Tangled

by Carolyn Mackler

  seven

  “Want to get out of here?” Jena asked after a little while.

  I nodded, and we both stood up. Another thing I hadn’t realized from her pictures is that she was short. I was a giant, nearly a foot taller than her. I slumped my shoulders. There are guys who carry their height, big quarterback bruisers named Hunter or Mark, but I don’t feel like I’ve earned my inches. They’re just something that happened to me.

  “I have to run up to the office and grab my backpack,” Jena said when we reached the stairwell. “Want to wait here?”

  “Sure,” I said, leaning against the railing.

  As I watched her go, I thought: What the hell am I doing here?

  No, I knew what I was doing here. I’d been through that enough today. Now it was more like: Okay, I’m here, but what the hell am I going to say?

  I wondered what Dakota would say in a situation like this. Hold on, he was in a situation like this. I wondered how he acted around Jena. I bet he was sarcastic. That’s how he gets around cute girls. With his old girlfriend, Natalie, they were always arguing and making fun of each other. My mom used to say that she couldn’t tell whether it was love or hate. I bet my brother called Jena babe. I bet he made some comment about her breasts. There’s no way I could pull off something like that. Not that I even wanted to.

  I was feeling a stab of jealousy that my brother and Jena had hooked up when I quickly reminded myself that she didn’t want to be with someone like Dakota now. She’d made that point very clear. She didn’t like how he treated her. She could never be herself around him. No, Jena was here because she wanted to be with me, because she felt like we had a connection.

  “Ready?” Jena smiled as she hopped off the bottom step. She’d changed into a white shirt with tiny buttons at the neck and she had a backpack strapped over her shoulders.

  We walked in silence down the next flight of stairs. As we headed through the lobby, we passed the woman at the ticket counter. She looked like she was shutting down for the night.

  “Hey, Rosie,” Jena said, waving. “This is Owen.”

  Rosie smiled at me. “Where are you kids headed?”

  “We haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe food?” Jena touched my arm. “What do you think?”

  “Uh,” I said. All I could think about was Jena’s hand resting on my arm.

  “You’re working tomorrow?” Rosie asked Jena.

  “Yeah,” Jena said. “At ten.”

  We waved good-bye. Jena and I pushed through the doors.

  “We don’t have to get food,” Jena said as we headed down the ramp. “I just said that. We can do anything.”

  “No, food sounds good.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Anything’s fine,” I said.

  “How about pizza? There’s a good pizza place around the corner.”

  “Pizza’s fine.”

  “I can’t stand when people say fine,” Jena said. “I never know if they’re saying fine like great, they’re craving pizza more than anything in the world, or fine like they’d really rather have Mexican or Chinese.”

  “Pizza’s great,” I said.

  Jena smiled. “Better than anything in the world?”

  I nodded and shifted my duffel on my shoulder. By this point, my mouth was so dry I could barely swallow.

  We took a left on a street called Amsterdam. Jena steered us into a tiny pizza parlor. It was just big enough for the counter, two wobbly tables, and a trash can.

  “Supposedly it’s the best pizza in New York City,” she said, approaching the counter. “I come here for lunch. It’s cheap, too.”

  Jena ordered a slice of cheese. I got two pepperoni, garlic knots, and a large Coke. I hadn’t eaten anything today except the Nutter Butters and the chips, and I was starving.

  We carried our trays to the nearest table. I dropped my duffel by my feet. Jena put her backpack on the seat next to me.

  “I’m sorry for my rant before, about the word ‘fine,’” she said as she doused her pizza with parmesan. “I was trying to be funny, but it came out the wrong way. I’m an idiot sometimes, especially when I’m nervous.” Jena took a bite, chewed slowly, and then said, “It’s weird, right? In some ways I feel like I know you so well, and you know so many things about me.”

  I downed a garlic knot. The obvious subtext here was: But in person, we’re not bursting with chemistry. I wanted to make us burst with chemistry. Believe me, I did. But the problem was, I didn’t know how.

