“Of course I can,” I say. “I’m sure ten more will have asked you by Friday.”
“Yeah, right, but thanks,” Lexi goes on. “Anyway, you have to help me decide who to go with on the way to soccer, and I only have a few weeks to get a dress …”
I turn back, but Em has been swallowed up by the crowd. Lexi keeps chattering away as we head to the locker room to change for practice. I guess I’ll have to call Em the second I get home and straighten this out. But she’s Em, so I know she’ll understand. She has to.
17
I get home after another horrendous practice (countdown: three days till the last game and the glorious end of the season) and head straight to the kitchen, looking for peace and quiet and maybe some nice, soothing candy. After tossing my backpack and puffy coat and kicking off my Pumas toward the stairs, I head for the fridge to grab some juice. As I reach to get a glass out of the cabinet, suddenly my foot is soaking wet. What the—? I look down and realize I’ve stepped directly in a bowl of water, which for some reason is on the floor. Next to it is another bowl that appears to be full of Cracklin’ Oat Bran cereal. Huh. Interesting.
I’m mopping up the water with paper towels (after peeling my sock off, ick) when I realize the bowls must be for Travis’s new pal, Nancy the Cat. As a reward for her great accomplishments in the fourth grade, i.e., spelling her name correctly (does anyone care that my life is in shambles and I could actually use some cheering up?), Travis was allowed to take in the cat that’s been loitering in our backyard for the last week or so. I’ve only been begging for a dog for about a thousand years, but apparently I’m not responsible enough to have one and my mother doesn’t want to “get stuck walking the damned thing at three in the morning because Kelsey didn’t feel like it.” Is that any way to talk about a poor defenseless dog? Or a poor defenseless daughter, for that matter?
My mother, the great animal lover, took Nancy the Cat to the vet and spent my entire college fund getting it shots and toys and food and a carrier and who knows what else. I’ll tell you this much: When Travis bails on this little project, I am not going to clean the litter box. No way.
I’m so glad that I can return home from school and literally step in yet another reminder of how perfect Travis’s life is while mine is a garbage heap swarming with flies.
I run up to my room, furious, damp, and upset. I put on my comfiest pj pants and a hoodie and grab my phone to call Em. She doesn’t pick up. What is going on? I try again, and leave a message this time, which I usually never even bother to do.
I curl up in my desk chair to spin around and think. I mean, forget Travis and her cat—that’s a mere annoyance, really. Ditto soccer, which is almost over at last. And forget Jordan, who is clearly an idiot that I’ve wasted years liking. Keith obviously gets filed under W for “Whatever.” But the stuff with Cassidy … and especially Em, who has never been upset with me before and is, frankly, totally unjustified in this case … I mean, I never put Lexi before her—not even once. And anyway, Em is the one who encouraged me to be friends with Lexi in the first place! I just don’t know what to do at all.
My mother yells up the stairs something insane about a sock in the sink and wanting me to set the table for dinner and empty the dishwasher. What gives? Can I have two seconds to be upset in this stupid house?!
After continued and increasingly angry directives, I sense being grounded may be imminent, which would really put a damper on winter break. I heave a great sigh and go back downstairs, where my mother is doing the crossword puzzle.
“You know, if emptying the dishwasher is soooo important, why didn’t you do it instead of sitting there doing a crossword puzzle?” I inquire—quite reasonably, I think.
Big mistake. This sets her off on a tirade. Will I never learn?
And then the weirdest thing happens. Maybe it’s her shrill, endlessly irritating voice or just the fact that my life is a mess, but I burst into tears. Even as it’s happening I’m surprised, though I guess after the last couple of months this is sort of becoming routine. Thanks, hormones.
Anyway, Mom is really surprised. And somehow I find myself telling her all about Cass and Jordan and Em (I do not mention Keith for fear she’ll overreact and drag me to a gynecologist or something) and she actually really listens. Puts down the newspaper and everything.
