Another Day (4 page)

“I know that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He sighs. Again, I have to tell myself this sadness is not something directed at me. It has to be directed at the fact that he can’t be with me.

“That’s all,” he says.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. If he’s worried that I’m really going to expect this from him every day—he can’t think that, can he? I decide to leave it alone. I say, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you will.”

“Thanks again for today. No matter what trouble we get into tomorrow for it, it was worth it.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you,” I say.

It’s not like Justin to say
I love you
back. Most of the time, he resents it when I say it, accuses me of saying it just to see if he’ll say it next.

Sometimes he’s right. But that’s not why I’m saying it tonight. And when he responds by saying “Sleep well,” that’s more than enough for me.

I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but for once I’m really looking forward to it.

Mom is up before me, as usual, in the same place at the kitchen table. It’s like she thinks Dad or I will steal her seat if she doesn’t beat us to it—and if she loses the seat, where will she spend the rest of the day?

“You look nice,” she tells me. Which would be a compliment, if she didn’t sound suspicious.

I don’t tell her that I made sure to look nice because it’s the one-day anniversary of everything getting better. She’d shoot that down real quick.

“I have to give a report,” I tell her. “In class.”

I know she’s not going to ask me what report, or what class.

Eager. I want to get to school as soon as possible, to see him. I hope he’s feeling the same way over at his house. I could text him and ask, but if things are going to change, then I can change, too. I don’t need to know everything all the time.

Mom and I say more to each other, but neither of us is really listening. I want to go, and she wants to stay. It’s the story of our lives.

I have to take the bus because my car is still at school. I could ask Rebecca or someone else to drive me, but then I would have to spend the whole ride talking about things instead of thinking about them.

His car isn’t there when my bus gets in. In fact, he doesn’t show up until almost everyone else has pulled in.

But this time he notices me waiting. Walks over. Says good morning.

I am trying hard not to barrage him with happiness. It’s still early in the morning. He’s barely awake.

“Sure you don’t want to run away?” I ask. Just to pull a little bit of yesterday into today.

He looks confused. “Are you serious?”

“No,” I tell him. “But a girl can dream, right?”

“Whatever.” He starts walking, assuming I’ll fall in step right beside him. Which I do.

I get it. Kind of. Since it’s not like we’re going to do it again today, it’s probably best not to think of it as an option. Otherwise, whatever we do today will feel pathetic in comparison.

I reach for his hand.

He doesn’t take it.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks.

Yesterday,
I want to tell him. But from the way he looks straight ahead, I figure now’s not the right time.

He doesn’t even wait to hear my answer to his question.

He just keeps moving.

I tell myself it’s not Angry Justin. It’s Lost Justin. It has to be.

When you picture someone lost, it’s usually in someplace like the woods. But with Justin, I imagine a classroom. It’s not that he has a learning disability or anything. That would be a good reason. But no. He’s just bored. So he doesn’t keep up with what’s going on. And it only gets worse, and he only gets more lost, which only makes him hate it more.

I am trying to stay on the beach. As the teachers talk and as Justin and I barely say hello between first and second period, I am reminding myself what it was like. I am turning my mind into a time machine, because I need to.

I know Rebecca’s going to pin me down third period, when we’re sitting next to each other in art. And that’s exactly what she does.

“Where were you?” she whispers. “What happened?”

Art is one of the only classes we have together, because my school likes to keep the smart kids away from the not-smart kids, as if being in class with me might hurt Rebecca’s test scores. In art, some of the not-smart kids get their revenge. I like that it gives me and Rebecca a chance to be together.

Mr. K has put a car engine at the front of the room, and has asked us to draw it in charcoal. He always says we’re not supposed to talk while we’re working, but as long as we’re not too loud and we’re getting our work done, he doesn’t really mind.

Rebecca’s engine is turning out worse than mine, and I feel bad that this makes me feel better.

I tell her that Justin and I escaped to the beach. I tell her it was an in-the-moment thing, and that it was wonderful.

“You should have asked me and Ben to come along,” she says.

Ben is her boyfriend. He’s smart, too. Justin doesn’t like him at all.

“Next time,” I tell her. We both know it’ll never happen, but we’re okay with that. Our friendship doesn’t need her to skip school, and it doesn’t need Ben and Justin to get along. She and I have enough history that we don’t need to make a whole lot happen in the present to be close.

“Wasn’t it cold?” she asks.

“Too cold to swim,” I say. “But warm enough to be there.”

She nods. Whatever I say to her usually makes sense.

I’m just leaving out some of the details.

I wonder if I’m supposed to meet him at his locker like yesterday. But lunchtime habit takes me to the cafeteria first, and there he is, at our usual spot.

“Hey,” I say.

He nods. I sit down.

