minute. “We need to talk” was
my
line! “About what?” I asked. I could feel the color drain from my face.
“About us,” Michael replied. “But I think we should do this in person. Can you come over?”
In person?! It was getting
worse
.
“But you have chicken pox.”
“Yeah, I know. I was thinking you could stand outside my door or something.”
“Michael, I am
not
driving over to your house and standing outside your door,” I huffed. “If you have something to say to me, say it right now.”
“Forget it then,” he replied.
That was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. How could a person just forget a “we need to talk” situation?
“You want to
what
?!” I yelped twenty minutes later as I sat outside Michael’s bedroom door.
“I want to push the pause button on our relationship,” came his muffled response from the other side.
“You’re breaking up with me?” I cried. How could this be happening when I was the one who had spent the last few weeks tortured with tumult about breaking up with
him
?
“No,” he said. “I told you—I just want to push the pause button.”
“Michael, I’m not a…DVD player!” I cried. “You can’t just turn a person on and off like that!”
“I didn’t say I wanted to turn it off and push eject,” he said calmly. “I just want to push the pause button. Look, Sophie, you’re awesome, but three years with someone at our age is a long time. Percentagewise, it’s—can you do the math on your calculator?”
I took out my iPhone. “Eighteen point seventy-five percent of our lives.” Wow, that
was
a lot. Had I just wasted my life with the wrong person? I’d be seventeen next January—it wasn’t like I was a kid anymore.
“I just want to, I don’t know, see what else is out there. You know, try another station at the buffet. Being so sick has made me think about a lot of things,” he said.
“You have
chicken pox
, Michael,” I replied. “Not cancer.”
“My fever was all the way up to one oh two point seven at one point!” he said defensively.
I stood up. It was depressing enough that I now had to spend an entire week alone with my grandmother, chokingon the fumes of Bengay mixed with stewed prunes. I didn’t need to sit on the floor while my on-pause boyfriend told me he wanted to see if anything better was out there.
“Good-bye, Michael,” I said to the door. “I hope…I hope you spend the week really, really itchy!” I huffed before stomping down the stairs and out to the car.
As I stopped short at a yellow light (I had seen enough videos in Drivers Ed to know you were just setting yourself up for major tragedy by going through one), I realized that maybe Michael semi–breaking up with me was just the “manicured hands of fate,” as Lulu called them, in action. Once they announced the calendar winners the next morning and I became Miss April, my life was going to take off so fast that even if I
had
still been in love with him, our love probably wouldn’t have been able to survive.
It always took Mrs. Anton, our principal, a long time to get through the morning announcements because of her stutter, but the next morning it seemed to take
extra
long.
“And now,” she finally said, “French club president Michelle Goldman has some important news about the first annual French club calendar that will be available for purchase next fall.”
“
Merci beaucoup
, Madame Anton,” Michelle said. “And
merci
to everyone at Castle Heights who took the time to e-mail their suggestions about which Castle Heights students they think best embody each month of the year. Andnow, it is
avec plus de plaisir
that I announce the winners. For Miss January, we have Juliet DeStefano!”
What?! Juliet DeStefano wasn’t even
in
the French club!
“For Miss February, Juliet DeStefano.”
My mouth fell open so wide that my gum fell out and landed on my desk.
“March—Juliet again!” she continued.
What was going on?! Had
my
line! “About what?” I asked. I could feel the color drain from my face.
“About us,” Michael replied. “But I think we should do this in person. Can you come over?”
In person?! It was getting
worse
.
“But you have chicken pox.”
“Yeah, I know. I was thinking you could stand outside my door or something.”
“Michael, I am
not
driving over to your house and standing outside your door,” I huffed. “If you have something to say to me, say it right now.”
“Forget it then,” he replied.
That was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. How could a person just forget a “we need to talk” situation?
“You want to
what
?!” I yelped twenty minutes later as I sat outside Michael’s bedroom door.
“I want to push the pause button on our relationship,” came his muffled response from the other side.
“You’re breaking up with me?” I cried. How could this be happening when I was the one who had spent the last few weeks tortured with tumult about breaking up with
him
?
“No,” he said. “I told you—I just want to push the pause button.”
“Michael, I’m not a…DVD player!” I cried. “You can’t just turn a person on and off like that!”
“I didn’t say I wanted to turn it off and push eject,” he said calmly. “I just want to push the pause button. Look, Sophie, you’re awesome, but three years with someone at our age is a long time. Percentagewise, it’s—can you do the math on your calculator?”
I took out my iPhone. “Eighteen point seventy-five percent of our lives.” Wow, that
was
a lot. Had I just wasted my life with the wrong person? I’d be seventeen next January—it wasn’t like I was a kid anymore.
“I just want to, I don’t know, see what else is out there. You know, try another station at the buffet. Being so sick has made me think about a lot of things,” he said.
“You have
chicken pox
, Michael,” I replied. “Not cancer.”
“My fever was all the way up to one oh two point seven at one point!” he said defensively.
I stood up. It was depressing enough that I now had to spend an entire week alone with my grandmother, chokingon the fumes of Bengay mixed with stewed prunes. I didn’t need to sit on the floor while my on-pause boyfriend told me he wanted to see if anything better was out there.
“Good-bye, Michael,” I said to the door. “I hope…I hope you spend the week really, really itchy!” I huffed before stomping down the stairs and out to the car.
As I stopped short at a yellow light (I had seen enough videos in Drivers Ed to know you were just setting yourself up for major tragedy by going through one), I realized that maybe Michael semi–breaking up with me was just the “manicured hands of fate,” as Lulu called them, in action. Once they announced the calendar winners the next morning and I became Miss April, my life was going to take off so fast that even if I
had
still been in love with him, our love probably wouldn’t have been able to survive.
It always took Mrs. Anton, our principal, a long time to get through the morning announcements because of her stutter, but the next morning it seemed to take
extra
long.
“And now,” she finally said, “French club president Michelle Goldman has some important news about the first annual French club calendar that will be available for purchase next fall.”
“
Merci beaucoup
, Madame Anton,” Michelle said. “And
merci
to everyone at Castle Heights who took the time to e-mail their suggestions about which Castle Heights students they think best embody each month of the year. Andnow, it is
avec plus de plaisir
that I announce the winners. For Miss January, we have Juliet DeStefano!”
What?! Juliet DeStefano wasn’t even
in
the French club!
“For Miss February, Juliet DeStefano.”
My mouth fell open so wide that my gum fell out and landed on my desk.
“March—Juliet again!” she continued.
What was going on?! Had
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