The Truth About Letting Go

by Leigh Talbert Moore

  I get out of the car, but instead of flipping my hair, I hug my books to my chest. A few heads turn as Mandy and I pass, but I can’t tell if it’s the usual checking us out or curiosity about my new look. Or if they’re waiting to see whether I’ll have a crying meltdown in the middle of the quad. The tight feeling is in my chest again, and I have to focus on moving forward and not turning around and running all the way home, where I can crawl back into the safety of my bed.

  “See you at lunch,” I say and duck into my building.

  “OK,” Mandy calls oblivious to my discomfort. The only thing bothering her is why anyone would question her rules. Why her rejection even needs justification.

  At my locker, I stare at my books for what feels like a long time. I can’t remember if I used to gather my stuff for both classes now or if I came back here after first period. I’ve only been out two weeks, but it feels like a lifetime has passed.

  The metal door next to me slams, and I jump. I grab my English book before closing my locker and turning to the left where I’m suddenly face to face with a very tall, skinny guy who’s in the process of standing up. He’s wearing huge, horn-rimmed glasses pushed up on his forehead, and I pause, realizing once again, I recognize this person and I don’t know his name.

  He freezes and stares back at me. His blue eyes widen as his books slowly slide from his hands.

  “Your books…” I jump and reach out to catch them.

  “Oh!” He jerks and the glasses drop down over his eyes, doubling them in size.

  “Whoa. That’s some prescription.”

  He stands back up and shoves them onto his forehead again under his dark hair. I have to tilt my head, he’s so tall.

  “They’re not really mine,” he says, struggling to push all his books together.

  “Whose are they?”

  “My grandfather’s. I just borrowed them.”

  “Why?” Why emphasize your strangeness?

  “It’s from a movie. It reminds me of what I might—” He stops abruptly. “Why are you talking to me?”

  I take a step back.

  “I mean," he rushes on, "we’ve had the same lockers all year, and this is the first time you’ve even looked at me. Ever.”

  “I…” I shake my head. “I had a lot on my mind before?”

  His frown almost morphs into a smile, but then he looks embarrassed. I notice his ears turn pink.

  “Whatever.” I start to walk away. “I was just trying to be nice.”

  “Wait!” He jogs to catch up. “I wanted to say, well, I’m sorry about your dad.”

  I stop and study him. His blue eyes stand out clear with his shaggy dark hair all around his face and those dumb glasses on his forehead. His expression is concerned and sweet, and somehow, I appreciate it. It’s like the feeling I had talking to Charlotte, but in a different way.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jordan. Uh, Adams.”

  “Thanks, Jordan. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch.”

  His mouth drops open, but I turn and head to chemistry.

  * * *

  Class is a blur, and although I try to pay attention, I’m more interested in counting how many of my classmates are avoiding looking at me. It’s far more interesting than what our teacher is saying. Soon enough it’s lunchtime, and I go to the cafeteria to find Mandy. Her nonstop chatter will be a relief after the morning I’ve had. I find her at the entrance still looking pouty. It isn’t like her to stew about rejecting a geek for so long.

  “I think you should just blow it off,” I say. “You have certain standards and everybody should know them by now.”

  “What?” Her brow creases, and instantly she remembers. “Oh, that. No, I’ve forgotten all about that.”

  “Good.” I fall in beside her to go through the line. “So why the face? Pop quiz in history?”

  “He’s not here, dammit.” I watch her pay Ms. Sanders and try to figure out what in the world she means. I’m starting to wonder what I did for the last six months. It’s as if I’ve just been awakened from a hundred years’ sleep. Like that Rip Van Winkle guy. Only nobody’s aged. So maybe something more science fiction-ey. One of those wormholes.

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Jesus, Ashley! When are you ever going to be back?”

  I’m wondering the same thing. “I don’t remember…”

  “Colton Sterling? I told you about him on the phone yesterday, remember? I flirted with him all week before spring break, and I was planning to ask him to the luau today.”

  How could I forget a name like that? Our telephone conversation comes trickling back. I’d only listened to part of it anyway.

  “Oh, right. You wanted me to see him.”

  “Yeah, well fat chance of that when he’s not even here.”

  “He probably got sick or something.” I pick up a tray and head to the salad bar.

  Charlotte is sitting at a table with three other equally large female students. She catches my eye, and I smile. She smiles back and a feeling of warmth toward this strange girl fills me. I want to go sit with her and talk about Dad. Instead I wait as Mandy piles lettuce onto my empty plate.

  “Oh my god, yes! Maybe he’s got severe allergies!” she brightens.

  “It is spring.”

  Charlotte’s back to talking with her friends, and I follow Mandy to the cluster of jock tables. One of the football players is standing, performing an instant replay of some heroic score he made last fall.

  “I’ve been dying for you to see him and tell me what you think,” she says.

  I stab my salad. “If you’re into him, I’m sure he’s a total panty drop.”

  “It’s not that…” her eyes widen and she shrieks. “What is this? Has somebody put a curse on me?”

  I frown and look up, following the direction of her eyes. Just then I see Jordan glance at me and quickly look away.

