Crazy, right? Meet me in the parking lot later and we’ll smoke some butts and discuss. I wanna get plastered this weekend, by the by.
Love you, Khed,
Tricia
Pete,
What’s up, you friggin’ tool? Yo, I got some serious news for you, buddy.
David Bloom’s younger brother, Matt, is drilling Tara Murphy. Behind your boy Caparelli’s back! How messed up is that?
They’ve been bangin’ since the beginning of the year, and Bloom is trying to force Murphy to keep the affair going, but I guess she is trying to shut it down.
Whatever. What’s up with you, you friggin’ douchebag?!! Wanna hook up?
Anyway, I’ll be smokin’ butts with Tricia in the parking lot later, so come by, you filthy pig.
Love ya, Khed,
Deena
Yo C.P.C.,
Hey, bro. I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you’re my boy, so I feel like I should.
That Freshman kid who lives in your neighborhood, Matt Bloom, well, I think he’s been taking advantage of sweet Tara.
I don’t really know the details, only what I’ve heard, but it sounds pretty messed up, dude.
Sorry to be the one to tell you, Khed.
Pete
Dear Tara,
Before I confront Matty B., I need to cross-reference some things I’ve been hearing today. I’m pretty mad right now, but I will write this as good as I can.
Are you sleeping with Matt?
Pete wrote me and then I went to talk to him, and this is what I know. Pete found out from Deena, who found out from Tricia, who found out from some girl named Pammy Shapiro, whoever the fuck that is. This Shapiro chick supposedly found a note from you to Matt in her desk.
Tara? What should I make of this?
Write me back as fast as you can ’cuz right now I want to beat the shit out of Matt.
Chris
Dearest Christopher Patrick Caparelli,
You know I only use your middle name when things are on high alert, and I would say that this is the highest alert our Supercoupledom has ever seen.
Let me first address some of the names you referenced in your note to me.
Your friend Pete Hickey is a skid. You know that, I know that. The whole friggin’ town knows that. He works at his cousin’s gas station, Chris. Proper jobs for high school people are landscapers or lifeguards. Pete is a dirtbag times ten. The furthest he will ever get from this town is the next town over. I have been telling you since we started dating that boys like Tzoug and Dube are guys like you. Good guys. Guys who will do somethin’ with their lives. But Pete? Puhhhlease. His nipple is pierced, Chris. I mean, come on! He has a tattoo of a friggin’ shamrock next to his balls. I’m more Irish than the queen of Ireland, but do you see me rockin’ a friggin’ shamrock tattoo? No.
So, trustworthy, dependable Pete Hickey gave you this news, huh? If I’m not mistaken, the last time Pete gave you news it was that he “accidentally” drove through your garage door because there was “black ice” on your driveway. IT WAS MID-SPRING, Chris!!!!!!
Sit back, hon. I’m just gettin’ started. You write me a note with accusations like I’m some townie whore, and guess what, you will get a note like this. I think by the end of this one I will be the one needing to make some decisions, Caparelli!!
So, Pete Hickey heard from Deena DeLuca a.k.a. Skunk Bush. Know why her nickname is Skunk Bush, Chris? Because good, sweet, pure, innocent Deena DeLuca was hookin’ up with some guys in front of the pond at Flanagan State Park. And lo and behold, as it happens sometimes in parks, a skunk strolled by and sprayed Deena right between her legs. SKUNK BUSH! Deena has been beating girls up since first grade. She is a wicked witch. She eggs houses and shaving creams cars. She trips people in hallways (I’ve never done that and Stef knows it, and what happens between me and my best friend is none of your friggin’ business anyway) and stirs up trouble all around this town. She is as evil as a girl can be, and you actually referenced that vile creature in a folded note to me!!!!!! SUGGESTION!!: Never ever write the name Deena DeLuca in a note to this girl. I don’t share college-ruled paper with trash like that.
You comfortable, Caparelli? ’Cuz I’m literally just warming up.
