And because I didn’t buy this bra for nothing.
Chapter Forty-Two
After an incredible night with Brian, I know I need to tell Amelia, so I ask if she wants to grab some lunch the next day and she agrees.
We go to our spot, Jake’s, but don’t speak about anything too meaningful—small talk, mostly, and some gossip from school, but not much else. I can never find the right moment to tell her about Brian, so I just…don’t. Thankfully, she invites me back to her house, and I hope the familiar setting will help restore some of the normalcy between us.
At her house, we sit on her bed and she immediately pulls out her phone. Sometimes we do that together, go on our phones and share funny, dumb things from the internet, but I’d rather talk. I ask her how things with her and Kira are going and she says they’re fine but doesn’t offer anything else. So I figure now’s as good a time as any and I start to tell her about last night.
“Brian and I celebrated our anniversary last night. It was amazing,” I say. “He told me he loves spending time with me and that I just get him. I don’t know, Amelia, but this really feels like something, you know?”
She doesn’t glance up. “That’s nice.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say, trying to press through how much her lack of response is bothering me. “It feels so big and wonderful and scary all at the same time. After dinner, we—uh, did some stuff. Like…stuff-stuff.”
“Cool,” Amelia says.
“Cool?”
She looks up from her phone at me. “Yeah. Cool.” Then she returns to whatever she was doing.
“That’s all you have to say to that?”
“Yeah, I mean, we all do stuff with our partners, Charlie,” Amelia says. “It’s not exactly notable.”
I feel my cheeks flush. I know she’s just being hurtful on purpose, but still. This is why I sometimes get extra insecure. “I know that, Amelia. Sorry for trying to share something with my best friend.”
“I don’t know why you’re getting so upset.”
I scoff. “I’m getting upset because I’m trying to talk to you about important things and you don’t even want to look up from your phone!”
She dramatically puts her phone down on the bed and stares right at me, crossing her arms. “There. Better?”
“No, it’s not better. What’s your problem lately? You barely talk to me!”
“I barely talk to you? That’s real nice coming from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Amelia gets up from her bed. “Only that you’re never around anymore. You’re always with Brian. I’m shocked you’re even at my house right now.”
“I was just at a sleepover with you and the girls!”
“Right, but only because Brian was sick so you couldn’t hang out with him.”
“Oh, God, that again? Seriously, Amelia?”
She crosses her arms. “You know I’m right! You never make time for me anymore.”
“Ugh, that’s so dramatic, Amelia. God forbid I want to spend some time with Brian, my boyfriend,” I say. “You spend a ton of time with Kira, too! Don’t act like you don’t.”
“I still make time for you, which is more than you can say,” she retorts, and then she starts angry-cleaning her bookshelf, a weird habit she has when she’s upset. Her mom does the same thing.
“I make time for you! But things change when you’re dating someone. You know that,” I say. “I’ve always been so understanding of that with your past boyfriends—especially Sid!”
“Oh, so I’ve just always put other people before you? That’s a nice thing to say about your best friend.”
“I didn’t say that, Amelia. I’m just saying that when it happens—and it does!—that I’ve always been really patient about it, never complaining about being a third wheel, and just trying to let you do your thing!”
“Sure, turn this whole thing on me!” she yells.
“I’m not turning this on you. I just think you’re being really unfair right now. Admit it: you kind of hate that I finally have a boyfriend!”
Amelia slams some of her books into a pile on her desk and turns to me. “That’s absurd! I’m happy you have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah, right! I’m trying to tell you about our anniversary and you don’t even care!”
“Because when you’re not with Brian, all you do is talk about Brian! God, Charlie, who even are you anymore?” she asks. “I feel like I don’t even know you!”
“Well, sorry that I went out and got a life and you can’t handle that! Even Brian agrees. He says you’re being a real hypocrite!”
Her shoulders go up and she scowls at me. “You’re talking shit about me with Brian?”
“Oh, give me a break. Like you don’t talk about me to Kira,” I say, rolling my eyes.
She sniffs. “I don’t.”
“Well, whatever.” But I feel my cheeks getting a little hot in embarrassment.
“I can’t believe I’ve literally spent weeks being upset that I barely see my best friend and she’s off with her boyfriend just talking about me like no big deal,” Amelia says. “And he called me a hypocrite? That’s really shitty, Charlie.”
“Well, he didn’t actually call you a hypocrite,” I say, but she cuts me off.
“I don’t even care. Go ahead; talk shit about me. He’s probably just pissed because I turned him down when he asked me out!”
That hits me like a punch in my gut.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Oh, chatty Brian must not have shared that with you? Brian asked me out before he ever asked you out,” she says, glaring at me. “I guess he preferred me. And that’s why you’re not ever supposed to choose a boy over your best friend, Charlie. Whatever. I’m over this.”
Amelia storms out of her room to go God knows where and leaves me standing there, my eyes aching with the sting of tears.
I take in a shallow, unsteady breath, feeling faint.
I’m…stunned.
And all I can think is that I need to get out of here. I fumble around for my bag and keys and rush to my car. My heart is pounding as I drive away from Amelia’s house.
