As we were talking, sitting on a bench in the quad planning our strategy, I scanned the crowd for Anthony, waiting for him to walk by so I could maybe get a glimpse of him. If I could just manage to see him, it would be enough to get me through the day. But then when I didn’t, I kicked myself for being so weak.
Sometimes I think my feelings for Anthony border on obsession.
Anthony is my Kryptonite. Anthony is my Achilles’ heel. Anthony is: whatever other bad description I can come up with.
September 5 -
Wanting Is Not
The Same As Having
The world is full of fools for love. So are the movies. So why should I be any different? Why shouldn’t I jump into that black pit of despair?
But why does love have to be so painful? Is it a requirement for life, like going to school and getting a job? Is there some rule that we all have to suffer? I’d really like to know the answer to this. And just why does something everyone wants—each one of us—why does it have to hurt so much?
Still, I’m in love with love, the whole idea of it. The puffy hearts and puffy clouds, the couples walking hand in hand into the sunset. (Yes, I’ve seen a lot of movies.)
I don’t have a boyfriend, and I really want one. A boyfriend.
I made a major discovery today: Anthony has Chemistry second period, and if I hurry and get into the right position, we pass each other on the way to third. I don’t think technically it’s stalking, is it? (I’ll have to check that later.)
Another major discovery: our first dance is one week away. Rose and Bethany are, of course, excited. Chad mentioned it at lunch casually—almost hopefully, which was strange—but all I could think about was whether Anthony would be there and whether he’d ask me to dance.
For the past two years, my love for Anthony has been the one constant thing in my life: the thing I can count on, just like that extra zit on my forehead when I’ve had too many French fries. (Love is like…junk food?)
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a crush on some boy. Ricky from preschool was my first love. He was cute, but what I really remember about him, more than anything else is he had some great toys, really high-quality stuff. Toys that an only child would have—not all worn-out and crappy looking. He also had the softest hair, and he’d let me pet it. (Now that I think of it, Ricky was more like a dog than a boyfriend.)
Then there was Ted in kindergarten. I called him “Tiger Ted” for some reason. He didn’t look like a tiger at all. He wasn’t mean and ferocious. I think I just liked the way the words sounded together, “Tiger” and “Ted.” Our first week of school, Mrs. Shaw picked the two of us to take the attendance sheet to the office. We walked the halls together; I held the classroom’s drink order form, and Ted held the roll sheet. He wore a red, white, and blue sailor suit, and I loved him. So much that I reached over so we could walk hand in hand. When I did this, he jerked away from me. I guess that’s why I socked him. And I guess that’s why he stayed away from me after that. I loved him the rest of kindergarten from afar.
In first grade, Matthew, the only boy with glasses, looking at me very earnestly with all his heart, said, “Stacy, will you marry me?”
I turned him down, though, because he’d already asked two other girls. (Right in front of me!) I would’ve said yes if I hadn’t been the third in line. I do have my pride.
Since then I’ve had about a million crushes, but I’ve never had a real boyfriend. And I really want that. Just someone to listen to music with. Someone to watch movies with. Someone to write songs about me. (Okay, I know. That’s ridiculous.)
I’ve been kissed once by a boy. It was quick, maybe two seconds. Davey Schwartzman, last day of fifth grade.
Martina handed me a note that said, “Do you like Davey? Circle Yes or No.”
I hadn’t thought about Davey that way. I looked over at him and considered it for a few seconds, then circled “Yes” and handed the note back to Martina. She immediately opened it and clasped her hand over her mouth before passing it back to Davey.
We kissed once behind the big tree in the field during lunch. It was a nice kiss—lips only—but fast. And I never saw him again, because his family moved away that summer.
So I really want a boyfriend this year. My hope is for Anthony, who I’ve quietly longed for, but I also know that deep down inside of me—in the part of me that knows the truth about things—it’s like all the other hopeless crushes.
But a girl can always hope, can’t she?
September 12 -
Election Day
I leaned forward in my chair during second period when I heard Chad’s voice over the loudspeaker.
“Good morning, students and faculty.”
He said it clearly, with confidence, not shaky like Edwin or too fast like Ileana. So far, so good.
I had the entire speech memorized word for word. We’d practiced it with a stopwatch so it would come out to exactly ninety seconds and not run over the allotted time.
Once again, we’d had a disagreement that morning over the last line.
“I don’t know,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I think it’s too much.”
“Don’t be a weenie, Chad. Laughs get votes.”
“All right, all right. And I’m not a weenie.”
“Are too.”
