Forever for a Year(6)

But the person in the mirror was just me. Red-eyed and puffy-faced me. Carolina Fisher. Calves too big. Boobs too small. Baggy clothes to hide both. The same shoulder-length brunette bob I’d had since the first grade.

My brother had gotten my father’s good looks. I was athletic like my mom. It should have been the opposite. Only now that Heath was in college did his being terrible at sports stop mattering so much to the other boys. And junior high would have been so, so, so much easier if I was popular and all the boys liked me. I wouldn’t have liked them, but, well, you know.

I called my mom. She wouldn’t pick up, I knew, because she was working, but I felt like leaving a message to let her know she was in trouble. “Mom, I just saw Dad. You and I are going to talk when I get home from school today. I love you, but … Okay. Bye.”

After going over my checklist, which I had completed six days ago but kept because I liked seeing completed checklists, I walked back toward the kitchen, deciding whether I was going to use “therapy-speak” again on my dad or just yell at him. Thinking, thinking, thinking. I was going to yell. Definitely. It made me a bit excited, even. Which was weird and bad, I know, but it just did.

Except when I got to the kitchen, my dad was gone. Aaah! Aaah! Aaah! I hated him for leaving before I could yell at him. Which was stupid since I had told him to leave. But you know what? You know what? I didn’t care that it was stupid. I still hated him.

*

“Who was that guy who sat next to you?” Peggy asked after we left biology.

“Who?” I said, even though I knew she was talking about the new boy I gave the paper to. Why do people do stuff like that? Ask things like Who? even though they know exactly who people are referring to? I’m going to stop doing it. I really am.

“You think he’s cute, don’t you?” she said. Sometimes it’s frustrating not being able to lie to Peggy. It’s also, obviously, amazing. No matter what else turns bad in the world, I’ll always have Peggy, the best best friend ever.

I whispered so nobody in the hall could hear except Peggy. “Yes, but he’s a jerk. And a jerk can only be cute for a few days.” Then Peggy and I hugged good-bye, and I walked toward my second class.

During Spanish and then third-period literature, I didn’t think about the new boy from biology at all. It probably helped that he wasn’t in either of those classes, but I was also sure I was back to my normal, focused self.

But then, guess what? We had fourth-period world history together. I made sure to sit in the front center so he wouldn’t sit next to me. Because handsome boys always like to sit in the back. But then, guess what? He totally did sit next to me.

Oh.

Wait. A. Minute.

Did this mean he liked me? It must, right? Why else would he sit next to me? What should I do? What should I say? This was impossible. I hated this. I wanted to go to an all-girls school so I could just concentrate on getting good grades and going to a good college and anything besides what a stupid new boy thinks of me!

Wait a minute, Carolina. Silly, silly Carolina.

Obviously he sat by you. Want to know why? Because he needs more sheets of paper. He wants to use you. Some girls get used for sex stuff; I get used for my school supplies.

Without looking at him, I tore two sheets (a neat tear—I hate jagged sheets of paper) and put them on his desk. Only I did it just as he was putting down his own notebook. A new black one.

Oh, my face must have turned sooo red. I felt sooo stupid. I looked like such a clueless geek, right? I AM a clueless geek. Never interact with any boy, ever, ever, ever again. Ever. But then the new boy said, “You’re awesome. Thanks. But I went to the school store after biology so I could pay you back.” Then he slid back the two sheets I just gave him PLUS two more empty ones to replace the ones I gave him during first period.

Did I hear that right? He called me awesome, right? He totally did. My gosh. This definitely meant he liked me, right? I wanted to throw up. I wanted to move seats. I WANTED to say something back. I really did. But it needed to sound cool, fun, smart, amazing, and like something he would remember the rest of his life, and my brain couldn’t think of anything. Nothing. So I just smiled. It wasn’t even a good smile. I’m sure it looked like a mean smile. Like a Shannon Shunton smile. Which is the worst smile ever. The worst.

And then the teacher, Mr. Rivard, started talking, so I couldn’t even whisper something simple back like thank you. Oh, why couldn’t I have just said thank you? That would have been so nice if I just could have said that. It would have made everything great; it would have saved everything from being ruined.

Mr. Rivard talked for the whole class because that is what teachers do. Which I usually like in history, especially teachers who get so excited about all the stories from the past that they pace and even sweat a little bit. Mr. Rivard was definitely sweating too, but I couldn’t hear a word he was saying. I mean, I was writing a bunch of notes down, so I must have sort of heard it, I suppose, right? But it had to be only the tiny part of my brain that tells my hand what to do, because what I was really thinking about was what I would say to the new boy at the end of class to make up for my stupid, snobby smile that I totally didn’t mean but was now the only thing he knew about me. Yes, he knew I gave him the sheets of paper, but that was sooo long ago. The terrible smile was the last thing he saw, and he was going to hate me just like all the boys in eighth grade.