I don’t know what they’re thinking about me right now. Are they tracing all the blame back to me? Do they know how much I still care for Nathan, or do they think I’m trying to destroy him on purpose? People are always telling other people not to judge them before they get to know them. But it is neither strangers nor mere acquaintances who actually judge us the most, but our closest friends—because they think they know us so well, because they think they can step into our shoes and see the world from our eyes at any given situation, because they think they have access to all our intentions and motivations. Friends judge each other all the time, and judgment doesn’t hurt any less when it comes from people who actually have a right to pass it. When Anna started dating Miguel before she was completely over her ex-boyfriend Jaime, I knew she was making a huge mistake. And deep down, I believed she knew this too; I believed she was aware of the consequences, but she just didn’t want to set things straight. When Rickie complains about her perfect older sister Lexi, I know she’s secretly wishing she can be more like her, because she’s smarter and prettier and more sophisticated. When she tells us about another big purchase her mom and dad made to distract her from their absence in her life, I can’t help thinking she’s playing the role of poor little rich girl because it’s so convenient for her to portray her parents as the villains. Judgment, when it comes from friends, feels like a betrayal not just because friends aren’t supposed to judge each other, but because it is often more accurate than we would want to admit.
Another thing that feels like a betrayal is this: friends tend to get attached to each other’s romantic interests. It starts out slow—in the beginning, you are forced to get along with your friend’s boyfriend because it is the polite, proper thing to do. And then you get to know him, and you understand what your friend sees in him. He makes you laugh, or he gives you a ride home after gimmicks, or he sets you up with his cute brother. He becomes part of your group and part of your world, and eventually, he becomes your friend, too. So when things don’t work out between them, your loyalties are tested: how do you choose between two friends? Or, more specifically, how do you choose the girl friend you’ve known forever over the guy friend you only met through her when it is also a matter of right and wrong—when he’s obviously right and she’s obviously wrong?
I don’t know what they’re thinking about me right now, but I can guess whose side they’re on. I break the silence. “You know what, guys? I don’t need this,” I tell them bluntly. “I don’t deserve this. When you can finally be supportive of me, the way you should be, let me know.” I have never said anything like this to them, at least not out loud. It feels liberating, and for a moment, it makes me feel good. The stunned expressions on their faces giving me an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction, I get up and turn away. And crash right into Nathan.
My books and papers scatter all over the canteen floor, and Nathan scrambles to pick them up, muttering, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” Which is precisely what I should be saying to him, because it is the best explanation I could come up with: I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. I see him now, and he looks exhausted and miserable, like he hasn’t slept in days. He has lost weight (how do boys lose weight so easily?), and his eyes are puffy and tired. He needs a haircut and has missed one button on his polo, and I want to reach out and fix it. His hands are shaking when he gives me back the books and papers I dropped. I see him now, but he seems like he doesn’t even have enough energy left to look at me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he says.
I want to ask, how are you?, but it is a stupid, insensitive question and I hate it when people ask me that while I’m obviously having a bad day. When someone asks how you are, your response is almost always automatic: I’m fine, thanks. Except you’re not fine, and you’re not thankful, and the fact that you have to lie on top of everything else going against you makes you even less fine and less thankful.
But he’s the one who asks, “How are you?” and the way he says it makes it sound like a valid question. His genuine concern for me is peeking out from underneath all the layers of hurt, and I want to push it back down and tell it to stay put. I want him to go from careful to cautious to cold to cruel. I want him to have enough energy to really look at me so he can realize that from now on, especially when the new assistant basketball coach comes in, he cannot afford to let his guard down. His defenses are crucial, and I want him to start protecting himself, because nobody else can do that for him.
I reply, “I’m fine, thanks.” I do not ask him how he is in return. I see him now, but I also see how far apart we have drifted over a span of several days. I convince myself that this is a good thing, because the farther he is from me, the greater the distance between him and Nico. And I need that—I need a clear distinction between the two of them, I need to draw the line between who I should and should not see.
“I’m glad you’re fine,” he says. He is not being sarcastic; he is never sarcastic. He is being sweet and sincere and Nathan, the way he is sweet and sincere and Nathan with everyone.
I tell him, “I have to go.”
I get home that afternoon and head straight to my room to bury myself in homework. Nathan’s face has been flashing through my mind the whole day, and I need to forget about him and my little outburst in front of Anna and Rickie. I am knee-deep in a torturous Trigonometry problem when the phone rings. I am the only person in the house and I don’t answer it—if it’s really important, the caller would probably try again later, when I’m in a better mood. It stops ringing for about five seconds before it starts again, and I begrudgingly pick it up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Chrissy,” Nico says. It is not an affectionate hi, but a perfunctory hi, and he sounds annoyed about something. I try to remember if I said or did anything wrong during the car ride this morning, but all I remember is him asking me to take things slow. Maybe it was a trick question, maybe I was supposed to protest and tell him I was ready for a relationship right now. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to think it was a great idea, and maybe he was just testing me to see how much I wanted to be with him. I’ve watched Rickie do this many times before: After two weeks of dating, she’d ask a guy if he loved her, and when he said yes, she’d tell him he was moving too fast and suggest they start seeing other people. When he said no, she’d call him a jerk and tell him it was his loss. Either way, the guy simply could not win. If that’s what Nico is trying to do now, then I don’t get it and I definitely don’t like it. Why can’t people just say what they mean and mean what they say?