I don’t think Amelia and I have ever fought like this—saying hurtful things, things we can’t take back.
But could it be true? That Brian asked her out? When? How? Why did I not know?
My brain can’t help but jump to the worst conclusions—that none of Brian’s feelings toward me are real, that this has all been a big ploy to get closer to Amelia, that I’ve slowly been giving parts of myself to a boy who doesn’t care about me at all.
Chapter Forty-Three
My world feels like it’s spinning so fast I could puke.
I don’t know what to make of my fight with Amelia, and I definitely don’t know what to think about what she said about Brian. I start to drive home but know I’m not guaranteed a place to cry in peace there, so I take myself to the sad, deserted mall instead and cry in the parking lot.
I thought the way I felt after Cal was bad, but this is so much worse. This feels like losing my best friend and my boyfriend in the same instant. Like I blinked wrong and—poof—everyone meaningful to me was gone. I’m sick at the thought. It’s as if the hurt burning inside of my chest seeps into my veins and pumps all over my body.
She knows that my relationship with Brian has meant so much to me. She knows that I’ve been in a lovesick stupor experiencing all of these firsts. She knows how happy this has all made me. She knows, and yet she still set off a grenade and dropped it in my lap, not caring about the aftermath.
That she’d been holding on to the secret that Brian had asked her out first, that she chose a particularly vulnerable moment to share it with me, that she said it deliberately to hurt me—none of that feels fair.
And Brian. My Brian? Well, he was clearly not really ever my Brian at all, not if what Amelia says is true, not if he liked her first. Angry as Amelia was with me, she would never lie to
me.
Yet how am I supposed to go back to a life where Brian is Just Brian, some kid in art class, and not My Brian, the guy I’m head over heels for? Am I just supposed to forget how my hand fits into his? How we can laugh until we’re crying, certain that our lungs can’t take any more, and then erupt into laughter all over again? How we can easily settle into comfortable silences together? How it feels like we’re always on an adventure, in on a secret? The way he can easily wrap me in his arms and pull me into a hug, like that’s where I belong? The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles so big? The way he touches my cheek just so? That crooked grin? The smell of his cologne? I let out a sob thinking of having to say goodbye to all that.
It’s not fair. It’s not right. I finally had a person in my corner who delighted in me, someone to call my own. I had something good. I think about our relationship, how it grew like the heat from a fire—slowly at first, but then enveloping you, warming up your fingers and the tip of your nose until your whole body is cocooned in it, warm and safe and happy in ways you never thought you could be.
Brian was my person. My person. Mine. And I was his. And now.
Now I’ll have to go back to my life, the way it was before, living in everyone else’s shadow, trying not to be washed out entirely by their light. I’ll have to let go of the comfort, give it back, like I was just borrowing it and it was never really mine at all.
Because Brian liked Amelia before he liked me. It confirms all my worst fears. It digs deep inside the trenches of my body, yanks out a searing insecurity, and places it outside me for all to see.
The shame sets me on fire, and my brain keeps returning to one thought: We’re done. We have to be.
Brian and I are over.
And for the time being, so are Amelia and I.
My face crumples. This is how it feels to lose everyone you care about in one fell swoop.
Brian tries reaching out to me. He sends me cute pictures of a dog, a link to a funny Reddit post, and some texts about how he misses me.
I ignore them all and put his messages on Do Not Disturb so I stop getting notified every time he texts.
If I keep him in limbo, I don’t have to admit to myself that I have to say goodbye.
I do the same with Amelia’s text chain, though she hasn’t yet reached out. Maybe she doesn’t even care that she’s hurt me.
Even with notifications off, I know I’ll spend a good part of the night obsessively checking my phone just to see, so eventually I turn it off completely to rid myself of the temptation. I try to read, but I can’t focus. I try to sleep, knowing the next day is a school day, but I barely rest. Instead, I toss, I turn, I cry, I stare at the ceiling.
In the morning, I purposely drag my feet getting ready for school, arrive late so that I can avoid both Brian and Amelia at my locker, and don’t acknowledge Amelia in class. I stare at my notes and at the board and at my phone but don’t even look in Amelia’s direction.
In between classes, I do check my messages. I see the little blue dot, indicating unread texts, beside both Brian’s and Amelia’s names.
I can’t look at Brian’s—not at school.
But I do peek at Amelia’s. There are two.
I feel like things got really out of hand tonight, one reads. I’m so sorry.
The other: Can we please talk?
But I’m not ready to. Not yet. So I tuck my phone away, spend the rest of the day avoiding both her and Brian, skip art class entirely, and go straight home.
I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I’ve fallen into such a comfortable routine with Brian that suddenly doing nothing—a thing I’ve perfected over years—feels weird to me.
I can’t help it; eventually, I give in and look at the texts from him. There are a lot. And though they started out funny and charming and lovely—the kind of things two people with lots of gushy, happy feelings toward each other might send—they get increasingly concerned, alarmed.
Missed you at lunch. See you in art?
Haven’t seen or heard from you all day, kid.
