The Girl Next Door

by Selene Castrovilla

  “Sam?”

  I came out of the cold black to warmth. A warm body was holding me, pressed against me—a guy. I could tell by the sound of his breathing, and the strength of his arms.

  Not Jess. He didn’t smell like Jess, or feel like Jess. And I wasn’t comfortable like I was with Jess. Still, I was somewhat comforted.

  “Sam, are you okay?” I recognized the voice now: Pete.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, somewhat muffled by his shirt.

  He pulled away gently, still supporting me gingerly, and stared. He had soft blue eyes that always seemed to be smiling, no matter what the rest of his face was doing. I’d noticed that before, but I always chose to concentrate on the rest of his face, which never looked happy to see me. I was annoying, unable to take a hint, hanging around even though I was the only girl in the crowd. At that moment, I saw it from his point of view and I felt a pang of regret that I’d denied the boys their time alone.

  “What am I doing here?” His eyes widened and seemed to smile even more. “What are you doing balled up out here on the floor?” His hair was scruffy blond, and he wore a baseball cap backward over it, like he almost always did. There were a few stray hairs poking through the back hole in the cap. I loosened myself from his grip and found myself pushing at those hairs, trying to smooth them down. No use.

  “I—I guess I had a bad moment,” I answered. A slight understatement.

  “Yeah,” he said, like I’d come up with an explanation that made any sense at all. “Listen, you think … you think I could come in and see Jess? Is his mood any better?”

  Poor Pete. He just kept trying—a good friend.

  I shook my head no. “I’m sorry, Pete, but he’s not here. He’s in the hospital… . ”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. He’s just starting a new treatment.”

  Pete let out a heavy, hot breath. I felt the worry in it as it hit me in the face. “Pete … I’ll talk to him again. I’ll get him to see you.”

  “You think you can?”

  I didn’t know why, but I really thought I could just then, and I told him so.

  Then I heard my apartment door open. For a second I worried that it was Teddy. I didn’t want him to see me like this; he’d been so messed with already. But then I realized that it was way past his bedtime.

  “Sam?” It was Mom. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

  Ha. What a question.

  Pete moved to make room for Mom, who folded herself around me. “I’m fine, Mom. I just … tripped. That’s all.” I looked at Pete, who thankfully took the hint and nodded in agreement.

  “Pete was just helping me up. He came to see Jess—he didn’t know Jess wasn’t here.”

  “Sam.” Mom knew I didn’t trip, but she didn’t say anything else. What else was there to say? Instead, she played with a strand of my hair, twisting it in her finger. She studied me, like she was trying to see inside my mind. Even bloodshot, her eyes were still so loving. Looking into them always used to make me feel safe, secure—back when I still believed in fairy tales.

  “I’m fine. Really, Mom.” She helped me up and I tried looking away from the stripes as I rose, but they were everywhere, damn it—an emerald prison.

  “Pete, would you like to come in?” Mom knew Pete. She knew most of Jess’s friends.

  Pete hesitated, then shook his head no.

  “Are you sure? I’ve got fresh-baked brownies, with and without walnuts… . ”

  “C’mon Pete. I don’t wanna wind up eating all those brownies myself,” I said. Having someone to talk to—someone who knew Jess like I did—would be awesome.

  He looked at me for a second. Then his face matched his eyes. “Thanks,” he said in his husky voice; he was that kind of guy. Husky—not in size—but in quality. Raw, ragged—like he was still under construction or something.

  Jess always had it together; Pete always looked like he was coming apart.

  ***

  Mom left us alone in the kitchen. We ate brownies and talked, me telling him about the last few months, him letting out a lot of his pent up feelings. I felt so close to him that I told him about me and Jess, that we were a couple. He said he was happy for us. And when he left, after midnight, it was with the promise that I’d talk to Jess in the morning about letting him visit.

  I felt better, or at least I thought I did, until I burst into tears again halfway back down the hall from locking the door behind Pete. Mom followed me into my room and sat with me on my bed.

