by Sarah White
I set my backpack onto the old wooden bench that circles one of the large trees growing in the quad. Sitting down next to it, I pull out Gabe’s book and reach for my lunch before spinning my body around so I can lie back against my bag. I lift my feet up onto the bench and then open the book above my face so it blocks out the bright afternoon sun. It’s pretty weather for May in California, with the sun shining down and just a hint of a breeze to keep you comfortable. I stayed up really late last night reading the book because I fell in love with the story, but there should be enough left to get me through the next thirty-five minutes.
“Why do you insist on sitting here alone?” My sister’s voice pulls me from the story. “You should still sit with your group. Just because you and Brady aren’t together anymore doesn’t mean those people aren’t still your friends.”
I let the book fall to my chest and block the shining sun with a hand over my brow. “Hello, Rosie. Sometimes I just like to be alone.” I let my eyes drift over to her friend Dawn, standing next to her. She gives me a wave.
Rosie rolls her eyes and leans closer to whisper, “You’re letting them win. Why aren’t you fighting back?”
I study her pained face for a minute. “Some battles you just can’t win. The best you can do is hope to be alive when it’s over. I think I just need to survive this.”
“You’re so dramatic,” she says with a sigh. “That doesn’t make any sense. I know you and Elle will never be friends again, but if you keep avoiding that area, you are going to lose your other friendships too.”
“I think you’re missing the part where it’s completely awkward whenever the three of us are in the same general area. No one wants to be a part of that tension . . . and that’s not even taking into account how everyone feels about the rumors Elle’s been spreading.” I wave my hand, brushing away the imaginary tension in the picture I’d just painted for her.
“Whatever. I think you should start telling people what really happened. Ruin Elle’s reputation like she’s trying to do to you. Don’t just sit over here all alone and let people think you aren’t important. Make the friends who knew and didn’t tell you look you in the eye. If you want to sit with us you can, but I think you should march right over to your old table and eat your lunch with your friends.” Rosie glances around the courtyard, trying to assess the damage I have already done to my popularity by being here alone. I move my foot from the bench and give her a little kick.
“I’ll be fine. Go eat lunch with your friends.” I lift my foot again and nudge her playfully. I can tell by her expression she doesn’t want to leave me alone, but she nods her head and links her arm through Dawn’s.
“We aren’t practicing on the front lawn today. Coast will be clear after sixth period.” She slaps away my foot. “I’ll meet you outside of student council to get a ride home.”
“You don’t have practice after school at all?” I ask.
“Not today. Coach has an appointment. We’re practicing inside the gym and then we’re free to go when the bell rings.”
“All right. Dawn, if you need a ride, meet up with us. If Rosie isn’t bugging you that is.” Rosie rolls her eyes again at my words, but both of them are laughing.
“Thanks, Everly,” Dawn answers over her shoulder as my sister pulls her away from me and back in the direction of the main lunch tables.
eight
ROSIE REACHES FOR the radio but I slap her hand away before she can change the station. “Don’t touch,” I warn as she gives me a pouty face.
“Come on, Everly. I can’t even hear myself think over this crap.”
“That’s the point,” I practically shout over the beating music, but turn the volume down because she isn’t exaggerating. I slide my sunglasses on as I wait for the slow line of cars to leave the student parking lot.
“How long did it take you to start feeling better after you and Jay broke up last year?” Rosie turns in her seat and asks Dawn. I move my gaze up to the rearview mirror so I can see her face as she sits in the back seat of my car.
“Hmm.” She purses her lips and squints her eyes as she thinks of the answer. “Maybe a couple months.” Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “I’m not sure the exact amount of time. It just sort of happened one day.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as I finally get a chance to pull out of the parking lot and onto the two-lane street in front of the school.
“Well, I was pretty sick about it for the first month. My sister told me I should start going out with other guys. She said sometimes it’s easier to get over an old boyfriend if you have a new one. At first I didn’t believe her, but after a few weeks of feeling totally miserable, I was willing to try anything, so I let her set me up with one of her friends who was a senior at West. We only went out on a couple of dates, but I think just doing that helped me not think about Jay so much. I think dating made me realize my world didn’t have to revolve around Jay, so I started feeling better.”
“See,” Rosie grumbles, nudging me in the side with her elbow.
“You’re about to lose shotgun. Abuse the privilege and I’ll let Dawn take your spot.” We all laugh when Rosie blows me a raspberry.
“I think you should try it.” Rosie’s words are a mix of hope and pleading.
“I think you should try dating,” I counter. Rosie’s never had a boyfriend. She has a lot of guy friends who she’s constantly texting, but I think she has a bad habit of putting them in the friend zone without giving them a chance to be anything more.
Rosie rolls down her window, sticking her entire arm out to wave at a group of kids crossing the street. “I’d love to try dating, but that would require a guy to actually seem interested in me.”
“Reese told me he thought you were cute,” Dawn chimes in from the back seat, her hair blowing around her face until she gives Rosie’s seat a good shove. “Close the window, social butterfly.”
