One of the Guys

by Lisa Aldin

  “Toni, look.” Loch points to something in the dirt. I move in next to him, leaning forward, trying to see what he sees. My arm brushes his arm.

  “What?” I’m staring at a pile of leaves.

  “Don’t you see that?” Loch points his camera at the ground like it’s the most interesting piece of earth on, well, Earth. All I see are the leaves and dirt. “There.” Loch points again.

  Beneath the leaves, what looks to be a footprint is stamped into the mud. I nod. “Looks like someone’s footprint.”

  Loch straightens and grins. His teeth are super-white. I don’t think he’s gone a day without flossing. “Not just anyone’s footprint. Bigfoot’s!”

  I laugh and punch him in the arm. He punches me back, grinning again. I start walking, and Loch follows, shortening his long strides to keep pace with mine.

  “I just want to know everything I can about this world,” Loch says after several moments of silence. His eyes are cast downward. “I want to discover the stuff thought to be unreal.”

  “You want to recapture something from fifth grade,” I say.

  “Maybe.” Loch fidgets with his camera. He doesn’t look at me. “Don’t you?”

  A twig snaps behind us. We both turn, on high alert. I search the trees for the culprit but find nothing. When my pulse quickens, I feel stupid. Not like an axe murderer would attempt to kill us in broad daylight, but the sense of isolation out here, tucked away amongst the sugar maples, is sort of creepy. Maybe it’s best I lay off the horror movies.

  “BOO!” Someone drops from the tree above us. I scream and wrap my arms around Loch’s waist, burying my face in his chest. He curls his arms around me, squeezing tight.

  “I got you guys so good!” a voice says, laughing.

  I look up to see Emma Elizabeth Swanson grinning back at me, her sequined pink sweater reflecting the sunlight, her honey-blonde hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her jeans are light blue and shredded at the knees.

  “What are you doing?” I try to catch my breath, embarrassed I screamed so loud.

  “Same thing you are.” Emma’s eyes twinkle. “These woods are a great make-out spot.”

  I look up at Loch. He looks back, his cheeks red. We’re still holding each other. Quickly, we take a huge step back, peeling ourselves apart.

  “Sorry if I interrupted. I’m Emma, by the way.” She extends her hand to me, then Loch. We each shake it. Her nails are painted a pale purple and specked with glitter. She points to me and says, “You’re in my business class, right?”

  I nod. “Toni Valentine.”

  “Right. The new girl with the romantic name.” Her eyes shift to Loch. “Now I know you don’t go to Winston.”

  “This is Loch,” I say. “My buddy. My pal. My platonic friend—”

  “In other words, not her make-out partner,” Loch interrupts. “My name’s Micah.”

  “Oh. My mistake. Nice to meet you both.” Emma looks around. “You haven’t seen anyone else roaming the woods, have you? Perhaps a short guy with messy hair and adorable eyes?”

  “Nope. Sorry,” I say, exchanging a look with Loch. He just shrugs.

  “Sometimes I think Kevin avoids me on purpose.” Emma chews on her lower lip. “Am I being paranoid?”

  All I can muster up is, “Huh?”

  “He’s probably around here somewhere,” Loch says. “You never know what you’ll find deep in the woods.” He winks at me. “Keep looking.”

  Emma smiles. “Thanks!” she says. She prances off into the woods like an elegant deer, her pink sweater vanishing behind the trees. We watch her go in awe, like we’d just witnessed a legendary creature.

  “She seems nice,” Loch says.

  I don’t know what to say. Emma Elizabeth Swanson does seem nice, but that doesn’t mean I can relate to her. At all.

  Leaves break beneath my sneakers as I continue to walk. Loch follows, quietly filming the woods as I try to concentrate on finding the elusive yellow birch. I sense Loch’s presence behind me and briefly feel close to my past life again. A past life that doesn’t seem so out of reach.

  “I think I found what you’re looking for,” Loch says.

  I turn, following his gaze. He points to a tree with yellow leaves several feet to the right. The bark along the trunk is smooth, shiny, and separates into layers, giving it a shaggy look.