Tricia “Trish” Simms. Well, I guess the kindest thing one could say about Tricia is that she isn’t the dumbest person in this town. Her sister Jenny is. Those Simms sisters have been gunnin’ for me since as far back as I can remember. I’m sorry you’re 4’11” on the hoof, Trish, but that’s not my goddamn problem! Don’t hate me ’cuz I’m 5’6” and a half. That little weeble wobble can’t even go on roller coasters, and she’s mean!! In what friggin’ world does a pint-sized grown woman get away with being mean? I’ll tell you what world, Caparelli . . . THIS ONE!!!! The rules of the real world do not exist here. In the real world, little munchkins aren’t popular . . . they’re sold by the dozen at Dunkin’ Donuts!!! I AM ON FIRE, CAPARELLI!!!!! ON FIRE!!!!
And this all started from Pamela Pammy Pam Shapiro. You know, it’s a real shame that Pam caused this shit storm because I have seen her in the hallways (how can you not—she’s a friggin’ giant), and I have had nothing but kind thoughts for her. But, as they say in America, the gloves are off. That linebacker has another thing comin’ to her thinkin’ she can start a rumor so vicious it got us here. Not surprising that Pammy Shapiro would start this as she must not have anything in her own life to be excited about except for thinkin’ she’s gonna marry Joey McIntyre one day. And stop callin’ yourself Pammy, that’s an adorable littler girl’s name. You’re not adorable, and you’re far from bein’ a littler, so . . . Pam’ll do just fine.
Are you pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down? Are the pieces of this wild puzzle coming together for you, Chris?
We live in a town filled with people who are obsessed with other people. And this high school is ground zero.
And about the note. The note that was in PAM Shapiro’s desk. Let me say first that I am just surprised that lady didn’t eat my note thinkin’ it was a Stella D’oro snack cookie or somethin’. But alas, she didn’t eat it. She read it.
I am not going to defend that note, Christopher. The note was real, Kid. It was written and delivered. The note happened. But let’s take a minute here to fully understand the content of the note and the timeline said note was written and delivered.
I had just landed the role of a lifetime. Anne Frank. Then that play was canceled by what has to be the most idiotic school board in the history of public schools. I lost my role and was subsequently devastated. In my devastation I, still channeling Anne Frank (who was a famous writer that wrote descriptive notes to others and herself), wrote a note to Matt Bloom . . . YOUR ACROSS-THE-STREET NEIGHBOR THAT YOU INTRODUCED ME TO AND BEGGED ME TO BE KIND TO!!!! Remember that, Caparelli?
Yes. I wrote Matt Bloom a long-winded note as if I were Anne Frank. I can’t even remember what the note said because I was ANNE FRANK when I wrote it, and, well, she’s dead, so we can’t exactly ask her now, can we???!!!!!!
I wrote a character note to another actor. Oh, sorry, let me write that again in a language you’ll understand . . . I, uh, like, ummmmm, wrote a, ummmm, note pretendin’ I was, uhhhh, someone else to another, ummmm, ACTOR!!
This is interesting, though. Pretty revealin’, too. I delivered a note to the wrong side of a science lab table and who finds it but a portly Freshman giant.
The giant tells a munchkin. The munchkin tells Skunk Bush. Skunk Bush tells the king of all skids. The king of all skids tells you, and YOU BELIEVE ALL OF THEM!! You took the word of a pathetic Greek chorus of delinquents! I think that raises some questions, Chris. I think that raises a lot of questions. You should take a look at that, you know, for you and your own growth.
Interesting this all happened right before Thanksgiving break. Key word. BREAK!!!! Something I think we need.
Fall of 1992 can’t come fast enough. College, can you hear me? Broadway? Hey, it’s me, Tara Maureen Murphy . . . I will see you soon. As if bein’ stripped of Anne Frank wasn’t hurtful enough. The love of my life goes and basically subpoenas me to the court of jealous townies.
