“Wait. Are you saying that I’m wasting my life because I’m more interested in my music than conforming to a corrupt system’s rules? I’ve been working on my music, Dad!”
“I know you have. But why can’t you do both?”
“Not everyone is Ivy League material like you guys.”
Dad sighs. “Have you thought about going to college and doing something with music?”
“I don’t need college to do what I want to do.”
He gets up. “I’m not telling you to give up on your dreams. Just think about college. It can help you achieve them.” He shuffles toward the stairs.
I sit there for a long time. Thinking.
In my room, I pick up my acoustic guitar. I start to play this Bach concerto that always clears my head when I feel conflicted. It’s one of the first things I learned to play. It kind of transports me back to this time in my life when everything seemed simple. When there weren’t all these problems. And when I did have a problem, the solution was always simple: Follow your heart.
I go over to my desk and take out some paper and a pen. I make coffee. I sit back down. Then I do something I never thought I would do in a million years. I write Life Plan at the top of the page.
And then I begin.
CHAPTER 19
already over it
october 14, 9:25 a.m.
“That did not just happen,” I whisper.
Joe Zedepski dropped his calculator. For the third time today. In the last ten minutes. It’s a miracle the thing still works after all these years.
I write on the side of my page:
I point to what I wrote with my pencil. I glance at Laila. She’s read it already.
She writes on the side of her page:
Maybe it’s sleep deprivation from being up until two in the morning every night this week doing what should be an illegal amount of homework. Or maybe it’s that I’m starting to feel like I’m with the wrong boy. But for some reason, I’m having a laughing fit.
At first I don’t make any noise. I cover my face and try to think sad thoughts. But it doesn’t help. I’m cracking up uncontrollably. And Laila’s going to start, and it’s going to be bad. I can already see her trying to resist. We’re always laughing at the worst times when it’s mad wrong to be laughing. I’m sure it’s stress related.
“Would you girls like to share the joke with us?” Mr. Perry booms.
This guy has no sense of humor. Like, if there was an actual medical condition for lack of sense of humor, Mr. Perry would have the most severe case.
We don’t say anything. I pretend to take notes.
“Simmer down, please!” he says.
Which is of course even funnier than the pocket protector thing. So now it’s even harder to calm down. I push my hair behind my ears. I nod a little to appear competent. I bounce my foot up and down. I try to get it together.
After class we meet Maggie in the hall. They both stand there, looking at me. Then Laila’s like, “Are you sitting with us at lunch or what?” Maggie looks at me expectantly.
I’ve been dividing my time between their table and Dave’s, over where life is all shiny and sparkly. The thing is, Dave said there isn’t room for Maggie and Laila at his table. I guess it is pretty crowded at Dave’s table, but it still feels like he’s dissing my friends. And they feel it, too.
“Um . . .” I know deserting them is wrong. But I’ve wanted to taste the high life for so long. I’m not ready to give it up yet.
“You think about that,” Laila says. She motors down the hall.
“Laila—”
Laila turns around. “And FYI? You’ll never find something real at that table.” And then she’s gone.
“Mags—”
“Look,” Maggie says. “I know how much you like him. I’ve been there. Just don’t turn into one of those girls who ditches their bf’s for some boy.”
“Of course not! I just . . .” How can I explain what sitting at Dave’s table means to me without hurting her feelings? “Maybe I . . . like, I could sit with you guys more and . . .” Even I can hear how lame I sound.
“Yeah,” Maggie says, “maybe . . .”
And then she’s gone, too.
After the first two hours of calc homework, I can’t decide between ripping out every single page of the book to burn them individually or just burning the pages all together in one huge bonfire.
“I hate this!” I yell. I fling the book across the room. Since my room is about the size of a postage stamp, it hits the wall right away and thumps onto the carpet. My room is so small it makes me feel constricted and edgy, like there’s no escape.
Like Dave makes me feel sometimes.
The past two weeks have been disappointing. Dave and I just aren’t connecting the way I thought we would by now. We don’t have that much in common and his sense of humor is lacking. Not like Tobey, who always makes me laugh. And Dave totally goes along with what Matt and Alex do. It’s not like I suddenly hate Dave or anything. . . . I still feel like I want to be his girlfriend. But I can’t help thinking about Tobey, too. . . .
Dave’s lying on his stomach on my bed, reading his history book. History is his favorite subject. Stuff that happened a million years ago to dead white men. Thrilling. How can he actually like that stuff? How can I like someone who actually likes that stuff?
“Sara, take it easy.” Dave gets up and kneels next to my chair. “You’re brilliant. What could you possibly not get?” He rubs my arm.
I try to focus on the problem. But sitting at my rickety pseudo-desk makes it impossible. “I’m . . .” Mom’s idea of a desk was to put a board over some cinder blocks. The cinder blocks are covered with burlap. I am not kidding. So here I sit, just like every night, churning out an endless deluge of homework. It’s only October, but I’m already over it.
Dave is still kneeling next to me. He keeps rubbing my arm. “I think you need a break.” He takes his hand away from my arm and gently runs it down my leg. “When’s your mom coming home?”
