“And we need to borrow it!” she replies. “Pretty please? You can go cover the register. It’s a girl thing,” she adds. “Let me find those tampons for heavy flow. . . .”
He leaps up. “Uh, sure. Take your time.” Carlos bolts so fast, he almost trips on his unlaced sneakers.
LuAnn laughs. “Every time . . .”
But the humor of men’s predictable aversion to girl talk is beyond me right now. I sink into Carlos’s seat, still dazed, and soon, LuAnn, Aiko, and Dominique are lined up opposite me. LuAnn holds out her phone. “I have Kayla on speaker, too.”
Kayla’s voice comes through, tinny on the tiny speaker. “So, what happened?”
“He’s back,” LuAnn says. “Just came right in like nothing had happened.”
“Some nerve.” Aiko tuts.
“He looks like an idiot to me,” Dominique adds, studying her nails.
Something about the way they’re lined up, united against him, fills me with a warm glow of friendship. I’m not alone in this.
“Thanks, guys,” I tell them, finally taking a deep breath. “It’s sweet of you to back me up, but . . . Garrett isn’t the enemy here. He never did anything wrong. It was all me.”
“Still, he hurt you!” LuAnn protests, eyes wide with outrage.
“But he’s my friend. That was the whole point of getting over him,” I remind them. “To keep him in my life. That means you’re going to have to be nice to him.”
Silence.
“I mean it,” I add, wondering if LuAnn is going to spike his coffee or spit in his food.
Finally, she sighs. “Fine, we’ll be nice.” Aiko nods in agreement.
Dominique shrugs. “Sure, whatever.”
I exhale. “OK, then.” After a moment, Kayla’s disembodied voice comes through the speaker.
“But how do you feel?”
They all look at me, expectant.
“I . . . I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I think I’m still in shock. I mean, I’ve been so focused on not thinking about him, I didn’t really plan for this part.” I look between them, lost. “What do I do now?”
“We need new rules,” LuAnn says immediately. “For having him back. Like, no spending time alone together. And definitely no hugging.”
“No romantic situations of any kind,” Aiko agrees. “No candlelight, sunsets, or places playing the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ ‘Maps.’”
“You should stand him up a few times,” Dominique offers. “Make him see he can’t take you for granted anymore.”
“New rules . . .” I nod slowly.
“It’ll be OK.” Aiko gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You can do it!”
“She’s right,” LuAnn agrees. “You’ve come so far. This is, like, the last hurdle. It’ll be no problem now.”
I take another breath, and slowly, my confidence returns. They’re right. I will be OK. I’m a million miles away from the wretched, lovelorn Sadie I was when I saw him last, and there’s no way I’m going to regress now, not after all the sweat, tears, and spilled coffee I’ve put into getting over him. The guide has gotten me this far; I just need to adapt it to suit this new reality!
“I’m ready,” I announce. “I can do this.”
“Atta girl.” LuAnn grins.
“But Sadie . . .” Kayla’s voice comes through. “Be careful, OK? Don’t go falling for him again.”
“No way,” I swear. “He surprised me today — that’s all. We’re just going to be friends.”
Dominique sighs. “Sure, you are.”
“Show a little faith,” I tell them. “I can be strong!”
Someone once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result. Remember how you used to send silent prayers to the Gods of Requited Love for a divine intervention every time you hung out with him? And did said intervention ever occur?
It did not. Clearly, the old approach didn’t work out so well. So it’s time for some new rules.
Start with no touching. Add no romantic locations, no long midnight drives, and most definitely no innocent tickle fights on his bed. There is no such thing as innocence once your heart has been broken into a million anguished pieces, just remember that.
And I am strong. When Garrett picks me up that night, wearing that slate-gray T-shirt that usually sends me into paroxysms of delight, I barely even glance at his newly tanned forearms. I’m so careful to keep a safe distance between us that I nearly fall off the back of the Vespa because I’m not holding him tight enough, and when we get to the movie theater, I suggest we see a new — incredibly loud, extremely unromantic — action movie instead of Annie Hall.
