I start to close the door, but Ian puts his hand out to stop me. “Please? This can’t wait.”
“Um, okay.” Ian walks into my room and sits on my desk chair. I sit on my bed. “So what’s up?”
“What did Sarah want the other night?”
“Oh. That.” My throat feels ridiculously dry. “It was just a little misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? How?”
I let out an exasperated breath. “Ian, why don’t you ask her? She is your girlfriend.”
Ian flinches like he’s been slapped in the face, but quickly recovers. “I did, but now I want to know your side of the story.” He flashes me that heart-stopping smile and before I know it I’m relaying the events of my fight with Sarah.
His face is hard to read as I tell him that Sarah accused me of liking him and him of liking me, but as I tell him Sarah spit in my face and slapped me his face fills with rage. A slight grin dances across his lips, when I tell him that I pushed Sarah back after she spit in my face.
“After that,” I say. “She made it pretty clear that I need to leave you alone. I told her that we were just friends, but she doesn’t seem to believe me.”
Ian rolls his eyes. “She’s just being melodramatic. We can still hang out.”
I glance down at the floor before answering. “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea.”
“Why? She’ll get over this. It’s not a big deal.”
My eyes start to water. I feel stupid and exposed. “But it is a big deal, Ian. We’re both in relationships. This needs to stop. It isn’t fair to Mason or Sarah. I’m sure neither one of them likes how much time we spend together.”
He won’t look at me. His voice is so soft I have to strain to hear him. “Is that really what you want?”
I keep my eyes trained on the floor as I lie through my teeth. “Yes, that’s what I want. Ian, please go.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him get up and walk out the door, but I don’t move. My body feels numb and broken. It feels as if a piece of me is missing and I’m not sure if I will ever be able to get it back.
Later that evening, I'm sitting in the lobby with Danielle working on homework, trying my best to stay focused on my assignments, but my thoughts won't stop nagging me. Reminding me that Ian chose to stay with the Evil Queen, even though she attacked me. It doesn't help that they're sitting at the other end of the couch and she's pretending to be completely absorbed in the Batman graphic novel he's currently reading.
Sarah props herself up, resting her head in her hand. Her body is nestled against Ian; they're sitting so close together you'd think the chair was made for one person, not three.
“Wait, so she just gave up her life as a psychiatrist to chase a madman?”
Ian shakes his head. “No, well I guess she did. But she wasn't right in the head either. She's just as crazy as Joker.”
Danielle rolls her eyes. “Sarah you’re not fooling anyone, everyone knows how much you hate those comics.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Ian likes them though,” she says putting her arm on Ian’s chest. “And since he’s my boyfriend I should at least try to understand his love for them.”
Ian gives Sarah a dopey grin like he thinks she’s a little piece of heaven.
Danielle shuts her textbook. “I thought Liam and Calliope were bad in public, but the goo-goo eyes you keep making at each other should be classified as pornographic.” She groans. “Please stop.”
Sarah laughs. “I can’t help it. I’ve never been happier.”
A vicious smile dances across her lips. Sarah leers at me, baring her teeth. “Don’t you think we make a great couple, Emily?”
When Sarah mentions my name, Ian quickly glances at my face, no doubt trying to figure out what I’m thinking. I ignore his gaze and instead try to make my voice sound as sweet as honey as I answer. “I think Mason and I have you beat by a smidge.” I shrug my shoulders. “Sorry.”
“If you say so,” Sarah says, right before pressing her lips against Ian’s passionately.
I stare at my book, completely disgusted. How is he falling for this little act?
My eyes focus too much on the page and the words start to blur. I close my book frustrated. If Ian wants to be with Sarah then that’s fine with me. I’m going to work things out with Mason.
He still isn’t returning my calls or emails, but I’m not going to let that discourage me. If I want to make it past all these speed bumps and detours in our relationship I just have to keep pushing forward and not let his silence bring me down.
