Felicia laughs. “Yeah, our parents are really good friends. My dad works for Jessie’s dad and they play golf every Saturday. Our moms went to college together and, despite our obvious ethnical differences, it feels like we’re all related.” She grins at Jessie now. “Which is kind of nice since I’m an only child and most of our other relatives live pretty far away. Quite a few are still in China. But the Rubensteins have always been like family to us.”
“That’s cool,” I say. And it is. I’m happy for them. Really, I am. There’s nothing like having a best friend that you’ve known for years. Nothing.
Jessie decides to put the top down on the way home, and I imagine I am having a really great time. Three girls riding down the freeway in a convertible. Hair blowing in the wind, guys in cars waving at us. But the truth is I feel miserable. Sitting by myself in the backseat, I feel left out and lonelier than ever.
Still, when we reach my apartment complex, I force a big smile and thank them both for including me today. I tell Felicia how much I loved the art exhibit, and Jessie how much I love her car. Then I wave goodbye and jog toward the stairs of my apartment. I hope that my effort at cheerfulness is convincing because when I get safely to the privacy of my room I begin to cry again.
I wonder if this sadness will ever end. Just when I think I’m doing better, it’s like the rug gets pulled out from under me. I see the book that I read last week sitting on my dresser. I think about the girl, Alicia, who gave her heart to God and supposedly had a personal relationship with him. I wonder if that’s really even possible. It’s not that I don’t believe in God. Usually, I do. I’m just never sure what I think beyond that. Still, I was impressed with the way Alicia’s year went. Well, other than dying in the end. That was kind of a downer. But during that year preceding her death, she made lots of great friends and had a really good life. In her journal she kept saying it was the best year of her entire life. She was so totally happy and in love with life and God and everyone. And it had been a real change for her, because it sounded like she’d been pretty miserable before. Sort of like me.
So I’ve been sitting here just wondering. What if I were to give my heart to God? What if I did like Alicia and it caused my life to really get better? I even wonder if that’s what it would take to get Jordan back as my best friend. I know that Jordan’s family goes to church. But not every Sunday since her dad’s pretty laid back about the whole thing and has no problem telling anyone that he would just as soon spend a Sunday at the lake as in church. I also know that Jordan believes in God and calls herself a Christian. But she’s never really been too involved in church. And she doesn’t go to the youth group because she says that the kids there are nerds.
Suddenly it’s pretty tempting to give this God-thing a shot. I mean, what do I have to lose? And what if it made my life go back to the way it used to be, only better? Wouldn’t that be worth a lot? I am beginning to feel hopeful. Perhaps I have found the answer after all.
Yet, at the same time, I feel like I might be just playing a game with fate here. Sort of like a holy “Let’s Make a Deal.” And that kind of scares me. I’m thinking that if God is really for real, and if he can really make you or break you, well, I could be playing with fire here. And I’ve got to wonder whether it’s worth the risk of blowing it with God just because I think I might be able to swing some sort of deal. I mean if I were God and some goofy girl was down there trying to strike up a bargain with me, well, how would that make me feel? So, I suppose I should give this some more thought before I jump into anything.
Because the sorry truth is my life is cruddy enough without going and making it worse by messing with someone like God.
thirteen
I SPENT ALL DAY SUNDAY BABYSITTING FOR THE NEIGHBORS, WHICH WAS better than moping around and feeling sorry for myself. Plus I earned a little spending money. Not that I have anything to spend it on. I’ve discovered that one must have a life to need money. I suppose that could be one of the upsides of being friendless. I could become rich in time.
Now it is Monday and I am trudging back to school, wishing that I were someplace else, or someone else, or had someone else for a best friend.
As I walk into the school I notice a boy that I’ve always thought was cute. His name is Jeremy Thatcher and I’ve known him since grade school. He’s standing by the bulletin board at the entrance, probably trying to look inconspicuous, like he’s actually reading the dribble posted up there. He’s one of the shiest kids I’ve ever known. Even if you only say “hi” to him his face turns beet red. But he’s also very nice.
“Hey, Jeremy,” I say, waiting to see him blush.
“Hey,” he says in a quiet voice. Then he glances away as if something more important than the bulletin board has captured his attention. But I’m not disappointed because a couple of bright pink spots suddenly appear on his cheeks.
Feeling slightly mean, I push things a bit further. “How you doing?” I ask, walking right up to him.
“Uh, okay.”
“Did you get your economics report done?” I ask. He’s in that class with me.
“Yeah.”
“Pretty boring, huh?”
He nods without speaking now.
I’m thinking I’ve pushed Jeremy about as far as is safe. So I give him my best smile and tell him to have a good day.
To my surprise, he smiles back and says, “Thanks, Kara.”
Wow, I’m thinking as I head toward English, maybe, if I worked really, really hard at this, maybe I could actually strike up some sort of relationship with this guy. I’m thinking maybe I should quit hoping for a girl to be my best friend and just go after a guy instead. I’ve never really had a serious boyfriend before. Oh, I’ve gone with a few guys. Okay, maybe only two. And these were both a result of Jordan setting me up with people who were friends with the guys that she liked. A convenience thing. But these relationships felt awkward and were short-lived and even sort of silly when you think about it.
