Me You Us

by Aaron Karo

  “Have you seen Jak?” I ask.

  “She’s around. Kinda has a sour look on her face.”

  “Hmm. That doesn’t really mean anything. That’s her normal look. She looks that way on her birthday.”

  Reed shrugs.

  “Let me ask you a question,” I say. “Me and Jak. When you were around us, did you ever think that, I don’t know, maybe we could be more than just friends?”

  He chuckles.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Are you kidding me? You two are like obsessed with each other. I’ve never seen two ‘friends’ who more obviously want to hook up.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes! I mean, clearly you’re in love with her. Me and a couple of my Dungeons and Dragons buddies used to make fun of you on Twitter. ‘Shane and Jak equals #Shak.’”

  “A hashtag? Really?”

  “Hey, before you took me on as a client, I had a lot of free time.”

  “How come you never told me that I was in love with her!”

  “It’s kind of a thing you gotta figure out on your own.”

  Very, very true. Though running into Faith also didn’t hurt. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I ruined everything with Jak.

  Reed and I stare into space for a while, each pondering our meager existence. I used to think that Reed could be my protégé. Then he swept Marisol off her feet, and I thought the pupil had become the master. Now I look at us as equals: two hopeless outcasts.

  This can’t be how it ends.

  “Reed, you know what would be even sweeter than winning over Marisol in the first place?” I ask.

  “Being a male model who women flock to without even trying?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess that would be pretty sweet. But what I was gonna say was winning her back.”

  “Winning Marisol back?”

  “Yeah!” I say, trying to pump Reed up.

  “I don’t know. I think I might need to take a break.”

  “I’m telling you, you could do it, Reed. You don’t even need me anymore. I already taught you everything I know.”

  “You really believe that?”

  I can tell his confidence is buried in there, somewhere.

  “Absolutely,” I say. “But this time, you do it on your terms. Don’t be embarrassed about playing Dungeons and Dragons. Don’t hide that from her. Don’t spend hours planning and preparing. Just do it. Just like you did that day in the courtyard. That should be your whole relationship: going with your gut, being yourself, owning you!”

  Reed starts to nod his head. As far as motivational speeches go, this hasn’t been my finest. But I just want Reed to know that he can do it.

  “Okay,” he says. “Maybe you’re right. If me and Marisol were meant to be together, then we should be together, no matter what.”

  “Exactly!”

  “I’m just gonna talk to her, I’m gonna be honest, I’m gonna explain myself, I’m gonna apologize, and then she’s gonna take me back!”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  It’s the first time in a while that either of us has smiled.

  “Huzzah!” I shout, and Reed beams.

  37

  I FINALLY GET THE COURAGE to suck it up and head back to school with my head held high.

  Okay, that’s not really true. I’m only going to school after trying to push my luck and fake sick for one more day. My parents called my bluff. Next thing I knew I was in my Jeep, driving into the eye of the storm.

  After I park, I walk the most circuitous route possible from my car to the school. I’m still trying to steel myself to face my peers and possibly—hopefully—run into Jak. I make the ill-fated decision to cut through the faculty lot, and it is there that I see the source of much of my troubles: Mr. ­Kimbrough, slumped in his car once again, moping.

  Apparently, my pity for the guy knows no bounds, or maybe I’m just procrastinating, because I decide to make my way to his car. He doesn’t even notice as I walk up to the ­driver’s-side window.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “Deb ended things.”

  He doesn’t look at me or say anything but acknowledges I’m correct by solemnly unlocking the passenger side door. Mr. Kimbrough could rightly be blamed for destroying my life. But for some reason I have a soft spot for him. I can’t hold a grudge. He deserves to be as happy as the next guy. And I sure as hell don’t want to end up like him when I’m in my thirties. I reluctantly get in the car.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  He takes a deep breath. “Well, thanks to you, Deb finally started responding to my texts. She eventually told me that she had feelings for me, and that she only went radio silent after we spent the night together because it freaked her out that we’re coworkers.”

  “Ahhh,” I say. At least that’s one mystery solved.

  “And then we started chatting again,” he continues. “We had lunch one day. I thought we were hitting it off. We had plans to go out.”

  “So, what? She found out about the Galgorithm, got offended, and that was that?”

  “Basically, yeah.”

  “Stupid school newspaper. I mean, who even reads that thing anyway? Instead of running editorials about how we need two-ply toilet paper in the bathrooms, how about using the Chronicle to wipe your—”

  “Shane,” Mr. Kimbrough interjects. “You don’t understand. Deb didn’t find out about the Galgorithm from the newspaper.”

  “Yeah, well, people were talking about it in the halls, it was all over Facebook . . .”

  “No, I mean Deb knew about the Galgorithm before it was in the paper.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “She read my blog, Shane.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “No, I mean I never told her about Humble Pi. In fact, I kept it a secret from her. After we reconnected and we had lunch, she must have found the blog herself and started reading it on her own. She liked my blog, Shane! My blog! She liked me! And I screwed it up.”

  He buries his face in his hands.

