That’s what Zed says, anyway.
And I think I agree.
AGNES: Maybe there’s a way to get a family without deceiving him, you know?
STAR: Do you love your boyfriend?
ELFBOY: Just because someone says something is wrong doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
ROXIE: Honestly, just telling you guys made it feel more manageable. It’s like Agnes is always saying. You have to really commit to the group if you want it to WORK.
STAR: TRUTH. Gotta go big. Gotta do it for real. Remember that girl, Lucky15? Said she did Assignments, but we found out she didn’t. Told bullshit, unimportant secrets. You just knew there was more underneath the surface. And if she’d really told us, it might have worked out, you know? For her? But she didn’t really DO it.
ZED: I’m proud of you, Roxie.
AGNES: What happened to that Lucky15 anyway?
STAR: I mean, nothing. That’s the point, right? You can have SOMETHING happen, or you can have NOTHING happen. I vote for something, every time.
ROXIE: Staying is an active choice.
ZED: Staying is THE active choice.
STAR: Lucky15 had to leave the group. She tried to reenter a few months later. Everything was a disaster. Like, her life. But rules are rules.
I discard all the little, unimportant secrets I thought I might tell. I decide to write out a real secret instead. The kind of secret that is bigger than me and Joe and ridiculous Sasha. Bigger than Mrs. Drake. Bigger than anything Lucky15 might have said before she failed and left the group. I won’t get kicked out. I won’t let my secrets float around on the internet, without any point. I won’t risk these brave, exciting, boundaryless people turning on me. I won’t become some girl who does nothing and is nothing and lives a nothing life.
I tilt the screen down in case anyone’s peeking. Paul changes the music to Metallica, and the Tea Cozy vibe shifts dramatically away from morning sleepiness and the calming sound of people turning the oversize pages of the New York Times. People sigh and tense up and jiggle their feet. Couples who were just sitting there splitting the paper start arguing. And Paul’s king of it all, frowning even as he serves his favorite regulars. He sings along with the chorus. He keeps looking over at me like he’s expecting me to be gone. Like he’s wanting me to be gone. Like Metallica is enough to get me to do whatever he wants.
Like I’m weak and predictable. Except I’m not. Not anymore.
I wait until he looks at me for the tenth time, and I slam my coffee mug down and raise my eyebrows, like if you have something to say, come over and say it. He waves his hands, like I’m a mosquito and not his daughter, and I make the come over here look even bigger, more obvious on my face.
He does finally come over.
“Seriously. What’s the point of your guidance counselor if she’s only going to make it worse?” he says. “I thought you liked her.”
I can’t quite process what he’s saying.
“Mrs. Drake? No one likes Mrs. Drake.”
“You can’t hate everyone, Tabby,” he says. “I thought she could help.”
“That was you? Telling her to talk to me?” I say. I know Jemma and Alison said something too, but Paul must have made it way worse.
“I made her coffee. She had some concerns. I told her she should chat with you. You’ve become some teenager who hates everything and can’t talk to anyone.” Paul rubs his eyes and then his hair and then his scraggly beard. And I know he’s not doing so hot. But I also don’t care.
Maybe I am the angry teenager. But maybe I have a reason to be angry. I give him a dagger-stare and a sigh so loud it makes people turn to look at us.
“That. Is. So. Messed. Up,” I say. I think I growl a little. Paul takes a step back, then another. He throws his hands up in the air and stomps away. I’m pretty sure I hear him dropping a mug and yelping from burning his hand on something, but I don’t care.
I. Don’t. Care.
* * *
I bang on my keyboard.
I can’t say this to anyone I actually know—I’d never want the town buzzing about Cate and Paul. I almost don’t want to say it to myself. But in the anonymous world of LBC, I can say anything.
I can get solutions to problems I’m scared to admit I have. I can change the bullshit things I’ve accepted lately.
I can do something about Paul.
Secret: My dad’s a stoner. Okay: An addict, really. It’s getting bad. And if he doesn’t stop before my mom has a baby, she’s gonna make him move out.
