Tragedy Girl

by Christine Hurley Deriso

Dr. Sennett smiles. “Sounds like you have a lot to share,” she says. “Maybe your Aunt Meg is the right person to share it with. Maybe your mom is pulling some strings for you.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut self-consciously. “This is so not me,” I assure her. “I’ve never been boy-crazy or silly or superficial … ”

  “So this feels silly and superficial to you?”

  I shrug. “Actually, it feels like the opposite. I know it sounds silly and superficial—that’s why I’m so self-conscious about it—but I think the reason this guy and I are bonding is that we’re both grieving. His girlfriend drowned over the summer. I think we get each other … you know?”

  Again, Dr. Sennett’s face is unreadable, but her eyes prod me to continue.

  “Yet all this is taking place in high school, which means there’s a lot of silliness all around us,” I say. “This one poor insecure girl is totally threatened by me, and she made a scene at a bonfire over the weekend … then I think she left my friend a creepy anonymous note in her mailbox. I was nice enough to Blake today in school—that’s the guy—but I was kind of avoiding him at the same time, because I’m not sure I can handle all the drama. If it was just the two of us without all this attention focused on us, that would be one thing, but … ”

  “So what does your gut tell you?” Dr. Sennett asks. “Are you willing to push past the silliness to get to know him better? And keep in mind, although high school is definitely a microcosm, your life will always be subject to some degree of judgment and scrutiny. There’s no living in bubbles on this planet.”

  “I get that,” I say. “And yeah, I think I want to get to know him better. It’s just, the silliness notwithstanding, I wonder sometimes … do I really even know him at all?”

  More seconds tick away on the clock.

  “I think that’s what a relationship is about—getting to know somebody,” Dr. Sennett says. “Maybe he’ll be the love of your life. Maybe you’ll look back six months from now and wonder, ‘What was I thinking?’ Maybe he’s a prince; maybe he’s a jerk. I think the trick is knowing you don’t have to be able to peer into the future; you just have to trust yourself to make adjustments when you need to. Enjoy the ride, pay attention, and know when it’s time to strap yourself in for the long haul … or time to step off.”

  I sweep my bangs off my forehead and look up at her shyly. “He asked me out again today,” I tell her. “He wants to go out this weekend … another double date with his best friend and a friend of mine. All of our dates so far—well, both of our dates—have been with other people along.”

  “Even better,” Dr. Sennett says smartly. “Never hurts to have a girlfriend’s set of eyes for some objective feedback.”

  My stomach tightens, but I nod.

  “Remember,” she says as we wrap up our session, “you don’t have to have your whole future carved out in the next fifteen minutes. You just have to trust yourself.”

  Aunt Meg turns down the radio as she drives me home and glances at me with her peripheral vision.

  “So … it went okay?”

  I peer into the late-afternoon sun. “Yeah,” I say. “It did. Thanks for arranging that, Aunt Meg. It was really thoughtful.”

  Her face brightens. “I’m so glad it went well, honey. Mark thought it might seem pushy to set up an appointment, but it always helps to talk things through, right?”

  I smile. “Hey, Aunt Meg?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know when I went out with friends a couple of times over the weekend?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well … there’s this guy I kinda like.”

  I can tell she’s willing herself to under-react, which strikes me as touching.

  “Yeah … ?”

  “His name is Blake,” I continue. “We’ve only seen each other a couple of times—outside of school, I mean—but he’s asked me out again this weekend, and I think I’m feeling pretty good about it.”

  Aunt Meg nods, her eyes still on the road. “So he’s a nice guy?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “He seems really nice. More mature than the average guy, I think, because he’s been through a lot.”

  “Oh?” Aunt Meg says, still committed to nonchalance.

  “He had cancer when he was a kid, and then his girlfriend died over the summer.”

  Aunt Meg catches her breath. “Oh no!”

  “She drowned,” I say.

  Aunt Meg steals a glance at me. “What was her name?”

  “Cara.”

