The Year of Living Awkwardly

by Emma Chastain

  Noelle said she had to go or she was going to miss her bus, so we went outside, but the buses were already gone, so we sat on the curb and talked about her options for feeling better. I said she must have friends besides the popular kids, and she said Lauren Englander, Maisie Tillinghast, Yvette Brown, a few other kids. “And the popular guys probably still like you, right?” I said.

  “Maybe. But none of them are my friend friends.”

  “What about Thalia Rosen?” Thalia is this girl Reese banished last year for supposedly having a crush on Reese’s brother, which Reese said was “crossing a line” and “such a betrayal.”

  Noelle sighed. “I guess.”

  “What’s wrong with Thalia?” I asked.

  “Can I tell you something?” she said. “It’s kind of boring, hanging out with the B-list.”

  “WHAT!”

  “You hate me, right?”

  “No, I just can’t believe you’re admitting it. Wait, am I B-list, or C-list?”

  She looked at me like she was considering it. “It’s like you’re not on a list.” I started to freak out. “No, but in a good way! You were the lead in the musical last year. That was weird, but kind of interesting. People know your name. I don’t associate you with a particular group.”

  “That’s because I have, like, no friends. Before yesterday, what did you think when you heard my name?”

  “The musical . . . senior drama . . . had sex with Mac.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “No?”

  “Seriously, no! Is that what everyone thinks?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not a bad thing.”

  “I know. I’m just surprised.”

  “What did you think when you heard my name?” she asked.

  “Popular . . . second banana to Reese . . . kind of shy. But that was last year. After you got back from France, I would have said popular and hot. What happened to you in France, anyway?”

  “I didn’t have a threesome.”

  “I know that! I’m just saying, you seemed like a different person when you came back.”

  “My mom’s friend and her daughter took me shopping, and maybe it’s shallow, but I kind of do feel like a different person when I’m wearing French clothes. And obviously I changed my hair.”

  “It looks amazing,” I said, and she said, “Thanks”—but fast and almost bored, like she was expecting the compliment. For a second I remembered why she was popular for so many years, and wondered if I could ever actually like her. But then she said, “I don’t know . . . it’s not just that. I hung out with all these French kids while I was there, and went to the Louvre and read a book in the Luxembourg Gardens, and I realized, oh, our high school isn’t the only place in the universe! You know? Like, all these little dramas and whatever, they’re that—they’re little. They’re tiny.”

  “So is it helping you now, to remember that?”

  She laughed. “Not really. But if I can’t sleep at night, I tell myself, ‘You can move to Paris someday.’ ”

  We talked for almost an hour, sitting there on the curb.

  Saturday, September 10

  It was boiling hot today and we already have hours of homework thanks to our sadistic teachers, and yet Dad still made me help him with yard work all fricking day.

  “I hate this,” I said, dragging a garbage bag full of sticks past him and toward the garage.

  “I know,” he said cheerfully. “Hey, you’re sleeping over at Hannah’s house tonight, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Why?”

  “Just wanted to make sure you’d be all right if I go out.”

  I was sweaty and covered in grass clippings and dirt. My hair kept falling out of my elastic and into my face, and I’d ripped my beloved OTTER TAIL COUNTY FAIR WEST T-shirt while pulling a dead branch out of a tree. Meanwhile, Dad was literally whistling.

  “Who are you going out with? Miss Murphy?” I asked spitefully.

  He’d been crouched down, trying to free a shovel from where it was trapped behind the lawn mower. In the few seconds it took him to slowly stand up and turn to face me, I had time to deeply regret asking the question.

  “I am,” he said. “Is that OK with you?” He wasn’t being a dick. He was genuinely asking.

  Is it OK with me? I mean, no. Not at all. I want Dad to stay single forever. I want him to keep going on runs by himself and grilling two steaks for us on Saturday nights and fighting with me about whose turn it is to walk Snickers. If he falls in love with someone else, everything will change, and he’ll really never get back together with Mom.

  “It’s kind of weird,” I said.

  He gripped the shovel gently, like it was the hand of someone he likes. “I’ve been thinking about it, and here’s my plan. Number one: she and I won’t have any sleepovers,” he said.

  “DAD!” I said, and pretended to throw up.

  “Hang on. We won’t have any sleepovers, and you won’t have to spend time with her outside of school. And I won’t bring it up—dating her—but you can ask me anything you want.”

  “No sleepovers and no hanging out until when?” It was nice, it was considerate, but it also made me furious. He was going to be her boyfriend but hide it from me? What was I, some baby he had to protect from real life? And how long did he think this would work? Were they going to get married secretly and not invite me in case it hurt my feelings?

  “Uh, until we all feel comfortable,” he said.

  I stomped off and swept the back patio so vigorously I think I pulled my groin.

  I have to stop this and pull myself together. Mom lives in Mexico! I like Miss Murphy! What is my problem?

  Sunday, September 11

  It’s still uncomfortably hot (thanks for ruining our planet, previous generations), so Tris’s mom drove us to the mall and went off to look for work clothes at Ann Taylor while Tris and I strolled around keeping an eye out for cute guys.