  I snap a photo but, for some reason, I’m not excited about the find. “Thanks. That’s just what I was looking for,” I say, hoping Loch doesn’t notice the reluctance in my voice. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.

  seven

  THE FRIDAY BEFORE HALLOWEEN, rain slams against the windows of Winston Academy while my brain swims with calculus equations. The last bell rings and bodies swarm and voices rise. I’ve acquired a talent for ignoring the loneliness that wraps around me during these busy moments.

  Today, instead of fighting the crowd, I linger in the classroom and send a text to the guys about getting together for a Champ hunt this week. I don’t care if my fingers bleed from texting them so much; we’ve got to get together soon. Eventually, they’ll run out of excuses.

  Seconds later, Ollie replies: I’m sorry. I can’t. Plans.

  Frustrated, I tuck my phone away. I’m starting to wonder if he’s really mad at me because of that stupid prank.

  The weekend just seconds away, I’m heading for the door when my bag bursts open, sending my books skidding across the floor. I round them up like lost cattle, but my French book is missing from the pack and I’ve got an essay about the history of Paris due on Monday.

  I clutch my bag to my chest and power-walk down the empty hallway, surveying the dark wooden floors, the metal lockers, and the burgundy wallpaper. Thunder rattles the building. Spooky. Sometimes I wonder if this place is haunted with the souls of girls who cracked under the pressure.

  I find my French textbook in my locker and wind my way back down the stone staircase. I stop before I reach the bottom. A girl sits on the last step, hunched over, her knees pressed against her chest, her shoulders heaving. I wait for her to sense me there, but she’s so lost in her own grief that a bull horn could sound and she wouldn’t hear it.

  I turn to go back upstairs, but something holds me in place. The girl’s honey hair falls over her shoulders in thin waves. She shakes her head, as if arguing with herself in her head. There is something familiar about her small frame, her milky skin, her pressed skirt.

  “Emma?”

  She turns and looks up at me with bloodshot eyes. Her sobs echo against the empty space and her lower lip trembles as she tries to speak, but all that comes out is a high-pitched something.

  I can’t describe the sound. It should be studied.

  Emma buries her face in her arms and lets it all out. I mean all of it. I remain at the top of the staircase, extremely uncomfortable.

  “Are you okay?” I shake my head. “Dumb question. Clearly, you aren’t okay.”

  Emma says nothing and continues to sob. I approach as if she’s a bomb and sit beside her, keeping a safe distance. I hold my bag in my lap and yank on the bottom of my shorts peeking out from beneath my skirt.

  They didn’t cover this in orientation. They should have.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, trying to channel Mrs. Kemper in group session. She should handle this. She’s a professional. I look around, praying someone else appears to step in, but the school is abandoned at this hour. Everyone is off to their after-school activities.

  “He told me he loved me,” Emma chokes out, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

  “Oh. Cool.” I pick at my thumbnail. How do I make her stop crying? I could do a funny dance. Sing a silly song. Make a dumb face. She’s not a baby. She’s just a teenage girl. Like me. Sort of.

  Emma shakes her head, her cheeks red with sadness. “But it’s over. He said he loved me. Then… he ended it.”

  “Oh,” I mutter. Please. Stop. Crying. “Not cool then.”

  “He’s a jerk
.” She waves her arms. “A beautiful jerk that I’m completely in love with!”

  I have nothing to offer here, but I can’t leave her alone, bawling in the stairwell over some guy. I wish there was a magic button I could press to make this all better. Words. I should say more words.

  “I don’t have a lot of personal experience with ex-boyfriends,” I admit, considering a list of my romantic entanglements with the opposite sex could fit into a matchbook. “But I know how guys operate.”

  Emma sniffles. “You do?”

  “I was the only girl on my neighborhood street growing up.” Good ol’ Newbury Lane. “I understand the male brain.”

  “What should I do?” Emma’s eyes widen. She looks like a lost puppy. A puppy with dripping mascara. Advice? Should I really be giving it?

  “Guys are clueless.” I shrug. “Girls are clueless. I’m not trying to be insulting. It’s a fact. A lot of things get lost in translation, I think, because no one’s paying close enough attention. What’s this jerk’s name?”

  Emma’s tears have slowed. “Kevin.”

