Forever for a Year

by B. T. Gottfred

  At practice Thursday, Tor said, “I see you got yourself a girlfriend, Pain,” because that had become my nickname.

  And I said, “Yep.”

  “You had sex yet?” one of the seniors, Edward, asked, then laughed as if what he’d said was a joke.

  “No,” I said.

  “Better find out if she’s a prude now so you don’t waste too much time with her,” he said. I wanted to beat Edward’s face in. But I didn’t do it. Of course not. I’m not a psycho in real life, only in my head. I hate that I’m a psycho anywhere. Maybe Carolina will make me normal.

  I didn’t care if Carolina was a prude. She wasn’t. But I wouldn’t care if she were. Can you be a prude with someone you love? I don’t know, but I don’t think so.

  * * *

  We went and saw a movie Friday. Her dad drove and dropped us off. He was super relaxed, which made him easy to be with. Like he was in high school, but not immature. My dad is so uptight about everything. I always feel like I’m doing something wrong around him even if I’m not doing anything. My life would be a lot better if Carolina’s dad was my dad. Mr. Fisher probably would have been a better husband to my mom too. Maybe he would have made her feel like she didn’t have to be perfect. Who the hell knows.

  Sitting next to Carolina in the theater was … different. Made me a bit nuts. The right side of my body did this tiny shake the entire movie. All my skin cells wanted to jump off me and onto her. She didn’t notice. We had never sat next to each other for two hours without talking or kissing. Just wound me up, more each minute. Voom. Voooom. Voooooom. I couldn’t really concentrate on the story, but Carolina has this cute laugh where it starts in her nose, she tries to stop it with her hand, and then it comes out the side of her mouth as part of a big smile. I concentrated on that.

  Afterward, my mom picked us up. As much as my dad makes everything tense with his seriousness, I still would rather deal with him than my mom. At least my dad knows when to be quiet. But she had insisted.

  “Why don’t you sit in front with me, Carolina?” my mom said as I opened the front passenger door. Before I could protest, Carolina said, “Okay!” and jumped in past me. I sat in the back. Sulked. I was primed to watch my mom find a way to destroy the one thing that had made life tolerable since she tried to kill herself.

  And … I don’t know. My mom asked generic questions about Carolina’s family. And school. And other crap I know my mom didn’t care about. But Carolina loved it. I could see it in her expression even from the back seat. Now I worried that Carolina would like my mom, they would become friends, and I’d have to tell her that my mom was this broken person who couldn’t be trusted. Then Carolina wouldn’t trust me. And then …

  Come on, Trevor. Breathe. Breathe. This fake, overfriendly conversation is driving me insane! Aaaaaaahhhhh … Okay … Relax …

  * * *

  As we were walking down the stairs into the basement, Carolina said, “I love your mom. You have the best mom I’ve ever met,” and for a second I hated Carolina. And I hated my mom more than ever for making me hate Carolina.

  “What’s wrong?” Carolina stopped, made me face her. But I couldn’t look her in the eyes.

  “Nothing,” I said. I wasn’t going to talk about this. No way. I’d rather slam my head through the wall.

  “Trevor,” she said, softer, taking both my hands in hers. “Are you mad at me?” And as soon as she said it, so sincere and looking at me with so much care, not with this emptiness my mom always had, I stopped hating her and loved her more than ever.

  “I’m not mad at you. I’m … I … you’re the best thing in my life,” I said. Seriously, if you told me I’d be saying this stuff two weeks ago, I would have jumped in front of a train.

  “You’re my best thing too,” she said, and kissed me. It was nice. I kissed her back slowly. Which was not usual for us. But I didn’t want to swallow her up right now. I just wanted to be connected and make sure the connection stayed strong, and I could only do that if my head wasn’t dizzy. So we tried kissing slow, and it calmed me. We lay side by side on the couch. Our legs stacked my right, her left, my left, her right, and my right arm was under her body, her right arm rested along my side. We didn’t use tongue, not much. Didn’t close our eyes. Just kept kissing every few seconds, like we were nibbling at each other. Not in a gross way. But like we wanted to taste each other, savor each other. That still sounds gross. But I swear it was really sweet. Now it sounds stupid. It was great, okay?

