The Victoria in My Head

by Janelle Milanes

  I slam my locker shut. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Annie rushing down the hall. She usually meets me at my locker after school, but today she’s speed-walking toward the stairwell. What is she actually doing after school? She wouldn’t lie to me unless it was something big.

  In my desperation for a distraction, I decide to do something shameful. Something beneath me.

  I’m going to follow her.

  I’m almost sure her lie has something to do with her current crush; otherwise she’d be honest with me about what she’s doing after school. I’m dying to see who’s managed to capture Annie’s affections and alter her five-year plan.

  Hiking up my backpack, I keep my eyes trained on her jet-black ponytail and the way it swings from side to side when she walks, like a beacon amidst the crowd. When she starts down the stairwell, I make sure to slip in and out of a group of students directly behind her. She exits the building and turns right, heading through the quad and out the campus gates.

  Luckily, there’s a steady stream of students pouring out, so I’m able to go unnoticed. Annie’s walking pace is unnaturally quick to begin with, but it’s accelerated now, like she’s purposely trying to lose someone. After a few blocks she reaches the uptown subway train, but instead of going inside, she turns right.

  I duck behind a tree, waiting for her to walk farther down the street before I follow. She continues walking, past Columbus and Amsterdam, then stops outside of Artie’s Diner.

  Does she actually have a date? In a diner? Annie hates diners. She thinks they’re grimy and rat infested. But in she goes, through the swinging door and out of sight. I creep up toward the smudged front window. I want just one glimpse of her mystery man. Then I’ll stop. Through the window of the diner, I see her take a seat in the booth at the back, but I can’t see who she’s sitting with.

  I stand on my tiptoes, trying to peer over the heads of the other diners, mostly groups of high school students. A crotchety man sipping a coffee scowls at me through the glass. I back away. If I move to the other window, I’ll get a better view of the back of the diner. The problem is I’ll also have a better chance of getting caught.

  I decide to take the risk. If Annie had been honest with me from the beginning, I wouldn’t have to resort to stalking. I move to the other window, hunching over Quasimodo style. If I lean a little to the right, I can get a view of mystery man’s head.

  Stretching my body to the side, I catch a glimpse of wavy dark-brown hair. I tilt my head farther, ignoring the incoming muscle crick in my neck.

  Then I freeze.

  I recognize that hair. The way it pokes up every different direction like it can’t make up its mind.

  An embarrassing choking sound rises from my throat. Simultaneous panic and terror seize my body, paralyzing me from head to toe. When I try to breathe, my throat tightens, cutting off my airflow. My body turns to ice, and I truly, 100 percent, think that I might die right here outside this filthy diner.

  My thoughts spin around me, and the only one I can hang on to is the one that makes me feel worse:

  Annie’s on a date with Strand.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  “GIDDY STRATOSPHERES”

  —THE LONG BLONDES

  I’m sitting in my room that night, mulling over what I saw. I’ve been mulling ever since I trudged home from Artie’s. I mulled about it on the train, mulled about it while eating spaghetti with my family for dinner, and I’m mulling about it now instead of finishing Pride and Prejudice for English homework.

  Strand and Annie? When? How? Most important . . . why? I try to reason away their secret rendezvous, but nothing I come up with makes sense. Nothing explains why Annie would lie to me.

  They don’t match as a couple. Can’t they see that? They’re all sorts of wrong for each other. I know opposites attract, but Annie and Strand together is a little extreme. She’s all schedules and plans, while Strand is . . . well, a mess. Annie could never handle it.

  She does like to clean, though. She might consider Strand the ultimate project, like those home makeover shows she watches on HGTV. God knows I’m hard on Strand sometimes, but he deserves better than someone who sees him as a fixer-upper. He’s spontaneous and funny and lives in the moment. I don’t want Annie to take that away and turn him into an Evanston robot. He’s different from the others.

  Yes, he’s dated a lot of girls. Way too many girls. He obviously has a plethora of commitment issues. Unless . . . what if Annie’s using him for sex? Does she want someone with experience to pop her cherry? Does she want to be one of the many in his harem of women? Or are they embarking on an honest relationship?

  If they’re dating, really and truly dating, I should be happy for them—“should” being the operative word. Instead, I feel betrayed. My best friend and my . . . whatever Strand is.

  And ew, what if they publicly display their affection all over school? Make out during lunchtime? Hold hands in the halls? Is Annie going to—God forbid—sit on his lap? I physically won’t be able to handle that.

  But they’re my friends, and I should want the best for them. End of story. If they want to date, good luck to them.

  Despite all the peace and love my brain is spouting, I pick up my desk chair and hurl it across my room. It slams against the wall with a crash louder than I anticipated.

  Oops.

  Moments later, Dad bursts through the door, halfway through the act of undressing, wearing his polo work shirt and pajama bottoms. “Ria! What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

  “¿Qué pasó?” Mom shouts behind him.

  “Sorry.” I’m in a state of shock after my Hulk transformation. I stare at the chair now lying helpless on its back. “Just an accident.”

  “An accident?” Mom squeezes past Dad and notices the desk chair. She looks at me in disbelief.

