“Absolutely.” He leans forward, the way Coach does when he’s drawing up a play. “You had a good run, right? But the school year is almost over. You don’t even have a dance to worry about anymore. And you’re going to want to be a free agent going into the summer and starting high school.”
I begin to feel a little bit sick to my stomach. I wasn’t expecting this. And I’m pretty sure I’d rather be with Miranda than be a free agent.
I stand, sort of in a daze. As I’m leaving his room, Billy calls out.
“One more thing,” he says. “You’ll probably want to end it before she does so you don’t look like the loser. My advice is to do it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
As I’m lying in bed, thinking about this whole big mess with Miranda, I also remember the championship game.
How am I going to hit a baseball and field my position with all this craziness on my mind?
SAM
There’s been an outbreak of some kind at Penn Valley. I’m no doctor, but you don’t have to study medicine to see something’s wrong. After yesterday’s insanity with Duke attacking poster boards, I didn’t think things could get any weirder. But then today Miranda Mullaly shows the world how much she hates clipboards and embarrasses herself by crying in front of the whole student council. This is a crazy place, Penn Valley Middle School.
At first I thought it was all pretty funny, but it seems like everyone is trying to make an effort now. Erica chases after Miranda when she (Miranda, not Erica) has a meltdown. Foxxy goes off with all his new artsy friends, like Terri and Jenny, and they start painting like crazy, trying to fill the art exhibit. And Ralph Waldo and Sharon show up and start redoing posters. I figure I should get to work on something for the talent show and start thinking of who else I can ask to perform besides Ralph and Sharon. Otherwise, this show’s going to be a dud.
When Erica comes back, she’s mad at me.
“What did you do that for?” she asks.
“I did nothing,” I say.
“Exactly. You did nothing. Did you even try to get entertainment? What have you been doing this whole time I’ve been helping Foxxy?”
First of all, what did people think the entertainment committee was going to do? Did they really think we were going to book Adele or Kanye West to come and perform at Penn Valley? I mean, come on, people. I don’t say any of this, of course.
Instead I say, “I thought we could do a little entertaining.”
She laughs, then points at Ralph and Sharon. “They better be prepared to dance for about three hours because we got nothing!”
Erica leaves, but she doesn’t destroy anything or cry, so I guess she doesn’t have whatever disease Duke and Miranda are suffering from. But still.
Now that I think about it, I’m not mad at Erica but at her buddy Miranda. I really don’t need her berating me. Who does she think she is, Duke?
Oh, and thanks a whole lot, Miranda, because of your temper tantrum, Erica is mad at me. Come to think of it, I’m mad about this whole NYC Nites thing. What were we thinking? What is NYC Nites anyway? We could’ve just had a dance instead. And I missed out on playing baseball because of all this. If I had a time machine, I’d go back and fight for the dance. NYC Nites is a stupid idea.
I’m so mad that if I had anything written down for NYC Nites, I’d probably tear it all up.
14
Surprise!
DUKE
I’ve been under the radar since my little outburst in the auditorium. It’s been quite nice, in a way. I’ve been able to study for my exams, and for the first time in years, I’ve gone home directly after the end of the school day. One cannot burn the candle at both ends for too long, and I’m man enough to admit I needed rest.
But after two days, I was ready to face the music, if you will, and make the final push for the end of the school year.
I also now find myself in a very difficult position. In a pickle, as Cassandra is wont to say.28 In recent weeks, Sharon and I have drifted apart. It’s not hard to see why. I’m older and more mature and have responsibilities most could barely dream of.
It has also become clear that Sharon is not the great intellect I thought she was. For example, once I mentioned the presidential election in November and expressed my opinion that the voting age should be lowered to fourteen (if one could, of course, pass a rigorous test), and Sharon looked at me in astonishment.
“Who cares?”
“I beg your pardon?” I could hardly believe my ears. Nor, for that matter, could I believe my eyes. For the first time I could actually see that Sharon and Sam are related. Their eyes (blue) and hair (sandy brown) are both the same color.
“The idea of having a fourteen-year-old vote is absurd and you know it.”
“I don’t think it’s absurd to participate in the American republic,” I said defensively.
“No, you don’t really think that,” she said.
“Is that so?” I asked. “And, pray tell, how would you know if I felt that way or not?”
“Because just last week you said the opposite. When you were complaining about the delays in building the new wing of the high school, you said the problem was that too many numskulls had too much to say. You said voting should be limited to those over the age of forty and only to those who could prove they had paid taxes for ten years.”
I was nonplussed.29 Did I really say that? And did Sharon really remember word for word what I said? It did sound vaguely familiar.
I struggled for something to say but drew a blank.
I stood up.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I suddenly don’t feel well,” I told her.
You see, it’s clear that our relationship had run its course. When I left her and the library, I knew it was over. Now I had to find a way to let her down easily.
After dinner I sat at my computer, trying to write a few scenarios illustrating how the breakup would carry itself out. But, for the first time in my life, I couldn’t write.