Consider this my last folded note to you, Christopher. Until, of course, the tides turn.
Oh, look at that . . . it’s snowin’ outside. The high school parkin’ lot is turnin’ white before my very eyes, and here I am, hidin’ under a stairwell, penning this here note to a person I thought I could trust.
Tara
P.S. Tonight I will make a mix-tape with some of the following songs. Wonder if you can guess the theme I’m goin’ for.
On My Own (from Les Misérables)
Fast Car
Time for Me to Fly
Every Rose Has Its Thorn
The Breakup Song
Don’t You (Forget about Me)
Hey Tara,
I’m gutted right now. Is this true about you and Chris’s across-the-street neighbor? You know I’m not one to believe gossip, but I just can’t help but think this might be true. It just adds up. Is this why this year has been so rocky for us? I can’t help but think maybe it is.
Look, not to be rude, but you’ve always been a little, well, vibrant. But that makes sense, you’re incredibly talented! And besides that I have always just loved you for you. Best friends accept each other, warts and all. But best friends also share honestly with each other.
I don’t care if what people are saying is true or not true or half-true or whatever. I care about you telling me because, Tara, I’m not sure I know how to be a friend to someone, let alone a best friend to someone, who isn’t being authentic.
Please write me back before the Turkey Drive. I really don’t want to be there, wrapping turkeys with you, if we haven’t cleared the “polluted, storm-cloud-filled” air.
Thanks much,
Stefanie
Dear Tara,
I believe you!
I’m so sorry I even suggested this stupid rumor might be true. Of course you wrote a character note to Matty B. You’re a friggin’ artist. That’s why I love you. And why I love the love we make. Together.
How could I think that my little buddy Matty B. would even think about moving in on you? He’s the best little guy I know.
And you’re right about those “friends” of mine. I’ve just known some of them for so long, and you know how loyal I am. But I am gonna call Pete and Deena and tell them to back off and stop spreading this bullshit. I will tell them to deal with those losers Tricia Simms and Pam whatever-the-hell-her-name-is.
Please, Tara. Please don’t take a break. I know that if you ever heard a stupid rumor about me doing anything with some other girl you would never believe it, so what a dick I am for believing this bullshit.
I’m a tool.
You’re hotter than ever.
You’re the sweetest person I know.
I love you, your fragrance, and your body.
C.P.C.
Dear “Thanks Much,”
Hey there, Stefanie. How are you? As you can see, I have photocopied Christopher’s apology note so you can read for yourself the goings-on of a November in the life of Tara Maureen Murphy. Wow, this school just loves a good Tara rumor, huh? Who woulda thunk that you, too, would be titillated enough to get in on this, Stefanie.
Nah, Stef, the me and Matt Bloom stuff isn’t true. Sorry, hon. I know, what a snooze-fest I am, huh? I guess my real-life drama isn’t enough to satiate the needs of some townspeople who can’t seem to find their own lives interesting enough. Nope, they gotta feed off mine and manufacture even more about me.
I wish there was a pill I could take that would just knock me out until I woke up in my NYU dorm room with my fabulous (your favorite word) roommate. I wonder what she will be like. I bet her name is gonna be Victoria. I can call her Tori. We will be Tori and Tara, and we will be best friends, mark my words. Tori will be regal. She will hail from a phenomenal family. Maybe she’s a Kennedy. Yup. Victoria Kennedy. And she has a house, no . . . a compound ON ISLAND. But not Nantucket. Eww. Martha’s Vineyard!! And Tori always takes me to her compound ON ISLAND. She even christens one of the guesthouses as “Tara’s Bungalow.” We go sailing and buy matching handwoven pock-a-books. We swim a ton and just lollygag around ISLAND on most days. Our dinners are long and filled with laughter and intelligent, well-traveled, very, veeerry cultured conversation. Chef makes the most divine lobster bisque. Have you tried it? No, ’cuz you’re not there!