Once I get it all out, I actually feel a lot better. She doesn’t have any killer advice other than to follow my instincts, but just having her listen really helps. I wipe my face with the sleeve of my hoodie, and Mom actually manages to restrain herself from making a comment about it.
Then she says, “I’ll tell you this much, honey: Even if Cassidy is experimenting sexually”—GAG!—“she is probably one of the few. Everyone always thinks the whole freshman class is getting it on”—vomit, seriously—“but then senior year you find out it was three people and a lot of imagination. Otherwise 20/20 would be doing a show about it.”
That makes me feel even better still, believe it or not. Until she makes me empty the dishwasher and set the table, despite my obvious need to go back upstairs and do nothing.
There is seriously no way I’m not adopted.
18
The next few days at school I feel like a rat in a maze, only I’m trying to avoid the various cheeses scattered around it. Cass, around the corner! Julie, lurking in the shadows! Hurt glances from Em! Jordan! Lori! Keith! Gaaaaah! I’ve never looked forward to taking exams before, but at least they’re a distraction.
On my way to lunch on Thursday, I finally stake out Em’s locker. It’s been four days since we’ve even had a real conversation—she still isn’t responding to my calls or texts. At lunch she’s been either really late or only spoken in monosyllables. JoJo of course refuses to comment, and I obviously can’t talk to Cass about it. I sort of can’t believe Em’s acting this way; it just seems so unlike her. To not even give me a chance to explain? Something else must be going on, and I’m going to find out what it is.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around expectantly, but it isn’t Em. It’s Lexi. Argh. She has Spider Sense for bad timing. Maybe that’s her fatal flaw?
She says, “Hey, are you waiting for Em? I’m sorry I spilled the beans about Keith the other day, but I just figured you’d already—”
“Yeah, no, don’t worry about it. No big deal.”
“So, anyway, remember last week at lunch when I was talking about maybe going to a meeting for The Reflector or something, and you said you’d come with me? I was thinking I’d really actually like to do it. So, do you think you’d still be up for it?”
“Yeah, of course I will,” I say, bending down to adjust my right knee-high boot but really trying to surreptitiously peer around the corner to see if Em is coming. I straighten up. “Listen, Lex, do you think I could meet you in the caf? I kind of need to talk to Em alone for a sec. We’ve been missing each other a bit lately, and, uh …”
“No problem. I totally get it. I’ll see you there. And thanks!” A popular sophomore coming down the hall rushes over to Lexi and starts gushing about the winter formal, and off they go.
Okay, that was easy. But now what? I check my watch—it’s fifteen minutes into lunch. Would Em have gone straight to the caf without stopping to drop off her books? This is absurd, like I’m in a bad spy movie. I decide to case the library instead. As I walk past the home ec lab, I see movement through the glass panel in the door. I stop to look, just in case Em decided to whip up a batch of snickerdoodles. Instead, I see Jordan and Lori Soler, groping each other next to the sewing machines.
HOLY CRAP.
I back away in the direction I came from, and there’s Em at her locker. I rush over before she can escape.
“Were you waiting for me to leave so you could go to your locker?” I blurt out. Perhaps not my best intro, but at least we’re talking.
Em looks at the floor. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Em. Seriously. What is going on with you? What did I do?�
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“Nothing. Forget about it.” She’s still not really looking at me but chipping the paint off the locker next to hers.
“I’m not going to forget about it. You’re my best friend and you’re not talking to me and I don’t know what I did. You’re obviously upset about something, but I have so much to tell you and—oh my God, literally one minute ago I saw something completely nuts and I don’t know what to—”
“Why don’t you tell Lexi about it, then?” Em snaps, finally looking up at me.
“Is that really what this is about? Em, I’ve tried to call you a million times since the concert—and first, before anyone else! And you didn’t pick up the phone. I just don’t understand what’s going on—why are you so mad at me?”
