So I closed my eyes as I walked into class, just not wanting to face the truth, and then—
Crap.
Craaap.
She looked even prettier than I had ever seen her look. Her eyes lit up the room. Cliché! Do better, Trevor!
Her eyes were …
Her eyes were … beams of white and brown, pulling me toward her, calming my mind and inspiring my heart.…
That’s terrible. Like, the worst poetry ever written. Screw it.
Her eyes just made me want to look at her. Okay? Look at her and no one else. Couldn’t see the big-ass wall behind her. Nothing. Nothing else. Just her.
I sat next to her. She smiled. I smiled. I could have sat next to her, like this, not saying anything, just us looking at each other, all day. All week. All year. Man, I’m insane.
“Hi,” she said after a bit.
“Hi,” I said back. I should have said “hey,” it would have been cooler, but screw it, I said what I said and she didn’t mind. Carolina made everything better. Even school.
* * *
At lunch, I sat with my cousin Henry and the rest of the freshman football players. Carolina sat with Peggy, Kendra, and the rest of her usual freshman girlfriends. The tables were on opposite sides of the freshman section of the cafeteria. I would have asked her to sit with me, or us, but how do you ask that? Do you just say, Let’s sit together at lunch? Shouldn’t you be able to communicate some of this stuff without words?
I wasn’t paying attention to anything Henry or the others were talking about until Jake elbowed me in chest. I looked at him, but he pointed at my cousin.
“Is it true?” Henry asked.
“What true?” I said back.
“You and Carrie Fisher. You’re going out? Licker saw you two in history. Said you whispered something to her.” My cousin said it as if I had broken some law. As if he were a powerful judge about to condemn me. I didn’t like Licker any better than the rest of them anymore. And I was liking the rest of them even less by the second. Yeah, so I whispered to Carolina. Whispered, “History is my favorite subject.” Felt stupid, but I couldn’t think of anything else, and I wanted to lean close to her. Cheesy. I know. But I did it anyway. And that whisper, I guess, was all Licker needed to see to know. All that was needed to make whatever Carolina and I were public. I could deny it. Yeah. But … screw it.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I thought I told you that you couldn’t go out with her.”
Licker said, “I think she’s much cuter this year.” Okay, I liked Licker better again.
“That’s not the point, Licker!” Henry yelled. “The point is we are supposed to be like brothers, and how can we trust each other if we don’t listen to each other?”
My cousin was talking like a moron. I knew this. Did anyone else? It’s hard talking to a moron, especially when he’s the lead kid of the popular freshman boys. Because whether you talk moron back or you don’t talk moron back, you’re probably going to piss him off, and if you piss him off, you’re probably not going to be part of the group anymore.
“Trev? Dude. Don’t just sit there and say nothing. Tell me what’s up. Tell me you’re not going to go out with her so that I can trust you. So we can all trust you.”
27
Carolina doesn’t sit with Trevor at lunch
Katherine didn’t say anything about the party when she picked me up on Tuesday morning. I wasn’t going to say anything. Obviously. But Peggy didn’t say anything at all. Then I noticed Katherine wasn’t saying anything at all. And so, the three of us just drove to school in silence. Sooo uncomfortable.
Peggy clung near me on the way to biology, which was fine, but you know, she hadn’t sat next to me half the time last week, and now I knew she was going to sit next to me in class and I wanted to be a good friend, but I also wanted to sit next to Trevor because … because, I just did. Even if he wasn’t my boyfriend, we did say we liked each other, and you sit next to people you like, right?
But Peggy was my best friend forever and so I decided I would sit between them. Which was not as complicated as I was thinking it would be, but then I put my folder on the desk to my right after we sat down and Peggy said, “Who are you saving that seat for?”
“Trevor,” I said as I got out my phone.
“Who are you texting?”
“Trevor,” I said. And even though all I did was say his name twice, Peggy knew I liked him again and he probably liked me and not her. She also knew I hadn’t told her about it, which best friends are supposed to do.