  “Oh, right. The guy in the woods. I’d bet money Kevin is blissfully unaware of how much he’s hurt you. Hold on one second.” I stand up, slip out of my skirt, straighten out my basketball shorts, toss my skirt into my bag, and plop back down. “Sorry. The skirt was bugging me. Where was I?”

  “You said that everyone is clueless.” She blinks a few times. “Even girls like me.”

  I shake my head again. I am so, so bad at this. “Let me try a different approach here. Okay. Remember Loch?”

  “Your platonic friend?” I nod, pleased. Emma Elizabeth gets it. Loch. My platonic friend. Why can’t Brian understand that?

  “Right!” I say, sounding way more excited than I should. “Anyway. He dated this girl, She-Who-ShallNot-Be-Named, for two years. He was madly in love with her. It was sickening.” My stomach turns just thinking about it. “She cheated on him. A lot. He hated her for it so he ended it.”

  Emma frowns. “I didn’t cheat on Kevin…”

  I hold up a finger. “I’m getting to my point, I swear. A few weeks later, She-Who-ShallNot-Be-Named began dating this guy who wore too much leather and talked with a lisp. Now how do you think Loch felt about that?”

  Emma pulls a pink tissue from her bag. “Pissed.”

  Loch should’ve been pissed. God, I get so mad just thinking about that girl and what she did to my loyal Loch. Well, not my Loch. He doesn’t belong to me or anything. Still. I want to punch She-Who-ShallNot-Be-Named in the face.

  “Worse,” I say. “He was sad. It’s like he completely forgot what a bitch she was. Like his memory was wiped clean. He forgot how much she hurt him, how she cheated. Seeing her with someone else—anyone else—stirred old feelings up again, and logic was thrown out the window. He wanted her back. We had to talk some serious sense into him.”

  Emma wipes her nose with the tissue. “So I need to make Kevin forget that he doesn’t want to be with me? How do I do that? I don’t want to date someone else.”

  I chew on my bottom lip. Maybe I should end the conversation before I do any permanent damage. But I want to help. She shouldn’t be jerked around by some guy.

  “You don’t have to,” I say after a moment. “You just need to make Kevin think that you are.”

  Truth is, I’m not one for mind games, but I don’t know what else to say. It could work.

  Emma shoves the dirty tissue into the front pocket of her pink-plaid book bag. “That’s impossible.”

  “Pretending is easy. I do it here every day.” I don’t intend to be so revealing, but I can’t shove the words back into my mouth. Emma looks at me, kindness behind her blue eyes. I feel bad that I haven’t made more of an effort to get to know her until now. Maybe I’ll change that.

  “You’re doing better than I did my first year,” she says. “I was a wreck.”

  I look at her perfect manicure and perfect hair and perfect skin. Despite the fact she’s just had a major cryfest, I still wouldn’t describe her as a “wreck.”

  “Do you feel better about Kevin now?” I ask, changing the subject. “Your problem is fixable.”

  Just when I think I’ve done something good here, Emma starts crying again.

  Advice. I suck at it.

  “I’m sorry!” I stand. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

  Why do my confessions keep spilling out around this girl?

  “It’s not that. It’s just that I don’t have anyone to pretend with.” She wipes a gloop of mascara from the corner of her eye.

  “Use a guy friend,” I suggest, breathing a little easier. “Bribe him with, I don’t know, food or something.”

  Emma crosses her ankles. “I never meet any boys. Kevin’s an exception.”

  I pick at my thumbnail and lean against the banister, thinking. I should run before she starts bawling again. I look at her wide, bright eyes brimming with tears.

  “I guess you’ll just have to borrow one of my friends then,” I say. It’s a promise that I’m not sure that I can keep.

  Emma sniffles, and I think she’s going to start wailing again. Instead, she squeals so loud that the windows might shatter. She hugs me and skips down the stone steps in gleeful little spurts.

  “THANK YOU, TONYA VALENTINE!” she shrieks. “YOU ARE MY NEW BEST FRIEND!”

