by Teresa Hill
She starts talking and doesn’t stop for a solid five minutes. Our teacher’s late, so Dana has extra time to go on and on about how amazing everything there is, how beautiful, how different, the ocean, the beach, and how cold the water is, and what she learned and how much she loved the give and take of opinions, even arguments, in the philosophy class she attended. How you can catch a bus or a commuter train and be in San Francisco in an hour, and what a beautiful and different kind of city it is.
Fucking Stanford.
It’s gotten to where I want to hit something every time someone says the school’s name.
“Uhh, hello? What about the guys?” Becca asks. “Please, tell me you met some hot guys.”
Dana laughs, and my gut churns. “I stayed in a room with the RA in one of the upperclassmen dorms. She said the guys at Stanford fall into four main groups, the techies, the frat boys, the athletes and the pseudo-typical California guys. Pseudo because you can’t be all that laid-back and survive at Stanford. The workload is too high. I think she’s right. I saw all four types.”
“Yes, and ... The hot ones?” Becca asks.
“Definitely, the athletes. We were in one of the dining halls for lunch, and a whole team of the most amazing-looking guys came in. The rowing team or maybe the sailing team. I wasn’t close enough to see who they were for sure, but one of the girls sitting beside me said she thought it was one of those teams.”
“Sailing is a college team sport?” Becca asks.
“I guess so.” Dana practically giggles.
Sailing team? Rowing team? Frat boys? I want to go beat the shit out of every guy out there who so much as looked at her.
“So, that’s it? My best friend is going to college all the way out on the West Coast?” Becca asks.
“I don’t know. I’m interested in a lot of places I haven’t seen yet. Who knows where I’ll end up? And even if I wanted to go to Stanford, I still have to get in--”
“You’ll get in,” I say.
“Do you know what their acceptance rate is?” she asks. “About six percent. Six out of every hundred students who apply get in. That’s insane!”
“Dana, you’ll get in.”
She’s going to get everything she wants. I know it. She deserves it.
And it’s time for me to stop dreaming, to really let go of the idea of me and her. I need to make it clear that it’s not going to happen. I’ll have to push her away and really mean it, really keep some distance between us. God, it’s probably going to be one of the hardest things I ever do, but it’s inevitable.
All those things standing between us? They’re not going anywhere. Her dad, my crazy mother, Julie’s spot in the family, everything Julie and Zach have done for me, every lousy, ugly poisonous emotion inside of me, all the marks on my body, all the things I never want Dana to know. I couldn’t stand it.
What was I thinking? Giving myself all this time to hope, to keep fooling myself that one day, somehow, she might be mine? I’ve spent my whole life wanting things I can’t have. It’s not a new feeling. But not having her? Ever? That’ll be the worst of it.
I don’t give myself time to think anymore, to try to talk myself out of it, to live any longer in denial. I have to do something, right now. It has to be done.
So I look off to the right and catch the eye of a girl who’s been into me for a while now. She stands a little too close to me, finds excuses to touch me, invites me to parties or other places where she’s going to be.
She’s a pretty girl. Not Dana. No one else is. But sexy, easy to talk to, not as giggly or silly as some girls are.
I could go out with her. I could do all sorts of things with her or any number of other girls.
It’s a dick move, but it will get the job done, the way no amount of talking or trying to explain will. It’ll be quick, too, and I can’t afford to hesitate.
So I walk over to that girl I don’t really want. It’s three steps, and it’s like I watch my whole past with Dana roll through my head as I take those steps. First time I saw her. First time I went to her house for a cookout, and she walked up to me with a huge smile on her face like she was so excited to see me. First time she slipped her hand into mine, made me feel like I could do anything. First time she took my breath away, and I decided she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. Falling asleep with her in my arms the night Luc died. Kissing her outside the hospital, and feeling like my heart was going to explode inside my chest. A million times in my room late at night that I’ve imagined peeling her shirt off of her, unhooking her bra, holding one perfect breast of hers in my hand, pulling her good-girl panties down those amazing legs of hers and sinking inside of her. The way she’d look at me with those big, brown eyes of her when I did it. Telling her I love her, and her telling me she loves me.
Three fucking steps.
I’m giving all that up, trying to smile while I do it and not look like I’m dying inside.
* * *
Dana
Becca and I sit at lunch, finally alone after everyone finishes their food and leaves, and she says, “Did you see Peter’s face while you were talking about all the hot guys at Stanford?”
I grin, ridiculously pleased. “Yes. And thank you for asking about the guys.”
“And it was all true, right? The guys are that hot?”
“So hot.”
“And you saw a whole sailing or rowing team full of hot ones?”
I giggle then. It’s hard not to. I’ve never seen such eye-candy before, and all in one place. And even if it’s so far away and Stanford may be nothing more than a place I saw once and considered attending, it still makes me think that college -- and college guys -- will be a whole different world from high school and high school guys.
It’s not that I looked at one of them and thought, Okay, I’ll take you. You can make me get over Peter. I just saw … possibilities, intriguing possibilities, potential, where for the past three years I haven’t met anyone I thought could possibly interest me the way he does.
