The Exact Opposite of Okay(71)
Parking my bike across the street [and slightly around a corner so Mrs Dutta cannot gun me down with an assault rifle], I pull out my flask of coffee, take a long, hard gulp like an alcoholic’s first sip of the day, and I wait.
7.33 a.m.
After waiting for roughly forty-five seconds, I find it completely unreasonable that Ajita has not yet surfaced, and consider aborting the mission in lieu of a good old “hide in the bush and cry until you spew” session, but I tough it out.
[I know. My bravery is astounding.]
While I wait, I think about the screenplay competition. Yeah, it sucks that I got kicked out. It does. Mainly I feel bad for Mrs Crannon, and a little for myself over the lost opportunity. But something Carson once said soothes me like cooling gel on a migraine.
“You can love a thing without necessarily dedicating your life to it, you know?”
I love writing. I love performing. I love making people laugh.
The school system, and society in general, would have me believe I therefore have to make a career out of it – have to use my interests and talents to plow money back into the economy. That I have to be productive, above all else. A gerbil on a wheel, powering the machine with my success.
And yeah, it’d be cool to sell a screenplay to Hollywood; to hear actors speak my words on the big screen someday. But if that never happens, I think I’ll be okay. My passions bring me enough joy to sustain me, even if they stay at hobby status forever.
Because what matters to me above all else? The people I love. And there’s not a damn thing wrong with that. If people cared more about being kind than being successful, the world would be a much better place. That’s why I need to mend things with Ajita. That’s why I need to protect Betty, no matter what I have to give up to do so.
I don’t think I would ever have had this epiphany if it weren’t for Carson. A sharp pang needles in my chest when I think of him; of the night we spent playing at the basketball courts, meeting his mom and walking home together. Of the way he made me feel warm and fluttery and safe. Of his beautiful, painful art.
Could that boy really have betrayed me? As time goes on, I doubt it more and more.
8.19 a.m.
By the time I finally see Ajita rounding the corner toward school, I’m so jittery that I’ve splashed coffee all over my jeans. I’m just mopping the worst of it off with my roadkill scarf when I see her, all wrapped up in a duffel coat and carrying a stack of textbooks, which is incredibly alarming on account of the fact she’s never voluntarily opened a textbook in her life. She looks like something out of Gilmore Girls.
It takes her a split second to see me, but when she does she stops in her tracks and stares at me vacantly. As if she has no idea who I am.
I edge toward her as though approaching a rabid wolf with morning breath.
“Ajita . . .”
Her massive brown eyes shine dangerously. She looks like she’s about to burst into tears, and I hate myself so much for causing it. She bites her lip and stares at the ground, clutching those books so tightly her knuckles go white. It’s so cold I can see her breath.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” My voice wobbles as I talk. “They say you’re not supposed to ruin an apology with an excuse, which is a relief, because I don’t have an excuse. Not a single one. That text message was just . . . wrong.”
A cold silence stretches out between us. Then: “That’s the thing, though,” she whispers. “You weren’t wrong.”
There it is.
I hug her. I can’t help myself. She looks so cold and sad standing in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by dead leaves and empty chip packets and cigarette butts.
“I wasn’t ready, Izzy,” she mumbles into my shoulder. “I’m still not.”
“I know,” I say, unleashing her from my bear grip. She’s crying a little. I am too.
“Everything’s just so . . . uncertain. I don’t know who I am; who I want to be. ?What I want to be. And this . . . it’s just so confusing. It’s like this gray cloud over my future. Everything my family want for me – to be a wealthy doctor, to marry a successful man from our community, to provide 2.4 grandchildren – I just don’t know if I can give it to them. Or if I even want to.” She scrunches up her face and shakes her head. “I hated you, you know. When I first saw it. I hated you so much.”
“That’s fair. I hated me too.”
“I still do, a little.”
“Again. Fair.”
Pressing her lips together, she finally looks up at me. Her eyes are still glistening and red-rimmed. “I need you, though. You’re my best friend. And I’m kind of going through a thing that I need a best friend for.” A frown. “And you are too, right? So I’m guessing you feel the same. About needing me, and all.”
“Yes. It’s quite gross, isn’t it? Admitting we need each other.”
A smile, albeit smaller than her usual Cheshire Cat beamer. “So gross. Just like your face.”
“I would retaliate with ‘just like your mom’, but I think she has several snipers pointed at me right at this very second. One wrong word and she’ll give the command.”
Ajita sniffs back a snot bubble. Neither of us are particularly attractive criers, but her nose takes on a life of its own when faced with a tear-inducing situation like this one. “I also have the authority to sanction your murder, so I’d tread carefully, Izzy O’Neill. Very carefully indeed.”