“The Weed? He sort of told everybody, but not on purpose. He walked into the Marble last night and mentioned to no one in particular that you guys had come by for donuts, but you wouldn’t let Weed treat you. He just wondered what was up with that.”
In other words, if I let him buy me a donut, I wouldn’t be a pariah this morning. Something to remember.
“You slept with him. Don’t deny it.”
“Are you kidding? I barely know The Weed.”
She grabs me by the ears. “I am your confidante in all matters juicy, and it really hurts my feelings that you wouldn’t tell me. And everyone thinks that you and I have a problem because I didn’t know.”
“First, it’s none of your business. Second, it’s none of anyone’s damn business. Third, of course I haven’t slept with him; we’re just starting to get to know each other. And most importantly, why does everybody hate me this morning? Is Amanda talking shit?”
“Everyone hates you because they’re jealous. Even if they’re not jealous because you scored James, and believe me most are, they’d just be jealous because you’re in a relationship. It’s high school, remember?”
“Does Gordy know?”
She stares at me silently, as if I asked an utterly random question.
“What’s the difference?”
“Good point,” I say. “I was just curious.”
I skip homeroom. At first, I thought I’d just hang out in the bathroom, but people keep coming in and pretending they aren’t staring at me. Kelly texts me asking if I’m okay.
I skip first period and go to conspire with Kelly, who works in the library during her free first period on Mondays. I help her shelve books so we can whisper and I can be out of the spotlight, hidden in the stacks.
“What has Amanda been saying?”
“Absolutely nothing. She’s just going around with this noble, hurt look like she has too much class to actually call you out as a home wrecker. This way she doesn’t have to lie, and everybody believes the rumors.”
“Which are that I stole her boyfriend?”
“By sleeping with him.”
There it is. And there’s absolutely no way to do anything about it, ever. I try to shrug off the fact that I will be our high school’s resident bitch and slut and cut to the chase…
“Have you seen Gordy?”
“He was there last night. And practically got in a fight defending you. He said James was a good guy, and the idea that everyone was sitting around talking about someone’s sex life, let alone making you out to be a slut, was just about the lamest thing he’d ever heard.”
I want to cry. And Kelly just says, “I know.”
I rub the worn spine of a book on geodes. “I know you don’t think James is worth it.”
“I said I didn’t think he would ever really give his heart for keeps. And I guess I’m still worried that’s the case. But you’re a big girl. I still believe the day will come when Gordy is for you and you are for Gordy. And I’m betting he’ll still be there.”
I decide to eat lunch inside with the nerd herd, the only crew that doesn’t seem to be tapped into the rumor mill. And I cut sixth period and go to the darkroom. While I’m developing candids for the yearbook, I realize half my roll is of James. I know I’m avoiding him. I don’t know how to have a boyfriend. I have no practice. I’m worried all this talk is going to put him off me. I’m just certain I don’t want to be seen with him at school today, under the microscope of everyone staring at us and making up their own stories. I text him that I want to see him after dinner. And he writes back immediately, K.
I go out to the parking lot and take Gordy’s hide-a-key from under the hood of his truck and wait for him in the cab. When school gets out, I think about ducking out of sight but don’t want to alarm Gordy when he finds me stowed away. Just as I’ve convinced myself I’m being dramatic and ridiculous, an amazing number of female passersby stare at me with a variety of nasty looks.
A senior, who I’ve actually never spoken to, makes it her business to walk away from her jackal pack and knock on the window, which I foolishly roll down, permitting her to say…
“I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
I struggle to channel Maggie.
“Explain yourself,” I demand calmly.
“You little bitch. I think you know what I mean.”
“Not only that, I think I know what you are.”
And I roll up the window. Which she spits on. I then recall that she was the girl who got two weeks’ suspension in the fall for ripping Mily Burton’s earrings out in the girl’s locker room.
