by James Ramos
“Nope.” I dropped my board and hopped on. “Thanks though.” I kicked off with a wave. All I could think of was the letter. It felt like an anchor, dragging me down. I should throw it away, I thought as I cruised through the dark. Why should I even bother reading it? What else did she have to say to me?
After a block I skidded to a halt underneath the glow of a lamp at a corner. I couldn’t help it. I tore the letter from my pocket and held it up under the light. I knew her handwriting. I could imagine her slender fingers sweeping across the page, leaving her cursive in their wake.
I crumpled the letter and raised my hand to toss it into the bushes. Something made me stop.
I’d promised her I’d read it.
I lowered my arm. A promise was a promise. What harm could there be in at least skimming it? I carefully uncrumpled the letter and smoothed it out on my pants. I held it up so I could read it.
Elliott,
I know that it won’t make much difference now, but I feel I must set the record straight about what’s happened between us.
Please know that it was never my intention to hurt anyone. I was only looking out for a friend, the dearest friend I have. As close as we are, I am not blind to Bridget’s gullible nature. I fear she is not the best judge of character, which she has proven on at least two separate occasions. Her first boyfriend unceremoniously dumped her when she refused to pursue a physical relationship with him. Her last treated her as if she were a trophy to be paraded around rather than a person, and I’ve since sworn that I wouldn’t let anything like that happen to her again. When I moved to sever the ties between her and your cousin, I sincerely believed that he was using her in a similar fashion, and that I was acting in her best interests. His apparent lack of concern after the fact only served to confirm my belief.
As for the business with Gabrielle, I can only imagine what she’s told you about me, but I gather she’s led you to believe she is the victim. But here is the truth of the matter: Gabby and I were once friends, and our bond was not at all weakened when she expressed her interest in dating my brother, George. I approved with no reservations at all, and I rejoiced in this new arrangement. My brother is a much better person than I could ever hope to be. He helps people without hesitation or question. But he, much like Bridget, is often naïve.
One thing you do not understand is that when one is born into any measure of wealth, there are always false friends that are more interested in that wealth than in who you are as a person. I had sincerely believed that Gabrielle was an exception to this, but when I discovered that she had, over the course of three months “borrowed” over three thousand dollars from my brother, my suspicions were understandably raised.
Though she told me the money had been borrowed to help her household through a difficult time, a review of my brother’s debit card statement revealed that the majority of the money had been used in the purchase of a car. You can imagine my disgust when I later found her in the car, with a boy, in a, shall we say, compromising situation.
When I confronted her in private about it, she refused to correct the situation or even admit it, despite my having irrefutable proof. Seeing as it was unfair to my brother, and I was understandably enraged at her betrayal, I told George everything I knew. He left her, I vowed never to speak to her again, and she has hated and blamed me ever since for the reputation she has earned for herself.
As for my “cold and frigid” behavior, as I have heard it described, consider that I have been conditioned to question the motives of others, and to assume the worst about them, to ensure that neither myself nor those I care about are taken advantage of. With regard to your friends, I must amend that while I have on more than one occasion witnessed an extreme lack of couth, both yourself and your cousin are exempt from such an assessment.
You criticized me for being less than open to forming new friendships, and so I sought to form one with you. Because I believe you to be different. Not once in any of our conversations did you ask about my family’s money. You weren’t sycophantic. You voiced your opinions even when they were at odds with my own. I won’t pretend that all of our encounters have been pleasant, but to me they were pleasantly candid.
I hope that you believe what I’ve told you, because it is the truth. Bridget herself can verify these facts. I do, however, sincerely apologize for the wrongs I have done to both you and your friends. I don’t expect you to forgive me, and if this is the last time we speak, then know that I will always regret the way things ended between us.
Sincerely,
Darcy.
Chapter 27
Darcy’s letter was all I could think about that weekend. I reread it over and over again, trying to decide whether or not I believed what she said. Suppose I didn’t? That meant she was lying, which, Gabby had said, she was very good at. But suppose I did believe Darcy? That would mean I’d made a huge and terrible mistake.
But what did I know?
A kernel of popcorn ricocheted off my forehead and dropped into my lap. I craned my neck to stare at it for a full ten seconds. Slowly I followed the trajectory back to the loveseat across from my couch. Jake was sitting there holding the bowl, staring at me with a controller in his hand. Waiting. For what?
“What’s the matter with you, dude? You totally screwed the pooch on this level.”
I looked back down at my lap. I was holding the other controller. The TV was on, the game over screen flashing at me. Had we been playing?
“Sorry,” I said.
Jake pushed a handful of popcorn into his mouth without taking his eyes off me. “What’s wrong, Elliott?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, and I’m the Princess of Mars.”
“Not gonna talk about it.” I sat up. The soreness in my butt told me I’d been sitting here for a long time. I was wearing my pajamas, and judging from the way I smelled I guessed I hadn’t yet showered. I couldn’t say for sure. I didn’t remember how I got down here, what game we were playing, or when Jake had come over. I fished my phone out of my pocket and stared at the screen. Sunday, December 20th. Three o’clock in the afternoon, two days after the incident I wasn’t going to talk about.
