30 Guys in 30 Days

by Micol Ostow

  “Oh, cool,” I said. I turned to go.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  I paused. Kyra and I weren’t exactly best buds. Should I really be confiding in her?

  I decided I didn’t have anything to lose. “I just broke up with my boyfriend.”

  Kyra’s eyes widened in sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry. Breaking up sucks.”

  “Yup,” I said shortly.

  “I thought …” She paused as though she was considering her words. “I thought you were into this dating thing. Gabe told me he heard you talking to your ex-boyfriend at the Tin Room about some quest to meet a certain number of boys.”

  My cheeks flamed red. “Uh, yeah,” I said, mortified. “It was just a joke. A way to get comfortable talking to guys again now that I’m single. Or was single. Or am single again.”

  “I love that idea,” she said. “It takes serious balls.” I never thought I’d hear someone as delicate as Kyra say the word “balls.” I smiled.

  Kyra leveled me with a look. “But maybe this is a good thing.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Maybe now you can be with the person you’re really crushing on?”

  If I thought my cheeks were hot before, my entire face was on fire now. “What do you mean?” I protested weakly.

  “Please,” Kyra said, smiling. She gathered all of her hair together and secured it into a messy bun. “‘Dear Answer Goddess: I’ve got a mad crush on this kid at the paper. I think we’re friends, but I have no idea whether or not he thinks about me “that way.” And I’m afraid to ask, in case he doesn’t. What do I do?’”

  I froze, mortified. Was I that transparent?

  She laughed. “No, you’re not that obvious,” she said, reading my mind and again suggesting otherwise. “But I’d have to be a moron not to see the chemistry between you and Gabe.”

  “But—,” I stammered, “he’s your boyfriend. I would never—”

  “Listen,” Kyra said, cutting me off and dropping her voice. “I actually have a secret of my own for you. Since we’re being so honest with each other.”

  I looked at her questioningly.

  “Gabe and I are old family friends. We grew up together in Highland Park. Our mothers met while we were in playgroup. He’s like a brother to me.”

  “So you’re not together?” I asked, stunned. I thought back to all of the times I’d seen them together, all of the times Kyra had slung an arm around his shoulder or ruffled his hair. I felt like I had at the end of watching The Sixth Sense: I’d been hoodwinked. Each incident had been a sham; I’d seen what I’d wanted to see, even though, technically, I could now understand that perhaps I’d misinterpreted the situation. Or even been deliberately misled. My eyes narrowed. “But, I thought …”

  “I know you did,” she said. “I think that was a little bit on purpose.”

  “Do you, um, like Gabe?” I asked nervously. Even if they weren’t properly together, I wasn’t keen on the idea of her as my competition. What with her being a goddess, and all.

  “I love Gabe,” she said. “And, yeah, I guess there’s a little part of me that ‘likes him likes him.’ I could tell that he has feelings for you, and it bothered me. I’m only human, you know. I guess I just sort of wanted to confuse you.”

  “Well, it worked.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Like I said, there was the jealousy factor. There will always be a little part of me that will wonder what it would be like to date Gabe. And then there’s the big-sister thing too—I wanted to be sure that you were good enough for him.”

  I bristled. “And I’m not?” I asked, sitting up straighter in my chair.

  “Claudia, when you got here, you were on the rebound. I didn’t want Gabe to get hurt.” She softened. “He’s really into you.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I asked, barely breathing.

  “Think about how he was at that party. He was pissy that you were with Sean. Were with Sean. Claudia—you have to tell him. How you feel. How you’re single. Seriously. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. And, by the way—”

  “Yeah?”

  “He never gives out passes to shows he wants to see. Let that be a lesson to you.”

  “I … wow.” I stood up and stretched. Kyra had dropped a lot on me, all at once. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. Talk to Gabe, I supposed, but there was too much going on in my head. I needed to think. I needed some time to myself.

  “You need some time to yourself, to think,” Kyra said matter-of-factly. “You’ll process this tonight and you’ll talk to Gabe this weekend. It’ll all be good.”

  I turned to her. “It’s very creepy, the way that you do that,” I said.

  She smirked. “It’s a gift.”