  Jena sighed heavily. “I can’t believe you came. I told my parents I was sleeping over with this girl, another intern at the museum. I stay there sometimes when I have to work early the next morning. What about you? Did you escape okay?”

  “Dakota picked me up,” I said, drinking some Coke.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  Neither of us said anything. I glanced at Jena’s face to see if she was pining for my brother or wincing in pain upon hearing his name, but she just took another bite of pizza and wiped her lips with a napkin.

  “I really can’t believe you came,” Jena said.

  “Me either.”

  Jena studied my face. “You look different from last time. I guess I only saw your profile, but you still look different.”

  I was wondering whether Jena was implying different good or different bad when she smiled at me. I mean really smiled where she tipped her head to one side and her eyes crinkled a little around the edges. I almost started to feel relaxed, but then I remembered that Jena had keys to an apartment, that that’s where we were staying tonight, and I thought, No way. No way. There’s no way I can go from never having kissed a girl to sleeping over with her in an empty apartment.

  Forget about drowning. Now I was submerged in the sludge with the crustaceans and the medieval shipwrecks.

  After we finished our food, we popped in our retainers and walked toward Central Park. Jena led the way since, as usual, I had no sense of north, east, south, or west. As we paused at a traffic light, Jena suggested we hop a cab to the apartment and drop off my bag.

  My stomach flipped at the mention of the empty apartment.

  “That’s okay,” I said casually. “It’s not too heavy.”

  In reality, it was ripping my muscle from my bone, but I was hardly ready to be alone with her. No, seriously, I’d rather dislocate my shoulder than have her staring into my eyes, waiting for me to sweep her into some passionate embrace of which I’m completely incapable.

  “We can take turns carrying it if you want,” Jena said.

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “Fine?” Jena asked, making a face.

  “I mean, it’s great,” I said. “I want to carry this bag more than anything in the world.”

  Jena cracked up in an adorably girly way where she closed her eyes and covered her mouth with her hand. Watching her, I had to smile. I couldn’t believe I’d made her laugh like that.

  We crossed another street and there was Central Park. I’d seen it in movies but I’d never been inside before. Of course I hadn’t. The last time I came to New York City my parents got into a huge argument because my mom wanted to take a carriage ride through the park but my dad said no way, that it was “a festering cesspool of crime.” Those exact words. But as Jena and I stepped through the stone gate and into the park, all I could see were trees and lawns and paths and playgrounds. It was six twenty and the park was full of bikers and runners, children squealing in water fountains, people sitting on benches reading the newspaper. No cesspool. No crime, at least not at this hour.

  As we wandered down a narrow path, Jena did most of the talking, with me murmuring the occasional Wow and Cool and Really? so I didn’t come across as a total mute. She explained that she walked in Central Park during her breaks from the museum. She told me about her best friends, Ellie and Leora. She pointed out a guy riding his bike with huge speakers strapped to the back, blaring music.

  Sometimes, when it got quiet, I s
crambled to think of something to say, but my mind kept drawing a blank. I thought about that icebreaker worksheet from ReaLife to a Real Life, how it said we’re supposed to find common ground, like foods we crave and movies we’ve watched. I even considered bringing up the subject of time travel. That’s how desperate I was.

  “Want to hear something my grandma once told me?” Jena asked.

  We were at the top of the Reservoir, looking at the shimmering water and the Manhattan skyline off in the distance. It was impressive, the sweeping kind of view that almost makes you feel like you could do anything. Almost.

  “The one who had a stroke?” I asked.

  Jena nodded. “It was when she was visiting us for Hanukkah last year. My parents were out somewhere, shopping I think, and we were baking cookies and talking about how she met my grandfather. He died a long time ago, before I was born. Anyway, she basically told me that I’ll know I’ve met the right person when I’m comfortable being quiet around him.”

  I looked over at Jena, wondering where she was headed with this.