Mom works late on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and it’s Tuesday. We have at least another two hours alone. Not that it matters anyway. Every time Dave comes over, we end up making out, even with my mom in the next room. And my door doesn’t even lock. And I know she knows what we’re doing. But it happens anyway because she doesn’t care.
“Later,” I say. “Why?”
“I thought we could . . . you know.”
I’m like, “What?” Even though I know what. It’s the same thing he brings up every time we make out.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just this.” He starts kissing me.
It’s weird how one minute I’m all tense and the next minute all my stress disappears. Dave is gorgeous. Dave is kissing me. Dave can make me feel better. I kind of get why some relationships are only based on physical attraction.
He pulls me over to my bed and we sit down. He kisses me harder. I’m having a hard time remembering why I was upset before.
But then he reaches down to the floor and unzips his bag. And takes out a condom. And puts the condom on the bed.
How tacky is that?
Dave says, “You know you want to.” Then he smiles at me like he’s the most irresistible thing ever.
How condescending is that?
“Um . . . actually?” I say. “I’m not ready for that.”
His smile dissolves. “Why not?”
“I’m just not.”
“Maybe you need some convincing,” he says. He starts kissing me again. The bedsprings creak.
Nothing about this feels right anymore.
I push him away.
“What is it with you?” he says.
“What?”
“You always do this.”
“Always? Like it’s been that many times?”
“What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid,” I say. “It’s only been five weeks.”
“Exactly. It’s been five weeks.”
“No, it’s only been five weeks. That’s nothing.”
“How long do you need?”
“I don’t know. Longer than this.”
Dave stares at me. “You’re never gonna have sex with me, are you?”
“Huh?”
“What’s the problem?”
“Nothing.”
“Why do you always say ‘nothing’?”
“Because nothing’s wrong.”
“Look,” Dave says. “I know something’s wrong. So what is it?”
I miss being able to put on my pajamas and chill in front of the TV and actually get all of my homework done before midnight. I mean, making out with my boyfriend would be preferable if it felt right. I might even want to sleep with him. But something’s still missing. “It’s just . . . I need to get my homework done.”
“But we always do homework.”
“That is so not true,” I tell him. “We always make out, and then I don’t have enough time to do anything.” I look at the condom. “And now . . .”
Dave looks at the condom. Then he leans toward me. “I really think we should,” he whispers.
“Why? Why is this so important to you?” I know guys are obsessed with sex, but this is ridiculous. Dave’s pushing it so much you’d think he’s desperate.
“Because you’re beautiful.” He kisses my neck. “And sexy.” He kisses my collarbone. “And I was hoping our first time could be together.” He kisses my shoulder.
“What?” What did he just say? Our first time? There’s no way he’s a virgin!
Dave stops kissing me. He’s like, “Oh, no, I meant . . . for you . . . it would mean a lot for...” But we both know what he meant.
Dave’s actually a virgin!
CHAPTER 20
a better plan
october 20, 1st period
Now that it’s getting colder and it’s so early in the morning, all the girls are wearing so many layers that you can hardly tell who’s who. But I still see Sara right away.
Coach bustles out ahead of us. He yells a lot through his bullhorn. We never really know who he’s talking to or what he’s saying. He noticed that I was lifting weights over the summer because the first thing he said in September was, "Tobey! Bulking up?”
As I pass through the gates to the track now, he says, “Tobey! Still lifting?”
“Yeah,” I tell him.
“Maybe you’ll change your mind about spring track.” Ever since freshman year when Coach got me to join track for a nanosecond, he hasn’t given up on the idea that I’m coming back. I’m tall and thin, and these are supposed to be good qualities for running.
“I don’t think so,” I tell him. “But thanks.”
“Well, think about it.”
“Sure,” I say, so he’ll leave me alone.
As we start running, Mike says,“Are you gonna do it?”
“Yeah,” I tell him.
Even though I thought of this plan a while ago, it needed some serious refining. I might even have to make more attempts before I get the results I want. We’ll see how it goes today.
We run. I look around for Sara. We have to do three laps but the girls only do one, so I usually only have one chance to pass her.
I see Sara running ahead of us with Maggie. I speed up to get to her.
“You the man!” Josh yells after me.
I’m running really fast, psyched by my plan. When I’m right behind Sara and Maggie, I slow down. I try to hear what they’re saying. These annoying loud girls are next to me. I turn to see who they are.
I couldn’t have planned it any better.
Normally, I try to avoid Cynthia. I never run with her or even let her get close to me. But now I need her.
“Oh, hi, Tobey!” Cynthia says loudly. Even though we’re over, she still acts all flirty whenever she sees me. She’s all, “Wow, you’re wearing shorts! Aren’t you cold?”
“No,” I say. I watch Sara’s back. I can’t tell if she’s listening.
“Have you been working out?” Cynthia says. She grabs my arm. “Your arms are definitely bigger than before!” Cynthia digs her nails into my bicep. She keeps running right next to me, smiling up at me, clenching my arm.
