with a common interest, hanging out.
It’s not a date or anything.
I mean, it’s not like I’ll be cheating on Luke.
Then I hear three taps on my wall,
and my tsavorite necklace
somehow seems to grow a little tighter
around my throat.
Saturday Morning
When Mom asks me
if I can babysit for Alice today,
I tell her I’m sorry but I can’t.
When she asks me why,
I tell her I’m meeting someone
at the museum.
When she asks me who I’m meeting,
Luke strolls into the room
and Presley’s name freezes in my mouth.
“Oh . . . ,” I say. “Just a friend
from photography class.”
“A new friend?” Mom says. “That’s nice.”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re gonna
check out the Diane Arbus exhibit.”
“Well,” Mom says. “I’m sure you girls will love it.”
“Um . . . Yeah,” I say. “It’s supposed to be great.”
But I can feel Luke’s eyes on me,
feel them drilling into me,
searching for my lie.
Saturday Afternoon
Presley and I
are at the museum,
wandering through
the galleries.
“These portraits are awesome,” he whispers.
“They totally reveal their subjects’ secrets.”
“Yeah,” I whisper back.
“Just like Mr. L said.”
We move on to a picture of twin little girls,
staring right at us with big creepy eyes.
“Whoa,” Presley whispers.
“I don’t think I want to know their secrets.”
And we’re laughing quietly at this,
our shoulders almost touching,
when I happen to glance toward the door—
and see Luke!
He’s not even looking in our direction.
But somehow I know he’s seen me.
Seen that I’m here with Presley, not with a girl.
His face grows pale, while mine flames up.
There may not be a portrait of me
hanging in this gallery,
but my secret has definitely
been revealed.
A Few Seconds Later
When I sneak a peek
in Luke’s direction—he’s gone.
And so is my carefree mood.
I don’t
see him again
until a few hours later.
I’m in the front hall,
waiting for Mom to find her always-lost keys
so she can drive me to Rose’s for a sleepover.
I’m passing the time
snapping photos of Alice, who’s doing
another one of her “goodbye ballets” for me.
Suddenly,
Luke walks in the front door,
holding hands with a woman.
Picture
the most beautiful actress
you can think of.
This woman
is ten times more beautiful
than that.
A billion times more beautiful than me.
Luke Grins at Us
“Oh, hey,” he says, as casual as anything.
“Julia, Alice, Lily—this is Amber.
Amber, meet my three favorite girls.”
Mom looks as stunned as I am.
“I thought I was your favorite,” Amber says,
giggling at her own dumb joke.
“It’s . . . It’s lovely to meet you,” Mom says.
“Oh, you too, Julia,” Amber coos.
She reaches out to pat Alice on the head.
But she scowls and ducks out of reach.
“Aren’t you a shy little thing?” Amber says.
“No,” Alice says. “I’m not.”
Amber ignores her remark and turns to me.
“And you must be the wannabe
photographer Luke mentioned.
You’re just as cute as he said.”
“Isn’t she, though?” Luke says.
Then he leads her right past us and up the stairs,
murmuring, “Let me show you that thing
I was telling you about.”
“I’m off to my sleepover, Alice,”
I say in a voice that’s almost a shout.
“I’ll tell Rose and Taylor hello for you.”
And Luke almost trips on the stairs.
Rose Swings Open Her Door
And says, “Oh, Lil. We’re so relieved.”
“You’re finally over your perv!” Taylor cries.
“Over my . . . perv?” I say.
“We know you and Presley are a thing.
He told me all about your museum date.”
“So,” Taylor says,
“give us some juicy details.
It’s a need-to-know situation.”
And suddenly I realize
that if they think I’m with Presley
they’ll stop bugging me about Luke.
So I force
a smirk onto my face,
and tell them Presley and I had fun.
Then I make a gesture like I’m zipping my lips.
Taylor grins and says I am a very wicked girl.
And I say he is absolutely right.
Then Rose Gets a Text and Almost Faints
It’s from Quinn,
a sophomore she met yesterday.
He’s throwing a party tonight
and wants us to come.
Rose says
he’s got the most beautiful red hair.