  “Not like I’m supposed to shut up all the time, but you’ve probably noticed how I have a hard time with silence.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “But I do. Sometimes I just want to be. Like how you do it.”

  I stared at Jena. Did she really think I was just being?

  “I like how you are,” I mumbled, staring into the water. My cheeks burned as I said it. I kept my eyes fixed on a bloated stick floating a few feet out.

  “Really? You really do?” Jena asked. “Well, I like how you are too.”

  It was all I could do not to collapse on the gravel path in total disbelief.

  We continued walking around the Reservoir. The sky was a darker blue, and there were runners everywhere, snorting like warthogs. Now and then, we’d smile at each other and bump our arms together. Something had changed between us, a certain barrier broken down. It was subtle, but I think we both knew it had happened.

  Which is why it was really odd timing to get a text message from Dakota. But there it was, vibrating in my pocket.

  Yo, did you make it to the Big A? Dakota wrote. What time are you coming back 2morrow?

  I quickly typed, i’m here & all is cool. i’ll call you from the bus and then tucked my phone back in my jeans.

  “Who was it?” Jena asked.

  “Dakota,” I said. “Just making sure I’m okay. See what I mean? He’s become a different person recently.”

  “He wouldn’t have done that before?”

  “Definitely not.” I shook my head emphatically. “And want to hear something crazy? He told me this morning that he’s met a girl—”

  “That doesn’t seem too crazy,” Jena piped in.

  “But it’s just platonic. They’re, like, writing letters back and forth.”

  “Letters?” Jena asked, laughing.

  “That’s exactly what I said.”

  We headed down a path and through a pine grove. There were people everywhere, all walking in the same direction, carrying grocery bags and pizza boxes and picnic baskets.

  “They’re going to the Great Lawn,” Jena said as we approached. “They have free symphonies and operas in the summer. I heard some moms talking about it at the museum. Today is the New York Philharmonic. Want to check it out?”

  “If my brother is writing letters,” I said, “I can go to a symphony.”

  Jena giggled like she had before, with her hand over her mouth. I swear, she was making me feel like a comedian. It was awesome.

  We followed the crowd over to the Great Lawn. There must have been thousands of men and women sprawled on blankets, drinking wine, lighting candles, breaking baguettes. They were facing a wide stage where an orchestra was playing classical music.

  “I can’t believe so many people come out like this,” I said. “That’s so cool.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Jena said. “It’s nothing like my town.”

  “Mine either.”

  “I want this when I get older,” Jena added. “Everyone hanging out and listening to Puccini together. How many people in this country want to do that? Probably not so many. Most people probably think it’s dorky when they could be, like, at a tailgate party. But if you get a huge group together and they’re all doing something, that thing becomes normal. Does that make any sense or should I shut up right now?”

  “No, I definitely get it,” I said. And I did. In fact, for the first time in my life I was witnessing a scene I could envision being part of. It was also making me think about ReaLife to a Real Life and all those synthetic attempts to get us to socialize. From what Jena said, I guess the concept of the seminar looks good on paper—a group of dorks, free from any outside scrutiny, having the time of our lives. But the truth is, it has to happen naturally and it’s going to be different for every person. And, in my case, it’s definitely not going to include a limbo contest.

  We headed over to a grassy spot under a tree. I tossed down my duffel, massaging the painful grooves in my shoulder. Jena pulled a sweatshirt out of her backpack and spread it out for us. We sat down and lay back with our heads on my bag.

  I was listening to the music and attempting to appear relaxed, but mostly I was thinking, Holy shit Jena is so close to me right now holy shit. Literally, her face was three inches from my face. Her hair, which was splayed across my bag, was touching my neck. And then there were her hands, resting across her belly. Whenever I glanced at her hands, my stomach clenched up and I’d launch into another round of holy shits.

  “I meant what I said before,” Jena whispered, “about the silences.”

  I stared up at an airplane’s lights flickering across the sky. “But don’t you want that guy from my blog? All talkative and stuff?”

