She Drives Me Crazy(46)
“Drink up,” she says knowingly. “It will settle your nerves.”
I inhale the sugary drink and let their conversation wash over me. My body feels all out of whack, like my emotions are sumo wrestling each other. I don’t care how much Danielle brings her up: I don’t want to talk about Irene. It’s just too confusing. How can I be crushing on her and grieving Tally at the same time? Because that’s what this is: grief. I may have thought I was finally getting over Tally, especially with the high I was on from basketball, but kissing Irene brought a rush of heartache to the surface. Her kiss was the first one I’ve had since my breakup, and even though it was great, it was different. It made all these feelings flood back.
I just wish I could box up my new feelings for Irene, tag the box with Do not open until breakup grief is over, and store it in my attic, out of sight and out of mind. I mean, I’m not even sure these flutters of excitement I’m feeling are a crush. I’m not thinking about Irene all the time like I did with Tally. I’m not obsessively checking her social media. I miss her, but I’m not bursting out of my skin with longing for her. I haven’t even talked to her in days. Is that normal?
And beneath these confusing feelings, there’s a mean little voice that pipes up whenever I imagine kissing Irene again. A voice that is deeply intertwined with the same insecurity Tally brought out in me.
Irene had your car towed. She humiliated you. She stood there callously while you cried.
How can I possibly reconcile having a crush on someone who bullied me? What does it say about my self-worth that I’m drawn to girls who hurt me?
* * *
On Christmas Eve night, my sisters bundle up in their peacoats while I throw on the fleece I insist is warm enough even though it’s not. Mom wears her beautiful cream-colored coat and Dad sports his old brown jacket that smells like peppermint. We traipse out of the house and begin our walk toward Saint Gabriel’s for the vigil Mass. The air is crisp and still, just cold enough to feel romantic.
Daphne points out the Christmas wreaths on the neighbors’ doors. Mom and Dad huff at the Haliburton-Riveras’ notion of decorating, which is a lone, ceramic candy cane hanging in their foyer window. Thora snaps a picture of Mom sticking out her tongue.
We turn onto the main road and walk past Irene’s neighborhood. I try not to think about her, but it’s like trying not to picture the color red.
The church is just beginning to fill up when we arrive. Poinsettias line the entryway and a wooden Nativity scene adorns the altar. The church smells like incense and old ladies’ perfume, and the rumbling of voices is happy and warm. We slide into an empty pew toward the back and tug off our jackets.
“Oh look, Regina George is here,” Thora says dryly.
“What?”
I follow her gaze to the opposite side of the church. Irene is kneeling in a pew with her family, wearing a jade sweater with her dark hair falling over the side. My blood warms; my breath catches.
“Didn’t you know she would be here?” Thora asks.
“I didn’t even know we went to the same church.”
“Let’s throw some holy water on her. Maybe she’ll burst into flames.”
Irene must feel me looking, because she turns her head and meets my eyes. I feel myself blushing, but I don’t look away. She smirks and raises a single palm to say hi.
I raise my palm in return. Then I bow my head and mime praying very solemnly. Even from across the church, I can see her rolling her eyes.
* * *
When Mass ends, I’m eager to leave so I can catch Irene in the parking lot. I’ve spent the last ten minutes thinking about what I’ll say. I might be confused about my feelings for her, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss my chance to wish her a merry Christmas.
I shoot a look at my parents, wondering when they’ll be ready to leave, but they’re bellowing the last verse of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” like their lives depend on it. Finally, once the choir finishes and the majority of people have left, Mom and Dad pick up their coats and gesture for us to leave. I’m so antsy that I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet.
I needn’t have worried, though. The second we get outside, I feel a tug at my elbow.
“Didn’t know you were so into Christmas hymns,” Irene says. She’s standing alone, her family nowhere in sight. Her lipstick shines against the exterior lights.
I blink, trying to find my voice. “I am very devout.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Couldn’t you feel my prayers wafting toward you? Dear God, please bless my ruthless enemy on Christmas, even if she is a cheerleader…”
“Hmm. I guess my prayer for you to get a better sense of humor didn’t work.” Her eyes twinkle as they roam over my face. “Listen. Do you want to drive around and look at lights?”
“Oh. Um.” I’m suddenly flustered. For some reason, my mind gets caught on the logistics. “I don’t have my car. We walked here.”
“I have mine.” Her eyes take on that challenging look she had at the Emporium after-party. “We could get hot chocolate. My treat.”
My family is watching us now. Thora has her arms crossed, but Daphne looks starstruck. Mom and Dad are beaming.
“Hi, Irene!” Mom says.