Something Real (47 page)

Something ugly and familiar is pushing its way up my throat, and it’s like I’m right back in the girls’ bathroom stall, looking at that tabloid. I push myself against the wall and dig my fingernails into my skin because that tiny, infinitesimal pain feels better than what’s inside me right now.

His smile slips off his face. “What are you saying?”

I can’t look at him. “I’m saying you have no idea what it’s like to … to be where I’m at right now. I mean, you have these amazing parents and all these choices and this normal life and—”

“Right. Because being in tabloids that talk about you impregnating your girlfriend is normal,” he says. It’s like someone stole all the gentleness out of his voice. “And it’s no big deal having conversations with your parents in which you tell them you might not be going to that Ivy League school you got into after all because you don’t know if your girlfriend will leave the state. Or not telling your friends you got in because you’re afraid she’ll lose her shit, so instead all you see is the sympathy in their faces because they think,
Oh he didn’t get in
. And not telling
her
, even though you’re dying to. Never mind the pictures in entertainment blogs or the paparazzi that follow me even when you’re not around.”

“You deserve better,” I whisper. “Maybe we shouldn’t be toge—”

“Goddammit, Chloe!”

I jump, my eyes flying up at the anger in his voice.

“Patrick—”

But he’s already halfway down the ladder that leads to the ground. “I’m not doing this with you again. You can’t just dump me every time it gets too hard. Either we’re together or we’re not.”

I open my mouth and I want to say
together, together,
but nothing comes out. His jaw hardens, and he drops down to the sand below.

“I’ll walk home,” he says.

And then he’s gone.

*   *   *

I don’t go to school for the next three days because I’m a spineless coward. Instead, I spend hours holed up in the Lees’ guest room, writing e-mails to Patrick that I never send, trying out different voice mails that I never leave. Benny tells me he’s not going to help me again, that I’ve got to figure this one out on my own. Still, part of me hopes Patrick will sneak into the Lees’ house with blankets and promises of fort building.

He doesn’t.

Finally, in an act of desperation, I call Lexie™.

“You’re an idiot,” she says, when I tell her what happened.

“I know,” I whisper.

“Okay, that right there.
That’s
why Patrick is pissed.”

“What?”

She sighs. “Falling on your sword is not an act of noble sacrifice. It’s just the easy way out.”

“
Jesus
, Lex—insensitive much?” I mean, there are things you should just never say to someone who has tried to kill herself.

“Whatever,” she says. “The truth is, it’s easier to push him away than to actually figure out what the hell you’re going to do.”

When did my sister turn into Diane Le Shrink?

“You need to go over to that boy’s house and beg forgiveness, and you need a plan for what’s going to happen after graduation, or he’s going to go to Columbia and marry some geeky chick with buckteeth and a 4.0, and you’ll be miserable and alone and—”

“Okay, okay,” I mutter. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“XOXO.”

She hangs up.

I glance at the clock—three-thirty. He’s probably just getting to Spin. I drag myself out of bed and jump in the shower. The water burns my skin, but it feels good—like it’s boiling away all my indecision.

I park in the tiny lot behind Spin and head in through the back door. The place is empty, and Coldplay falls softly out of the speakers. Patrick must be feeling awful. He hates Coldplay. I walk up the Country/Western aisle, my hands shoved inside my pockets, clammy and trembling, and I’m hoping I haven’t waited too long. Patrick doesn’t see me. He’s just staring out the front window, his arms crossed. He looks miserable.

“Hi.”

His shoulders tense, but he doesn’t turn around. And now I know … I’m too late. Part of me wants to run right back out the door, but I can’t give up the best thing in my life without a fight.

I force myself closer—each step feels like I’m walking the plank of our relationship.

“You asked me what I wanted.”

Two more steps.

I can see his face reflected in the window, his lips a grim line, hair falling into his eyes.

“I want to see the world and figure out who I am, and I want to do that with you.” One more step, the last one. We’re inches apart, but there’s never been so much distance between us.

“Patrick. I want
you
.”

He turns around, slowly. My heart twists as I catch an echo of the look he’d had in his eyes when I told him we couldn’t be together, all those months ago. He looks down at his scuffed-up All-Stars.

Ohgodohgod.
Please
.

A smile sneaks onto his face, and he raises his eyes. “Took you long enough.”

All the beautiful things I’d meant to say get forgotten when his lips find mine. Or maybe I just say them in a different way.

SEASON 18, EPISODE 4

(The One with the Cap and Gown)

“Wow. So it’s official. Bonnie™ is dead.” Benny looks at the piece of paper I’ve just handed him and shakes his head. “Do you feel different?”

“Nope. MetaReel can have Bonnie™
and
her trademark,” I say. “I shall be forthwith known as Chloe Elizabeth Baker the First.”

He hands me back the form the judge had signed earlier this morning, and I lovingly tuck it into my backpack.

“Do you think this will really keep people from recognizing you?”

I shake my head. “Not right now. But in a few years, when everyone forgets about us again, yeah, I think it will help.”

He picks at the grass in the Lees’ backyard and rubs it thoughtfully between his fingers. Benny has always hated the trademark, naturally, but he’s very much a Benton. There’s no other name that fits him. It’s only recently that he’s been under the kind of scrutiny I’ve been dealing with since I was thirteen, so it’s almost too late for him to suddenly become someone else.

“Mom know?” he asks.

