The Treasure Map of Boys

by E. Lockhart

  “Were you?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “On principle I don’t reveal my private relationships to clients. But Jonah is—he’s gregarious. And he’d been talking to you quite a while before I got there.”

  “Yeah, he’s chatty,” I said.

  “He likes the sandals very much.”

  I bit my fingernail. “I didn’t think you were going to answer me about being spazzed out, actually.”

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t admit to emotions. You just get me to admit to emotions. That’s your job, isn’t it?”

  Doctor Z laughed. “I’m not a pod-robot, Ruby.”

  “Ha!” I said. “You got that word from me. That’s not a shrink term, pod-robot. That’s a Ruby Oliver term.”

  “I listen to you carefully,” said Doctor Z. “It’s my job to be paying attention.”

  And that was true. She did listen carefully.

  “I feel like this whole thing we do each week, I feel like it’s one-sided,” I said. “You know nearly everything about me and I know nothing about you. Isn’t that sick and unbalanced?”

  “It’s therapy,” said Doctor Z. “It’s a methodology.”

  “I wanted to know all these things about you. I had so many questions. And then when I actually knew some-thing—I really, really didn’t want to know,” I told her.

  “That’s probably healthy.”

  “You mean I have actual evidence of mental health?”

  “Sure. We’ve been over this before, Ruby. You’re far from crazy.”

  “But I am having all these panic attacks,” I said. “I keep having them. And I have no one to talk to, because my parents are supremely annoying and Meghan has a new boyfriend. So everything is smashed up inside me and it’s making me feel crazy.” I sniffed. “The attacks are really scary. And the retro-metal cure isn’t working.”

  “So let’s work on that,” Doctor Z replied. “I’m here to help.”

  I showed her my half-finished, half-destroyed treasure map, and told her everything that had happened. Everything.

  She took the map and looked at it closely. “I know I did it wrong,” I told her.

  “Actually,” she replied, “I don’t think you did it wrong at all. This is a sincere and complicated expression of what you’ve been thinking and going through.”

  Yeah. That was true.

  “But wasn’t I supposed to have girls on it?” I said. “I should be valuing my peer group and relationships beyond the romantic, right? I shouldn’t be so obsessed with boys.”

  Doctor Z chuckled. “We don’t need to put that label ‘shouldn’t’ on it,” she told me. “You are sixteen years old and heterosexual, after all.”

  “So?”

  “So a little obsession with boys is natural.”

  Then I told her what I’d realized about the treasure in the grape Popsicles with Hutch and Dad in the greenhouse, and she said, “We’re seeing some alteration in the way you’re framing things, don’t you think?”

  And I thought, Yeah, maybe we are.

  And maybe I figured something out on my own.

  And maybe I’m not such a bad friend after all.

  But what I said was: “That has got to be the shrinkiest thing you’ve ever said to me in a whole year of head shrinking.”

  Doctor Z laughed.

  When our time was up, I didn’t feel better, exactly.

  But I felt lighter.

  I Want to Be Treated Like a Dog, Strange As That Sounds

  They came out kinda flat, and

  They came out kinda greasy.

  I made them really, really late,

  And honestly-they’re not that great.

  But:

  They took me several hours,

  There’s a burn across my thumb,

  Then I had to clean the kitchen,

  Now I want to give you some.

  —written on an index card taped to a shoe box delivered to my doorstep, early June of junior year.

  spring Fling came and went without me. I was at Van Halen with Hutch. David Lee Roth took his shirt off and wore spandex. It was gross and thrilling at the same time. Hutch banged his head around and jumped up and down like a heavy-metal lunatic. It would have been embarrassing to be next to him, except everyone in KeyArena was doing the same thing, so finally I went with it and banged my head around too, even though there were lots of songs I didn’t know.

  Driving home, all of Seattle seemed quiet. It was late at night, and there was a slight drizzle. The streets were shining. The world seemed cinematic.