“Has anyone said anything to you about yesterday?” I ask. “I mean, you haven’t gotten into any trouble, have you?”

He dips a French fry into some ketchup. That’s all he’s having for lunch.

“It’s all good, I think,” he says. “You?”

“Rebecca was curious. But that’s it so far.”

“Rebecca? Curious? Now there’s a shocker.”

“She said next time she and Ben want to go driving with us.”

“I’m not sure Ben would let us inside his Mercedes. We’d have to take our shoes off first.”

This one time, we went over to Ben’s house and he asked all of us to take off our shoes before we came inside. Justin and I found that hysterical. “Doesn’t he know that our socks are much nastier than our shoes?” Justin asked. It became one of our jokes.

“Don’t say anything to Rebecca,” I make Justin promise. He pretends to be zipping his lips. I relax.

I go and get my lunch, and when I come back, Rebecca and some other friends are at the table, so Justin and I are part of the big conversation instead of having our own. When the bell rings, I ask him if he can do something after school, and he says no, he has to work. He says it like I should have his work schedule memorized. But Target sends the email to him, not me.

I do not point this out. Instead, I remind myself that I am lucky I don’t have to work yet. I remind myself that Justin hates his job. I remind myself that yesterday was all about a choice, but not every day allows us to make our own choices.

The important thing is that when he had a chance, he chose me. And I have to hope that next time, he’ll choose me again.

He texts me when he gets home from work. Two words.

Long day.

I text him back one word.

Yeah.

Patterns. The next day, I think about patterns. Or, really, I think about ups and downs. I am used to ups and downs. Monday, when we were at the beach, was an up. I can see that.

But now—it’s neither an up nor a down. It’s like we’ve disappeared from the chart.

He’s not mad at me. I can feel that. But his love has gone passive.

I don’t understand. And there’s no one to talk to about it. Not Justin. Every time I mention the beach, it’s like it never happened. Not Rebecca. If I told her more, it might sound crazier than it really is. Not my mom. She and I don’t talk about ups or downs, as a way of not having them.

I know what he and I had on Monday is worth fighting for. But I have no one to fight, so I turn on myself instead.

I know I wasn’t imagining things.

But I seem to have been sent back to my imagination now.

Thursday I get to school first and wait for him. I don’t think that much about it. It’s just what I do.

“Jesus, Rhiannon,” he says when he gets out of the car. I step aside as he pulls out his bag and slams the door.

“What?” I ask.

“ ‘What?’ ”
he mimics in a high, girly voice. It’s a voice his bad moods like to use.

“Crappy morning?”

He shakes his head. “Look. Rhiannon. Just let me have two minutes, okay? All I ask is for two minutes each day where nobody wants anything from me. Including you. That’s all.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” I protest.

He looks at me, tired, and says, “Of course you do.”

He’s right, I know. He’s right, and that hurts a little.

Space. I want a boyfriend and he wants space.

Since I have plenty of space—empty space—I guess it’s hard for me to understand.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s alright. It’s just—you should see how you look there. Nobody else is just standing in the parking lot. I’m fine with seeing you. But when you stand like that, it’s like you’re waiting to pounce.”

“I get it,” I assure him. “I know.”

We’re at the doors now.

He sighs. “I’ll see you later.”

I guess I’m not going to his locker. I guess that’s okay.

“Sure you don’t want to run away?” I ask. I can feel the beach, the ocean, talking through me.

“You have to stop saying that,” he says. “Keep giving me the idea, and one day I just might do it.”

He’s not asking me to come along.

I get my books out of my locker, get ready for the day. My heart isn’t in it, because my heart doesn’t feel like it’s anywhere near me.

I hear a voice say “Hey” and don’t realize at first that it’s talking to me. I turn to my left and see this small Asian girl looking at me.

“Hey,” I say back. I have no idea who she is.

“Don’t worry—you don’t know me,” she says. “It’s just—it’s my first day here. I’m checking the school out. And I really like your skirt and your bag. So I thought, you know, I’d say hello. Because, to be honest, I am completely alone right now.”

Join the club,
I want to say. But the last thing this girl needs is a view of what’s going through my mind. She already looks overwhelmed.

“I’m Rhiannon,” I tell her, putting my books down and shaking her hand. “Shouldn’t there be someone showing you around? Like, a welcoming committee?”

I feel this is totally Tiffany Chase’s job. She seems to take pride in showing people around. I’ve never understood her.

“I don’t know,” the girl says. She still hasn’t told me her name.

I tell her I’ll be happy to take her to the office. I think she’s supposed to sign in there, anyway.

This does not go over well.

“No!” the girl says, like I’ve just threatened to call the police. “It’s just…I’m not here officially. Actually, my parents don’t even know I’m doing this. They just told me we’re moving here, and I…I wanted to see it and decide whether I should be freaking out or not.”

