Dark Blue: Color Me Lonely with Bonus Content (2 page)

I have never told her that I didn’t vote for her or that I secretly rejoiced when her name was not included in the intercom announcement of new cheerleaders. Instead, I pretended to be truly heartbroken for her. I even took her out for a supersize hot fudge
sundae after school. She’d been dieting all week in order to look better in the shorts outfit she’d bought for tryouts. I figured she was entitled to a pig-out pity party.

“You were totally great today,” I told her as we gorged ourselves. At least
that
was the truth. Jordan really had done a fantastic job in front of those hundreds of gawking high-school kids. I was honestly dumbfounded that she was
not
picked. I had been freaking all afternoon, certain that my best friend was going to leave me behind for her new life as a cheerleader. Now I may not be an expert in the subject of cheerleading, but I knew enough to see that Jordan had performed the routine flawlessly, smiled beautifully, and jumped just as high as any of the girls who were selected. Besides that, Jordan looked exactly like a cheerleader should: petite and blonde and perky and cute. Everything that I am not nor ever will be.

Still, she just glumly shook her head. “I should’ve listened to you, Kara. What was I thinking?”

“Hey, you did your best,” I assured her. “And, really, you looked way better than any of them.” I pushed my empty dish away and groaned. “Way better than that stupid Betsy Mosler. I cannot believe that she got picked. Honestly, Jordan, I think you were robbed. Maybe someone stuffed the ballot box.”

She smiled now. “Yeah, that’s probably what happened. Maybe Betsy bribed kids to vote for her.”

“Yeah, or maybe all the boys voted for Ashley Crow just to see her bounce when she does her leaps.”

And so we laughed and made fun of all the new cheerleaders and life returned to normal.

Of course, that was then and this is now. And normal doesn’t live here anymore.

S
O THERE
I
WAS, JUST STANDING IN LINE AT THE CAFETERIA, TRYING TO
decide whether to have a chef salad or a cheeseburger, and Jordan breaks the news that she was going to try out for cheerleading again. I turned to see if she was really serious. But I could tell by the steely look in her blue eyes that she was not to be dissuaded. So I kept my mouth shut, ordered the cheeseburger, and prayed (yes, I literally prayed to God himself) that my very best friend would fall flat on her face, make a total fool of herself, and give up this cheerleading nonsense for good. Wasn’t it enough that she was on the debate team, had made honor roll, and excelled in gymnastics last year? What more did she want?

Maybe it’s
because
I prayed that Jordan did so well. Maybe her success was God’s way of getting even with me for being so hopelessly selfish. Because not only did Jordan get picked, she was the absolute hit of tryouts. It’s like everyone in Jackson High just totally loved her.

And that’s when my life began to deteriorate.

“Can you believe it?” she shrieked when we met by our locker after school. I felt an autumn breeze drifting through the open-air locker bay, and although it was about seventy degrees in the shade, a distinct chill ran through me.

I forced what I’m sure must’ve looked like a pretty poor excuse for a smile. “Congratulations, Jordan. You did it.”

“Thanks.” Then she turned to the millions of adoring fans who were obsessed with congratulating her, slapping her on the back, and giving her ridiculous two thumbs-up. Naturally, she flashed her best Colgate smile as she graciously told them all “thank you.” You’d have thought she’d won an Oscar or something.

“Way to go, Ferguson,” said Brett Hawkins with an appreciative nod. “Looking good.”

“You did great,” said Shawna Frye, another cheerleader and my old nemesis from sixth grade—she was always trying to steal Jordan from me. “It’s no surprise that you made it, Jordan. Welcome to the team!”

“Thanks!” That flashy smile again. I wondered if she’d lightened her teeth especially for this day.

“Hey, Ferguson!” yelled Amber Elliot, head cheerleader and mouthiest girl at Jackson High. “Wait up. We got some celebrating to do, girlfriend.”

Jordan turned to me with a pained expression. “Oh, that’s right, Kara. There’s some kind of party for the new cheerleaders right now.”

I just shrugged like it was no big deal. “Hey, that’s okay. I’ll catch you later.”

“Yeah. I’ll call.”

