When It Happens

by Susane Colasanti

  “Tobey Beller?” the official-looking woman standing in front of me says.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Jenna Segal, the—”

  “Director of Admissions,” I say. I remember her name from the letter telling me when my audition was.

  She smiles. “That’s right.” We shake hands.

  The three people at the table smile. Ms. Segal introduces them to me.

  I set up my stuff. There’s a stool and a music stand and some other equipment already there.

  I balance on the stool. The judges already have my sheet music I sent in last week, but I don’t even need a copy. It’s just me and my guitar.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Ms. Segal says.

  While I play, I practice a visualization technique Sara taught me. I see myself here in September, playing in this room, writing the best music of my life. Walking down to NYU every day to see Sara. Music. And Sara. The only things I need in life to be happy.

  “Thank you,” Ms. Segal says. "We’ll be in touch.”

  I look over at everybody. They’re all smiling at me again. Either they’re happy people in general or they like what I did. I think I did okay, but it’s hard to say since I kind of zoned out.

  “Thanks for your time,” I tell them. “This really means a lot to me.” I pack up my guitar and smile at them on the way out. Happy people like other happy people.

  In the hall, I see the next two applicants waiting on the bench. One’s this hardcore punk rock chick with pink spiky hair and leather pants and severe-looking studs in her lip. Then there’s this guy with glasses and a T-shirt that says VOTE FOR PEDRO with a clarinet case on his lap. I guess Manhattan Music Academy is into diversity.

  Back on the train, I lean against the window and listen to my iPod. I watch the lights come on in people’s houses, beyond the tracks, through the trees.

  This is the hardest part. Waiting to know what my future is.

  CHAPTER 37

  probability

  february 12, 8:10 a.m.

  Maggie’s eyes are majorly bloodshot. Her dad told her that he’s moving out. He did it while they were having breakfast.

  “I can’t deal with gym,” she whispers. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

  We sneak in and stand at the sinks.

  “This is so freaking horrendous,” Maggie says in a raspy voice. “I’m sure they’re getting divorced.”

  She lets the cold water run and splashes her face a few times. I’m mad at myself for being petty enough to actually feel jealous. I could never just splash some cold water on my face in a time of stress. Then all my concealer would wash off and I’d have to put it back on and I don’t have my moisturizer here so my skin would get dry and it’s this whole complicated thing with me.

  “I think he’s staying in a hotel. How pathetic is that?”

  “He deserves it,” I say. “He should suffer for a while and think about what he did.”

  “Yeah, whatever. He’s not gonna change. My mom told me that she tried doing all these different things to make him happy and nothing worked. That’s why they were always fighting.” She turns the water off. “Guys don’t change. They just get worse with age.” Maggie stares at herself in the smeary mirror. “This is not happening.”

  I’m trying to think of something profound to say that will make her feel better. Something that will take away all of her pain. But of course there’s nothing.

  Maggie takes a shuddery breath. “Anyway.”

  “I’m really sorry, Mags.”

  “I know.”

  I’m in a sad mood the whole morning, feeling bad for Maggie. So when Laila and I are walking to lunch and Cynthia comes up to me, I’m not ready to deal with her. Even though I know she went out with Tobey last year, I still can’t believe he would like someone like her.

  Cynthia walks right up to me. She stands there, blocking me.

  “Sara?” she asks. As if she’s not sure that’s my name.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you say hi to Tobey for me?”

  Laila’s looking at her like she just escaped from the psych ward.

  “Uh . . . yeah,” I say.

  “Thanks. See ya!” Then Cynthia struts off down the hall.

  “What was that?” Laila says.

  I don’t say anything. Because what it looked like was someone a little too interested in my boyfriend. And I don’t want to say that out loud.

  At lunch, it’s me, Tobey, Laila, Maggie, Mike, and Josh all at one table now. Laila and I put our stuff down. No one else is here yet.

  “Are you going to tell Tobey?” Laila says.

  “No,” I say. “She’s just trying to create drama. I’m sure she’ll be watching to see if I get mad at him.”

  “Fascinating. I hope the quality of social interactions improves between now and college.”

  Tobey comes in and puts his notebook down.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he says.

  “Hey.” I look into his eyes, searching for changes. But it’s the same intense gaze I always see.

  In line, Tobey’s like, “Whoa. Déjà vu.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t tell me you forgot about the dime!”

  At first I don’t know what he’s talking about. But then I remember when Tobey and I bumped heads picking up that dime I dropped. Back before I got a clue.

  "Never,” I promise.

  Back at our table, everyone’s complaining about Mr. Carver.

  “He’s obviously been smoking the weed,” Josh says.

  “Seriously,” Mike slurps his drink. “The man is mentally disturbed.”

  “He needs to reevaluate his career choice.” Josh looks at Maggie.

  “Drill sergeant would be a good one,” Maggie offers.

  I sip my iced tea and look around at my new lunch surroundings. Everything seems completely different on this side of the world. I can finally relax instead of being concerned about what Dave’s friends think of me. Sitting with Tobey and our friends all together feels like the most natural thing in the world.

