Playing Nice (23 page)

I put my coat in my locker. Everything inside has changed. The collage Sarah made me disappeared after the Facebook page. I replaced it with a picture of a sunrise I found in a
National Geographic
at my dad's office. The
A+
paper I wrote on
The Catcher in the Rye
is taped to the door next to a note Lil passed me in English that says, "Your music cherry has officially been popped". Inside the paper was a Ramones bumper sticker. It's tacked next to the note. I stare at my little private sanctuary and know, inside and out, the girl who lives here. Even if knowing her means life is more confusing than ever.

As I grab my Math book, a person comes up behind me.

"Holy bangs. You cut your hair?" Sarah asks over my shoulder.

I slam the door shut and swing around, ready to pounce. "Real observant."

"Can I talk to you?" she asks, pulling on my arm and dragging me to a corner of the hallway away from the throngs of people entering the building.

"Afraid I might ruin your reputation if people see us talking?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No, and I get it. I deserve it." She shifts her backpack from one arm to the other. "I heard about what happened to Lil's trailer and I want to say I'm sorry." She pauses and looks down at her knee-high brown boots. "For all of it."

I sink back against the wall and cross my arms over my chest. "Why now?"

Sarah runs a hand over her forehead and presses on her temples, "Because Pippa and Eliza … kind of, like, suck."

"So you want to be my friend again because your new ones blow?" I huff and start to walk away.

"That's not it!" Sarah yells after me. "I should have never liked that page. I was angry and I saw you slipping away and I choked. And I'm jealous of Lil, okay? Happy? I miss you. I hate riding the bus alone."

I stop in my tracks. Jealous of Lil? "Why didn't you just say that?"

Sarah twists a red curl around her finger and looks at her feet. "I don't know. I'm not good with words like you. Anyway, I'm saying it now for the entire school to hear."

I don't know if I can forgive her, or if we'll ever be friends again. How do you change the flow of a river and make it run backwards? But Sarah's stuck in my heart whether I like it or not. We have too many years, too much history.

"It can never be like it was," I say. "You hurt me."

Sarah shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I know, but maybe we could start again."

I want to say no, to walk away and desert Sarah like she deserted me, but that's not who I am.

"Maybe."

A smile shivers on Sarah's face, her big brown eyes glimmering, as the first bell rings.

"By the way, you don't pull off black like Lil does," Sarah points at my turtleneck. "I'd stick to warmer tones." She walks toward the orchestra room, heading in the opposite direction. "I'll see you later," she says over her shoulder, a hopeful grin on her face.

***

On my way out of school, I stop at the spring musical audition sign-up sheet and pick up the pen.

I stare at the word. Part. Who do I want to play? Part of me is Sandy, the nice girl who falls in love with the bad boy, but another part of me is Rizzo. Lost and confused and broken.

I take a deep breath and write.

"Rizzo?" Alex says over my shoulder. I didn't even know he was standing there. "I would have thought Sandy."

"Me too," I say, almost to myself. "How do you know so much about musicals, by the way? Another brilliant tip from your brother?"

"No, he's way too much of a meathead to be into musicals." Alex pauses, then lifts his hand, and runs his thumb over my cheek. "There's a lot about me you don't know, Marty." He smiles, his blue eyes sparkling.

My jaw hangs open; my cheek turning hot. I can't help but think that there's a lot about everyone I don't know. Including myself.

"By the way," Alex says over his shoulder as he walks away. "I like the new look."

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Hi! How R U? I miss ur emails. :)

I stare at my computer, waiting, hoping for the ding of a new email. My mind circles around Matt.
It's no big deal he isn't writing back. He's busy. He said he liked me. But he's confused
. I can wait out confusion. Heck, I understand it. I've been confused all year. I fall back on my bed, hugging my no-name rabbit.
And he kissed me
.

With the days getting longer, the air is changing around me. My grandma would say life is returning to the earth for another go 'round.
It always comes back, Marty
, she'd say
. Death doesn't last.
I wish Grandma was here to meet Lil and see how I've changed. I bet she'd be into the Ramones and want to dance around with me. She'd want to grab hold of the life oozing out of us because she understood that seasons change, that soon enough I'll be in an adult diaper with strangers wiping my ass.

I get up and check my email. Nothing. Grabbing my cell from my purse, I look at it, willing a text to appear even though I'm not sure Matt has my number. Blank. I close my eyes and try to see myself, to see Matt on my skin, to know in the depths of my being that I made the right decision.

I refresh my computer. Inbox empty. Maybe it's not working. I toss no-name rabbit back on my bed and grab my beat-up copy of
Anne of Green Gables
. I walk out to our backyard, into No-Nana Land, and climb to the top of the hunting platform. Turning my face to the sun, I take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh almost-spring air. The earth smells like life, like water running over the ground and making things green. Clean.

Lying back on the hard wood, I close my eyes, an empty hole in my heart like someone punched me clear through my skin and out my back. I've spent days trying not to care about Matt. But then I realized that I do care. That usually when people say they don't, they care about that one thing, that small, pinprick thing, the most. And it keeps pricking you until what was a small drop of blood becomes a gash the size of your heart.

Why isn't he emailing? What did I do wrong? My chest rises in short tight breaths and tears roll down my cheeks. By the time my mom calls me in for dinner, the pages inside my book are covered in water marks.

***

Lil comes up to my locker the next morning, her shoulder leaning against the wall, red sunglasses propped on her head. She hasn't worn any eyeliner since the first day she went without it. It's as if some of the clouds parted and sun was able to hit Lil's heart.

Maggie called a cleaning crew and had the words power-washed off the trailer. Little bits of red and blue still cling to the outside, but at least the words are gone. All that's left is color.

"Do you think I should find my dad?" Lil asks.