  “What’s wrong, Sam?”

  I didn’t answer her. All I could focus on was that Mom’s “What’s wrongs” were getting terser. And she didn’t call me “baby.” That made me cry more.

  “Sam, when’s your next appointment with Dr. Chadwick?”

  “Monday,” I blubbered.

  “Maybe I’ll try to get you in tomorrow.”

  “Nooo … ” I fell into my pillow, aching inside. I didn’t want to leave Jess to go to the shrink, even if I had felt good after the first session.

  “Sam—oh, forget it.” She got up.

  “Mom,” I moaned. “You’re just going to leave me like this?”

  “Sam, you’re not telling me the problem. There’s nothing I can do for you.”

  “Don’t you love me anymore?”

  “What kind of a crazy question is that?” She sat back down, hugged me. “Of course I love you, baby.”

  Ahhh … I was “baby” again. My body relaxed a little.

  “Sam, what happened tonight? In the hall?”

  What had happened in the hall? I took a deep breath and blew it out. Mom held me with one arm and stroked my hair with her free hand.

  “I’m not sure, exactly… . I just keep having all these thoughts about how Jess is only with me because of the cancer, otherwise he’d be with Cindy—he was going to ask her out again, right before he got sick… .” I took another breath, thought I was done, but I wasn’t. “And then I think about how selfish I am for thinking these things, and how I don’t even deserve him. Because I’m grateful to be with him, so that means I must be glad that he’s sick… . ” Tears slicked steadily down my face like rain on a windshield. “And then it all hits me again, how meaningless all of this is, that we can try and try to get by, to be happy. But then in a flash, in one line of a play, it all collapses around us.”

  I stopped, unable to continue without completely choking on everything that had collected in my throat.

  Mom stroked my hair and back, and I burrowed my head into the hollow of her neck, still crying silently. For a while there was no sound except the alternating beats of our hearts. Then she spoke.

  “Baby, there’s no easy way to come to terms with life, to understand why bad comes with good, why horrible things happen to us. But somehow we have to make our peace, if not with life, at least with ourselves. That’s the only part that we do have any control over—our own hearts.” She gave me a squeeze. “Unfortunately, instead of loving ourselves and comforting ourselves, we tend to fill up with guilt and sorrow.”

  I cleared my throat, swallowed some snot. “So how am I supposed to find this peace?”

  “Believe in Jesse’s love, Sam. Don’t beat yourself over the head with what if’s. He loves you, and you can hold on to that love while you learn to love yourself.”

  I sniffed loud in an attempt to suck some air through my clogged nostrils. My eyes were sore and it hurt to hold them open.

  “How do you know Jess loves me?”

  “I can see it. Anyone can. I’m sure even Gwen has an idea.”

  “But does he love me, or just love me?”

  Mom pulled me off her shoulder and looked into my squinting, aching eyes; she looked blurry. “He loves you, Sam. He’s in love with you, all right. He’s absolutely head over heels mad about you.” She hugged me hard. “And if you don’t believe me, ask him.”

  ***

  They say you can smell trouble; I always thought it was one of those sa
yings you don’t take literally, but I found out otherwise the next morning. I was all set to talk to Jess and settle my nerves, and to find that peace Mom was talking about. But when I swooshed open Jess’s hospital room door, it hit me: a staggering dose of designer perfume—a witch’s brew of florals, fruits, and spices combined to into overdramatic and sickeningly syrupy scent. It was a big ‘ole wallop of trouble, because I knew who wore that scent, and it felt like my worst fears were sucker punching me.

  Somehow I made it past the door and inside. “Sam!” Jess smiled at me, and I tried to focus on him instead of the person sitting next to him, in my chair.

  Tried, but failed.

  There sat Cindy Evans, Miss Friggin’ Perfect, from the symmetrical ringlets in her silky auburn hair, right down to her bright, bubble-gum-pink polished pedicure that protruded from her equally electric pink sandals. Cindy always matched—and in every conceivable way.

  Damn that Pete. He must have told her Jess was in the hospital. Real nice, after I gave him brownies and everything.