I knew that Bridget considered Darcy to be a close friend. Darcy was here because of that friendship. The fact that Bridget had trusted her judgment enough to call things off with Jake just because she’d wanted her to gave credence to her claims in the letter.
“Are you nervous?” Jake asked me.
I frowned. Or, I would have, if I could bring the muscles in my face to move that way. “Nerves?”
“Because of the debut.”
“What?”
“Are you serious? Monday night. The show? The one you’ve been watching us rehearse for months?”
“The show . . .” Slowly it came to me. The play. Romeo and Juliet. It was debuting Monday night. Two days from now.
“Why would I be nervous?” I asked.
“Because you’re kind of like our advocate,” Jake said. “You’ve gotten us a lot of attention. A lot more people are coming to see this thing because of your articles. If we tank, you’re kind of going down with the ship too.”
That was a good point. The blog was getting a lot of traffic. Views were through the roof. People were even commenting on the videos. I was as much a part of the play as Jake was. But I wasn’t nervous, even though I probably should have been. I wasn’t anything.
“No, not really,” I told him.
Jake stretched and pulled himself from the loveseat. “We should probably get going now,” he said as he yawned. “Ms. Wright wants us to run through another full dress rehearsal.”
I nodded, and peeled myself off of the couch. “Full dress. Right.” I took one slow step, put one foot in front of the other. Easy does it. Don’t think. Just walk. Go upstairs, get dressed. Maybe shower and shave first. Yeah, definitely shower and shave first. And whatever you do, don’t think about—
Darc
y. Darcy, Darcy, Darcy.
Everything came rushing into my mind like a stampede. The museum, the movie, the party, the argument. I made it to the bottom of the stairs and couldn’t go on.
“Dude, are you sick or something?” Jake asked from behind me.
“No. I’m fine.” I’d never told a bigger lie. If fine were a country, I’d revoked my citizenship. I lived on the opposite side of the globe. Whatever the polar opposite of fine was, that was me. I couldn’t even remember what it was like to be anything remotely close to fine.
* * *
By six o’clock the entire cast of the production had squeezed on stage in full Shakespearean regalia. I was right there with them, with my notepad and Lucas’s camcorder. Today was the final rehearsal; the next time the cast performed, it would be in front of an audience. My nerves were at a fever pitch now, and it seemed like everyone else’s were too. The stage was dank with the anxiety of fifty kids pacing around in frills and stockings, dresses and bows. Aside from the crew, I was the only person in contemporary clothes.
Ms. Wright was a humming bird, fluttering from person to person, righting collars, straightening props, making sure everyone and everything was in place. She circled Juliet, inspecting every thread of her costume.
“Remember this, Juliet,” she said earnestly, “you love Romeo. To you he is your salvation. I want to see the infatuation in your eyes every time you look at him. I want to feel the sparks!”
Juliet nodded solemnly. Ms. Wright hopped to Jake and busied herself pulling at imaginary wrinkles in his frilly felt costume.
“Romeo,” she purred, “remember, when you see Juliet, you’ve got to forget all about Rosaline. She does not even exist to you. She never existed to you.”
“Never existed,” Jake repeated with a resolute nod.
“She was a bother, a chore, a drain. But your eyes have been opened. Now there is nobody else.”
“Nobody else,” said Jake. His voice carried less conviction this time.
“Except for Juliet.”
“Except for Juliet.” Jake’s response was even less enthusiastic. A pang of pain flashed across his face. For a moment his concentration faltered, and he was Jake again rather than Romeo, still thinking about Bridget.
“Right . . .” he said slowly. “Juliet . . .”
Jake sagged, but then he took a deep breath, and he was Romeo once more.
“Wonderful!” Ms. Wright said with a delighted clap, skipping off again.
While she bothered the lighting and props people, I went to Jake, who was muttering what I assumed were his lines quietly to himself.
“How’s it going?” I asked, keeping my tone light. “You take to stockings much better than I would.”
He laughed humorlessly. “Pony tails, too, I bet.”
“It’s gotta be hard playing a hopeless romantic, given your, um—”
“You mean Bridget.” I was surprised by the easy way he said her name. He shrugged. “I’m over it.”
He put on a good show, but I still wasn’t entirely convinced. “Really?”
He smiled, but it seemed forced. “Of course. That’s ancient history.”
“So you’re all good?”
Again, that forced smile. “Yeah.”
“Did you love her?” I blurted. “Bridget, I mean, did you love her? Or I guess the better question is, were you in love with her?”
He didn’t hesitate with his answer. “Yes.”
“Then how can you just let it go? How do you just go on about your life like everything is fine when it isn’t? I mean, that has to affect you somehow.”
He stopped and took a deep breath. “Of course it does. I won’t lie to you and say I don’t feel anything. Not a day, not a minute goes by that I don’t miss her. But what is wallowing in my own misery going to do for either of us? She broke things off because it wasn’t what was best for her, and when it’s all said and done, that’s what’s important. I care about her more than I care about myself, and if I wasn’t what she needed, then what she did was what she should have done.”
