Solving for Ex

by LeighAnn Kopans

  “What’s the easiest way up?” he asked. I returned his grin, thinking of all the harder ways up. Would he have climbed the wall like Peter Parker?

  “Second door on the left,” I shouted. I had to find more air to raise my voice, and I felt a little better then.

  “The janitor’s closet?” he asked.

  I nodded, exaggerating my movement so he could see in the waning light. “Go through the door in the back of it, it leads to a stairwell. It’ll take you up here.”

  He swung the door of the Porsche open, traded his huge lacrosse bag for a smaller one, and headed toward the school.

  Waiting for him, my head spun at the easy way he said my name. How affectionate he sounded. I thought of all the other girls he could be hanging out with right now, or how he could have gone for burgers with the team.

  I noticed that the stars had started to poke through the deep blue canopy of sky, and my heartbeat slowed. I pulled my DSLR out of my bag, along with a mini-tripod Brendan had bought me for my birthday. The sunset had brightened to an insane show of watermelon, tangerine, and orchid streaks, a last image of a quickly fading summer. I tilted my head back and took a deep breath in, glad for the sharp cold of the air, but regretting that there would be no fireflies.

  The familiar creak of the roof door told me he was coming. Moments later, he plunked down next to me, like we’d done this every night for weeks.

  “How was practice?” I asked.

  “Oh, you know. Just another hour of jocks on a field.”

  I raised my eyebrows. To every other kid who played lacrosse here, the sport was what they ate, breathed, and slept.

  “What?” He laughed. “There’s more to life than lacrosse. Like this sunset. Probably why you’re up here.”

  I wasn’t about to tell him why I was up on that roof. Probably sucked enough having a sister in high school with you, without everyone talking about her. Plus, he didn’t need to know any more about my crush on Brendan than he already did.

  And I decided I didn’t want to tell him, considering the way he was looking at me right now. Like I was pretty. Like I was worth looking at.

  “Uh,” I stammered, blushing at the thought, “What’s in the bag?”

  “A Snickers bar, if you want it.” He smiled.

  Could this guy read my mind? Those were my total weakness.

  “Split it?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, tearing the wrapping, handing me half, and taking a bite. “Damn, that’s good. My favorite since I was a kid.”

  I don’t know why that made my heart jump a little bit, but it sure did.

  “Okay. What else?”

  “Ah. Most important. You’re not the only one interested in capturing this beauty.” He pulled out a sketch pad and drawing pencils.

  “You draw? Seriously?”

  “No, I just keep these around to make it look like I do. Seriously, Ashley. Yes, I draw.”

  I normally hated being scolded in any way, even jokingly. But something about the way he looked at me made me smile when he said it.

  We sat there for a few minutes, Vincent scratching at his paper and me fiddling with settings and taking test shots. The only thing nicer than the camera Brendan had given me was the lens his parents had found to go with it. As easily as they spent their money on stuff they didn’t need, they still did their research, that was for sure. This lens easily cost as much as the camera it fit on, and the vibrancy of color and its sharpness showed it.

  I flipped through my shots of the sunset. It really was stunning here, in the cradle of the mountains. I leaned over to see what Vincent was getting. He was turned slightly toward me, staring as his pencil scratched.

  “What are you doing?” Thank God it was so dark out, because I knew my cheeks were blazing red by now.

  “I said I wanted to get up here to do a sketch of the beauty. I could have gotten shots of the sunset from the parking lot.”

  Whoa. He certainly knew how to lay it on thick. The trouble was, between that dimple and the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at me, I mostly believed him.

  A vague panic rose up within me. Vincent was certainly cute, but he could also bring out the pretty words when he needed to. Something about that was weird. And no matter how fabulous Vincent was, he was not Brendan. He couldn’t understand me like Brendan could. Nobody else would ever be able to do that.

  Besides, I had no idea what to say to this cute, new, already-popular guy calling me a “beauty.” I gulped, shoved the camera into my bag, not even bothering with the lens cap, and said, “I’ve gotta go.”