Oh, you’re definitely freaking out,
I think. But I don’t say that, because it will only freak her out more. Instead, I say, “That makes sense. So you’re cutting school in order to check school out?”

“Exactly.”

“What year are you?”

“A junior.”

That’s funny—she seems like a freshman. But if she’s a junior, I figure there’s nothing wrong with her tagging along with me today. I can pretend I’m Tiffany Chase for a few hours. It’ll give me something to think about besides Justin.

“So am I,” I tell her. “Let’s see if we can pull this off. Do you want to come around with me today?”

“I’d love that.” She seems genuinely excited. It’s a good reminder that sometimes it’s easy to make someone happy.

Maybe it’s easier with strangers. I’m not sure.

Maybe it’s easier with someone who isn’t asking you for something.

The girl’s name is Amy, and it’s almost funny how easily she fits in with my friends. I’d be awful at meeting so many new people at once. But she gets it.

Tiffany Chase sees me showing her around and looks pissed.

“What’s her problem?” Amy asks.

“She usually gets first dibs on being tour guide,” I say.

“I like this version better.”

I know I shouldn’t really take satisfaction from that, but I do. Like I’m so desperate to be good at something that I’ll take whatever I can get.

I do not share this thought with Amy.

I don’t see Justin at our usual time and place between first and second period, but he’s there unexpectedly between second and third. I wonder if he went out of his way to make up for it. We don’t have a chance to talk or anything, but at least I get to see him, and I get to see that he doesn’t look too angry.

In math class, Amy starts passing me notes.

At first, I figure she just has a question. Or maybe she’s telling me she’s had enough and she’s going to leave next period. But instead it’s…chatty. Telling me that class here is just as boring as class back at her real school. Asking me where I got my skirt and whether there are any boys I like and if I think there are any boys she would like.

We go back and forth like this a few times. She picks up almost immediately on some of Ms. Frasier’s mannerisms, and is pretty good at making fun of them. (
She talks like a nun, but instead of God, she’s talking about trigonometry. I wonder what her habit looks like. A rhombus?
)

I’m having fun, but it’s also making me a little sad, because it’s making me realize that I haven’t really made a new friend since I started dating Justin. It’s like since he and I have been together, I’ve only seen the same people, and less of them. I need this new girl to come out of nowhere in order to have someone to pass notes with.

She comes with me to lunch—we put our stuff down at the table, and Preston goes crazy about all the buttons on her bag, asking her all these questions about Japanese comics. Amy seems flustered, and I’m hoping that Preston is showing his big gay self enough that she doesn’t think he’s flirting.

When Justin gets to the table, I notice he’s got something on his mind. I introduce him to Amy and he gives her the Justin nod. Then he tells me he left his wallet at home. I say it’s not a problem and ask him what he wants. He says French fries, but I get him a cheeseburger, too. When I hand them over, he thanks me, and I know he means it.

Even with Amy there, it feels like we’re all falling into our usual lunchtime routine. Preston asks her about another comic thing, but instead of answering, she turns to me and asks me how far it takes to get to the ocean from here.

The word
ocean
makes me look at Justin, but it’s like he hasn’t heard, like his mind is stuck on
cheeseburger.

“It’s so funny you should say that,” I tell Amy. “We were just there the other day. It took about an hour or so.”

Justin is next to Amy, across from me. She turns her head and asks him, “Did you have a good time?”

He doesn’t seem to have heard, so I say, “It was amazing.”

“Did you drive?” she asks Justin.

This time he hears her.

“Yes, I drove,” he says.

“We had such a great time,” I chime in. And by saying that, I get to hold on to it a little longer. It’s like Justin and I have this secret, and it’s sitting there in front of everyone else, but nobody else can see it. Neither of us is going to point it out. It remains ours. Only ours.

I don’t mind that.

I can tell Amy wants to ask more. I remind myself that she’s not a new friend; she’s just a visitor. She’s only here for today.

Justin, meanwhile, has gone back to eating. He has nothing more to say about the thing that means so much to me.

Amy shadows me for the rest of the day, and keeps as quiet as a shadow. I imagine what it must be like, to look into the future and see yourself living in a new place. I’ve never done that. I’ve always been here, anchored by parents who never search out change, accompanied by all the other people who fear they’ll never leave. For so many years, the idea of living somewhere else was about the same to me as the idea of living in a fairy-tale kingdom. There were places that existed as stories and places that existed as life, and I was taught to never confuse the two. It wasn’t until Justin and I became a real couple and my sister left town that I started to wonder not only about what came next, but where. I don’t want to picture us doing the same things in the same place ten years—or even two years—from now. But when I try to picture us anywhere else, it’s hard to do. We both like to pull at the anchor, but the anchor is pretty strong.