But she didn’t. I hate to admit that I actually waited by the phone, because really I was just doing my geometry homework. But Jordan never called. She never emailed. She never dropped by. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero.

The next day, I stupidly waited on the corner where we usually meet before school. I knew that was probably an irrational move, since it seemed my life was over. But then I remembered how
Jordan always accuses me of being so negative, so I decided to take the positive approach and even managed to talk myself into believing that she would be there just like usual. But, of course, she never showed up. I’m sure that was the exact moment when I began to feel fairly certain that it was over between us. The nagging, churning feeling had started in the pit of my stomach the night before, gnawing on me like a hungry rat trying to eat me alive, but now it seemed to take over my entire being. I felt like I was actually getting physically sick. Since it looked like I’d be late anyway, I even considered going back home and claiming I had the flu. I knew I had
something
.

But still clinging to the tiniest shred of hope, I decided to do the brave thing—the thing that Jordan would do under these same circumstances (not that she’s ever been in these circumstances). But I decided to proceed. I hurried past the security gates and through the front door, by myself, making it to my English class just as the last bell rang. I didn’t even have time to stop by my locker first. Coming in late forced me to take a seat right up front, but maybe that was good because I never had to actually look at Jordan, who usually sits in the back row, plus I was able to leave quickly.

From there I managed to make it to economics class, but by then I felt like someone had pulled the plug on me as I slumped into an empty seat in the back of the stuffy room. I pretended to listen as Mr. Lee droned on and on about stocks and bonds and stupid financial things that no one in their right mind gives a flying fig about.

Like a zombie I maneuvered through my next class. Find a desk, sit down, look attentive, don’t keep looking at the clock.
Just let this day end,
I kept telling myself as I walked alone down the hall.
Just let this day end.
Only when I went to art did I feel like I could almost breathe again. I allowed my mind to take a slight vacation
from grief as I absently worked on a pathetic sketch of my Doc Marten sandal. Even my shoes looked like they were frowning.

I never even ran into Jordan until lunchtime and then, to my surprise, she acted like everything was just fine. Peachy even.

“Hey, Kara,” she said with what seemed to me an increasingly white smile. What was she using on her teeth anyway? “What’s up?” she asked, as if nothing had changed.

“What’s up?” I stupidly echoed back, obviously regressing to my kindergarten phase where Jordan took charge of all conversations.

“Are you okay, Kara?”

“Okay?”

She frowned now. “Really, you don’t look too good. Are you sick or something?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m okay.”

Then, chattering on like everything was normal, she apologized for not meeting me before school, claiming that her little sister, Leah, had been experiencing a middle-school meltdown.

“I don’t know what gets into that girl’s head,” said Jordan as we got in the lunch line. “She had this zit, just one little, tiny, barely noticeable zit on her chin, and she was just totally freaked. It’s like it was cancer or something.”

“Uh-huh,” I nodded, thinking I knew exactly how Leah felt.

“Hey, Jordan!” called Amber Elliot from a nearby table —
the popular table
, or so the kids who sit there like to believe. “Come sit with us.”

I felt a tightness growing in my throat as I selected a cup of vegetable soup and a bottle of juice. Somehow I thought perhaps liquids would go down more easily today. Then, like a dummy, I followed Jordan over to the “popular” table. Fortunately, or not, there were still a couple of available seats. No one said a single
word to me as I sat down next to Jordan. Not only did they silently ignore me, but I could feel their eyes on me—not staring, but these furtive glances that feel almost worse. And I knew what they were thinking.
She doesn’t belong here with us. Who does she think she is, anyway?
But Jordan seemed oblivious as she chatted and joked with her new friends. Before long I began to feel invisible. But not the good kind of invisible where people simply can’t see you. It was more like the kind of invisible where someone has spinach in her teeth but no one says anything. Just the same, I suppose I was somewhat relieved to be ignored. Attention was the last thing I wanted right now.

Somehow I managed to slurp down part of my pathetic-looking liquid lunch before I mumbled a lame-sounding excuse and picked up my tray to casually exit. Naturally, on this day, of all days, my tray began to tilt precariously and the half-empty (or half-full, depending on how you look at it) cup of soup went sliding directly toward Jordan’s lap.

