“Good,” Dad says. “Now go up to your room.”
I trudge upstairs and close the door behind me. I set down my overnight bag on my bed and start unpacking. I need to do something systematic, something that doesn’t involve emotions. I re-fold my clean clothes and place them in my closet, then line my toiletries up by height on the sink. I toss my empty bag onto the bathroom floor, but something clinks against the tiles, and I open it expecting to find a broken perfume bottle, or a shattered compact mirror. Instead, I find Nico’s silver watch, a thin crack running across its glass face. Oh no, why is this with me? And then I remember—Nico asked me to put it in his bag when he went surfing with Enzo, and I must have absent-mindedly put it inside mine. He always did this when we were younger: he’d ask me to hold on to a handkerchief or a piece of gum, or lend me a book or a CD, then forget all about it. He’d often call me at odd hours, asking me if he had left a jacket or a folder or a set of keys with me. I’d scramble to look for whatever item he was missing, knowing I was partly accountable for it. I’d swear to never allow him to leave stuff with me again, and he’d laugh and tell me, “If you say so, Chrissy.” And then he’d do it all over again. He was so careless with his belongings, and I was so careful about making myself better, making sure I was somebody he could count on. I wonder what I should do with his watch now. Should I wait for him to realize it’s gone, or return it right away? He is always losing things; I am always losing him.
Rule number 10:
Open your eyes to the
infinite possibilities.
.
It is always just a matter of perspective. When you realize “no Internet” means “no online advice column,” you can choose to see it as a positive thing; you need a break from it all anyway. In between classes, you describe the parental situation to your friend Anna and ask her to post a note explaining that you are going to be on leave for a while, and that you would be back soon. Besides, you don’t think you’re in any position to be giving good advice right now, so maybe it’s all for the best.
It is always just a matter of perspective. You can choose to look at being grounded as an opportunity to rest: catch up on your reading, spend time with yourself, update your old-fashioned journal, watch the DVDs of foreign movies you’ve never gotten the chance to sit down with, and just lie on your bed staring off into space and thinking about why you’re grounded in the first place. You can choose to look at being grounded as a vacation from your own normal fast-paced life, as something that will be beneficial in the long run.
It is always just a matter of perspective. When your parents are mad at you, you can either sulk and insist it wasn’t your fault, or get up off your ass to earn back their trust and approval. When your parents are mad at you, you can bring them breakfast in bed every day, offer to wash the car or do the dishes, and write them a long, sincere, heartfelt apology letter. You can prove that you are still “responsible” and “mature” and “level-headed,” even if you make the wrong decisions sometimes. You can prove that they have still done a wonderful job raising you, even though you can be stubborn and inconsiderate and childish. You can be persistent enough in showing how sorry you are, until they finally smile at you and start talking to you again.
It is always just a matter of perspective. When you’re stuck at home on a Friday night, you try not to think of it as torture. Instead, you knock on the door of your little brother’s room and tell him how much you’ve missed him. You’ve been too caught up in your own life that you’ve sort of been ignoring him recently, and you’d like to make it up to him. And so you watch cartoons, and eat cookies, and play board games. He asks, “You wanna draw?” and you say, “Okay.” You sit on the floor with a basket of crayons, drawing mountains and flowers and trees and houses. You peek at his paper, expecting to see a bunch of stick figures. Instead, you see actual portraits of people, with very realistic-looking eyes and ears and noses and mouths. Impressed, you ask, “Wow, Justin, how did you learn to draw like this?” and he replies, “Kuya Nathan taught me.” You ask, “When?” and he says, “The weekend after Gio moved away. He came over to cheer me up.” He tells you, “His basic rule was, ‘Draw what you love.’ And I like drawing people, so I’ve been practicing.” He shows you a booklet full of sketches of a girl who looks quite familiar. Your brother says, “Kuya Nathan left that with me. It’s his sketchbook. He says it might inspire me.” And you realize that the girl looks familiar because she looks a lot like...you. A happy you, a sad you, an annoyed you, a bored you—all captured fondly by hands belonging to someone who obviously appreciates all these various aspects and facets of yourself. Draw what you love, he said. And he chose to draw YOU.
It is always just a matter of perspective. When you see Nathan in school after dismissal the following Monday, you can be mad at him for ratting you out to your parents, for visiting your house and winning over your little brother without your knowledge, for being the reason why you’re grounded right now. Or, you can be happy that he’s in front of you at this moment. You can be happy that he seems to have forgiven you for everything you’ve done. You can be happy that, when it all amounts to something, the pure, simple truth is that he loves you.
It is always just a matter of perspective. This is what you can do: You can take his hand and thank him. For being patient, for being understanding, for being who he is. You can thank him for giving you time and space, for driving you home and taking care of you, for stepping aside and being the bigger person, for knowing you needed help even when you didn’t ask for it and probably didn’t deserve it. For always being in the background of your life.
You can say, “I hope you’re doing fine with Queenie Cooper,” to which he will reply, “I’m not with her. We’re friends. We have fun. But that’s it.” And then you can say, “I really thought you’d be good together,” and he will say, “Maybe. But she’s not you, Chrissy.”