“Did you just get home?” he asks. “I told you to text me.”
“Oh,” I say. “No, I’ve been here for about an hour. Sorry, I was doing Trigonometry homework.” It is not a sorry sorry, but a perfunctory sorry, and I don’t know why I’m even apologizing for doing homework—when has it ever been a crime to do homework? (Of course, I know that homework is not the real issue here. But I am tired and sad and confused and I feel like crying, and I don’t know what else to focus on.)
“That’s okay,” he says, like he is making an effort to be mature and understanding about this, like I am a wayward kid he has to be patient with. “Would you like to have coffee with me now? I can pick you up.”
Did I not just say I was doing homework? I struggle to put at least a hint of a smile in my voice, “I can’t, Nico. I have to do my homework.”
“That’s okay,” he says again, in the same patronizing tone.
“Okay,” I echo, just to keep the conversation going. I wonder why I can’t think of anything to say to him. After twenty years of marriage, my mom and dad still don’t run out of things to tell each other at the dinner table. Usually, they’d ask me and Justin first how our day was. I’d say something about school, and Justin would give us a recap of a whole episode of SpongeBob SquarePants he had watched that day, laughing over the funny parts himself before actually narrating what happened to Patrick or Squidward or Plankton. And then my dad would
turn to my mom and ask, “How was your day, dear?” and my mom would tell him about one of her students (you’ll know who her favorites are for the semester because she talks about them more often), or about a novel she’s reading that she was absolutely sure my dad would love. My dad would then tell her about a new customer in the restaurant who promised to visit again, or about a regular one who keeps coming back and bringing different sets of friends with him. My parents do this every night at dinner, and although the stories tend to overlap and repeat themselves, they never seem to get tired of hearing about the details of each other’s day. I wonder how some couples can do that—be together for an entire lifetime and not get bored with each other. I wonder how you keep track of the bigger picture, your marriage, above the errands and deadlines and all the little things that stress you out every day. I wonder if Nico and I will end up like my mom and dad. They say children who were born to parents who stay happy through the years will always choose love over hate, laughter over anger, and forgiveness over resentment, no matter what. I wonder whether or not I shall prove this true.
Nico tells me, “Well, you should probably go back to your Chemistry.”
“Trigonometry,” I correct him.
“What?” he asks.
“Trigonometry,” I say. “I never said I was working on Chemistry.”
“Well, you should probably go back to your Trigonometry, then.”
“Why did you think that?”
“Why did I think what?”
“What made you think I was working on Chemistry?”
“Nothing.”
“It can’t be nothing.”
“I don’t know, I thought I heard you say Chemistry.”
“I never said Chemistry.”
“Yes, Chrissy, we’ve already established that.” I can almost see him gritting his teeth in frustration, and the fact that he is getting frustrated with me is making me feel frustrated, too. “Why is this such a big deal to you?”
“It’s not a big deal,” I lie. “Look, I just...”
“I know, I know,” he says. “You don’t have time for me right now. Go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye.” He hangs up and I am left wondering why if I’m the one who has to go, I’m still the one who ends up feeling abandoned. I am left wondering how Nico can alternate back and forth between making me feel like I am special and beautiful and worthy, and making me feel like...this.
But I don’t have to wonder why it was such a big deal to me: It bothers me because he hears Chemistry when I say Trigonometry, because he hears I don’t have time for you right now when I say I have to do my homework; and yet he doesn’t hear I think that’s an awful idea when I say That sounds like a great idea. It is a big deal because he hears things I don’t say, but never when I need him to.
Rule number 6:
Learn to listen.
I wake up on a Sunday morning to the sound of all-out bawling coming from the front yard. Oh no, did Justin fall off his bike again? I knew I should have bought him those knee and elbow pads. Worried, I jump out of bed, take the stairs two steps at a time, and run outside. Justin is sitting on the grass, his face a scary shade of red, contorted into an expression that can only be described as a hysterical sort of upset. He can barely breathe from all the screaming, and he is clutching clumps of grass and dirt in his fists. His light blue shorts are stained with mud, and his shirt is soaked with sweat. Mom is crouching helplessly beside him, trying to calm him down.
“What happened?” I ask. Justin is a generally well-behaved kid and rarely throws tantrums, so this is a cause for alarm. I can barely hear myself above his crying.
“We went next door for his playdate with Gio, only to find out they were gone,” Mom explains.