That’s when Sara turns around to look.
“Yeah,” I tell Cynthia. "You can tell?”
“Oh, definitely! Do you work out every day?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“You can totally tell,” she says.
We get to the gate. The girls walk off the track, heading back inside.
“Bye,Tobey!” Cynthia calls over her shoulder.
I wave back and keep running.
Sara doesn’t look back at all. She just keeps walking.
I let Mike and Josh catch up to me.
“Dude!” Josh says. “So what happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did it work or not?” Mike says.
“I think so,” I say. But instead of feeling all excited about it, I feel kind of guilty. "But it didn’t work out like I thought it would.”
“Did she see you?” Mike says.
“I saw you!” Josh says. “Could Cynthia be any more in your pants?”
“She saw,” I say. "She wasn’t happy about it.”
“Victorious!” Mike says. “You’re in!”
I know what happened had some effect on Sara. I could just feel it when she looked at me, how she walked away. So I should be stoked. . . .
Music is the only thing that can take me away from the pain. It’s my drug of choice. So that afternoon I ram on my guitar. We’ve decided to do a classic rock number for Battle of the Bands next month and one of our own as an encore. Mike thinks we have a better chance of making it to the final round that way.
The last two times we practiced, Mike and Josh had to leave early to do homework. I hope that doesn’t happen tonight. I need this.
But then Mike is talking about that Spanish project, and he’s like, "Yo. I gotta bounce.”
“Seriously, man,” Josh says. “I haven’t even started the outline.”
Somehow I thought being in a band would be more exciting than this.
“Isn’t it due tomorrow?” Mike says.
“Yeah,” Josh says.
They start packing up their stuff.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
“You guys can’t leave yet,” I say. “We didn’t even get through ‘Ahab’s Fish.’ ”
“Dude,” Mike says. “If I don’t go right now? My mom’s gonna freak. Plus, I have math and . . . I don’t want to fall behind too much.”
“Why not?” I say. “What’s the difference?”
Mike walks up to me. He stands real close. “Why do you always do this to yourself?”
“What?”
“What are you up to on your project?”
“What makes you think I started it?”
“You’re a trip, Tobey.”
“I’m beginning to think you guys don’t care about the band anymore,” I say.
“Okay. Dude? I don’t know about you, but I want to go to a decent college next year. I don’t always have time to fuck around like you do.” Mike bends down to tie his sneaker.
“I’m not fucking around. This is what I want to do with my life. You know that.” What is it with everyone ganging up on me?
I take my guitar strap off.
“Look,” Mike says. “You should reconsider about the whole anti-college stance. Even Josh is going.”
“Hey!” Josh yells. “Thanks a lot!”
“You know what I mean,” Mike says.
“Yeah,” I say. "I get it.”
What I get is that even my friends think I’m wasting my life. It’s like everyone has this attitude that if you don’t go to college, you’re nothing. Screw that. If that’s what it takes to show everyone who I am, then fine. Maybe I will apply. Just to show them.
CHAPTER 21
conundrum
october 20, 8:26 a.m.
&n
bsp; Can I just say that gym is the absolute worst?
I have a new rant page in my sketchbook. I’m ranting about the lack of connection with Dave and how we hardly have anything in common and how conceited his friends are and, now, the torture that is gym.
Here’s Why Gym Sucks
1. I can’t catch.
2. I can’t throw.
3. I’m totally uncoordinated.
4. I always get picked last for teams.
5. I hate sports.
6. I keep forgetting the rules.
7. I always have gym 1st period. Sweaty underwear is bad times.
And I hate changing for gym. Naturally, Maggie doesn’t have to worry about simple everyday things like changing. This is because she’s physically perfect. But I’m a different story. There’s this whole complicated production I have to go through every single day to change for gym. I try to keep this entire changing procedure under three-point-two seconds.
First I sniff the shirt that’s in my locker to make sure it doesn’t smell too bad. Even if it does, I still have to wear it. But then I know not to stand too close to anyone.
Next I look around to see if anyone’s watching. If no one is, I face the corner and quickly switch shirts. If someone’s looking, then I have to wait.
Putting on sweatpants is the most complicated part because this is when my whole gross butt is hanging out for everyone to see. And I hate my thighs. I’ve tried wrapping a towel around myself, changing in the bathroom, or not changing at all. But then everyone makes fun of me more for being so weird. Even though Maggie insists I look totally thin, I don’t really believe her.
Today we’re playing pickle ball. Pickle ball is this game where you get in a pair with these big paddles and a whiffle ball. Then you take turns smacking the ball against the wall. I like this game because it’s fun without being sweaty. And I can actually hit the ball sometimes.
“It’s Agassi’s serve, and Roddick waits eagerly to smash the ball to pieces.” I hunker down in front of the wall, shifting my weight back and forth and swinging my paddle.
“But, wait!” Maggie screams. She slams the ball. I jump up with my paddle over my head, but the ball is about ten miles away. “Roddick is experiencing technical difficulty. Please stand by for Agassi’s win.”
When It Happens Page 9
