The Dating Deal (18 page)

And this girl—she was so amazing.  She was sweet, and made up cool songs and poems.  And she was everything I wanted.  But for all I knew, she lived in Australia.  Besides, she had a boyfriend.  I was seriously jealous of that guy.  I figured he had to be cool beyond cool to have a girl like that.  But see, Megan, I didn’t put it together.  The guy’s name was
Cody
, and your boyfriend’s name was Conner...


I stopped reading, sitting back in my chair.  Did I really want to go on?  His words were doing things to my heart—twisting it inside out. 

I should just stop, I told myself.  Be an Ice Queen. 

But, of course, being me, I read on.

It wasn’t until I got to the part of the journal about the girl’s summer, reading that she got a job as a counselor at Sunshine Day Camp (Wendy’s day camp) that I actually started to put it together.  The girl went on and on about the sweetest little camper named Wendy.


And that was it.


Figuring it out—that my fantasy girl was Megan-The-Mormon, Miss Goodness and Light—I didn’t know what to do.  It didn’t seem possible.


Dazed, I went on reading.  Because I couldn’t really believe it—that I actually
knew
the girl I’d been reading about—dreaming about.


Seriously.  It just couldn’t be possible.


Then I got to the part where I gave you Wendy’s gift.  And you wrote about the eighth grade—back when you and Nina made me the infamous peanut butter cookies. 


“Oh, no!” I groaned, almost falling out of my chair.  Somehow I had hoped beyond hope that he hadn’t read that—that he hadn’t gone on.  After all, he’d figured out who I was.  He should have stopped!

“Big jerk,” I muttered, reading on.

That’s when I stopped reading the journal.  Because then I knew for sure—it was yours.  Megan The Mormon’s.  I felt like a creep.  I didn’t know what to do.  Apologize?  I couldn’t do that.  I figured it would just embarrass you.  And me.  I decided the best thing to do was just avoid you.  Leave you alone.


Only that was really hard.  Because now that I knew it was your journal, I sort of had a huge crush on you.  I mean it, all I could do was think about you.  And then when Aspen was giving you a hard time in class about the dance—I couldn’t help it, I just blurted it out—that I would take you.  Then I sat there for the rest of class trying to convince myself I’d only done it to help you out.  “It’s the least I can do for her,” I told myself.  “After all, I read her
journal
.” 


And while I was at it, I figured I could help you get your boyfriend back too.  After all, I’d read how much you loved him.  He’d obviously made a mistake and just needed to realize it … so I thought I’d help.


I figured “The Deal” was the way to go.  And I figured it could help me out as well.  I mean, I had this “thing” for you.  And I didn’t know what to do about it.  I figured I could get over you faster if I was around you a lot.  See, that’s how I usually get over a girl—just hang around her.  Get to know her.  But it was different with you, Megan.  The more I was around you, the more I liked you.


After reading Trent’s e-mail I sat back, trying to absorb everything it said.

Okay.  I’m not made of stone.  And any walls I tried to build to guard myself against Trent were crumbling.  But I couldn’t forgive him.  I couldn’t!  He knew my innermost thoughts.  He knew everything about me.  Everything!

And I was still mad.  ’Cause he’d acted like he didn’t know—didn’t know about the peanut butter cookies, or my huge, idiotic crush on him—when he knew.  Totally knew.  It was embarrassing, humiliating, demoralizing—
unforgivable
.

Every day I would see Trent in class and every day I would turn away from him. But every night he would send me a new e-mail.  Every night.

Tuesday night
: 

The thing about you and Conner was, I thought you guys would get back together. The way you wrote about your relationship—it sounded like love.  I mean, you made this Cody sound like a great guy.  I thought he deserved you.  But he doesn’t deserve you.  The guy’s a dope.


But, at the time, I didn’t know that.  All I had to go by was the great impression you left of him in your computer.  So, I thought the guy had messed up—for a minute.  And then when Aspen started giving you a hard time, I thought maybe I could help you out—you know, let him see what he gave up. 


But spending time with you—it let me see that I’m not a dope like your ex-boyfriend.  I’m not giving up, Megan.  I can’t give you up. 


Wednesday night:

Remember how I said I used to get over a girl I thought I liked?—just get to know her?  Well, I’m serious.  That’s all it ever took.  But it’s different with you, Megan.  I like you
because
I know you.


Thursday night:

Megan, I can’t really say that I’m sorry I read your journal, because I’m not.  That was how I got to find out who you were.  And I’m not sorry I found that out.  I’m only sorry that it hurt you.  For that, I am truly sorry.


*  *  *  *  *

By Friday I wasn’t especially mad anymore.  Embarrassed, definitely.  But mad, not so much.  I really wanted to talk to Trent.  But he wasn’t in third period.  Seeing his empty seat made me feel funny—sad.  Why wasn’t he here?

Ms. Wright was handing out a quiz on the film we watched yesterday when an announcement came over the school’s intercom:

“Excuse me, I have an important announcement to make and I have to hurry because I’m going to get suspended for this—but it’s worth it.” 

I sat up, knowing that voice.  It was Trent! 

