Deep Green: Color Me Jealous with Bonus Content

by Melody Carlson

  I got out my notebook and told myself I was going to do my homework, but soon I was doodling and daydreaming of various ways I could seriously injure Shawna.

  First I considered leaving her an anonymous treat laced with laxatives. Too grade school. Then I considered cutting some crucial seam threads in her cheerleading uniform right before the pep assembly. I imagined the student body laughing as her skirt fell off. Not bad—but not bad enough either. Then I imagined sneaking some kind of toxic powder into her compact so that she would break out into ugly red hives that look just like zits. Too middle school. Then I simply imagined things like keying her “perfect” car or ice-picking all four of her tires. Too illegal. Speaking of illegal, maybe I should have just hired a hit man and had her knocked off. Too psycho.

  Then I began to think that maybe Kara was right. Maybe I was changing—or just totally losing it. And to my surprise, before I could talk myself out of it, I actually called her up.

  “I’m sorry, Kara,” I said right off the bat. “I said some totally stupid and mean things to you guys on Friday night. And, really, I’m sorry.” I prepared for her to hang up on me, since she did that to me a couple of times after I quit being her best friend a couple of months ago.

  “I forgive you,” she said in an even-keeled voice.

  “You do?” I was totally stunned. “Seriously, you can forgive me just like that?”

  “Only because of Jesus.”

  Oh, no.

  “So, how are you doing?” she asked, and I assumed that meant I’d escaped a sermon.

  “Not so great.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Yeah. In fact I’ve been barricaded in my room all weekend. I’m sure my parents are about ready to call up the Arlington Clinic and see if they have an available bed for me.”

  She laughed, but not unkindly. “What’s going on?”

  “I guess I’m depressed.”

  “Man,” she sighed. “It’s hard to imagine the forever optimistic and unflappable Jordan Ferguson actually getting depressed. This sounds serious.”

  “It is. I even wondered how it would feel to do myself in.”

  Kara was silent for a minute. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. But don’t worry. I’m way too much of a coward to really do anything. I mean, there isn’t even a gun in the house, and I’m not brave enough to, like, go leap from the top of the Harcourt Insurance building. Even if I took pills, I figure I’d probably just end up at the hospital having my stomach pumped like Leslie Cox back in middle school. Remember her? She was so humiliated that she had to transfer to another school.”

  “I didn’t know that was why she transferred.”

  “Of course it was. Anyway, I just couldn’t take that kind of embarrassment right now. My life is bad enough as it is.”

  “Is this still about Timothy?”

  “And Shawna. Don’t forget Shawna.”

  “So, do you plan to just let this jealousy eat away at you forever, Jordan? Is it your life’s ambition to turn into some embittered old woman who never got over her broken heart?”

  I wanted to yell at her for that, to say, “What would you know about broken hearts anyway?” But somehow I managed to control myself.

  “You want to know what I really think?” she asked after my brief period of controlled silence.

  “Do I have a choice, Kara?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who called me.”

  “Fine. What do you really think?”

  “I think you’re searching for God in all the wrong places.”

  “Huh?” I wasn’t even searching for God. What was she talking about?

  “Really. I didn’t want to preach at you, Jordan. Edgar says I do it way too much anyway. But the truth is, I think that your recent obsession with Timothy and Shawna is really just a placebo for God.”

  “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.” When had Kara gotten so deep into her religion that I couldn’t even figure out what she was saying anymore? Sheesh, it’d only been a few months since we’d been best friends. It really made me wonder who was doing most of the changing here. “A placebo for God?” I finally said. “Puhleeze. Give me a break, Kara.”

  “Okay, then can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Am I happy?” I felt a tightness in my throat just then. Crud, I was the furthest thing from happy at that moment. If happy were Mercury, I’d have been living on Neptune.

  “Yeah, Jordan. You made cheerleader, just like you wanted. You got a bunch of new popular friends, just like you wanted. You even dated the guy you’ve had a crush on for, like, forever, just like you wanted. So tell me, are you happy?”

  “Well, not at the moment. But that’s only because—”

  “Did you ever stop to think that maybe those things aren’t really what you wanted after all?” she asked. “Did you ever realize that those things aren’t really making you happy?”

  “Hey, there’s a lot more to it than that, Kara.” And then for no good reason—other than my pathetic, desperate need to talk—I told her about my probation from cheerleading, and how Ashley was probably my closest friend but even she didn’t really have time for me now that she was dating Brett Hawkins. I also told her about flattening my own tires and my willingness to have sex with Timothy.

  “Really?” she asked in an incredulous tone that made me realize I had told her too much.

  “Yeah, and I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. I feel like I’m at confession or something.”

  “You’re not even Catholic.”

  “Duh. But how did you worm all this out of me?”

  “Maybe it’s because we’re still friends, Jordan.”

  “Well, please don’t tell anyone what I said.” I forced a laugh. “Not that your nerdy friends would care. But they might.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call my friends nerdy. Okay?”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Or geeky or dweeby or even stupid. Okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “But really, Jordan, you would’ve had sex with Timothy just to get him back?”