  Hutch and I got pizza and argued about the guitar skills of Eddie Van Halen versus Kirk Hammett, then Angus Young versus Slash.1 I had no idea what I was talking about, but it was fun to take the opposite position to Hutch and watch him get worked up. He defended Slash to the end.

  Meghan called me around noon the next day and told me all about Spring Fling. She and Finn had kissed under the stars as the mini-yacht cruised across the lake. She thought she might be in love. Before the dance, they had dinner at Waterfront Seafood Grill with Noel and Nora, two soccer muffins and their dates: Varsha and Spencer. Nora looked beautiful. Noel wore a vintage suit. Meghan ate salmon with cilantro sauce and chocolate cake. The boys tried to order wine but the waiter wouldn’t serve them.

  I felt a surge of jealousy, thinking about Nora and Noel going to the dance. Yes, Meghan said, in answer to my question, they talked and laughed and seemed to be having a good time.

  A really good time? I asked.

  Yes. Noel was being so funny at dinner.

  Did they hold hands or anything?

  They danced. She’s taller than him, but she wore flats, so it wasn’t too bad.

  Did it get romantic? I wanted to know.

  “I can’t get in the middle here between you and Nora,” Meghan said. “But she didn’t call in the morning and say she’d kissed him. I still don’t think he likes her back the same way, but it was hard to tell at Spring Fling, you know? With the starlight and the music and everyone looking so gorgeous.”

  Did—

  But Meghan didn’t want to talk about Nora and Noel. She wanted to talk about her and Finn. Most people went to an after-party at the Yamamotos’ after the dance, but Meghan had driven Finn home instead and there had been some serious upper-regioning. She wondered if Finn was inexperienced, though. She herself was well acquainted with the nether regions, but Finn seemed shy, she said, and wasn’t that sweet?

  I tried to listen and even ask questions that had nothing to do with Noel and Nora, because I was happy for Meghan, I really was, and I wanted to be a good friend. But my mind was running.

  If my life was a movie, I figured, Noel would be the hero. I used to think it would be Jackson, because there I had a classic plot: Girl meets boy, they fall in love; girl loses boy, misery; girl gets boy back again, happy ending. But even though Jackson had once been exactly what I wanted—even though we had once been happy—I knew now that I didn’t want him anymore.

  Noel was the one whose kisses were better than retro metal. He was the one who made me laugh all through Chem class and wrote me that note I copied onto my treasure map. He was the one who had misunderstood something and thought I didn’t care about him (girl loses boy)—and he was the one who seemed to have gone off with someone else (misery). So if my life was a movie, it was now time for “girl gets boy back again” and “happy ending”—which meant one of these three things would happen:

  Nora would turn out to be evil. I would uncover some sinister plot she was hatching and foil it using emulsions. Noel would realize Nora was evil, admire me for my heroic deeds and show up at my house saying: “I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”2 Then the two of us would stroll into the sunset, and for once, his hair would look cool.

  Nora would fall wildly in love with a basketball muffin who appreciated her sporty
nature and her photography skills. She would see that she was wrong to be mad at me for kissing Noel and beg my forgiveness. She would tell Noel he was wrong to be mad at me for hugging Jackson, and Noel would show up at my house saying: “I am just a boy standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him.”3 He’d also beg my forgiveness by sending me flowers and serenading me outside my window, singing a medley of songs by Joe Cocker and Elton John.4 Then he and I would stroll into the sunset wearing excellent vintage outfits.

  Nora would realize she is a lesbian and confess she had been hiding her true nature from herself by imagining her crush on Noel when really he was just a nearby male for whom she had no true romantic feelings. Jackson would turn out to be evil, revealing that he’d been telling Noel lies about me—which would mean that Noel didn’t think I was a complete slut after all. Noel would realize he’d wronged me terribly, and he’d show up at my house saying, “You complete me.”5 Then we’d drive into the sunset on Noel’s Vespa, our hair blowing in the wind because in movies you never have to wear an ugly helmet.

  Of course, life doesn’t happen like that. In life, even if someone says “You complete me,” his hair still looks funny. Or he has a bad cold. Or even though you complete him, he still blows you off the next day to watch a basketball game with the guys.

