“I do too,” she said. “I’ve wanted a Jeep since I was a kid. When I moved back to take care of my mom, I finally bought one for myself. It was kind of a consolation prize for leaving the city.” She put on her right blinker and pulled onto Fielding Street.
“Do you miss New York?”
“Not really. I’d lived there for so long that it had stopped thrilling me. When you first get there, you go to Times Square on purpose, and it’s like, Lights, crowds, life! Then 15 years pass and Times Square becomes this place you’d do anything to avoid. Booking a Broadway show, you’re overjoyed and then you think, Oh God, but I’ll have to commute through Times Square.” She glanced at me and said, “Don’t listen to me. You want to move there, right?”
I nodded.
“Do it. You’ll love it. You’ll live in some amazing dump in Ridgewood, and you’ll eat the best food of your life, and you’ll get rush tickets and go to rooftop parties and see famous authors read for free. OK, I do miss it.”
The thing about Miss Murphy is, she’s calm all the time, even in situations that would make most people tense, like driving around with their married boyfriend’s daughter. Her voice is steady. She sounds interested and amused. She flips her visor up and down with a flourish. I was twitchy with nerves when I got in the car, but her calm was catching. By the time we pulled into my driveway, I felt almost normal.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said. I paused with my hand on the door handle because I was sure she was going to stop me and insist on having a big talk.
“Sure thing,” she said, and smiled. I waited for another second, but all she said was, “See you tomorrow.”
Thursday, November 10
Tris invited me over after school, which was perfect, because I didn’t have to avoid Miss Murphy or accept another ride from her. We spent most of the afternoon debating which outfit he should wear to the game. When I suggested his cable-knit fisherman sweater, he said, “Why would I want to look like a dad?” Then he winced and said, “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
“I know it doesn’t matter what I wear,” he said.
“Of course it does! You have to feel cute, or you won’t feel confident.”
He tried on every sweater he owns, but nothing satisfied him. I know the feeling. The problem is, sweaters don’t help. The only thing that would help is the total certainty that the person you love loves you back.
Friday, November 11
Noelle’s spending Thanksgiving with her mom at the Ace Hotel in Palm Springs. She’ll be floating in a pool on an inflatable raft while I shiver in the stands, trying to pretend my heart isn’t breaking while I watch Grady and Reese fawn all over each other.
Saturday, November 12
Dad came downstairs after lunch smelling like aftershave, wearing a new shirt. I looked up from my phone and asked him why he looked so fancy.
“I’m meeting Miss Murphy for coffee,” he said, pretending to be nonchalant.
“Oh, cool. Have a good time,” I said, pretending right back at him. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and then he said, “I’ll be home in time for dinner,” and headed out.
I am a rock. I am an island.
Sunday, November 13
“Do you guys talk about me on your dates?” I asked Dad at breakfast.
“We do, actually,” he said. “I hear you wrote an excellent paper on Emily Dickinson.”
“Don’t try to butter me up,” I said.
But secretly I’m so excited Miss Murphy liked my paper enough to tell my father about it.
Monday, November 14
Miss Murphy came toward me after school today, said “Ride?” and turned an imaginary steering wheel. Nadine Wallach was passing by, and she looked at us with interest. “Hey, Chloe!”
“Hi!” I called. After she was around the corner, I said, “It was fun the other day, but . . .”
Miss Murphy waited.
“It’s just that if other kids, like, see us together . . . I don’t want them to think I’m getting special treatment, or whatever.” I’d been staring down at the barf-colored tile during this speech, and when I glanced up to look at her face, I saw that I’d hurt her feelings, but she was trying not to show it.
“Right! Of course.” She laughed. “I should have thought of that. I like to think I’m not a clueless old person, but of course I am. Anyway. I understand completely.”
“Sorry if I—”
“No, no, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Really.”
I had no idea how to end the conversation. Maybe we’d stand there silently until the janitors came around and turned the lights off.