  “I’m sorry, Bob.” I pat him on the shoulder. “But I still don’t understand what you were thinking. I mean, if what I was telling you was working so well, why post it for everyone to see? Why risk Deb ever knowing?”

  He looks at me. “I don’t know! I was just so excited. I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t think anyone would care. No one ever went to my blog. I certainly didn’t think Deb had it bookmarked.”

  I shake my head. Love will make you do crazy things.

  “After I saw you in the computer lab,” he continues, “I tried to head her off. But it was already too late. She told me that she’d read that post the day before. She also told me she was disgusted and that she never wanted to speak to me again. I tried to tell her it was meant to be a joke. But she wouldn’t have any of it. Not after I used it on her.”

  I feel bad for Bob. I was growing to like Ms. Solomon. I mean, she single-handedly rescued me from Harrison in the student-government office. And she didn’t bat an eye when I interrupted her class while searching for Jak. She’s good people.

  “Again, Shane, I’m really sorry for all the trouble I caused you. You went out of your way to help me, a pathetic old teacher, and I repaid you by totally botching everything. I took advantage of your trust, and I’m really embarrassed by my behavior.”

  “It’s okay. Things happen.” I sorta believe what I’m saying.

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he says, “I decided to take the entire blog down after all. Who knows how far it’s already spread, but at this point I’d rather just be done with it. Also I didn’t want to get fired. I’m on thin ice as it is.”

  “Huh,” I say. “So the Galgorithm and Humble Pi are both retired. It’s truly the end of an era.”

  “Yeah, I was sad to hear you’ll no longer be . . . advising the less fortunate,” Mr. Kimbrough says. “That seems like the kind of thing that would serve you well in college.”

  “Nah,” I say
. “That’s not who I am anymore. It’s too much of a crutch. Something to hide behind. I need to start taking my own advice and just be me.”

  As soon as I figure out who that is. . . .

  “So what about Deb?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Bob says. “I miss her. I miss just hearing her voice.”

  “Is it worth it for you to try to talk to her again and explain?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so. I mean, we work together. It was ­probably inappropriate for me to ask her out in the first place. Plus she just got direct deposit. So there go all those Thursdays when I got to stand next to her while she tore open those checks. She was always so happy. I really looked forward to those days.”

  “Out of curiosity, did you—”

  “Notice any Pavlovian conditioning? No. Not at all. But I did enjoy getting to spend that time with her.”

  “Got it. Thought so.”

  “Seeing her around school lately has been tough. Knowing I hurt her. Knowing I had a chance but I ruined it. I realize it sounds corny and we didn’t date that long . . . but I think I was falling for her.”

  “Hey, Bob. Never say never.”

  “I just wish I hadn’t acted like the square root of two.”

  I shake my head. “What?”

  “Irrational. I wish I hadn’t been so irrational.”

  I pat Bob on the shoulder again. I’m surprisingly glad he hasn’t lost his sense of humor.

  38

  I WAIT UNTIL MR. KIMBROUGH has gathered himself, and then we get out of his car together. When he’s finally ready to head into school, though, I leave him to double back to grab my phone, which I forgot in my own car.

  When I get close to my parking spot, I see a magnificent sight: Tristen, with her back to me, bent over next to my car, in those short jean shorts I love so much. But my initial arousal very quickly turns to dismay—what the hell is she doing?

  I jog the last twenty feet to my car, calling her name. She quickly stands up and coyly hides something behind her back. I immediately expect the worst.

  “Tristen,” I say when I reach her, “please don’t tell me you’re slashing my tires or something crazy like that.”

  She shakes her head no.

  “Then what are you doing?”

  She shows me her hands: She’s holding a pen and a piece of paper.

  “I was leaving you a note. Your tire is low.”

  Now I feel bad.

  “Oh. Um, thanks.”

  Then I hear the sssssssssssss of air leaking from my front right tire, right where Tristen is standing. I take a closer look. The valve has been loosened.

  “Were you leaving me a note . . . after you let the air out?”

  She shrugs.

  My relationship with Tristen has been a roller coaster. First I underestimated her. Then we totally connected. Unfortunately, that coincided with me starting to crush on Jak. I’ve been trying to end things with Tristen, but instead have fallen into a trap as old as time: By pushing her away, I’ve unintentionally made her like me even more. Most disconcerting is how erratic Tristen has been behaving lately, for instance right now.

  “You’re back at school!” she says, as my tire continues to leak. “Are you feeling better?”

  I recall that Tristen is the one who first discovered Humble Pi and showed it to Brooke. Which means Tristen could have known for weeks that I used the Galgorithm on her. Maybe she’s just upset and this is her way of acting out.

  “Listen,” I say, “I know you’re mad. And I totally get it.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No!”

  “Then why are you letting the air out of my tire?”

  “Duh. I want attention.”

  I have to hand it to her. At least she’s stone-cold honest.

  “But you saw the article in the Chronicle right? You know what I used to do? You know about the Galgorithm?”

  “Of course. I know all about it.”

  “And that makes you feel . . .”

  “Super turned on.”

  “Turned on?”

  “Totally. I mean, how cute are you to help all those lonely guys? Like, who does that? Plus you know all these things about women. Like, stuff we never tell anybody. That’s so hot.”