“Reese is taking Mindy to prom. If he thought I was cute, he would have asked me.”
“If he was that into Mindy, he wouldn’t have brought you up during science lab and asked me a million questions about you.” Dawn finally gets control of her hair as Rosie finishes putting up the window. She doesn’t respond to Dawn, but I can see that she likes what she heard. She’s surprisingly shy when it comes to having crushes. It’s the only area of her social life she seems to struggle with.
I pull into Dawn’s driveway and wait until I’m sure she gets into her house before I drive away. With just Rosie and me in the car, I reach to turn the music back up. Rosie stops my hand with her own before I can move the dial. “I have something I want to tell you about.” My stomach instantly sinks with her words. I feel the rush of heat spread through my body and that quick flutter of my heart that usually serves as a warning that a panic attack is coming on.
“What is it?”
“I heard today that Brady is going to ask Elle to prom.” She watches my face for a minute, waiting for me to say something. Or maybe she’s waiting for me to fall apart. When I say nothing, she continues, “I just wanted to give you a chance to get used to the idea before it happens. I’m sorry. I know you really wanted to go with him. It sucks that this all blew up before you got to check that off the list.”
I’d been looking forward to going to prom with Brady since we started planning it in student council months ago. Every time we discussed a new detail, I imagined being there with him. When we chose the theme song I pictured dancing to it in his arms. When we chose the location, I had voted for the aircraft museum because I could picture wandering around beneath the old planes with him when we got bored with dancing. I was planning the perfect evening for us, so it really hurt to see Elle and Brady in my imagination instead.
Her hand moves out to squeeze my shoulder. I draw in a big breath and then let it go slowly. I focus my attention on the small white lines that seem to speed beneath our car. I do everything I can to fight off the panic attack that tries to take flight in my chest. This is not
a threat. I’m okay. I repeat the words over and over until I start feeling myself regain control over my fiercely beating heart. “Thank you,” I manage between breaths.
“It’s going to be fine. You’ll feel better by then,” Rosie reassures me.
I stare out the front windshield as we wait at the light. I hate Elle. I hate Brady. I hate prom. But most of all, I hate that seeing me hurt seems to steal the joy out of Rosie. “Boys are awful,” she says. When the light finally changes, she reaches down to the stereo and cranks the volume up until I can practically feel the vibration of the sound waves against my eardrums. I wonder if she’s thinking about Reese not asking her to prom, because if so, I’m kind of hating him too.
We might not be able to agree on our choice of music or the decibel level at which it should be played, but in this moment we both can agree that prom and boys inflict unnecessary pain on a teenage girl’s heart. And sometimes screaming out the angry lyrics of a heavy metal song is the only thing that can be done to stop from falling apart. So we sing until our voices are hoarse and the palms of our hands tingle from pounding out the rhythm on the dash and steering wheel. It doesn’t fix everything, but for the two minutes it takes us to drive the last block home, we are too busy laughing and singing to notice any hurt in our hearts.
nine
I STRUGGLED WITH anxiety Wednesday night and all day Thursday after Rosie told me what she’d heard about Brady asking Elle to prom. By Friday morning I’ve used every tool Laura has taught me to get my thoughts away from them and onto something else. That something else turned out to be Gabe. I’ve been thinking about texting him since the moment I saw his phone number inside the cover of the book. It’s been a few days since he gave it to me. I’ve even typed out a message three times and erased it. He just seems like someone who could be a friend. I realize that we only talked for a couple minutes, but he seemed silly and playful, and I get the feeling he’s smart too. I try not to think too much about the fact that I also find him cute, though it’s hard not to after the conversation that Rosie and I had. I don’t have any intention of getting into a relationship with him, but maybe an additional perk of getting to know Gabe better is that his attractiveness would help distract me from thinking about Brady.
Would it be weird to text him? I wonder for the millionth time, staring down at my phone. Maybe I should just wait until I see him again at our appointments on Tuesday. My fingers pause for a moment above the shining letters before once again typing out the message.
ME: Hi Gabe, it’s Everly Morgan. I finished the book.
I hit send and then wait as the message is marked delivered. My heart rate picks up and I tell myself it’s okay if he doesn’t respond.
As I continue to look at the phone, willing a message from him to pop up, the event notification on my phone calendar dings with a reminder that prom is four weeks away. I pull the thought log out and flatten it against my desk. I want to make sure to share the news about prom with Laura.
Situation: Brady asking Elle to prom
Feelings: Disappointed, unfixable, anxious, hurt
Unhelpful Thoughts: This is my worst nightmare coming true. This is really the end of us. Prom pictures are permanent.
Alternative Thoughts: I can hide in my room and pretend it isn’t happening and no one will notice. (Just kidding, Laura.) Prom is not the most important event that will happen in my life.
I fold the paper back up and slip it into the cover of the book I picked up at the library. I usually get books that revolve around relationships, but this time I decided to expand my horizons and go for something dystopian. Fine, I might also have liked the idea of teenage death matches. Just when I’m about to swing my backpack over my shoulder to head to school, my phone chimes with a text.