Em goes back to chipping the paint for a second. Then she says in a rush, “I just feel like—I mean, you didn’t even tell me about kissing Keith. We haven’t hung out just the two of us in ages. You were busy with soccer for all of fall and now you’re always talking to Lexi and … I don’t know. I just miss you.”
“Em,” I say, trying not to get upset. “I miss you too—why do you think I’ve been stalking you all over school trying to figure out what’s going on? I mean, yeah, soccer takes up a lot of my time, but it hasn’t exactly been a joyride. And I have been spending some time with Lexi … but that doesn’t mean you aren’t still my best, best friend. I don’t know why you don’t believe me, but I call you first no matter what! For all of those things you mentioned—really! But you’ve been super caught up with James, and …”
A tear rolls down Em’s cheek.
“Em, what is going on?” She wipes at her face as the tears come faster, and people are starting to look at us. I know how much Em hates to be the center of attention, so I quickly grab her books from her and steer her toward the girls’ bathroom. Once we get inside, she totally falls apart, sobbing.
“James br-broke up with me,” she wails, sputtering through her tears. “And I didn’t think you’d c-care because you were only h-h-hanging out with Lexi and I just miss him so much and I feel like s-such a stupid girl about the whole, the whole th-thing …”
Oh, no. Poor Em. I feel like the worst friend on the planet; here I’ve been mooning around about my imaginary boyfriend when her actual one turned out to be an idiot. I give her a huge hug.
“When did this happen? Have you been keeping it to yourself this whole time? Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Su-Sunday,” Em gulps, trying to calm down. Her face is all red and splotchy, so I get her some wet paper towels from the sink. “I know you were trying to call me, but I c-couldn’t even talk and then when Lexi told me the next day about—”
“No, I get it. I totally get it,” I say. “Boys! Do you realize a couple of stupid guys made us be in the first fight we’ve ever had? What the eff? We should just become lesbians.”
Em smiles a tiny smile, which is encouraging.
“I just—you know,” she says, speaking normally again, “you always hear about how in high school people change or … change their friend groups and … I thought maybe you wanted to be best friends with Lexi and it was too late to tell you about James … I don’t know. It sounds so dumb.”
“It’s not dumb. I mean, it would be very dumb if it were true. But Em, it’s not true. I do like Lexi, but … come on. She’s no Em Gale!”
Em laughs. A few girls trickle in, and I realize lunch is going to end in a few minutes. Em goes over to the mirror and pulls her hair back. “I look awful,” she says. “Do you have a compact?”
“You look terrific!” I lie, reaching into my backpack for my compact. “Stupid James. That guy is dead to me. Do you hear me? He’s DEAD TO ME!” Em laughs again. I’m so relieved to have straightened everything out with Em; it’s like a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
I guess I’m not the only one who’s been feeling overwhelmed this year, but I’m so used to being the one whose life always falls apart, it never occurred to me that maybe Em’s could, too.
“Listen,” I say as we walk out together with linked arms, “I need your advice. I’ve been needing your advice—it’s major.” I tell her all about the Cassidy-Jordan-Lori situation as fast as I can. She thinks for a sec.
Em replies, “I don’t want to get between you guys, but you know I think it was really lame of Cassidy to lie about this. I mean, she knew how you felt.”
“I know, right?!” I interject forcefully. I’m so glad someone besides me has pointed out this very significant fact. “I mean, what the hell? Anyway, I’m totally over him. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” she agrees, and thinks some more. “I think the right thing to do is to tell her. But … Cass might not believe you. Because she knows how much you like—liked—Jordan, and how pissed you are at her. And upset. She might think you made it up to hurt her as much as she hurt you. So, basically, I have no idea what you should do.”
I shake my fist at her jokingly. “I’m so glad we made up so you could give me the most useless advice ever. What am I supposed to do now?”
Em scrunches her face up and shrugs. “I dunno, Kels,” she says. “But you’ll figure it out. You always do.” The bell rings. Before we part ways, I give her another big hug.