Why do they care? The truth is they don’t. They don’t care about Amanda or me or the morality of who is sleeping with who. They are just on autopilot. This is what you do in high school. Let’s hope Columbia and the rest of life find bigger fish to fry.
Gordy shows up. He seems glad to see me. This makes me hope that things are going to be easy. His feelings aren’t hurt. Maybe he’s even happy for me.
“So what’s new?” And he laughs.
“You’re sharing your truck with Hester Prynne.” And immediately fear that he won’t place the reference. “She’s—”
“The girl in Scarlet Letter, yeah. Eighth grade, I got an A, you got an A–.”
“Well, now it’s a scarlet A–.”
He laughs again. “We could sit here and have everybody start saying you’re cheating on your boyfriend with me. Or we could just get the hell out of here.” He roars the truck’s engine and pulls out.
On the drive to Maxwell’s, I listen to Gordy rant about Amanda Porcella as if it’s her duty to clear my good name.
“She was never dating him in the first place.” He snorts.
“How do you know that?”
“Because you wouldn’t be dating him if she had.”
See, that’s Gordy. I can do no wrong. Even though I completely betrayed him. I know deep in the pit of my stomach that I’ve betrayed him—the thing is, I just haven’t quite figured out how. Is it because I didn’t confide in him immediately? Why would that be a betrayal? I don’t feel I betrayed Kelly. So why is this different? It’s different because Gordy and I had that talk on my birthday about what would it be like if we ever dated. And I try never to think too much about whether Gordy really likes me in that way. But now I’m wondering. And I’m worried today will be the day I find out. And that would be the worst possible way.
The shipyard is quiet, just the yard guys working on the engine of a boat, getting it ready for the water. We walk down the dock and find some sunny planks and dangle our legs over the edge. The mooring field is still empty, a little lonely. But it gives us an open view of the sound and Ram Island and Watch Hill behind it. The light is crisp and clear, but I’m not in the mood to appreciate it.
“So tell me about it,” he says, to my surprise. “How’d you guys get together?” He stares out at the island like we’re talking about nothing in particular.
I don’t know how to begin, so he fills in the silence: “He turned out to be the guy you’d thought he was after all, huh?”
“When I said that, it was because I thought he had a girlfriend, not Amanda, someone else. Turned out he didn’t.”
There’s a long silence, but not an uncomfortable one. He clearly has something on his mind to ask, and I want to give him the space to do it.
“So is he kind of the first?”
A short laugh escapes me.
“First what?”
“You know, the first guy you ever really cared about. I mean, not like you and I care about each other, I mean, you know.”
The corners of his eyes squint slightly; it could be glare from the water since he’s looking straight out, not at me. He’s asking if this is my first betrayal, or if there was a James before James. And the thing is—there was.
But I could never tell him. I have no choice but to flat-out lie.
“That’s a good question. I guess I don’t really know yet how I feel about James or
where it’s going. But I am excited. And I guess in a way that’s new for me.”
“Yeah, usually you’re basically skeptical and underwhelmed by the human race. Except for me, of course.” Then out of nowhere he says, “So you guys are gonna go to the prom, then.”
“Hell, no. You and I are going to the prom, whether you like it or not.”
He turns now and looks directly at me.
“No, we’re not,” is all he says. But his liquid eyes say so much more. They scream at me that I have hurt him, that he wants to be the first guy I ever really cared about, and that I have led him to this vulnerable place recklessly.
I can’t bear it. I start to cry, which is weak and somehow makes me cry harder because I feel like by crying I’m trying to make it about me. But he doesn’t comfort me. He doesn’t ask why I’m crying. Because he seems to know. And he won’t look away to make it any easier on me. Which I sort of respect, and it tells me that he has more backbone than I’d thought. Turns out I can do wrong in Gordy’s eyes. And I have.
“This doesn’t change anything about us,” I say. “Past, present, or future.”
I’m hoping for a smile, but it doesn’t come.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing’s wrong. Just don’t talk to me like that anymore. Okay?”