  “Okay if I come in?” I asked, then mentally slapped myself. Why would I ask such a thing? How insecure can I get? Unfortunately, I kind of knew the answer to that one.

  “Yeah. Of course,” Jess answered, puzzled.

  Cindy gave me one of her bs smiles, curving her pink lips and showing every single one of her sparkling teeth. I went around Cindy—who didn’t move—to kiss Jess hello. Then I parked myself there on the bed next to him, coming between them, kind of like I was claiming my turf. Jess didn’t say anything, but he stiffened a little.

  There was a silence in the room now. Then Cindy craned past me to get a better look at Jess. “You seem to be feeling better,” she said.

  “Yeah, I am—for now anyway,” Jess answered.

  “Maybe we could get a bite sometime, when they spring you—”

  “No,” I interrupted, before I could stop myself. I couldn’t believe what a jealous ass I was being, and Cindy just stared at me.

  “Umm … as I was starting to tell you before she walked in… .” Jess looked around me at Cindy. I couldn’t catch his eye, which probably was just as well. “Sam and I are together now.”

  “I see.” But she didn’t look like she saw at all; she looked like she was ready to pounce in that miniskirt, which left practically nothing to the imagination. “But when we were dating, you did things with Sam all the time. Are you not allowed to do things with other friends now?”

  Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Like she wants to be his “friend.” Then again, had I wanted to be just his “friend”? Swell, I was turning on myself. Thankfully I kept my mouth shut.

  Jess said, “I can do what I want, Cindy. But right now I want to spend my time with Sam.” Aww.

  Cindy shrugged, like it was no big deal. “I’d better get going. I’ll pop by again, now that you’re feeling more hospitable. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Jess answered.

  Why, why is he letting her come back? Oh for God’s sake, what did I want to do, lock him in a room for myself? It was good, if he wanted visitors. Healthy. But why did she have to be one of them—the first one?

  Cindy got up and leaned over me to kiss Jess goodbye. I should’ve gotten up to make it easier, but I didn’t. Leaning on my leg, she managed a peck; then she moved back, said goodbye to me coldly, and sashayed her little butt out of the room.

  Swoosh went the door behind her; we were in silence again, and this time the awkwardness was mutual.

  I wanted to tell him I was sorry about all that, and I wanted to explain that I knew I was wrong. And I wanted to have a conversation to clear the air once and for all about Cindy—I wanted to do all that, but my lips wanted no part of it. They simply refused to open.

  We sat next to each other, so close yet not touching, staring at anything not to look at each other, until I had to leave for my final.

  Good work, I told myself as I headed down the corridor toward the door. Jess’s mouth had barely moved when I kissed him goodbye.

  I didn’t need Cindy Evans to sabotage us. It was clear that I could do that all by myself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Of course, I did brilliantly on my French final—not.

  Hey, I was distracted. Every verb came into my head with a picture of Cindy, pretty in pink from head to toe, demonstrating the action.

  C’est la vie.

  Afterward, I went into the school courtyard. Maybe some fresh air would help me concentrate on my next final—English, Mom’s favorite. I really didn’t want to let her down again.

  There were only a handful of students out there; most went home between tests, or to Grimalda’s, the pizza place down the block. But I knew if I left, I might not come back.

  I spotted Pete under the big oak tree. He was alone, staring out at the bricks, with his Midland baseball cap backward on his head and a brown paper-covered textbook in his lap. I came closer but he didn’t see me, and he didn’t break his stare. I cleared my throat to let him know I was there.

  He turned, startled. “Oh, hi, Sam.”

  I stared, wanting to say something pissy about him telling Cindy that Jess was in the hospital, but I didn’t feel comfortable enough to do it.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  Still I just stood there and said nothing.

  “Wanna sit?” he asked, patting the grass next to him. He seemed to accept any strange behavior I exhibited, which made it hard to chew him out.

  I sat down, leaning back into prickly bark. My fingers smoothed through cool grass strands.