“You’re kidding, right?” Garrett laughs as we stand in line for tickets. The lobby is crowded with groups of teenagers and couples on dates, the smell of buttery popcorn wafting in the air. “That stuff is such trash.”
“It’ll be fun!” I argue. More fun than two hours of watching Woody Allen and Diane Keaton debate the fraught intricacies of male-female friendship, anyway. “Give something new a chance.”
Garrett gives me a look. “What did they do to you this summer?” he teases. “The Sadie I knew would never even think about watching aliens blow stuff up.”
The Sadie he knew also would have walked over hot coals rather than have him think she was silly or uncultured, so I simply give him a smile and shrug. “Maybe she expanded her horizons a little. Come on, I’ll buy the popcorn!”
“OK, OK,” Garrett says. “You win. But only because I’ve missed you so much.” As if to underscore his point, he pulls me into a hug.
Hugging is definitely up there on my danger list, so I carefully disentangle myself from his arms. As I step a safe half-pace away from him, I catch sight of a flash of red hair out of the corner of my eye. I turn, searching the crowd of moviegoers. Is that . . . LuAnn?
“What’s up?” Garrett asks.
“Nothing. I just thought I saw someone. . . .” I check again, but there’s no sign of her. “Anyway”— I turn back to him —“tell me about camp. I want to hear everything.”
Everything except this mythical Rhiannon, who is most definitely on the danger list, but Garrett must have learned from my constantly shutting down his every mention of her, because he doesn’t utter her name. “The classes! Sadie, it was amazing. I had this poetry professor, you would have loved her. . . .”
We get tickets and snacks, and head inside, Garrett still waxing rapturously about his various literary triumphs. “It was incredible. I wish you could have been there. They had so many amazing teachers and guest lecturers,” he says. “I feel like my writing has gone to a whole new level.”
“That’s great,” I tell him, checking for our row.
“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “I don’t want to rub it in; I know how disappointed you were.”
“No, it’s fine,” I reassure him. “It actually turned out for the best.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “It’s OK — you don’t have to pretend with me. I know summer must have sucked, stuck in Sherman. But I talked you up to everyone, so next year, you’ll be a shoo-in, I’m sure.”
“Thanks,” I say slowly, distracted by a glimpse of blue-tipped pigtails farther up the aisle. But when I look again, they’re gone. I must be imagining things. I shake my head to clear it. “That’s really sweet. I’m not sure if I’ll apply next year, but . . .”
“What?” Garrett stops dead in the middle of the aisle. “Sadie, you have to. You can’t let the rejection get you down — it’s part of life for us writers. Think of Kerouac or Cummings; they were turned down by dozens of publishers before they got their breaks. You’ll make it,” he insists. “You just have to keep trying.”
It wasn’t exactly what I meant, but hearing Garrett gush about “us writers” makes me realize: aside from my recovery steps, I haven’t written all summer. I settle into the worn velvet seat, wondering how I didn’t notice until now. But maybe writing was always something
I did more to bond with Garrett than for myself.
“Sadie?”
I look over. “Sorry?”
“I was just asking what else you’ve been up to,” he says, getting comfortable in the narrow seat. “Working at the café seems . . . fun. I mean, if you’re going to be a minimum-wage drudge, it seems like the best place,” he adds.
“I like it,” I tell him, scooping a handful of popcorn. “It took me a while to fit in, but now we’re all friends. A bunch of us went to a hockey game, and —”
“Wait, hold up,” Garrett stops me, shocked. “You went to . . . a hockey game? As in meatheads in jerseys, trying to kill each other on the ice?”
“Sure. It was fun.” I grin at the memory. “Well, until the fighting, and all the blood. But, aside from that . . .”
Garrett reaches over, takes my face in both hands, and turns it from side to side. “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Sadie?”
I duck away — no touching! — and give a small laugh. “I guess I’ve changed.”
“Clearly.” He studies me again. “I go away for a few weeks, and look at you. New hobbies, new look, new hair . . .”
“At least mine isn’t crying out for a cut.”