  I stood and said good-bye. The wheels in my mind were spinning, and I had no idea how to make them stop.

  11/7, 8:03 p.m.

  from: cbclarkson@woodmanuniv.edu

  to: gflynn12@woodmanuniv.edu

  re: the midterm

  Hey, there—

  Wanna be my study buddy?

  —xx

  On Monday, our professor announced our upcoming pop culture midterm. Monday night, I e-mailed Gabe about studying. I figured a one-on-one session would be a prime opportunity to talk to him about my feelings. And if I chickened out … well, at least I would have gotten some studying out of the way.

  On Tuesday, I hadn’t heard back from him. I decided not to freak about it. Again, I had no idea what else he had on his plate. So Kyra thought he was interested in me. What did she know? By her own admission, she’d been totally manipulating me for the past two months. I had no concrete proof he’d even given me a second thought since last week at the paper.

  On Wednesday, he still hadn’t written. By now I was slightly suspicious, more so when he arrived at class late and parked himself directly in the front row, miles from where I was sitting, and defiantly refused any eye contact whatsoever.

  I pounced on him the minute that class ended. “Hey,” I said, trying desperately to catch my breath and not appear as though I’d streaked down four rows to grab him before he left. “Did you, uh, get my e-mail?”

  “Yeah,” he said quickly, not meeting my gaze.

  “Oh,” I said. I paused for a beat. “Um, why didn’t you write me back?” I hated the way I sounded: insecure, whiny. Sad.

  “I just assumed you were too busy to study,” he said evasively.

  “Huh?” I said, genuinely puzzled. “Why would I have asked you to study if I didn’t have time?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, still averting his eyes. “Maybe you’d be caught up in something. Or someone else. Like a target.”

  Now he looked at me. Gone was his usual sunny smile. Instead, he looked confused and a little bit insecure.

  “You knew about that,” I reminded him. “It was just a dumb game. You heard me talking about it at the Tin Room.”

  “I thought it was just a way to meet new people,” he said. “Until I came by the Brew and Gold the other day. I heard you talking to Kyra. Does Sean know that you were never really into him? Does he know that he was a target?” Insecurity was starting to give way to a sincere hurt and annoyance.

  “But … what?” I asked, stunned. “It was just, you know, a—”

  “Flirting is a game,” he said. “But when real emotions get involved, you should stop playing around.”

  Was he talking about the two of us? What else could account for his irrational behavior? I was totally thrown; not ready to let him know how I felt, but having no idea how else to diffuse this situation. “It’s not like that,” I protested. “It was just practice. For—”

  He shrugged. “Well, hopefully, talking to me was good practice too. Maybe all of our conversations will come in handy for you to refer back to one day, when it’s the real deal. You know, with someone who isn’t, um, like a brother to you.”

  “Gabe, that’s not even—” That’s not even it, I wanted to s
ay. You’re the real deal! I was practicing for you!

  Brother? Gabe had obviously only heard bits of my conversation with Kyra, and somehow had managed to hear the part where she’d said he was like a brother to her.

  Except, he had heard it wrong.

  He thought he had heard it from me.

  Suddenly, it all clicked in my mind. Kyra was right: He did like me. He had to. Otherwise why would he care if I saw him as a brother, cousin, or hell—even a grandfather? Why would he suddenly get so bent out of shape about “target practice”?

  It was Kyra, I thought desperately. You know her! How could you not have recognized her voice?

  But the words were stuck somewhere deep behind my rib cage. This was my moment, my chance to tell him how I felt. And it was all wrong. It was happening backward. He wasn’t supposed to be angry. Surprised, maybe. Pleased, if there was a god in heaven watching over me. I’d even take amused. But not angry. Anything would be better than angry; maybe even no reaction at all. “You heard wrong,” I said.

  The look in his eyes indicated that he was more than finished with our conversation. “Whatever,” he said, shrugging.

  “It was Kyra—,” I started again. My voice was a hoarse whisper, too low for him to catch even if he had been listening.

  It didn’t matter, though. He was already gone.

