A Taxonomy of Love

by Rachael Allen

  Janie: Just be you.

  Hope: be yourself? that’s your big advice? i could have gotten that from Dad, and at least it would have come with a cookie

  Janie: Oh, man, I miss Dad’s chocolate chip cookies.

  Janie: But that’s not the point. Focus! What I mean is, there are things that you want and things that you are. And maybe Dean can live up to those things and maybe he can’t, but don’t go changing them for him. Just be you. And if it doesn’t work out, then it wasn’t meant to be.

  Hope: huh

  Hope: you know sometimes you can be pretty awesome?

  Janie: I know, right? I feel all meta.

  Hope: why do i get the feeling you’re about to go all big head on me?

  Janie: What? Just because I’m the Dalai Lama of dating.

  Hope: omg. i knew it

  Janie: And have the answers to all of life’s mysteries.

  Hope: -__-

  Janie: I really should have my own advice column.

  Janie: Or maybe a podcast.

  Hope: i’m going now

  Janie: Wait!

  Janie: Write me a letter and tell me anything else that happens!

  Hope: i will

  Janie: You can address it to: Janie Birdsong, Relationship Guru Extraordinaire

  Hope: BYE Janie

  Janie: And send me some of Dad’s cookies too!

  I guess the pills are working. I stopped having the full-body tics, anyway. But they didn’t stop me from shouting out “cheeseburger” like a total lame-ass last period.

  I need to go to the nurse’s office to take my midday meds, so I have to book it there and then to World History, but I manage to slide into the desk next to Hope right as class starts. I don’t even try to pay attention to Mr. Siegel’s lecture on Nicholas and Alexandra. Instead, I doodle a taxonomy to the right of my history notes.

  Hope is being super nosy and trying to look over my shoulder. Sometimes I write funny taxonomies and pass them to her in class. I try to cover this one with my hand, but she makes me pass her my notebook. Mr. Siegel is oblivious. There’s something about Rasputin that puts him in a rapture-like state.

  Hope writes something and passes it back. Her hand touches mine when she passes the note, and I think about how she looked in this crazy-hot bathing suit at the party we crashed this past weekend, and then I think about wrestling statistics to help me stop thinking about how she looked in the red bathing suit.

  I know I’m not the only one who noticed, and it scares me. But maybe it’s better this way. Because, really, if she only picked me because she couldn’t have Dean, that is maybe not the best thing. Not that she’d pick me either way. Not that anyone is going to pick me ever.

  I look down at what she wrote me.

  I don’t know what to say back to that. Seriously, I could agonize over it forever, but the longer you take, the worse it looks, so I scrawl down a quick Thanks, plus a smiley face. (Dean says girls like those.)

  Hope flips the page, and it looks like she’s writing a full-on note. She glances up to the front to make sure Mr. Siegel is writing on the board before she passes the notebook back.

  Hey Spence!

  I’m planning a trip to Belize! Did I tell you Janie’s in Belize now? <— Ha! It’s funny because I’ve told you like 8 billion times.

  Wanna help?

  I grin. I don’t even care that she’s probably just trying to distract me.

  YES.

  I pass back the notebook.

  Yay! Here’s what I’ve got so far:

  Visit a jaguar preserve.

  See Mayan ruins.

  Kayak an underground river. (About the underground river—it goes through all these caves, and the ancient Mayans used to live there, and there’s still stairways and terraces and altars and ceramic dinnerware. So cool!)

  Oh, and we’re definitely going scuba diving in the Great Blue Hole.

  Um, I think you have to have a license for that.

  Details. We’ll totally be licensed scuba divers by the time we take this trip. Ahem. As I was saying before the paper was so rudely ripped away from me, we can transport ourselves to an entire underwater universe via 400 ft sinkhole. Doesn’t that sound like the coolest thing in the world?!

  It would—if I didn’t know there were giant prickly stick insects in Australia that grow up to 8 inches long and release a chemical that scares other bugs, but to people it smells like peanut butter.

  Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Are you trying to out-nerd me?

  I’m not trying. It’s just what’s going to happen if you keep playing.

  It.

  Is.

  On.

  Did you know there’s a lake in Australia that’s Pepto-Bismol pink because of the algae that grow there?

  Did you know there are voodoo wasps that bewitch caterpillars to take care of their babies?

  What? I don’t believe that.

  100% fact.

  Are you sure? Because it sounds like just the kind of thing one might make up if one desperately wanted to win a World Series of Facts Throwdown.

  Are you questioning my honor? That hurts, man. Also—I think you’re stalling.

  How’s this for stalling: In the wilds of Baños, Ecuador, there’s a tree house that looks like it’s about to fall over the edge of a cliff and into oblivion. And attached to one of the branches is the Swing at the End of the World. And if you’re brave enough to hang your whole life on two pieces of rope and a board, you can fly out over a canyon AND an active volcano (if you don’t die).

  P.S.—Nailed it.

  That is really cool. But possibly not as cool as a cicada that sleeps for 17 years under the ground and then mates for two weeks.

  Aw! That’s so romantic.

  Wut.

  17 years of sleep for two weeks of true love.

  You are such a girl.

  Yeah . . . Obviously.

  Anyway, I’ve been following a website that tracks them, and the next time a million of those suckers come bubbling out of the ground, I’m going to be there. (And you should come with. You know. For the romance.)

  Definitely! But first—I have a competition to win. Did you know Hawaii has every color of beach sand (yellow, white, black, red, and GREEN) AND active lava flows AND at least 8 different climate zones so you could theoretically ski and snorkel in the same day?

  I need active lava flows in my life. Also, green sand. Also also, did you know that driver ants have jaws so strong they stay locked even if they die or get ripped in half, and in some countries they use them as emergency sutures?

  Okay, that is legit cool (and also legit GROSS). Legit cooler: there’s this place in Turkey that looks like an ice palace made of terraces all stacked on top of each other, but really, it’s not ice, it’s minerals, and each terrace forms its own hot spring pool. How you doin’ over there? Running out yet?

  No! Did you know there are bees that can sniff out bombs? Or that there’s a North American termite with a gun for a face?

  That was totally two things you big, cheating cheater! But it’s cool, because guess what? I know about a place in New Zealand called the Glowworm Grotto. You can only get there by taking a boat through a twisty, turny network of caves, but it’s totally worth it, because inside, there are thousands of Arachnocampa luminosa shimmering overhead like mosquitosize stars. BOOM. *drops mic*

  ARE YOU SERIOUS???

  Yep.

  How is it possible that you know something about bugs that I don’t?

  You have clearly underestimated me.

  You can win this and all other games as long as you promise to tell me the exact location of this glowworm cave.

  No worries. I got you, Spence :)

  The bell rings, and I fold up the note and shove it in my pocket. Today still sucks, but I guess it sucks a whole lot less now.

  September 22

  Hey Janie!

  How are things in Belize? I hope the cookies aren’t totally disgusting by the time they reach yo
u. Dad made a special batch just for you, and then Spencer helped me hermetically seal them or something. He also helped me plan the most amazing trip ever to Belize (see the back of this page).

  Anyway, remember how I told you I’d tell you if anything happened with Dean? Um, something might have happened. I was just sitting on the back porch painting my toenails (because you know how Mom freaks out over the smell!), and Dean comes running down the stairs, and right before he opens the door to his car, he sees me. And it’s like he completely forgets about whatever it was that was making him rush down the stairs, and he’s got all the time in the world to stroll over and hop onto our porch railing, and say, “Well, hey, Hope. Whatcha doin’?”

  So, I tell him I’m just doing my nails, and I try to go back to it, only now my hand’s shaking so bad I totally screw up and get green polish on my pinky toe. And before I know what’s happening, he jumps down next to me, and he’s holding my foot (MY FOOT, JANIE!), and turning it this way and that, and saying how it’s a real pretty color and it reminds him of pistachio ice cream. And then he takes his thumb and wipes the polish that got on my skin, like, “Oh, I help girls out with pedicures all the time. You know, whenever I’m not doing whatever it is that makes my abs look so awesome.”

