, Max?” said Frankie.

  “What?”

  “Uh—we need to go to Sid’s,” Frankie pointed out.

  “I know,” he sighed. “I just had to get out of the car for a second.” He twisted from side to side, his bones cracking.

  “Max!” said Frankie suddenly. “I’ll do it.”

  “You’ll do what?”

  “I’ll drive Char to his house.” She held out her hand for the car keys. “I want to.”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” began Charlotte sarcastically. “So we can all end up in jail. They probably still hang people in Sisters, Oregon, for stuff like driving without a—”

  Max tossed Frankie the car keys. “Okay.”

  Raina frowned. “Max?”

  “She’s fine,” he explained. “Really. She’s a good driver. And you know, this whole thing was her idea. And she’s been ordering everyone around all day long. It’s time she walked the walk.”

  Frankie grinned at him. “Thanks, bruh.”

  “You’re insane!” squawked Charlotte.

  “You are kind of insane,” Raina said. She looked at Frankie’s excited face. “But also empowering.”

  “Also tired and hungry,” Max pointed out.

  “You’re going to let her drive?” yelped Charlotte. “It’s dark! She doesn’t know where she’s going!”

  “There’s headlights,” Frankie said. “And I do know where I’m going because I looked it up. It’s not that far.”

  “It’s a mile! At least!”

  Raina and Max laughed. “A mile’s not far,” explained Frankie. “Will you bail me out of jail if I get caught?” she said to her brother.

  “Yeah.” He looked up and down the empty street. “But I think you’re going to be fine.”

  Frankie tossed the car keys up in the air and caught them. “This is great!”

  “Good. Go away,” said Max. He put his arm around Raina. “Be back here in exactly ninety minutes. Eight o’clock. If you’re late, we’re going to get a hotel room and not tell you where it is.”

  Frankie stuck her tongue out at him. “I don’t want to know where it is.”

  They heard his bones crackle as he turned away toward the restaurant. “Eight o’clock.”

  For a moment, they stood in the gravelly road, watching Max and Raina go. Then Frankie turned briskly toward the car. “Okay, then!” she said.

  “I can’t believe this,” muttered Charlotte.

  “You want to make a right in eight hundred feet,” Charlotte said loudly.

  “How soon is eight hundred feet?” Frankie said. She leaned forward to see the farthest reaches of the headlight glow on the pavement.

  “Right there! Right here!” cried Charlotte.
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  Very slowly, Frankie turned right. Very slowly, she drove along a smooth curving road, marked by spare, black trees. Up and up and—

  “This is it,” said Charlotte.

  Frankie pulled with extreme caution to the side of the road. “That only took ten minutes.”

  “Very small percentage of our lives,” muttered Charlotte. She was texting I’m here.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” said Frankie firmly. “Not me, Char. I did my part. I got you here.”

  “What’re you going to do? Sit out here in the car for eighty minutes?”

  “Seventy. We need to leave ten minutes to get back. I’m going to take a nap. That’s why I brought the blanket.”

  Charlotte sighed. “This seems wrong. What if you freeze?”

  “Get out. You only have sixty-eight minutes now.”

  “Oh shit, we’ll hardly be able to have sex in sixty-eight minutes,” Charlotte said.

  “Go!”

  “This is stupid.”

  “Go!”

  Taking a deep breath, Charlotte opened the door, stepped out, and disappeared into the darkness.

  NOTHING

  I feel really weird.

  I am about to meet Sid.

  I am at Sid’s house.

  I think I am, anyway. Because I can’t see a damn thing. It’s completely pitch-black.

  Then my eyes figure it out, and I begin to see a path under some trees. I take very slow and careful steps. One. Two. Three. I am probably going to be eaten by a bear before I get to the door. Four. Oh! A house suddenly appears below me, lights shining from its windows—and now, the front door opens and makes a rectangle of gold. Good, good, I’m not going to be eaten by a bear, but my stomach is now doing some strange stuff, so I still might die before I get there. And now, a black figure appears in the gold rectangle. Okay! I know one thing about Sid! He’s not obese! Yay for me! Well, really, yay for him. Not that I’m fattist or anything.

  “Hi,” he calls.

  “Hi,” I call back. “I’m trying not to die on your path.”

  “Why would you die?” He sounds worried. Oh shit, we’ve started off with him not understanding what I mean, we’re fucked, I’ve upset him, he has no sense of humor, oh god oh god oh god, I want to leave right now.