by Einat Segal
When my silence lasts for several minutes, Shawn nods his head. "I knew it," he says weakly.
He blinks furiously and scratches the side of his nose. "No . . . yeah . . . we're over. This is over."
"Shawn, wait a second," I say.
He looks up at me. He waits. But no words come out of my throat. I have forgotten all language, and I just want to scream.
"Just let me walk out of this before you destroy me completely, okay?" he replies with a touch of bitterness.
I want to protest. There's a big lump in my throat. Tears sting my eyes. But Shawn's got this figured out a lot better than me. He hasn't got half his mind filled with monsters and mysteries.
I turn away, about to continue my run into nowhere.
Shawn grabs me by the hood of my jacket. "Where are you going?" His words come out choked. "I'm still going to take you home, idiot.”
* * *
I stand on the sidewalk in front of my house for five full minutes without moving. My parents aren't home yet. It's cold enough to snow, and I have to pee. I should just get inside, take a long shower, and go to bed.
But I can't move. I strongly want to be the person I was before this evening happened.
The drive home had been tense. Shawn's eyes were wet with silent tears, and his Adam's apple bulged in his throat. I wanted to say something—anything—but my tongue was frozen in my mouth. Just before I left the car, I turned to him. My initial impulse was to kiss him. At that moment, even more than before, I wanted to pull him to me and touch him all over. I wanted to feel him. The fact that I couldn't only made the desire stronger.
In the end, we didn't say anything. We just stayed there for a moment, watching each other. I knew this was just as hard for him. I should have asked him; why bother breaking this off prematurely if you're just going to be heartbroken anyway?
I should've asked him that. I should've shown some fight.
I left the car in silence. I'm not wired like that. I can fight against, but I've never fought for.
I continue to stand on the street right where he left me.
I can’t believe this happened.
The front door of Esmeralda's house opens, and out comes Esmeralda and her new girlfriend, Ophelia. I watch them kiss, and then the other girl turns to walk down the garden path toward her car.
She sees me standing there in the dark street and gives out a startled scream.
I kind of get a kick out of this. I needed that.
Esmeralda looks past her and at me. I lift my palm in the air in a salute that isn't quite a wave.
"Don't worry, Phelly," Esmeralda says, "that's just Sophie Green, our neighborhood ghost."
"Gosh, you scared me," says Ophelia with her hand on her heart. She's a nice and pretty girl who Esmeralda met around Christmastime during volunteer work at the dog shelter.
"You're the one who vanished after you got a boyfriend?" Ophelia asks. It seems she's fully apprised about the current status of my friendship with Esmeralda. It's good to know that things are going well for them. They aren't wrong. I’ve barely spent any time with Esmeralda since Christmas.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, bad Sophie," I say cheerfully. "No more boyfriends for me." My voice cracks at the end. I hadn't realized until now how close I am to tears.
I refuse to start crying. Since when did life begin and end with a boy? I'm the center of my own universe, thank you very much.
Esmeralda's smile vanishes. She squeezes Ophelia's hand. "You and Shawn broke up already?"
"I just got dumped," I announce.
"Shit, I'm sorry," Esmeralda says.
"No, you're not. You didn't like Shawn."
Ophelia shifts her weight uncomfortably, thinking we're having an argument. She just doesn't understand how the dynamic between us works.
"Okay, you're right, I'm not," Esmeralda says with a shrug. "You sad?"
"I'm not happy," I admit. I don't want to start being sad.
No crying. No sadness.
Because I just don't believe Shawn ended this.
"I should go," Ophelia says, looking between us nervously. She kisses Esmeralda's cheek. "Bye, babe."
"Bye, gorgeous, love you."
"Love you, too."
I observe them part and watch Ophelia get into her car and drive away. They make love seem easy. Why was it like a slap to the face when Shawn said it?
I shake my head. I shouldn't be asking myself these questions.
Esmeralda looks at me with concern. "Come on, I'll make you that herbal tea you like."