  I smile, blushing, and sling my book bag over my shoulder. For the first time at Winston, I feel like I might make a friend. “My mother would be so happy to hear you say that. And, hey, call me Toni.”

  eight

  EMMA ELIZABETH SWANSON IS cleaning my room while dressed like a black cat. Well, sort of dressed like one. The only indication that she intended to be a feline for Halloween lies in the set of black furry ears on top of her head. The remaining parts of her cat costume consist of a strapless black dress, fishnet stockings, and black knee-high boots.

  Tom Brady lies in the middle of my bed, watching her with disdain. I think he’s insulted. He would never wear knee-high boots.

  After Emma dumps the army of Mountain Dew cans lining my desk into a trash bag, she kicks my dirty clothes with her heels until my various sweatshirts rest in a neat pile in the corner. The embarrassingly girlie pale pink carpet shows underneath. Emma arrived five minutes ago, but she’s made more progress than I would in a week.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, out of breath. Her cat ears are crooked. “I hope you don’t mind. I love organizing things.”

  “No problem,” I reply. “We’ve all got our thing.”

  Emma’s influence on my room is another reason for my mother to love her. Mom nearly fainted from happiness when I asked if Emma (a real live GIRL!) could come over before we headed off to Ollie’s Halloween party.

  “Time to put on my costume,” I announce, heading to the bathroom.

  When Ollie sent the text inviting me to the party at his house, I thought it was a joke. Ollie’s never thrown a party before. None of us had, unless I count the brief hangouts before monster-hunting expeditions. Which I don’t.

  At least the four of us will be in the same place at the same time again. That’s what matters right now.

  The party’s also the perfect setting for Emma to win her boyfriend back. I chose Loch as her fake date because he’s the most reliable. We haven’t seen much of each other over the last few weeks—he’s been so busy with work—so I’m looking forward to seeing him tonight.

  I inspect my costume in the bathroom mirror, pleased with my choice this year. There’s no way the guys can beat this. It’s simple. It’s classic. It’s comfortable. It’s stereotypical Vermont. I skip down the hall and burst into my bedroom with a giant, “MOOOOOO!”

  Emma stares at me, a tube of lip gloss in her right hand, a compact mirror in the other. She snaps the mirror shut, tucks it away, and crosses the room. The heels of her boots leave marks in the carpet like footprints in snow.

  �
�Is that really your costume?” she asks.

  As I spin around, presenting my outfit, the rusty bell around my neck produces a hollow clank. “Isn’t it awesome?”

  “You’re a cow.”

  “Oh, good. I was worried you wouldn’t be able to tell.” I adjust the pink plastic udders on my stomach. The black-and-white-spotted jumpsuit hangs loose, but I don’t mind. The hat, complete with pink fuzzy ears and a pair of horns, fits perfectly, but the best part is I can wear sneakers. I’ll be comfortable all night.

  “I can’t see your body,” Emma says, tilting her head. “You might as well be wearing a garbage bag.”

  “And?” A garbage bag. Could be a good costume for next year.

  “There will be boys at this party.” She fiddles with her silver stud earrings. “Cute boys. Right?”

  “If people show up. Ollie isn’t exactly Mr. Popular.” Ollie flies under the radar at Burlington High. We all did. So I have a hard time picturing him as a Party God. Plus he’s not a crowd person. He once told me he likes the alone time he gets on his snowboard, how he can’t hear anyone telling him what to do. The fact that he’s throwing this party still feels weird.

  “Don’t you want to show off your assets?” Emma asks.

  I study my body. “I didn’t know I had any.”

  “Blasphemy! You’ve got a banging body, Toni! I’m sorry, but I can’t in good conscience let you hide those legs!” She advances toward me.

  I take a step back. “Um…this isn’t where we cue to the Movie Makeover montage, is it?”

  Emma grins.

  An hour later, my cow costume’s mutilated. Poor cow. It happened so quickly. Scissors and fabric flew through the air. Makeup brushes dusted my cheeks. Lip gloss sparkled under the bedroom light. I stare at the remnants of the black-and-white jumpsuit lying dead on the carpet, feeling naked.

  “You’re still a cow,” Emma says, slipping on a pair of purple high heels. She doesn’t go anywhere without at least two outfits. “You’re just a cute cow now. Ha. That rhymed.”