I went for a contemplative constitutional, but upon my return, once again, I drew a blank.
Finally I lay in bed, eyes on the ceiling until my heavy eyelids closed.
When I arrived at school this morning, I felt a little bit better. Maybe we just needed some space.
I found her in the library before classes started.
“Oh, hi, Duke,” Sharon said, smiling as if our troubles were in the past.
“Good morning, Sharon.” I took a seat across from her.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but I didn’t want to say what I have to say over the phone.”
“Okay,” I said. “What is it?”
“First, I want to tell you how much fun the last two months have been,” she said.
“I’m certainly glad you have enjoyed them.”
“And I want you to know that I think you’re a really great guy,” she continued.
“And I think you’re a fine young woman,” I said.
“Please, let me finish. This is not easy for me.”
Sharon stopped there and I was getting the feeling she was going to break up with me. I waited.
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I just don’t think it’s working out. I feel as if we’re drifting apart.”
She paused. No, I quickly realized, she had stopped. It was my turn to talk. My turn to beg. My turn to plead. My turn to cry for her to come back. I would, of course, do no such thing. Duke Vanderbilt Samagura is made of sterner stuff.
“But we can still be friends,” she added hastily, as if it had just come into her mind.
Suddenly I envisioned myself dateless at the NYC Nights celebration, standing alone on the stage. Music playing and me standing there, lost without Sharon in my arms, like some nerd dancing
in front of the mirror in his room. It was an out-of-body experience and I had to shake my head in order to focus on Sharon. I wished for the nightmare to end.
Then I begged. “Oh, no, please, give me another chance. I can change. Please, just tell me what I did wrong.”
Then I bargained. “Let’s just give it a day or two, shall we? I don’t think we should make final decisions so early in the morning.”
Then came the tears.
SAM
Nothing surprises me anymore.
Lutz and Maureen got back together. Just like they do every time they break up.
What else? Oh yeah, Erica dumped me. But again, not surprising. I mean, I always thought she was going to be my future ex-girlfriend.
In case you can’t tell, that’s sarcasm. The reality is I feel worse than I have ever felt in the history of my life.
Worse than the time I nailed Mr. Mullaly in the face with a snowball.
Worse than when Foxxy and I messed up our trip to the museum and we accidentally set off those alarms.
It all happens in the auditorium, which is fitting, because it’s really where our relationship began, when we were in the musical together.
Erica and I are alone and I’m trying out my jokes and she’s watching. Sort of like what we’ve been doing for quite a bit.
“Sam,” she says, “I think we should talk.”
Now, no one has ever said “I think we should talk” to me before. But I turn instantly cold, kind of like there’s a ghost in the auditorium. I mean, it’s freezing cold. And I’m on the stage and Erica is sitting in the first row, so I have to walk down the steps to be next to her. I practically limp going down the stairs, as if my legs are brittle. I’ll bet this is the way people feel when they climb Mount Everest.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Sam,” she says when I plop down next to her.
“Me too,” I laugh. “I’ve really been focusing on the talent stage, honest. I have at least three people signed up and I was thinking I could emcee and—”
“I don’t think we should go out anymore,” she says. That’s one thing about Erica Dickerson: she certainly doesn’t beat around the bush.
I’m sort of panicking in a way. I worry I’m going to forget to breathe. Isn’t that weird? I mean, the last thing I want to do is faint.
“I realize now that when I thought I was in love with you,” Erica says, “I was actually in like with you.”
“In like with me?”
“Yeah. I like you a lot, Sam. You’re funny and you always make me smile. I hope we can be friends forever.”
“In like with me,” I say again. “What does that even mean? Are there any like songs? Is there such a thing as a like story?”
Erica holds my hand. But it’s not in a nice way. It’s sort of the way my parents used to hold my hand when we were crossing the street. Not romantic at all.
“You know, Sam, I think you like me too.”
“This is all pretty confusing,” I say. Then there’s a long pause and we stare at each other. I bet if someone saw us, they would say we were in love and not in like. “So I guess you’re not my girlfriend anymore?”
“I don’t think so.”
And just like that, I became the big loser Lutz predicted I’d be. How the heck does he still have a girlfriend and I don’t?
“What about the NYC Nites?” I ask.
“I still think we can pull it off. Everyone is working really hard now. And we can definitely still hang out!”
“What about the talent stage? Do you still want to do a skit together?”
“I’d love to.”
I have to think about this.
“But not as boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“Nope. Something better. We’ll be two friends onstage. We’ve always been friends, really, all this time.”
CHOLLIE
I sure wish Billy wouldn’t have said anything about breaking up with Miranda. I’m definitely not going to break up with her, but when Billy makes the suggestion, it plants a seed in my brain that Miranda is going to break up with me.
