by Abby Crofton
“Look, you better get yourself together. I have no idea why you’re crying, and frankly, I don’t really care that much. If you don’t like Kate—and you’d be an idiot not to, because she is awesome—don’t worry about it. She’s a big girl and she can take rejection. But if you do like her, then woman up and go get the girl. Sitting there crying isn’t accomplishing anything.” She gave me a little shake to knock some sense into me before letting go.
I wasn’t sure if it was the force of her words or from being manhandled, but my crying tapered off and I took a deep breath. When I got myself together, I voiced my doubts.
“I don’t believe you. Kate doesn’t like me. She hardly knows me. How can she like me?” I reasoned.
Jenny rolled her eyes at me. “That’s what dating is for, you idiot. To get to know someone. And I wish I were lying, but I know when Kate likes someone, and unfortunately she likes you. She has not stopped talking about you for a few weeks now. How funny you are, how smart, how nice you are to everyone. I had to double-check who she was talking about, because it didn’t sound anything like you.” Her words were not exactly nice, but my hopes lifted just a bit. Could she maybe be telling the truth?
“I didn’t know you and Kate were so close,” I said. The change of topic took her by surprise, if her widened eyes and raised eyebrows were any indication, but she recovered quickly.
“There’s no reason you should,” she responded. “You’ve never hung out with either of us, and the three of us have never had a class together. It’s a big school. You can’t know everything about everybody. Plus, it’s not like we’re joined at the hip. She has her cheerleading and I’ve got my own things going on. But that doesn’t mean she’s not family. Because she is,” she pointed out again, with more than a little bit of menace.
“But isn’t Kate straight?” I asked. “I might not know everything about her, but I do know that she’s had boyfriends. How does that fit into what you’re saying about her maybe liking me?”
Jenny threw her hands up in exasperation. “Seriously, have you never heard of bisexuals?” she threw back at me. “They're not like unicorns. They do exist in real life. Not everything is so black and white, or in this case, gay or straight. Geez, you really need to broaden your circle of knowledge. There’s this thing called the Internet that’s great for looking stuff up. Try it, maybe you’ll learn something.”
It was unnerving to hear her say almost exactly what my mother had said last night before I’d shut down my parents' attempts at telling me that Kate might like me. So far, there were now five people who had said that, and even discounting the fact that three of them were related to me, that was a good number of people who somehow might have been seeing what I couldn’t, or refused to.
I looked at Jenny. She didn’t look happy in the way she might have if she were feeding me a bunch of lies I was eating up without question; I would have expected to see more slyness in her expression if that were true. Instead, she looked put out, like she couldn’t believe she was sitting here with me of all people, trying to help me sort out my love life. Honestly, I couldn’t believe we were in this situation either.
Once she realized I finally understood what she was saying, she let out a sigh of relief. “All right, so do you get it now? A girl likes you. Everyone knows that you like girls, since you decided to announce it in the middle of a class, so this is a good thing.” She shook her head. “Who the hell comes out in English class? When I heard about that, I thought it was the dumbest thing ever. So of course I wasn’t surprised when I found out it had been you,” she said matter-of-factly.
These insults were getting old. “Why do you hate me so much?” I asked. This was my chance to finally get some answers for all the years of abuse. “I’ve tried to think of reasons why you don’t like me, and I’ve come up blank. One day you just started being an ass to me, and it’s been really annoying, especially since I have no idea why.”.
I was surprised to see her nonchalantly shrug. "I think I've been pretty clear over the years why I don't like you. You're annoying, whiny, boring, your voice is too high-pitched, your hair looks stupid…I could go on all day. All of these things I've mentioned before, by the way. It's not my fault you never listen."
"So there wasn't one event that triggered all this hatred?" I asked. I had been operating under the assumption that I had done something to make her dislike me. Finding out that there wasn't a reason actually made me feel a little better. I couldn't change who I was, and if she didn't like me, that was her issue, not mine.
"It's more that the whole package is offensive to me," she answered, looking me up and down. "Crying over absolutely nothing just increases my dislike for you. How can I let one of my best friends potentially date a basket case? You're lucky I respect her so much, or I would be doing everything in my power to prevent her from even getting close to you. But for whatever reason, she sees something in you that I don't, so I'm just going to be a supportive best friend and console her when you eventually break up."
She stood up from the chair she was in and grabbed her backpack from a desk. Taking that as a cue that our conversation was done, I did the same. Apparently I was wrong, though, because she turned to me and asked a question.
"What was up with all the crying just now? I mean, you like Kate, don't you?"
I nodded. This was only the second time I had ever admitted to liking anyone out loud before. It was amazing who my two confidants were: my best friend and my worst enemy.
“Then what’s the problem?” she asked. After everything that had happened in such a short period of time, I was beginning to figure out what the problem was, but was hesitant to acknowledge it.
Suddenly the bell rang. We had been holed up in this room for long enough to be late for class. “Damn,” Jenny said under her breath. To me she said, “Thanks to your emotional fragility, I’m going to be late. I thought this would take five minutes tops, and then you had to go and have a breakdown right in front of me. Typical you,” she accused, “messing up what should be something easy.”