  “You are that person. It’s just another side of you.” Jena paused before adding, “I recently copied down this quote. It was from the person who’s supposedly the founder of blogging, like a million years ago. He blogged all through college but then quit to actually live his life. He said that intimacy can happen in quiet moments, that it doesn’t always have to be about words.”

  Her hand was so close. Holy shit. I could reach over and hold it. Holy shit. But how exactly do you hold someone’s hand without making it seem like you’re grabbing it, stealing it away from them? And why was my hand suddenly so sticky? Holy shit.

  “What is it with you and quotes?” I asked, wiping my palm on my jeans. “You know so many of them.”

  “I used to think I collected quotes because I had no life, so I had to feed off other people’s,” Jena said. “But now I’ve realized I like them because they make me feel less alone. Like we’re all going through stuff and we can share our wisdom with each other. I don’t know. I guess quotes make me feel more connected.”

  “Like we’re all in this together?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” Jena said.

  Maybe it was the warm night. Or maybe I was emboldened by the darkness. Whatever it was, I reached over and took Jena’s hand. Her fingers felt slender and soft. We stayed that way for the rest of the concert. When the music was over, there were fireworks over the stage, massive explosions of blue and white and orange. Everyone else clapped, but Jena and I didn’t let go of each other.

  eight

  When the concert was over, Jena and I followed the herd of people out of Central Park. It was too crowded to hold hands, but whenever I thought about how it had felt, I got this goofy smile on my face. But it was okay because a few times I looked over at Jena and she was smiling, too.

  Jena mentioned that the apartment where we were staying was on Central Park West, about ten or fifteen blocks down. We could either walk or catch a cab. The sidewalks were flooded with people scrambling for cabs, so we crossed the street and began walking.

  “It’s weird to have keys to someone’s apartment,” Jena said as we waited for the light to change.

  “You said something about saving the daughter’s life
?” I asked.

  “It’s a sad story,” Jena said, sighing heavily. “Do you really want to hear it?”

  I shrugged. “We’ve got a ways to walk. And my bag is crazy heavy. May as well distract me while I’m carrying it.”

  “I thought you said the bag wasn’t so bad,” Jena said.

  The walk sign flashed and we stepped into the street.

  I cleared my throat. “I was trying to impress you, I guess.”

  “It worked,” Jena said, grinning.

  “So tell me how you were a superhero.”

  “Not a superhero really.” Jena stepped up on the curb. “Do you remember Skye? That girl I went to Paradise with?”

  I nodded. It’d be hard not to remember Skye. She was superskinny and overly put together, like she was obsessed with her appearance. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m not attracted to girls who look like they’re anorexic. Even if I did recognize her from some TV commercials and everyone at the resort was whispering about how she was famous. Naturally, Dakota found a way to meet her. One evening, when my mom told me that the movie-star girl was coming with us to see a phosphorescent bay, I faked a stomachache. Or maybe the stomachache was real because as soon as I considered the prospect of being in a car with her, I thought I might puke.

  What I later learned, from Jena, is that Skye was the one my brother ditched her for. Which seems like a bad call on Dakota’s part. But I guess a good thing in the end because otherwise I probably wouldn’t be here.

  “We’re staying at Skye’s apartment,” Jena said.

  My cheek twitched nervously. “She’s not going to be there, right?”

  “No…why?”

  “She’s just kind of scary.”

  “She’s actually not so bad,” Jena said. And then she went on to tell me this story about how she had discovered a note Skye had written about wanting to kill herself. It was at Paradise, the night Jena met my brother. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, though, until a few weeks ago when Skye gave her a letter. Jena freaked out and texted Skye, who didn’t deny the suicide note. After agonizing about it all night, Jena told her mom, in case Skye was a threat to herself. Jena’s mom told Skye’s mom, who sort of knew Skye was depressed but wasn’t willing to admit it. But upon hearing the suicide stuff, she rushed Skye to a therapist and got her on medication and supposedly she’s already doing better.