“I’m really sorry about James, Em. He doesn’t deserve you. Honestly.”
Em smiles weakly. “Thanks,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I shut you out. I’ll see you at your soccer game tonight, okay?”
Oh, right. The last game.
19
I look out over the darkening field to the bleachers, where a smattering of very cold parents and friends are watching the last girls’ JV soccer game of the year. And guess what? We’re winning.
Of course, that could be because the team we’re playing is incredibly bad at a couple of minor things, such as kicking and running. It’s almost insulting that we’re playing them, actually, because except for my consistently lousy performance as goalie, our team is pretty good. But the important thing is, in just a few minutes, the most miserable soccer season of my life will be over. Over!
I can see Em and JoJo with a few of our other friends in the stands, stamping their feet to stay warm. Ana has the ball at the moment, and she passes to Steli, who takes it down the field and scores again. Yay for us. So, can we go home now?
Please?
My wish is finally granted when the clock runs out, and after we do the “good game” high fives with the other team, we huddle around Coach Cantwell and Julie.
“Great way to end the season, ladies!” the coach effuses. “Now, I know we didn’t place as high regionally as we have in previous years, but I want to thank all of you for your good sportsmanship blah blah blah …”
As Coach Cantwell drones on and on, Lexi and I roll our eyes at each other. I can’t wait to get this disgusting goalie armor off and shower for about a week.
“… like to thank Julie for being a terrific captain! And lastly, don’t forget that the sports awards assembly will be blah blah blah …”
Finally she wraps it up and I practically sprint over to my friends in the bleachers. “We have to get some pizza immediately,” I gasp. “I think I’m dying of malnutrition.”
“I’m not going to a public place with you smelling like that,” JoJo replies, wrinkling her nose. “You barely even moved the whole game! How can you smell so horrible?”
“JoJo!” Em scolds her. “Don’t be a jerk.”
“Oh, come on. I’m only saying what you’re thinking. Kelsey, you smell like a … like a foot. A diseased foot.”
“Gee, thanks, JoJo.” I hold my nasty padded goalie shirt away from myself. “Ugh, I can’t wait to get this stupid uniform off. Listen, I’m going to run in and toss this thing in my gym locker. Meet me by the front doors, okay?”
“Okay, but hurry. It’s cold!”
I head inside the locker room and wrestle the goalie garb off. It does smell disgusting. I really should just light it on fire, for all the g
ood it’s done me this year. I pull on my regular clothes and text Em that I’m coming. Then I text Lexi and ask her to save us all seats at Antonio’s, since that’s where everyone is heading.
It’s faster to go back outside than through the building to get to the front doors, so I circle back around the field, where the guys’ varsity team is playing. I see Cassidy standing near our team’s goal, watching Jordan play. I have to admit, he looks really good out there. Then I remember that he is an imbecile. And even though the last thing I want to do right now is talk to her at all, I absolutely have to tell Cass about Lori Soler.
I decide it’s better to just get it over with, so I go over and clear my throat. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? I really need to tell you something.”
“Did you come to apologize?”
“Uh, no. What would I be apologizing for?!”
“Well, if you don’t know, I’m not going to explain it to you. Anyway, I’m watching my boyfriend right now. Can’t it wait?”
Well, that’s nice. This is off to an excellent start.
“Cass. It’s important. Seriously.”
She finally looks at me and heaves a big dramatic sigh. “Okay, what? Are you still mad that I’m going out with Jordan? I’m not going to let you make me feel bad, because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Cassidy, this isn’t about that. Although, since you asked, yes, I’m really pissed at you. But I still think it’s my responsibility as a friend to tell you that … um … well, that Jordan isn’t who you think he is.”
She’s blinks at me with wide “oh, you poor deluded soul” eyes. Then she says, “Kelsey, you don’t know anything about Jordan. That’s sort of the whole point, isn’t it?”
Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters Page 9