She walked to the door, but before she opened it, she threw one last warning at me. “You better get your stuff together before trying to get with Kate. Last thing she needs is all your baggage bringing her down.” With that, she left the room, leaving me with my thoughts and a few ideas of what to do next. The first thing was getting to class, because I was beyond late at that point.
I slipped into history class, but when I chanced a glance at the teacher, it was clear that I had been seen. A detention slip would be forthcoming, which I deserved. My eye caught Kate’s. She was sitting a few rows up, looking worried, but once I gave her a smile, the tension on her face eased and she turned back to the teacher.
I tuned out the lecture and instead tried to analyze my thoughts (hey, I had a study buddy in this class now, so I could afford to slack off a little). Jenny was right, I did have to get myself emotionally in shape before I started anything with Kate. Because I was ready to face the truth. Everyone close to me said that Kate liked me, so I should start listening to them. By taking off the blinders I had set up regarding anything romantic, I could finally see that all the smiles and offers to study and workout on her part were actually flirting. If some boy had been acting the same around Eddy or Marie, I would have come to the same conclusion they had about me and Kate.
But I did give myself some slack, because there was no way I could have known that Kate wasn’t straight. At least, not entirely straight. I wished people would wear signs announcing their orientation. If Kate had been wearing a button that said “Lesbian” or “Bisexual,” it really would have saved a lot of time and stress on my part. Because I never wanted to be that lesbian who hit on straight girls or got her heart broken by someone just having fun until she met the guy of her dreams. I’d blame popular culture for saddling me with the idea of the sad lesbian destined to die alone with dozens of cats.
My heart had been too guarded, but I was ready to see if Kate
could take good care of it, at least for a little while. I wasn’t deluded enough to think that anything long-term would come of being with Kate, but it would be nice to finally go out on a proper date with someone. Maybe even have an official girlfriend. That idea caused a warmth that traveled from my toes all the way up to the top of my head. A silly smile formed on my face, but I couldn’t get it to leave. Cuddles with Kate Monroe might happen in real life soon, not just in my daydreams and fantasies.
But first I had to be brave. So far, Kate had done much of the work in trying to get my attention, and while she definitely had it, now it was my turn to show her that I was interested too. No more crying about the possibility that I would make unwanted advances and be rejected, or that Kate would just be using me. It was time to have faith, in both Kate's trustworthiness and my own appeal.
Jenny Jeffries deserved a thank-you for making me see the light and face my fears. Some cookies would be appropriate if I wasn’t sure she would just throw them in the trash once she saw that they were from me. And at least now I could put aside those stupid fears that she was secretly in love with me. It was quite liberating to know that she hated me for totally invalid and irrational reasons. That said more about her than me, honestly.
I vowed to spend the rest of the day working on a plan so that when I saw Kate alone tomorrow for our scheduled workout, I would be prepared not just for the treadmill or weights or whatever else she planned to torture me with, but for any opportunities that arose that would allow me to show my more romantic nature.
If everyone was right and Kate liked me, then I should see an immediate positive reaction to my attempts. If everyone was wrong and she didn’t like me, then I could use one of the weights to knock myself out and spare me the embarrassment of her rejection. Either way, I would have some clarity after tomorrow.
Chapter 9
My clarity had to wait, though.
When I got home after school, after different strategies and scenarios regarding my meeting/date with Kate had taken precedence over anything my teachers had said in my classes, there was a note on the front door of my house. When I read it, I was relieved that nothing bad had happened to any of my family members (Eddy was staying late for a club meeting and catching a ride later with another student, and my dad and mom were probably running errands before their regularly scheduled Friday date night that they said kept their marriage fresh). But something bad had happened to one of our neighbors.
Mrs. Jessup, who lived down the street and whose kids I babysat regularly, had left the hastily written message. Apparently Mr. Jessup was in the hospital and needed surgery the next day. She’d left her cell phone number and asked me to give her a call.
I took my phone out of my backpack and found a few text messages waiting for me. I usually didn’t check my phone very often during the day. A couple were from Marie, complaining about whatever class she had been in at the time, and one was from my mom, reminding me to keep the driveway clear so they could park in the garage when they got home later that night. The last message was from Mrs. Jessup, saying basically the same thing her note had. I also had a missed phone call from her that was a couple of hours old. No message had been left on my voicemail.
I hit reply and waited while my phone connected to hers. I was hoping that whatever had happened with Mr. Jessup had resolved itself, but I had a feeling that all my plans for tomorrow might have to be scrapped.
When Mrs. Jessup answered, I knew immediately they were in trouble. She told me what I had expected: Mr. Jessup needed surgery tomorrow, and he would be in the hospital for a few days. His mother, who was supposed to watch the kids while Mrs. Jessup was with her husband, could only come in late in the afternoon on Saturday. When she asked if I could watch the kids from five in the morning until around seven at night, I immediately agreed. The Jessups had always been good to me, and I wanted to help them out any way that I could.