She said, “I think he found out I was into upperclassmen like Carl.” Carl was the junior who was molesting her at the party right before she puked. I’m surprised she even remembered his name. I’m sure Carl wishes he could forget her name. I’m being mean. Gosh. I shouldn’t be mean about Peggy. I love her, but I kind of hated her right then.
“Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe,” I said, and I said “maybe” because it was the nice thing to say, even though I knew Trevor never liked her and Peggy was being such a liar.
“You’re being really strange, Carrie,” Peggy said, which was her way of saying—right then—she hated me too. And this made me sad but then Trevor walked into biology and he looked at me like I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and, gosh, I didn’t care if Peggy hated me forever as long as Trevor looked at me like that. That sounds horrible. Horrible! But it was sooo true I wanted to scream it right at her face. But I didn’t. Obviously.
* * *
Trevor didn’t ask me to sit with him at lunch. Maybe I should have asked him. But Kendra said, “Let him make some of the first moves or he won’t feel good about himself,” and I wasn’t sure why me asking him to sit with me at lunch would make Trevor not like himself, but Kendra sounded really confident, so I listened.
But at lunch, I wished I hadn’t because I couldn’t focus on anything Peggy was saying or Kendra or the other soccer girls. It was about school and sports and stupid stuff and all I wanted to do was be next to Trevor. We wouldn’t have to say anything, just be there, and, I don’t know, smile and let everyone know that we were together and …
Ugh. This is really hard, combining friends and school and liking boys. I wish I could have an on/off switch in my brain so I could think about things only when I wanted to or needed to and then I wouldn’t think about things I wanted to when I needed to think about something else. That makes sense, right? I think so.
Anyway, so I was trying not to look across the cafeteria toward Trevor. It was impossible to see him through all the people, so it was really just staring at nothing except the idea of where he might be sitting, and what he might be doing, and thinking, and saying, and then—
Wait a minute. No, more than that:
WAIT A MINUTE!
He was suddenly taking three last steps toward our table, his tray in his hand, like he had just appeared out of fog, except that is silly, but really, it was like he had superpowers that allowed him to just materialize and, whoosh, there he was. He looked so amazing, and tall, and handsome, and best, best, best of all, he was looking right at me and he said, “Mind if I sit by you?”
And Peggy—because she had been taken over by an evil witch!—said, “This is our table.” Oh my gosh, I despised every inch of her whole stupid body, but I didn’t say anything to her, I just focused on Trevor and I said, “Of course you can sit here!” I wish I hadn’t said it sounding like I was five years old, but Trevor liked it, I could tell, and then he sat next to me. Kendra was on the other side and Peggy sat across from us. She was still possessed because she said, “What’s wrong with your table?” But before I could say, He just wanted to be close to me, I stopped myself because I would have sounded so dumb, and anyway, Trevor said, “I think I need new friends.” But it sounded cool and tough, not desperate or pathetic like I probably would have.
Then I said, “I’ll be your friend,” which, obviously, sounded pathetic. But maybe Trevor didn’t think so because he
gave me a super-small, almost secret smile, like he was a spy who had outsmarted everyone.
Kendra said, “I think Trevor wants to be more than your friend,” and I almost died, but all the soccer girls besides Peggy laughed. Then the second it got quiet (well, quiet at our table, the cafeteria was the least quiet place ever), Trevor said, “That’s true.” Which was sooo cool. My boyfriend is cool! Not just nice and attractive and amazing. Cool. (I know he’s not officially my boyfriend, but, well, you know what I mean.)
Peggy said, “I have to go,” and gave me this super-intense look that said, You are such a bitch, and then stood up and left. We never give that look to each other, so it made me super nervous and confused. Like, what was I supposed to do? I would have followed her and made things better every day of my life except today. Because TODAY Trevor was sitting next to me, and to get up and go after Peggy would be to leave Trevor by himself and I couldn’t do that. Just couldn’t. So I let Peggy walk off, and just when I thought I might cry, Trevor asked, “Is something wrong?” and touched my back with his hand. Oh. My. Gosh. I love him so much. I know you think I couldn’t possible love him already. But I do. I do. I do. I do. I do. I do. I do.