Hmm…now you’re not in art. I’m getting worried. Are you out sick today?
Maybe you’ve been abducted by aliens??? Do they come in peace or nah? Note to self: steal spaceship, rescue girlfriend.
Not trying to annoy you, but getting a little concerned. Text me back when you can!
I feel a pang of guilt reading through the messages.
Part of me feels like I could just reply and act like I don’t know what I know. We could go on being together like it doesn’t matter. I don’t have to acknowledge that he likes Amelia more. We can just pretend.
But the other part of me could scream. This feels like a betrayal. With every fiber in me, I hate, hate, hate that Brian asked Amelia out before me. That he prefers her over me, just like everyone else. It makes my stomach churn. I feel vile and used and foolish.
I would give anything to extricate that knowledge from my brain and to forget it ever existed. For the first time in my whole life, I liked someone and he liked me back, and we were happy.
But I wasn’t his first choice. I was his silver medal.
Is this bound to be my life forever?
The thing that kills me is that Brian never, ever made me feel like I was inferior to Amelia. He always made me feel heard and seen, like I could really be me—the best version of me—when I was around him. He listened to me; he fought for me; he cared for me.
In the way he pursued me, proudly and publicly; in the way he supported me during fights with my mom; in the way he believed in me and in my writing; in all these little and big ways, I thought Brian showed me again and again that he really cared. For me. Only me.
Yet now when I think of him, there is a pain in my chest that’s so deep that I can only describe it as guttural.
I admit that I pictured a future with Brian. He was my first boyfriend, my first kiss, my first everything, and now I have to live with the fact that the first and only boy I’ve ever cared for in this way preferred Amelia, like everyone else who has ever disappointed me.
I think I might have loved him. And now I’m not sure I ever want to think about loving someone ever again.
Chapter Forty-Four
I pretend to go to school the next morning by leaving right on time so my mom doesn’t suspect a thing—then turning back around and going home.
Outside, it’s raining, which feels right. It frustrates me when the weather outside doesn’t match how I’m feeling. Today, I welcome the rain.
I check on the texts from Brian again, but there’s only one.
Are you okay, Charlie? Please text me back. I’m really, really worried.
I cave and write I’m fine, just busy, which only makes him call me. He must’ve had to sneak out of class to do so. I don’t answer.
I check the texts from Amelia. There’s a long one.
I understand that you don’t want to talk. I really do. I’ve been thinking a lot and feeling really, really ashamed of how I behaved the other day. I know I hurt you and I’m so sorry. I hope that we can talk and you can find it in your heart to forgive me for the things I said. But I also understand if you never want to speak to me again. Know that I’m here and ready and willing to talk if/when you are.
I start to type out a reply, mulling over what I might say…but then stop. Put my phone away. Pull out my diary.
I haven’t written in it in ages, so I start by spending some time reading old entries. They’re so profoundly sad: the thoughts of a girl who doesn’t love herself enough. Reading her deepest feelings makes me realize how much I’ve relied on others to build that girl up, on how much of her validation came from the world around her rather than from inside her. I thought I’d gotten out of that headspace, but is that how I’ve been with Brian all along? Only flying because he was holding a fan that blew air under my wings? I pick up a pen and write.
I decide that, in spite of everything happening now, I don’t want this new entry to be as sad and
lonely as the others. I want it to be hopeful and forward-looking and give Future Charlie something to look back on and feel proud of.
So I write about how I will find the strength to respect myself. I will find the courage to be kind in the face of hurt.
I write that I will put myself first.
I write that I won’t succumb to—or believe—my mother’s feelings about me.
I write that I will muster the strength to say goodbye to those who don’t deserve me.
I write that in the face of my sadness I will find the sunlight.
I write about how I don’t know how, but one way or another, I’ll be fine.
That evening, I decide I need to get out of the house; I need something, anything to distract me. It’s Tuesday night and staying home is suddenly the very last thing I want to do.
But I can’t exactly text Brian or Amelia.
I consider reaching out to Maddy or even Jess or Liz—but I worry they might be with Amelia, and I don’t want to risk it.
So I do something I haven’t done in a while. I text my cousin Ana.
Hey! I write. How have you been?
She writes back: Charlie!!! I’ve been good. What about you?
I’m good! Miss you! Are you free tonight? I ask.
I’m with Carmen at Crazy Skates. You should come by! Ana says.
Another text rolls in and I see it’s from Carmen. COME NOOOOW! There’s a picture of her and Ana—both perfectly made up—on the roller-skating rink.
A quick wardrobe change, a little makeup, and a giant hair scrunchie later, I’m on my way. Tonight, I will fake it until I make it.
Here, I text Ana and Carmen once I’m inside. Going to the rental line!
I grab a pair of skates and a locker for my shoes and bag. As I’m changing out of my shoes, Ana and Carmen flank me on either side with a hug.
“You’re here!” Carmen squeals while I finish lacing my skates.
“I’m here!” I say, trying to match her excitement. I rise to my feet, a little unsteady.
Fat Chance, Charlie Vega Page 26