Tell Me Three Things(57)

I think of the whitehead on my chin, which I covered with makeup in the bathroom just a half hour ago. I think of my arms, flabby and pasty, not browned and toned like Gem’s. My eyebrows, which, no matter how long I spend in front of the mirror, always come out just slightly mismatched. My clothes, which are almost as nondescript as Caleb’s, but girls, I guess, are not supposed to aim for nondescript. The width of my nose—which has never bothered me until right now—my chipped fingernail polish; even my earlobes, too loose, like long hanging fruit. And of course my forever-disappointing chest, which somehow manages to be both small and floppy at the same time: stupid, sad, flat funnels.

Caleb will not see my disappointment. I mirror his casualness. Shrug, like it’s no problem. Keep the smile from dripping down. Act like I don’t feel the small, hard knot in my intestines, as if someone has reached into me and plucked them into a hideous bow. I grin through the pain—an actual, literal, visceral pain.

“You know, because of Liam,” Caleb says, and now he’s gone fuzzy and I don’t understand at all. He’s speaking a foreign language I’ve never heard before. One overly punctuated and aggressive, nasty simply because of the sounds of its hard, cruel letters.

“Liam? I mean…Wait, what?”

“I just think he’ll get the wrong idea. And he’s my best friend, so, you know,” he says. But I don’t know. What does Liam have to do with my getting coffee with Caleb?

“I still…I mean, I’m confused. What wrong idea? What does Liam have to do with anything?” Again, my brain is stalling. Maybe Caleb is right after all: let’s keep everything in words on a screen, where they are so much easier to let out. Where they are clear and can be saved so they can be returned to later in case of a misunderstanding.

“You know he broke up with Gem, right? Because of you.” Caleb’s tone is so matter-of-fact, as if this is basic Wood Valley knowledge. And also as if it has little to do with him.

“Um, no. I didn’t know they broke up, and if they did, I had nothing to do with it.” I swallow, start again, hear that I sound defensive, though I don’t know what about. “I mean, she’s a huge bitch, and maybe he saw that she’s been, you know, so mean, so indirectly, I guess it could tangentially have to do with me. But wait, what?” I’m rambling because I’m nervous. I stop, let my brain play catch-up. He’s not saying what I think he’s saying, is he? No. Liam couldn’t have broken up with Gem because he likes me?

No, that’s not possible.

Oh God. I finger the paper in my pocket. My ticket back to Chicago. Tomorrow cannot come soon enough. I need to get far, far away from this place. I think of Dri hearing this somehow, through that weird Wood Valley network I’m not at all clued into, and her thinking I’ve betrayed our new friendship. She knows I have no interest in Liam, right?

None of this makes sense. Gem is the kind of girl who makes men, not just boys but men, do double-takes. There is no universe in which someone would break up with her for me. Unless…Is Liam somehow SN? Do we have some sort of intellectual connection that would make him want to bridge that impossible gap between Gem and me?

No. Liam’s an only child. No dead sisters—real or otherwise. And it’s not like we really connect when we talk in person. At least, I don’t think so.

Liam did tell me the other day at the store that I was “easy to talk to” and a “really good listener.” They seemed like throwaway words, the right thing to say to someone who is a little shy. Honestly, I am not that good a listener. I am just good at letting other people talk.

No, Caleb must have the story wrong.

“All right, whatever. But I can’t get involved,” he says, and starts to walk away.

“Wait,” I say, wanting to ask a million questions but realizing I should probably just IM him instead. More direct and efficient.

“What?” Caleb looks back. He’s shaking his stupid phone again, like that alone should satisfy me: the promise of a future message.

“Nothing,” I say. “Just talking to myself.”



SN: excited for your trip?

Me: CANNOT WAIT TO GET OUT OF HERE.

SN: day was that bad?

Me: I just. You know what? Never mind.

SN: anything I can do?

Me: No, not really.



So I was wrong. It’s not easier to write the words, to spell it out: You hurt my feelings today. I don’t like Liam. My fingers are tired of this. It was just coffee.

Or this: How can you like me so much in words and care so little for me in person?

Or maybe even this, just to be one hundred percent sure: You are Caleb, right?

I lie back on my bed. It shouldn’t be surprising that SN doesn’t want to hang out in real life. Even before I stopped talking to him, my own dad barely wanted to speak to me.

The self-pity creeps in, slow, stealthy, hungry, the monster under my bed. I try not to think of my mom, so handy in these moments as a cheap, easy trigger. A way to justify feeling sorry for myself: the loser with the dead mom. A shortcut that is as demeaning to her as it is to me.



Dri: OMG! OMG! OMG!

Me: ?

Dri: I was right! Gemiam is SO OVER.

Me: Wow. Cool.

Dri: Methinks this occasion deserves more enthusiasm. And get this: HE BROKE UP WITH HER.