by Jen Klein
“We should talk about it,” he says.
“No thank you.” I take a step to the side, but he blocks my path. “Please don’t do that.”
“Lark.” Evan’s green eyes look softer in the morning light. Almost mossy. Serious. “You cried.”
Yes. Yes, I did. I may not remember everything clearly, but I do remember the crying. We had been kissing in the front seat of Evan’s car for…I have no idea how long. One second? One minute? I have no idea, because it was so messy. Blurry. I didn’t even realize I didn’t like it, that I wasn’t into it, until I registered Evan’s hand sliding up my side.
Then, with no warning, I burst into tears and pushed him away. He tried to talk to me, but I couldn’t stop. I kept crying when he left the car, and I was still crying when he returned with my dad.
Now, standing by the flagpoles, I fight my natural reaction—to apologize for my tears, for making it weird. Instead, I say the thing that’s honest. “Thank you.”
I don’t finish the sentence: for finding my father…for getting in trouble…for not hurting me. But I think he understands.
“You don’t like me,” he says. His voice is low and gentle. “I mean…romantically.”
I shake my head. “You don’t like me, either.”
“Yeah.” Evan looks at the ground, scuffing at it with his foot, before meeting my eyes again. “But we both miss the people we do like.”
I unhook my hands from each other, allowing my backpack barrier to slide away. “Yeah.”
“Sucks,” he says.
“I know.” The smiles we share are tentative, but they’re there. A reminder that we all make mistakes.
* * *
Katie is the next person to talk to me about that night. She snags me in the hall and drags me to the second-floor girls’ bathroom. “Dude, I caught Tyler and Carrie having a convo about whether you let Evan go there at the Not-Prom.”
I’m horrified. “People know?”
“No, I made sure.” She shakes her head. “I told them not to let it get around, because you and Evan want everyone to think you had sex—”
“What?”
Katie holds up a hand—hush. “But really you guys had a mutual sobfest about your breakups. You’re both embarrassed because it was so pathetic.”
I stare at her, begrudgingly appreciative. “I kind of hate you, but that was genius.”
“I know, right? They’ll spread it everywhere.” She gives me a pinched smile. “It’s just enough truth to make everyone believe it.”
“You never told me what happened with Tyler,” I remind her. “You guys left to ‘take a walk.’ ”
“We did take a walk.” Katie plasters a nonchalant look on her face. “We walked to my car and spent the night in the backseat. It was fine.”
“Do you like him?”
She shrugs. “I liked him that night.” She waves her hand in the air like she’s brushing away the memory, then fixes me with a look. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but…don’t you want to work your crap out with Cooper?”
“I’m trying,” I tell her.
“Good.” She makes a face. “He’s so mopey when you’re not around.”
“You and Cooper are hanging out?”
But Katie’s over the conversation. “Whatever,” she says, before fleeing the bathroom.
* * *
That afternoon, I hijack my ex-hookup Dax Santos outside the boys’ locker room. Actually, that’s another lie. Hijacking him is what I intended to do. What really happens is that I watch dozens of athletes parade out until finally I get tired of waiting, so I barge in, interrupting Dax in the middle of toweling off. He’s none too thrilled to be seen in all his glory, and less so when I launch into a monologue about how—when I got him to end things between us—I hadn’t actually entered the world of plant-based cuisine. In fact, I was the exact same girl he started kissing in the first place; I was just pretending not to be.
Unlike Glen, Dax isn’t nonchalant about the whole thing. He’s pissed. “Why would you do that?”
“I thought…it would make it easier.”
“For you.” He glares at me. “It was so weird when I thought we were heading toward something. I thought maybe I’d given you mixed signals. I blamed myself for not providing clarity about being a dude who’s into partnered wellness—”
Okay, he’s not wrong about how I handled it, but partnered wellness? Really? Freaking California…
“I told my friends about it,” he continues. “I told my sister. I told my guru.”
“You have a guru?” Obviously, we never knew each other in the first place. “I’m saying I’m sorry.”
“And I’m saying I’m not interested in making you feel better about what you did, about how you lied.” Dax looks disgusted. “Actually, let me be a little more clear. What I’m saying is—go screw yourself.”
Ah. There’s all the conflict I tried to avoid.
* * *
The days blur by and Cooper continues to ignore me. Sometimes we make eye contact in the hall, but then he always looks the other way. It’s better than Ardy, who somehow manages to avoid my eyes completely. One day, I’m feeling extra-sad about Ardy when I see Cooper outside Calculus class. I’m about to try to talk to him, because maybe he’ll take pity on me if I tell him how heartbroken I am, when Will Hartsook marches up to me. The minute I lay eyes on his pink face, I know there’s going to be trouble. Will only goes pink when his emotions run high, and right now he doesn’t look like someone who’s in the throes of delight. I scan my brain, trying to remember exactly what lie I told him. Before I can reach the memory, Will yells out a question: “Where is Cleopatra buried?”
“Dude, chill.” It’s Keeshana, walking past us. “Obviously, Egypt.”
Will doesn’t glance in her direction. He folds his arms over his chest, glaring at me. “Well?”
