by Jen Klein
As I learned in our exchange before I drove over here, Trissa is fulfilling her high school’s volunteer requirements by delivering floral arrangements and balloons to patients at the local hospital. As I learned immediately upon setting eyes on her, she’s even prettier than her social media pages led me to believe. Dark brown eyes shining from equally dark brown skin. A blue jewel sparkling from the side of her wide nose. Black hair braided into a thousand tiny strands, each tipped with a glass bead.
Trissa’s smile is big and bright and gorgeous, and when she plops down beside me and takes my hands in hers, I’m ready to listen to anything she has to say.
“I really liked him at first,” she says. “We hung out at the Valentine’s dance last year, and then he started texting me. He was so funny and so smart. The first time we kissed, it was in the mall.”
The wave of jealousy that hits me is more than painful. It might actually kill me. Still, I paddle above it to ask, “What happened?”
“He’s different, you know?” Trissa looks thoughtful. “He’s not like any other guy I’ve ever known.”
Tell me about it.
“I liked him so much,” Trissa continues. “And then…I didn’t. I don’t know why. I guess that sounds awful.”
I shake my head because who am I, of all people, to judge the reasons a person’s feelings change.
“I hung in there for a little bit,” she says. “I thought maybe it was a phase because it wasn’t like anything happened. I think he could tell something was going on. I made up reasons to avoid him, and he started asking what was wrong, and eventually I ended it.” She looks ashamed. “I shouldn’t have waited as long as I did, but I hate ‘the Talk,’ you know?”
Boy, do I ever.
“I broke up with him in a text,” she says. “I know it’s bad, but I didn’t have an answer if he asked why.”
On one hand, that sucks for Ardy. On the other, well…I understand the urge to do it that way. A clean break, no eye contact while you explain why you want to end things. With every boy I’ve ever kissed, I’ve found a way to bail out that allows me to avoid having the conversation about why. But to Trissa all I say is “How’d he take it?”
“He ran away.”
“What do you mean?” My head tilts to the side. “You said you did it in a text.”
“No.” Her eyes go wide. “He didn’t run away from the conversation. He ran away from home.”
“He what?” That does not sound like the Ardy I know. Not at all. But then again, maybe we’re coming back to the same question I’ve had since the very beginning: How well do I know Ardy Tate, anyway?
“He didn’t do it right away,” Trissa continues. “After I texted him, he came to my house. It was super awkward because I’d told my parents we broke up, and suddenly there he was, on my porch.”
Her porch.
“My dad tried to tell him to go away, but I heard them talking and came outside.” Trissa gives a tiny shrug. “I said it was okay, that I’d listen to him. Dad said we had to stay right there by the door with the lights on.”
The porch light stays on.
“Ardy was upset. He wanted to know why I was making out with him yesterday if I was breaking up with him today.” Trissa’s eyes go far away. “I guess it was a fair question. I just didn’t have an answer.” I wait, and after a moment she seems to return to where we are. “It ended awkwardly. I said I was sorry. He said he was sorry, too…but he seemed angry. The next day he didn’t come to school. The day after that, the police showed up.”
I suck in my breath. Ian was right. “The cops came?”
“Yeah, they got me out of math class because he was missing. His mom must have told them we were dating, because they wanted to know everything about the last time I saw him. I told them we broke up. They asked me all these questions, like if he ever seemed unbalanced or if he had talked to me about depression or trying to kill himself.” Trissa’s voice shakes. “They said…they said he left a note.”
I stay silent. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if that had happened with one of the boys I had dated. If I’d been questioned about his disappearance. If I felt responsible for his whereabouts, his anguish, his mental health. Isn’t that why I get them “to break my heart” in the first place? So I don’t have to break theirs?
And especially if it were Ardy. Sweet, gentle, careful Ardy. I really, really can’t imagine that.
“Then they found him,” Trissa says. “He was out in the woods somewhere. He went out there alone, but…he didn’t go through with anything. Thank God.” She draws a shuddering breath. “I was glad he was alive and okay, but it really freaked me out. He missed a whole bunch of school—like two or three weeks—and when he came back, he tried to talk to me. I told him no, and he apologized for scaring me and”—she shrugs—“that was it.”
“So you never talked to him again?” In its own way, Burbank is a small town. It’s almost impossible to avoid someone forever. That’s also why I break up the way I do—so that when the inevitable happens and you run into them after the fact, it’s not an unpleasant experience for anyone.
“No. I blocked him over all social media. I blocked his phone number, too. I wanted to be done with it. I think I saw him at the mall one time, but I went behind the cell phone kiosk and waited. When I peeked out, he was gone. If it was even him to begin with.” She pauses, searching my face. “I almost didn’t write back to you.” I nod. It’s all I can do. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about your text, and I finally decided that if you were asking me…there was a reason for it. Like the universe brought you to me. It was my duty to tell you, girl to girl. So you know what you’re getting into.”