  I pray that she doesn’t ask me what kind of accident would end with my chair flying across the room.

  “I’m okay,” I say, feeling my cheeks warm. “Sorry for the noise.”

  “Do you . . . Is there something you want to talk about?” Mom asks, head swiveling from me to the chair.

  “Is this about Leo?” Dad asks. “He’s not worth it.”

  “It’s not about Levi,” I reply, grabbing the chair and planting it in front of my desk. It’s a little wobbly, but not broken. “Anyway, I have a lot of homework to do, so . . .”

  They hesitate for a moment, then slowly back away from me.

  “We’re here if you need to talk,” Mom says as they shuffle out of my room. Before closing the door, she looks back at me as though fearful I’m having a psychotic breakdown. Maybe I am. Throwing my chair against the wall is not exactly a normal reaction to finding out my two friends are dating.

  Okay, fine. If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not happy about it. Strand needs someone who can appreciate his music. Someone imaginative, someone who can call him out on his crap but still be open to his point of view.

  No. No, no, no, no, NO. This can’t be happening.

  I can’t be in love with Strand. There are so many reasons why I can’t be in love with him.

  Except . . . what were those reasons again? Because I was with Levi? Or was it that Strand’s too good-looking? Too confident? Too experienced?

  None of those reasons seem to matter like they used to. Or is there another reason at the root of all the others? Do all my excuses boil down to the fact that I’m a giant wuss? That I had to make excuses to cover my fear of going after who I wanted?

  Of course, there’s no point in overanalyzing now. Not when there’s a larger, more pressing reason looming above all the others.

  Strand is dating my best friend. And that’s the reason I can’t argue against.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “UNDER A ROCK”

  —WAXAHATCHEE

  I won’t be another member of Strand’s female fan club, one of the many clamoring for his affections. That’s not me. I won’t let on to what I�
��m feeling. It’s all about the power of self-control. After all, emotions are only chemical reactions in the brain. I can beat them. And if I can’t, I’ll lock my feelings in tight and shut them away until I forget they exist. Simple, right?

  I try to act as normal as possible the next day at lunch, even though he sits right next to me and my skin shivers every time his arm brushes against mine.

  Snap out of it, Cruz.

  “Scoot over,” I tell him, wrenching my arm away.

  “I’m not even near you.”

  “You’re in my personal space.”

  “Okay . . .” He scoots his chair over about an inch. “Is this better for you, Princess?”

  “Yes.” I look away from him. Do not engage. Those blue eyes of his are dangerous.

  “What’s with the mood?” Krina asks me.

  “There’s no mood.”

  She looks over at Annie, and Annie shrugs in return before taking a bite of her salad. Salad. Again. She even eats it the same way, picking out the blue cheese and dicing up the hardboiled egg into four equal pieces before pouring on the dressing. I hope Strand is ready for a lifetime of predictability.

  Stop it. Annie is your friend. Be happy for her.

  “Shit,” I hear Krina murmur. When I look up, she’s staring across the cafeteria. “Wait, Vi,” she starts to say, but I turn my head in the direction of her gaze.

  Levi has entered. And it’s not just Levi. Attached to his arm is a small, pale girl with freckles and chestnut-brown hair.

  My first thought is, shamefully, that I’m prettier than her. Even though I’m over Levi, I feel a strange sense of ownership, as though this girl is trespassing on my property.

  I tear my eyes away before Levi can catch me staring. I feel everyone waiting for my reaction, not just at our lunch table, but throughout the cafeteria.

  When I look at Krina and Annie, they wear matching expressions of guilt on their faces.

  “Did you guys know about this?” I ask them quietly.

  “We weren’t sure,” Krina says. “We wanted to tell you, but we didn’t want to worry you if it was nothing.”

  “Clearly, it’s something,” I say.

  Levi and the girl are standing in line with their trays now. They’ve stopped holding hands, but she has her head on his shoulder.

  “Asshole,” Strand mutters. He gives me a face, one I’ve never seen from him before. I recognize the expression. It’s pity. And it’s the last thing I want him to feel for me.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Annie asks. “We can take our food somewhere else so we don’t have to look at them . . .”

  I have to remind myself not to hate my best friend of ten years. So her love life is taking off with the person I’ve liked all along. The guy who is now looking at me like I’m an unwanted shelter pet just as I’ve discovered my ex has quickly moved on to someone else like I never mattered.

  Nothing worth getting riled up over.

  “I’m fine,” I reply. I take a sip of water to moisten my lips, which are suddenly dry and cakey.

  Now the pity is on all of their faces, and no one is speaking.

  “Actually,” I go on, “I remembered I have some homework to finish for class. I’ll see you guys later.”

  I leave my tray in the middle of the table and rush out of the cafeteria, away from the stares and the girl with her head on my ex-boyfriend’s shoulder. I’m worried I’m going to start crying at any moment. I hustle down the hallway toward the bathroom, when I hear a voice behind me.

  “Vi!”

  When I stop to turn around, Annie is pumping her arms and speed-walking to catch up with me.