  And he says, “Hey, I’m fixing to go to Riverside. You wanna go?”

  And I’m all, “Ohmygosh, are they open today?!”

  (Side note: Riverside Catfish is AMAZING. We’re talking best-catfish-in-the-universe amazing. No, for real, I’d send you some with the cookies, but I’m like 80% sure catfish isn’t meant for international travel. Anyway, Riverside’s got this really sporadic schedule and you never know when they’ll actually be open, so it’s pretty much like, they announce they’re open, and everyone in Peach Valley rushes there as fast as they possibly can.)

  And I know it was a bad idea, but his hair was still wet from taking a shower, and he shook it like a puppy. I don’t know why that got to me so bad, but it did, and all I could do was nod my head and get in his car. (Seriously, Janie, my brain was gone. I think I would have followed that boy off a cliff.)

  So, we go there, and we’re hanging out with all these other juniors, and they’re interested in what I have to say, and laughing when I’m funny, and Dean keeps squeezing my knee under the table. And I feel dumb even writing this, but it kind of made me feel like a movie star or something. There. I said it. Feel free to e-mail me and tell me how pathetic I am. Also, feel free to remind me that we should drive by that place every single day the next time you visit because the catfish, OMG.

  Just in case you’re worried that someone deep-fried my brain, I DID NOT let him kiss me good night. Here is what happened instead:

  Dean (turns off the car and waits like it’s no big deal even though the seconds are stretching into eternity): I’m glad you came with me tonight.

  And then he tugs at the belt loop of my shorts like he’s being playful, but it was a total seduction move! And I almost fell for it! An important finding: Bench seats are so dangerous! I was thisclose to letting him pull me all the way across the seat and kiss me.

  Me (reminds self that mouth tastes like fish AND onion rings; finds the strength to push him away): I won’t be like the girls I see at your window.

  Dean: What girls?

  Me (raises eyebrows like, “Hello. I’m your next-door neighbor. Do you really think I don’t see?”)

  Dean (with the aw-shucks grin): Of course not. You’re different.

  Me (considers for an extra long time to make him sweat.): Prove it.

  Dean: I’ll do anything you want.

  Me: If you want to see me, you come to my front door. I don’t come through your window.

  And you will be proud to know that I flounced out of his truck and up the steps of our house. Unfortunately, right as I was opening the front door, he had to call out, “Bye, Hope.” And my insides melted like peach ice cream in July.

  End dramatic reenactment.

  So, as you can see, I’m in all kinds of trouble. Especially because he knocked on our door this morning and asked me to go to the movies with him, and I had no good reason to say no. Because I really do want to go, Janie. When we were alone in his truck, I don’t know, he’s different than I thought he was. He’s really funny and, like, easy to be around.

  Call/e-mail/write/message me, and talk some sense into me, okay?

  I miss you like crazy!

  Love,

  Hope

  P.S.—We haven’t had a Skype movie date in forever! I’m feeling Chicago, but I could also be persuaded to watch West Side Story, so let me know! Also, I want to hear about your new boyfriend!

  P.P.S.—I got your package last week. Thanks for the butterfly journal!

  I’m standing at the checkout line, typing in my code to pay for my chicken-finger meal and three skim milks, when I realize that Hope isn’t at our table. She’s perched next to Dean at a table full of juniors. I knew she went with him to get catfish or something, but I didn’t know that meant she was with him. Well, until now.

  It’s finally over, I guess. I can take Hope out of the Maybe/Hopefully/Someday with Spencer column and file her under Girls Tainted by Dean. And it’s worse than I ever thought it would be because I forgot to factor in the part where she’s my only real friend. I stand there with my tray, every second that passes feeling like some huge horrible thing, a blinking sign over my head that reads This guy is a loser with nowhere to sit.