  And in life, you do have to choose between your friend and the boy you like. She doesn’t magically fall in love with someone else, realize she’s gay or turn out evil. No one turns out to be evil. People are complicated and make mistakes. They’re thoughtless, selfish womanizers who can turn into pod-robots at a moment’s notice—but they’re also funny and kind sometimes when you’ve been crying (Jackson). Or they’re stubborn and self-righteous and unforgiving, but also generous and honest and they take care of you when you’re having a panic attack (Nora).

  They’re not ideal and romantic, either. They’re handsome and good kissers and above all interesting, but they’re insensitive about things like asking you to be a bodyguard, and they don’t believe you when you try to explain why you were hugging someone else (Noel).

  Or they’re hyperverbal and reasonably good-looking, and they mean well and they’re good with animals, and they can put on a damn good bake sale, but they get confused about what and whom they want, and all too often can’t resist temptation (me).

  In life, maybe you do eventually find love, but it’s not with your high school boyfriend. It’s with a completely different person whom you never even met before—some-one who didn’t figure into the first part of the story at all. In life, there’s no happily-ever-after-into-the-sunset. There’s a marriage, complete with arguments, bad hair, lost hair, mentally unstable children, weird diets, dogs that fur up the couch, not enough money. Like my parents. That’s their life I just described—but then, there they were, talking on the phone about my dad massaging my mom’s groin area after yoga; cuddling on the couch; holding hands and wearing stupid Great Dane paraphernalia.

  That’s all we can realistically hope for. In fact, I think it’s as close to happily-ever-after as things get. Though I am not yet sure if I find that fact depressing or encouraging.

  The next Tuesday, when I told Doctor Z all these thoughts I’d been having, she asked me if I wanted to be friends with Nora.

  I hadn’t put it to myself that way, as a question.

  Did I?

  Did I?

  I was mad that she was only friends with me so long as I kept my hands off Noel. Even though it took like four months for her to ask him out. Even though, aside from agreeing to go to Spring Fling, he’d never given her any evidence of liking her back, and in fact had been

  writing me sexy notes about Chemistry

  giving me candy rings and

  full-out kissing me.

  I loved Nora. I had loved her for a long time, and there was still so much to love about her. But she didn’t really love me back, did she? She had dropped me twice (once now, once sophomore year) rather than trying to understand why I’d acted the way I did. She had been furious about me and Noel without even listening to my side of it—because even though we were friends, she still basically thought of me as a boyfriend stealer.

  She didn’t allow me any room to behave any way but the way she wanted me to.

  My family didn’t get rid of Polka-dot when he ate our doughnuts. We didn’t get rid of him when his tail knocked Great-grandpa’s antique clock off the credenza. We didn’t get rid of him because he furred up the couch or had indigestion or slobbered on our baked goods so we couldn’t eat them. No, we took him on car rides even when he misbehaved and we bought stupid shirts and tote bags saying how much we loved him.

  Of course we scolded him. We said “No, Polka-dot!” and tied him on the dock if he was farting. Maybe we even slapped his nose once in a while. But we told him we were mad and then we forgave him. Because our attitude was generally: Polka-dot is good. Polka-dot is loved. If Polka-dot is a huge pain to live with once in a while, we’ll deal with it, because the good outweighs the bad.

  I wanted a friend who felt about me the way my family felt about Polka-dot. That’s what I told Doctor Z. I used to think Kim was that friend, but now there was no way we’d ever be anything to each other again.

  Were we ever true friends, then, since it had ended so badly?

  Yes, actually. We were. Before boys and Mocha Latte came between us. Before we both wanted the same thing. Before, before.

  Now Meghan might be that kind of solid friend. Sometimes I didn’t understand her, and a lot of times she didn’t understand me, but she cut me slack. And I cut her some.

  Nora wasn’t a true friend in that way. Or she hadn’t been in a long time, and I didn’t know if she’d ever come back around to loving me like I loved Polka-dot. Maybe she would if I just gave it time. If circumstances changed again.