  “Why is Jordan Adams looking at me? Does he really think I’ve forgotten being in the same class with him four times in elementary school? You ate glue, Jordan!”

  “Oh,” I smile briefly at him and watch him fluster as his ears turn pink again. “I helped him catch his books today.”

  “Please say that isn’t code. And remember, you’re not yourself right now.”

  “Our lockers are next to each other’s, and I don’t know. Apparently I cause involuntary book dropping.”

  Mandy giggles. “Well, easy Tiger. Don’t give him any encouragement or you’ll end up getting a lecture on life after high school. And how you won’t matter anymore. Trust me. Not fun.”

  I glance at Jordan again. “I don’t think he’ll ask me out.”

  As he leaves the building, I mentally note he isn’t bad looking. If he’d lose those dumb glasses, I mean. And get a decent hairstyle. He steals another peek back on his way through the double doors and then looks away quickly. And get rid of the social-backwardness.

  * * *

  By the afternoon, I’m exhausted, and I want to go home and sleep until tomorrow. It’s like I’ve been a specimen on display the whole day. Behold the fatherless teen! I kept waiting for a teacher to ask me to give a report on my feelings. I stare into my locker wondering if I’ll even bother bringing books home. Everyone is so ready to give me a pass.

  “Hey, sorry about that at lunch.” I hear a familiar voice approaching from my right. I look up, up, up… Jordan.

  “How tall are you?” I turn my back to the lockers as he walks past me and kneels down to open his bottom door.

  “Six-two.” He grins as if it were something he had some control over. Transformed into a giant by mere force of will. “You?”

  “Five-four.” I turn around again and grab my English book. I should get caught up on my reading assignment at least, and I can do that in bed.

  “Midget.” He grins, standing to slam his door and then leans against the one next to mine. “That thing at lunch, I didn’t mean to stare you down. But, well, I was thinking. I don’t
know if you’d go for it…”

  His voice softens, and I’m suddenly uneasy. Was Mandy right?

  “What?” I ask.

  Even though I’m sick of life as usual, I’m not sure dating Jordan’s the change I’m going for. And I’m not prepared for a confrontation with this nice-enough guy.

  “Well, like I said, I was thinking about your dad. He was sort of a local celebrity, and well, I wondered if you might let me interview you about him. You know, like you could tell me what he was really like or something.”

  He stops, and I’m sure it’s because he can see the shock spreading across my face. Why didn’t he just ask me out? This digging at the wound is far worse. I feel like I can’t breathe as the tightness seizes my chest.

  “I… don’t know,” I manage.

  He seems to understand instantly. “You’re right. It’s too soon. I’m sorry. I was just trying to build my resume, and it was a dumb idea. Insensitive.”

  “No.” I try to smile, to regain my composure. “It’s a nice idea. And… what resume?”

  “Oh, I’m hoping to do some kind of journalism work after high school. Nothing major, but, well, you know.” We start walking to the parking lot, and I start to feel less overwhelmed. “I was thinking about starting a blog and maybe posting some of my stories there. Then I could send it to people, and they might be more interested in giving me a chance.”

  “Makes sense.” I see Mandy up ahead waiting for me at her car. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

  “Yeah.” He smiles, and I can’t help noticing it’s a friendly smile. The kind that makes you want to talk more.

  “I bet you’ll be a good journalist,” I say. I don’t know why, but complimenting him feels like something the new Ashley would do.

  “So you’ll think about it?”

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, I walk to the creek and sit by the tree. I watch the water and think about Jordan and his interview. His smile. It would probably be okay to tell him about my dad. I’ve been wanting to talk to someone about him.

  I’m lost in my thoughts when I hear the familiar sound of Charlotte arriving.

  “Hey!” she calls in her high, sweet voice. She huffs and puffs, and I watch her take her seat.

  “It looked like you were doing okay at school today,” she says.

  “It was exhausting.” I smile down at her.

  “I bet.” She rocks from side to side pulling her billowy skirt out from under her haunches. “Everyone was expecting you to lose it or something.”

  “I could tell.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to talk to me anymore,” she says. “After yesterday I mean. I’m sorry for losing it. That stuff with my parents is just—”

  “It’s okay.” I don’t want to go back down that road again. It makes me uncomfortable because I don’t know the right answers. I can’t tell her I think her parents are right and she needs to get a handle on her size. She’ll get mad, and I’ll lose my safe connection to Dad’s memory.

  “You probably think my parents are right,” she says.

  I jump. “I don’t really know…”

  “I’ve read your dad’s columns,” she continues. “I know I need to get down to a healthy size. It’s why I started walking around the neighborhood.”

  “Dad would say losing weight takes time. You have to be patient and give your body a chance to adjust.”

  I hope evoking his memory will get us back to talking about how great he was and not this depressing subject.

  “I just get so hungry,” she breathes.

  “Dad was really good with ideas for that. I didn’t always pay attention, though.”

  “He was great,” she says. “When he would run around the neighborhood, I thought he looked like a movie star.”

  “He did some acting in college,” I smile. This is the conversation I want. “He would do little bits at the house, too. It was so funny.”

  “You look a lot like him,” Charlotte glances at me. “Is that hard for you?”