  I could sit at our usual table. It’s not like Hope and I were sitting there alone. But I don’t really know any of the other people that well, and what if they were only tolerating me because of Hope?

  I don’t have a better idea, so I walk over and sit down. No one tries to stop me, which I take as a positive sign. No one really tries to talk to me, either, though. Which is fine. I just need to keep my head down and get through this day. I try to open my milk carton, but I guess my fingers are shaking because I almost spill it. I set down the milk and take a slow breath. Not at school. Not here. A few seconds pass, and a guy sits down next to me. He’s in Hope’s chair, but I’m guessing she won’t be back for it anytime soon. I’ve seen him before. I think his name is—

  “Hi. I’m Paul.”

  Yeah, that’s it.

  “I’m Spencer.”

  Well, that wasn’t so terrible.

  “Are you in Mr. Byers’s class first period?” he asks. His voice is deep and gravelly for how skinny he is.

  “Yeah. You, too?”

  He nods, and things get awkwardly quiet for a minute, so I get to work on my chicken fingers, which suddenly seem edible again.

  “So, you play Magic?” It’s more of a statement than a question.

  My hands freeze. How does he know?

  “I saw a deck sticking out of your backpack yesterday.”

  I relax, but only marginally. Is he going to out me in front of the entire table? Get me banished? I wonder if he’d believe me if I said they weren’t mine.

  “I play, too,” he says.

  “Oh. Oh, well, cool.”

  “Not, like, at school, but if you ever want to hang out and bring your decks?”

  “Yeah, that would be great.” This guy is rapidly shooting to the top of my Potential New Friends for Spencer list.

  “Cool.” He grins, and I give him my number so he can text me, and we talk about Marvel movies for the rest of lunch.

  First day without Hope, and I am owning this. I sit a little taller in my plastic chair. When the bell rings, Paul and I walk together to put away our trays. This could be really cool, this whole having-a-friend-who’s-a-guy thing. Hope hates playing Magic. I had to trade her watching High School Musical AND High School Musical 2 to get her to play last time. I can only handle so much Zac Efron.

  I slide my tray onto the conveyor belt and back up. Well, I attempt to back up. There is a large mass standing behind me.

  “Watch out.” It’s Ethan Wells. Ethan “I break people’s faces and make sma
ll children piss themselves” Wells.

  “Yeah, watch it, Twitch.” His friend gives me a shove, but I stay standing.

  I don’t want to look like a loser in front of Paul, and my mouth shoots off before I can help myself. Not a tic, just pure, zero to sixty annoyance. “Dude, chill. It was an accident.” And then, under my breath: “Lay off the ’roids.”

  The friend has better hearing than I anticipated. “Are you gonna take that?” he asks Ethan. And then when Ethan doesn’t move: “E, seriously, are you gonna take that?”

  Ethan looks back and forth between the two of us and sighs. He grabs his friend’s tray and slowly peels the top piece of bread off what’s left of a half-eaten PB&J. And then he claps me on the back. Not hard or anything, but the sandwich definitely sticks. “You should have kept your mouth shut,” he says in a low voice.

  Paul watches with wide eyes, but he’s on the fringe—they don’t know he’s with me. And then Vice Principal Parks walks up.

  “Boys, is everything okay here?”

  I whip around so she can’t see my back. Ethan and his friend paste on big ole grins. “Oh, sure, everything’s fine.”

  Everybody scatters. School administration has that effect on people. Then the bell rings, and everybody scatters more. I duck into the bathroom to take off my shirt. By the time I come out, Paul is gone.

  I know he had to get to class. The bell already rang. It probably has nothing to do with not wanting to be friends with a kid who has a target on his back (literally). I can probably expect a text from him inviting me to play Magic, oh, approximately never.

  I spend the rest of the day wearing my undershirt, my polo with its peanut-butter badge of shame stowed safely in my backpack. I don’t talk to anyone, and no one talks to me.