  “You do realize that everyone else is mad at me, right? Marisol broke up with Reed over it.”

  “Oh, she’s just being silly,” she says dismissively.

  “You don’t care that I used all that stuff on you?”

  “I wish you would do it more. That’s why I didn’t say anything even though I knew the article was coming out.”

  “Tristen, you could have warned me!”

  “Shane, I like the Galgorithm.”

  Wait a minute, I think. The Galgorithm! Maybe that’s the way to resist Tristen. Maybe I take all my old tips, and do them in reverse. Yeah, that could work! What’s the opposite of “be different, notice her, tell her”? Be the same, ignore her, don’t tell her? That doesn’t make any sense! What’s the opposite of “be positive, never apologize”? Be negative . . . always apologize? What? No. Oh my God. What am I doing? I’ve gone completely insane.

  “Shane,” she continues, “do you remember how I was raising money for dolphins in the Congo?”

  “Huh? Yeah, of course.”

  “Well, this summer, after my Habitat for Humanity trip, I think I’m gonna travel there to actually see the dolphins. I want you to come with me. It’ll be totes amaze.”

  “Me and you, alone, in the Congo?”

  “Well, technically Gabon, but yes.”

  “Um . . .”

  “Just think about it.”

  It’s time to put my foot down.

  “I’m sorry, Tristen, but no. This is over.”

  “Whatever you say . . .”

  “I’m serious. We can’t be together.”

  “Will you unlock your car, please?”

  “Why?” I’m so confused.

  “Just unlock it.”

  “Argh.” I foolishly click my keychain and unlock the doors.

  Tristen smirks, then opens the back door, grabs me by my shirt, and pushes me into the car. For someone with such spindly forearms, she’s surprisingly aggro. Before I even know what’s happening, she’s straddling me in the backseat.

  “Tristen, wait.”

  “No more talking.” She starts kissing me. Keep in mind it’s seven forty-five in the morning.

  “Tristen, there are people around.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I can’t believe Tristen is behaving like this. She was so normal for so long. And she could have any guy she wanted!

  She kisses my neck and nibbles on my earlobe. She knows that’s my spot.

  “Tristen . . .” My resolve is crumbling. I hate how weak I am.

  But, I rationalize, I also deserve someone who wants me. I deserve this.

  I kiss Tristen back. I pull her closer. She starts to moan.

  I’m only human.

  I run my hands along her back and her sides. She moans some more.

  “Hooooo. Hooooo.”

  It’s kind of a strange moan. I disregard it and kiss her neck. She moans again.

  “Hooooo. Hooooo.”

  She sounds like an owl. I don’t care. This is happening.

  “Hooooo. Hooooo.”

  And that’s when I realize she’s not moaning “Hooooo,” she’s saying “Whooooom,” as in “whom.”

  “Whooooom. Whooooom.”

  I stop caressing her. I stop kissing her.

  “Are you saying ‘whom’?”

  She starts to grind on me. “Yeah,” she says breathlessly. “Whooooom.”

  I grab her shoulders.

  “Why? Why are you saying that?”

  “I know it’s important to you. I want to be important to you too.”

  I take my hands off her.

  This isn’t right. For so many reasons.

  Jak w
ould never pull a stunt like this. Jak would never have to try this hard. Even if she won’t speak to me right now, Jak is the only girl for me. I cannot continue to let Tristen distract me from that. Tristen is fun. But Jak is the One.

  “Whooooom,” she repeats.

  39

  THIS TREE HAS A LOT of history. It emerges from the ground right at the corner where Jak and I go our separate ways when we walk home from school together. The middle school in Kingsview is only a few blocks from the high school, so we walked the same route past this tree for six years before we got our licenses, and then the tradition resumed when Jak got us Fitbits. On many of those walks, Jak has playfully tried to push me into this very tree. It’s gnarled and knotty and has a bunch of hearts carved into it by lovers or pranksters or both.

  After managing to extricate myself from Tristen’s clutches, which took a lot of negotiating and a few whistles from some passing freshmen, I didn’t even bother going to class. I had too much on my mind. I just left my car in the lot, still leaking air, and have been walking the route from school to my house over and over again, for hours. By now, though, school has ended. I’m waiting by the tree for Jak to drive past in the hopes of flagging her down and begging her forgiveness.

  I must repair my friendship with Jak. That’s the most important thing in the world to me. But, should I get the chance, I also need to tell her how I truly feel. This may not be the perfect moment, but there may never be a perfect moment. I can’t keep it inside any longer.

  I spot Jak down the block, driving her dark gray Prius, and step out into the street. As she gets closer, I get cold feet. I want to run. But something keeps me in place, rooted to the ground, just like the tree.

  Now Jak is close enough to recognize me, but I can’t really see her reaction inside the car. I wave my arms. She could easily drive around me, or she could stop. Relief washes over me when I hear the electronic whooosh of the Prius decelerating. She pulls over and stops on the side of the road in front of me.

  She gets out of the car and approaches, scowling.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I need to talk to you,” I say.

  “How long have you been out here?”

  “All day.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Will you give me a minute?”