  Her eyebrows widen. “I work with her aunt at the insurance agency. That was huge news—so tragic. Her family was just devastated.”

  “So … did you know Cara?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but I know a lot about her. I think she and Blake dated forever. Her family was really fond of him.”

  I press my parents’ rings against my chest. “So did they blame Blake at all? I mean, for the drowning?”

  “Oh, no. They knew it was a terrible accident. In fact, they were really worried about Blake and the other kids being traumatized. I know they wanted him to speak at her funeral … ”

  “I read a newspaper clipping,” I say. “He was too upset to speak. So was his friend Jamie. They’re the ones who went out on a jet ski looking for her.”

  She shakes her head some more. “So tragic.”

  I nibble at my nail, then ask, “Do you think it’s weird I’m seeing him? I mean, so soon after the accident? Does it look insensitive?”

  Aunt Meg thinks for a moment, then says, “I don’t think it’s insensitive … just maybe a little more intense than you’d want to sign on to for at this point in your life. I mean, after everything both of you have been through … ”

  “It’s nothing serious,” I stress.

  “Well … things like this can get serious pretty quickly. Would you be up for that?”

  “I don’t know,” I say wistfully. “I just know I’m enjoying spending time with him.”

  She nods, then says, “Well, I’d love to meet him. Wanna invite him over for dinner some time this week?”

  “You mean at your house?” I clarify.

  “Um, actually I mean at our house,” she says, then reaches over to playfully pinch my thigh.

  I laugh lightly.

  “Okay,” I say. “Our house it is.”

  Ten

  “Then I blew out my knee during the third game of the season last year, so that was the end of football for me.”

  Uncle Mark and Aunt Meg nod as they take bites of their lasagna.

  “That’s a shame,” Aunt Meg tells Blake, “but it’s incredible you’ve been so active. I mean, in spite of your health problems.”

  I swallow hard. I really have embraced Dr. Sennett’s advice since meeting with her two days earlier, trying to make more room in my life for my aunt, but it’s moments like this that make me cringe. Aunt Meg seems to have an unerring knack for putting her foot in her mouth. I’m mortified Blake thinks I go around blabbing about his past. But he pushes past the awkwardness good-naturedly.

  “You mean my cancer?” he asks.

  Aunt Meg nods, her eyebrows an inverted V. “I hope you don’t mind that I mentioned it … ”

  “No, no,” he assures her, his blue eyes sparkling. “Yep, I had cancer, and yep, it was touch-and-go for a while. But once my doctors gave me a clean bill of health, I moved forward full steam ahead and never looked back, other than volunteering for cancer causes every chance I get. I’d spent enough time on the sidelines in hospital beds hooked up to IVs. I wasn’t about to waste another minute.”

  “Very admirable,” Uncle Mark says softly, dabbing his mouth with his napkin.

  “Absolutely!” Aunt Meg agrees, hoisting her wine glass in the air. “You’re obviously a very resilient young man. That, and overcoming your loss this
summer … ”

  I grit my teeth. But again, Blake is unflappable, game for whatever Aunt Meg wants to lob his way.

  “That made cancer seem like a walk in the park,” he says solemnly. “I pray for Cara’s family every day. And I take flowers to her mother every Sunday. I guess that might sound a little corny, but … ”

  “It’s a lovely gesture,” Aunt Meg says. “You know, I work with her aunt.”

  Blake’s eyebrows crinkle. “Really … ”

  “Cathleen Wexler?” Aunt Meg says, nodding. “Her mother’s sister?”

  “Right, right,” he says, gripping his fork a little tighter. “Aunt Cathleen. Give her my love, won’t you?”

  Aunt Meg rests her chin on her folded hands. “Wow. You really are close to the family.”

  Blake holds her gaze, an enigmatic smile on his face. “I just tend to be very loyal to the people I care about.”

  He takes my hand and squeezes it lightly. I glance at Uncle Mark, who is peering at our enfolded hands. When he notices that I’m looking at him staring at our hands, he shakes his head lightly and looks away.