And yet, there's a part of me that wants to make Ian feel jealous. I turn to Danielle and lie. “Mason called me last night.”
In my peripheral vision, I see Ian stiffen. Danielle raises her eyebrows, “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I force myself to smile broadly. “We talked for hours about how hard things have been since he’s gone to Africa. He apologized for the way he’s been acting and promised he’d make more of an effort to call me and respond to my emails.”
“That’s great!” She pulls me in for a hug. “I’m so glad things are better between you two.”
Ian’s eyes are trained on the floor, his lips are curved down in a frown. He unwraps Sarah’s arms from his waist and leaps up.
“Where are you going?” She whines.
“Nowhere,” he mumbles and exits the door.
My heart sinks. I thought making Ian feel the way I did would make me feel better, but it turns out it only makes me feel worse.
On Monday, I'm startled to find Ian sitting in his usual seat. He won’t look at me as I sit beside him. Chelsea, on the other hand, glares at me menacingly. She gestures to her eyes with her fingers and then points to me, a reminder she’ll be watching me like a hawk and report to Sarah if I do anything to jeopardize her relationship with Ian. I ignore her and instead turn to Ian.
“Hey.” I offer a small wave.
Ian's eyes are cold and detached when he looks at me. “Oh, are we talking again?”
My voice catches in my throat. “Ian, I—”
“No,” he says, his voice is strong, final. “First you want to talk and then you don’t. You can’t keep changing your mind whenever you please, Emily. I’m not just some pawn you can play with whenever you want.”
I feel my cheeks redden.
“It’s not like this has been easy for me, Ian. Your girlfriend attacked me. And, now she’s sending her evil henchmen after me,” I say, pointing to Chelsea who is watching us intently.
Ian shakes his head. “I told you. Sarah is just being melodramatic. She doesn’t mind that I hang out with Danielle or Calliope, so why are you any different?”
His words sting and leave me speechless. If I could find my voice I would tell him things are different because I think I may be falling for him.
The rest of the class is spent drawing Disney princesses in my notebook and sneaking glances at Ian, when I know he’s not looking. He looks exhausted. His eyes are so heavy he can barely keep them open and his head keeps nodding back and forth.
And yet, he’s still beautiful. I hate that. And, I hate it even more that I want him to look at me. I need to know where we stand if there even is a "we” anymore. I don’t want to lose my best friend, although a part of me fears I already have.
Life Skills is even more horrific than geology. Danielle is away with her parents for the weekend visiting colleges near San Diego, so I have no one to talk to. Chelsea whispers my name ruthlessly to anyone that will listen. I try to ignore them and focus on my homework, but I feel their eyes boring into my back.
After class gets out I push past everyone, trying to make my way to history as quickly as possible when I hear Chelsea mutter under her breath. This one muttered word stops me in my tracks, chills dancing across my arms.
Slut.
My eyes brim with tears. I bite my bottom lip to keep them from falling.
In history, when Mr. Schmidt hands back our pop quiz, Ian passes the stack of p
aper behind his head, instead of turning around and looking at me.
Today is going so terribly wrong I don’t even think being surrounded by books will comfort me. So instead of going to the library, I eat my lunch hiding in a bathroom stall.
Mr. Allen’s class is relatively better, partly because he gives us an assignment outdoors. Our assignment is to walk around the courtyard and make a list of the different things we see and hear. We then have to write a 500-word essay on our findings.
My eyes are closed and my back is pressed against the trunk of a tree as I strain to hear any signs of nature against the blaring traffic of Los Angeles. The sky darkens and I assume a cloud has moved in front of the sun until I feel warm breath against my cheek.
Sarah towers over me, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. Her breath is sweet on my face like cotton candy dipped in chocolate. It’s too sweet to stand. Sweat beads cover her forehead. Her eyes dart back and forth rapidly and then she asks, “Where’s Ian?”
I arch my eyebrow. “How should I know?”