I have the choice of pretending I don’t know what he means. And even though it makes me really cry, I just can’t do that.
“Okay,” I manage. And in that one word, I acknowledge that I have flirted with him all my life, unconsciously and intentionally, because I want to keep him as an option. And I pretended that there could be no consequences to that. And now I understand what a thoughtless, reckless, really despicable person I am. And he doesn’t hug me to comfort me, or deny the truth of that in any way. Because we are no longer what we were and we aren’t what we might have been.
All he says is, “I’ll drive you home.”
I don’t cry on the way home. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look angry at all. Just strong and perversely very attractive. When we get to my house, he jumps out like always, and I let him open my door. He gives me a real strong hug and says, “We’re okay.” Which makes me almost cry again, but I contain myself. He just gets back into the truck and drives off.
I guess hating myself should make me cancel any plans with James tonight so that I don’t do or say something I’ll regret. But being me, it just makes me want to be with him immediately.
It’s nearly dark. I apologize to my mom for skipping dinner and bike over to James’s house. Because I’m in such a hurry, I go the direct route, which brings me by the cemetery where they buried Bill. At the service, I read from The Little Prince. “In one of the stars, I shall be living. In one of them, I shall be laughing.” And Gordy in his handsome suit was a pallbearer with Tyler and Bill’s cousins. We walked from the Noank Baptist Church, a full procession behind them to the Valley cemetery. We all put bright yellow daffodils on the casket. His dog, Mo, howled. And Gordy and I clung to each other.
There are few streetlights by the cemetery and it’s a cloudy night, no moon, no stars. I bike faster and I realize that I haven’t even called and have no idea if James is even home. He isn’t. I sit on his doorstep and wait, which is progress from hiding behind a tree.
It’s dark and really cold when he drives up. He is, of course, surprised to see me on his doorstep and worried that something is wrong.
“Something is really wrong. And it has nothing to do with you,” I say, burying my face in his chest as he hugs me.
The place is empty. His dad is traveling for work, so he takes me into the kitchen and starts to make this homemade hot chocolate from a huge block of dark chocolate. I notice that the cupboards are pretty bare. I’m guessing he and his dad don’t cook very much.
“What happened?” he asks since I’m just sitting at the table smooshing a marshmallow, unsure of where to start.
“I told Gordy about us.” I wait for him to ask why that would upset me so. But he seems to know. He sits down with the hot chocolate and looks in my eyes.
“I wondered about that today. You don’t really see who you are. You don’t really know how any guy who got close to you would feel about you. It just wouldn’t be possible for Gordy not to be hurt.”
“I’m a despicable person.”
“Because Gordy’s hurt.”
“Because I’m the one who hurt him.” I turn the mug over in my hands. It’s a souvenir from Muir Woods. It looks like his younger sister decorated his mug at Color Me Mine; it’s purple swirls with a pink heart on the bottom.
“How? Did you lead him on? Did you make promises that you didn’t keep?”
I don’t know what to say. So I hold the mug to my lips but can’t bring myself to take a sip.
“Of course you didn’t.”
“I did. I thought I could just be his best friend and at the same time sort of keep alive the possibility that maybe someday we could be even more than that.”
“And that makes you despicable, huh?”
I nod. Tears flow from my eyes, but I’m not crying. It feels like something punctured the dam today and I’m leaking. I turn my gaze from him. The hardwood floor of their kitchen is immaculate. Not a crumb. A stray tear splashes by the leg of my chair.
“What you’re not looking at is that Gordy felt exactly the same. Neither of you had found the person you really belonged to. And you were both wondering if maybe that meant someday you’d belong to each other.”
He reaches out and strokes my hair. I hold the warm mug between both my hands and sit still, frozen in my chair, staring at the floor.
“And then you found me.”
I sniffle and look up at his elegant hand curved around the purple cup. I can now smell the rich earthiness of the chocolate. “Oh and you’re so great, huh?”