  “So,” Uncle Mark says. “Anyone up for dessert?”

  “You’re sure?”

  The crickets chirp as Blake and I sway gently on the front-porch swing after dinner. “I’m sure,” I insist. “I’ve barely even passed her in the hall. I promise, Natalie is not harassing me.”

  And it’s true. Maybe she was embarrassed enough by her scene at the bonfire to abort her campaign to keep me away from Blake. Or maybe she knows Melanie and I suspect her of writing the note—which would mean, of course, that she did write the note, or at least know about it. Yes, all signs are pointing to Natalie as the culprit, which gives me a huge sense of relief. It eliminates the creepy unknown factor, and it makes Natalie’s behavior outrageous enough that maybe she’s decided she went too far. The upshot is that she’s leaving me alone. At least for now …

  “I want you to let me know if she bothers you,” Blake says firmly. He stops the swing with the heel of his foot, then places his palm against my cheek. “I couldn’t stand it if I thought our relationship was causing you pain.”

  Our relationship. When I used the word “relationship” during my phone conversation with Sawyer, I immediately wondered if I was delusional. Blake and I had only had two dates, for crying out loud. But now, as we’re finishing up our third date, Blake’s called it a relationship too.

  Dr. Sennett’s words echo in my head: I think that’s what a real relationship is about … getting to know somebody.

  And when both parties agree it’s a relationship, well …

  that makes it pretty official, right? I mean, he’s just voluntarily had dinner with my aunt and uncle. And he’s already made plans for Saturday night, another double date with Jamie and Melanie, without really even asking if I was free, because it was just kind of implied. When your weekend plans are implied, well …

  Blake laughs at me, his eyes sparkling.

  “What?” I say.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks, his palm still caressing my cheek. “I can just see those wheels turning in your head a hundred miles an hour.”

  I consider saying something witty or self-effacing, but opt instead for authenticity as our eyes study each other in the gauzy moonlight. “A relationship,” I say softly. “You called our friendship, or whatever it is … you called it a relationship. I guess I’m wrapping my brain around having a relationship with somebody I just met. Is it possible to feel this strongly about somebody you didn’t even know existed a mere two weeks ago?”

  He leans in and kisses me, a tender, languid kiss. “You’ve taught me the answer to that question,” he says as he pulls ever-so-slightly away, our lips still touching. “I’m falling in love with you, Anne.”

  “ … almost too smooth.”

  Uncle Mark and Aunt Meg blush as I walk into the kitchen, clearing my throat to signal my arrival yet still catching them off guard.

  “Who’s too smooth, Uncle Mark?” I ask him, genuinely intrigued to see my laid-back uncle suddenly seem so intense.

  He tosses the dish towel to Aunt Meg, who busies herself threading it through the refrigerator handle.

  “So Blake’s already left?” Uncle Mark asks, shifting his weight.

  I nod. “He just left.” I bite my lower lip. “Is that who you were talking about? Blake?”

  After a couple of seconds of watching Uncle Mark cast about for a response, Aunt Meg jumps in. “Blake is wonderful,” she assures me. “Your uncle and I are both very impressed. It’s highly unusual for a guy his age to be so … poised, I think is the word Uncle Mark was looking for. It just caught us off guard, I guess. In a good way, of course.”

  She nods vigorously, apparently pleased with her word choice.

  But Uncle Mark isn’t nodding. He’s just standing there looking … concerned. Aunt Meg’s spin notwithstanding, he definitely wasn’t giving Blake a compliment when I walked into the room.

  Too smooth.

  That’s what he said.

  Eleven

  “Oh, you should come too!”

  Lauren gives Melanie a level stare. “Right. There’s nothing pathetic about that.”

  “You wouldn’t be a third wheel,” Melanie insists. “You could invite Garrett.”

  Lauren raises a hand. “You. Must. Stop.”

  Melanie picks up a chicken nugget and gives an exaggerated pout before popping it into her mouth. “I think he really likes you,” she says, her mouth full.