  Tobey takes my napkin and writes something on it. He slides it back to me.

  It says:

  I immediately turn pink.

  He writes something else. He slides it back to me.

  It says:

  Mike’s ranting about how long it took to do his college essays.

  “I swear, this one was like, ‘Write page two hundred eighty-seven of your autobiography.’ Who comes up with this stuff?”

  “Oh my god,” Maggie says.

  “What?”

  “Where was that one from?”

  “The New School.”

  “I had the same one from Florida State!”

  “Dude,” Mike says. “That’s scary.”

  “You guys don’t know from essays,” Laila starts.

  They actually have onion rings today. Tobey and I reach for our mustard packets at the same time. We give each other a weird look as we open them.

  I stare at Tobey as he squeezes mustard onto his plate. “What’s the mustard for?” I say.

  “This.” Tobey dips an onion ring in the mustard.

  I’m like, “No way.”

  “So way.”

  “You do not like them that way.”

  “I do, but there’s no way you can.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the probability of two people sitting at the same table who both like their onion rings with mustard is too small. The stratosphere would ignite, and life as we know it would cease to exist.”

  “That’s hot.”

  “That’s boiling.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Laila says. Everyone’s oblivious to the monumental event that just occurred between us. “You want to be an actor?”

  “Definitely.” Josh smiles all big.

  “That’s your career goal.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you have a plan B in mind?”

  “Laila, you like John May
er, right?”

  She hesitates. “Right.”

  “Well, I forget what song it’s from, but you know when he says how everyone always told him to stay inside the lines? And how there’s so much more on the other side?”

  Laila smiles. “Point taken.”

  Josh is gassed. “Does anyone want more cake?” he says.

  “No, thanks,” Maggie says.

  “Oh, well . . . Can I get you something else?”

  Maggie looks toward the door, as if planning her escape. “Uh . . . no thanks.”

  “Are you sure?” Josh is all wide, hopeful eyes.

  “I’m all set,” Maggie says. I get the feeling that Maggie is starting to like Josh. She finally dumped Rick because he’s a manwhore. He went back to his game-playing and didn’t call her for like a whole week. Meanwhile, Josh is always paying attention to Maggie, and they’ve even talked about her parents. Josh isn’t her type, though, so she’s in denial. But now I know that eventually those feelings take over, and it won’t matter if he’s her type or not.

  I catch Maggie’s eye to see if she’s feeling better from this morning. She winks at me.

  Now my napkin wants to know:

  Here’s our version of a road trip. Tobey drives us down the highway, and we get off at a random exit and eat rest-stop junk food and experience city life. It’s awesome.

  At first I remember this inhumane problem set I have to do for calc and the scads of other homework I’ll have over the weekend. But then I remember how frustrated I feel when I miss out on the living part of life. I don’t want my life to go places without me. Plus, this weekend is Valentine’s Day.

  So I write on his napkin and slide it back to him.

  CHAPTER 38

  room 523: the right words

  february 14, 6:41 p.m.

  I rented a room for us at the Short Hills Hilton. I didn’t tell Sara where we’re going. Just that she won’t be sleeping at home and she had to think up an excuse for being gone tonight. Sara told her mom she’s sleeping over at Maggie’s, and my parents think I’ll be at Mike’s. So they’re all oblivious to the fact that we’re about to spend the night together for the first time.

  There’s a slight chance that Sara will hate me for this. I might have to stay at Mike’s for real. But I don’t think so.

  “No peeking,” I say.

  “Are we almost there?” Sara’s fidgeting in the passenger seat. Blindfolded with the only tie I own.

  “We’ll be there in, like, ten minutes.”

  She giggles.“Where are we going?” she says in a please-tell -me voice.

  "Ten minutes,” I say, "is all the information you get.”

  I park the car and grab our bags from the backseat. I go around to Sara’s side to open her door. I consider leaving her blindfold on until we get to the room, but I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that we’re still in high school. I felt ridiculous enough making the reservation. But I decide to leave the blindfold on until we get to the front door.

  I hold her hand while we walk.

  “Tell me if I’m about to step off a cliff or something,” Sara says.

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  In front of the glittery entrance, I take off the tie.

  “Oh my god,” she says.

  I examine her face for signs of disgust. But all I can see is excitement.

  “We’re staying in a hotel?” she says.

  “Only if it’s okay with you.”

  Sara smiles. “It’s okay.”

  I push open the door to our room and say, “After you, ma chérie,” as if I own the entire hotel. “As you can see, I’m still renovating the kitchen. Excuse the mess.” I pull Sara into the room. The door swings shut behind her. “But the living room is done. I’ve expanded it to twice the original size.”

  “Impressive.” Sara goes over to the windows. “I love what you’ve done with the place.” She moves the curtains apart.

