“Hey, Garrett, you made it!” A bunch of seniors absorb him into the crowd the minute we step through the column-flanked door. Garrett has never been the highest on the Sherman High popularity rankings — though he’s swooned over in certain drama/lit-magazine circles, he’s not one of the undisputed clique kings. But tonight, there’s backslapping and general bro fist-bumps, as if they’re all actually lifelong friends and not separated by class or status. It’s a weird thing I’ve noticed about seniors the summer after school finishes: enthusiasm and camaraderie sweep through the graduating class, washing away all grudges and cafeteria hierarchies in their path, until girls who’ve spent four years bitching about each other suddenly start hugging, tearful, the best of friends, while the guys who spent their free periods stuffing geeks into bathroom stalls laugh with their former victims about how it was all just high school — no hard feelings, right?
The force is so strong, even a lowly sophomore like me gets caught up in it for a moment. Julie Powers traps me in a fierce bear hug as I loiter, waiting for Garrett.
“I can’t believe it’s over!” she cries, clutching me. Her mascara is flaking in a flutter of black freckles across her flushed cheeks; I’m clearly not the first victim of her nostalgia tonight.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, waiting for her to release me.
“It’s like, what do we do now? Who are we?”
“The ultimate existential question.”
She pulls back and frowns. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smile. “Have a great summer!”
I detach myself and move deeper into the party. Our high school is on the smaller side, so I know pretty much everyone by sight. There’s the usual crowd of varsity kids over by the keg, and the skater crowd is sprawled out in the living room, playing Xbox on the wide-screen TV, while a group of girls dance at the other end of the room, sloshing brightly colored punch from plastic cups.
I take up residence in the kitchen, surveying the spread: chips and dip as far as the eye can see, pizza, a mountain of cookies —
“Boo,” Garrett whispers, inches from my ear.
I yelp. “Oh, it’s you.” I smack him. “You scared me. Why do you always do that?”
“Because you always make that funny sound.” He laughs and hands me one of the bright-red cups. I pause. “Diet Coke,” he reassures me. “I wouldn’t lead you astray, not when you’re so young and impressionable.”
“Ha.” I take a sip. “Just try.”
Garrett looks around at the scene. “So, I see tables, yet you’re not up there dancing on them.”
“I’m saving the floor show for later,” I tell him. “After my opening acts are done.” I nod toward the grinding girls, their moves getting more X-rated by the minute.
“Um, sure.” Garrett blinks, dazzled by the sight of Jaycee Carter’s gyrations. “Because you’ve got to bring your A game to follow that.”
We watch in amusement for a moment, then I let out a warning murmur. “Uh-oh. Crazy ex-girlfriend at three o’clock. No, don’t look!” I drag him back around. “You’re done with the drama, remember?”
“Relax.” Garrett carefully glances over at Beth, who’s talking with a couple of her friends. She’s wearing her red hair loose in waves, and even I have to admit she looks pretty tonight. For a jealous drama queen. “It’s not like I’m going to go beg her to take me back or anything.”
I fix him with a dubious look.
“That was one time!” he protests. “And I admit, taking over the lit mag with a love poem wasn’t the greatest idea, but are you ever going to give me a break?”
“I didn’t say a word.” That particular stunt was for Julie Sanders, a track star who dated Garrett for two whole weeks last year before breaking his heart. The public declaration of love held no sway with her; last I heard, she was at Bard, minoring in ambisexuality and drum circles.
Garrett looks back over at Beth.
“Garrett . . .” I warn. It’s all about focus with him — leave him gazing too long at a pretty ex-girlfriend and suddenly he’s got half a stanza already composed.
“No, it’s OK — I promise.” He turns his back on her, giving me his undivided attention. “And thanks.”
“What for?”
“Just . . . being you.” He smiles. “You always know what to do after these breakups.”
I shrug. “You’d do the same for me.” If, you know, I ever dated anyone.