  11/10,2:34 p.m.

  from: clnorton@woodmanuniv.edu

  to: cbclarkson@woodmanuniv.edu

  re: BALLS

  I know, y’all are shocked at my language, but I’ve gotta be sassy now that I’ve finally grown me a pair!

  Crazy how we’ve managed to completely miss each other the last couple of days; whenever I’m home, it seems like you’re sleeping. But I’ve got huge news: I talked to Anu! I think things are going to be cool starting now. Can we meet at Brew and Gold at 5:15? I want to rehash.

  11/10,3:01 p.m.

  from: cbclarkson@woodmanuniv.edu

  to: clnorton@woodmanuniv.edu

  re: You kiss your mother with that mouth?

  Yes, I’m shocked and appalled. And dying to hear your story. Save a seat if you get there first, okay?

  —xx

  The last thing I wanted to do, really, was meet up with Charlie. Of course, I was thrilled that things seemed to be working out for her and her pledge sister; I knew how important the Tri-Delts were to her, and I wanted her to be happy. But I couldn’t bear the embarrassment of breaking the news to her of my abject failure on the Gabe front.

  It had been a full twenty-four hours since our humiliating encounter (or, if you want to get technical about it, my humiliating encounter. I don’t imagine that Gabe was at all humiliated by our little exchange). After Gabe had fled the lecture hall I had basically retreated to my bedroom and, Under the covers, sought refuge in Chinese food and trashy magazines. At some point, I guess I fell asleep. It must have been hours before Charlie came home, because I don’t actually remember hearing her come in. Today I had pulled myself together for classes, but that was about it. I’d avoided the dining halls, the library, the campus center … even the quad. I wasn’t interested in running into anyone.

  So it was with no small amount of trepidation that I wandered into Brew and Gold at five fifteen on the dot, cautiously scanning the room to find Charlie while remaining as invisible as I possibly could. She hadn’t arrived yet, so I ordered my drink and collapsed into a sofa in the most remote corner of the room. Someone had abandoned the day’s copy of the Chronicle on the side table next to me. I picked it up and began to casually flip through it, but pushed it aside again when I saw Gabe’s byline. For once, I didn’t want to read his piece.

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

  Suddenly Charlie was standing over me, unwrapping layer upon layer from her person. I laughed; it was mid-November, and the air had a definite snap to it, but only a Southerner would have overreacted like this. “Babe, what are you going to do when it snows?” I teased.

  “That’s when I get my mom to send along the electric blanket,” she said, completely deadpan. “Anyway, I need a coffee. Save my seat!”

  Five minutes later she was back on the couch, squished against the cushions and surrounded by her puffy outerwear. She looked warm, comfortable, and blissfully content.

  “Details, please,” I prompted.

  “Well,” she began, “I took your advice. I decided that I needed to nip this whole thing in the bud. I mean, my relationship with Anu can’t be based on this messed-up dynamic or it will never improve—even after I’m initiated!”

  “Agreed,” I said. “In fact, I think as a general rule, you should always plan to follow my advice.”

  “I intend to!” she said. “See, I sent her an e-mail asking if she’d meet me at the café down in Davis Square. Yesterday. And she did.”

  “Was it awkward city?” I asked.

  She nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. “At first. She walked in completely stiff. You could tell she wasn’t eager to be there. But I was really frank—in a polite way. I told her that I felt we’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but that as a pledge it was really important to me to have a good relationship with my sisters, and especially my big sister, and that if there was something specific that I had done, I wished she would tell me so that I could fix the situation. And I think she was just so embarrassed—because, of course, I hadn’t done anything, you know, and here I was trying to address the problem even though she’d made herself so unapproachable.”

  “So what did she say?”

  “Well, at first she got a little bit defensive, pointing out a few things that I’d done wrong here and there.”

  “Bitch,” I hissed.

  “Well, yeah, but she was smart; she only stuck to facts. I mean, I’ve messed up now and then.”

  “Who hasn’t?” I asked incredulously.

  “That was exactly my point. And then I went, blow by blow, through each of the mistakes that had bothered her so much, and I talked about how I thought her treatment of me was different from the other big sisters’ treatment of their little sisters, and even her treatment of other sisters. And I think I broke her down. She apologized. And she told me that maybe she’d been overreacting. Apparently Zach has been messing with her for ages now, and she can’t even bring it up with him anymore because it always leads to a fight. And so she feels really frustrated and powerless, and that’s why she was always taking it out on me.”