I don’t know where that leaves me and Peter. I don’t know what will happen to us. It’s more than a year and a half, and it seems so far away right now. It feels like forever until we graduate.
“You could have at least made out with one of the hot guys,” Becca says.
“And say what? I’m a pitifully inexperienced high school virgin, hung up on this guy forever, and he just wants to be my friend. Would you please just make out with me a bit?”
Becca shrugs. “It might have worked. And ... You know, you might have liked it. You might have really liked it. You might forget all about Mr. Oblivious to what’s right in front of him.”
“Sorry to disappoint you. I didn’t make out with anybody.” I didn’t want to. Even so far away, seeing so many new, older guys, I still kept obsessing about Peter kissing me. I haven’t even told Becca yet. So much happened so fast, and then I left.
“Flirt with anyone?” she asks, wanting to hear all about California.
“I don’t know. I talked to a lot of people. Some of them were guys. Most of them were nice. A few of them I talked to would probably be considered hot.”
Becca groans. “You cannot spend the entire time you’re in high school hung up on a guy who isn’t into you.”
“God, I hope not,” I say, although honestly, I’ve known Peter since I was twelve, and I’ve always felt this way about him. It’s never changed.
I was so excited after that kiss, so hopeful. I still am, despite what Peter said the morning I left. I still hope that the first time I see him alone, something wonderful happens between us. That kiss was amazing. It was everything I imagined, everything I dreamed and hoped for in a real first kiss. A crush-me-against-you-so-I-can-feel-your-whole-body-against-mine, your-amazing-arms-tight-around-me, your-soft-soft-lips-pressed-against-mine and your-tongue-tangled-with-mine kind of kiss.
I shiver just thinking about it, walk through the halls after lunch in kind of a daze reliving that kiss.
I don’t care what he said the morning I left. I think more than anything, he was just worried about me being around a bunch of older guys all weekend. And I don’t tell Becca, but even in California on the beach with all those college guys around, I still kept imagining being there with Peter. Playing in the water, laughing, kissing, watching the sun go down. Even there, my mind was on him.
Maybe I won’t wait for Peter to make a move on me. I might attack him the first chance I get--
Beside me, Becca gasps and stops abruptly. I stop, too. Kids behind us grumble and then find their way around us. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She looks at me, and I think I know, even before I see it for myself. I just know. My heart speeds up, and it’s like the breath is locked in my chest, no air going in, no more going out. Everything just stops, except for the way it hurts. It literally hurts deep inside me, like my heart is made of red paper and someone pulls it out of my chest, tears it into pieces and drops it on the floor. Like all the kids walking around us and down the hall are stepping all over my poor paper heart.
Off to Becca’s left, in a little, dark alcove with a door to a storage area, a door I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone use, is Peter. He has a girl pressed up against the wall by the door, his arms around her, hers around him, kissing her like crazy.
Kissing her just like he kissed me.
“Dana, come on. We have to get out of here.” Becca tugs on my arm.
I can’t move. I can’t say anything. I can’t look away. It’s like I’m waiting for someone to rewind the days, all the way back to when Peter and I were outside the hospital, him holding me so tight, kissing me, wanting me.
It felt so much like he wanted me.
Me, not anybody else.
And here he is kissing Wendy Jacobsen.
“She’s been throwing herself at him for months,” I tell Becca. “I’ve wanted to tear her hair out, just for the way she looks at him. And he hasn’t cared at all. He could have been with her all this time, if he’d wanted her, and he didn’t. I swear, he didn’t want her!”
“Dana, people are staring. Do you want that? Do you want everyone to know how much you hate this?”
I can’t say I really care. I don’t care about anything except what I see with my own two eyes. It just goes on and on and on, in one of those excessive PDAs that’s definitely against the rules of our high school.
They obviously don’t care.
Finally, Becca tugs my arm so hard I can’t ignore it, and I let her get me away from there before I make an even bigger fool of myself over that guy. She ducks into the gym, and then into the girl’s locker room. She doesn’t stop until we’re in one of the shower stalls with the shower curtain pulled shut. Some girls are in the locker room changing, but no one uses these showers. They’re gross. So we have a little privacy, probably as much as we can manage at school right now.
I’m crying, I realize once we get in there, and I’m breathing again, which is good, because, you know, you have to go on breathing. It’s not like we have a choice, even when we don’t want to.
I still hurt, still feel like people are walking all over my torn-up paper heart.
“Maybe it wasn’t exactly his idea,” Becca says. “I mean, like you said, she’s been all over him for months.”
“I know. I told myself the same thing. He could have had her anytime he wanted. But I could say the same thing about me, except it hasn’t been months. It’s been years, and all he’s done is kiss me one time, just the way he’s kissing her right now.”
“Okay, yeah, but--”
“No,” I say. “No buts. I know you’re trying to make me feel better, and I love you for that, but ... That’s not a one-sided kiss. It’s not the kind you end up with if only one person wants it. That’s a real kiss. He was as into it as she was.”