* * *
"Damn." Esmeralda shakes her head. She listened through the whole thing without interrupting.
I didn't shed even one tear this whole time. That’s an accomplishment. I didn't even want to date Shawn. It just sort of happened.
And then it just sort of fell apart.
"Why did you break up with Landon, again?"
I meet Esmeralda's gaze. She knows I'm hiding the truth from her. But just because I told Shawn everything doesn't mean I'm going to start telling everyone in my life. Shawn was just an exception because . . .
Because . . . Because I . . .
Oh, shit.
I feel the weight of tears welling in my eyes. I spring up to my feet and look up.
"Soph?"
I don't say anything. If I talk now, I'll lose control. I'm not sad. I'm angry.
I'm angry at Shawn. How dare he fall in love with me . . . and dump me?
"Sophie?" Esmeralda asks.
"I have to sneeze," I lie.
"Oh."
I can sense that Esmeralda doesn't believe me. When I'm fully composed, I look. "You know," she says, "it's okay to cry. In your own twisted way, you like Shawn a lot.”
I always thought I hated Shawn, but maybe for me, there's a very fine line between hate and love. But how do I know on which side I stand?
I sit back down and sip my tea. Esmeralda has a point, but I've been doing too much crying lately. I just want to save up my tears. There's no knowing when I'll actually need them.
"Why did things become so lame?" I ask mournfully. "What happened to the awesome me?"
"Don't get me started," Esmeralda says.
"Honey, you have the answer to everything. Just tell me where I went wrong."
"Okay, I'll tell you." She grasps my hand and looks into my eyes. "But promise me you won't take this the wrong way."
"I'm listening."
"Okay, so, remember when we were eleven and you tried walking barefoot and stepped on a slug by the shed?"
I grunt. "Ew. Gross. Don't remind me. I had a yellow stain on the sole of my foot that wouldn't wash out for days."
"Okay, and remember in middle school when a bee flew into our classroom and I saved everyone?"
"It stung you," I say.
"Yeah, exactly, it was self-sacrifice."
I chuckle. "Right."
Esmeralda giggles. "And in the beginning of freshman year, remember when your dad won a case and came home early and it was raining and there was a rainbow and he called us out to see?"
"Of course." We ran outside without shoes. There was a light rain and the setting sun. The rainbow was amazing. A full brightly colored arch across the heavens. My dad was ecstatic. Esmeralda and I had soaked our socks as we danced in the street.
"I can't see the connection, though," I finally say.
"There's absolutely no connection. Was just trying to cheer you up."
It worked. I’m much better.
I burst into tears.
11
I Hate It When the Scissors Won’t Cut
I had unwittingly dived headfirst into the world of boys, sex, and romantic relationships. I remember that when it all started, all I really wanted was the sex part. How, then, did this happen?
The following Friday, for the first time in eternity, Shawn isn't at the Henderson dinner. Cintia and Bob seem confused about the reason for his absence, and there are a few curious glances shot in my direction throughout
the long and boring dinner. But if Shawn didn't tell them, I'm not about to provide the information.
I bet they can guess. A real breakup after a real relationship isn't something you can hide.
At school, it's as if I stopped existing again. Most people will find this predicament depressing. I feel liberated. I don't have to struggle to remember what it's like to be me.
I still see Landon around school, but I don't talk to him. If all this romance bullshit were a game, I now realize where I went wrong.
Relationships need closure. When Landon was just a mysterious kid from my school, there was a good thing going between us. Somehow, our interactions were so smooth, we could literally complete each other's sentences. Then he turned out to be something other than what I thought, and I didn't even give him the chance to apologize.
Of course, the logic in my head says that if he wasn't even human to begin with, everything else must've been a lie. I’ll never be able to trust him again.
I'm not wrong.
I wonder what he wrote in that letter. The weeks roll by, and I still don't open it. Why?