GABE: What did you think?
ME: You were right. It’s amazing.
GABE: Totally.
ME: Thanks for letting me borrow it. I’ll bring it Tuesday if you’ll be there.
GABE: I’ll be there.
I have so much I want to talk to my therapist about on Tuesday, and now that I know Gabe will be in the waiting room, I’m eager to get through the next few days, which I already know are going to feel especially long thanks to all the work I have to get started on for student council. Prom is approaching and that means I’ll be busy with helping to design the posters and flyers to promote the dance. I already helped scope out the sites earlier this year and gave my input on any vendors we were going to hire to make it a success. I can’t believe how quickly the time has flown by and that soon everyone is going to begin pairing up so they can buy their tickets.
My mother told me that when she was in high school, asking someone to prom was not a big deal. Couples would automatically go together without any big production, and singles asked out other singles over lunch or in between classes. I wish my generation were more like hers. We have made some advances, such as allowing same-sex couples to go together, but we have turned the invite into a social production on the grandest scale. To make matters worse, the school staff has joined in on the craziness, and a limo ride to the dance will be given to the couple with the most unique and epic invite. All students who participate will have their names on a ballot, and our entire student body will vote in their homerooms the day before our big prom rally.
Prom is four weeks away, whether I’m ready to face that night or not. The tickets go on sale today at lunch, and I was excused from my first period class to help hang the posters advertising our theme and ticket prices. “Stay with Me” sounded great as a theme when I voted on it at the beginning of the year. I had pictured Brady and me dancing in our formal wear beneath the lights of a disco ball, my head on his chest as we talked about going away to college together. Now I imagine myself watching him dance with Elle as I silently beg him to stay with me.
I’ve been on edge all morning, scampering from class to class in an attempt to avoid any over-the-top invites that might be happening in the hallways. By third period, the school is abuzz with stories of prom invites. I hear that someone released at least a hundred balloons to get the attention of his prospective prom date on the third floor of building three. Another guy set up his electric guitar on the steps of the auditorium so he could play his girlfriend “their song.”
At least I don’t have to worry about seeing Brady ask Elle. We talked about it when we were together, and he told me it wasn’t his thing to embarrass himself in front of everyone, that he’d just ask me some private way so that it would be more intimate—something only he and I knew the details of. At least that’s the Alternative Thought I keep repeating to myself so that I won’t break down in a puddle of tears every time I see a poster or hear a story of how someone has been asked.
My grandma used to tell me that I shouldn’t put negative energy out there. She believed you could make something bad happen just by thinking about it. I never believed her, but as I leave my third period class, I step into a quad decorated with brown and gold streamers, our school colors, twisting in the breeze above us. I’m on the ground level of a two-story building when what seems like the entire football team and cheer squad fill the second floor railing.
Our school song starts playing from the speakers of a very old boom box, being lifted above everyone’s heads. As I watch, the boom box appears to float toward me through the crowd and I feel my heart struggle to pump through the fear and pain that are choking it. I know the hands that are gripping that boom box. I know them because for years I held them—traced each crease with my fingers as we shared secrets.
Brady’s eyes meet mine and his brilliant smile falters. He quickly looks away and I know the moment when he finds Elle’s eyes because his cheeks lift again with happiness. She saunters into the quad and throws her hands up to her mouth perfectly, just as if some great Hollywood screenwriter has scripted it. Brady sets down the boom box and lowers himself to one knee as the entire female population lets out a collective sigh.
I pull my eye
s away from the scene in front of me and feel my legs begin to weaken beneath me. I turn and take off running, not caring that the whole student body can see me. It’s far less embarrassing then being seen sobbing hysterically.
The girls’ bathroom door is within reach as I push my way past the last few students on their way to the big show. A strong hand grips my elbow and pulls me backward, tugging me into the boys’ bathroom instead. My thoughts are scattered and I start to protest, but Gabe spins me around and holds me by my elbows.
“It’s better in here,” he assures me gently. “No girls.”
I nod, but a sob breaks free and I pull my elbows from him so I can cover my face. He hesitates for a moment and then his warm arms encircle me, pulling me to his chest, rubbing the back of my head as I proceed to unravel. I hear the door begin to squeak open, but Gabe growls, “Get the fuck out,” and it closes again quickly. He lets me go and grabs the rim of the large metal trash can sitting outside the stalls and drags it over to the door, barricading us inside safely. Then his arms are around me again.
My face is pressed into his chest and I feel the slow beat of his heart against my skin. Deep breath in and slowly out. Repeat. I finally stop whimpering and instead fight the small hiccups that have taken over. He doesn’t let go of me, keeping me pressed into him, slowly rocking as I try to pull myself together.
His voice is barely a whisper, yet deep and rough. “That was the worst eighties remake I’ve ever seen. He’s an idiot and she deserves him. Does he even realize that our school colors are hideous? Brown and gold. Show me one romantic thing that comes in brown and gold. Pink, maybe. Red. I’m not an expert, but I think he fucked that up.”