But what if Jeremy and I became a thing? Already I am imagining us together. Walking to class together. Hanging together in the hallway. Maybe even kissing? I imagine Jeremy saving me a spot at lunch and taking me to the games and dances. And suddenly this sounds like a perfect solution to my miserable little life.
The problem is that I’m just not sure how to go about it. Because even though everyone knows that Jeremy is extremely shy, I happen to know that I am probably only a few degrees less shy than him. And what I did this morning was pretty out of character for me. At least I think it is. Lately, I’m not too sure about much. But what if I could change myself? Or maybe I already am changing and I just don’t know it. Maybe I don’t have the foggiest idea of who I am.
I find a seat by the only window and ponder these thoughts all through English class, which now means I have homework. But I don’t care about this as I hurry toward my next class, economics. I am hoping to catch another word with Jeremy now, maybe even sit by him and make my best attempt to flirt. So I linger by the door, pretending to study a paper in my hand until I finally see Jeremy approach. As usual, he keeps his eyes downward and doesn’t even see me. But that’s okay. I’m up to the challenge.
“Hi, Jeremy,” I say again, trying my best smile.
His cheeks begin to flame again and this time he mutters a barely audible greeting, then ducking his head back down, he goes into the classroom and heads for the back row. And before I can nab the desk beside him it is taken by Jonathon Knight, an overweight boy who’s nearly as shy as Jeremy. I wonder if they have some sort of secret pact or club. Shy Boys United.
I take the desk a couple seats away from Jeremy and spend the best part of the next hour trying to get his attention. However, I fail miserably and as soon as class is over, Jeremy makes a beeline for the door. I’m sure I have scared this poor boy to death. I find this ironic since I consider myself the shy person in most social settings. I wonder what Jordan would think if she knew what I was up to. Most likely she couldn’t
care less.
I watch for Jeremy between classes but finally decide he is trying to avoid me. I’m not sure if this has anything to do with me personally, or if it is just because of his extreme shyness. Or maybe he’s gay.
“Hi, Kara,” says a guy’s voice.
I turn, hoping that perhaps it’s the mysterious Jeremy, then frown to see that it’s only Edgar.
“Hey, Edgar,” I say as I walk with him toward the art room. “What’s up?”
“Not much. Did you go to that art exhibit with Felicia?”
“Yeah, it was really good. Did you get to see it?”
“Nah, our church was having a missions conference this weekend and I had to stick around to help.”
“What’s a missions conference?” I ask as we go sit at the back table in the art room. I’ve taken up sitting in the back now so I don’t have to move my stuff at lunchtime.
“Our church supports a few missionaries in other countries. And once a year we invite them or someone else to come in and talk about foreign missions.”
I frown at him. “You mean like people who go to places like Africa and try to force the people there to wear clothes and go to church?”
He laughs. “Not exactly. The kinds of missions that our church supports do things like teaching people to read and building houses and digging wells.”
“Oh.”
“I think God is calling me to be a missionary,” he tells me now.
I just stare at him in wonder. He could be telling me that God had invited him to step onto a UFO and go live on Mars and I wouldn’t be any more surprised. “You actually heard God calling to you?” I ask skeptically as I pull out my current art project.
But then Ms. Clark begins to talk and our conversation comes to a fast stop. A relief, I’m thinking, since I really don’t want to get involved in a discussion like this.
However, as soon as lunchtime rolls around, Edgar brings up the subject again.
“I wanted to answer your question, Kara,” he begins as we all start taking out our lunches. Mine is a raisin bagel and carton of lemon yogurt.
“What was her question?” asks Amy.
“She wanted to know if I could actually hear God calling me to be a missionary.”
Amy groaned loudly. “Oh, man, do we have to talk about religion today? My Jesus-freak aunt stayed at our house all weekend and I have been preached to up to here.” She held her hand high in the air to demonstrate.
“Hey, I’m with you,” I agree. “I was just making conversation with Edgar. I’m not looking for a sermon either.”
She sighs in relief. “Okay, let’s talk about the art exhibit on campus. Did you guys go?”
So Edgar is quieted, and the three of us girls monopolize the conversation by talking about the exhibit.
“But here’s the best part,” says Amy in an excited voice, for Amy anyway. “I met this really cool guy at the exhibit. His name is Leon and he’s in college, majoring in art. And he actually thought I was in college too. Of course, I didn’t tell him I wasn’t. Anyway, we really hit it off. And I had the coolest weekend. It was awesome.”
“Are you going to see him again?” asks Felicia, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Of course.” Amy looks at Felicia like she’s crazy.
“But what about your age differ—”
“That doesn’t matter. The important thing is we’re soul mates. Age has nothing to do with it, Felicia!”
I can see that Amy’s getting irritated here, and I decide to jump in and see if I can keep things calm. “I wish I was in college,” I say. Now, this isn’t untrue.
“Me too,” agrees Amy. “People are so juvenile in high school.”
“Not me,” says Felicia. “I think high school is great. Actually, I think it’s what you make it. And if you can’t make it good in high school, I doubt that you can make it much better in college.”