As I do my work in English class, I imagine switching places with Amy. I don’t even know where her school is, but I wonder what it would be like if I had a completely new start. Would I still remain me? Or would I become someone else? I would have to become someone else, because I can’t imagine me without Justin. It hurts to think about it. I imagine myself walking those halls—and the alone I feel there is so much worse than the alone I feel here.

I remember the ocean, and know that, no matter where I go, I want him to come with me.

I feel silly, but I’m a little sad to see Amy go. As we head to the parking lot at the end of the day, I write down my email address and give it to her. While I’m doing this, Justin finds me. He seems so much better now that the day is over. And from the way he lingers, I know he wants to hang out, not just say goodbye.

“Walk me to my car?” Amy asks.

I look at Justin, wanting to make sure he’ll wait.

“I’ll get my car,” he says.

It’s a good thing he seems to be in a patient mood, because Amy has parked about as far from the school as you can get. As we walk over, I wonder what Justin is going to do now. I’m trying to figure it out when Amy breaks into my thoughts and says, “Tell me something nobody else knows about you.”

“What?” I ask. It’s such a slumber party question.

“It’s something I always ask people—tell me something about you that nobody else knows. It doesn’t have to be major. Just something.”

I decide to go with whatever comes first to my mind. “Okay. When I was ten, I tried to pierce my own ear with a sewing needle. I got it halfway through, and then I passed out. Nobody was home, so nobody found me. I just woke up with this needle halfway in my ear, drops of blood all over my shirt. I pulled the needle out, cleaned up, and never tried it again. It wasn’t until I was fourteen that I went to the mall with my mom and got my ears pierced for real. She had no idea. How about you?”

There’s a beat as she thinks about it—which is a little off. If this is a question she always asks, doesn’t she always have an answer ready? After a few seconds she says, “I stole Judy Blume’s
Forever
from my sister when I was eight. I figured if it was by the author of
Superfudge,
it had to be good. Well, I soon realized why she kept it under her bed. I’m not sure I understood it all, but I thought it was unfair that the boy would name his, um, organ, and the girl wouldn’t name hers. So I decided to give mine a name.”

I can’t help but laugh, and also can’t help but ask, “What was its name?”

“
Helena.
I introduced everyone to her at dinner that night. It went over really well.”

Helena.
I can’t figure if Justin would find this funny, too, or if he’d just find it weird.

We’re at Amy’s car now. “It was great to meet you,” I tell her. “Hopefully, I’ll see you around next year.”

“Yeah,” she says, “it was great to meet you, too.”

She thanks me for taking her around, for introducing her to my friends, and for putting up with her questions. I tell her it wasn’t any problem at all. Justin drives over and honks.

I almost tell him I want to go back to the ocean.

But instead I decide to see if I can bring the ocean here.

We go to his house like we always do, because my mom is always home at my house. We don’t have a chance to talk on the way over, because I’m in my car, following his. But even when we get there, we don’t say much. He asks me if I want something to drink, and I tell him water. He steals some scotch, but not that much. I never mind if he has a little. I like the taste of it on his tongue.

He sits down on the couch and turns on the TV. But I know what’s going on. It’s like he can’t come out and say,
Let’s make out.
A few times he’s started kissing me the minute we’ve gotten in the door—but usually he has to make sure no one’s home, get used to the gravity of being home before we can resist it a little.

So most of the time, it starts like this. Both of us watching the show but not really watching. Him leaning into me or me leaning into him. Putting our drinks down. A hand on a leg, an arm over a shoulder. Bodies starting to confuse. He won’t say that he wants something from me. But it’s there in the air. It’s there and understood between us as his hands go under my shirt and my hands touch his cheek, his ear, his hair.

I return to him. He returns to me. But then it’s not enough for us to balance like that. He pushes it. He’s saying things, but they’re not really directed at me. They’re directed at what we’re doing. They’re part of what we’re doing. The heat feels good. The touch feels good. But it doesn’t feel like enough. Not for him, since he wants more, and more, and more. Not for me, because if it was enough, I wouldn’t be thinking about whether or not it’s enough. We aren’t going all the way—not on the couch, only in the bedroom, where there’s a door to close and protection to wear and blankets to pull up when it’s over and we lie there, pleased. But we’re still doing something—he does what he does when we’re on the couch, and I do what I do when we’re on the couch, and none of our clothes are totally on and none of them are totally off. He starts to murmur, starts to moan, and yes there’s something he wants from me, there’s something he really wants from me, and I am giving it to him and he’s giving it back to me. I want him to get that peak, because what I want more is the sweetness of breathing together afterward.