She says she thinks
he might actually be “the one.”
And I’m happy for her.
Really. I am.
But I’m so not in the mood
to go to a party.
I don’t have any choice, though—
since I’m even less in the mood to go home
and listen to Luke and Amber doing
God knows what through my bedroom wall.
Which doesn’t even make any sense.
Because I don’t even like doing that stuff to him.
So why does the thought
of her doing it to him
make me feel like I can’t breathe?
Rose’s Brother Drives Us Over
We step through Quinn’s front door.
It’s sweaty in here—the kind of sweaty
that happens when there’s too many people
jammed into way too small a space.
The music’s blaring, the bass so heavy
I can feel each beat in the soles of my feet.
“I’m gonna go find Quinn,” Rose shouts,
her eyes bright as she heads into the crowd.
It parts like a curtain, then swallows her up.
“Text Presley,” Taylor calls over his shoulder,
as he starts dancing with a guy in a top hat.
“Tell him to meet you here.”
But the only person I feel like texting is Luke.
Suddenly, images of him and that woman,
and of what they’re probably doing
right this very minute,
start churning through my mind
like poisonous fumes.
Then a girl pops a beer into my hand.
I tried beer once. I hated it.
But that doesn’t stop me
from chugging this one.
Or the next one.
Or the next . . .
And Pretty Soon
I’m dancing
and laughing and dancing
and bumping into all the other dancers
and they’re bumping into me
till we’re just one big
tangled dancin
g mass
and I’m spinning in circles,
spinning all thoughts of Luke
right out of my head,
whirling and swirling and twirling
and getting so dizzy I have to stop
and flop down onto the couch
and then there’s a guy sitting next to me
and his arm’s around my shoulder
and his grin’s too wide for his face
and he’s telling me he’s been watching me
and that I’m a great dancer
and then he’s leaning in
like he’s about to kiss me
and his breath smells like something
much stronger than beer . . .
And that smell . . .
That smell . . .
It’s like a match
lighting the fuse on a bomb.
And that bomb is my stomach.
And then—I’m leaping off the couch
and puking my guts out.
Sunday Morning
So this
is what a hangover feels like.
I shade my eyes
from the daggers of sunlight
stabbing into the room
through the gap in the curtains,
and run my tongue
over my parched lips.
“Girl,” Taylor says,
“what came over you last night?”
“Yeah,” Rose says.
“Since when do you drink?”
Their words detonate in my ears.
I groan and clamp my hands over them.
“Please,” I beg. “Not so loud.”
“Sorry,” they whisper in unison.
And even that hurts my head.
Rose Gets Some Toast and Advil into Me
Then she and Taylor drag me over to Bella’s.
By the time we get there,
I’m only feeling really awful.
Which is a big improvement.
Bella raises an eyebrow when she sees me.
Then she smiles sympathetically and says,
“Each new experience teaches us
what we do and do not want to do.”
“I’ll say,” I mutter, as she wraps me in her arms.
I inhale her dust-and-books-and-cookies smell.
Then she pulls back to take a closer look at me.
And when Taylor and Rose wander out of earshot,
Bella says, “So tell me, my darling.
Which hurts more—your head or your heart?”
I think about Luke and Amber
and my eyes fill with tears.
“I guess it’s sort of a tie,” I say.
Bella gives my hand a little squeeze,
then leads me over to the self-help section.
“Browse,” she says.
But
I don’t need
self-help books—
I just need Luke.
How He Treats Me Now
Like nothing
ever happened between us.
Like we never kissed or touched
or said I love you.
Like I’m not a day older
than Alice.
How That Makes Me Feel
Like a bug
that’s been splattered
on a windshield.
Every Single Night
Luke goes out.
And I lie here on my bed,
staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars,
my fingers drifting across
the smooth green stones
on my necklace.
I try to fall asleep,
but I can’t stop thinking about Amber.
About her blue eyes gazing into Luke’s.
About her lips on his.
About her hands touching him
the way mine used to.
All of it’s so awful,
like a love song gone wrong,
making every hour that passes
feel
a million
minutes
long.
And School Is No Better
In French, we conjugate souffrir:
You suffer. He suffers. I suffer.