“Carolina?” he said, and he said it perfectly.
I do.
28
Trevor makes cereal twice
On Wednesday morning, when Lily and I were eating cereal, my mom walked into the kitchen and asked, “Where’s your dad?”
Lily responded faster than I did, mostly because she cares more about our mom not feeling like an idiot. “He flew to Los Angeles very early for work, Mom. Remember?”
“Oh. Right. I remember. When’s he coming back?”
“Thursday,” Lily said.
“Oh,” my mom said, then leaned against the kitchen island. She was feeling stupid, and I felt bad about not caring.
“Don’t worry about us. We can take care of ourselves, Mom,” I said, which was supposed to help her feel less pressure, but it only made it worse.
“I’m going to make us dinner tonight,” she said, proclaimed actually. Like she was announcing she was running for president.
“Do you want me to stay home and help?” Lily asked. Most kids might have said that because they wanted to skip school. Lily said it because she knew our mom had never cooked a real dinner in her life.
“No, Lily. I know you think your mom can’t do anything—”
“No, I don’t!” Lily said. Yes, she did. And so did I.
“But I’m not a bad cook. Just an unmotivated one. But I’m motivated today.” She walked over, leaned down, and put her arms around Lily. It was awkward, but it was still almost a hug. My mom hadn’t hugged us since she tried to kill herself, except when my dad was around and he basically ordered it. (In his nice “ordering” way.)
Then my mom looked at me. Crap. I think she wanted to hug me now. Not going to let that happen. So I looked down at my cereal bowl until she stood back up, walked away from the table, and turned on the coffee machine. My mom could maybe fool Lily, because Lily wanted to be fooled, into believing she was not a total failure of a parent. But no way could she fool me.
* * *
At lunch, Carolina and I sat together at her table with the soccer girls. I felt a little stupid sitting with only girls, but I’d rather feel a little stupid with Carolina than a total fraud with Henry and the rest of them. But maybe I should find new guy friends too.
* * *
I took the late bus home after practice to find Lily home alone. Yeah, she’s super mature for seven, but she’s still seven freaking years old and shouldn’t be home alone. Ever. “Where’s Mom?” I asked.
“She wasn’t here when I got off the bus,” she said, sitting on the floor of her room, coloring. She always stayed inside the lines.
“You hungry?”
“Mom’s making us dinner.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I’m going to wait for her to make dinner, Trevor! And so should you. We have to be supportive.” Yep. That’s my sister. Thinking it’s her job to be a cheerleader for her mom.
“It’s five thirty now. At seven, we’re both eating whether she’s here or not.”
“Maybe,” she said, then refused to look up from her coloring book again.
When I called her cell, my mom didn’t pick up. Goddamn. Worst mother in history.
* * *
At seven twenty-four, I poured Lily a bowl of Cheerios with a cut-up banana. Only thing she would consider eating. Said it would be a snack before our real dinner.
Three minutes later—exactly three minutes, actually—my mom walked into the house from the garage. She carried two big plates with tinfoil over them.
Lily cried out like it was stupid Christmas morning, “I knew it!” Dumped her cereal in the sink and jumped in the air next to my mom trying to see what she carried.
“Trevor,” my mom said, “there is one more plate in the car. Can you grab it for me?”
“Where were you?” I asked, as if my mom had stayed out after her curfew.
“I was cooking!” Mom raised the plates in the air before setting them down on the dining table.
“She was cooking, Trevor,” Lily said, pulling off the foil to reveal a plate of grilled chicken garnished with charcoaled cherry tomatoes and yellow peppers. The other plate held seasoned sweet potatoes. The food looked great. Too great.