“What do you mean, gone? Gone where?”
Mom pulls me aside and whispers, “The guard at the gate says Mrs. Diaz drove a loaded van out of the village last night, with Gio in the front seat. Gossip travels fast around here, and apparently, she caught her husband with another woman. They had a huge fight, things got ugly, and now she and Gio are moving to Cebu to stay with her sister for good.”
“Oh my God,” I say. I feel myself involuntarily plopping down on the grass as well. The Diazes seemed like a lovely, picture-perfect family, so this was extremely shocking news. They lived in a nice house, owned a nice car, dressed up in nice clothes. They seemed content and cheerful, and they had warm smiles and friendly greetings for everyone. From an outsider’s point of view, they were a portrait of happiness. I wonder what the rest of the world looks like from their perspective, and I wonder how they had managed to keep up their pretenses when the very structure of their family was crumbling from within. Justin and Gio have been best friends since they were toddlers—literally growing up together—and I understand now why my brother is so devastated. I stroke his back. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I tell him, trying to make my voice as comforting as possible. “Don’t cry, please.” It breaks my heart watching him, because really, how do you expect a five-year-old to deal with being suddenly abandoned? How do you explain to a little kid that abrupt changes and unwelcome surprises are two of the most consistent curveballs life will throw at him? I continue stroking his back, and this seems to soothe him a bit, because his bawling eventually turns to sobbing, and his sobbing quiets down to whimpering. He looks up at me and Mom with big, innocent eyes and asks, “Is Gio ever coming back?”
Mom and I glance at each other. She says softly, “No, honey, I don’t think he is. I’m so sorry.”
Justin’s lip starts quivering, but he takes a deep, brave breath and doesn’t cry again. Instead, he wipes his tear-stained face with his dirt-smudged shirt, then waits for me to stand and pull him to his feet. He takes my hand and lets me lead him back inside, lets Mom help him change into clean clothes, and lets me feed him Honey Stars in bed, the way I do when he’s sick or sad or not feeling well. I resist the urge to crawl in under the covers with him. He drifts off to sleep in the middle of the day, and I stare at him wistfully, wishing I could shield him from all the pain in the world, before tucking his blanket under his chin, kissing him on the forehead, tiptoeing out of the room, and carefully closing the door behind me.
“You know what your problem is?” Rickie asks me. I know she’s not really asking me, because my answer will not matter to her, because she’s going to tell me what my problem is anyway. I do not need Rickie to tell me what my problem is. I know what my problem is.
Anna pipes in, “She doesn’t know, Ric. Tell her.” I gave them permission to come over because they promised not to gang up on me, but both of them are clearly enjoying putting me on the spot. We are seated around the dining table, eating peanut butter waffles, and technically trying to patch things up.
“Your problem,” Rickie says authoritatively, “Is that you don’t even know you have a problem. You think everything will be okay even if you don’t actually get up to do something, you think things will work themselves out naturally.” I don’t know where this is coming from, and why she thinks she has a right to say this, although for as long as I’ve known her, Rickie has always been bossy and a bit of a know-it-all. I should be used to her acting like this, except it’s no picnic when the target is me.
“That’s ridiculous,” I say. “Of course I know there’s a problem.”
“Oh yeah?” She raises an eyebrow at me. “Have you talked to Nico about his new career path?”
“No,” I reply. “Not yet. Besides, where he wants to work and what he wants to do with his life is his choice, not mine. And I don’t think it has anything to do with me anyway.”
“Really, Chrissy?” Rickie says in a voice that should be used when speaking to a bunch of three-year-olds with learning disabilities. “You think it’s just one big coincidence? You think he’ll show up for his first day of work and be like, ‘Oh, hey there, girlfriend! How’s it hanging? Silly me, I totally forgot you studied here. Isn’t this the coolest? I can make you bantay every day!’ Come on, Chris. Even yo
u can’t be that naive.” I know I should be royally pissed at her because a) she is making fun of Nico, b) she just called me naive, and c) by “naive,” I know she meant “stupid.” But I find her mockery amusing rather than insulting, and I have to stifle a laugh because a) she just made Nico sound like a cross between a kikay colegiala and a stoner surfer dude, or a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, b) Nico would never say “make you bantay,” and c) Nico would never use the word “girlfriend” in that context. Actually, now that I think about it, he might never use the word “girlfriend” in reference to me, because “let’s take things slow” could mean “I don’t ever want commitment,” and this realization is not funny at all.
“You really think it has nothing to do with you?” Anna asks. “Or with Nathan?”
“I would like to think,” I say, in a controlled, even voice, “that I know Nico better than you do.” There. I have pulled out the Us Against the Universe card, and nobody can argue with that.
“This is not a competition,” Anna tells me. “Of course you know Nico better. But do you know him enough?”
“We grew up together,” I remind her.
Every Girl's Guide to Boys Page 4