  Maybe.

  May was uneventful. It rained and Seattle turned emerald green. I watched the girls’ lacrosse team play a few times. I took the SATs.

  During carpool and on weekday afternoons when Finn worked or played soccer, I hung out with Meghan, but most of the time at school she had become half of Finn&Meghan, just as sophomore year she’d been half of Meghan&Bick. She kissed Finn in the refectory, sat on his lap and made a spectacle of herself.

  She ate with the boy soccer muffins at lunch most days, leaving me to either join them (awkward) or sit alone (more awkward), since Hutch was usually with Noel. On weekends she had taken over my job at Granola Brothers, since now I worked at the zoo, and at night she was always with Finn and sometimes with Nora—so really, I hardly saw her.

  It’s not that she was ditching me. It’s that Meghan was the kind of girl whose world centered around her boyfriend. She always had been, and she probably always would be. She was the girl who ate lunch all sophomore year at a table full of seniors who didn’t like her, oblivious because Bick’s shining smile was the only thing she could see. So I wasn’t surprised, or even mad, that she became half of Finn&Meghan. That was who she was.

  I was grateful, though, for my schedule at the zoo. It kept me from noticing how alone I usually was on weekends.

  One day in late May, when Hutch was working for my dad, he brought over this documentary, Dream Deceivers. It’s about how these two teenagers shot themselves after a Judas Priest concert—Judas Priest being a retro-metal band that was one of Hutch’s favorites. The boys’ families and the legal team they hired tried to put the blame on the band, claiming subliminal messages in their lyrics had mesmerized the kids into a suicide pact.

  These people obviously had no understanding of the secret mental health of hair bands. Anyway, the movie was superinteresting, and after watching it we decided to have a documentary film festival in my living room, to be curated by yours truly.6

  Hutch’s parents are never home, so my dad began asking him to stay for dinner. At first, when Hutch tasted my mom’s zucchini-cashew loaf, I was pretty sure he was never going to eat dinner with us again—I could see the s
ick look on his face. So I said something I’d been meaning to say for a long time: “Mom, if we have to eat raw, couldn’t we just have salad and fruit a couple nights a week? Just salad and fruit—no recipes you’ve found on the Internet? No soaked raw peanuts, no banana-avocado pudding?”

  Surprisingly, she said okay. Salad was acceptable, so long as the dressing was entirely raw. So Hutch stayed for dinner now and then, and after eating salad we’d watch documentaries and do our French homework at the same time.

  One day I went for ice cream during a free period with Varsha from swim team. I was surprised she invited me. She’s a sporty girl, plays soccer in the spring, while until this year I always did lacrosse. I’ve never been in her circle even though we did November Week together. She and Spencer were getting into Varsha’s BMW. I was heading through the parking lot to get my sweater out of Meghan’s Jeep and they waved me over.

  “Ruby!” Varsha said when I stuck my head in her window. “Do you like ice cream?”

  “Do pigs fly?”

  It was a joke, but they didn’t get it. “They have sorbet if you don’t eat dairy,” Spencer said.

  “We’re going to Mix in the U District,” Varsha explained. “You in?”

  “Sure,” I said, opening the rear door and folding myself into the seat. I was trying to hide my surprise, so I added: “With Baby CHuBS over, now I’m having trouble keeping my sugar intake up, so I appreciate the help.”

  I got espresso ice cream with graham crackers mixed in. Varsha got cheesecake with strawberries, and Spencer chocolate with smashed peanut-butter cups. We had to eat in the car on the way back to school so we wouldn’t miss class, but it was some serious deliciousness anyway.

  As the lowest-status person, I was in the backseat as Varsha sped down the highway licking her ice cream cone and blasting what I think was Hillary Duff. I stared out the back window of the car at Mount Rainier looming above the city and wondered: If I wasn’t going to try to reconcile with Nora or Noel, why didn’t I make new friends? True, a ridiculous number of people at Tate Prep were Future Doctors of America who didn’t much interest me, but had I put any effort into hanging out with them?