  After a while, we stopped kissing and just gazed at each other. Deeper, longer than we ever had. I could see everything inside her, and I think she saw me too. Then Carolina said, “You’re crying.” And crap, I realized my eyes had started tearing. I wiped them away and looked down. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m happy,” I said.

  “You cry when you’re happy?”

  “I guess I do, sometimes.”

  “Me too, sometimes,” Carolina said. She kissed the corners of my eyes. Of course she did.

  37

  Carolina has a new dream

  So, wait a minute. Okay?

  I wasn’t this girl who only dreamed of getting married someday, and planning my wedding day, all that stuff. No. Not me! At all! Even before my dad cheated on my mom and I had to kick him out, it’s not like I thought marriage was this amazing thing that should be my number one dream. Even when I was, like, five, I knew I wanted to be my own boss and do great things. For a long time, I thought I would be a doctor. Just because they were so important and I watched them tell my mom what to do and I knew I wanted to be the one telling other people what to do. I know this sounds like I’m a bitch, but I’m not. I just know I have really good ideas and I’m nice and I work very hard. Shouldn’t those types of people be in charge? I think so. Anyway, then in junior high I took science and I wasn’t very good at it. My mom said not all doctors have to be great at science, but I started thinking I would be a soccer coach instead. My mom told me women coaches can’t make very much money, and it’s not like money is the most important thing, but if I’m going to work as hard as I do, I want to make sure my family doesn’t have to worry about money like my mom does. (My dad doesn’t worry about money. He says he’s more concerned with his soul and his brain, but I think he can only worry about those things because my mom worries about the money.)

  So at the end of eighth grade, it was no to coaching and probably no to being a doctor. And then I started hearing about women like Marissa Mayer and Sheryl Sandberg, and I realized that I wanted to do what they do. Be in charge at a big company where I could be on television and be an example to other girls of a woman who is smart and strong. I didn’t want to be famous like actresses are—just for being pretty. I wanted to be someone people respected and listened to because I sounded wise, but in a humble way.

  And that’s totally still true. But ever since Trevor and I became a couple … gosh. I also thought about getting married and having kids and going to birthday parties and on vacation as a family. Like I was sure Trevor’s family did. It just sounded so fun and easy. I’d still work, obviously, but I would teach high school or something and then I’d have lots of time off to be with my family. Trevor could work the same job as his dad, and we would make plenty of money. We would be so happy. So happy. Oh my gosh, I wanted to be twenty-four and married and living in a big house right now. Right! Now!

  * * *

  Wait a minute. Okay? I wasn’t that serious.

  A little bit.

  Okay, maybe a lot. But I wasn’t going to say anything to Trevor. It had only been, like, three weeks since we became girlfriend and boyfriend. But already every freshman knew we were together, and even though neither of us was the most popular by ourselves, Kendra said we were the most popular couple in ninth grade. Not that popularity is that important. It’s not. But just like Marissa Mayer and Sheryl Sandberg were changing the world because they’re famous (which is just being popular on a really big scale, right?),
maybe Trevor and I could use being the most popular couple to make the school a better place. Like, show people how nice we were and what love can do and … yep, for sure, right?

  We would change the school, then go to college together, and get married, and have kids, and by being perfect, amazing parents, our kids would grow up and change the world. I could see it. I could see it even more clearly than I ever saw being CEO of a big company or a doctor or any other dream I’ve ever had.

  * * *

  Homecoming was October 13, which was only two weeks away, and Trevor hadn’t asked me yet. I wasn’t that worried. I mean, maybe if my life was a horror movie where the girl falls in love with the greatest boy in the world who spends every day talking and texting with her only he’s secretly a crazy mean monster planning on dumping her after every other person has a date, then I would be worried. Would that even be a horror film or just a really sad Disney Channel movie? I didn’t know. It didn’t matter. I knew Trevor was going to ask me. It was just when, and WHY WAS HE MAKING ME WAIT SO LONG? But really, it was okay.