  “You liar,” she says. “You always finish your homework before class.”

  Sometimes it sucks that she knows me so well.

  “I didn’t feel like staying for the show,” I mumble.

  “Do you want me to punch him in the face for you? Because I will.”

  “Yes. Right on the mouth so this new girl will have to kiss it when it’s swollen and bloody.”

  “I’ll go buy some brass knuckles after school.”

  I smile a little. It feels foreign.

  “I swear I was going to tell you,” Annie says. “I wanted to make sure they were dating before I said anything.”

  “How long have you been seeing them together?” I ask.

  “A couple days after you broke up. She’s in the school band with him. I think she plays the flute.”

  “Oh.” According to that time line, Levi either works very quickly or this girl played a role in our breakup.

  “I’m sorry, Vi. I should have told you sooner.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, because her face is scrunching up like she’s going to cry.

  “I hate him. I really do,” she says.

  “Ann, you don’t hate anybody.”

  “I do so. I hate people who throw trash out their car window, and people who man-spread on the subway. And people who hurt my best friend.”

  I can’t deny the blaze of anger that jolts through me when I think of Levi. I might hate him. I look at Annie, prepared to hate her now too. Then I notice how close she is to tears, and it puts a damper on my hate.

  Annie is one of the few people in my life who has always been there for me. She always wants the best for me, even though to her, the best usually means a perfect college application and a future high-paying job.

  If she knew what I felt for Strand, she would stop seeing him in a heartbeat.

  I don’t want Annie to hate Levi or feel my sadness, because she deserves to be happy. Maybe dating Strand will help her escape normal life, like joining Debaser did for me.

  “How are things going with your mystery crush?” I ask.

  She bends her head so that her soft black hair falls over her face. She’s wearing it loose today. It used to be tied back all the time for optimum efficiency. I wonder if she’s trying to look prettier for Strand or if she’s growing out of her old style.

  “You don’t want to talk about this,” she says. “Let’s talk about how much we hate Levi.”

  “I don’t want you to hate Levi. I can hate him fine on my own.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Seriously. We always talk about me. I’d rather talk about you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Okay.” Annie draws in her breath. “Things are going well with my crush. So well that it’s freaking me out.”

  “Why would that freak you out?”

  “Because . . .” Her face clears. “I don’t know what I did to deserve to feel this good. Especially when you’re so miserable.”

  “Of course you deserve it,” I say. “I think it’s great. And . . . I’m happy for you. Really happy.”

  Yes, this is a lie. But I once read that if you say something enough, you can will the statement into being. As Annie’s friend, I’m supposed to be happy when she’s happy. I’m not there yet, but I think that sometime in the faraway future, if I keep saying it enough, I can be.

  Chapter Fifty

  “FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS”

  —JIM O’ROURKE

  With Levi dating someone new, I can finally close the casket on our relationship. It’s strange to see him with someone else and suddenly become an outsider in his life. Sometimes I’ll make comparisons, like whether her hair is softer than mine when he runs his fingers through it. Whether he’s gone under her bra yet. Whether he’s brought her over for dinner. Whether she likes that damn dog of Shira’s. He doesn’t have lunch with the rest of us anymore. He and that girl sit with a few of the band kids on the other side of the cafeteria.

  I think about all of these things, but it doesn’t hurt like it used to. It’s subsided to a dull ache now.

  Annie and Strand haven’t gone public with their relationship yet, but I know it’s still going on because Annie walks around school with a dopey, dreamy look on her face. She also forgot to bring her notebook to math class, whi
ch has never happened in the history of Annie. Her hair is always down now, like she can’t be bothered to style it anymore.

  Whenever I ask her about it, she presses her lips into a little smile and says, “Nothing’s definite yet.”

  “You don’t have to spare my feelings,” I say. “I’m over Levi now.”

  She keeps smiling in that distant way of someone who is sickeningly in love. How are you supposed to function in life when you want to slap your best friend?

  There’s a difference between the way I think about Levi and the way I think about Strand. One causes me a small twinge of bitterness, and the other feels like a machete has split me in two.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  “SEASONS (WAITING ON YOU)”

  —FUTURE ISLANDS

  Today is my birthday, and the Battle of the Boroughs is in two days.

  I remember thinking, only a few months ago, that this would be the most important week of my life. Now it’s here, and it’s empty.

  I wouldn’t have remembered my birthday if not for Mom, Dad, and Matty crowding around my bed to sing me awake. Matty pushes down on the edge of my mattress to the rhythm of the birthday song. When I sit up, Mom positions our old, stained breakfast tray onto my lap with a plate of Cuban pastelitos that my dad bought. They’re my favorite—crackling pastries filled with cream cheese and guava. Pastelitos are a Cruz birthday tradition that I usually look forward to, but today they make my stomach turn.

  “Happy sweet sixteen,” she says, squeezing me in a hug. Dad plants a wet kiss on my forehead.

  “Thank you, thank you.” I stretch my eyelids open, secretly wishing I were anywhere but here.

  “Do you feel older?” Matty asks, studying my face as though I’m about to sprout wrinkles.