Tell Me Three Things(64)

Home but not home.

Mom, where are you? Silly of me to think you’d be more here than there.

“Who’s Mr. Shackleman?” Scar asks.

“My gym teacher. He’s a total perv.”

“Oh my God. How funny would that be if SN turned out to be some old dude with, like, a neck beard?”

“Yuck. He’s balding and has a beer gut.”

“I think you’re going to have to get up on the Liam train, because he’s totally SN.” Scar pulls into the 7-Eleven, and we sit and just stare at the storefront and its big windows, into the fluorescent lights and shelves of processed food and the gleaming hot dogs on spits. I like it here in the car. A cocoon of plastic and metal.

Mom, I miss you. I love you.

“I just don’t, I don’t know,” I say, and focus. “I don’t see Liam in that way. He’s cute and all, but…it’s just kind of awkward with him. Fine. I know I sound weird and crazy picky. I should be happy anyone likes me—”

“Come on, that’s ridiculous. If you aren’t into him, you aren’t into him. I’m not saying you should be desperate. I’m just saying you might not see what’s right in front of you. Like Adam and me.” I laugh, I can’t help it. Adam and Scar. Scar and Adam. The whole thing is kind of adorable. “Okay, fine. Laugh. Get it out now. Because I’m far from done.”

“Scar and Adam sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes baby in the baby carriage.”

“God forbid.”

Here is what I want to say, but it sounds weird, even in my own head: Liam sometimes makes me feel noticed but never actually seen. I want to be seen. And maybe that’s another reason why I don’t think Liam is SN. Because SN really sees me. I believe that. He gets what I’ve been through. We connect.

“So the sex thing. Want to talk about it?” I ask. Sex—the to have or not to have question—is the only part of her relationship with Adam we haven’t dissected in minute detail yet.

“I want to do it. I mean, my girlie parts definitely do. But what if I’m bad at it, or I gross him out, or, you know, I get pregnant?”

“Remember Health last year? With the condoms? Banana. Penis. Same difference, right? And you are so not going to gross him out.”

“Even if I manage to figure it all out—how to get the condom on him—they, like, can break, or just not work, or whatever. I could go on the pill, but I don’t see how I can do that without talking to my mom, and she’d totally freak.” Scar stares straight ahead. This conversation is best had with our heads parallel. No eye contact.

“Is Adam pushing it? Have you talked to him about it?” I ask.

“Not really. I mean, I know he totally would—do it, I mean, not talk about it. Though I guess he’d do that too.”

“Why not wait and see how it goes? He’s probably a virgin too. And if your mom sees you guys hanging around all the time, maybe she’ll bring it up.”

“You have met my mother, right?”

“I don’t know. You don’t have to figure it all out now.”

“You don’t think I should do it?” she asks. It’s strange seeing her this way. So vulnerable, in doubt. In love. I think about what my mom would say, since I imagine us being close enough to talk about this kind of stuff if she were still alive. Most likely, we wouldn’t have been, though. Something happens when you turn sixteen, I think. Your parents become less your allies, more your biggest obstacles. I’m the only teenager I know who would want nothing more than to be grounded by my mother. The opposite of a punishment.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. You should do what you feel comfortable with.”

“Cop-out answer, Jess.” I laugh, elbow her ribs. It occurs to me that what Scar needs right now is a friend like Scar: someone to break it down and tell it like it is.

“Honestly, and I know this is funny coming from me, but you’re overthinking it. Relax. Do what you want to do when you want to do it. If you’re ready, go forth and prosper. If you’re not yet, that’s totally okay too. It feels like this huge deal now, but maybe it’s not.” I sound wise and sure, words I’ve never before applied to myself, especially in this context. “You just need to figure out whether you’re scared because it’s your first time—I mean, the first time is supposed to be a little scary, right?—or because you aren’t ready. There’s really no right answer here.”

“You sound like me,” Scar says, and finally turns her head. There are tears in her eyes, which makes me sad, because she should be happy. She’s getting what she always wanted, to love and to be loved, even if it’s not exactly how she pictured it all.

“I learned from the best,” I say, and smile. Then, in unison, without talking about it, like the old Scar and J, we open our car doors, stride into the 7-Eleven. And just as we used to, long before everything got so complicated, we head straight to the back, to the always-reliable Slurpee machine.



Dri: Did Liam ask you out?

Me: No!



Wait, is that a lie? If he’s SN and we’re going to meet, does that count? And assuming Caleb has his facts straight and I’m the reason for the demise of Gem and Liam—I can’t bring myself to call them Gemiam—do I have an obligation to tell Dri?