  “You didn’t tell your mom about my dad and Miss Murphy, did you?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.

  Tris’s mother isn’t like Mrs. Egan—she wouldn’t immediately text all her friends, saying, Did you hear about Charlie Snow and that English teacher? Poor Chloe. But she might talk to Mr. Flynn about it, and they might agree that my dad and Miss Murphy make sense as a couple, or that it seems a little soon for him to be dating, or that it must be awkward for me at school, or whatever. It doesn’t matter what their analysis is. The point is, to them it’s something interesting to discuss over dinner, whereas to me it’s a disaster.

  Monday, September 12

  As I was passing Grady’s locker, Reese came along in the other direction. I thought she might be out to get me after I publicly sided with Noelle, but apparently I got away with it, because she crossed traffic to dart over and pull me and Grady into a hug. “POOL REUNION!” she squealed. She smells amazing, like things that are so fancy I don’t even know they exist. Honey roses. Cloud soap. Sea diamonds.

  “Chloe, you’re friends with Hannah, right?” she said, staring into my face. She’s like a snake charmer: when her eyes are on you, you feel you have to do whatever she asks.

  I nodded yes.

  She gripped my upper arm. “She was at field hockey tryouts yesterday. She’s really good. And she’s really, really pretty!”

  Classic Reese: subtly reminding me she’s already co-captain of the field hockey team, even though she’s an underclassman, then saying something that seems nice (Hannah is pretty) but might be an insult (does she mean I’m ugly?), or might simply be a statement of fact (Hannah IS pretty!), and why are you so insecure and paranoid that you interpret every offhanded remark as a dig at you?

  “You smell amazing,” I blurted out. Groveling at her feet like a peasant! Gross!

  She threw her head back and laughed, showing us her blindingly white teeth. “You are so adorable,” she said. “I’ve got to run, cuties.” She made intense eye contact with me, then with Grady, then sashayed away.

&nb
sp; Grady and I looked at each other. “I hate her,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I’m glad I’m not a girl.”

  Tuesday, September 13

  Hannah called tonight and said Zach is being polite to her in the halls, but he doesn’t talk to her alone and he hasn’t texted her at all. “I should never have told him I’m not a virgin,” she said.

  I went bananas. “If he’s not interested in you anymore because you’re a woman of the world, then FORGET HIM. What is he, some kind of saint? Is he a virgin?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He probably is a virgin, and he’s probably intimidated by you. Well, his loss!” I was pacing around my room, shouting.

  “You can’t blame him for the way he feels.”

  “Oh yes, I most certainly can! I blame him big-time! Your sexual history is none of his business.”

  I kept ranting like this for a while, but it didn’t have any effect. She was as sad and quiet when we got off the phone as she was when she called. God, I hate our stupid backward hypocritical woman-hating slut-shaming puritanical culture.

  Wednesday, September 14

  Tris and I were cutting across the baseball diamond to pick Hannah up from field hockey practice and I was checking for new likes, but subtly, with my phone by my hip, because it drives Tristan insane when I look at my phone when we’re talking (which I get, because I hate it when he looks at his phone when we’re talking), and when I looked up, there was Grady, a few feet away, walking toward us.

  Something about Tris by my side made me feel confident and show-offy, and being outside reminded me of summer, before everything got awkward and we started wearing actual clothes, and Grady looked so Grady-ish, and, well, I found myself rushing up to him and squeezing his face.

  “Hi, Chloe,” he said. He looked confused.

  “Hi! What are you doing here?”

  “Coming back from the clearing.”

  The clearing is a little plot of land hidden by the trees lining the fields. The skaters and potheads and emo kids go there to smoke cigarettes and weed, which the teachers know about but don’t bother to crack down on, I think because the kids are at least being respectful enough to hide.

  Was Grady smoking cigarettes and weed already? The thought of it stressed me out.

  “I’m Tristan,” Tris said.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Grady, this is my friend Tristan. Tris, this is Grady.”

  “Whoa, Tristan!” Grady said. “No way. I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity. Chloe talks about you constantly.”

  “Oh!” said Tris, looking delighted.

  “I gotta run, but it was nice to meet you, man.” He looked at me without smiling. “See you guys around.”

  Tris and I walked away in silence. I was dying to strike up a sparkling conversation, so Grady wouldn’t think we were waiting until he was out of earshot to start talking about him, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, probably because of the barrage of meaningful glances and elbow prods coming from Tris. “Stop!” I hissed. What if Grady turned around and saw Tris madly poking me in the ribs?

  “Who was that?” Tris hissed back.

  “Shhhh.”

  “Is that the freshman you were talking about?”

  “SHHHHH.”

  Finally we made it a respectable distance away, and I said, “That’s the guy I worked with at the pool, OK?”

  Tris turned around to stare at his retreating back. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Chloe, he’s hot!”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. Obviously. It’s not subjective.”

  “I guess.”

  “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me about this before. So what happened? Did he turn you down?”

  I was kind of offended. “No, he likes me,” I said. “Or he did, anyway. He told me on our last day of work.”

  “And?”

  “I told him I see him as a friend.”