  I was already four long steps away, mostly to the door, when Vincent said, “Hey! Do this again some other time?”

  I don’t even know what I mumbled before I banged my way through the door, then pounded out the front steps to the school. I walked up to Brendan’s car just in time for him to be getting there as well.

  “Sorry it took me forever. She’s really…”

  “Behind?” I asked.

  “Dedicated.” He peered at me for a moment before continuing. “Did you get some good shots?” he asked.

  I had no idea.

  no hope of a cure

  That next Saturday morning at Pamela’s, Brendan had missed half my jokes, and had started at least two conversations completely out of the blue by telling me about some dumb-shit thing Sofia had said.

  I swore “Sofia” was sounding more and more like a curse word every day.

  My rational brain tried to convince me that my sinking back into depression was due to the lack of sunshine over the past couple weeks. But I knew it was more than that. I’d lost my only friend at Mansfield, and all I wanted to do was skip school in favor of hiding under my covers every single day.

  The need to sleep, sleep, and sleep some more wasn’t a good sign, and every time I took an extra Xanax, it was even more painfully obvious.

  After another infuriating Saturday morning breakfast with Brendan, I sat on the couch, staring into space, debating over which stupid movie to turn on for way too long. I even felt too down to do my math homework.

  Kristin settled herself down next to me on the couch, and leaned back. “Doing okay?”

  I let out a long breath, and tried to blow away some of the sadness with it. No dice. “Not the best. I’m having kind of a tough time.” I was grateful that Kristin knew me well enough to know exactly what that meant.

  “Is this a meds thing, or a tough week thing?”

  I smiled and made sure to look at her steadily when I answered. “Just a tough week thing.” A few tough weeks, all horribly mashed together.

  “Come with me to the mall, huh? Help me pick out something for Bruce’s birthday.”

  I stared out into the empty living room, and into the already-darkening sky out the windows, and nodded slowly. “Okay. That might be good.”

  She patted my knee. “Good girl.”

  I nodded, holding back tears. I always appreciated the way Kristin knew what my coded language meant, and did what she could to help me out without pushing me too far. She was better at it than Mom, even. Not that Mom had had much of a chance to deal with the spiral of depression-fallout that had come from Kaylie Mitchell making my life a living hell at Williamson High.

  The mall was bustling and crazy. The newly frigid air must have driven every giggling preteen and weekend-stir-crazy parent to the mall, because it was packed. I did a quick headcount in my immediate area, and multiplied it to fit the square footage of the mall’s first floor that had been posted at the entrance. A couple hundred more people, and this place would literally be over capacity.

  The air inside was heavy with the grossness of so many people breathing the same air, and I could almost see the germs floating through it as people coughed and blew their noses. Disgusting. The only thing worse than feeling down would be staying home from school with a sinus cold.

  I helped Kristin pick out a new case for Bruce’s e-reader and I got him a nice pair of gloves, sinc
e forecasters were predicting one of the coldest winters Pittsburgh had ever seen. Kristin ran into one of her friends, and gave me some cash to grab coffee for both of us, if I’d rather skip their chatting. I shot her a grateful look and headed toward the coffee shop.

  On my way there, I passed one of the kiosks that seemed to explode with tacky merchandise for the entire three months before Christmas. It sold custom-printed shirts, bags, and hats—so cheesy. But one of the shirts caught my eye. Printed on it in bold letters was “Do Not Drink and Derive.” I pointed to it and said to the girl at the register, “That’s a good one.”

  “What?” she said, looking up from her cell phone.

  Of course she didn’t know what it meant. “How much for that shirt?”

  “Twenty.”

  I went to pull out a bill, until I realized that the last thing I needed was one more geeky math shirt. I could have probably made a quilt out of the stack of them that I usually wore as pajamas now.