I just can’t get it out of my head now. I even start thinking that we’re not a good match. She’s always doing work for NYC Nites and getting good grades and making the world a better place by being a vegetarian. And here I am, playing baseball and floating by with my classwork and eating meat. So if she starts thinking this way, I’m doomed. But I don’t want it to end. Even if we don’t have much in common, I just really like being with her.
When I get to school this morning, I’m super tired and nervous about Miranda and I’m going crazy thinking about the game.
Somehow I get through the day. I hardly see Miranda. And for lunch I tell Miranda I have to go to Coach’s office, but instead I sneak down to the locker room and eat my lunch alone in a smelly corner.
Finally the day ends and I get to hit the field. For once, even though there’s tons of pressure with the game and Coach is a nut, I actually feel relaxed. It’s almost like I can catch my breath, if that makes sense.
It’s really a great game, too. And there’s a great crowd. Almost the whole school, it seems. I don’t see Miranda, but Mr. Mullaly is there.
We go back and forth, trading leads, and both teams are playing their best. There isn’t an error committed by either side and we even turn a double play, which isn’t easy to do.
At the top of the seventh, we have the lead, seven to six. And when we take the field, we all know we just need three outs to win the game. We get two players out, but they still have guys on second and third. So this is it. If we can get the final out, we win!
I have every scenario going through my head. Any ball hit to me and I have to go to first base for the final out and we win. If they get a hit, our outfielder has to go home with it to try to get the go-ahead run out at home plate.
And that’s exactly what happens. A line drive is hit, and I dive for it but can’t reach it. It’s hard enough for Jason Lewis to get the second guy out at home, so we’re tied once again.
We go back to the dugout pretty excited about the throw at home. And we know we just need one run to win the game. Eddie Naves is up first and I’m second. I can’t help it, but I just get it into my mind that I’m going to hit a home run. I’ve stayed awake at night dreaming about this situation and now I have the chance.
As I’m taking some warm-up swings, Eddie jumps on the first pitch and hits a double down the line. Crazy as this might sound because of my past troubles in pressure situations, I actually feel confident going up to the plate. This is what I’ve been dreaming of, and here it is. I just know I’m going to win the game.
I dig in at the plate and feel pretty loose, I really do.
The pitcher looks in for his sign, then looks at Eddie on second.
“Time!” the umpire yells.
I step out of the batter’s box and I see that it’s Coach who has called time-out. I run up the third-base line to talk strategy.
“I think you need to lay down a bunt,” he whispers.
“A bunt?”
“Yeah. There’s no outs. Let’s try to get Eddie to third.”
“But I can hit this guy,” I say.
“Trust me, get the bunt down and get Eddie to third.”
It’s true Eddie isn’t the fastest guy in the world, but if I hit a home run, it doesn’t matter.
But Coach is right. I get the bunt down, and almost beat out the throw. As I’m walking back to the dugout, everyone’s politely clapping but not cheering. And again I look for Miranda but I can’t find her.
I get high fives in the dugout, and a second later Ernie Williams hits a single and Eddie Naves comes home with the winning run. It’s pretty awesome, finally celebrating a big win. We put Coach on our shoulders and carry him off the field.
When we run off the
field, I wave to my parents and Mr. Mullaly, but I don’t see Miranda. I just can’t explain how I feel. Even though we finally won, for some reason I feel like I lost.
15
A State of Confusion
DUKE
I, Duke Vanderbilt Samagura, have not been myself of late. I think the stress has finally caught up to me. I need a break. I’m certain my doctor would prescribe a week on a pond with a fishing pole.
Sharon put the dagger in my heart on Friday. This week I’ve avoided her and the rest of my classmates, even to the point of shirking my responsibilities and leaving school after classes were over. I honestly couldn’t go on and needed to regroup.
Unfortunately, I do not live a life conducive to relaxation. I am a man constantly on the move. And so this morning, when Neal and Cassandra suggested we go to the Penn Valley Mall, I quickly agreed. I needed to get out and away from my thoughts of Sharon.
Neal and Cassandra, who have practically ignored me my entire life, have been suddenly struck by this incurable desire to spend time with me, to know about me, to, in short, make up for years of bad parenting.
“You’re growing so big and strong I don’t think any of your dress shirts fit you any longer,” Cassandra said when we entered the mall.
I wanted to be alone. I wanted to be ignored. I had to ditch them somehow.
Neal added, with an insufferable smile, “And you’ll want to look your best for the NYC Nights celebration.”
Of course, I hadn’t told Neal and Cassandra about my breakup with Sharon. The last thing I needed was for them to find out what happened. I didn’t want sympathy or empathy or even someone to talk to. I could not handle Neal, who has learned everything about parenthood from what he has seen on television, calling me “pal” or “kiddo” or “slugger.”
I looked at my surroundings. The mall is an emporium of junk food, a castle of the mundane and banal, a fortress of the very worst of America. Its only saving grace, however, is MacFadden’s Boutique, a fine shop which not only carries the best bow ties, but an array of ascots, cuff links, and Jeff caps, along with suspenders galore.
My Future Ex-Girlfriend Page 11