I punched him on the arm; we laughed. That is, until horrible Vanessa butted in.
“Chad? Are you ready to go?”
I made a face behind her back. For some reason, she needed a personal escort to class. Thinking of her as I listened to Chad give his speech made me wrinkle my nose.
“…and lastly, if you elect me freshman class president, Mr. Fonseca has agreed to shave his head.”
Laughter.
Yes.
The joke: our principal, Mr. Fonseca, was already bald, so there was nothing to shave. It was stupid and silly; everyone thought so. And I was proud of Chad for having the nerve to say it. Judging by the reaction of the class, the line was a hit. So was the speech.
During lunch, as we walked to go vote, I gave him my campaign manager’s pep talk.
“You know, I have a good feeling about things. You did a great job with the speech.”
“Well, just don’t forget to vote for me.”
I snapped my fingers. “I knew there was something I forgot.”
He gave my arm a shove, and we cast our ballots, stuffing them inside the box in the gym. All through lunch, kids high-fived him and complimented his speech. He hugged horrible Vanessa, then he hugged me. The hug lasted a couple seconds too long on his end. It was weird.
“Stacy,” he said, after releasing his hold on me, “thanks. I really appreciate all your help. It means a lot to me.”
“Oh, c’mon. I didn’t do that much.”
I tried to brush off the vibes I was getting from him.
“Will I see you tonight?”
The dance. Right.
“Uh, I guess.”
I tried to ignore the puppy-dog look on his face, but I was experiencing the same feelings I had the week before when we worked on his speech at his house. I hoped it was just me, though, and he didn’t mean anything by it. I held out that same hope until Saturday when he had a work party at his house, and the vibes kept coming at me in waves—gloppy waves of feelings—giving me the very bad sense that he liked me. He liked me in a way that friends aren’t supposed to like each other.
The thing about Chad: we laugh at the same jokes; we like the same music. We’re both crazy for Mexican food and 1980s-era John Hughes movies featuring mopey teenagers. The two of us go together like peanut butter and jelly, like chips and salsa, but we’re friends. Just friends.
Horrible Vanessa was there. Why is she horrible? Because she hates me for some reason, although I’ve never done anything to her. And she’s stuck up. She made snotty little comments, like, “Why are you using pink and not purple, Stacy?” And, “Stacy, you should let Brianna draw the letters. She’s
much more even.” She placed herself between Chad and me whenever possible. It was more than slightly uncomfortable, and I wanted to flee or punch her in the face. But I didn’t do either. Ugh.
These thoughts ran through my head as I heard the loudspeaker’s crackle.
“Everybody, quiet.” Horrible Vanessa was shushing us. We stopped to listen as Mr. Fonseca announced that Chad won. Then he made his own joke, “And I’ll make you a deal, Chad. You get a haircut, and I will too.”
It was pretty funny. I mean, for a principal.
And here was Chad, hugging me again, but this time adding a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving me confused.
“I’ll see you tonight, Stacy.”
He walked away happy, which would have been a great emotion to be feeling right at that moment—perfectly appropriate, in fact—except for the bad feeling I had about Chad and me. There was that.
Why is it that things never seem to go exactly the way I want them to?
September 12, Later -
Results In: I Lose
I was kind of looking forward to the dance. I put my lip gloss on and sprayed my hair, getting my bangs just right, a little spiky on the top. I wore my jeans, the ones that were still sort of new, and a shirt I didn’t hate. A constant stream of thoughts ran through my head revolving around Anthony and me: dancing together so close, kissing softly on the dance floor, swaying to the music. They were good thoughts.
At the dance, I stood around with Rose and Bethany, and with Chad, Marty, and Jason. We all had our eyes on somebody. Unfortunately, Chad’s eyes were on me. I was on edge, waiting for a glimpse of Anthony, when the song “True” started playing. It’s a song straight out of one of our eighties teen movies, and it’s very romantic. I mean, I don’t really know if it’s actually about love, but it sounds like a love song to me. Chad looked over and put his hand out dramatically, in a jokey way—like he was a prince and I was his princess.
“Shall we?” he asked gallantly.
“We shall,” I answered in my most princess-like voice.
We walked out to the gym floor. The lights were down low with the mirror ball strobing. I could smell his aftershave as he put his arms around my waist. I put my arms around his shoulders, all stiff. I smiled at him, he smiled at me—a big goofy look on his face—and he’d just had a breakout. When he smiled, I noticed how his braces would catch the light when the mirror ball hit them just right.