I said, still pissed and still wanting Mom to pay for it, “Lily was here for two hours alone after school.”
“Lily, you were okay, weren’t you?” my mom said, not looking at me.
“Yes! I’m always okay. Mom told me she wasn’t going to be home.”
“Lily, don’t lie!” I cried out. Frustrated. Like a baby. God, I hated how my mom made me like this. “Your seven-year-old daughter is lying for you, Mom!”
“Trevor, I want this to be a fun night. Can we please make this a fun night?”
“Apologize.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. Fast. Too fast. She didn’t mean it. And I didn’t want to let her off the hook so easily.
“No, Mom, this is not okay!”
“Trevor!” Lily screamed. She never screamed. So I shut up. “She said sorry and she made us dinner!”
“Did she? Did you, Mom? Did you make all of this? Why are you carrying it in? Shouldn’t food you made ALREADY BE IN THE KITCHEN?”
Lily collapsed onto the floor, hit her palms over and over against the floor, retching out some animalistic cry. Never seen her do anything like it. And I had made her do it.
“Trevor,” my mom said once Lily’s noises subsided enough for her to be heard. “I cooked at Grandma’s. I wanted to do it with her. Is that okay or do you want to yell at me more?”
“But—” I started, because my mom still hadn’t looked me in the eyes. I always knew she was lying when she couldn’t look me in the eyes. Only Lily jacked up the volume of her first-ever temper tantrum. That made me stop talking. Lily was smart even when she was acting crazy. I turned toward the garage.
“Aren’t you going to eat with us?” my mom asked.
“You said there was another plate in the car.” Flung open the door. Aaaaaaaaaah! But the scream was just in my head.
* * *
Found the last plate of my mom’s “cooking” in the back of her Infiniti. Chocolate and peanut butter brownies. My grandma’s specialty. What probably happened was my mom told Grandma that she needed to cook something for dinner, and Grandma volunteered to help. Then she probably ended up doing the whole thing. Mom went off and did who knows what all day.
And probably not alone.
Crap. Man. It was just that one phone call.… Maybe my mom didn’t cheat. Crap. Forget it. Forget it all. Don’t care about Mom, Trevor. Don’t care about her at all. Care about Lily. And Lily wants to like Mom.
No! I won’t let her!
I picked up the plate of brownies and walked back into the house, ready to tell her I knew Grandma had cooked everything, only I
found Lily giggling with wonder at the table as she smelled the food. She acted like it was the greatest meal she had ever seen.
Screw it. I put the brownies down next to the other food.
“Brownies, Trevor!” Lily called out. “Your favorite! This is MY favorite dinner ever!”
Double screw it. I pretended to be a monster, with a deep, gargley voice, and said, “Food so good. Food so good,” and picked up a chicken thigh and gnawed at it, made a mess of my face and the table, but it made Lily laugh. Made my mom laugh too. I can act goofy for Lily, but not for anyone else.
See, life would be so simple and fun if I could pretend it wasn’t bullshit.
* * *
Because later, after we ate the chicken and sweet potatoes and vegetables, for some idiotic reason, probably because the brownies made me weak, I decided to tell my mom about Carolina. She tried to be interested, but it was hard for her to really care about anything except her own problems. Then—because, I don’t know why, maybe because I wanted her to pay attention for real—I told my mom that Carolina’s dad knew her from high school. She asked his name.
And I said, “Scott Fisher,” and then this thing descended on my mom. A memory. I don’t know. Whatever it was, it made me sick. I hated that memory of hers as much as she loved it. I hated that she knew Carolina’s dad before I knew Carolina. She might have poisoned our thing thirty years ago and I couldn’t do anything about it.
29
Carolina goes shopping
So Trevor had his first cross-country race Saturday morning. I asked about it one thousand times on Thursday so he would invite me to come watch, but he never did, which made me think he didn’t like me as much as I liked him, but I tried not to really think that because everything else was so amazing.
Forever for a Year Page 11