  “And to get back at Shawna.”

  “Uh-huh.” I could tell by the way she said “uh-huh” that she was more like going “Hmmm.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, it is kind of interesting, don’t you think?”

  “What?” I demanded.

  “You know. That your reason for having sex for the first time—I assume you’re still a virgin—that you would give it up simply because of jealousy.”

  “I am still a virgin,” I snapped. “And it’s not about jealousy. You just don’t understand anything, Kara. I happen to really, really care about Timothy—a lot! I think that I’m actually in love with him.”

  “Or obsessed with him. Haven’t you ever seen that old movie Fatal Attraction?”

  “Get real, Kara.”

  “Okay, okay. But think about this, Jordan.”

  “What?”

  “Think about what all this is costing you.”

  “Costing me? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, like your tires, for instance. Two tires couldn’t have been cheap.”

  “My dad said I needed new tires anyway.”

  “Okay, what about your probation? You worked really hard to get picked. It seems a pretty high price to pay—”

  “But that was Shawna’s fault. She took my keys and—”

  “But that never would’ve happened if you hadn’t gotten stuck in a love triangle.”

  “So, what are you suggesting?”

  “Just that you need God more than you need a guy.”

  I actually laughed at that. “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Hey, I’m curious about something, Jordan.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, what time was it when Timothy’s dad made his unexpected appearance at just the right moment?�
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  “You mean the wrong moment.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I don’t know. I’m guessing it was about five thirty.”

  Well, for whatever reason this just cracked Kara up. She just laughed and laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d heard in ages. This just goes to show how much that girl needs to get a life!

  “What’s the deal?” I finally asked, irritated to be left out of this joke.

  “Oh, nothing.” She snickered in the most obnoxious way. “It just so happens that I was really, really praying for you around that exact same time.”

  “Thanks a lot.” I let the sarcasm drip.

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “I can’t figure you out, Kara.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m not sure whether you’re trying to play my confessor father, saintly friend, or Dr. Bill.”

  She laughed again. “Maybe all of the above.”

  After I hung up, I realized that although I’d spilled my guts to her, telling her almost every sordid little detail and way more than I’ve told anyone, I had still held back on one particular thing: I never told her how relieved I had been when Timothy’s dad showed up that afternoon. Maybe it’s because I don’t totally understand that one myself.

  But to be perfectly honest, I don’t really want to think about it right now either.

  fourteen

  I SOMEHOW MADE IT THROUGH THE LAST THREE DAYS WITHOUT PHYSICALLY assaulting Shawna Frye. Once again, I put on my happy mask and actually managed to convince almost everyone that I have moved on. Of course, Kara is on to me, and she gives me this knowing look every time I see her, which fortunately isn’t often. Still, I have to wonder what’s with that girl anyway.

  But underneath my sleek and perfect I-am-just-fine-thank-you-very-much veneer, I feel like I am slowly decaying. It’s like this jealousy crud is literally eating me alive. I keep thinking—okay, obsessing—about Shawna and Timothy. And it’s like I can’t stop. Even though I try to be very covert about it, it’s like I’m always on the lookout for them. It’s like I enjoy the pain of catching them holding hands, embracing, whatever. What is wrong with me?

  Thankfully, it’s Thanksgiving, which means a shortened school week. I’m actually looking forward to seeing my older sister, Abbie, when she comes home from college. It’s kind of weird since we used to constantly fight over the bathroom that we shared, but suddenly I can’t wait to see her. For all I care, she can have the bathroom totally to herself. I just need someone to talk to before I crumble. I need someone with a better perspective than, say, Kara, who seems to have only one perspective. I need someone mature. I never had a chance to tell Abbie about Timothy, to show her his picture and tell her why I’m so attracted to him and why I can’t seem to let go. Somehow I think she’d understand. I think she’d have some answers.

  And in Timothy’s defense, although I’m not entirely sure why I’d want to defend him just now, he did send me an email last weekend. We used to email each other a lot during the short time we were going out. His notes were actually rather romantic, and for a guy, he writes a pretty good line. But in this particular email, which wasn’t the least bit romantic, he basically told me that what happened with us on Friday had been a mistake. Of course, he told me that he was very sorry and then assured me it wouldn’t happen again. End of story. Sheesh.

  It hasn’t helped anything that Shawna is so smug and full of herself these days. Thank goodness I didn’t have to go to cheerleading practice this week. It’s bad enough to have to sit through lunch, listening to her prattling on about Tim this and Tim that. (Despite my misery, I still make myself sit with my friends in order to hold what social position, low as it is, I still have.) But I’m actually beginning to wonder if it’s really worth it. I seriously think I may be getting an ulcer. Even so, I sit next to Ashley and do my best to smile and laugh and act totally normal. And then today, Shawna had to go and say something to me about the Flair Fair routines.

  “I don’t know how you’re ever going to catch up, Jordan.” She said this in what I’m sure was supposed to sound like a very sympathetic tone.

