by Sandy Hall
Thea: How’s school?
Carter: School is fine. It’s still early in the semester but everything is fine.
Thea: I noticed you haven’t mentioned that girl again. Is it because you feel weird talking about this stuff with your sister?
Carter: No. It’s because nothing good is happening with the girl. Paisley. She hates me.
Thea: What did you do to her?
Carter: Well, that’s sort of the problem, it’s not what I did to her, so much as what I did to her best friend. In middle school. And then I kind of, sort of, lied about who I was for a couple of days. It was all a misunderstanding!
Thea: Hmm. Sure. Sounds kind of suspect to me.
Carter: Maybe it kind of was. It definitely was.
Thea: So what are you going to do?
Carter: What can I do? I obviously offended her so badly that I can’t make it up to her.
Thea: Good.
Carter: Good?
Thea: Yeah, you don’t want to be THAT guy, Carter. The one who chases after a girl after she’s told you to stop.
Carter: I’m nodding. You just can’t see me.
Thea: Good boy.
Carter: Do you think I can make one more try? Before I give up forever? Maybe she needed a cooling-off period.
Thea: Sure, but be ready to back off if she tells you to back off. And just … be nice. Go with your gut instincts. Don’t go with the first thing that pops into your head. Count to ten and walk away.
Carter: Yeah. Good. Thanks, Thea.
Thea: You’re welcome, Carter.
Carter: AND YOU BETTER KEEP ME UPDATED ABOUT MOM.
Thea: I WILL. I PROMISE.
Carter: CROSS YOUR HEART AND HOPE TO DIE?
Thea: STICK A NEEDLE IN MY EYE.
-PAISLEY-
On Sunday night, Stef and I are at the dining hall with a group of people from our floor, but at the moment it’s just the two of us getting drinks.
“What are you doing next weekend?” Stef asks. “A bunch of us from the swim team are going to Great Adventure.”
“Ugh. I wish. I have no money.”
“Bummer,” she says.
“I know. All of my work-study money goes into an account I can’t touch from the ATM so I’m a little cash-flow poor. I won’t mind it when I have money for next semester, but it’s annoying to work all week and have nothing to show for it.”
We walked in at the same time as Carter and a bunch of guys from his floor, so now I have the added fun of avoiding him at the dining hall.
“How are things going with that?” Stef asks, casting her eyes in the direction of the salad bar where Carter can’t seem to master the use of the small tongs for getting cherry tomatoes.
“Horrible.”
“Have you considered changing your schedule?” Stef asks before taking a bite of her salad.
“I have but nothing works. Everything creates a domino effect.” I refrain from telling her that at least one of the classes we have together is my fault. It’s just too embarrassing.
I pause to get more napkins. As I turn around to go join the rest of our floor mates, Carter materializes next to me.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he says with a smirk.
I roll my eyes in response and grumble to myself the whole way to the table. I stew silently as everyone else talks and eats around me. I need to stop letting him ruin my college experience.
On our way back to the dorm, Stef and I walk a few steps behind everyone else.
“I love your shirt,” a girl says to me as she passes.
I have to look down to remind myself what shirt I’m wearing. It’s actually an old one I made over the summer because of an inside joke I have with Henry. “Be your own sugar daddy,” it says.
“Thanks,” I say.
“It’s cute,” Stef says. “And funny.”
“Is it? I just threw it on because it was clean.”
When we get back to the dorm, I decide it’s time to tell Henry about Carter. I’ve put it off long enough, but it’s becoming apparent that Carter is going to be a fixture in my life and Henry is the only person who’s truly going to appreciate how terrible that is.
Stef leaves to go study with some friends from the swim team, and I know it’s the perfect time for me to text Henry.
Paisley: You busy?
Henry: Only a normal amount. What’s up?
Paisley: I have something horrible to confess.
Henry: I’m terrified and curious.
Paisley: I made out with Carter Schmitt.
Henry: From middle school?
Paisley: Yes. How can I ever make this up to you?
Henry: There’s nothing to make up to me? When did you make out with him? In middle school? You’re just deciding to tell me now?
Paisley: No, Henry. He goes to college with me. And I met him at a party and I didn’t remember him.
Henry: Paisley. It’s not a big deal.
Paisley: I just want you to know how sorry I am. I feel like I’ve betrayed you and myself. I believed I was a most loyal friend only to go to college and make out with your archnemesis.
Henry: He was never my archnemesis. I’m not Batman.
Paisley: No, Henry. You’re Superman and he’s Lex Luthor.
Henry: No, Paisley. He was a middle school bully. It’s nothing that dramatic.
Paisley: All right. You’re right. I just really do feel bad. And like I need to bathe in Listerine.
Henry: Do you like him?
Paisley: No, he’s terrible.
Henry: Then why did you make out with him?
Paisley: Because he was being nice.
Henry: So maybe he’s not terrible anymore.