And then you can wait for him to squeeze your hand and smile at you like you are the only person in the world, or at least the only person in the world for him. You can wait for him to tell you, “It has always been just you. And it will always be just you,” before putting an arm around you and offering to walk you to your car.
You can wait for him to do this. Because he will.
Dear friends,
My month-long hiatus is over. My parents have finally taken pity on me and un-grounded me, and it feels great knowing things can go back to the way they were.
But here’s the thing: I don’t want things to go back to exactly the way they were. This past month has made me realize so much, and mostly, it made me realize that change is inevitable. There has been a lot of speculation about my life lately (and I really don’t get that—I am not interesting at all), and maybe it’s time to clear things up. Yes, Nathan and I are officially a couple now. We’re trying to take things slow, working on building both the friendship and the romantic relationship. Nico has decided to move back to the States with Enzo; he feels he can find himself better there. He has promised me that if he ever comes back here again, he will do it for the right reasons.
Forgiveness—I guess that’s what this past month has truly been about. People hurt you, and lie to you, and take you for granted, and treat you badly, but eventually you learn to forgive. You learn to forgive because you have your own shortcomings and imperfections. You learn to forgive because life is too short to be bitter and angry. You learn to forgive because it is the only way you can move forward.
Which is why I hope you guys can forgive me for closing this site down. My mind is already made up—this site has fully served its purpose, and I thank you all for sharing this with me. Someday, I’d like to be able to be heard in this way again. But right now, I have my own problems to find solutions for, my own mistakes to make, my own dreams to chase, and ultimately, my own happiness to create.
Because, much like you, I am still learning.
Love lots,
Chrissy
Next in the Ev
ery Girl’s Guide series:
Every Girl’s Guide to Flings
Rule number 1:
Know where to start.
Hi, I’m Ericka Barcelona. Some people know me as Rickie, the wayward friend of good girls Anna and Chrissy—the girl in short skirts and high heels who has a hip party to go to every Saturday night, who so-and-so dated or so-and-so had a summer fling with—and I can’t really say I mind.
But most people know me as the sister of Alexa Barcelona, ”theater’s next big thing”, “favorite teen leading lady,” which translate to only one thing—superstar.
She came home last night in a good mood, as usual, telling our parents how the audience hung on to her performance. Of course, she was being all modest and humble and trying to downplay how amazing everyone thought she was, as usual. My parents gave her their full attention, as usual, listening to her story like they were not yet used to their daughter being so extraordinary. I simultaneously tried to tune them out and keep my ears peeled for the point where they finish fawning over her. I sulked in a corner of the living room, flipping through a gossip magazine as I waited. As usual.
And then she said, “Mom, Dad, do you remember Timmy Fernandez?”
“Your Philosophy classmate?” Mom asked. Of course she remembered. Lexi has had a crush on Timmy since heaven knows when. But then again, every other guy on the planet has a crush on Lexi. Timmy also happened to be Anna’s older brother, but I guess my mom wouldn’t know that, since she’s never had a single decent conversation with my friends.
“Yeah,” Lexi smiled. “He’s coming over in a while. We just need to discuss something for our group’s Philo paper. We won’t take too long.”
I thought, He’s coming over for something school-related, and she’s smiling like they’re about to go out on a date. She knows he has a girlfriend. Pathetic.
Dad yawned, standing up. “Well, good luck on the paper. Goodnight, munchkin.” Yes, he calls her munchkin. Yes, even in public sometimes. And no, she totally doesn’t mind. Eww.
Mom stood up to leave too, then noticed me in the corner, “Rickie, is that trashy magazine for school, or is there another good reason you’re still up?”
“I was just about to go to bed,” I said. I brushed past them, made my way upstairs, and locked my bedroom door behind me. After ten minutes, I heard Timmy talking and Lexi giggling. Schoolwork, my ass.
So, yes, I’m Rickie—Anna and Chrissy’s wayward friend, the girl this and that guy dated, and Lexi’s not-so-perfect younger sister. I’d like to be able to say that this is really all there is to me, that what you see is what you get.
But here’s the deal: give me a chance and I promise I’ll give you a whole new perspective on who I am. Whether it’s for the better or for the worse, well, that you’ll just have to decide for yourself.
About the author
At 23, Marla is still baffled by boys’ behavior. But that doesn’t mean she’ll give up trying to understand. She doesn’t need much to be happy—just quiet weekends with her family, people who let her think she’s funny even when she’s not (which is most of the time), and friends who stay up all night with her during intense, slightly-panicked writing sessions. She likes curling up with a David Levithan novel, typing the very last word to a story, and baby-sitting her two little boys, Macu and Cisco. She thinks being Candy Magazine’s Assistant Lifestyle Editor is pretty cool, and loves the fact that she gets paid to watch chick flicks, listen to her fave bands, and stalk her celebrity crushes.
Every Girl's Guide to Boys Page 8