It’s like that letter is my golden ticket to Willie Wonka's factory. I can open it only if I'm willing to accept that there are monsters in our world.
As March draws to a close, bringing with it my acceptance letters to both Columbia and NYU pre-med courses, I firmly stick with the mundane version of the world. No monsters, no magic. Just plain old reality.
* * *
“Sophie,” my dad calls, “come down here. Your mom’s on Skype.”
My shoes drum on the steps as I run back downstairs with my backpack. We already had breakfast, and I have ten minutes before I have to leave for school. I look at my dad’s computer on the kitchen table. My mom’s forehead with a focus on the left eyebrow is plastered all over the screen.
“You’re supposed to hold your phone away from your face, Mom,” I say. My phone doesn’t even have a camera and I know as much.
“Oops,” she says. The picture wobbles as she pulls away. She squints down at me, and I can literally see up her nose. “But now you’re so small.”
“Well, I am younger than you.”
Mom smiles. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”
I sigh. “Mom, my birthday is the day after tomorrow.”
A confused wrinkle appears between my mom’s eyebrows, and she twists her mouth into her trademark grimace. “Are you sure?”
“What do you mean, am I sure? It’s my birthday. You were there, remember? The pushing?”
“Actually, it was an emergency C-section.”
“What?” I cry with indignation. “How did I never know that?”
Mom pushes her mouth to the side. “Too traumatic to talk about. Anyway, what day is it today?”
“Wednesday.”
Mom’s in France right now for a conference about something science-y. It’s afternoon over there, so she can actually form full sentences. But she’s more confused than usual. I smile at her and ask, “How jet-lagged are you?”
“Enough to get your birthday wrong. But are you sure you’re not eighteen yet? You look so grown up.”
“I’m starting to doubt you’re really my mom,” I say, but I’m still grinning. In appearance, I take after my mom completely. She’s basically the future me, but with a better personality.
My mom brings the phone up to her face again so that I can see only her left eye. “Is your dad in the room?” she whispers.
I look around me and peek into the living room. I lower my voice as well. “I think he’s in the bathroom.”
“Okay, listen up, baby. Today is the final verdict in the Grimwick case.”
“What?” I get closer to the screen. “That doesn’t make any sense. He seems so normal. He was even making his lame-ass fart jokes this morning.”
“That’s exactly it. I’m really worried about him. He should be a mess, but he’s not. Keep a closer eye on him today for me, okay? If you can call him between your afternoon classes just to check up on him . . .”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” I say. “I’m on it.”
“I don’t think he’s been doing a good job keeping his diet lately.” Mom continues to fuss.
“Hey, what’re you two whispering about?” Dad suddenly asks. Mom drops her phone, and the screen shows us its downward descent toward the floor of the hotel lobby.
I turn to look at my dad in the doorway. He looks fine to me. “Boys,” I lie.
“You got a new boyfriend?” he asks.
“Isn’t two enough?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you have prom soon? You need to boy up for that.”
“I don’t do prom,” I answer in a flat voice, purposely not commenting on the fact that my dad just said “boy up.” “Dad, don’t forget the lunch box I made you.”
He walks up to the fridge and takes out the box with the big, good, healthy salad I made him. My mom manages to pick up her phone and mouth “good save.” At least, I think that’s what she’s mouthing. I’ll never know.
“I gotta go to school,” I say, looking at my watch. “Dad, I’m making salmon and broccoli for dinner.”
“Sounds delicious,” Dad says enthusiastically. There’s not a single sarcastic particle in my dad. I get all of it from Mom. He seems fine to me.
“Bye, honey!” shouts my mom.
* * *
School is normal, although now that everyone pretty much knows where they’re going to college-wise, there’s a feeling of just passing time. Even the teachers aren’t as stressed out as usual about teaching. I don’t find high school as difficult as other kids do. It’s a breeze. I hear pre-med is hard. I won’t have time for a social life.
Hooray!