Paisley: Oh, hell no, I’m not letting him off the hook that easily. There’s more to the whole thing. Like, I thought his name was Bart because of this thing that happened at the party. So, like, I kept calling him Bart and he DIDN’T CORRECT ME. He just let me go on with it. And then we hung out at this carnival and we kissed again and he won me a zebra and it was all just so fake. He lied to me! And I liked him!
Henry: Oh. Yeah. That’s not cool.
Paisley: I know. He’s clearly still the worst. Hasn’t changed even a little.
Henry: I don’t want you to feel bad on my account.
Paisley: Well, for the record, my loyalty is with you. Even if he hadn’t been a lying bastard, I wouldn’t be friends with him due to the principle of the thing.
Henry: And because you like to hold grudges.
Paisley: And that. So, how’s everything going with you?
Henry: You don’t have to change the subject.
Paisley: I could use the distraction.
Henry: Honestly, everything is good. I really like my classes and my roommate is good and I feel good.
Paisley: That’s great.
Henry: Or at least it’s good. Since I used the word three times in my last text.
Paisley: Good is … good.
Henry: And at least I didn’t make out with Farter Shit.
Paisley: See? Your glass is definitely half full. Do you have any advice?
Henry: Ignore him.
Paisley: Gee, I never would have thought of that.
Henry: Advice is what you ask for when you already know the answer.
Paisley: All right, smarty-pants. Thanks for being so cool about this, Henry.
Henry: You’re welcome, of course.
CHAPTER SEVEN
-CARTER-
It’s the start of our fourth week of classes, and Paisley is still avoiding me. Acting like I don’t exist. I don’t want it to bother me, and yet it does.
Barring when she’s forced to speak to me at work, she hasn’t said two words to me.
I try to keep in mind what Thea said. About being a good guy and giving Paisley some space. But it’s hard. It makes me whiny.
Not to mention that it’s driving me stark raving mad. I can’t stop thinking about how well we got along with each other durin
g those two glorious days before she learned who I am. I acknowledge the fact that I lied to her. I purposefully let her believe I was someone else. I understand why she’s pissed about that.
It just seems sort of unreasonable for her to still be mad at me about something that happened in middle school. Isn’t there some kind of statute of limitations on bad behavior? Isn’t it time to move along? I think it is. Which is why I decide to try to talk to Paisley about what’s going on between us. Since obviously she’ll never broach the topic.
It’s a quiet Saturday morning at the gym. We just opened, and it’s the weekend of the fall festival on campus so there will likely be fewer people in and out. She’s wearing a T-shirt that says LET THE GAMES BEGIN. As if I didn’t already know this whole thing was all a game to her.
“Can we talk?” I ask her. This is it. This is my last run at being civil with her. I have to try. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try one more time. The idea of someone hating me makes me itch. Not to mention that I got myself all psyched up for this conversation and I’m ready.
She has her history book open on the desk and is diligently staring at it. I can’t say she’s diligently working because she hasn’t opened a notebook or picked up a pen or even turned a page. I can only say she’s doing her best to train her eyes on it.
“Honestly, Carter, I don’t think the workplace is an appropriate location for this type of personal discussion.”
“How do you know it’s personal?”
She gives me a look.
I accept what she’s saying and also, at that moment, like ten people all come in needing their IDs checked and to borrow equipment and to ask a million questions. So it’s not the best time to talk anyway. But I can’t help feeling sort of deflated. I promise myself I’ll try again.
On Monday, when we’re walking out of our history class, I can feel the opportunity in the air.
“Maybe now we could talk?” I say to her as we walk down the hall.
We don’t have psych for twenty minutes, and I know she usually only goes to the vending machine for a quick snack. Not like she has big plans for this break.
“I don’t think the classroom is an appropriate location for this personal discussion,” she repeats again. Apparently, she likes this phrase. Why is it the more that she frustrates me the more I want to kiss her?
“Come on, Paisley. Can we please talk? We could go outside and talk. We have time.”
She massages her forehead like I’m giving her a headache but she follows me out.
We take a seat on a bench. It’s late September but feels more like August. Fall in New Jersey can be weird.
“So, what is it?” she asks. She pulls out her “Nevertheless She Persisted” refillable water bottle and takes a long sip, looking anywhere but at me.
“I hate knowing that someone hates me,” I say.
“Well, I’m sure lots of people hate you, Carter. I’m not sure there’s anything you can really do about that.”
“I’m not talking about them.” I wave my hand broadly at all my haters, hoping to make her laugh. I know she was probably trying to get under my skin with that comment, but she’s not going to. I’m staying on task here.
“Are you talking about someone specific then?” she asks, picking invisible lint off her jeans.
This purposefully obtuse routine will get old quick, but I don’t know what else to do beside push through it.
I will not let her get a rise out of me.
I will not let her get a rise out of me.
I will not let her get a rise out of me.
I repeat that phrase in my head for a few seconds. It feels good.
“Well? Someone specific? Something you specifically wanted to discuss? We have to be in class in fourteen minutes now. We don’t have all day.”
“I hate knowing you hate me.”
She shrugs. “I hate knowing you were mean to my best friend.”
“So, you and Henry are still friends?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.”