He went on, “This is for a girl that I care about a lot, but I hurt her really bad, and I’m so sorry that I’m going crazy.  So I wrote her this—”

Then he
sang
:

“Megan the Mormon I’m sorry I hurt you so bad.  It troubles me deeply that I made you sad.  If you forgive me dear Megan, I’ll do anything you want.  Even immerse in a baptismal font.” 

Hearing that, I stood up.  “Yes!” 

The whole class gazed up at me with surprise—I’m usually pretty quiet.  Like a mouse.  And we were in the middle of a quiz.  But everyone was smiling—cheering for me.  Everyone but Aspen. 

“Can I be excused?” I asked Ms. Wright.

She smiled.  “By all means.”

 I ran out of class and headed for the office.  But when I got there, I could see Trent getting chewed out by our principle, Mr. Peterson.  I wanted to give Trent a little wave—a sign of some sort, to let him know that I wasn’t mad anymore.  But Mrs. Rogers, the office-lady, shooed me away.  “Go back to class before you get into trouble, too,” she said.

There wasn’t anything I could do.  Not that I could think of anyway.  So, I slunk back to class.  And took my quiz.  And got a 100%.  (It didn’t involve chemicals.)

At lunch, I heard that Trent had been suspended for the rest of the day.  That made me so sad.  I felt bad.  Super bad.

“It’s my fault he’s in trouble,” I told Nina miserably.  “If I’d just forgiven him earlier, he wouldn’t have made that announcement.”

Nina grinned.  “But it was a great announcement.”  Her smile broadened.  “Every girl in school is jealous of you.”

That didn’t really make me feel much better.  But it did some.  Well, actually, a lot.

When I got home from school, I tried calling Trent, but his step-dad answered.  “Trent can’t talk,” he said.  “That boy is in a heap of trouble.”

I hung up with a new wave of guilt washing over me. 

Poor Trent!

Tonight was the big “Honor Choir Competition” but now I didn’t even want to go.  I wanted to stay home and mope, eat a lot of chocolate, and wallow in guilt and despair.  But I couldn’t do that to the other Madrigals.  I would sing in the choir.  I just wouldn’t do a duet, obviously.

*  *  *  *  *

On the way to the competition, I rode in the back seat of my parent’s car, sighing.  A lot.  I know I’d told Trent I didn’t care about the duet anymore.  But I did!  Now that it was here, I cared a lot.  A whole, whole lot.  I couldn’t bear watching Hailey win
again
.  Not again!  Life was too cruel.  Unjust.  Unfair!

Mom gazed back at me as we pulled into Roosevelt’s parking lot.  “Honey, are you feeling okay?”

“No!  I’m sick!  Take me back home!” I wanted to wail.  But I didn’t.  Instead, I sighed (again).  “I’m fine,” I said, slipping out of the car.

When the competition started, Madrigals were on first.  We did an outstanding job, just as I knew we would.  Unfortunately, all the honor choirs do an outstanding job.  That’s why it’s “honor choir.”

I saw Hailey file onto the stage with the rest of her class.  But behold!  Her heels were unbelievable, mega-high, death-traps.  She kind of wobbled as she climbed the stairs.  I held my breath, watching a moment, positive she was going to stumble.  Land on her rear-end. 

It was weird.  In my head, I could picture it clearly, as though it was real.  But in true life it didn’t seem to be in the cards.   She took her place, safe and sound.

Sigh.

Oh well, it’s for the best
, I tried telling myself. 

If she had tripped, I would have felt guilty, like I willed it to happen.  And I had enough guilt on my plate, enough to last a lifetime.  I couldn’t choke down any more. 

So, blasting the primary song, “I’m Trying to be Like Jesus,” in my head, I tried to be glad Hailey didn’t trip.  Glad she would get to do her duet.  Only, sometimes it’s hard being like Jesus.  And other times it’s super, super hard.  Times like this.  (Times when my evil, life-spanned, singing nemesis was destined to win yet again!)  Still, I did my best, because, you know, it’s the Mormon way.  Carry On, Carry On, Carry On! 

I was getting ready to go sit with my parents, when there was a tap on my shoulder.  I turned around to find my knight in shinning armor, only he was wearing suspenders and a straw hat.

“Trent!” I exclaimed, hardly able to believe my eyes. 

He came!

Trent tipped his hat.  “Am I too late?”

I stared at him in wonder, my heart pounding like a jackhammer.  We were going to do it after all?!  We were going to sing our duet?!

“No!  You’re not too late,” I told him excitedly, finding it hard not to do cartwheels and flips and other various acrobats—my heart sure was.  “You’re just in time.  Come on!”  I rushed him over to introduce him to Mr. Smith.  “Can we still do our duet?” I asked, barely able to stand still.

Mr. Smith seemed pleased.  “I’ll go add your names to the program,” he said, hurrying away.

I stared at Trent, still wide-eyed.  “I can’t believe your parents let you come.”

Trent grinned.  “Are you kidding?  When I told them about it, they ran to the car.  They’re taking movies.  I guess they know that’s worse punishment than being suspended.”

I laughed, pulling his hat down over his face.  “Poor guy.”

“Yeah.  No kidding.”  Trent adjusted his hat.  Then he gazed at me.  “So are you still mad?”

I shook my head.

Trent widened his eyes.  “You forgive me?”