“I know you were making plans to see each other,” she says, shoving her phone in my face. On the screen is a picture of Ian and I talking in geology. He looks hostile and tense, while shock is written clearly across my face.
I shake my head.
“We weren’t doing anything. We haven’t even talked, not since—”
I gulp.
Maybe bringing up my last encounter with Sarah isn’t such a good idea.
“Don’t lie to me!” She shouts, trembling with rage. “Chelsea told me everything.”
“Whatever.” I shove my books into my bag. “I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to you accuse me of sneaking around with your boyfriend when I haven’t had an actual conversation with him in weeks.”
Standing, I turn to leave, but she clasps my arm. “I'm not done talking to you.”
I clench my teeth. “Let go, Sarah.”
“No,” she says, firmly. Sarah digs her nails into my arm. “You're jealous; I'm with him and you're not.”
Slowly, I enunciate each word so it will make it through her thick skull. “I have a boyfriend.”
“Mason called me last night. We talked for hours about how hard things have been . . .” She laughs, darkly. “Why bother bringing that up then, Emily? You wanted to hurt Ian because you know he's happy with me and doesn't give you a second of his time.”
She slowly releases her grip on my arm. “Just because you're a pitiful, miserable mess who's boyfriend doesn't give a damn about her, doesn't give you the right to swoop in and try and steal my boyfriend—”
Her words feel like a slap in the face. I suck in a deep breath. “I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend.”
“Stay away from Ian or I'll make your life a living hell.”
I bit down on my cheek. What more can I do to convince her I’m not chasing after Ian? I might not be able to change the way I feel about him, but I’m doing everything I can to keep from acting on those feelings.
Does she expect me to stop talking to all my friends?
Chapter Fifteen
On Wednesday, I try calling Mads but get sent straight to voicemail, again. Mads and I have been best friends ever since we noticed we had the same Angela Anaconda lunch boxes, but there’s something about this disagreement that feels more concrete. I feel like Stitch, sitting in the pouring rain, trying to figure out how to fit in when nobody wants me. My stomach plunges uncomfortably as I slide my phone in my backpack.
Is she ever going to talk to me again?
My face turns scarlet as I walk into Young Adult Literature and realize Mr. Allen has already started class. He catches my eye and gives me a curt nod before proceeding with his lecture about our upcoming author presentations. I’ve already read the requirements he posted on the class page, so I stare out the window and let my mind wander.
It feels like I’m stuck spinning round and round on the teacup ride at Disneyland and no matter how hard I try, the ride won’t come to a stop; And, after the week I've been having I could really use my best friend.
Grandpa sent me some money at the beginning of the school year, so I could “enjoy LA to the fullest” but I haven’t touched a cent and I have $250 saved up from working at McDonald's over the summer. If I combine the two I might have just enough for a plane ticket.
I rip my yellow notebook open, grab a pen and start scribbling furiously across the page. My father will be furious, of course, but if showing up on Mad’s doorstep unexpected gets her to talk to me, I will gladly accept whatever punishment he deems necessary. Besides he can’t be too angry when mom will be thrilled to see me.
My pen pushes too hard against the paper and leaves a long, black indent. Hells Bells. It’s been way too long since I’ve talked to Mom. The past few times I’ve called home my dad didn’t even offer the phone to her. If he would let me speak with her she would solve my problems and have me laughing within five minutes.
Why isn't he letting me talk to her?
Mr. Allen clears his throat and my head snaps up. He’s standing right in front of my chair. It startles me when I notice that the classroom is no longer full.
“Is everything alright, Emily?” His apprehensiveness catches me off guard.
My face flushes bright red. I feel exhausted. Keeping secrets and feelings bottled up is hard work. Mr. Allen is nice enough, he seems kind and caring and it would be really nice to have someone to talk to since my father is treating my number one choice like a prisoner of war.
I take a deep breath.