  And then, on Saturday morning, my mom woke me up and said there had been a delivery for me. Oh. My. Gosh. I mean, I had gotten stuff from Amazon before, books mostly, but never a delivery for me from someone else. So I put on some sweatpants and ran to the front door and there, waiting on the front steps, were two dozen red roses and a big note that read, Will you go to homecoming with me? —Trevor and I screamed, and even my mom smiled. I always thought flowers were such a dumb gift, like how could I use flowers to have fun or be smarter? But now that I’d gotten my first flowers from a boy, I could see why they were such a great thing to get. I can’t explain why. I mean, maybe because they were so beautiful, and soft, and alive, and could only mean that a boy loved you? Maybe. I loved them even if I couldn’t think of why I loved them.

  Then I called Trevor even though it was seven thirty a.m. and he was already on the bus to his race and he answered and I SCREAMED into the phone and said yes, yes, yes, yes, like, six hundred times, and he laughed. I said I couldn’t wait to see him at his cross-country meet (he finally was letting me come and watch), and then I said, “Good luck, best boyfriend ever,” and we hung up.

  I turned to my mom and dad (who had gotten up because no one within a hundred miles could sleep after my screaming), and I was crying from being so happy, and I said, “I love him.” And my dad said, “Really?” but with a smile because he thought he was funny. And my mom said, “I know. We’re happy for you.”

  “Really?” I said, but not being funny.

  And she nodded. I ran and hugged them both at the same time, which I hadn’t done since I was a baby or at least forever. It felt amazing.

  * * *

  The cross-country race was an invitational with twelve other schools. It was a big deal. Even though Trevor didn’t tell me it was a big deal, I could tell. He was running junior varsity after winning the freshman meet last week, which was a big deal, but again, he didn’t tell me it was a big deal, I just could tell. What was weird was that after he told me he had won the freshman race and told me without even being excited, I started thinking he was a really good athlete, like as good as I am or maybe even better. And even weirder? I didn’t like it! Oh my gosh, how could I be competitive with my boyfriend? Shouldn’t I want him to be the best in the world, even if it’s a hundred times better than me? I should! I should! But I was jealous and worried that he would go on and be this famous runner, like at the Olympics, and I would be just his girlfriend who hadn’t done anything and nobody cared about.…

  Carolina, don’t be silly. This was dumb. So dumb.

  Anyway, the race was at this huge park in Naperville, which was a long drive. So Mr. and Mrs. Santos picked me up in their fancy SUV, and Lily was in the back seat, and I felt like I was part of their family. I dressed up a little, but not much. I just wanted Trevor’s mom to think I was pretty enough for her son. Gosh, that sounds terrible. But it’s true so I can’t lie and say it’s not.

  On the drive to Naperville, Lily asked me a million questions (like, literally), and I loved answering them because every answer I gave she thought was so interesting. Mr. Santos would laugh sometimes at us, which I liked, but Mrs. Santos didn’t laugh at anything and was quiet and I thought she didn’t like me anymore. I tried not to think about it, even though I kept thinking about it the whole time.

  When we got to the race, all the runners were warming up by running with their teams in small laps. Lily grabbed my hand and made me sprint toward Trevor and the other kids from Riverbend.

  “Trevor!” Lily yelled, and my face turned red because I felt like maybe both of us looked like we were seven. “Your sister and your girlfriend are here to watch you!”

  Then the other boys started laughing, and one of them yelled in a mocking little girl’s voice, “Trevor! Your sister and your girlfriend are here to watch you!” And everyone laughed even louder, and I felt so stupid, like I wished I hadn’t come, but then Trevor broke away from his team and ran toward us and Lily leaped into his arms and he kissed me on the cheek. Gosh. He knew how to make me feel so good no matter what was happening. SEE WHY I HAD TO MARRY HIM?