She cleared her throat. “If you’re worried about your dad and me being spotted—we never go out in town. We always drive—none of the students here will ever know anything about my dating life, is what I mean to say.”
She was blushing. I felt bad for her, and for myself.
“Have I tortured you enough for one afternoon?” she said, and laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo.”
Tuesday, November 15
I had to focus my entire attention on not being awkward in English class today, whereas Miss Murphy was being effortlessly normal. Maybe I’ll learn how to do that when I’m 35 (which is how old Miss Murphy is, which I found out via a three-second Google search, which means she’s 15 years younger than my dad, which is revolting).
Wednesday, November 16
Grady and Reese were full-on making out by the auditorium today. Isn’t there some kind of ordinance against French kissing on school grounds?
Thursday, November 17
Klaxon! Klaxon! Klaxon! I’m texting with Mac!!!!!!!
You pumped to see me in a week?
You’re coming home?? Don’t you have a game?
Not until Saturday. Coming home Thursday leaving Friday morning
And you’ll have time for me?
Of course dummy
Yayayay
Nothing since then. Should I text again proposing a specific plan, or would that be annoying? He probably wants to be spontaneous and see where the visit takes him, right? Fine by me. He’s busy playing college football and being a big man on campus. I’m busy taking Snickers for walks and carefully rewriting tweets for an hour to make sure they sound casual and breezy. I can work with his schedule.
Friday, November 18
Seeing Mac is a terrible idea. Why do I keep forgetting this? He has a girlfriend. He’s not interested in me. He treated me like garbage six months ago. I have to somehow stop my heart from racing whenever I see a text from him. My heart is an idiot!
Saturday, November 19
Dearest Chloe,
As Thanksgiving approaches, I want to tell you how grateful I am for your existence. Although we’re apart right now, I am connected to you always and ever thankful that you are my daughter.
Love,
Mom
I’m sure this is beautiful writing, and it would make most daughters cry, but most daughters don’t have my mom. Connected to me always? More like totally unaware of what’s going in in my life.
Sunday, November 20
Dad came into the kitchen as I was eating peanut butter pretzels and said, “I heard Miss Murphy gave you a lift the other day.”
“Yep,” I said.
He was giving me an eager, hopeful look, and it made me want to hurt his feelings. I know he’s dying for me to become best friends with Miss Murphy, or, at the very least, to say something nice about her. It’s not even unreasonable, but it still makes me furious. I don’t want him to force her on me. I don’t want her to force herself on me. I want them both to leave me alone. I have one (awful) mother, and I don’t need another one.
Dad lingered for a minute, but I refused to look at him. After he left, I felt terrible.
Monday, November 21
Would it be a bad idea to text Mac to see if he’s going to the game? It’s not that I care
either way. It’s that I want to know so I can prepare myself emotionally for either possibility.
Tuesday, November 22
I regained sanity and did not text Mac. Good gravy! “Prepare myself emotionally”? There should be no emotional preparations necessary. Mac is my jerky non-ex-boyfriend. He is not part of my life now, and he never will be. End of discussion!
Wednesday, November 23
Half day, which I didn’t even enjoy, because no classes in the afternoon meant more time to sit around panicking about tomorrow.
As I was biking past the fields, I saw Grady walking back from the clearing with his friend Elliott. They were talking and laughing, and Grady was gesturing with his hands. He has good posture. He carries himself like he’s somebody. Which he is, of course.
Thursday, November 24
This was like a fairy tale Thanksgiving. Not the kind that ends in a wedding—the kind with three visitors who look beautiful but are actually wizened crones.
The football game started at 10 a.m., which meant I had to get up at the crack of dawn to cute-ify myself. Hannah and Tristan and I met in the parking lot at 9:50 so we could walk to the field together. It was freezing, and we were all bundled up. It made me happy to see Tris’s and Hannah’s familiar old hats from last year. I’d forgotten all about them, and now here they were, back again, pom-poms and all.