“Yeah. I called her and left a message. Honestly, I’m glad she didn’t pick up. I didn’t want our first conversation in three months to be the one where I tell her I’ve changed my name.”

Benny massacres a few blades of grass. “Well, it’s what she deserves.”

I put a hand on his arm and squeeze. I know he’s still hurt about her one-sentence reply to his e-mail telling her he’d gotten into USC.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I just want this to be over.”

I lie on the grass and stare up at the sherbet sky. I wonder if any of the kids at home are doing this, just a few miles away. “Do you think they’ll ever cancel the show?”

Benny’s phone buzzes, and he snorts as he checks it. “Oh, man. Speak of the devil. No, my dear sister, there’s no
way
they’re canceling the show anytime soon. Look what Lex just sent me.”

He holds up the phone so I can read the text.

Guess what? Mom’s pregnant.

Benny and I look at each other for a long moment. I don’t know what to say.

I feel a slight, irrational twinge of jealousy. For so long, I’ve been the only kid in the family that my mom had actually carried in her belly. I feel like another link between us has frayed.

“Think they’ll change the name of the show?”

Benny nods. “They’ll have to. Maybe it’ll be something like
Fourteen Kids, Two Dads, One Mom, Two Nannies, Two Tutors—and a Partridge in a Pear Tree
.”

“That’s pretty bad,” I say.

“Yeah.” He grins. “Not my problem, though.”

I watch the clouds above me sail by, untethered, going wherever they want to.

“So
Baker’s Dozen
really will be a thing of the past.”

A warm breeze pushes against the wind chimes hanging on the back porch, filling the air with a delicate melody. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

My future has finally arrived.

*   *   *

“What is the deal with having to wear a sheet of polyester on a ninety-degree day? I swear to God, I’d burn this thing if I wasn’t renting it.”

Mer’s makeup is melting, and she keeps blowing the tassel from her cap out of her face with an irritated
humph
. Though the sun has nearly set, the temperature has refused to drop. Our class is standing around like cattle, waiting for “Pomp and Circumstance” to start playing so that we can enter the football field and take our places on the bleachers under the DREAMS START HERE banner the cheerleaders painted last week. My whole body has a sheen of sweat over it, and my feet are killing me (strappy high-heeled sandals = bad decision), but I’m too happy to complain. A month ago, this would have been one of the most depressing nights ever. I would have looked at everything as the Last —— (Fill in the Blank). But that was before I figured out what I was going to do with the next year of my life. It seems like forever since my last panic attack.

“Uncomfortable gowns are a time-honored tradition,” I say, straightening Tessa’s mortarboard. “It keeps us from getting too sentimental.”

Patrick steals up behind me and kisses my neck as he slides his arms around my waist.

Mer rolls her eyes. “Says the ‘not sentimental’ girl in her boyfriend’s arms.”

I blush, but clasp Patrick tighter to me. “Where were you?” I ask, looking back at him. “You missed our last Pepsi Freeze run as high-schoolers.”

“I had to get a few more things together for tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you guys are taking off so soon,” Mer complains.

“We want to miss all the traffic,” I say. Actually, we’re very committed to the timing of our departure—we’re going for poetic over practical.

“I still think you should wait a day. You’re gonna be super exhausted after all the parties tonight,” Tessa says.

Patrick shakes his head. “That’s what coffee and Red Bull are for.”

I nod. “The drinks of road-trippers around the country.”

“Patrick, she is so gonna fall asleep. You do know that, right?” Benny says.

He’s fanning himself with his mortarboard, and the breeze ruffles his longish blond hair so that it looks like he’s got a little halo. I feel a pang as I take in his suit and tie. I wish Mom and Dad could see Benny now, all grown up.

“Which is why
I’m
driving until we reach Vegas,” Patrick says.

Mer gets all bug-eyed. “Whoa. Wait. Are you guys getting—”

“No!” I wave my hands in front of me. “It’s just sufficiently east.”

Matt shuffles over, a yearbook tucked under his arm. “Chloe,” he says, thrusting it toward me, “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you on major holidays for the rest of my life, but you’re not getting out of writing something nice about me in here.”

I laugh and grab the book out of his hand. “I’ll see what I can come up with, Mr. USC football star.” Matt blushes. He still can’t get over his full ride to USC.

The conversation slides around me as I flip to my picture. There I am. Chloe Baker. I have a half smile, and my eyes seem a little lost—nothing compared to the candid photo of me in the senior spread. In that one, I’m at the winter formal sandwiched between Tessa and Mer, mid-laugh.

I flip to the page with the picture of Matt wearing the I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND T-shirt, but there’re so many signatures around it that I opt for the back inside cover and scribble for a while. I can’t really put into words what he’s meant to me this year, but I try. I hand the book back to Matt and pull him into a hug.

His eyes get moist, and Benny punches him on the arm. “Don’t start with that, or you’ll get me going, too.”

Schwartz ambles through the crowd of green-robed students, giving last-minute instructions and trying to get people lined up alphabetically.

“If your last name is at the beginning of the alphabet, get in the
back
of the line. Reverse order, people!”

I adjust the gold honor cords around Patrick’s neck and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Are you
sure
?” I ask him, for the millionth time.

Schwartz comes up to us. “Sheldon! What’s this I hear about you putting Columbia off for a year?”

Patrick grins and puts his arm around me. “We’re going to see the world first.”

A road trip across the States. A flight to Australia. Working odd jobs as we move from hostel to hostel. Europe. Africa. India. Asia. South America. It’s ours for the taking.