Oh my GOD, Stef! You went away for one little summer and you came back so different. It’s like life recast you in the role of yourself.
Maybe I am having a hard-to-explain relationship with Matt Bloom. Maybe I don’t understand what this Freshman idiot has done to my brain. But how could I even trust telling you the deepest, most real parts of me now that you are so close with Stacey Simon?
“Oh, there Tara goes again freaking out about Stacey Simon.”
“Why can’t Tara just go with the flow? I mean, she had a great hangout with Stacey Simon, and it was wicked obvious Stacey Simon thought Tara was incredible on so many levels, so hasn’t Tara seen for herself that Stacey Simon isn’t all that bad?”
Stef, isn’t she THAT BAD? It took you running her over for her to say one word to you. Years and years in the same town, at the same schools, and not ONE WORD, but you run her over and suddenly she speaks? And I guess only ON ISLAND can my lifelong best friend run over a declared enemy and become her confidante.
Yes, I’m upset right now! Why couldn’t your note to me have been:
“Dear Tara, these horrible people. Making up crap about you. Losers. Lowlifes.”
Nope, it had to be you not believing in me!!
I think I can forgive you if you come to the Turkey Drive. K?
Hearts and Stars,
Tara
Tara,
Sorry I upset you. You’re right . . . I should have just had your back completely. And you know you can tell me anything and everything, Tara. This Matt kid is really annoying you, huh? That’s the last thing you need right now in your life. My advice: Just steer clear of him.
I will absolutely be at the Turkey Drive!
xoxo,
Stef
Dear Matt,
Listen, as you know, a lot has transpired in the last 24 hours. I am very sorry that I put that note on the wrong side of your science lab table. Do you hate me?
I will never put a note in your lab table again. What a slip-up on my end. I usually cross my t’s and dot the heck out of my i’s, but every romantic has their day in court, do you know what I mean?
What an evil heavier girl that PAM Shapiro is. And here I was praying for her to have an easy time at South High, what with her height and width. Sometimes prayers are said for the wrong people, Matt. I know that now.
As you can see, I will only sneak notes into your locker from here on out or until another, better location pops into mind. I could leave them in your mailbox at your house, but would your mom find ’em? Is she nosy? My mom is. My mom stole my candy cane skirt the other day and wore it around the house. Thank GODDDDDDDDD I am nothin’ like her and so much like my dad ’cuz he’s got his shit together.
I am thankful that you, unlike most of the people in this messed-up town, keep your word. You didn’t say anything to anyone about the location of Camel Lot. That’s sooooo good, eXpecially now, Matt. ’Cuz as it stands, Camel Lot is gonna be our only refuge. Our safe harbor. Our docks . .
.
After the Thanksgiving dinner I am gonna wait at the bottom of your street. I will wait from 8 to 8:30, and if you come to meet me I promise to take you to Camel Lot and tell you why I named it that.
Is everything smoothed over with you and Joy? Did she hear about the “rumor”?
Christopher had the audacity to accuse me of having a sexual relationship with you. Q even believe? You’re losin’ your virginity to Joy. I’m no fool. But don’t worry, Matt. I didn’t tell him anything. Not about the kiss or anything. It’s not my fault I have feelings for you. If it’s anyone’s fault it’s your mom and dad’s . . . ’cuz they created you. Maybe I should yell at them. J to the k, Matt.
I feel bad about Christopher but . . . He’s so many things, but you he is not. I could work wicked hard to make it work with him (the way my parents have with each other for, like, a billion years), but what life is that? Is that my destiny?
Oh, I pray it snows when I pick you up after Thanksgiving dinner at the bottom of your street.
We need to go to Camel Lot together to escape the chaos, Matt.
Again, I am sorry for my terrible mistake.
Your “friend,”
Tara
Dear My On-a-Break Boyfriend,
I have received your apology note, and I admire you for it.
I appreciate that you are speaking to your lesser-than “friends” and telling them to back off. Thanks.
Folded Notes from High School Page 7