“Still, maybe it didn’t really mean anything to him. I mean, he’s a guy--”
“That’s what he said about kissing me. That he’s a guy. That guys don’t turn down the chance to kiss a pretty girl, but it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Wait, he kissed you?”
I nod, sobbing. “The night of my mom and Lizzie’s accident, and then the morning I left for California, he claimed it was nothing. That if a guy gets a chance to kiss a girl, he’ll take it. And it doesn’t mean a thing.”
Becca looks stunned and lost. I can tell she has no idea what to say, because there is nothing to say. There’s nothing that makes this better.
Did it mean anything when he kissed me? Looks like it didn’t.
Does it mean anything that he’s kissing Wendy now?
It must, because over the next few days, I see them together all the time, see more than one make-out session in the hallway at school.
I’m as miserable and heartbroken as I’ve ever been in my life.
This is awful. This is hell.
* * *
Peter
Four days later, I hear Dana’s dad tell Sam she got her SAT scores. 740 in math, 760 in English.
She found some website that claims you should get about a 50-point increase in each score for every year of school. So, next fall, when she takes the same test in senior year, when it really counts, she could easily get double eight hundreds. Perfect scores.
She’ll get into whatever school she wants. She’ll go to some place like Stanford, while I’m going nowhere. That’s the truth.
So, here I am, kissing a girl I think is okay, but definitely not her. Not Dana. Hanging out with her at school, letting her practically crawl all over me if Dana’s anywhere nearby to maybe see or any of her friends who might tell her are nearby.
It’s not good, but it’s not awful.
I can do it. In my life, I’ve done a lot of things I didn’t want to do.
Hurt Dana.
I did that. I’ve seen her face when she sees me kissing Wendy, and I hate myself for it – for hurting Dana.
But it’s what I had to do. It’s the right thing, in the long run.
I just have to keep telling myself that. I did the right thing for her.
* * *
Dear Readers,
Thank you so much for buying my books. If you’d like to know when I have a new book for sale, please sign up for my mailing list at my website or follow me on Facebook or Twitter. I play on Pinterest with image boards to help me plan my books.
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*Saving Myself For You is a prequel to my new YA/NA series featuring Dana & Peter, which begins with Making A Fool Of Myself Over You, on sale in late spring 2015.
Page forward for an Excerpt.
*As a reader, I know what it’s like to get so drawn into a book that the whole world falls away. You care so much about the characters that you find yourself crying over them, and feel like you’re saying good-bye to old friends once the story’s done. My best hope as a writer is to create that kind of experience for you, to help you know that you’re not alone, that you’re not the only person who’s ever felt the way you do, and that it’s possible to overcome really awful things in life and become happy. I also hope to show everything is better with someone you love beside you. Much love to all of you,
Teresa
* * *
Excerpt: Making A Fool Of Myself Over You
Peter
I have a hard time saying no to her. And a really hard time staying away from her. I know going into her house is a mistake, even as I get out of the truck, but I still do it.
The only excuse I have is that she caught me all jacked up from the fight. That, and I really want to be here with her, to have her touching me. I want it so bad.
She takes me by the hand and pulls me into her
house, through the mudroom, into the big kitchen. At the sink, she tugs my bloody t-shirt over my head and takes it away. Then she pushes my head forward until I’m nose-down, puts my hand on the bridge of my nose and tells me to pinch hard.
Blood starts to drip onto the clean, white sink.
“You’re supposed to tilt your head back,” I say.
“No, forward. If you tilt it back, all the blood runs down your throat, and you don’t want that. It’ll make you nauseous.”
She walks away for a minute, then comes back and sticks what feels like an ice cube on the back of my neck. Freezing cold against my warm skin, it startles me.
“What the hell, Dana?” I jump, lose my hold on my nose for a few seconds, and blood flows faster until I get a hold again in the right place.
“Give it a few minutes. It should help your nose stop bleeding. Just relax.”
With her standing so close to me? Her arm resting on my shoulder, her hand cupping that ice cube to my neck?
Not gonna happen.
“This is ridiculous,” I say, but as I try to lift my head, she pushes it back down.
It’s the damnedest thing. The girl insists on taking care of me. Nobody’s ever really done that. Julie used to try, but after she first came back, I let her know right away that it was too late. I tried that with Dana, too. I really think I did. It didn’t work worth a damn. She is the most stubborn girl on earth, always seems to find a way to get what she wants, and for some reason, she wants to take care of me.
She must think I need it tonight, so she’s fussing over a bloody nose and a few cuts and scrapes. Like they’re important. I’ve had so much worse than this. But I don’t tell her that, because I don’t want her to know.
So that little ice cube melts all over me. It drips down my neck, my chest, my back. She tries to catch the trickle running down my neck with her hand at first, and it’s all I can do not to groan, to growl at her to stop touching me, before I do something I really shouldn’t. Finally, she manages to tear off a paper towel single-handedly and uses that instead of her hand to catch the water running down my neck.