Amy glares at Felicia now. “Well, high school might work for some kids. Like kids who have a high-school mentality. But it’s not for everyone.”
“It’s a lot better than middle school,” offers Edgar. “I really hated middle school. Kids were a whole lot meaner there.”
“Yeah,” I agree with him, hoping to make up for cutting him off about his hearing-God thing. “I think there’s something inherently vicious about that age group. Man, you couldn’t get me to go back to that era for anything.”
“Anyone going to the Harvest Dance?” asks Felicia.
“Are you?” I ask her in surprise. I’m not aware that she has a boyfriend.
She nods. “You bet.”
“Who are you going with?” I ask.
Amy laughs. “Don’t you know about Felicia’s old standby?”
“Huh?”
“We’re not really dating regularly,” explains Felicia with what looks like a tiny bit of embarrassment. “But we have this agreement to go to dances and things together unless the other one is dating someone else.”
“It’s like having your brother take you to the dance,” says Amy with one raised brow. “Kinda weird if you ask me.”
“No one’s asking,” says Felicia. Then she turns to me. “I’m going with Aaron Rubenstein. He’s a senior.”
“Jessie’s brother?”
Felicia nods. “He’s a nice guy who drives a nice car, and Jessie and her boyfriend are doubling with us.”
“Convenient,” says Amy as if it’s a disgusting arrangement.
“Hey, it works for us. And it’s better than pretending to be in college to hook up with some desperate old guy.”
Fortunately this makes Amy laugh. I sigh with relief.
Amy slaps Felicia on the back now. “Hey, I’m sorry to be on your case. I guess my Bible-thumping aunt just put me in a bad mood. It’s a free country and you can go out with whoever you please.”
Then the bell rings and we clean up our lunch stuff and all go our separate ways. As I walk toward the math department I feel a surprising wave of jealousy as I consider Felicia’s “convenient little arrangement.” I wish that my family had connections like that. In some ways, I used to have that with Jordan.
Even though Jordan and I both agreed that the Harvest Dance was “totally stupid” last year, I’ll bet all my babysitting money that she plans to go this year. And if I was still her best friend I’d probably be going too. Oh, life is so unfair!
On my way home from school, I briefly toy with the idea of walking up to Jeremy Thatcher and just inviting him to go to the Harvest Dance with me. I try to convince myself this would be quite the liberated thing for me to do. But, of course, I realize that it only shows how pathetically desperate I am. Still I can’t help but run the possibility through my mind. But the more I think about it, the more I realize it’s totally lame.
For starters, poor Jeremy would probably drop over dead if I actually asked him out. But then, if by some miracle he accepted, he’d probably be so paralyzed with fear that he’d be completely and embarrassingly dysfunctional at the dance. I can imagine myself stuck on the sidelines with the red-faced immovable boy. And more than likely, we’d be the brunt of everyone’s jokes too. “Look at those two social rejects over there.” “Who do they think they’re fooling?” I can especially imagine the kinds of things that Jordan’s little crowd might say. Subtle little jabs that they would quietly snicker at among themselves.
Besides that, how would we get to the stupid dance in the first place? I’ve only seen Jeremy riding a bike to school and around town. I seriously doubt that he’s even old enough to drive yet. Maybe, I thought, his parents could drive us. Sheesh, I don’t even know why I bother my brain with such ridiculous ideas.
fourteen
I EXCHANGE MY DREAMS OF JEREMY FOR THE REMOTE CONTROL AS I FLOP down on the sofa with a can of cream soda. Dr. Bill’s pop psychology talk show is on after school every day and lately I’ve become something of an addict. I suppose that watching other people with their own problems, often much more serious than mine, is somewh
at reassuring. Or else I’m just such a loser that I have nothing better to do.
Today Dr. Bill is hitting pretty close to home and it’s starting to make me a little uncomfortable. He’s talking about daughters with absent fathers. And I suppose that would describe me. Still, it’s not something I like to think about too much. I mean, what good does it really do?
“When was the last time you saw your father?” Dr. Bill asks a woman who looks to be in her twenties.
“I was about seven,” she answers.
“And you’re okay with that?” Dr. Bill looks as if he’s skeptical.
“Yeah. I missed him at first, but then I moved on with my life.”
“So why are you here then?”
She looks over to the audience. “My mom thinks I have a problem.”
“A problem?” echoes Dr. Bill. I’ve noticed he does this a lot. I can’t tell if he’s trying to buy time or just hoping to make his guests a little uncomfortable.
“Yeah, with relationships.”
“With guys?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well, according to your mother, you have some real serious problems with your relationships with guys. Let’s roll the video.”
Fade to video. An older woman, I’m guessing the mother, is explaining how her daughter moves from guy to guy to guy, how she’s never able to make a commitment and always looking for the perfect guy.
“I’m afraid she’s ruining her life,” says the mom as she literally wrings her hands. “She’s a lovely girl, but this relentless search for her father is making her miserable.”
Now the camera is back on the girl again. And she is quietly crying.
“Do you think that’s true?” asks Dr. Bill.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think you’re looking for someone to take the place of your missing father?”
Dark Blue: Color Me Lonely with Bonus Content Page 8