It starts raining cold, angry rain mid-morning. I have to find somewhere indoors to have lunch. I choose the empty auditorium because it’s unlocked and I have band practice at the end of today, so technically, even though band practices in the room behind the auditorium, I’m allowed to be there on the pretext of having to practice for practice.
I sit at the edge of the stage with my legs dangling down. I face the empty rows of seats and enjoy the silence as it whispers down from the high ceiling.
For once, I’m at peace. I’m not confused. I missed me.
Growing up sucks. I’m not going to see another boy until college. By then, I’ll get a smartphone so I can use one of those dumb hook-up apps to have dumb hook-ups just to satisfy my sexual urges. No strings, nothing as sticky and yucky as romance.
I bite into my sandwich and close my eyes, relaxing.
This is the life.
“Sophie Green,” says his voice behind me, shattering everything.
My system leaps into overdrive. My blood pumps adrenaline to the farthest reaches of my body. My heart pitter-patters and twitches. My stomach flip-flops. His voice resonates inside the cavity of my skull. I can hear him with the roots of my hair.
Damn it! He shouldn’t have this effect on me. But I haven’t heard my name on his lips in months. It was my choice not to. Only the irrational part of me longed for him. Only the sentimental part of me missed him.
But Sophie Green and the entity known as Landon Pearce are completely over.
I turn to him. “Whatever you’re doing, can you please stop?” I say. Why would he talk to me now? Why?
He holds my gaze and then points up his chin in defiance. “No.”
“You’re doing a magic thing right now, aren't you? This is like raping my self-conscious,” I hiss.
“I never used magic on you!” he answers, losing his cool faster than I’ve ever known him to. Then he regains his composure and cocks his head to the side. “Well, no, sorry, that’s not completely true. I healed you using magic after we made love for the first time. You were nervous and very narrow, and I—”
“I don’t want to know.” Wow. So that was magic? Damn. “Why’re you ‘Sophie Green’ing me out of the blue, Landon? You were so good at keeping your distance.”
&
nbsp; He’s about four feet away from me and sits on the edge of the stage where he is. “Because the ‘giving you space’ strategy proved to be super effective.”
“What can I say? I love space.” I gesture at the empty auditorium.
“You didn’t read my letter.”
“I threw it away,” I lie. I begin to fidget unconsciously, swinging my legs in the air.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “Well, that was kind of expected.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Why am I apologizing?
“I had this whole plan of how to tell you about everything, and then it all went to hell.”
“Listen, Landon, I would’ve broken up with you anyway. I don’t want to live in a fantasy world. That’s the truth. I don’t need magic. I’m the sort of person who likes the middle ground of not-too-exciting, not-too-boring, just normal and balanced.” My voice is so calm. Why didn’t I just talk to him like this before? “And besides, the age difference sets off all the alarm bells. I always hated paranormal romances because how come immortal beings have such low standards they’d fall madly in love with silly teenage girls? I’m not buying that.”
“What age difference? I just turned eighteen in February.”
“Don’t get smart with me,” I say. “How many times were you eighteen?”
“Not too many. Last time I was eighteen was in 1698.”
I shudder, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Spooky, spooky, too spooky. “Okay. That’s enough. You’re freaking me out.” I hug myself.
He takes this in, scanning me from foot to head. “You’ve got too much common sense for your own good.”
“Maybe.” That’s sort of a compliment and sort of not. “I sometimes wish I were more of a ditz. The sex was amazing.”
“It was more than amazing.”
Oh, hi, there’s the familiar bubble of sadness in my heart. “I liked what we had,” I say softly, languishing in nostalgia. “When everything was still a lie.”
“I told you already, Sophie, that part was the truth.”
The bell rings, surprising me but signaling the end of lunch. I have about one minute to make it to class. Without saying a word, I jump down from the stage and march toward the exit of the auditorium. There, we had that talk that Shawn wanted me to have. But we sort of did it too late. Everyone survived. I was stupid.