Forever for a Year(2)

“Now, Carrie,” Katherine said, turning back to me as she parked.

“Carolina,” Peggy said. A big mistake.

Katherine’s face jumped two feet in the air as she screamed: “YOU MAKE YOUR FRESHMAN DORKS CALL YOU THAT; I CALL YOU WHATEVER I WANT, PEGGY! PEGGY! PEGGY! PEGGY! OKAY, PEGGY?”

See? Lunatic. But she was my best friend’s sister and my ride. So I listened as she began again.

“Carrie, listen to me. My ugly sister Peggy hit the jackpot the past four months, in case you didn’t notice.” Katherine pointed at Peggy’s boobs. Which had grown from super small to SUPER huge in 114 days. It was amazing. Like when you add water to a scrunched-up straw wrapper, but not that fast. Obviously. We started measuring them every day, laughing like it was the funniest thing ever, until one day she cried from her back hurting and I cried because I was still flat. Peggy slunk down in the front seat, her face becoming one big freckle of embarrassment. Katherine continued, “And she still has skinny legs. She doesn’t quite get it even though I’ve told her, like, every day, but every dude with a penis, even the gay ones, are gonna stare at her, want to talk to her, ask her out, and kiss her just so they can reach up her shirt. Trust me, I know this, and this is so true. But your boobs are still small and you dress like a boy, so we are going to have to come up with a thing to make boys like you. I can’t put my reputation on the line for you if you aren’t willing to make boys like you. So I’m thinking you should learn to talk dirty. Like they do in porn. Guys love it. This college guy, Nick, would go nuts when I would say certain stuff. And they’ll never expect you to talk like that, because you’re such a goody-good girl. It will make them see you as someone new. So I want you to learn to say things like, ‘I get turned on thinking about you.’ So go ahead and say that right now.” (Except she didn’t say “turned on”; she said something so embarrassing I don’t want to even think it.)

She beamed her big saucer eyes down at me. Making me feel one inch tall. And like she stole my ability to talk even though she wanted me to say something. No, no, no! I was not going to say that ever. I’d walk to school. I’d even take the bus! Ugh. I hate Katherine. Hate her. Hate her. Hate her.

“Say it or I’ll know you’re a big waste of my time and you’ll stay a loser like you were in junior high.”

I didn’t care. I’d be a loser. Life is one hundred years. High school is only four.

“Don’t be a loser, Carrie!”

Ugh. This was so unfair! “I get turned on thinking about you.” Except I said it her gross way. I know I said I wouldn’t, but Katherine is crazy and sometimes you have to do what crazy people say or they get even crazier. And, OBVIOUSLY, I know what it means. I’m a teenager and there’s this thing called the stupid internet.

“Good job,” Katherine said, grinning as she looked at herself in the mirror. Pouting her lips and narrowing her eyes like movie stars do on red carpets. She continued, “Marguerite and Carolina, yeah? Okay. Okay. I got your backs. Let’s rock this.” She swung open her door. Peggy and I slinked out of the car and fell in line behind her as she marched us toward the northeast entrance. (And I know I’m supposed to call her Marguerite! I’m sorry, okay? I had a really difficult morning.)

Wait a minute.

Wait. A. Minute.

I was starting high school.





2

Trevor doesn’t give a …

“Trevor.”

“Dad,” I said, but I pretended I didn’t know why he was talking to me.

“Trevor.”

“Dad.”

“Trevor!”

“Dad!” I knew that would be our last back-and-forth name calling. I was right. My dad stepped—in two giant, super-loud steps—across the room from the doorway toward my bed. I was still lying in it. It was seven thirty or something. Classes were starting in twenty minutes. I was going to be late. I hadn’t overslept. I’d just overstayed in bed. Staring at the ceiling.

Thinking.

Thinking about how there was another Trevor in another dimension who was happy. A Trevor who had gotten up on time, was excited about school, and had friends, a girlfriend, and a reason to live. Then I was thinking about how this Other Dimension Trevor would be clueless, and I would hate him for being clueless. Because I might not have any of those things Other Trevor did—friends, a girl, a reason to live—but at least I wasn’t clueless. I knew what the world was really like. I had seen its dark, corrupt core, and I couldn’t and wouldn’t unsee it.

My dad didn’t care about Other Dimension Trevor. He didn’t care much about This Dimension Trevor right now either, because he was mad. He didn’t get mad very often. So when he was mad, you could tell. And right now, as he sat on my bed, you could tell he was very, very mad.

He grabbed my shoulder and turned me toward him. I didn’t fight it. He’s not evil. He’s just ignorant. Ignorant that everything is bullshit. “Trevor, this is a new school and a new year. Don’t you want to start off on the right foot?”

“That’s a cliché, Dad. ‘Start off on the right foot.’ I no longer comprehend clichés. Try again.”

“Trevor. No smart-mouth. Get up. I’m driving you.”

“You’re going to be late for work.”