“It’s not about me being great. We belong together.”
My eyes dart to his and I study them briefly; the flecks of blue, brown, and green meld together into a solid granite color. “You say that. But you don’t know me.”
“But I do. There are a million little pieces that I don’t know, and it may take the rest of our lives for me to learn them all. But I know that you’re wonderful.”
“Except you’re wrong. You’re really, really wrong. It’s nothing to do with Gordy. I’m the last person in the world that someone like you should waste their time with.” The mug suddenly feels hot and my hands are sweating. I put it down on the table and rest my hands under my thighs.
He grins. “Okay, just tell me why.”
“Because I’m crazy.” I say this softly, to the clock on the wall behind him.
“That’s the most adorable part.”
I look directly at him now. “No. Not adorable crazy. Actually, psychotically, clinically crazy. Secretly crazy. In a way no one could ever understand. No one could ever understand about me and Maggie.”
Something in his face changes; he is alert. He immediately understands that there is something really wrong here. Something really wrong with me.
“Who’s Maggie?”
I can’t open my mouth. I can barely breathe.
“Sloane. Who’s Maggie?”
“She’s me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
maggie
I’m a hot mess. My mouth is tacky and dry. My lips are raw and chapped. My hair looks like a hamster has gone loco in my locks. My cheeks appear as if they’ve been sandpapered, and last night’s mascara is basically everywhere. Thank the good Lord I turned down Andrew’s sweet begging for me to stay the night with him. If he could see me right now, he’d wonder whether his fancy French wine gave him beer goggles.
He raced back into the restaurant (after enough people on the street told us to get a room), grabbed the bottle, threw money on the table, ran back out, and we caught a cab for his place. I am not really experienced at making out (without a script). If someone told me to make out for four hours with (mostly) all
my clothes on, I’d have no clue how to keep that interesting. Turns out, it wasn’t interesting, it was spectacular. The secret is choosing the right guy.
By far the best night of my life.
This morning, I leave extra early to meet him for brunch. As I’m walking down Houston, I start to realize how pissed off I am at Sloane. After all that hand-wringing and whining about how she could never tell anyone about us, and least of all the amazing James, she just blurts it all out in the scariest, craziest way possible. The worst part is, she gave away so many private and secret things about my life. I would never do that to her.
The subject makes me walk faster and more aggressively, like a typical New Yorker. I weave through a crowd waiting for the walk signal at West Broadway and position myself in front. As I’m crossing the street, an attractive blonde coming toward me catches my eye. I have a feeling I know her from somewhere but know I really don’t, so she must just be reminding me of someone I do know, and when we pass…
…she flashes this really warm smile and says, “Hey, Sloane,” and walks right by.
Amanda Porcella.
I whip around. There is nobody there. There are hundreds of people there, but they are all real, they belong to the world. Not to my dream. I stand there in the middle of the crosswalk, terrified for a moment.
It must have been a real blonde, who thought she knew me, and I imagined the Sloane part. The light is about to change and I’m like a squirrel, turning back the way I came. I think she went south on West Broadway. I head down the block, almost pushing my way through to the curb, trying to beat the timing of the lights, but I can’t get through the sea of people. Three blocks later I give up. I’m just tired. It’s surprising that my mind doesn’t play these tricks more often.
When I get to brunch, he’s already at the table, and he looks really upset. More than upset, angry. What have I done? Or not done? It can’t be that. When he sees me coming, he jumps up, kisses me, holds my chair. And when he sits back down, he says, “I’ve got to tell you something.”
I take a sip of water, bracing myself. I blew it. I risked my friendship with him by crossing the line with that kiss, all those kisses last night, and now I’ll have none of him. He’s going to say this isn’t working for him. Last night was a mistake. Every cornball line that every actor has ever said to every actress on-screen when dumping her rolls through my mind.
Lucid Page 21