“Don’t you start too. I’ve already been hearing about it from my mom!”
“She’s got a point,” I say. “And that fuzz on your chin . . . Did they not have razor blades up in the woods?”
He strokes his patch of wannabe facial hair protectively. “You don’t like it? I think it makes me look older. . . .”
“Sure.” I giggle. “If by older, you mean all of nineteen!”
Garrett clutches his chest. “You wound me so! And there I was, counting the days till we’d be together. . . .”
I stick my tongue out at him. “What were you expecting, a ticker-tape parade?”
“Of course not.” He makes that puppy-dog expression again. “Just a small brass band . . . some of the high-school baton twirlers . . .”
“Dream on.” I settle back in my seat as the lights go down and the theater begins to quiet. “Now, settle down and enjoy some alien destruction.”
I’ve made it.
That’s the thought that dances through my head as various buildings are blown to fiery smithereens on-screen. I’ve made it. The work and tears have all been worthwhile, because sitting here with Garrett feels just like old times. Only better. Because instead of spending the entire show with my hand placed hopefully on the armrest between us, waiting for him to accidentally brush against it, or secretly studying his profile in the glow of the movie screen instead of actually watching the film itself, I can relax and just be me. No wistful wondering, no anguished hopes. Just us, together, friends.
The way it should be.
“It really was a masterpiece.” Garrett laughs as we emerge from the movie theater. It’s cooler now, a chilly breeze slipping through the air, and I pull my cardigan more tightly around myself as we pause outside the lobby. “Such depth, and that dialogue . . .”
“You loved it!” I nudge him. “You didn’t look away once.”
Garrett coughs. “Only because I was riveted by how awful it was.”
“Sure, that’s your story.” I laugh. “But I bet you’ll be first in line when the sequel comes out!”
“Never,” he declares. “And I still can’t believe you made me watch that. Your standards are slipping in your old age.”
“Says the senior.” I grin. “If I’m old, then you’re just about stumbling towards the grave.”
We start walking, but I quickly stop, struck again by the strange feeling that somebody’s watching me. I spin around. Nothing.
“Sadie?” Garrett waits just ahead, illuminated by a streetlight.
“Coming!” I start walking, but I take only a few steps before turning again. This time, I see them: Kayla, Aiko, and LuAnn, skulking behind a group of teenage boys, trying to stay out of sight. Unfortunately for them, their outfits don’t exactly spell inconspicuous. LuAnn is dolled up in a trench coat and sunglasses, while Aiko and Kayla have on these all-black quasi–cat burglar ensembles.
I march over.
“Um, hi, Sadie!” Kayla exclaims brightly, lowering the flyer she’s been pretending to read. “What a coincidence! We were just catching a movie, and —”
“Save it!” I cut her off. “I can’t believe this. You’re actually following me!”
“Not following,” Aiko objects, twisting a pigtail. She’s wearing black spandex leggings under clompy black boots, with a cropped black satin bomber jacket. Real casual for a night out at the movies. “More, keeping a friendly eye on things.”
“In case you need rescuing,” LuAnn agrees, her eyes wide with concern.
“Like, a backup squad!” Kayla grins.
I look at them, a mismatched set of PI’s-slash-spy-movie-wannabes, and can’t help but burst out laughing. My friends are kind of insane.
“Where did you even get those outfits?” I ask, gasping for air.
“You like? I styled everyone myself.” LuAnn does a little twirl. “Undercover chic, I call it.”
“You look . . . very film noir.” I grin. “But isn’t the point of undercover to, you know, blend in to the crowd?”
LuAnn rolls her eyes. “But the crowds here are so boring!” She looks past my shoulder and hisses, “He’s coming!”
Garrett is indeed heading in our direction, looking curious. I don’t blame him. “Act normal, please,” I beg.
“Normal? Us? No problem!” Kayla adjusts her fake plastic spectacles as Garrett reaches us.
“Hey.” I gulp, suddenly nervous. It feels like two halves of my life are suddenly colliding here.