  “Yeah,” agreed Betsy. “The routines are pretty hard.”

  “Maybe you should just call it quits,” suggested Shawna kindly. “They’re having tryouts for the basketball dance team today. You might be able to make that.”

  “You mean the Dog Squad,” said Betsy, and everyone laughed loudly. The cheerleaders, among others, get a kick out of calling the dance team the Dog Squad. There are two dance teams every year, one for football and one for basketball, and both teams have twenty girls, which actually gives forty girls a chance at participating. But everyone knows that only the cheerleading rejects and major losers ever try out for the Dog Squad. And I suppose I have to agree with popular opinion, since I’d rather be seen picking my nose than dancing with the Dog Squad.

  “Maybe I can help you with the routines,” suggested Ashley as we were leaving the lunch table. Naturally, she said this in a lowered voice since this could get her into big trouble if Ms. Brookes found out.

  I tried to register genuine enthusiasm, but really I just felt like smacking someone right then. Mostly Shawna. “Sure, Ashley,” I said with a pasted-on smile. “That’d be great. Do you really have time?”

  “Yeah, this weekend is good for me. Not during the day though since I have to work at the mall. Which reminds me, my mom said she’d like to hire you during the Christmas rush. You still interested?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, why don’t we plan on Saturday night then, unless you have a big date.” She smiled in a teasing way.

  “Yeah, right.” I rolled my eyes. “But what about you? Aren’t you and Brett going—?”

  “He’s going to be at the shooting clinic over at the university all weekend.”

  “Great, then I’ll plan on Saturday.”

  “And you can talk to my mom about the job too.”

  “Okay.”

  So, all in all, I guess my life isn’t totally hopeless. But I just don’t get why it has to be so difficult most of the time. Like, what did I do to deserve this? I especially have to wonder about this at times like tonight, when the stuff finally hit the fan with my parents.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you were on probation, Jordan?” my mom demanded as I stopped in the kitchen to help her put away about twenty bags of groceries. So much for trying to be nice!

  “How’d you hear about that?” I asked.

  “I saw Jenny’s mom at the store.” She sat down a heavy bag and then peered at me curiously.

  “Oh.” I’d sort of forgotten that Jenny’s mom is not only a friend of my mom but that she also has a very big mouth. “I was going to tell you.”

  “When?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Doing what?” My mom flopped the turkey onto the counter and then turned around to really study me. “It’s obvious that you haven’t been doing your homework, Jordan.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your midterm grades.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  She softened. “Really, Jordan, what’s going on with you?”

  “It’s been hard, Mom.”

  “Is this about Timothy?”

  I shrugged and then turned around to put the potatoes in the bin, obviously stalling, as I carefully unloaded them one by one when I could’ve easily just dumped the entire bag.

  “Jordan, you can talk to me,” she urged. “I remember what it felt like to be in high school.”

  I stood up and studied her now. “Really?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  I shook my head. “But you and I aren’t anything alike, Mom.”

  “Oh, I didn’t go for things like cheerleading. And in all fairness it was considered kind of stupid and shallow back in the early seventies. I was more into art and social causes. Did I ever tell you about the time we staged a war protest at—?”

  “Yeah, Mom, you told me.”
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br />   “Oh.”

  “That’s what I mean. We’re just different, Mom. Sometimes I think Kara should’ve been your daughter instead of me.”

  She smiled. “How is Kara anyway? I saw her a few weeks ago and she told me that she’s really getting into art this year.”

  “Yeah. Art and religion.”

  She smiled even bigger. “Well, good for her.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I think I’ll go do my homework, Mom.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  And so I went to my room, but instead of doing my homework, I went online and checked to see if I had any email. Of course, the only new pieces were spam. “You’ve won a free vacation!” Yeah, I wish. And “Get out of debt for only $19.99.” People who fall for that one should be locked up in the debtors’ prison for good.

  Then I scrolled down to where I’ve saved every one of Timothy’s emails to me. And, in the mood to torture myself, I began to read them, one by one. Before long I was crying, and then I finally came to the last email. I read it again, more carefully this time, and suddenly I thought it just didn’t sound quite right. Something about what he’d written to me about being sorry about last Friday just didn’t sound like it was really from the heart. I even wondered if perhaps he’d written it just to pacify Shawna. I could imagine her standing there, looking over his shoulder, smiling smugly as she watched him literally writing me off.

  But now I realized that my choice to totally ignore it—I hadn’t responded to it at all—might’ve been a complete mistake. At the time, I’d been frustrated and didn’t want to appear like I was trying too hard, especially after that little spiel I’d given him about wanting a one-girl kind of guy. But for some reason I thought maybe it was time to respond now.

  “Hey, Tim,” I typed out. “Sorry to be so slow getting back to you, but that’s life, eh? Thanks for the email. And, hey, don’t worry. I think I’m ready to move on now anyway. We had a lot of fun together and I’ll always remember the good times. Have a good life. Love, Jordie.”