Now I'll Tell You Everything (Alice) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor Page A

was a mistake for us to get serious about each other, he wrote, especially because he’d been accepted into the Peace Corps.
    What was the big deal? We’d already agreed we could see other people, so what was he telling me—that he was cutting me out of his life? That I was no longer special? The Peace Corps was no surprise. Once he had mentioned it, I knew he would follow through. That was Patrick. The rest? Trying to fence Patrick in was like trying to harness the sea. And yes, if he wasn’t sure about me, he should be going out with other women.
    But damn it, Patrick! I stood up and the anthropology text and notebook in my lap tumbled to the step below. I kicked them the rest of the way down, ignoring the guy in the hoodie who was passing below and gave me a wary glance.
    This was the second time Patrick dumped me. And he wasbeing so damned civil about it. Didn’t he have any feelings? What about the way we’d been together on that bench at Botany Pond? What about the way we’d held and touched each other in the limo coming back from the Bay Bridge? The way we’d kissed?
    The binder had fallen open and papers were blowing around. I discovered I was crying as I went down the steps to pick them up. Had Patrick cried at all when he wrote the letter? How long had he thought about it? Hesitated, even? Wondered how I’d take it?
    My papers collected and the books in my arms again, I began walking down the sidewalk, not caring where I went. The thing was, I found that I kind of liked a number of the guys here at Maryland. As the girls had pointed out, the selection was bigger in college. More diverse. I hadn’t met anyone I liked more than Patrick, but I’d met several whom I felt I could maybe like as much, Dave in particular.
    Was I overreacting to hide the possibility that the letter might have been going the other way?
    Tears again.
    There’s so much ahead for each of us, Patrick wrote. I just didn’t want to keep anything from you and wanted to make sure you weren’t expecting more from me. You’re the last person on earth I’d ever want to hurt, Alice. . . .
    But I was hurting! How could he think I wouldn’t? We had a history together. We’d watched each other grow up. How could he ever feel that close to anyone else? How could I? And yet . . .
    Dave was incredibly thoughtful, Jag was crazy smart, Travishad a wicked sense of humor, and what about the other guys I hung out with when a bunch of us got together on weekends? Who knew how I’d feel about them when I got to know them better?
    But I wasn’t looking around for someone else; why was Patrick?
    A couple was coming toward me and I made no room on the sidewalk. I wasn’t even thinking about them until I noticed them parting to make way for me.
    Patrick was right, of course, about expecting too much of each other. I knew that. I’d always known that. But how should I answer? Telling him that there were other guys I was attracted to sounded like trying to get even. Telling him I was about to write the same kind of letter wasn’t entirely true and read like revenge. Telling him I was crushed and bleeding was both true and a lie.
    I realized I was heading away from my dorm, so I turned and started back. This time I allowed myself—forced myself—to face what I was really feeling. Was it possible that just as I clung more to home than other girls seemed to, I used Patrick as my buffer against the world? My shield against having to explore more on my own, get to know other guys, allow myself to love and lose? Did every girl who lost a mother when she was small carry that around forever? When was I going to approach life minus a security blanket, trusting that whatever happened, I’d be strong enough to handle? I came to a bench, so I sat down and unfolded the letter again:
    Would it be easier if we didn’t call or text each other for a while, just to see how it goes? It might be a good time to try it because I’ve been assigned to Madagascar