Forever for a Year(37)

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.

Well, except Peggy. We sort of talked a little on Wednesday, but not about anything that made us hate each other. I didn’t even hate her anymore, I just didn’t love her. I mean, I did. I would forever. But I didn’t really know what to say to her. How could I tell her about Trevor if she was going to be a poophead about it? I never say “poophead.” Gosh. Something’s wrong with me. Anyway, Peggy and I were still best friends, but right then we weren’t really friends friends.

On Thursday, I went to the bathroom during study hall because I didn’t want to look at Peggy any more than I had to. It’s always so bizarre going to the bathroom during class periods. I never usually do because I don’t want to miss anything, but I wouldn’t miss anything in study hall except Peggy’s stupid face. WHY WAS I BEING SO MEAN? Anyway, the school feels like a deserted planet and any sign of life is very exotic, so I didn’t see anyone walking to the bathroom but then when I got into the bathroom, there was Shannon Shunton. See, exotic. She was smoking. It was pot, I think, because of the smell, but it was the first time I had ever smelled it so I can’t be one hundred percent sure.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I said.

“You—?” Shannon offered her cigarette. Or joint. Gosh.

“No, thank you.”

“Crazy end to the party, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard you stuck around, faced down the cops like a superhero or something.”

“Oh, not really. Peggy was sick.”

“Still super cool of you. First time I drank, I got sick too. I had no idea what I was doing. I must have been nine. I was such a crazy kid,” she said, talking like being a kid was something that happened fifty years ago. I wanted to hug her. Or maybe leave, but instead I went into the stall.

“Thanks for doing the shot for me,” I said after I flushed and started washing my hands.

“No problem. I respect you doing whatever you got to do.” Shannon was the hardest person to figure out on the planet. Seriously. I’m not exaggerating! Was she a bitch? Was she cool? Was she totally messed up? Was she the wisest freshman in history? So, so, so complicated. If I were to write a novel, I’d write one about her. It would be so interesting to know what goes through her brain.

“Maybe we should do homework together after school sometime.…” Why was I saying this? It felt like I was asking her out on a date. It’s just … maybe she wanted a friend, and she had helped me with the dress and the shot and maybe—

“Aww, yeah, maybe, but I’m, like, an idiot. If I get a C, I throw myself a party. I bet if you got a C, you’d have a coronary.”

“You’re not an idiot,” I said. “You’re really smart.”

“That’s cool of you to say … but what are you doing Saturday night? Me and Wanda were gonna chill at her place.”

“I have a date, but maybe—”

“A date? Yeah? With who?”

“Trevor Santos, he’s new—”

“He’s in history with us?” Shannon said. I nodded. “He looks like a good dude. So many dudes suck, like, f*cking suck, so that’s awesome. Happy for you.”

“Maybe we could all go out sometime?” I didn’t even know what my mouth was saying.

“Yeah,” she said, laughed, then coughed, then continued, “sure.”

*

On Friday, I finally texted Trevor that I wanted to come see his race. I really just wanted to see him. I don’t really understand cross-country. I mean, in soccer running is something we have to do as punishment. Why would you do it as the only thing? Anyway, I still wanted to see the race because I want him to know how much I love him without actually ever telling him I love him. Until after he tells me he loves me first. Then I’ll tell him right away and every day. That will be amazing.

But Trevor texted back that cross-country races are boring and that he was not very good, which meant I couldn’t come. I don’t know how I felt about being a better athlete than my boyfriend (well, my future maybe boyfriend), but I guess there was always a good chance I would be a better athlete than any boy because I’m really, really good. I don’t mean to brag. It’s just that, you know, I worked really hard at it. Okay?