“I know, but I appreciate it. So, how about we get out of range of her hotness force field before I’m brainwashed and reciting poetry in front of everyone?”
“Dear Lord, yes.”
We load up with snacks and find a quiet corner, away from the madness. Garrett sprawls out on the corner couch, I curl up beside him, and then we do what we usually do at parties like these: watch, gossip, talk about everyone and everything. Our own private club, just the two of us. “You know, I’m going to miss you,” Garrett says. He gives me a rueful smile. “It’s going to be weird not having you around at camp.”
“And they say codependence always ends in tears,” I joke, trying to make light of the impending tragedy. “You’ll survive,” I tell him, my tone still light. “You’ll meet a girl named Cadie in the coffee shop on your first day and forget all about me.”
“Never. We’ll have to come up with a system: Skype, or IM, or something. Make sure to stay in touch.”
“Speak for yourself,” I tease. “I’ll be off with all my new friends, having crazy parties every night.”
“Now you decide to be the social butterfly!” Garrett pushes me playfully. “Admit it, you’re counting the days until I graduate next year, so you can reinvent yourself into the Queen Bee of Sherman High.”
“Darn it.” I sigh. “My evil plan is foiled. And I was going to take the homecoming crown and everything.” We laugh, even if mine is tinted with panic. Never mind six weeks of summer camp. What happens next summer, after graduation, when he’s really gone?
“College will be fine,” Garrett says, as if reading my terrified thoughts. He slings an arm casually around my shoulders. “You’ll come visit. It’ll give me mad status when all the guys see my hot high-school friend.”
“Sure.” I laugh, but then I catch his eye. He’s looking at me with a kind of warmth — a new intensity behind that playful smile.
At least, I think he is.
“You’ll be the one to forget about me,” I say, hurriedly glancing away. I’ve fallen into this trap before: imagining things I only long for. “You’ll reinvent yourself and never look back.”
“Never,” he says quietly. “You and me, we’re set for life.”
I catch my breath. “Really?”
“Guaranteed.” He squeezes my shoulder, but not in his usual casual way. No, this is softer. Gentler.
My heart beats faster.
“You’re getting sentimental,” I say, forcing myself to sound casual. “All these seniors are rubbing off on you. You’re not graduating just yet.”
He shrugs. “Maybe so, but . . . I don’t know. I guess it makes you think about stuff — what you want from life, what’s really important.” He pauses, then gives me that half grin. “Who is important.”
“Glad I register somewhere in the top one hundred,” I quip, clinging to our old casual banter in the face of this new, uncertain terrain.
Garrett shakes his head. We’re close together now, me nestled in the crook of his arm, and I can feel the warmth of his body through his rumpled blue shirt. “Don’t talk like that.” He looks at me again. “You know how important you are to me.”
“Oh.” I feel myself blush. “You too. I mean, well, you know what I mean.”
“Only because I’m an expert in Sadie speak.” His fingers move against my bare arm, in what could almost be called a stroke.
“An expert, huh?” I try to stay calm. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“Nope.” He smiles again, so warm and familiar. “I know everything a
bout you.”
We’re silent for a moment, our eyes locked. There’s a heat now, an intensity that’s sending my pulse haywire. This is new territory. This is . . .
Too much.
“Then you know I need more soda!” I blurt suddenly. “How about a refill?”
I thrust my cup at him. He takes it, unfolding those long limbs as he gets slowly to his feet. “Your wish is my command. Don’t go anywhere.” He gives me a wink and then walks away, leaving me almost giddy with panic and delight.
Breathe, Sadie.
That was flirting going on right there. I’m not reading too much into something innocuous, stretching the realm of logic and reason like I’ve done a thousand times in the past. No, Garrett was flirting with me just then — that’s a fact.
Breathe.
I clutch a cushion, trying not to soar away on this new, sweet wind of hope. So he just broke up with Beth and is vulnerable and confused, and maybe looking for some kind of rebound girl to make himself feel better. But as soon as the argument comes, I have to dismiss it. Because it’s not a rebound if I’ve been his soul mate all along.