We bought hot chocolate and went to our usual spot at the north end of the bleachers. Hannah looked around cheerfully. Her phone chimed, and she said, “Sorry, I have to text with my aunt for a second.” Tris stared at the field with his eyes unfocused.
“Roy thought he might be a little late,” he said, which he’d already told me at least three times.
“I’m sure he’ll come soon,” I said, and then I noticed Grady and Reese arriving. She was wearing a white coat with fur trim, a pink knit cap with a white fur puff on top, and mirrored sunglasses with white rims. He had on a fleece jacket, a down vest, and a purple-and-teal knit cap that was either accidentally or intentionally ’90s chic.
“Reese looks like a sexy marshmallow,” Tris said.
“In a good way?” I asked. It was so nice of him to take an interest in my concerns when most people would have been too focused on seeing their boyfriend for the first time in months to pay attention to anything but themselves.
“Marshmallows should never be sexy,” he said firmly. And then we stopped talking, because Reese turned, scanned the bleachers, spotted us, and waved enthusiastically.
“Did she hear us?” I said, trying not to move my lips.
“Impossible,” Tris said, as Reese said something to Grady, who looked up at us briefly and nodded. Then Reese started climbing the stairs, stopping along the way to dole out hugs and dimples to her many admirers.
“Hannah,” I said, elbowing her in the ribs. She emerged from her phone. “I think Reese is coming over.” For some reason it seemed important that all three of us be completely alert for this strange event. I was right: Reese made a beeline for us and said, “Hey, cuties! Why are you hiding way up here? You know everyone else is down by the field, right?”
We smiled sycophantically. By “everyone else,” she meant the tiny innermost circle of popular kids. She must have known we would never sit next to them uninvited.
Reese pointed a white mitten at Hannah and addressed me and Tris. “Are you aware that this girl is a field hockey star?” We nodded, still smiling. “Her first year and she’s crushing it.”
“Tris and I aren’t, like, sports experts,” I said.
“But we can tell she’s good,” Tris said. It felt like he and I were Hannah’s lame parents, dazzled and scared by her confident new friend.
“She’s a natural athlete,” Reese said. She sat on the bleacher below us, next to Hannah’s feet, and said, “Seriously, Hannah, where have you been all my life? I have no idea why we’re not BFFs. We have everything in common. Plus you’re soooo adorable, and you probably don’t even realize it. You could be, like, hot.” She stood up and held out her mitten to Hannah. “Come with me for two seconds? I want to introduce you to some people.”
“Of course!” Hannah squealed. She took Reese’s hand and called “Be right back!” to us over her shoulder as she followed Reese down the stairs.
“What is even happening?” Tris whispered.
“Is Reese stealing her from us?” I whispered back.
“It doesn’t count as stealing when Hannah’s falling all over herself to be stolen.”
“We’d be exactly the same way,” I said. “Do you hear yourself talking to Reese?”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“Yes! That’s what I’m saying! Everyone talks crap about her, but no one’s brave enough to be rude to her face. Tris and I aren’t sports experts,” I said in a simpering voice.
“We can tell she’s good,” Tris said in a singsong.
We looked at each other and shook our heads in mutual disgust.
“That BFF speech!” I said. “She insulted Hannah, like, four times, and me at least once, but I didn’t even realize it while it was happening, because she was smiling the whole time.”
“That part when she told Hannah she could be hot?” Tris shook his head. “So mean.”
Down near the field, Reese was showing off Hannah to her friends.
“Do you think Hannah knows that Reese turns on people?” Tris said.
I shook my head. “She refuses to see any flaws in anyone, unless the anyone is me.”
Tris was still staring at Reese, so I saw him first: Roy, threading his way through the crowd.
“He’s here,” I said, grabbing Tristan’s arm.
“Oh my God,” Tris said, and neither of us spoke again until Roy reached us, jogging the last few steps.