Oh. Right. He’s talking about Cleopatra, my tragic, fictional dog who tragically, fictionally died the week Will and I were kissing in parks and mall elevators, spiraling me into a tragic and fictional depression, one that had no space for another person to fit in. I try to remember what I said at the time. Maybe I buried her in the backyard? Maybe under the maple tree?
But instead I say, “Will, I have to tell you something.”
“Is it that you’re a giant liar?” Will’s eyes flare bright green in his pink, pink face. “I had an interesting conversation with Dax last night. I used to think I couldn’t stand that guy, but once we started talking, it turns out we have a lot in common. And all of it has to do with how much you suck.”
He’s not wrong, but it’s not fun to hear.
“I’m sorry.” Maybe there’s a chance an apology will head off his anger at the pass.
“Why lie?” Nope. Not headed off at all. “Why not act like an actual human being and tell me you don’t want to make out anymore? Why go through an elaborate lie about a stupid dog?”
“I don’t know.” Normally I would flutter my eyelashes or stick out my boobs or something, but I don’t have it in me right now. “I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of this fight.” My voice trembles, but I stand my ground. “Of making you mad. Of having to argue or defend myself. And I’m sorry.” Will shakes his head and starts to turn away, but I grab his arm to stop him. “I’m really, really sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Will, I was wrong. Tell me, what can I do?”
He pauses. After a long moment, he turns back to face me. “Actually, I could use some help with something. I mean, if you want to dig yourself out.”
“Seriously?” I’m thrilled at the chance to prove myself a better person than who I’ve been in the past. “Yes!”
“It’s shitty work.” Will smiles. “You’re no
t going to like it.”
“I don’t like you being mad at me,” I tell him. “If this will serve as my apology and you’ll accept it, I don’t care. I’m in!”
Will nods, his face fading from very pink to slightly less pink.
* * *
It turns out that Will wasn’t exaggerating when he said it was shitty work, because what he needs me to do is help with actual shit. Horseshit, to be specific. Will’s family owns one of the riding stables on the edge of Griffith Park, which means that—like me at Wheelz—Will often gets roped in to help out. This afternoon, however, he’s hunkered on a little wooden stool nearby while I—Lark Dayton, queen of loving and leaving—am shoveling out a stable.
Blisters are rising along the pads of my hands, and I’m sweating through my T-shirt as I lift the shovel again and again and again, throwing hay and horse poop into the wheelbarrow that Will helpfully brought in for me to use. I know my face has to be at least as pink as his was earlier, when he yelled at me. “I thought you were going to go somewhere else while I did this,” I say through gritted teeth now.
“That’s what I thought at first, too.” I glance over to see him beaming, holding up his phone. “But this is so much more fun.”
Flash.
He takes a photo. “Dax is going to love this.”
“Awesome,” I mutter. If only Cooper could see me now.
I keep shoveling the shit.
* * *
It quickly becomes evident that word has gotten around. My exes are coming out of the woodwork: accosting me at my locker, at my car, outside the girls’ restroom. The only one who seemingly can’t stand to look in my direction is Ardy. Even though all I want to do is talk to him, I don’t. Instead, I apologize to everyone else. At first I’m surprised by how little belligerence and anger is directed at me. After Dax and Will, I expected nothing but fury. However, when Wade shows up, when Rahim comes around, when it’s Peter’s turn to accost me…none of those guys seem mad. Sure, some of them start things off by saying I wronged them, but they quickly turn the conversation to how I can get back into their good graces now. How I can help them in some way.
Since I’m not in a position to say no—at least not without feeling like more of an asshole than I already do—I agree. That’s how I end up editing the speech Rahim wrote for our upcoming graduation. And how I spend an afternoon supervising Wade’s little brother’s lemonade stand outside the local pet store. And why I find myself on Peter’s roof, helping him pull gunk out of his gutters.
It’s apparently also why Morris Blair swings into line behind me at the cafeteria. “Hey, Lark.”
“Hey.” I continue trying to make a decision between steamed cauliflower or roasted brussels sprouts to go with my tilapia, until Morris taps me on the shoulder.
“I was hoping I could tag you in after school today.”
“Huh?” I turn to him, confused. “Tag me in for what?”
“My car needs an oil change. And one of the tires is shot.”
“And?”
“Can you do it for me?”
My eyes narrow. This had better not be what I think it is. “Why?”
“You know.” Morris slouches casually against the sneeze-guard. “Because of that time in seventh grade.”
“What time?”
“When you…” Morris looks a little less sure. “When we broke up. You know, that time. When you…lied. About stuff.”
All right, that’s it. I might kill someone.
Morris must see it on my face, because he takes a quick step backward. “Maybe…maybe that wasn’t you after all.”
“You know it wasn’t me. You and I have never been together.” I poke him in the chest, hard. “You go out there and inform all your little friends that I am not on some sort of amends tour for the general public!”
“Do you want to hook up?” He gazes at me. “You are kinda hot.”
“No!” This is infuriating. “Go away!”
“Eh.” Morris shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”
Oh. The. Hell.
* * *
Later that day I discover how word has gotten around so fast. It’s because—thanks to Will and his photography acumen—I’m now all over the various social media outlets. I even have my very own special hashtag.
