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THE LONG NIGHT AND OTHER STORIES

By Crystal Smith Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements of the English Department and Honors Program Dominican University of California 2010

First Reader: Second Reader: Third Reader:

Joan Baranow Mojgan Behmand Dr. Jayati Ghosh

Department of English Department of English School of Business & Leadership & Director of Honors Program

Table of Contents

Abstract Acknowledgements Introduction Works Cited

3 4 5 18

Culminating Project The Long Night Cheesy Puffs versus Mac and Cheese Moths Leaving One-Hundred and Twenty-Six Days 20 34 44 49 58

Abstract The Long Night and Other Stories is a compilation of short stories in the form of young adult fiction, each told from a different point of view. In The Long Night Christine, the young narrator who has just entered high school, discovers that her best friend has more tolerance for drugs than she expected. Cheesy Puffs Versus Mac and Cheese is a story about Mark, a sophomore boy attracted to a classmate whom he considers the perfect girl, only to realize that attraction does not always equal romance. Moths shows the transformation of a girls dull attitude toward being stuck at home all summer to a refreshing appreciation for her younger brothers ability to make her laugh. The fourth story, Leaving, is about a boy named Tristen, who finds his world torn apart when his parents make a life-changing decision. The final story, One-Hundred and Twenty-Six Days, is the longest of the five stories not only because it incorporates all of the main characters previously introduced, but because it is about the first relationship that one experiences in high school, full of fluttery feelings and confusion.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank: My two readers, Joan Baranow and Mojgan Behmand, for their support and patience with me as I struggled to get things done. My Fiction Writing workshop class for letting me run these stories by them when they were still new even in my own mind. My parents for supporting me in every way possible, each in their own way from separate sides of the country. My brother and sister for making me laugh, and for actually reading my stories when I asked them to. Leizl, my beautiful cousin and lifetime friend, for being just that. April, Anne, Lauren, Elyza, Stephanie, Nicole, and Sunnythe many roommates Ive lived with over the past four years. Though weve all come and gone our separate ways, college would not have been as wonderful if you were not a part of my experience. Gabe for being the most ridiculously absurd person I have ever met, and for being a wonderful friend. Last but not least, I would like to thank Chris for supporting every random decision I made while we were together, for your kindness and honesty, and for the love you gave.

Introduction

The coming of age story is crucial for young adult readers because adolescence is a period that everyone experiences: everyone has been heartbroken, felt anger toward parents, or parted ways with a best friend. Sometimes, the only story anyone wants to read is about someone just like them, someone dealing with the same issues, wanting the same things. These are the stories that teens needstories that impel controversy, containing subjects such as drug use and sexual experimentation. In the past, members of the older generations feared that these stories would have a negative influence on our youth, but this viewpoint has becoming less common in recent years. Reporter Lev Grossman pointed out last year that, sales of hardcover young-adult books are up 30.7%, while adult hard covers are down 17.8% (Wall Street Journal). Grossman suggests that all readers want these days is a good story, something relatable. What are the driving forces for the increase in young adult fiction sales? Patty Campbell suggests that the success of the Harry Potter series reminds publishers that adults are willing to read a book told from a young teenagers point of view (Horn Book Magazine 62). Campbell says that another factor is that around the turn of the millennium, chain bookstores such as Barnes and Noble began to separate young adult novels from the childrens section and to treat YA (Young Adult) as a special-reader genre like mystery or science fiction rather than an age-

segregated literature. The result was a whopping double-digit increase in sales . . . proximity of young adult books to the adult shelves gives YA a new grown-up respectability in teens eyes (63). Also, Campbell points out, to add even more prominence to the growing trend, popular authors of books for adults, such as Joyce Carol Oates, Alice Hoffman, and Isabel Allende have each taken their own stab at writing young adult fiction, each with their own individual successes. Young adult fiction can cover a vast number of topics, ranging from justice to sexuality to peer pressure to parents to self-identity and awareness. The successful young adult author John Green expresses the need for youthful energy and boldness in his first novel Looking for Alaska: Those awful things are survivable, because we are as indestructible as we believe ourselves to be. When adults say, Teenagers think they are invincible with that sly, stupid smile on their faces, they don't know how right they are . . . We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and failing. But that part of us greater than the sum of parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail. (220-1)