She let out a bad word and leaped to her feet as the brown-orange mix of soup and juice coated her light khaki pants.

“Smooth move, Hendricks!” taunted Amber.

“I’m sorry, Jordan,” I mumbled as I handed her a slightly used napkin.

“What a klutz,” said Betsy Mosler.

Shawna Frye made a face. “Disgusting! That’s gonna stink, Jordan.”

Jordan was still unsuccessfully trying to blot her soup-soaked pants clean while I just stood there feeling like the village idiot. I expected the girls at the table to get up and start throwing stones and rotten vegetables at me any minute now.

“Hey, I’ve got a spare pair of jeans in my locker,” said Shawna. “I’m
sure they’ll be a little big for you. What are you, Jordan, a size one?”

Jordan flashed that smile at her. “Oh, thanks, Shawna, that’d be great. I’m sure they’ll fit fine.”

So before I could say anything or do any more damage, Shawna led my
ex
-best friend away.

“Way to go, Kara,” said Betsy loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear, even over the loud music. “With friends like you, who needs enemies?”

I wanted to ask Betsy why she couldn’t think of anything more clever to say, but of course, I kept my mouth shut as I walked away from that stupid, snooty table. With my eyes downcast like I was looking for spare change on the floor, I deposited my messy tray. I made my way to the nearest exit, feeling as if I were wading through a sea of Jell-O, and vowed to never return to the cafeteria again. From now on I would brown-bag it with the rest of the losers who were too intimidated to face the tyrannies of the lunch line and cafeteria. Life as I’d known it was officially over.

I
T FEELS INCREDIBLY LAME TO CARE THIS MUCH ABOUT SOMEONE
. A
ND I’M
embarrassed to admit that I have actually cried over losing Jordan. Sheesh, it’s not like I’m a lesbian or anything. It’s just that she’s been my best friend for, like, forever. And I honestly don’t know how to function without her. I am such a loser.

“What’s up with you?” she asks me a couple of days later as we stand in front of our locker.

“Me?” I stare at her like she’s a complete stranger.

“You’re acting so weird lately.” She reaches up to get her biology book.

“I’m
acting weird?”

Then she pauses to really look at me. “You just seem different, Kara. Are you okay?”

Why does she keep asking if
I’m
okay? And what do you say when your
ex
-best friend, who has turned into someone else, asks you if
you’re
okay? Naturally, not feeling terribly clever, I say nothing.

So she just shakes her head and slams the locker shut. Obviously she hasn’t noticed that I haven’t retrieved my own notebook yet. But then why would she?

“Hey, Jordan,” calls Shawna. “Did you hear we’re going to practice outside today?”

Then Jordan and Shawna walk off together, discussing something as insipid as shoe colors. Jordan never even looks back.

At the end of the day, I notice that all of Jordan’s things are missing from our locker. At first I am shocked and assume that someone has broken into it. This happens at our school occasionally. And sometimes the vice principal does locker searches when he suspects someone’s smuggled drugs onto campus. One time we even had a police dog sniff around, but he didn’t find anything. These thoughts are going through my head, but then I notice a lime-green Post-it note stuck on the inside of the door.

“Sharing lockers with Shawna now. Closer to the gym and better for practice. Jordan.”

That is it.
Okay,
I tell myself,
it’s really over now.
I wad up the note, stuff it into a pocket of my backpack, and head toward the exit. It feels like I’m walking in a dream now, like nothing is real. Or perhaps I’m not real. Maybe everyone else is real, everyone except me.

I blankly observe the kids milling around, laughing, joking, teasing. Girls in groups, guys in groups, some couples hanging onto each other like they can’t bear to let go, a few even making out. But I just keep moving along by myself. Like I am in some kind of bubble, alone and apart and separate from everyone else.

No one says a single word to me as I walk down the hall. In fact, I don’t think anyone has said much of anything to me these last few days. Now that I think about it, I’m sure the only reason anyone ever spoke to me before was because of Jordan. I feel like I am nothing without her. And I wonder how I will survive three years of this kind of nothingness in high school. I have never felt so alone or utterly hopeless in my life.