#larkkarma
Really—I might kill someone.
* * *
We’re a week out from graduation when I put a stop to it. It’s because I catch Will and Wade glance at me before high-fiving in the hall outside the chemistry lab. I glare at them and start to turn away but then think better of it. Instead, I march straight to them. Wade gives me a wide grin. “Hey, do you think you can help with my brother’s cookie stand next week?”
“No.” It comes out of my mouth adamant and strong, but both boys crack up. “I’ve atoned,” I inform them. “Enough is enough.”
They look at each other. “I don’t know,” Wade says. “Do you think it’s enough?”
“I’ve got horseshit forever,” Will answers, and they both laugh again.
“I hate you both,” I tell them.
I start to stalk away, shaking my head, when I hear Wade call my name. I turn back to find them both smiling at me. “It’s all good,” Wade says.
“Yeah.” Will gives me a little wave. “You’re a cool chick.”
“Thank you.” I double down on my glare, but it’s got some humor in it. Now I only halfway mean it. “But you can tell everyone else, too—enough.”
“We’ll spread the word,” Wade says. “And if you ever need something—”
“Yeah, like if your family buys horses or something,” Will chimes in, “I’m your man.”
“Or if you’re thirsty.” Wade’s smile widens. “We have lemonade.”
I roll my eyes and walk away.
Ding-dongs.
Still—it’s one of the few times I’ve come close to smiling since Ardy.
Exam week is looming, along with graduation, along with Real Life, along with the last days that will offer an opportunity to even get a glimpse of Ardy. And then I round a corner and literally run into him. I’m hurrying so fast on my way to Art class that there’s an actual impact.
Ardy catches me by the forearms when I charge into him. “Whoa!”
We both freeze, and I mean freeze. Paralysis City. Two statues, locked into place, gazing into each other’s eyes. Ardy’s fingers are wrapped around my arms, hard and narrow and familiar. His pupils are wide, the brown of his eyes a warm ring around them.
Ardy swallows. His hands loosen, and he starts to take a step back….
But I step forward, moving with him, moving closer, turning my hands to grasp his arms, “Ardy, wait.” And now we’re standing together, holding on. It’s either romantic or really weird. Ardy’s mouth twitches up on one side. He gets the humor of it, too, which gives me hope. “I’m holding your elbows,” I tell him.
“You are.” A lock of hair slips out of place and tumbles onto his forehead. Instead of letting go of me and using one of his hands, he pushes out his bottom lip and puffs the lock of hair away. It seems like a good sign. “What do you want?”
He says it matter-of-factly, but now it seems not so good after all.
“I want to talk to you. I want to explain what happened. I was never trying to hurt you—”
“Lark.” It comes out of his mouth so softly that I can barely hear him. “I want to believe you.”
“Then believe me. Ardy, I…”
I love you, I love you, I love you. But I don’t say it, because that would be too much risk, too much exposure, too much everything.
Besides, Ardy says, “You have a history of lying to your boyfriends.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not always, and they weren’t really boyfriends. I just lied at the end, when I didn’t
know how to end things.” I’m panicked now, rambling. “I won’t ever do that again, I promise—”
“Lark.” He’s trying to break through what has turned into one giant run-on sentence of panic.
“I learned, I’m better now, and anyway, I can’t imagine wanting to end things with you, so please—”
“Lark.” I stop because Ardy is letting go of me, thrusting my arms away from his. He takes a step backward, and this time I let him. He gives me the saddest, most wistful smile. “Hashtag Lark Karma.”
He shrugs because what else is there to say.
And then he’s gone.
* * *
There’s only one place to go from there, so I do. After Art and Advanced Biology, after driving Leo home and changing clothes, I hop back into my car and head to the mall.
I hide behind a skin-care kiosk, peeking around the corner, until Ian appears to enter the store where he works. I watch him greet the assistant manager—his brother—while wearing his traditional Ian outfit. His hair is slicked back in his traditional Ian way. I glance at my teeny-tiny skirt and my tall, tall boots. I take a second to hike my shirt down an inch and my boobs up an inch. The lady working the kiosk gives me side-eye, and I narrow my gaze at her. “It’s my body, okay?”
Then I’m off, my boots clacking on the tiled mall floor.
When I walk in, a middle-aged man is browsing the rack of aprons while a young woman flips through a pile of screen-printed T-shirts. Ian’s brother is by the front door. He practically leaps on me, launching into a greeting. “Welcome! We’re having a spring sale this week. Dresses by the wall are half off—”
“Thank you,” I interrupt, which I might have done anyway, even if I didn’t have important business to take care of. I keep my eyes fixed on Ian, who is counting money at the cash register. “But I’m not here to shop.” My voice rises on the last word, loud enough that Ian looks up from behind the counter. I continue, as loud as I can. “I’m here to apologize to the love of my life!” Ian’s eyes go wide, and in my peripheral vision I see the other customers’ heads swivel toward me. “I lied when I came here before!” I proclaim for my audience of four, hoping everyone important remembers what I’m talking about. “Ian, I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to deny our love. I just wanted your attention!”