But that meant no workout session with Kate, so my plans for romance would have to be put on hold. When I got off the phone with Mrs. Jessup, I texted Kate, letting her know that an emergency had come up and I had to cancel for tomorrow. I was a little surprised when she texted back immediately, asking if there was anything she could do to help. I’d thought she would be getting ready to cheer at a game or go to some party rather than texting with me. We had a brief back-and-forth while I explained what was happening, and I was really surprised when she asked if she could join me for a couple of hours while I babysat. The Jessups had always been fine with me having Marie over when I was at their house, so I gave Kate the address and we set up a time when she would come over.
I scrambled to adjust my flirting plans, which had all been based on us being in her home gym while I tried to look at least comfortable in training gear. This could actually work to my advantage, since I could step it up from comfortable to cute. I thought I always looked a little funny in sweats and a T-shirt, and I was especially awkward in shorts. I always had to pull them down when they rode too high on my thighs, and I never knew if I should wear long or short socks. Yoga pants were definitely out of the question. Some people, like Kate with her perfect physique, could pull them off. The rest of us had to face the fact that stretch fabric could contain thigh jiggle only up to a certain point.
So gone was the gym wear, and instead I planned on wearing my best jeans and a shirt that always got me compliments when I wore it. If I looked good, I reasoned, I would feel more confident when I talked with Kate. I already knew that we could keep a conversation going from our study session, but this time my end of the conversation would have a purpose. Actually, there would be two purposes: show that I liked Kate, and not embarrass myself doing so. Accomplishing both of those things was not guaranteed. All the confidence in the world couldn't ensure that Kate would find my attempts welcome. Or that I wouldn't make a fool out of myself.
Sometimes you had to take a leap of faith. But I didn't have to take that leap blindly. Instead of letting myself into the house, I turned around and got back in my car. I sent a quick text, and when I got an affirmative answer back a few minutes later, I pulled out into the street and set off for my best friend's house.
Marie lived on the other side of town, but since it wasn't a very big town, it didn't take me long to get to her house. We were technically just a suburb of the city, but had grown large enough to act like our own town most of the time. There was even talk about splitting away and officially incorporating as our own separate entity. I didn't care that much either way since I hoped to live in the city permanently after college. Life in the big city would be so much more fun and exciting than here, where both the houses and the people all looked the same.
When I pulled up to Marie’s house, she was waiting for me by the front door. I had always liked her house. It was smaller than mine, but there was this great porch that ran the length of the entire front of the house. Her mom had put out a couple of rocking chairs, and Marie and I would sit there for hours talking and watching Bob as he played in the yard and with the neighborhood kids. I had a lot of good memories at this house.
But now was not the time for reminiscing. I was focused solely on the future as I climbed up the steps to the porch and stood in front of Marie.
“Tell me everything,” she said without preamble. So I did. I told her about the study date with Kate, and what my family had said afterward, and about Jenny Jeffries and her accidental intervention into my life, and finally about the plans for when I was going to meet up with Kate the next day. We sat there on the rocking chairs talking for real about all the things we had dreamed of talking about when we were lowly freshmen in the same place. Love and when it would happen for us. Not that I was in love with Kate. I hardly knew her, but now that I had finally opened myself up to the possibility of a romantic relationship with her, it wasn’t so farfetched to think that maybe we’d get there one day.
Or I might, at the very least, get a kiss. But I wasn’t pushing my luck too much there. Better to take th
ings one step at a time and not get ahead of myself. I said all of this to Marie, who reacted just as I’d thought she would.
First: “Jenny really came through for you. It sounds like she did it entirely by accident, and probably regrets it by now, but you have a lot to thank her for. And I never knew she and Kate were so close. I wonder what else we don’t know about our classmates. Like, did someone have a secret baby that no one knows about, and we’ll only find out when she walks the stage at graduation with a baby strapped to her back? That would probably make the ceremony more exciting.”
Then: “So now do you get what I’ve been telling you for days? The girl likes you. She’s been trying to get your attention, and you were worried about history class. What else could she have done to get through to you? Corner you in a bathroom and take off all her clothes? Knowing you, you’d just offer to go get her a jacket to put on.”
And finally: “Your plan sucks, this is what you should do.”
There was no way I could go through with her ideas. I had thought any sort of touch was pushing the envelope. What she was suggesting took the envelope and ran it through an industrial shredder.
“There is no way I’m going to kiss her as soon as I see her,” I said to my delusional friend. “Unless I want her to slap me and hate me forever.”
Marie rolled her eyes at me. “I wasn’t thinking of a French kiss or anything like that,” she clarified. “More like what Europeans do, with the cheek kisses. Just make yours linger so that your faces are pressed together extra long,” she said, bringing her palms together, supposedly mimicking Kate’s and my faces as we European-cheek-kissed.
“How is that a good idea?” I asked. “What would I accomplish by pressing my face against hers? Do you want her to feel how oily my skin can get? Because I sure don’t want that. And we’re American, not European. Kissing on the cheek is reserved strictly for grandmas on this side of the Atlantic,” I pointed out.