“Thank you.” I say it in a small voice, although I don’t actually mean it. I’m twisted in knots over what I’ve heard from her. Ardy’s reaction to their breakup was everything I’m afraid of. Big and dramatic and awful. Scary for him, scary for me.
And now here we are. I can wait the remaining six weeks until I’m theoretically supposed to break up with him, or I could do it right this second. It doesn’t matter anymore, because either way I’m already in too deep.
Also, I can’t figure out what to think about Trissa. I get it—her initial reason for breaking up with Ardy. Or, rather, her non-reason. She’s allowed to feel that way. She’s also allowed to have a reaction to what Ardy did, but…
No matter how violent my allergies to conflict and drama are, I can’t imagine a world in which I run in the other direction from someone who’s dealing with whatever Ardy was dealing with at the time: depression, suicidal tendencies, anxiety, whatever. He deserved to be heard and helped and understood. Instead, Trissa ran in the other direction. She became part of the problem instead of the solution.
Not. Cool.
Trissa makes a move like she’s going to hug me, but maybe my face is what makes her think better of it. “Do what you need to.” She stands and gives me a sympathetic smile. “I liked him, too. At first.”
And then she’s gone. Off to deliver balloons and happiness to people who are broken. Instead of the exact opposite, which is what she did for me.
“End it.” Cooper keeps his gaze fixed on the naked gold man before us. He and Katie and I are huddled together on a bench overlooking the fountain at the big outdoor mall in Glendale. The sun is on its way down, so it’s chilly, but the buildings all around us are lit up, and the fountain is awash in lights. The gold man is, sadly, only a statue, and to be fair, he’s not completely naked. He’s wearing a little cloth that looks like a diaper. “It’s too much for you,” Cooper continues. “If Ardy’s bringing all that baggage to the table, he deserves someone who’s able to cope with it. No offense, but that’s never been your strong suit.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, even though I know Cooper’s right.
“We all know you’re a genius at breaking up
,” Katie says. “Use your special Lark superpower and make him think he wants it.”
“Tell him you have a brain tumor,” Cooper says.
“Or you’re gay,” Katie says.
“Or you’re assholes,” I say to them both.
“We’re brainstorming,” Katie says.
“I know I’m bucking my own trend here.” Cooper shifts to face me. “But you’ve gotten too far into something you’re not equipped to deal with. Make something up and get out.”
“But it’s not fair to him.” One freaked-out foray into foliage and no one will touch him? “Me getting out is proving that stupid name true.”
“That he’s Undateable?” Cooper asks. “You can’t be responsible for that.”
“And you shouldn’t discount that maybe he is Undateable,” Katie says. “A girl broke up with him and he ran away from home. Do you know anyone else—literally one other person—who would do that?”
“Yeah, and it’s not like Trissa is the only girl with a weird story about him,” Cooper says.
“The other two turned out to be false leads,” I remind him.
“Rumors start for a reason,” Katie says. “You know I thought he had problems from jump.”
“Let’s look at the facts.” Cooper starts to tick off statements on his fingers. “For a first date, he took you two hours away to go falconing.”
“It was a Harris’s hawk,” I say weakly.
Cooper ignores me. “He expressed his physical intentions toward you…to your mother.”
“You’re making it sound”—I pause, trying to find a way to explain it. “It wasn’t like that. He was nice. He was honest. He was open.”
“It was weird,” Katie says.
“I know, but—”
Katie folds her arms. “And now, like five minutes later, you’re all hot and bothered and in love all over the school.”
In love?
“Look.” Cooper taps me on the knee. “Historically speaking, you have always bailed out for far, far smaller offenses. You have literally zero experience with something this big.”
I don’t say anything. I just stare at the mostly naked gold man standing in the center of the fountain with his back arched and his arms outstretched toward the rapidly dimming sky.
“For what it’s worth,” Cooper says, “you did it. You stayed in long enough for someone to give a shit.”
“This is not a win,” I tell Cooper. “This is a massive loss. I’m a failure. A relationship failure.”
“No, you’re human.” Cooper’s voice goes warm and gentle. “You’re human, and…there’s something going on with him that you’re not strong enough to handle.”
“But what if I can?”
“What if you can’t?” Cooper says.
“Think about it,” Katie says. “Trissa wasn’t even his girlfriend for very long, and when she broke up with him, he ran out into the woods to kill himself. You’ve already been with him for longer than she was. What’s he going to do when you break his heart?”
“Here’s a thought,” I say to both of them. “What if I don’t break his heart?”
Cooper and Katie give me twin looks of concern. “You’re not going to marry him,” says Katie.
“I’m telling you,” Cooper says, “this is perfect timing. One more day of school until winter break. Get out now, and you don’t have to see him for two weeks.”
I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and setting my chin on top so I can stare out at that golden man.
I don’t want to get out.
I want Ardy.
* * *
Ardy texted me a couple of hours ago, but I haven’t responded. I’m not sure if it’s as simple as I don’t know what to say, or if it’s that I want to see what he’ll do if he doesn’t hear from me. Either way, everything about this is terrible.