  But just as I was about to turn away, I remembered. Sadie Hawkins was two weeks away. Girls gave the guys they were asking a matching shirt to wear to the dance. Whenever I had thought about asking Brendan before, I’d started shaking and promptly forgotten about the idea. But this would be a great excuse. Hey, I found these shirts, I’d say. Now we have to go to Sadie. Because who else would understand them? And where else would we wear them? He’d laugh, and agree, even though he was always saying how stupid school dances were, and hadn’t even gone to prom last year—he’d hung out watching movies with me instead.

  But this would definitely work.

  “Do you have a small and a medium?”

  I walked away with my ticket to a date with Brendan finally in my hot little hands.

  she did not seem to have a thought of fear

  The next morning, I practically bounced down the stairs. I’d spent all of last night thinking about how I’d ask Brendan. I’d carefully folded the shirt in a variety of combinations, trying to see which one would be easiest to casually whip out of my bag and hand to him. I finally decided on rolling it up, because then I could hold it in one hand, and it would take him no time at all to unroll it to look at it, and laugh and smile about it. It would be less like he was unwrapping a present and more like he was reading a note casually passed to him in class. More like friends and less like boyfriend and girlfriend.

  Right. Because that was exactly what I wanted. Smooth move, Ashley.

  Whatever. This was going to be easy. It was Monday, a Mathletes day, and I’d meet Brendan after his last class, walk to the auditorium with him, and help him set up. That was when I’d ask him.

  “Mathletes tonight, right?” Aunt Kristin asked as she passed me the milk to pour on my cereal. I couldn’t chew fast enough this morning, even though I was half-dreading going to school. I answered through a mouth full of shredded wheat, too anxious to care.

  “Yeah. Brendan’s driving me home, though.” I couldn’t believe the little smile that crept across my face when I said it. Even I knew I looked smug. But between the mad performance I was about to give at Mathletes practice tonight and that awesome shirt, he wouldn’t be able to resist.

  My stomach churned a little more with each class bell that rang. I even avoided Brendan at lunchtime, hiding out in the library instead. I wanted to give his buddies—one of whom was hopefully not Sofia—the chance to do all their stupid talking and back-patting then, instead of at the beginning of Mathletes, which is when I wanted to catch him.

  Also, I was feeling pretty sick by that point. But whatever. In the back of the library, I whipped out my compact and spoke into it, practicing how I’d sit, how I’d hold my hands, how I’d bat my eyes, how I’d smile. I even practiced swinging my backpack around to my side, unzipping it without fumbling, and pulling out the shirt design side up.

  I so had this in the bag.

  At the end of my last class, I tried to look casual and pack up my stuff quietly ahead of the bell. I knew it annoyed the crap out of Mrs. Helmsley, but I didn’t care. Thank God there was no one in this class I typically walked the halls with. I stopped by my locker to slide my History and English textbooks inside, and to swipe on some lip gloss, checking the little mirror right inside the door and admiring the cute sweater I’d picked that morning.

  I strode down the hall at a fast clip. I seriously felt like everyone I passed was stepping out of the way. Like I was Moses and all these kids were the Sea of Reeds. The universe was smiling on me, that was for sure.

  Brendan stepped out of his classroom—he had Biology last period. It was like he was moving in slow motion. I didn’t know if it was because I wanted to ask him, or because he just looked that good, but his jeans and his light blue T-shirt fit him particularly nicely today.

  When his eyes met mine, that smile that made me all melty spread across his face, and I had to command my heart to stop wanting to fly out of my chest. When I reached him, though, instead of sweeping me up in a bear hug like he normally would, he just slung one arm around my shoulders. He didn’t press a kiss to the top of my head, like I’d envisioned he would so many times last night. Like he did at the beginning and end of every day. And then, he looked down at me and said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Hey, kid.”

  Kid? Kid? My self-confidence sagged around my ankles. I may have been a class below him, but Brendan had never cared about that. What the hell was going on?