“He’s a loyal and wonderful friend. I honestly couldn’t ask for much better.”
“And you guys never dated?”
“I hate that question more than I hate you. So now I hate you even more.”
“Isn’t hate an awfully strong word?”
“Maybe, but it’s succinct and it gets the job done. I don’t need a thesaurus to explain how I feel about you.”
I chew my lip.
“Is there a point to all this?” she asks.
“Well, is there something that I can do to make you hate me less? I just want to be friends. We’re obviously stuck with each other for the semester and more likely the whole year, at least at work. I don’t want you to have a terrible time just because I’m here.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not having a terrible time. You’re barely even a blip to me.”
“But isn’t there anything I could do?” I ask. I feel like I’m begging now. “Maybe we could form a truce?”
“If I think of something, I’ll let you know, but I doubt it,” she adds before I have a second to get my hopes up. Then she stands, hefts her bag higher onto her shoulder, and walks into the classroom building without another word.
I’m left on the bench feeling worse than I did before.
I’m pretty sure even the squirrels pity me.
-PAISLEY-
I’m not going to lie, Carter’s plea for a truce was sort of endearing in an annoying kind of way. He looked so sad, and for a split second, I remembered how I felt about him at the top of the Ferris wheel. But then I crushed those feelings down and remembered my rage. Maybe if he hadn’t deceived me the way he did. Maybe if he’d just been himself. Maybe I could have gotten over the middle school stuff.
But we’ll never know now.
I don’t want to be friends with him. I never want to be anything remotely like friends with him. But I might be interested in getting a little more revenge.
I say something along those lines to Stef the next day and she nods.
“I think I get that. But is a biblical revenge what you want? Like an eye for an eye kind of thing?”
“Yeah, minus the part where I flush his clothes down the toilet or steal his lunch. Or commit identity fraud.”
“It’s good to know that you’re truly above some actions. Is that really considered identity fraud?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, but that’s what I’m calling it.”
The first small prank presents itself a few days later. And “prank” is really overstating the situation, but I don’t know what else to call it. Maybe “minor sabotage.” Or maybe it’s best to think of it as my own brand of Paisley justice, much like pulling the screw out of his chair.
I’m righting wrongs and bringing balance back to the universe, making life a little harder for him, the way he made life a little harder for Henry. Especially since I know Henry would have never stood up for himself like this.
Anyway, Carter needs to leave a half hour early one day because he has to go to office hours for some class, I don’t know which one, and I wasn’t paying attention. He tells me he’ll stay a half hour later the next day and that if anyone should look for him, to just let them know. He already discussed it with Jordan and she gave her okay. I don’t really answer him because, you know, I’m ignoring him.
Eventually he leaves and I spend the rest of my time pretending to make an outline for the writing assignment that’s due next week when really I’m napping with my eyes open.
Moments before my shift is over, the director of the fitness center comes through and asks why I’m working the desk alone.
All I can see is an opportunity. It’s time to throw Carter under the bus.
I shrug. “I don’t know. My desk partner just left early.”
“He didn’t tell you where he was going?”
“No, he didn’t say a word to me. If I wasn’t sitting by the door, I might not have even known he left.�
�
“Honest to god,” the older man grumbles. “Kids these days.”
I wish I could think of something else to say but he walks off before I can think of anything worthwhile.
Being bad feels really good. Perhaps mischief is my muse.
I practically bounce toward the dining hall when I meet Stef for lunch later that afternoon.
I fill her in on what happened at work.
“Don’t go overboard,” she warns. “You don’t want to get in trouble while trying to get Carter in trouble.”
“But he deserves it.”
“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” she says with a shrug. “I’m just saying that you should tread lightly with these pranks.”
“I prefer minor sabotage to the word prank. Or, if you prefer, vigilante justice.”
“Of course. Right. You’re a professional. Pranks are for amateurs.”
“I’m so glad you get me,” I say as we put our trays on the conveyor belt and leave for our afternoon classes.
“I know what you’re going to say, but I have to ask,” she says as we leave.
“What?” I wait for her to ask me an annoying question about Carter that has an obvious answer that’s supposed to make me rethink my plans to destroy him.
“We’re going out for dinner tonight, a couple of swim team people. Want to come?”
“Oh,” I say, momentarily surprised and pleased that she’s not harping on me about Carter. “Ugh. I wish.”
“We need to figure out a way for you to make extra money.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “I need to be more liquid.”
I take Stef’s words to heart, both about making more money and being less intense about getting revenge on Carter. I decide to take it down a notch, even though Carter seems to leave himself open to these things. It’s like he wants me to commit acts of minor sabotage.
The next time we work together he doesn’t even seem to notice that anything is amiss. Maybe Jordan didn’t even mention it to him. Maybe the big boss didn’t make a stink.
But then Jordan comes out and says, “Carter, I need to see you for a moment in the office.”
I wait ten seconds until I know they’re inside, and then I slip down the hall quietly to eavesdrop.
“Why didn’t you tell Paisley you needed to go to office hours?” Jordan asks.