What if he’s finally realized that his perfect girl has been right in front of him all this time? The end of the school year, the prospect of a summer without me . . . It’s all made him realize what we have together, what we could have together!
I feel a thrill. I’ve stayed quiet all this time because I didn’t know for sure how he felt. I mean, who wants to be the one jeopardizing an amazing friendship over mixed signals and wishful thinking? And what if I declared my love and got nothing but a blank look in return — or worse still, awkward embarrassment? No way. I wasn’t going to risk everything on my own, but if Garrett has realized that he’s in love with me . . . I can let him know I feel the same way!
This is it, everything I’ve been waiting for! I, Sadie Elisabeth Allen, am going to confess my love.
The fateful day has dawned! Well, set, I guess, since it’s after sundown now. But either way, tonight will go down in history: the beginning of a whole new chapter in my life. Garrett and me. Me and Garrett . . .
I check the time quickly, then sneak away for a quick touch-up. Obviously, he’s in love with my shining inner self, but that doesn’t mean I want lip gloss smeared on my cheek when he leans in for that perfect first kiss.
Miraculously, there’s no one in line for the bathroom. I close the door against the party noise and sink back against it, just imagining how it’ll feel to finally have Garrett’s lips on mine. I’ve spent countless nights — and days, and third-period chem labs — lost in daydreams about this very moment. The look of wonder and appreciation in his eyes . . . The soft touch of his fingers against my cheek as he reaches to push back a stray lock of my hair . . .
Wait. I turn to the mirror and quickly muss up my ponytail, so that a few tendrils hang down. There. Perfect.
My stomach is still fluttering, so I run some cold water over my wrists, wondering if Garrett is as nervous and excited as me right now. I brighten at that thought, suddenly realizing how funny this whole situation is. I’m panicked here; he’s probably freaking out over on the other side of the house. . . . We’ll laugh about it one day, living in our cool loft apartment in the city, hosting elegant soirees for all our sophisticated friends. “We wasted so much time,” Garrett will tell them, looking at me lovingly across the dinner table. “But it all worked out in the end.”
I give my hair a final check for “kiss me, darling” style and perfect my “I never knew, but of course I feel the same!” look, then swing open the bathroom door.
“Watch it!”
I barrel straight into a girl just outside the door.
“Sorry!” I look up to find Beth Chambers lounging with a group of her little drama club minions, looking irritatingly effortless in her simple white T-shirt and jeans. “Um, hi, Beth.”
“Sadie.” The word couldn’t be less welcoming if she tried. Her gaze drifts over my head, which is a pretty impressive feat considering I’m two inches taller than her. But then Beth always has icy detachment nailed.
“What’s up?” I try, aiming for upbeat. Just because Beth always sneers at me doesn’t mean I can’t be the bigger person here. “I heard you got into UCLA. Congratulations.”
She smirks. “Let me guess, you’re happy I’ll be all the way on the other side of the country, far away from Garrett?”
“Actually —”
She doesn’t let me finish, leaning in close. “You think I didn’t know what you were up to, trying to get between us all along?”
“Beth.” I blink and take a step back. “I swear, I never did anything.”
She snorts. “Of course not, and you never will. You’ll just keep making puppy-dog eyes at him, hoping he’ll notice you. It’s pathetic, the way you’ve been trailing after him for years.”
I flush. “That’s not true.”
Beth looks smug. “It’s never going to happen, you know. He likes having you around because it makes him feel, I don’t know, important or something. Like you’re his own personal groupie. But you’re deluded if you think you’ll ever be anything more.”
On that parting shot, she flounces into the bathroom. For some reason, her minions follow. I guess real stars never pee solo.
I stand there a moment, shaken. She’s wrong, of course — there’s nothing groupie-like about our friendship. Beth is just jealous that Garrett sees me as an equal, a partner. But still, the fact that my crush was so transparent to her, that she’s been laughing about it all this time . . .