“But what if it hadn’t been her choice? What if someone else influenced her?”
“Who in the world would have done that?”
I bit my tongue. I hadn’t told him about Darcy’s interference. I wasn’t sure if I should.
“Either way,” he said. “She made the decision. I have to accept that.”
I didn’t want to keep bring this up, but I had to. “One last question, and I promise to drop it.”
“What’s that?”
“Did Bridget ever talk to you about her past relationships?”
Jake’s answer came surprisingly quick for someone who was supposedly over it. “She didn’t like to dwell on that sort of thing. She’s only ever dated twice. They . . . they weren’t the best experiences for her.”
“Son of a gun.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Make that everything. I’d been wrong about everything. Darcy had been telling the truth about everything. Which meant that I had screwed up everything.
* * *
“Elliott, pass the mashed potatoes, please.”
My mom’s voice. I stared at my plate, chasing the peas in my mixed vegetables around the ridges. Somehow the food was half-eaten.
“Elliott, would you pass the potatoes?”
I impaled a kernel of corn with my fork and held it at eye level. I loved corn. Corn on the cob. Popcorn. Sweet corn. But this particular kernel? I had no desire to put it in my mouth. I popped it in anyways and bit down. It tasted like nothing. I barely felt it as I crushed it with my teeth. Bite. Chew. Bite. Chew. I felt the juices work. I felt the lump as I swallowed. But there was nothing to enjoy about the experience.
“Elliott! Potatoes. Now!”
I looked up to see both my parents staring at me. “What was that?”
“Are you smoking?” Mom asked.
“Smoking?”
Mom kneaded her temples. “Lord, please let it not be meth . . .”
“Is everything alright?” Dad asked me.
“I’m not smoking.”
Mom leaned toward me. “Are you depressed? Suicidal? Are you cutting? Let me see your wrists.”
“No on all counts,” I grumbled, pulling away as she reached for my arm. “I’m just tired, I guess.” I pushed away from the table. “I’m gonna go lay down for a bit.” I slid the bowl of potatoes toward Mom and left the kitchen.
I didn’t make it to my bed. Somehow I ended up standing outside in the dark. The wind was stiff and cold. In the distance the mountains were ultra-black against the already black of the night sky. I didn’t feel the cold. I didn’t smell the rain in the clouds or the dust in the air.
I stared out over the golf course. I could make out the silhouette of the Manor. The lights were off. I wondered if anyone was home. Maybe they were asleep. Maybe they were out. I thought about Darcy, and wondered what she was doing. Getting on with her life, in all likelihood. By now, she’d probably forgotten about me completely. I couldn’t blame her. I couldn’t blame her if she never thought about me again.
It was probably better for both of us that way.
Chapter 28
I seriously considered skipping school that Monday. There was just no way I could face Darcy, not after all this. It was only the fact that my mom was still home that made me leave the house, but even then, I wasn’t sure I could bear going to first hour and having to sit next to her for forty-five whole minutes.
I tried to come up with reasons to avoid class all the way up until the moment I got there, but I couldn’t come up with anything plausible that Darcy wouldn’t see through. I could only imagine what she thought of me right now; there was no need to add “coward” to that list.
I was sitting at my table like a prisoner awaiting his sentence when Darcy came in. My whole body tensed. My stomach tightened. And my heart jumped in my chest.
She
didn’t look at me. She didn’t say a word to me. She just took her seat and stared straight ahead until the bell rang and Mr. Williams began his lecture.
I thought of something the artist and writer Kahlil Gibran said. “Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”
Even though we were sitting right next to each other, Darcy and I were separated by a chasm I wasn’t sure could ever be crossed or closed. When class let out she gathered her things and walked right past me like I wasn’t even there. It made me wish I wasn’t
Darcy ignored me through Theater Arts, too. The irony of it all wasn’t lost on me. When we’d first met, I’d spent all my time trying to ignore her, and now that she was the one doing it to me, I couldn’t take it. What was worse was that I had no idea where we stood with one another. Other than that we obviously weren’t on speaking terms, of course. Did she hate me? Did she think I was the biggest jerk ever to walk the earth? Had I hurt her feelings? Would she accept an apology? It was impossible to tell. Darcy, as always, was a mystery to me, more so now than she had ever been.
* * *
With the formal less than a week away, the scramble for dates became desperate. It was like what happens when a school of fish gets worked up by the sudden appearance of a predatory animal. All anyone could seem to talk about was who was going with who, and even though I tried not to listen or care, I kept my ear open for any news that Darcy had accepted any of the myriad offers she was no doubt inundated with. But as the days dragged on, I didn’t hear anything, and I had to admit I was relieved. Imagining her on the arm of some bozo was enough to make my stomach twist into painful knots. I knew I was just making things worse for myself. Whether or not she went to the formal with anyone didn’t matter, because either way, she wouldn’t be going with me.
“You guys are lucky to be going,” Liam said at lunch.
“You can go, too,” said Mark, “You are a junior. And you’d already have a date.”
“Yeah, well I’m a broke junior,” Liam muttered as he adjusted his pompadour for the third time in fifteen minutes.