  We walked to the auditorium for practice, him making small talk and me trying to swallow hard and hold back tears. I tried to tell myself it was no big deal. We’d get to the auditorium, I’d help him set up, I’d mention how I’d found a whole bunch of new practice tests. We’d sit down and I’d show off by working one that, as far as I knew, he’d never seen before.

  It was going to be fine. Just fine.

  I pushed open the swinging doors with the arm I didn’t have swung around his waist, and my heart stopped, jumped out of my chest, and rolled down the long carpeted aisle. Clunked against the wooden front of the stage.

  I smelled her almost before I saw her. Never had I thought I would hate the smell of flowers so violently.

  Sofia.

  She wore a blue flowered dress that was a little too swingy and a lot too low-cut for the frigid mid-October Pittsburgh wind that howled outside the school’s walls. And the only thing perkier than the cleavage bouncing out of the top of it was her hair and her smile.

  “Brendan!” she squealed as she skipped toward the back of the auditorium to meet us. Brendan dropped his arm from my waist and stepped forward, away from me, to meet her. She jumped at him, throwing her arms around his neck. Even though he looked a little awkward doing it, he put both arms around her waist and she lifted up off the ground a little.

  The same way he always hugged me. Except today, when he hadn’t.

  She linked her arm with his and walked with him to the table and chairs someone—I’d be willing to bet she—had already set up for our second meeting. I heard her blabbing about how she’d been concerned about how some of the team members would approach some question, and shouldn’t we do more trials to time people, and we should probably also do drills for speed, shouldn’t we?

  Brendan knew all that. But the way he was looking at her, you’d think he didn’t. He was watching her with all the fascination of someone who was hearing this stuff for the first time. Someone who hadn’t led the team to State last year.

  It was like Sofia was preaching the freaking Mathletics gospel, and he was buying every damn word as the God’s honest truth.

  I trudged down to the front of the auditorium and settled in the chair next to Brendan. Sofia was in the seat across from him, and kept reaching across to touch him on the forearm.

  “You know, I’d never actually thought of it that way before,” Brendan said to something Sofia had just been chattering about. Probably it was as insipid as the tone of her voice.

  I was suddenly having trouble getting air into my lungs again. And the auditorium, whi
ch had seemed so large when we first walked in, was shrinking around me. This couldn’t be happening now. Could not. And if I could get this one thing done, it wouldn’t happen again, I was sure of it.

  “So, Brendan,” I said, steeling myself. “I know that school dances are seriously lame, but sometimes something’s just too good to pass up.” I reached back to swing my bag around, just like I’d practiced a thousand times.

  “Are you talking about Sadie?” Sofia piped up. God, I wished this Sadie Hawkins shirt was a mallet so I could beat her over her squeaky little head with it. “Can you believe that Brendan ever thought those things were tired? Don’t worry. I’m making him go with me. I’d never miss a tolo.”

  Tears flooded my eyes. No way was this happening. No way had she asked him to Sadie Hawkins before me. No way had she found the one thing I would get the guts to do to tell Brendan how much I liked him and stomp all over it.

  I must have looked like I didn’t understand what she was saying, with the blinking and all, because she lowered her head and spoke a little more loudly and slowly, and her smile got just a little bigger. “In California? We called them tolos. Girls asked the guys? Well, anyway. I told Brendan there was no excuse for missing one of the best dances ever—not even studying for math.”

  She looked absolutely giddy with her own brilliance. The room spun around me and I wanted to vomit.

  Then, I heard the telltale sound of the auditorium door swinging open.

  Vincent strolled down the aisle, his arm wrapped around Britt’s waist. She stared up at him like a puppy dog. “So, are we doing this Mathletes thing or what?” he said, grinning. He sidled up to me and nudged his shoulder into mine. “I heard you’re the up-and-coming star.”

  “I was just telling Ashley here about tolo, and how fun it is, and how me and Brendan wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sofia squeaked.

  Me and Brendan? Were they a couple now? I studied Brendan. He was shuffling around a bunch of the papers containing competition questions on his desk. If they were together, he was certainly doing a poor job of being excited about it.