Forever for a Year (7 page)

*   *   *

I went back to the living room to finish my homework, except I couldn't stop thinking about the new boy. Snap out of this, Carolina! You must do your homework! You are a good student! You are not going to become one of those dumb girls who only feels good about herself because boys like her!

But I just couldn't stop thinking about him. I so wished I could. But I couldn't.

Tomorrow, I promised myself, I would stop with the boy obsessing. I really would. It was a new vow. I never broke two vows in a row.

So I signed back on to Facebook and went through and looked at all of Trevor's pictures, even though he had, like, only twenty, and most of them were grainy, and some not even of him or people, just dead birds in front of windows, but there was this one picture where he was sitting with a little girl—his sister, Lily, the caption said. And he had this look in his eyes, facing the camera, that he just could see through you and everyone and was probably the most interesting person ever born. Plus, he looked sooo attractive. Like he could be a model for some mysterious new designer. But even better than that, because he was probably smart and deep.

I wanted to message him that I was in love with him and for him to message me back and tell me he loved me too. But then I realized I would never do this, and if I did, he would never message me back: He would laugh at me and tell Henry McCarthy and the rest of the stupid boys that always hated me and made fun of me. And then I realized Trevor Santos was probably a horrible person just like them, and that I should just do my homework.

I also realized no way—NO WAY—would I let my mom let my dad move back in. Never. Never. Never.

 

10

Trevor doesn't want to hear it

None of the boy cross-country runners showered after practice. Strange. But whatever. So I didn't either.

First thing my mom says to me when I get in her SUV? “You smell, Trevor.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Do they not have showers at the school?”

“My first day at school was great, Mom. Thanks for asking,” I said.

“I'm sorry. How was your first day?”

“Can we just go home, please.”

“I'm sorry. Please tell me about your day,” she said as she started driving back toward our house. Except I refused. She kept asking me to talk, saying sorry over and over, but I just ignored her. Sometimes that was the only weapon I had against her.

*   *   *

My mom went to Riverbend High School. She was a legend twenty-five years ago. A cheerleader when it was still cool to be a cheerleader. Lead in the musical. (They did
My Fair Lady
just because of her.) She got straight As. She didn't win homecoming queen, but trust me, it wasn't because she wasn't pretty, but probably because she was a bit of a snob. She was valedictorian, and she gave a speech about how life is too precious not to believe in your dreams and follow them no matter what. Everyone in our family, and everyone in this town, expected her to become a famous novelist or the first female president, except she wanted to be an actress. She didn't go to Princeton University, even though her parents wanted her to. Instead she went to New York University and eventually dropped out to move to Los Angeles because she wanted to be a movie star and that's where people move to become movie stars.

Nobody has ever told me this, certainly not her, but I think she just assumed she would be this super-famous actress-celebrity right up until she was about twenty-nine. Then, boom, I think she panicked she would never make it, so she found my dad, who was this boring but successful business guy, and she quit acting, got married and pregnant with me before she turned thirty.

My mom told me the reason she stopped acting was that her first love, before high school, was writing, and she wanted to get back to that. I've seen her scribbling in a notebook a bit but she's never finished anything except a couple short stories that she won't let me read. So I think my mom tried to kill herself because she knows she failed. She gave this big speech at the end of high school about following your dream, yet she gave up following hers. And knowing that made her want to be dead.

I will tell you, there is this picture in her senior yearbook that I've studied a lot. You should see it. It takes up a whole page when nobody else even got a half of one by themselves. In it she's reading a book in an empty auditorium, spread over three chairs, her long blond hair all glowing. My mom looks so beautiful. But more than that, she looks like she's so in control. Anything she wanted, all she had to do was ask and she would get it.

When I think of that picture, I feel sorry for her. Must be hard to think you can accomplish anything you want and then one day wake up and think you'll never accomplish anything at all.

“Trevor?” she said, for, like, the twentieth time.

“It was fine, Mom. It was boring but not too painful.”

“What was your favorite class?”

“Biology probably.”

“Did Henry introduce you to his friends?”

“Yeah, but Henry and his friends are assholes.”

“Don't use that word,” she said. Except then she smiled and said, “My brother is an asshole, so you're probably right about Henry.”

I smiled too. My mom is the greatest at moments like this. When most adults would keep pretending to be mature and know-it-all, she can let the truth out. For the first time in a long time, and just for a second or two, I felt safe with her.

By the time we got home, which was only ten minutes later, my mom said she was exhausted and needed to rest. I'm sure she hadn't been up for more than four hours. But whatever. She asked me to walk down to our neighbor's to get Lily, which I would've wanted to do anyway.

Except after I started walking, I realized that Lily had two new friends on our block. (She made friends faster than anyone.) So I walked back in to ask my mom which neighbor and she was on the phone in her bedroom. I wanted to yell to interrupt her phone call, but I didn't. Instead, I got really quiet. I don't even know why, but I stayed that way and kept inching closer to her bedroom door. That's when I heard her, very clearly:

“I miss you too.… I can't visit.… You know I can't.… Because I need to stay in Chicago with my family … Of course I love them.… It's different with you.… I have to go.… No, I can't Skype again.… I have to go.… Bye, Dylan.”

Then the phone call ended. And I waited. For a couple seconds but it felt longer. Like my whole life just fast-forwarded to the end and then rewound. Then I yelled, “Mom!” And I opened her bedroom door.

The look on her face let me know what I thought I knew. But I didn't want her to say anything. I couldn't stand to hear it just then. So, super quick, I said, “What neighbors? The Thuressons or the Hammans?”

“The Hammans,” she said. She opened her mouth to keep talking, but I just turned and walked away.