Vous souffrez. Il souffre. Je souffre.
Je souffre
et je souffre
et je souffre.
At lunch, Taylor and Rose
ask me why I’m so miserable.
I just shrug and say,
“I’m a teenager. I’m allowed to be moody.”
“Point well taken,” says Taylor.
But neither of them looks any less worried.
In creative writing, I work on micro fiction:
She loved him. She lived for him. He left her.
She lived on. But she was dead.
In geometry, we study parallel lines.
But I sit in class,
dreaming of a parallel universe—
a universe
in which Luke and I
are still together.
And Presley’s Been a Problem Too
Lately, he seems to be everywhere at once.
It’s like there’s multiple Presleys roaming around.
I’m constantly bumping into them.
And he won’t stop smiling at me
and shoving his adorable too-long bangs
out of his eyes.
It’s like having a puppy you’re allergic to—
you really want to pat him,
but you know it wouldn’t be a good idea.
I wish he’d quit acting
like our trip to the museum
was our first date or something.
Because it really wasn’t supposed to be.
And a second ago, when I finally worked up
the courage to tell him I just wanna be friends,
I could actually see
the light leave his eyes.
Like I’d switched off a lamp.
Now, I’m just standing here watching him—
realizing that he looks exactly like I feel.
And knowing that I’ve made him feel like that?
Well it’s making me feel even worse.
Then
After seven endless days—
there’s a miracle.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table
when it happens.
Mom’s at the sink peeling carrots.
I’m staring at my chemistry book,
trying to make sense of the words
as they swim across the page like minnows.
But I’m distracted by Luke’s gentle voice,
reading to Alice in the next room.
It fills me with such longing,
my chest feels like it’s splitting apart.
I groan and put my head down on the table.
Mom asks me what’s the matter.
And when I tell her I hate my life,
and that I especially hate chemistry,
Luke saunters into the room
and offers to tutor me.
Just like that.
The Next Day, He’s Waiting for Me After School
My heart swells as I hop into his car
and we zoom away.
He glances over at me and smiles.
I smile back.
“Ready for our first tutoring session?” he says.
“Uh-huh,” I manage to croak.
He doesn’t say anything else.
So I don’t either.
But as I sit here, watching his hands
guiding the steering wheel,
I notice the scar the leopard left on his arm
and a shiver races through me.
I want to tell him
how much I’ve missed him.
I want to tell him that Presley’s just a friend.
And that Taylor is too.
I want to tell him
how hideous it’s been
picturing him with Amber every night.
But that’d make m
e sound
like a lovesick little teenager.
He Drives Us Over to the Research Library
It’s at the university where he got his doctorate.
He takes me into a private study room
with a big glass door.
There’s no lock on the door,
but there is a venetian blind.
Luke tugs it closed.
Then he sits down on a wooden chair
and motions for me
to take the seat next to his.
Suddenly everything
I’ve been trying so hard not to say
comes gushing out of me.
And then
he’s telling me
that he missed me too
and that Amber meant nothing to him
and that he only started seeing her
to make me feel jealous.
“Well, it worked,” I say.
And then we’re both laughing,
and he’s covering my lips
with his.
He’s Kissing Me
Kissing me
so softly, so sweetly,
just like he used to,
way back in the beginning.
“When you were a kid,” he whispers.
“I promised I’d wait for you.”
Then he kisses me again and says,
“You were so worth the wait.”
And it’s lucky we’re not outside,
or I’d float right up out of my seat
into the sky.
When We Finally Come Up for Air
I ask, in my flirtiest voice,
“Aren’t you supposed to be tutoring me?”
“There is an awful lot
I want to teach you,” he says.
And as he unzips his fly,
a smile spreads across his face—
a smile that somehow reminds me
of the Big Bad Wolf.
“But today,” he says, taking hold of my hand,
“we’ll just review what you already know.”
And as he presses my fingers
down onto him,
this weird combination
of relief and revulsion washes over me.
I haven’t lost him to Amber after all.
He’s still mine.
And if this is what it takes
to keep him,
then this is what I’ll do.
When It’s Over
He zips up his fly