I almost don’t know it’s true until it’s written there, until I’ve made it public to Agnes and Brenda and Zed and the rest of them. Whoever they are. They’re mine.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
Thirteen.
After the secret is out there, I decide I can leave Tea Cozy and go to school and forget about Paul for the rest of the day. It’s out of my hands.
My heart’s a little fluttery, but I’m getting used to that. I’m maybe even starting to like it.
I have my afternoon free period, and the student council is selling baked goods in the large foyer where we all hang out, off the main hallway, the main hallway, so there’s a crowd at the table where we usually play Hearts. Alison is on student council—as one of the peons, not one of the elected officials, of course. But I want a brownie so that I’ll have something to do while I wait for my Assignment to come through.
“Will you get me a brownie?” I say to Elise as she’s flying by to make it to math class. She gives me an in-motion hug.
“You’re not scared of that girl. She’s scared of you,” she says in my ear, and it helps, but it’s a drive-by bit of encouragement, and I need the kind that comes from a sit-down and a mug of Cate’s hot chocolate and extended eye contact. But it’s enough of a boost to get me to the table.
“Brownie,” I say to Alison. Her face shifts from smile to scowl before I get to the second syllable of the word.
“Three,” she says, because I guess we are now speaking in only one-word sentences.
I’m scrounging through my pockets for the last dollar and Alison sighs and shifts in her seat.
“I’ve got it,” Joe says, appearing next to me. The tips of his fingers sort of grab my elbow, which isn’t the height of affectionate gestures exactly, but it feels good. More than good, it’s like a kiss between two other body parts, a non-lips kiss, and I think he feels it too.
“Hey there,” I say. It doesn’t sound like me—not the words, and not the tone of voice I’m using to say them.
“I owe you, remember?”
“I do seem to recall that.” We are both grinning, stupidly, and in a way that Alison definitely doesn’t miss.
“You want to get something for Sasha?” she interrupts, her words jumping up between us.
“She’s out today, actually.” Joe gives a huge smile that looks like it takes a lot of effort.
“I’m sure she’d love you to bring a brownie by her place after school,” Alison says. She’s getting desperate.
“Oh,” Joe says, and his fingers jump away from my elbow. “Yeah. Sure. Two brownies, I guess.”
I hate that he is getting us the same thing.
“Tabby, yours is on the house,” Alison says. “Years of you hooking us up at Tea Cozy, right?” She’s smiling, with her mouth only, and I’d forgotten how goddamn smart she is. The three of us could all hold our own with good grades and devouring books and witty comments, but Alison has a quiet cleverness that always used to impress me.
“Right. Thanks,” I say. I try to make eye contact with Joe, but he won’t turn his head in my direction, and I kind of can’t believe Alison defeated us so easily. “And thanks anyway, Joe,” I try. If I say his name, he has to look up at me, right?
And he does. I think it’s a reflex, rather than a decision, but his eyes find mine while Alison
gets his change, and there’s that spark between us again. He shrugs, and his fingers reach for my hip bone, feathering against it so that I can feel the tiny gesture no one can see.
Then I’m all full from the sensation, and I don’t care what my Assignment is, because I can do anything.
I go to the stall in the bathroom that is becoming my LBC stall. It has an inoffensive air freshener and less graffiti than the other stalls. It’s only been a few days, but checking the site is already becoming a habit—like checking email or eating.
There’s no Assignment, just Elfboy saying he wishes he had a dad who smokes weed, and Star talking about rehab programs. I guess Zed hasn’t gathered enough information yet.
Roxie says: Gutsy.
I’m not sure if she means Paul for smoking up all the time, or me for telling everyone about it.
There are updates on my conversation about Joe, since Star and Agnes both seem to love a good romance.
STAR: Tell us about him.
AGNES: OMG yes. I want all the gooey, sticky, pretty details. When I was first falling for my BF, I talked about him All. The. Time. So karmically, I owe a good listen.
STAR: Same here. I mean, I’m still falling. But you know.
AGNES: What’s he like?