I got home from Glendale, beat Leo in two games of chess, and did my homework, and now I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed. Everyone else in the house is asleep, and I’m staring at my laptop. I’m not looking at any of Ardy’s social profiles or online pictures. I’m not looking at Krista or Elle or Trissa, either.
Instead, I’m walking down the internet’s version of Memory Lane. Taking a stroll through the neighborhoods of Boys I’ve Kissed Before. Looking at Dax’s pic from last week’s bonfire. At Wade, one arm casually slung around Keeshana’s shoulders. At Rahim, spiking a volleyball over a net in the Santa Monica Beach sand. At Glen…Will…Kai…Elliot. All these boys I’ve loved and lost.
Except I didn’t love any of them, and I’m the one who chose to lose them.
With all of them, disentangling myself was the easiest thing in the world. It almost became a sport, the way I could wiggle out without anyone knowing better. Without hurting anyone’s feelings.
Without saying anything remotely resembling the truth.
It was easy.
But what I need to do right now? It’s the hardest thing in the world.
* * *
Despite my plans to be brave, I spend all of the next day hiding from Ardy. I enter the school through a different door from my usual one. I stay far away from my locker. I eat lunch in my car, which I park in a completely different location, and then I fake a migraine so I can spend English class in the nurse’s office with an ice pack. I’m so clever that I make it off campus at the end of the day without ever catching sight of him. I run Leo home, and then I go to the one place I need to be so I can talk to the one person who I hope will shed some light on it all. I send a message:
Can you talk?
A text comes back right away:
Where are you?
I know it’s going to make me look like I’m the one who’s a weirdo, but I don’t care:
Your backyard.
There are scuffling sounds outside, and then the familiar movement of someone coming up the ladder. I wait in my cross-legged position on the floor until Hope pushes the tree house curtains aside. She stands in the doorway, a silhouette against the sunlight outside.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says.
Ardy told her I’ve been avoiding him.
“Me too,” I say.
“Who’d you hear it from?” she asks.
I cock my head, not sure which part she’s asking about: Trissa’s story or the Undateable rumors in general?
But then Hope steps fully inside, letting the curtains swing closed behind her. Light shines through the leaves outside the window, dappling her face.
Her blotchy and tear-streaked face.
“Who told you Evan broke up with me?” she asks.
Since no one had told me until this exact moment, I shake my head. The source must not matter, because now Hope is sinking to the floor, dropping her head into my lap, the floodgates bursting.
#Heaven is no more.
The world really is coming to an end.
* * *
I managed to avoid Ardy on the way into Hope’s backyard, but I practically run into him on the way out, two hours later. He’s carrying a small white dog in his arms, leading a group of jacketed elementary school–aged kids along the sidewalk.
The Watson family again.
When he sees me, he hands the dog to the biggest kid and waves the horde back to their house. He waits while I walk to him. He reaches out like he’s going to touch me but then thinks better of it and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Where were you today?”
“Hiding from you.” Because apparently when I go with honesty, I don’t pull any punches. I steel myself before saying, “I talked to Trissa Jefferson.”
Ardy’s expression flashes from concern to surprise to…what looks like downright anger. “How did you track her down?”
I don’t know what to say. If it were me, I would
n’t like it, either. That said, aren’t we trying to get to know each other? Isn’t our history a part of that equation?
“How did you even know about her? I never mentioned her in front of you—I know I didn’t. You had to go looking for her. That’s so…” Ardy shakes his head. “Creepy.”
Ouch.
“I wasn’t being creepy, I swear.” Panic rises inside me. This wasn’t supposed to turn into an argument. I don’t want to fight; I can’t have a fight. I’ll just use the true-ish story about when I met Krista. “I ran into her at a bookstore. We started talking about schools, and I said I knew someone who went to her school, and it went from there.”
Is it true? Was my sweet, sunshiny Ardy really so hurt and so upset that he did what Trissa said? Tears prick my eyes. Ardy must be able to see them, because he reaches for me…
And I take a step backward. I don’t know why I do it, but I do. He drops his hands, his face darkening.
“Did you do it?” I ask him. “Did you run away to…” I can’t say the last words; I just can’t. “Are you in therapy now? Or are you on medication? Did you get help?”
Ardy flinches like I struck him. Like he’s in physical pain. His jaw clenches, and his shoulders tense upward. He stares at me for a moment, his eyes dark and angry and hurt, and then he turns. He walks—not into his house but down the street.
Just…away.
From me.
* * *
I want to go somewhere small, somewhere safe, a place where I can huddle into myself and hide from everyone. Where I can go fetal and pretend the world around me doesn’t exist. If I had Hope’s tree house, I would climb up there and close the curtains and curl up on the floor. But I don’t, and I can’t stand the thought of going home, where my family could see my face—now blotchy like Hope’s—and ask questions. Instead, I climb into my car and I start driving.