*   *   *

“Hi, Trevor, did you have a great first day of school?” Lily said the moment she saw me, strapping on her blue backpack. Then she turned back to our neighbors and her kid friend, and said, “Thank you so much for hosting me, and you have a wonderful home. I'll see you soon, I'm sure.”

After they closed the door, I said, “Where'd you learn to talk like that?”

“I'm being gracious.”

“It's strange that a seven-year-old girl talks like that.”

“I think people like it.”

“They do.”

“So then why shouldn't I do it?”

“You should. It's just strange having your younger sister talk like she's older than you.”

“You're hilarious, Trevor. Enough about me, how was your first day?”

“Mostly pointless,” I said, but then I realized I was bored with talking about things being pointless and Lily was the best to talk to about important stuff. Except I couldn't talk about Mom's phone call I just overheard. I just couldn't do that to her. She wouldn't even understand. So instead I said, “I think I met a girl.”

“Really? Really!” she screeched, jumping up and down and acting like a seven-year-old for once. “Goodness! What's her name? Is she as pretty as Dakota?”

“Her name's Carolina. And she's pretty, but in a different way than Dakota.”

“This is very exciting! I want to meet her. When do I get to meet her?”

“Well, we didn't really talk yet.” I shouldn't have brought Carolina up. Big mistake.

“But why not? You just have to talk to her, Trevor! Don't be afraid.”

“You don't talk to boys.”

“Yes, I do. Don't be hilarious,” she said. (She was using the word “hilarious” all the time lately, even when it didn't make that much sense.) “But I don't like them yet because I'm seven. I'll like them when I'm ten. Are you Facebook friends?”

“Facebook isn't cool anymore,” I said.

“But you look at it every day,” Lily said. I didn't say anything back. “Just ask her to be friends on that. I think she would like that.”

“Okay, I'll think about it.”

“You're so hilarious.” And then she made herself laugh, which made me laugh, which made her laugh for real, which made me forget all the shitty things that happened today.

Lily was magical that way.

 

11

Carolina dies of a heart attack

“Point him out,” Katherine said after she followed Peggy and me to our first-period biology class Tuesday morning. Peggy had told her about Trevor Santos's friend request, so then Katherine said she would decide for me whether I should accept it. What kind of person does that?

So originally I didn't accept his request right away because Kendra and I decided it was better to make a boy that you like wait to know that you like him back. But then after thinking about it longer and my whole body hurting at the thought of him, I realized that Trevor was probably just asking me because he wanted to collect girls' friendships but not really care about any one of us. So I couldn't be his friend if I thought that, right?

But then I just wished I'd gone ahead and accepted it so that Katherine couldn't make it a million times worse. But it was too late for that.

I saw Trevor turn down the hall, walking right toward us. The worst part? He looked so amazing, like he was in a music video and moving in slow motion. Gosh, I'm even thinking like an airhead because of this boy. Everything's ruined.

Peggy whispered to Katherine, “That's him,” but I couldn't look anymore. I had to turn away. Just let this be over, please. Please, please, please.

What felt like an hour later, Peggy finally said to me, “He's inside, Carrie.” I didn't even care she used my wrong name.

Katherine said, “He is hot. You really think he likes you? Never mind. You can be his Facebook friend, but don't talk to him until I find out more about him.” Then Katherine left.

I looked at Peggy, wanting her to tell me that her sister was mean and crazy and I should ignore everything she says, but Peggy just shrugged and went inside biology. I hated Peggy for one second, even though I knew she had to live with Katherine's insanity everyday.

I just felt so small and invisible. Like I could get sucked into the crevices between the lockers at any moment and no one would even remember I existed.

Biology was horrible because Trevor was there and I didn't even get to sit next to him. I tried not to think about him or look at him but that was impossible. Then Mr. Klenner called on me when he must have known I had no idea even what my name was or what planet I was on, and so I said, “Huh?” and the class laughed, or at least it felt like it, and then he asked the question again, except I still had no idea, and then he gave the answer and gave me that look that says, “Don't be a bad student,” which I had seen teachers give to so many other people but never to me.

I wanted to die and never come back to school, though I suppose if I was dead I couldn't come back to school anyway. The embarrassment did make me pay attention, so I guess teachers embarrassing students must work, but it is a horrible thing to do and should be against the law.

Trevor didn't sit next to me in history either, which was fine. Just fine. I was thinking of him less by the minute. Lunch was fine too, though near the end, when I was talking to Kendra about our game Saturday, Peggy got up without telling me and went over to talk to Shannon Shunton and those popular girls. When I finally found her, she was walking away from their table.

“What were you talking to them about?” I asked as we walked to algebra.

“About the party Friday,” she said, and suddenly my throat felt like it was swelling because I wondered if Peggy would become Shannon Shunton's best friend and not mine, then I realized that would never happen and just smiled so she wouldn't know what I was thinking.

*   *   *

In math class, Henry McCarthy sat behind me, which I didn't think about because everyone has to sit somewhere. Except then, when the teacher had his back to us, writing some weird math equation on the whiteboard, Henry leaned up and whispered into my ear. I jumped a little, but maybe only in my mind, because no one turned in my direction.

What did he whisper? This: “I heard you were going to the Darry party Friday.” Darry was Peggy and Katherine's last name. But he also said, “You should come to the freshman game first. It starts at three thirty. I'm the quarterback. I'm going to throw touchdowns.” And then he stopped talking. I nodded because I didn't know what else to do. Had Henry McCarthy just invited me to come watch his football game? He had, which was almost as weird as when that junior Alexander Taylor, with his tie and his odd eyes, stopped me in the hall yesterday. Boys in high school were already much different than they were in junior high.

When the bell rang, Henry said, “You better come,” which maybe he meant as charming, because he tried to smile, but it felt like a threat because Henry had always been mean to me before and it was hard to rewire my brain to accept that maybe he was being nice to me now.