Someone comes in and washes her hands. I think she peers under the stall doors to see if she’s sharing the bathroom with anyone, and I make a throat-clearing sound so she doesn’t think she’s alone and smoke or have some kind of illicit phone conversation or anything. I sort of can’t handle any more secrets.
Agnes’s question is the kind that requires actual honest-to-goodness thought. Because with Joe I’m acting on deeply instinctual feelings, and I’ve never had to explain them to anyone before. Or, really, I’ve known not to. There’s all kinds of things Joe says to me that he’d never say to anyone else. With his friends he talks about hooking up and drinking beer and maybe on occasion whether a particular class or teacher sucks. I don’t think he gets a chance to say much of anything when he’s with Sasha.
The hockey guys don’t participate too much in Headmaster Brownser’s bonding and intimacy and trust activities. They don’t meditate on the lawn outside the gym or read the assigned reading or keep up with the Gratefulness Journals that we have been forced to keep since we could write.
But Joe isn’t a normal hockey guy. He has secrets. Secrets he’s told me. Secrets I can tell them, to make them understand.
BITTY: He likes ridiculous books about road trips and angry graffiti and men with beards.
I picture his face. His hands and his mouth. The ding on my computer when he comes online. The searching way he looks into my eyes. That shining feeling that comes from really loving someone spreads in my chest, and I’m ready to speak a tiny bit of truth.
BITTY: We Talk, you know? About everything. He talks to me like I’m his best friend. He calls me kiddo, which I would Hate with anyone else, but it makes me feel like I’m cute and he’s gonna watch out for me. He reads and plays sports. He’s like, all these contradictions. He wants to join the Peace Corps and a fraternity, but hasn’t told anyone either of those things. He tells me everything. He really loves his sisters. And he’s so much like my dad. With the smoking, I guess, but also with the way he Is, you know?
Plus. You know. I want him. And he wants me. And he tells me all the time. I can, like, feel him thinking about me.
STAR: OMG you have to be with him.
@SSHOLE: My parents met this way. He was with someone else and she stole him away. It happens.
STAR: It sounds like he feels more for you than he does for her. Just a feeling I get.
@SSHOLE: That’s exactly what my dad said. That eventually his feelings for my mom so outweighed the feelings for his GF that he had to just be honest with himself.
And then I’m soaring. It doesn’t matter that Joe is going to bring a brownie to Sasha after school. It doesn’t matter that Alison and Jemma and Elise and maybe the whole school kinda-sorta suspect something’s up with us. It only matters that his fingertips feel like fireworks on my skin.
Three o’clock hits and Zed’s said nothing about my secret.
When classes end, I catch sight of the red exclamation point that signifies an Assignment. My heart stops when I click on it. But it doesn’t lead me to the page where I posted about my father and his smoking. It leads me back to the conversation about loving Joe.
ASSIGNMENT, Zed’s written underneath the conversation. Still mulling over your other secret, Bitty, but where there’s passion, there’s usually the need for action. So a follow-up Assignment with your guy.
BITTY: I didn’t know that was . . . an option.
People start responding right away, my page jammed with comments. This is what happens when an Assignment goes live. Suddenly everyone is on the site, ready to go. I can barely keep up. I turn toward my locker, open the door, and hide my head and phone inside. It’s awkward, but at least no one will see what I’m seeing.
ZED: Everything’s an option, once a secret is up. We gotta see things through, right?
I nod, even though no one can see me. I do remember that from other people’s entries, but I hadn’t thought about it when I posted mine. Does that mean he can make all the decisions from here on out about Joe? Does that mean I’m basically required to let him run that whole relationship?
I try to get my heart to slow and my hands to still. I want to trust in the power of the group, but I’ve sort of jumped into all this without looking to see what it is. Deep-sea diving without asking about sharks.
AGNES: That’s the beautiful thing. All things are options. That’s what you’re going to learn, Bitty.
BITTY: But aren’t there, like, rules?
ZED: Sure. That’s what you’ve been doing this whole time, right? Rules. We’re trying to help you get rid of those. More options. Less rules.