  “That’s lame,” I offered, somewhat less than helpfully.

  “True,” Charlie agreed. “But she’s my big sister, and I have to get along with her, lame or not. So I’m just glad it’s out in the open. And then she told me that she really respected the fact that I stood up to her.”

  “As I predicted!” I said, pantomiming patting myself on the back.

  “Whatever, you’re brilliant,” Charlie said, laughing. “Thank you for forcing me to do this.”

  “Anytime,” I said. I hugged her. “I’m so glad this worked out for you.”

  “Yeah! It’s amazing how both of our situations worked out so nicely. What were the odds?” she said, beaming.

  “Um, I guess not so good,” I replied, biting my lip. “Because my situation? Yeah, not so much with the working out. Gabe’s been avoiding me. He overheard me talking about ‘target practice’ with Kyra and flipped. He thinks that I think of him like a brother—total long story—and that he was just another ‘target’ to me. He won’t even talk to me now.”

  “What?” Charlie stared at me, genuinely confused. “No way. I thought you guys had hashed it all out. At least, that’s what I got from his personal.”

  Huh?

  “Once more, with feeling, Charlie,” I said, commanding myself to take deep, even breaths. “What personal?”

  She reached for the crumpled paper I’d recently discarded. “You didn’t see? What’s wrong with you? I thought checking the personals was the first thing you did every day.”

  I grabbed it from her and flipped to the back,
skimming greedily.

  There it was. The leftmost column, halfway down the page.

  CB-ARTSY—EVEN ROTATORS SOMETIMES MAKE MISTAKES.

  PLEASE COME BACK AND PRACTICE ON ME. 4:45 ON THE QUAD IN FRONT OF BURNHAM.

  I glanced at my watch. It was five thirty. “Shit.” I looked at Charlie, desperate.

  Her eyes were wide. “I just assumed you were coming from meeting him. I thought you’d have a cute anecdote to tell.”

  I looked down at my watch again, and then back to Charlie.

  She put her hands on my shoulders. “Claudia. Go. Now.”

  I ran.

  In my state of hysteria, Memorial Steps had become an Olympic-caliber obstacle course. As I climbed them two at a time I cursed myself for being so antigym. On the off chance that Gabe was still waiting on the quad, I’d be a crumpled, sweaty mess by the time I got to him.

  Of course, odds were that he’d be gone.

  The thought propelled me forward forcefully. It skittered across my brain with every bound: Be there, be there, be there.

  I paused momentarily at the top of the steps to catch my breath. My eyes flickered across the grassy expanse. Of course, Burnham was due north of where I stood. Another sprint. I was just thankful I wasn’t a smoker. I could see figures in front of the tall, brick building, but they were too far away to make out in detail. I sucked my breath in again and ran for it.

  As I grew closer I could see the outlines of the figures more clearly. One was short, wearing baggy pants, colorful sneakers, and a baseball cap. Not Gabe. The other was a tall, redheaded woman. Also not Gabe. My pace slowed and I came to a staggering halt, leaning against one of the columns of the building. I slumped over, dejected. I had missed him.

  “You all right?” the boy with the baseball cap asked me. From this proximity I could see he was Latino. Definitely not Gabe.

  “I, uh … I was looking for someone. Have you seen a guy around here—tall, skinny, dark hair?”

  The boy shrugged. “Nope. I’ve been here for a while, now. No one’s come by.”

  Oh. So it wasn’t that he’d come and gone, but rather that he’d stood me up.

  Much better.

  I would have just shoved off, back to the dorm, back to bed—or maybe even to find Gabe and demand to know what gave. But, as it was, my little impromptu workout had left me tired. I slid down to the ground and hunkered against the column, contemplating. I checked my watch for the umpteenth time. It read five forty-five. An hour later than Gabe’s proposed meeting. Maybe my watch was slow, though. Or fast. Or something, anything that meant he hadn’t blown me off completely. He’d never have written a personal like that if he didn’t want to see me, after all.