I look at her, surprised. She's only ever brought him up that one time. "Do you want to?"

"I don't know. He's probably a total dick. I mean, he did bail on us. I just wonder if I'm like him. Like, maybe he grinds his teeth at night or can't stand the taste of asparagus like me." Lil spins her nose ring around. "I just … I don't even know where I'd start."

"Here," I tear a piece of paper out of my notebook. "Write down what you'd say to him."

Writing it down is almost as good as saying it. The simple act unlocks the words in your head and pours them into the universe.

Nodding, Lil takes my pen and writes. I don't look at the page. I don't need to know what Lil wants to say. It's her truth, not mine.

When she's done, she folds the paper up and puts it in her back pocket. Maybe someday she'll be able to hand deliver it. Or maybe it will stay in her pocket and get washed over and over until it disintegrates into a ball of wrinkled paper she finds months down the road. Whatever. At least she did it.

"Want to come over after school?" she asks as we walk down the hall.

I'm about to respond when Matt Three-Last-Names comes into view. His blonde hair bobs amongst the heads of the crowd and my stomach sinks to my toes. Emotions rush over me, tingling my veins and twisting my insides. My feet beg to move forward and grab him and ask why he isn't emailing me, but I lock my knees still, swallowing the tightness in my throat.

His arm reaches in the air, black jelly bracelets lining his wrist, and lands around a petite brunette. Meghan Whitlock. I trip over my own feet. I didn't think that was even possible.

"Whoa there, Pollyanna. You okay?" Lil asks, grabbing my arm and saving me the embarrassment of falling on my face.

"Yeah," I say, and shake my head. Matt and the brunette are gone when I look back down the hall. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

I nod and swallow the lump in my throat.

Fine
. The world's worst word.

***

By the end of the day, I can't take it any longer. My heart keeps swelling and breaking. Then I remind myself that Matt and Meghan could just be friends. Guys and girls can like each other without ripping one another's clothes off. It happens all the time. And Matt is friendly to everyone. If there's something I've learned this year it's that not everything is as it seems.

I trudge out to my car, misty rain covering my face. I slam my backpack down on the front seat and run my fingers through my hair. My brain hurts with all the thoughts swarming around it. Meghan in her short cheerleader skirt with no spanks underneath. Matt's hands. My tight thighs. Maybe I should've been more aggressive? Should've pinned him down and let him ride my Lazy Susan or strum my guitar strings or at least touch my boobs.

Clenching my fingers around the steering wheel, I know where I need to go. I'm sick of being Saint Martina Hart, the girl with the rotten, unused tight vagina. I pull out of the parking lot and head toward Main Street.

A few people walk around Vinyl Tap, picking up records and CDs and smiling like they're walking down memory lane. The Bob Marley poster still hangs on the wall and I draw in my breath sharply. That night at Lake Loraine, locked forever in a song.

I walk back to the storage room door and lean my ear against it. Smooth guitar chords resonate through the wood. Matt is on the other side. This is it. The moment I open myself up to whatever he wants to do. Seventeen years in one body and now I want to be transported into another one. One like Meghan Whitlock's and Lil's and half the other girls in my school.

Everything looks the same as it did the night of my parents' party. Boxes and posters still line the walls. The air is filled with sex, sweaty and thick.

Matt sits in a chair in the center of the room, playing like life is oozing out of his fingers. I peek past the door and just listen, letting the music work its magic on me. Hearing it wipes the ache away from my heart, and I know I want to kiss him again. Even my lady parts seem to jump, finally ready for a change.

I touch my black jelly bracelet. I was overreacting about Meghan. Matt's busy with guitar and school. His pothead mom probably doesn't even have a computer, and he's stuck using the school's computer lab. I smile as Matt plugs the last chord of the song; knowing all is forgiven, I step toward him, releasing the tension I've kept locked in my thighs for seventeen years.

Clapping echoes in the space, but my hands aren't moving.

"That was
so
good!" a female voice yells. It's a little too peppy. A cheerleader. Tension zings back up my legs and snaps anything that was open shut, throwing away the key.

"Did you really think it was good, or are you just being nice?" Matt asks, placing his guitar on the ground. I've heard that before.

"It was good … and I plan on being nice." Meghan Whitlock walks into view, a short denim skirt and tight pink top barely covering her skin. She might catch a cold in that outfit. I know I should shut the door and leave, but I can't. My eyes are fixed on them, like I'm waiting for a car crash, unable to turn away.

Meghan straddles Matt on the seat. That was a move I was going to make, but I'm not sure I would have done it so smoothly. "Very nice," she says.

He smiles at her, a devilish grin. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Vomit rises in my throat when I see his hand travel up her thigh and under her skirt. I close the storage room door as quietly as I can and step back, clapping my hand over my mouth. I might throw up. I thought stuff like that only happened in movies. His hand. His words.

I run out of Vinyl Tap, knocking my shoulder into a long-haired man inhaling incense smoke by the counter. Air. I need air.

Tripping out the front door, I take a deep breath, swallowing down the bile in my throat. I want to cry. Crying would make me feel better. But I can't. I'm frozen.

The entire way to Lil's, my mind can't shake the image. I turn off the car and get out, staggering up to the trailer like a zombie.
Meghan Whitlock
?

"Where the hell have you been? I thought you were coming over after school?" Lil's head pokes out of the trailer door.

"Sorry, I got caught up," I say weakly.

"I want to show you something." Lil ushers me into the trailer and holds up a T-shirt. GO BUCK YOURSELF is written in all-caps on the front; on the back is a deer holding its middle hoof up. "I found it in a magazine and thought it was perfect. What do you think?"

I stare at the shirt, but all I can see is Meghan on Matt's lap. His hand up her skirt. That should have been me. Could have been me.

"Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?" Lil asks.