  Tris stopped dead in right field. “WHAT?”

  “It’s the truth!”

  Tris stared at me for a while. When we finally started walking, I said, “Also, Mac had just texted me saying he misses me.”

  We stopped walking again. At this rate, we were going to be two hours late to pick up Hannah. “You’re not serious,” Tris said.

  “I know, I know, I know.”

  “I’m going to show up at Mac’s school and break all his fingers so he can’t use his phone. You realize it’s never going to work out with you and him, right?”

  “You think he doesn’t really miss me?”

  Tris groaned. “Maybe he did miss you in that moment. Or maybe he was bored, or drunk. He’s playing college football! Imagine what his life is like right now. He probably has to wheel a giant suitcase full of condoms wherever he goes. And besides, remember what happened, like, four months ago? Remember how he crapped all over your heart?”

  “Even if Mac didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be into Grady. He’s not my type, OK? He’s too young and short and . . . Those are my reasons.”

  “First of all, too short? He’s probably not done growing!”

  “Gross.”

  “Second of all, could you be any more shallow, please?”

  I know he’s right. And I don’t actually care about Grady’s height. Objectively speaking, Grady is way cuter than Mac. If a mom saw a picture of Grady in a yearbook, she would say, “Whoa, who’s that handsome kid?” and he likes me, and he’s smart and interesting and nice. So it makes no sense that I’m not into him. I’m not even sure why I feel the way I do. I just know that Mac makes me light up like a Christmas tree, and Grady doesn’t.

  “Maybe it’s shallow,” I said, “but he’s not for me.”

  “If that’s how you feel, that’s how you feel.”

  “It is.”

  “Fine. As long as you’re not choosing a meaningless text over a nice guy who actually likes you.”

  We started walking. I scuffed my feet through the grass angrily.

  “You don’t even know Grady,” I said. “You just like him because he called you a celebrity.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know him. He seems nice, but we only talked for a few seconds. Is he a jerk? Or weird, or moody, or conceited?”

  “No, he’s great.”

  Tris pointedly didn’t say anything.

  When we got close to Hannah, we saw that she was talking to Reese, who was wearing a skintight athleisure top and tiny shorts/underpants.

  I was hoping Reese’s outfit would distract Tris from Grady, but no, as soon as the three of us were alone, he said, “Hannah, do you know about this Grady thing?”

  Hannah said, “Grady from the pool? The really cute one with the hair that sticks up?” which didn’t help at all.

  Thursday, September 15

  Have I made a huge mistake?

  Friday, September 16

  Tris shakes his head sadly whenever he sees me, sometimes when I’m in the middle of talking about something important, like global warming, or how many likes my latest Instagram got.

  Saturday, September 17

  My long-running and formerly witty group text with Hannah and Tris has devolved into Tris sending around pictures of Grady’s face, creepily screengrabbed from social media.

  Sunday, September 18

  Noelle invited me over after lunch, so I rode my bike to her house. I felt nervous. We’ve been talking between classes, and texting a little bit, but hanging out on the weekend is a whole other step.

  Her house turned out to be close to Tris’s—a McMansion, like his. All of the furniture was white and gray, and there wasn’t much of it. The shades were pulled halfway down, and the air smelled stale. I asked Noelle if her parents were out, and she said her dad lives in Maryland and her mother was away on a business trip. “She’s a consultant for tech start-ups, so she travels a lot.”

  “Who stays with you while she’s gone?”

  Noelle gave me a weird look
and said, “No one,” which made me feel like a baby, since I hate being home alone even for one night.

  I’m desperate to talk to anyone whose parents are divorced, because I want to know what it’s like. So I asked, “Is it tough, having your dad all the way in Maryland?”

  But she just shrugged and said, “I’m used to it. Want a Diet Coke?”

  She grabbed two cans from the fridge, and we went outside to sit on the deck. She got out a pack of cigarettes. I shook my head no when she offered me one. I can’t believe anyone smokes. Apart from the lung cancer, etc., it gives you wrinkles! I’m not cute enough to risk that. I need all the help I can get.

  “How long have you smoked?” I asked Noelle.

  “Oh, I don’t, really,” she said. “I’m just having one.”

  But she looked very practiced and efficient. She got through her cigarette fast.

  She still scares me a little.

  We spent most of the afternoon talking about Reese. Noelle said they’ve been friends since they took a dance class together in kindergarten, and every four years or so, Reese turns on her. “But this time is different,” Noelle said. “Making up rumors about me, spreading them all over school? I’ll never forgive her.”

  Noelle answered all my burning questions. Yes, Reese keeps up the nice act with her friends. Yes, she talks about everyone behind their backs, but under the guise of being concerned about them. Yes, she hates everyone who’s not in her squad, although she’d never admit it. Yes, she’s turned down most of the popular guys in our grade, and several juniors and seniors.

  It was an interesting conversation at the time, but now that it’s over and I’m home, I feel gross, like I read back-to-back issues of gossip magazines all afternoon.

  Monday, September 19

  I happened to see Grady at his locker today.

  “Hey!” I said, grabbing his arm.

  “Hey.”

  “What do you have next period?”