something, and he’s not—well, who’s perfect?”
“She’s just so … it’s like there’s something secret about her,” he said. “Something sad, I think.”
Tess was about as sad as any extremely popular and beautiful girl could be, which was, of course, not very, but I didn’t say that. I liked that he thought there was depth to Tess.
I thought if he could imagine it in her, he would see it was truly in me.
“I can help you with her,” I said. “Like I said, I know the kind of guy she’s looking for. Do you like poetry?”
He shook his head.
“Well,” I said. “You do now.”
That first night we talked for an hour, until the last call for the ferry came, the lone whistle from the dock echoing into the night.
Granted, all we’d talked about was Tess, but I’d talked to him, and I floated home, happier than I’d ever been.
I had no luck with guys. Not that there were any in Ferrisville to even want luck with. Oh, there were a few who were cute, but I knew all their fathers and brothers and cousins, and I knew what happened to guys in Ferrisville. They grew up and got a job in the plant. They grew up and grew bellies and lost their hair and sat around scratching their stomachs on the beach in the summer, slowly turning red in the sun.
I wanted more than that.
As for friends, back then I had those. Everyone in school said hello and invited me to their parties and all that stuff. But I had nothing in common with them, and most of my “friends” just wanted to be near Tess, wanted her to notice them and invite them into her world. There were a few that maybe did like me, but they weren’t like me.
I wanted to get out of Ferrisville, and they didn’t. They might go off to the community college, or even the state college an hour away, but they would come back. No one in their families had ever left town for good, so why would they? People came to Ferrisville and stayed. It might be small, and life might be slow-paced and small too, but nobody but me seemed to mind that.
“Stuck-up,” my so-called “friends” said about me when I stopped talking to them that summer. I guess they thought I believed I was too good to talk to them, that I thought I was going to somehow become Tess.
I didn’t think I was too good for them, and I knew I wasn’t going to be Tess. I didn’t want to be. I just wanted a world that was me and Jack and nothing more. I wanted him to be mine and, for a while, I thought he could.
And then, after it was over, I didn’t want to go crawling back to my “friends.” I didn’t want to ask for forgiveness, didn’t want to beg to be let back into something I didn’t really want any part of. I didn’t want to live in Milford, but I didn’t want to live in Ferrisville either. I didn’t want to hear about boys or clothes or parties or anything. I just wanted to be left alone. And so I was.
And so I am.
But that’s now, and I still had to get to that point.
I still had to break my own heart.
In the end, it was easy. Jack kept talking to Tess, kept walking her home. He was volunteering to collect water samples from the Ferrisville side of the river as part of some project the state was doing to see if the water was less full of chemicals than it had been. And I kept talking to him.
He tried to talk to Tess about poetry, and I talked to him about biology, about the latest medical trends, about countries that needed doctors. He asked Tess out to dinner, and when she said no I made him sandwiches that we’d split as we sat in the dark on the beach, talking.
We talked about Tess less after a while, and talked more about him. About me. He was—and will always be—the only guy I ever told the truth about how I sometimes felt when Tess was with me. About how I hated being her shadow.
“You shouldn’t think like that,” he said to me one night. We were down on the beach, like always, and he pushed his glasses up his nose and turned to look at me, moonlight gilding
“She’s just so … it’s like there’s something secret about her,” he said. “Something sad, I think.”
Tess was about as sad as any extremely popular and beautiful girl could be, which was, of course, not very, but I didn’t say that. I liked that he thought there was depth to Tess.
I thought if he could imagine it in her, he would see it was truly in me.
“I can help you with her,” I said. “Like I said, I know the kind of guy she’s looking for. Do you like poetry?”
He shook his head.
“Well,” I said. “You do now.”
That first night we talked for an hour, until the last call for the ferry came, the lone whistle from the dock echoing into the night.
Granted, all we’d talked about was Tess, but I’d talked to him, and I floated home, happier than I’d ever been.
I had no luck with guys. Not that there were any in Ferrisville to even want luck with. Oh, there were a few who were cute, but I knew all their fathers and brothers and cousins, and I knew what happened to guys in Ferrisville. They grew up and got a job in the plant. They grew up and grew bellies and lost their hair and sat around scratching their stomachs on the beach in the summer, slowly turning red in the sun.
I wanted more than that.
As for friends, back then I had those. Everyone in school said hello and invited me to their parties and all that stuff. But I had nothing in common with them, and most of my “friends” just wanted to be near Tess, wanted her to notice them and invite them into her world. There were a few that maybe did like me, but they weren’t like me.
I wanted to get out of Ferrisville, and they didn’t. They might go off to the community college, or even the state college an hour away, but they would come back. No one in their families had ever left town for good, so why would they? People came to Ferrisville and stayed. It might be small, and life might be slow-paced and small too, but nobody but me seemed to mind that.
“Stuck-up,” my so-called “friends” said about me when I stopped talking to them that summer. I guess they thought I believed I was too good to talk to them, that I thought I was going to somehow become Tess.
I didn’t think I was too good for them, and I knew I wasn’t going to be Tess. I didn’t want to be. I just wanted a world that was me and Jack and nothing more. I wanted him to be mine and, for a while, I thought he could.
And then, after it was over, I didn’t want to go crawling back to my “friends.” I didn’t want to ask for forgiveness, didn’t want to beg to be let back into something I didn’t really want any part of. I didn’t want to live in Milford, but I didn’t want to live in Ferrisville either. I didn’t want to hear about boys or clothes or parties or anything. I just wanted to be left alone. And so I was.
And so I am.
But that’s now, and I still had to get to that point.
I still had to break my own heart.
In the end, it was easy. Jack kept talking to Tess, kept walking her home. He was volunteering to collect water samples from the Ferrisville side of the river as part of some project the state was doing to see if the water was less full of chemicals than it had been. And I kept talking to him.
He tried to talk to Tess about poetry, and I talked to him about biology, about the latest medical trends, about countries that needed doctors. He asked Tess out to dinner, and when she said no I made him sandwiches that we’d split as we sat in the dark on the beach, talking.
We talked about Tess less after a while, and talked more about him. About me. He was—and will always be—the only guy I ever told the truth about how I sometimes felt when Tess was with me. About how I hated being her shadow.
“You shouldn’t think like that,” he said to me one night. We were down on the beach, like always, and he pushed his glasses up his nose and turned to look at me, moonlight gilding
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