  I go over and stand next to her.You can see city lights for miles. Just being away seems to make Sara come alive. She told me that she feels better in a city atmosphere. More like herself. I know she’ll love being at NYU. I just hope I get to be there with her. I won’t know how my audition went for at least another month. Sara keeps saying I have to visualize the outcome, imagine getting the acceptance letter, see the exact words that tell me I’m in. Only sometimes when I try to do this, I visualize the letter saying how much I suck and how they wouldn’t take a reformed slacker like me if I were the last applicant on earth.

  We order room service and watch movies until midnight. We’re both in a good mood, laughing a lot and making up alternate story lines for the characters in the movies. Sara already opened her gifts. I made her another mix CD of all the songs she likes now from us listening to them so many times. I also gave her the plastic ring I won at Skee Ball. I put it in a ring box, all serious. She loved it.

  Sara gave me a scrapbook. She said it’s to document us. There’s one page covered with song lyrics. Another page has stuff from Music Theory, like Dots.Then there’s a black-and -white photo of us that someone on yearbook took. Sara wants me to do the next few pages and then give it back to her.Then we’ll keep handing it back and forth until the whole thing is done. Mike and Josh would tease me about it for the rest of my life if they ever found out. But it’s a cool idea.

  After the movie we’re watching ends, there’s a shift between us. Night. Possibility.

  I try to act casual. Since Dave was such an asshole about sex, I want to make sure I’m not.

  We’re both lying back against the pillows. I have to tell her. It’s now or never.

  I open my mouth to say it, and all of a sudden Sara pulls me on top of her. And after a while, she’s only wearing her underwear. I just wish that wasn’t the only thing in my way.

  CHAPTER 39

  room 523: this horrendous jealousy

  february 15, 12:41 a.m.

  I’m totally freaking out.

  I thought we were sleeping over at Tobey’s house, like maybe his parents were going away for the weekend or something. So this hotel room is way more than I expected. And I’m freaking right now because everything was so relaxed and I felt so comfortable all snuggled up against him watching movies and then I just had to kiss him. And now he’s trying to take my panties off and I’ve never been that naked with a boy. But if there was ever a good time to do it, now works for me. And I was going to do it that night his dad walked in on us anyway. And of course I’m nervous, but when won’t I be?

  But then Tobey pulls away from me. He moves over to his side of the bed and puts his hands over his face.

  “What’s wrong?” I say.

  “I just . . . I’m getting too worked up.” Tobey turns on his side to look at me. “You get me all worked up.”

  “Isn’t that the point?”

  “Yeah, but . . .” He holds my hand so his fingers are in between mine. “I have to tell you something. Something hard.”

  “Okay.” But it’s not okay. I’m scared and nervous about what he’s going to say.

  “I’m not . . . I’ve . . .”

  “Tobey. Whatever it is, it’s okay. Just tell me.”

  “I’ve had sex before.”

  Did he just say that? He didn’t just say that. I can list at least ten different reasons why he didn’t just say that. One, he told me he’s never felt this way about anyone before. Two, we haven’t even had sex yet. Three, so it doesn’t make sense that . . .

  “I don’t understand,” I say.

  “Huh?”

  “How is that possible?”

  Tobey squints at me and shakes his head. “Is it that hard to believe someone would want to have sex with me?”

  “What? No! It’s not—no! It’s because you said . . . I thought you said you’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Well . . . then . . . how could you sleep with someone if you felt less than this?�
� I feel like I’m going to cry.

  “Oh,” Tobey says. “No, it’s . . . it wasn’t like that. It didn’t mean anything.”

  I never get when guys in books or movies say it didn’t mean anything when they talk about sleeping with someone. It means everything. What could be more personal and intimate and enormous than that?

  “What do you mean it didn’t mean anything?”

  “It was just sex,” Tobey says. “No emotional attachment. ”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  Tobey looks at me. “Come on. I’m a guy.”

  “Oh, so you’re a guy so . . . you’d have sex with just anyone?”

  “No. It’s different now.” He squeezes my hand. I pull my hand away. “I’m with you now. You mean everything to me.”

  “How many girls did you sleep with?”

  “Just one.”

  “Was it just one time?”

  “No.”

  “Like, how many times?”

  “I don’t know. I already told you I was seeing someone for a while.”

  “Yeah. You just forgot to mention that you were also sleeping with her.”

  This horrendous jealousy builds up inside my chest, right next to my heart. It makes it hard to breathe. I want to know who. I need to know who.

  “Was it Cynthia?”

  Tobey looks at the wall. “No.”

  “Who was it?”

  “No one you know.”

  “From school?”

  “Sara.”

  “Was she from school?” My voice is loud, panicked at the possibilities.

  “Look . . . that part of my life is over. I just wanted to be honest with you.”

  Um, yeah. So now he feels better after dumping that all over me. And I get to feel hurt and jealous.

  I hate that there was someone before me.

  I move over to my side of the bed and get under the covers. I know I shouldn’t be mad and I know he did the right thing telling me this. But I still can’t believe it. I’ve always imagined what our first time together would be like for both of us. Now I have to imagine what it’s going to feel like to be with a boy who’s already had his first time. Without me.

  If it wasn’t Cynthia, who was it?