“Hey!” he said, and Tris stood up and threw his arms around him.
“Whoa, hi!” Roy said, hugging him back. They pulled apart and looked at each other, and I thought someone might say something romantic, but Roy only said, “I’m starving. Come with me to get some fries?” which actually might have been romantic, since it was an excuse to walk off alone together. Tris looked at me to make sure I didn’t mind, and I looked at him back to tell him of course he should go.
Don’t pull out your phone, I told myself as I sat alone on the bleacher. There’s no reason to feel awkward. No one cares that you’re by yourself, doing nothing. No one even notices. And you’re not doing nothing. You’re watching a game. Just sit here enjoying the cold air and the sound of grunting football players.
Reese had her arm around Hannah and was whispering something in her ear. Grady was on Reese’s other side talking to Lianna. Mark and Dylan were there—two of Reese’s male counterparts. It had to annoy them that Reese was dating some freshman, and not a member of their group. And didn’t it bother Grady, sitting there while these body-sprayed bros pretended he didn’t exist?
Grady must have felt me staring, because he glanced over his shoulder and we made eye contact. I immediately whipped out my phone and typed in my password at lightning speed.
I’m the only one left, I thought, staring into Snapchat without seeing it. Reese came for Hannah. Roy came for Tris. And then, like I’d willed him into existence, I heard Mac say, “Is this seat taken?”
I looked up. “Your HAIR!” I said.
He grinned at me and rubbed his hand over his head, which was buzzed. He looked like a marine. “My mom hates it,” he said.
“Can I touch it?”
“Gimme a hug first.”
I stood up, and he swept me off my feet and buried his face in my neck.
“That Choe smell!” he said, setting me down. “I missed it!”
“What do I smell like?” I said, horrified, and still reeling from the hug.
“Yourself. It’s nice. Calm down,” he said, and bent so I could reach his hair. He’s so much taller than Grady. He’s so much bigger than Grady. My hand looked tiny on his head.
“It feels like velvet,”
I said.
“I know,” he said. “I look bangable, right?”
“I forgot how cocky you are,” I said, and he laughed. He always thinks I’m funny, even when I’m not, and it’s so hard to resist.
He sat down, and I sat next to him. He scooched over until we were pressed up against each other. “You missed Big Mac. Admit it.”
“I missed you. But I’m mad at you.”
“For what? Tell me, so I can apologize.”
It was my chance to explain how miserable he’d made me last year. Finally, I could tell him exactly what I thought of him.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Forget it.”
Wonderful. So brave. So eloquent. I’m an inspiration to wronged women everywhere.
“So what’s going on with you?” he said. “Who’s your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have one,” I said.
He held his fist out. “Single and ready to mingle? Me too.”
“What do you mean?” I said, giving him a bump.
“Sienna and I broke up.”
“WHAT? Did you dump her?”
“We dumped each other about a week into classes. You’ll see when you get to college. It’s like, what would you rather do, fight constantly over FaceTime, take long bus trips, and get laid once a month, or not do that?”
“Do you have a new girlfriend?” I said.
He laughed. “Yeah, like, five of ’em.”
“Oh.”
“Come on, you don’t want to go out with some old perv like me. You’ve got a lot going on here.”
“Sure I do,” I said.
“Aw, cheer up, cutie.” He put his arm around me and jostled my shoulder. “You can be one of my girlfriends if you want.”
“Stop,” I said, and pretended to try to push him away, but he wouldn’t be pushed. He kept his arm around my shoulder while we talked about college and his mom and how much the football team sucks now that Mac’s class is gone. At one point Reese glanced up at us and then said something to Grady, who turned around and looked at me. I acted like I didn’t notice him. I wish I could say I wasn’t excited that he saw me snuggling with a college guy who’s twice his size, but there’s no point in lying to your own diary.
The Year of Living Awkwardly Page 8