“No . . . not really.” I stare past him at the whiteboard, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m worried about my mom and my best friend isn’t talking to me anymore and I don’t know how to fix that and then there’s Ian . . .”
“What’s going on with Ian?” Mr. Allen asks, sitting down on the orange bean bag chair next to me. I bite my tongue, angry with myself for giving so much away.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, he didn’t do anything. That’s the problem.” My eyes are trained on my hands, resting in my lap. A sob rips through my chest. “God, she’s awful!”
Mr. Allen reaches out and tentatively pats my shoulder. “Who’s awful?
“His girlfriend.” I throw my hands up in the air. “She treats him like he’s less than dirt. Why is he still with her?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Sometimes we don’t think when we act. Sometimes we just want the thing we’re familiar or comfortable with.”
I wipe my nose on my sleeve and nod my head.
How did it never cross my mind that Ian might be staying with Sarah for the exact reasons I’m staying with Mason? Is Ian only with Sarah because it’s all he’s ever known?
The concern on Mr. Allen’s face never falters as I tell him my worries that my mother’s cancer will resurface and about my fight with Mads. When I finish speaking, I stare down at my hands, too scared to meet his gaze and see the judgment I’m certain will be in his eyes. He probably thinks I’m pathetic. I’m sure he has far more important things going on in his life, than listening to a 17-year-old drone on and on.
“I can relate to what you’re going through with your mother’s cancer on some level.” Mr. Allen faces me. “When I was fifteen my father passed away after a five-year battle with brain cancer and it sucked. I wish I could say things will get easier with time, but that’s a promise I can’t make. However, the challenges life throws at you can be bearable if you face it head-on with your friends.”
He walks to the front of the classroom and stops in front of the bookcases. He grabs a skinny book off of the shelve and walks back to me. “When my father died I was really angry and bitter with the world. I stopped caring about those around me and pushed my friends away.”
He holds the book out to me.
The cover is lime-green, except for the top right-hand corner, which is a sepia-styled photograph of someone’s legs standing against a
wall. The title, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, is written in small lowercase letters.
“This book helped me realize how essential friends really are. Forget your other assignments for my class that are due over the next two weeks, I want your only focus to be this book. I want you to read it, study it, learn from it. The last Friday before Halloween I want to discuss what you’ve learned about the value of friendship, the importance of love and what it means to live life to its fullest.”
He leans against the desk in front of me, crossing his arms against his chest. “It wasn’t until I was in college that I noticed that even after all of my anger, hatred and spiteful words my friend Melissa had never given up on me. She waited for me day after day until I finally invited her back into my life and let her share my grief with me. She may not ever understand what I went through and I pray she doesn’t have to, but there has never been a better listener or friend, than her, in my life.”
My voice catches in my throat. “What if she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore?
He gives me a small smile. “Socrates once said, ‘Be slow to fall into friendship, but once you are in, continue firm and constant.’ It might feel like Mads will never talk to you again, but if she’s a true friend she’ll forgive you for all of your failings and mistakes, no matter what you’ve done, as you should for her. True friendship is one of the rarest and hardest things to find and it shouldn’t be taken lightly.”
He walks back to his desk and starts packing his things. His head is down as I gather my things. I walk up to his desk. “Mr. Allen?”
He looks up. “Mm?”
“Thanks,” I fling my arms around him. At first, he stiffens and I’m sure it’s because he’s thinking I shouldn't be hugging him, but then he relaxes“Anytime. My door is always open if you need to talk or just need a place to think and escape for a while.”
As I leave Mr. Allen’s classroom I mull over our conversation as I make my way through Adam’s Park. My friendship with Mads is so much more than just having a girlfriend to gossip to and paint nails with while we watch cheesy romantic comedies; she’s the sister I’ve never had, but always yearned for. She’s the keeper of my secrets, the yang to my yin and I don’t want to give up on our friendship, even if it takes a while for her to forgive me.
The Missing Piece Page 10