  He turned back to the bricks he’d been staring at, a section of wall holding the Ewing Wing together, where my English final was going to be. I admired those bricks in their simplicity and strength. They were blocks with one purpose, and nothing to stop them from it. A wing, a wall—they were so easy to build. All you needed was a bucket of cement and bricks. A wall was simpler than a wing: there was nothing but a facade. You could wait behind it, just hang out and know you’d be safe. You could stop worrying and know.

  “You told Cindy where Jess was.” The words came now, backed by the weight of the bricks.

  He turned to me. “Yeah, I called her. How’d you know?”

  “She was there this morning, with Jess. When I got there.”

  “Huh,” he said, turning back to the bricks.

  I grabbed his arm, squeezed into the flesh below his T-shirt sleeve. “Ow!” He pulled away. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Now there’s the question. I knew I could get him to ask it, that he wouldn’t always accept my behavior unconditionally.

  “All you have to say for yourself is ‘huh’?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  Why’d you tell her? … “I thought—you said you were glad Jess and I were together… .” I looked away, trying to hold back the tears that were always on call, always ready to deploy at a moment’s notice.

  “Sam … I—” His fingers brushed my face, so soothing. “I am glad about you and Jess. I always knew you guys belonged together. It made me angry, that he didn’t see.”

  I forced a look into his glassy eyes. They were like a shimmery pond. Maybe that was the problem—that I was afraid I’d glimpse my reflection in them.

  “See what?” I asked.

  “That you loved him.”

  “You knew?”

  “Yeah.” He let out a little laugh. “I knew.”

  “Then why’d you tell Cindy?”

  “What’s the problem with telling Cindy? You shouldn’t be jealous of her.”

  “Who said I’m jealous?” He gave me an “oh, please” look and I had to laugh. “Okay, I’m jealous. But she’s so perfect.”

  “Perfect on the outside should be a warning sign,” he broke in. “No one’s perfect, and trying to look it to the world means there’s a whole lot of imperfect inside.”

  “Huh,” I said.

  “Is that all you’ve got to say?” He laughed again. He had a nice laugh
—natural, contagious. I laughed, too.

  “Sam, I told her because she’s worried about Jesse. We’re all worried—all the friends he shut out. I called a lot of people last night—not to have them come rushing over, but just to give them an update. I’m sorry if that bothers you.”

  “It doesn’t. I’m glad Jess has so many friends. It’s just … her.”

  He smiled. “You know, I bet she always said the same thing about you.”

  ***

  Pete and I talked for a while; then I realized I was nearly late for my English Regents. I rushed into the Ewing Wing entrance, raced down the marble hall, and got in just when they were opening the test booklets.

  Eighteen sets of eyes looked up at me, some amused, some curious, some glaring.

  I sat at my desk in the left rear corner, flipped opened the test, and pressed the point of my pencil on to the cover of the blue answer booklet.

  I filled in my name. I moved the point down a line, pressed, and was about to fill in the date, but I couldn’t—I just couldn’t. Something inside went snap! And my internal mechanisms shut down.

  I sat like that, unmoving and broken, pencil poised, the whole time. Then, at the fifteen-minute warning, I felt some stirrings inside and I knew I’d be all right again, that I’d come around.

  When the tests were collected, I stowed my pencil and got up like nothing was ever wrong. At least I didn’t get a zero; I heard you get points just for writing your name. But I hadn’t even put down the date. Did that matter?

  I went home and gave Mom the good news about my test. I figured, why wait for the report card? She was okay about it, and took it all in without comment. After last night, I guess she was being careful about what she said. I told her maybe I wouldn’t mind talking to Dr. Chadwick early after all. She got me an emergency session, so off I went.

  ***

  “So Sam, what do you think prompted your anxiety?” Dr. Chadwick asked.

  I’d just told him about my collapse in the hall last night, and about thinking my mom and Jess didn’t love me—and about being jealous of Cindy, and feeling so helpless about the crazy thoughts I was thinking. And finally, I’d told him about the test.