  “Based on how many times he’s called me since the bonfire?” Lauren says. “Let’s see … hmmmm, wait a second, I’m counting … Okay, got it: he’s called me zero times. Go on your little double date. I’ll sit home and crochet.”

  “So Blake ate dinner with your family last night?” Melanie asks me as people rustle around us carrying their trays to or from their tables.

  I pause for a minute. Your family. Yes, idiot. That’s who Uncle Mark and Aunt Meg are. They’re family.

  “Yep,” I say. “They wanted to meet him, and he was free, so … ”

  “Wow,” Lauren says. “Dinner with the fam. This is heating up pretty quickly.”

  I narrow my eyes quizzically. “Too quickly?” I ask them, genuinely interested in their opinions. “Is this weird?”

  Melanie offers a breezy smile. “What would be weird about it?”

  I ponder the question, then shrug. “He and Cara were so close. I think she’s the only girl he ever dated, and only a few months have passed since she—”

  “Hey, life goes on,” Lauren says, then sips her iced tea through a straw. “I mean, I feel terrible about the girl, but you can’t expect a guy to stay in mourning the rest of his life.”

  “Still,” I say, “they were incredibly close. He takes flowers to her mother every Sunday.”

  “Well, that’s adorable,” Lauren says drolly, and my stomach clenches as I wonder what she’s insinuating. I guess she sees the anxiety etched on my face.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it,” she assures me. “It is adorable. It’s very … Blake-like. He’s … quite a guy.”

  I purse my lips. I’ve been hearing these things about Blake a lot, but the compliments always seem tinged with a little, I dunno … sarcasm? What’s that about? Is it that noteworthy for a guy our age to be so mature? Is decency so extraordinary that people don’t really quite buy it? That’s totally unfair. So Blake’s not a typical shallow high school airhead. Sue him, for chrissakes.

  “Truly, Anne, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  I feel my neck grow warm. “It’s fine,” I murmur.

  A tense moment hangs in the air, then Melanie leans closer. “I told Lauren about the note.”

  What? We’d decided, that morning in her bedroom, to keep the note a secret. The last thing w
e wanted to do was fan the flames, intensify the drama, drag out the childishness—at least that’s the last thing I wanted to do. We even floated the idea that Lauren might have written the note, though that’s clearly a long shot. Yes, I know it’s hard to keep a secret, but I’m cringing right now. What is Melanie thinking ?

  I stare at Melanie with my jaw dropped.

  “Sorry, Anne,” she tells me, “but it’s too creepy not to talk about.”

  She reaches into her purse and takes out the note, smoothing the paper on her lap. I instinctively reach over and try to grab it, but Melanie moves it beyond my reach.

  Lauren presses her lips together. “Uh, in the first place,” she tells me in a steady voice, “I’ve already seen the note. Remember? And in the second, it’s Melanie’s note—not yours. Plus, Mel and I have been best friends since fourth grade, so … there’s that.”

  I feel my cheeks grow warm. Lauren’s message is clear: You’re the newcomer to the group. Back off, bitch.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you … and I know it’s not my note. I’m just really nervous about people being in my business … our business, I guess.”

  Lauren holds her frosty gaze. “Mel’s business.”

  “Right,” I murmur. “Mel’s business.”

  “Oh, girls, let’s all kiss and make up,” Melanie says briskly. “Don’t we have enough enemies without you two going at it?”

  Lauren is still staring at me. “I’m really sorry,” I repeat in barely a whisper.

  Melanie snaps us to attention. “Okay, let’s focus,” she says impatiently. “The question is, why would Natalie write the note when it’s Blake she has a crush on?”

  My eyes widen as I see Natalie approaching us as she makes her way to the lunch line. I hold my index finger to my lips. Melanie follows my line of vision, spots Natalie herself, then hastily refolds the note.

  “So Blake will pick us up Saturday night around seven?” she says, aiming for nonchalant.

  “Um … ”

  She shoots me a get-with-the-program glance.