It doesn’t matter now. Garrett is practically broadcasting “I want to be more than friends!” on a neon display board, and nothing Beth can say will ruin this momentous night.
I pull myself together and head back into the party. It’s louder now, at that point where even the cooler-than-thou popular kids are cutting loose because they can pretend they’re drunk, and the knot of grinding girls has expanded so the whole living room is filled with dancing bodies.
“Hey.” Garrett is back on our couch, waiting for me. He holds out a cup. “As ordered.”
“I think it was more a friendly request,” I reply, heart racing.
He laughs. “Sure, next thing you’ll have me fanning you with a palm frond and feeding you grapes.”
“Palms are kind of hard to come by in Massachusetts.” I sit back beside him on the couch, painfully aware of his body next to mine. “I’d settle for pine boughs.”
There’s a pause in our conversation, though the party is still loud around us, but suddenly, just the simple act of looking over at him feels like an epic challenge. I brace myself and slowly slide my eyes up to his face. Garrett is staring back at me, with that same new look in his eyes. Softer, more intimate. I’ve seen flashes of it before, in the way he looked at Beth, or Julie, or any one of his serial crushes, but it’s never been directed at me.
My heart races faster.
“Listen, Sadie, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. . . .” Garrett pauses, then gives an awkward cough.
“Yes?” I lean closer. The seconds stretch. He takes a breath, opens his mouth, and then —
“You know what?” He suddenly gives another rueful grin and sits back. “This probably isn’t the right time.”
“No!” I yelp. “I mean, this is the perfect time. To say anything!” I nod eagerly.
“You sure?” Garrett looks around at the dirty dancing and beer chugging. “I mean, this isn’t exactly the place for a private conversation.”
“So, let’s go somewhere else!” I suggest. “The garden, maybe, or back to my place.”
I can’t take this any longer; I have to hear it now!
Garrett thinks for a moment, then nods. “Maybe some fresh air would be good. We could get away from all this for a minute.”
I practically leap up and elbow my way through the crowd to the back porch. I never saw the appeal of the stuffy, fake English rose gardens in this part of town, but now
, with the green hedges walling us in and moonlight softly dancing on the pond, it’s the perfect secluded spot. The music from inside is muted; Garrett loiters on the far corner of the porch, hands in his pockets.
I take a few nervous steps toward him. “You were saying?” I prompt hopefully, striking a casual pose against the wall. The security lights cast shadows across us; Garrett’s eyes seem even cloudier in the dim light. I gaze up into them, just waiting for the magic words —
“Coming through!”
I’m sent reeling as some jock pushes past me. He barrels to the edge of the porch and vomits loudly over the railings.
No!
I watch, helpless, as he groans, then vomits some more.
“Hey, man.” Garrett moves closer. “Are you OK?”
“Jus’ fine!” The guy spins around, looking at us with unfocused eyes. He lurches, then slings an arm over Garrett’s shoulder. “How’s it goin’?”
“Whoa, Dax, that’s . . . an interesting look you’ve got going on.” Garrett laughs, patting Dax’s back. Dax just nods, oblivious to both the trail of vomit down the front of his shirt and the perfect moment he’s interrupting here.
“Itsa party.” He grins inanely. “Itssummmer.”
“Yes, yes, it is.” Garrett gently steers him back toward the house. “Why don’t you get another drink? Water this time.”
Dax stumbles back inside, nearly falling through the screen door. Garrett turns back to me, grimacing. “Wow. He’s going to have a killer hangover tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, impatient. “So, there was something you wanted to tell me?”
Garrett pauses. “Right, sorry. The thing is . . .”
I catch my breath again. The world shrinks to just us two, alone out here in the —
“Garrett! Whaddup!”
Argh!
A group of guys thunders up onto the porch. They’re draped with toilet paper and glow-stick necklaces, shoving and hollering. “Xbox warriors! No surrender!” one of them cries, while another beats his chest and lets out a yowl.
Getting Over Garrett Delaney Page 3