AGNES: And then, ultimately, no rules.
I check behind me, squirrel my phone, and head away again. No rules. I like that. And I like Agnes. Her breathless bravery. She’s almost cool. Dark and angsty and weird but cool.
ZED: You ready for this? Here’s the Assignment: Make him jealous. Tell him there’s someone else. If you can, find someone else.
ELFBOY: Yes. This.
AGNES: I kind of hate that. But I’d do it. That’s the thing. Sometimes doing the ones you hate are the ones that end up best.
BITTY: Yeah . . .
I don’t want someone else. I don’t want him to think there’s someone else. I only want him.
I want Star’s happy love story and shiny red shoes and freckled knees and crazy talk of forever-ness.
I keep thinking about this one part of The Secret Garden. The Red Pen Margin Note Taker made an asterisk, a huge one, next to this bit of dialogue. Mary and her new friend Dickon are discussing the flowers Mary has planted in her newfound secret garden. Mary and Dickon are pondering what the garden will look like. “Don’t let us make it tidy,” Mary says. “It wouldn’t seem like a secret garden if it was tidy.”
I don’t know that I’d ever noticed that moment of dialogue before seeing it through the Red Pen Margin Note Taker’s eyes. And I don’t know that it would have mattered much to me if I didn’t have LBC. But I get it now. It’s good for things to be messy. It’s not necessary to clean your life up all the time. You can let it grow wild.
“Tea Cozy?” Elise says, sneaking up behind me and grabbing my sides so that I drop my phone and have to scramble to pick it back up. “I could use some Elise-Tabby time.”
I swallow. I should not be saying no to the only person in school who doesn’t hate me. But my forehead is a Slip ’n Slide of sweat and I am in the midst of about a hundred life-changing epiphanies right now.
“How about tomorrow?” I say. “Bookstore and Cozy and catch up?” I make it sound breezy.
“How about today?” Elise counters. She’s hopping from foot to foot. “You look like you need sugar. And a pep talk. And, like, I don’t even
know. Ritalin? Where are you right now?” She taps my wrist with her thumb. I guess I’ve been twiddling my fingers and staring somewhere unfocused, not at her face. I shake my head awake.
“I think the word you are looking for is nap. I need a nap,” I say.
“You need to be taking better care of yourself,” Elise says. I know she’s not talking about Assignments or anything, but she’s right, of course she’s right. I need to be doing better. I need to be more.
“Totally,” I say, and take a huge breath.
I know I have to do the new Joe Assignment. Zed’s right. They’re all right. I’ve been living with all these rules and ideas of how to do things. I’ve been keeping my little garden tidy. And all it’s doing is holding me back from the life I want.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I bring it out. It’s another LBC update, a picture from Star: bare legs hanging off what I assume is her guy’s bed. Boys’ slippers on her tiny feet. The caption: No one in their right mind would leave something that feels this good. Don’t worry, Bitty. It all works out for the best. Promise. If there were a swell of music, this would be a movie, and I’d be trying to keep tears in by holding my forefingers under my bottom lashes. Since it’s not a movie, but actually my life, I take another lifesaving inhale.
“Um, hi?” Elise says. I’d completely forgotten she was even there. She cranes her neck to get a glance of what is distracting me on my phone, but I pull it away from her. “Keeping secrets?” She taps my wrist with her thumb again. She thinks it’s Joe.
“We can hang tomorrow, I promise, okay?” I say. She musters a lame smile and walks me to my car.
And when I’m halfway through my drive home, I call him.
Joe almost never answers his phone, but this time there’s a “Hello?” and the sound of his car, probably as it zips away from school to Sasha Cotton’s sickbed or whatever.
There is nothing better than hearing someone grin over the phone. I try to convey that same warmth right back, hoping he gets an identical rush of warmth from the unlikely softness, the intimacy of dropping my voice and squinting my eyes and holding the speaker so close to my mouth that we are almost kissing, our lips meeting across channels. No one has ever wanted something so badly. If sheer will were enough, our lips would be touching.
Life by Committee Page 11