  I think of standing in the bathroom, squinting at my reflection. “I try to see his face when I look in the mirror sometimes. I’m so scared I’ll forget him.”

  “But you have pictures,” she says. “And videos, right?”

  I nod, and we’re quiet. I don’t tell her I can’t bear the thought of looking at pictures or watching videos of him. My throat goes tight at the very idea. So we sit. The ripples in the creek are slow and relaxing, and a warm breeze is blowing. Summer will be here soon.

  Charlotte breaks the silence. “I saw you talking to Jordan. He’s so cute.”

  “He’s very tall,” I say. It seems like a neutral compliment.

  “I think he’s great.”

  “Well, I’m not going out with him or anything. He asked to do a news feature about my dad. His life. Something for his blog or his resume. Or both, I guess.”

  “That’s a fantastic idea!” She seems genuinely excited. “It’s just what you need!”

  “You think?”

  “What better way to remember your dad than with a feature on him?”

  “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

  “And if it’s on his blog, it will always be there for you to go back and read. You can tell him all the things you never want to forget!”

  All the things I never want to forget. “I don’t know if I can think of everything.”

  “You have to do it.” She gives me a smug grin.

  I look down at the grass. “I was kind of freaked out at the idea. Like it would be too painful or something.”

  We’re quiet again but not for long. Charlotte pipes up. “I can help you… I mean, if you want.”

  She looks inspired. And slightly flushed, even though she’s only been sitting.

  Her words send an unexpected flood of relief through me. For some reason, I feel safer if Charlotte will be there.

  “You’ve convinced me.” I smile back. It actually does feel like it could help me somehow. “I’ll tell Jordan tomorrow.”

  Chapter 4

  I hurry to my locker hoping to catch Jordan before he disappears for homeroom. He’s still there when I dash up, but I stop and get myself together before he sees me. I don’t want him getting the wrong idea about my haste.

  “Oh, hey,” I say, trying to act casual.

  He looks up at me and smiles. Then he stands, towering over me before slouching against our neighbor’s locker.

  “I was thinking about what you said yesterday.” I twirl my lock.

  “Which part?”

  “The interview part. Where you wanted to talk to me about my dad?” I stop fiddling and look at him.

  Jordan is all odd angles and unexpected questions, and his interest in my dad provokes this weird curiosity… When he smiles, I feel unexpected happiness—followed by a wave of guilt. It’s too soon for me to be thinking about guys and dating. It feels disloyal and selfish.

  Not that I would have an interest in dating this guy anyway. It’s just the unusual combination of his tallness, his intense blue eyes and dark brown hair, mixed with those ridiculous horn-rimmed glasses pushed up on his forehead, his quirky confidence.

  “You want to do it?” He’s starting to get excited.

  “Yeah.” I look back into my locker, refocusing my thoughts. “I think it might be therapeutic or something.”

  “Right! And it’ll help you memorialize him. Remember him before he got sick and all.”

  Talking to Jordan, listening to him work out a plan, somehow makes me less fearful I’ll fall to pieces in front of him.

  “You’ll give me a copy, right? Of the finished piece, I mean. Before you post it?”

  “Of course!” The first bell rings. “Why don’t we meet up at lunch and plan out our approach?”

  I only consider for a beat how Mandy will respond. “Sure,” I say smiling back at him as he takes off down the hall.

  I watch him go,
and it feels like something in me has shifted.

  * * *

  By lunch, I’m actually looking forward to seeing Jordan again. I skip the line and go straight into the open cafeteria. Charlotte is already at her table of large friends, and I signal her to come with me. Jordan isn’t sitting. He’s standing at the back door waiting, so I go to him. Several eyes follow me, but I don’t care. We’re out the door as soon as I close the distance between us.

  “I was thinking we could just meet up after school.” He charges right into planning, but Charlotte isn’t with us yet. I look around hesitantly.

  “Hang on…” I say. Where’s Charlotte? I look through the narrow window back into the cafeteria, but she’s still sitting with her overweight entourage, not moving or packing to come meet us.

  “What’s up?” Jordan looks over my head through the window.

  “A friend of mine wanted to come…”

  “Mandy?” He sounds shocked.

  “No. Another friend… I guess she changed her mind.”

  It’s odd, and I’m not too happy about it. I was counting on Charlotte to help me remember stuff. She seems to know as much about Dad as I do, possibly more if she read his bio online. Maybe I should do that…

  “Okay,” Jordan turns and starts walking toward the tree-lined square between the two classroom buildings. “Like I said, I was thinking we could meet up after school—”

  “Where?” I interrupt.

  “Your house?”

  I think about that. Mom won’t be there. She’s always at work these days. But the idea of Jordan and me alone in my house seems… weird. Especially now.

  “No,” I say. “I’d rather meet somewhere else.”

  “Can you bring some pictures of your dad? Or what do you think of this idea—what if we do a vlog? A video blog? I have this great editing software, and I was thinking of an opening shot, maybe some transitions using different photos showing how he changed through the years.”

  Images of Dad’s change those last six months flash in my mind, and my mouth goes dry. My chest tightens. Alone, I’m having second thoughts about doing this.