guess I’m glad Ms. F pushed me
to call
Jess.
If I were to choose
I’d have sat on my bed for the rest of
the night
biting my nails.
“Yeah, it was good. I don’t know why she spent her day hanging out with me. I mean, unless you told her she had to.”
“I didn’t tell her to do anything. Maybe she just likes your company. Maybe more people do than you realize.”
I sit in the chair, watching her fold my T-shirt.
“Yeah, well I showed her one of my old journals. She probably thinks I’m some sort of freak now.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Louisa.”
“Why’s that, Ms. F?”
“Oh, I think we are all pretty clear on you being a freak already.” She laughs and throws my shirt at me.
I laugh, too, in spite of myself.
Despite myself.
“I’m just teasing, Louisa. No one thinks you’re a freak. I think we just care about you and it hurts to see you hurt. Hurting.”
She sits down on the couch, sorting socks.
Black with black.
White with white.
The lone gray sock
is
matchless.
“I know you have a fun night planned with Jess, and I’m so thankful you have her, but I want you to know, Louisa, you have me too.” Her words soft.
Soft enough for me
to know
it’s real.
82.
We wander around
the tacky jewelry store.
Jess desperate for feather earrings
holding every pair up
waiting for my approval.
I shake my head yes
or I say, “Um, no way.”
She goes with the neon green
feathers
the ones I thought looked best against
her barely there
hair.
We walk toward the food court
dodging the girls from
school who think they’re
cooler than us because they
wear letterman’s jackets of the guys they screw.
Jess says, “Thanks for picking those earrings out. I never know what looks right.”
“What are you talking about, Jess? You have a very distinct look .”
I scan her up and down
a mini skirt and combat boots
lacy tights
ripped on purpose
leg warmers
are the only practical things
wears.
“You know what I mean, Louisa. I just copy what I see someone else wearing, in a magazine or whatever. You, like, you know, invent it.”
I laugh, out loud.
“Whatever, Louisa, you don’t get it.”
“Get what?” I’m scared I’ve pissed her off.
“That you’re cool. Okay? You have a whole thing going on, the damaged-girl-with-issues edge and you’re super hot, I mean, I look like a dork next to you.”
We stand in line at the gyro stand
waiting to order
falafel and feta.
“That’s insane. Guys line up to take you out. I mean, before Markus it was always someone .”
“You have the guys, Louisa, you just act like you’re better than them and blow off any guy within a fifty-foot radius.”
“Is that what you think that? That I somehow think I’m better than them? You have no clue, Jess. No clue.”
We order our food
holding our trays in front of us
a barrier suddenly formed
between us.
83.
We sit down at a table
built for two and
she brings it up again.
“What is it then? Markus said he saw you in the cafeteria the
other day and Jack, that senior who everyone thinks is totally gorgeous, you know the one who’s always playing his guitar outside?”
I nod, knowing who she’s talking about.
“Well, I guess he walked up to where you were sitting, totally checking you out, and said something. And instead of answering you picked up your backpack and left the cafeteria. Like, completely ignoring him.”
I don’t even remember this
taking place.
Apparently I’m
better than I
thought at
blocking out
the traumatizing
paralyzing
things
in my day-to-day life.
“Why did you do that, Louisa? Why wouldn’t you just talk to him?”
How do you tell
your
one and only
friend
the truth about your past?
What happens if it
freaks her out
or shuts her down?
What then?
It isn’t worth the risk
of
to call
Jess.
If I were to choose
I’d have sat on my bed for the rest of
the night
biting my nails.
“Yeah, it was good. I don’t know why she spent her day hanging out with me. I mean, unless you told her she had to.”
“I didn’t tell her to do anything. Maybe she just likes your company. Maybe more people do than you realize.”
I sit in the chair, watching her fold my T-shirt.
“Yeah, well I showed her one of my old journals. She probably thinks I’m some sort of freak now.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Louisa.”
“Why’s that, Ms. F?”
“Oh, I think we are all pretty clear on you being a freak already.” She laughs and throws my shirt at me.
I laugh, too, in spite of myself.
Despite myself.
“I’m just teasing, Louisa. No one thinks you’re a freak. I think we just care about you and it hurts to see you hurt. Hurting.”
She sits down on the couch, sorting socks.
Black with black.
White with white.
The lone gray sock
is
matchless.
“I know you have a fun night planned with Jess, and I’m so thankful you have her, but I want you to know, Louisa, you have me too.” Her words soft.
Soft enough for me
to know
it’s real.
82.
We wander around
the tacky jewelry store.
Jess desperate for feather earrings
holding every pair up
waiting for my approval.
I shake my head yes
or I say, “Um, no way.”
She goes with the neon green
feathers
the ones I thought looked best against
her barely there
hair.
We walk toward the food court
dodging the girls from
school who think they’re
cooler than us because they
wear letterman’s jackets of the guys they screw.
Jess says, “Thanks for picking those earrings out. I never know what looks right.”
“What are you talking about, Jess? You have a very distinct look .”
I scan her up and down
a mini skirt and combat boots
lacy tights
ripped on purpose
leg warmers
are the only practical things
wears.
“You know what I mean, Louisa. I just copy what I see someone else wearing, in a magazine or whatever. You, like, you know, invent it.”
I laugh, out loud.
“Whatever, Louisa, you don’t get it.”
“Get what?” I’m scared I’ve pissed her off.
“That you’re cool. Okay? You have a whole thing going on, the damaged-girl-with-issues edge and you’re super hot, I mean, I look like a dork next to you.”
We stand in line at the gyro stand
waiting to order
falafel and feta.
“That’s insane. Guys line up to take you out. I mean, before Markus it was always someone .”
“You have the guys, Louisa, you just act like you’re better than them and blow off any guy within a fifty-foot radius.”
“Is that what you think that? That I somehow think I’m better than them? You have no clue, Jess. No clue.”
We order our food
holding our trays in front of us
a barrier suddenly formed
between us.
83.
We sit down at a table
built for two and
she brings it up again.
“What is it then? Markus said he saw you in the cafeteria the
other day and Jack, that senior who everyone thinks is totally gorgeous, you know the one who’s always playing his guitar outside?”
I nod, knowing who she’s talking about.
“Well, I guess he walked up to where you were sitting, totally checking you out, and said something. And instead of answering you picked up your backpack and left the cafeteria. Like, completely ignoring him.”
I don’t even remember this
taking place.
Apparently I’m
better than I
thought at
blocking out
the traumatizing
paralyzing
things
in my day-to-day life.
“Why did you do that, Louisa? Why wouldn’t you just talk to him?”
How do you tell
your
one and only
friend
the truth about your past?
What happens if it
freaks her out
or shuts her down?
What then?
It isn’t worth the risk
of
Similar Books