  All the family and friends (and girlfriends!) gathered in the center of the big park and the junior varsity runners took off their sweatpants and gathered near the starting line. Trevor was wearing these very short shorts and a tight tank top. Even though we had spent at least one weekend night (and the last weekend both Friday and Saturday) making out on his basement couch and he had touched my boobs (well, he touched my bra and it wasn’t that big a deal; I mean, it was, but I don’t know) and I had touched his bare chest and even his penis (not his bare penis—do you call it a bare penis?—just his penis through his jeans), seeing him there with so few clothes on, it made me feel weird. Maybe it was a good weird? His muscles were very lean. He was thin but not skinny. He was so handsome. I knew this from the first second I saw him, but I never thought about him having a nice body. Tall and toned and so … hot. Gosh. My boyfriend was hot. I suddenly got insecure. I didn’t want him to be hot! Handsome, yes, but hot was …

  I wasn’t hot. Maybe I was pretty. Trevor had convinced me I was pretty. But he never called me hot. No one would ever call me hot, I was sure. But Trevor, gosh, he was hot. And so many girls would want him and he would become a model and become famous and he would leave me for another model and I would be alone and I’d cry every time I saw his picture in a magazine looking so hot.… I wished he was handsome but fat. Not fat. Chubby. Just a little. I’d feel much better about being so in love with him if he wasn’t so perfect.

  38

  Trevor has a race

  Every day that ticked by, tick-tick-tick, and Carolina didn’t dump me or wasn’t mean to me, but just kept being this fucking perfect girl and girlfriend, I started to think more and more that I didn’t understand who I was or what I was supposed to be. I knew—knew—that life was meaningless, I did, but now I was waking up … excited. Excited to go to see her, talk to her, text her. But also excited to go to school. And excited to go to cross-country practice. And excited for stupid crap like dinner with my parents. An alien had taken over my soul. And the worst part? I liked it.

  I couldn’t talk to Carolina about it. Was I supposed to tell her that before we started dating my existence was pointless? How would she take that? She’d either think I was way too negative before or way too dependent on her now. So I just had to pretend that this guy she had fallen for, this boyfriend she liked so much, who smiled all the time and sent cheesy-ass texts like “thinking of you every second,” was who I had always been. What if I couldn’t keep it up? What if the darkness came back? What if the real me came back and she saw it and dumped me, and I’d know for the rest of my life that I’d lost the greatest girl in the universe because I couldn’t just stay happy after I had found her?

  Screw it. Who knew? Who cared? Of course, me, that’s who. But I couldn’t do anything about it. So screw it twice. Three times.
Infinite times. Screw the Trevor who realized everything was bullshit by the time he was ten. Who could see my mom’s epic sadness even if no one else could. Who could see my dad totally detached from the deeper truth of everything around him. Who could see how every kid was clueless about their parents being messed up and pretending they weren’t. Adults lying about their kids or about their jobs or about everything. That ten-year-old Trevor could see it all. Fuck him. Die. Sick of you. He almost liked when Mom tried to kill herself. Psycho! He made me think I knew everything. He made me think I was better than everyone because I was real and I was true and I could see right through everyone else. Screw every moment of my life that happened before Carolina. Screw it and forget it. This, my life now, was good, it was so goddamn good, and I didn’t want anything destroying it, not even the real me.

  * * *

  Aaron, the sophomore runner who was becoming my closest friend on the team, told me that I shouldn’t see Carolina on the nights before cross-country meets.

  He said, “Save that juice for the race.” I wasn’t totally sure what he meant, but I listened to him. It was probably good for our relationship to have an excuse not to see her. Otherwise Carolina would realize I was so stupidly in love with her and she might lose respect for me.

  But I invited her to the first big invitational of the season. In the dual meets since that first freshman race, I had been running smarter and better. Coach Pasquini would point out the runner in the race he wanted me to draft behind, and I’d just fall in after him and kick when I saw the finish line. I stopped thinking about winning, stopped thinking anything when I raced actually. Not true. I’d think about Carolina. I would see her eyes and her smile. Not her voice. Not anything. Just a close-up of her face in the shadows of my basement. Maybe that’s not thinking. Maybe that’s just obsessing. I don’t know. It worked. Got third twice and won the freshman race last week.