It was normal. I mean, it seemed normal enough at first. We’d danced before. But not to a slow song. Not to a ridiculously romantic song. And I’ve never looked at Chad as someone I’d ever want to kiss. We laugh and joke, but I’ve seriously never thought of kissing him.
But there we were, swaying to the music. I focused on the lyrics of the song, trying to figure out what they really meant, as Chad locked his eyes onto mine. His eyes are pretty—brown with green flecks—but I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, as if he was trying to think of the right thing to say, as if I held the answer somehow. And I couldn’t look away, even though I really wanted to.
“You know, I really like you,” he said.
“I know. I like you too, you big dork.”
I could see it coming, like in slow motion, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.
N-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o.
The kiss. Wet. Messy. Sloppy. Gross. He leaned into it—catching me so completely off guard that I almost fell over—shoving his tongue into my mouth. There was too much saliva, maybe because of his braces, and zero chemistry.
Turns out, Chad is a horrible kisser. And when I say “horrible,” I mean ridiculously, awfully, horribly bad. The vibes I’d been feeling: real. The way his kiss felt: awful.
When I pulled my head back, there were stars in his eyes.
“Wow.”
He said it like he was floating on top of his very own cloud.
I said nothing and looked into his eyes—eyes that told the story of a boy who’d just kissed a girl and the kiss was the most amazing kiss ever in the history of the world—and we stayed looking at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds.
The song was over; a techno song came on.
“Do you want to—” he started to say.
“No. Absolutely not.”
He gave a little shrug.
This is the part where I wanted to go back in time. Just five minutes. To the time before the time when my life became a horrible nightmare of awkward unwanted love. I wanted to go back to the part when we were standing around, just talking with our friends. Before it went all wrong.
It would be so easy to love Chad. He’s adorable. And we get along so well. But life doesn’t work that way. You can’t just make yourself like someone, and you can’t just make someone like you. You can’t just make that stuff up. I really wish you could.
We rejoined our group. Bethany’s mouth was hanging open, and Rose’s eyebrows were about a foot higher. Obviously they saw it. The Kiss.
I had to set him straight.
“Chad,” I shouted over the music, “can we go outside for a minute?”
He started looking all goofy again. And hopeful.
“Let’s go,” he said as he grabbed for my hand.
Ahhhhhhh.
His hand was kind of sweaty; mine was more so. He was floating; I was not.
We walked together, and he looked at me and said—almost sounding shy—“I missed you this summer.”
“I missed you too,” I said, except I knew that the way he missed me was different than the way I missed him.
“Is this okay?” he asked when we got to one of the long cement benches outside the gym.
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
Ever since I’ve known Chad, he’s never asked me if it was okay to sit on some bench before. One stupid kiss changed the whole dynamic of our relationship. What a bunch of crap.
It was cool out, not stuffy like the gym. Some boys in a circle were playing hacky sack with a group of girls standing by watching. I wished I could be one of the girls watching the boys kick the footbag around.
Chad moved to put his arm around my shoulder. I brushed it away, almost involuntarily.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t?”
He looked surprised, then wounded, and here’s where everything went wrong.
“Look, Chad, I don’t know what to say.” (Which is unusual for me.) All I could think of was the old, “I think we should just be friends” speech. It’s such a cliche, but I meant it. “We’re friends. You’re, like, my best friend in the world.”
Stony silence.
“Chad, say something. Please don’t just look at me like that.”
He shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”
“Um, like you hate me.”
“Stacy, don’t be ridiculous.”
He picked up a bottle cap lying on the ground and chucked it, bouncing it off the side of a soda machine, a very un-Chad-like thing to do.
“I thought…” he started to say, but his voice drifted off.
“What? What did you think?” I asked, desperate for a response. Anything. Something.
“Nothing. I’m going back in,” he said, shaking his head. He got up and gave me a little half-salute.
He left me sitting outside on the bench like an idiot.
Of course, I followed him back in.
He wouldn’t speak to me.
To top off my horrible evening, Anthony and some girl were making out in the corner.
September 13 –
Chad = The Opposite
Of Warm And Fuzzy
After I gave myself a pep talk, after feeling awkward and insecure and awful all morning, I called Chad to see if I could salvage anything of our relationship.
Chad: “Hi, Stacy.” (Flat. Not friendly.)
Silence.
Me: (Sounding extra friendly.) “Hey, Chad! I just wanted to check in, you know, see how you’re doing, make sure things were okay.”
Silence. Uncomforta
ble.
Me: “Uh, can we talk? Please?”
Chad: “You think I’m a loser. What is there to say?”
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