Garrett looks at the group, clearly waiting for an introduction.
“Oh, right!” My voice comes out strangely high-pitched. “This is LuAnn, and Aiko. You saw them at the café yesterday. And you know Kayla already.”
“Hey.” Garrett nods to them, his expression warm and friendly. “I’m Garrett.”
“Garrett,” LuAnn repeats darkly, as if he just introduced himself as Satan. I shoot her a desperate look.
“Hey,” Aiko adds in a grudging tone.
Garrett looks less confident at the cool welcome. “Great to meet you all. Uh, Sadie’s been telling me so much about the café, I feel like I know you all already.”
“Really?” LuAnn raises her eyebrows. “And we haven’t heard a single thing about you. How do you guys know each other?”
I cough. Garrett looks back and forth between us, still thrown. “We’ve been friends a while now. Best friends,” he says, and smiles at me. I look away.
“Oh. Weird!” LuAnn replies. “But I guess Sadie is friends with so many guys, it’s hard for us to keep track.”
“She is?” I can feel Garrett’s questioning gaze.
“Oh, sure, they’re always in the café,” LuAnn continues merrily. “Sam and Pete were mooning over her so much, we had to bar them. Too distracting for the customers.”
“Why don’t we go get something to eat?” I exclaim brightly, before LuAnn tells Garrett I have boys throwing themselves at my feet twenty-four hours a day. “Herrell’s is right up the block.”
“Sure, I could go for ice cream,” Garrett agrees. Immediately, the girls pile on.
“Perfect.”
“Let’s go!”
“Now, Gary, was it?” LuAnn links her arm through his and steers him up the street with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. “You’re a sophomore, right?”
We cram into a corner booth, surrounded by glass jars of candy toppings and children ingesting way too much sugar. But although this is officially the best ice cream around, I can only swirl my Oreo Smoosh-in around in my cup, still tense over the mixing of my new friends and old. Garrett seems relaxed enough, chatting with the girls about school and camp, but I’m all too aware of how easily this could all come crashing down with one stray comment from, well, anyone at the table.
“So you’
re the next literary master?” LuAnn slurps her ice-cream float through a thick straw and stares at Garrett.
He laughs. “I don’t know about that.”
“Come on, don’t be modest,” she teases. “This camp sounds so exclusive.”
“Garrett is really talented,” I interject. “He’s won all kinds of prizes.”
“But I’d keep writing, even if I hadn’t,” Garrett adds, bashful. “You have to do it for love, not money, like the real greats.”
“What about dating?” Aiko asks brightly. “Those places can be a full-on party, right? Or do you have a girlfriend?”
I choke on my Oreo crumbles. “Aiko!”
“What?” She gives me an innocent look, biting into her maraschino cherry. “I’m curious!”
“We want to know all about you,” LuAnn agrees. I glare at them.
“Just ignore them,” I tell Garrett. But he waves away my concern.
“It’s fine. I . . . uh, was with someone at camp,” he tells them. “But we broke up.”
I whip my head around. “You didn’t tell me that.”
Garrett looks uncomfortable. “You said . . . you know, that you didn’t want to hear about that stuff.”
My mind races. So he’s not with Rhiannon, after all? How, what, who . . . ?
I take a breath and try to act casual. “What happened?” I take a tiny spoonful of ice cream, as if this is only vaguely interesting. “I thought she was ‘the one.’”
“Garrett’s right,” Kayla interrupts, giving me a warning look. “You don’t want to hear about it. Do you, Sadie?” There’s a loaded pause, and all three girls stare at me, full of meaning.
I cough. “No, you’re right,” I say, sinking in my seat. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Anyway, that’s all ancient history now,” Garrett tells me, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “It’s why I didn’t say anything.”
“Hey, Garrett,” LuAnn says loudly, pulling his attention away from me. “Could you be a doll and go get me some napkins?” She gestures helplessly at the girls on either side of her. “I’m kind of trapped.”
“Oh, sure.” Garrett gets up. “I’ll be right back.”
Getting Over Garrett Delaney Page 17