Teens, like people of every age, need to be able to face the world head-on. A lot of the time, their distinguished boldness is looked down upon by the older and wiser as naivety, but experiences are needed to transform. How else can we learn if we dont push ourselves beyond our limits? And yet, even when we feel invincible, there is always the chance that things will come crashing down. Life hits us hardest when we dont know what to expect. As a teenager, lack of experience leaves us with little to look back on. With nothing to relate hardships to, emotions can strike us and blind us that much more strongly. But this is the time period when identity forms, when how one handles things becomes a reference for similar situations in the future. Experience hurts, yes, and sometimes things dont get easier, but one can survive. So many teens forget dont realize their own endurance when they become angry or upset with the world for whatever reasonwhether it be miscommunication with a boyfriend or girlfriend, losing a best friend, or feeling no support from parents. Often, it is easier to sit in their rooms and hide. But giving up is never an option. To read great stories such as J.D. Salingers Catcher in the Rye can both evoke these feelings of helplessness and also arouse the need to do great deeds. But writing can do the same. Writing is sometimes seen as a passive way to fight against these thingsall thought, no actionbut sometimes it is the only appropriate way to cope without hurting others or making

one self look like a fool. It doesnt stop bad things from happening, but it allows the writer to face things head-on and honestly, without having to give consideration to what anyone else thinks; no one else has to see what youve written. On heartache, pain, and death, Ray Bradbury says: The horrors are not to be deniedThe list is endless and crushing if we do not creatively oppose it. Which means writing as cure. Not completely, of course. You never get over your parents in the hospital or your best love in the grave. I wont use the word therapy, its too clean, too sterile a word. I only say when death slows others, you must leap to set up your diving board and dive head first into your typewriter (XIV). I choose to write about the common experiences of young adults mostly because having been a teenager myself, by writing through my experiences, I somehow managed to get through them. When I first began to write these stories, I put it off much of the time. It was hard to maintain a schedule that would fit in regular writing, but even more so, it was difficult because I didnt know what I would end up with. Janet Burroway in Writing Fiction portrays this fear best when she says, Fear of what could emerge on the page, and what it may reveal about our inner lives, can keep us from getting started (2). The fear of being an inadequate writer, I must say, made me question my ability to portray the essence and feelings I wanted to portray. But, a notion that I try to live up to and portray in my work is the need to be fulfilled, accomplished, complete.

The inspiration for the plot and characters in these stories is mostly from personal experience, as it is with most beginning writers: at the start of my junior year of high school, I experienced my first broken heart, and became completely flustered with the lack of communication I went through with this said heartbreaker. After months of silence between us, I grew tired of being angry, I dedicated the next week to writing and recording the long, frustrating tale of my first love. As I wrote, I opened up honestly, and in doing so, was able to relive the moments that I had thought about this boy in a certain light, the months of anger, and the fluttery feelings I got when things had been going well between us. I realized when I was done writing it that I had been released of my anger, and emancipated from the need to hear the truth I had thought I deserved from him. Writing became a means of catharsis; it healed me. It was also that year that I started enjoying English class. The stories we read in Ms. Dwyers English class still stick in my mindI rave about Margaret Atwoods The Handmaids Tale every time I read about some new dystopian fantasy; Zora Neale Hurstons Their Eyes Were Watching God was recently brought back to me in a Southern Literature class that opened me up to what love should be; and J.D. Salingers Catcher in the Rye inspired an essay assignment in which we had to write about three shaping events that had happened in our lives. I enjoyed my senior year Womens Literature and Great Books class more

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than I ever admitted to any one of my friends, but they obviously shaped my interest in declaring a Creative Writing major in college. But the real genre Ive always been drawn to when I walk into a book store, as you may have guessed by now, is the young adult section. The week I graduated from high school, I walked to my local library and checked out Stephen Chboskys The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I sat in the living room and read it cover to cover, lost in feeling the desire of the sixteen-year old narrator who writes letters to someone he hopes will listen to him. After finishing the book, I sighed, feeling like I had read through it too fast, and I wanted more. So I read it through a second timethe first time I had ever read the same book twice. The narrator in my story A Long Night is heavily inspired by Charlie, the narrator that Chbosky creates in his novelhis inward questioning, his need to help others, and the debate over doing what is right versus what everyone expects him to do. I read Perks again to inspire my own writing when I started working on my senior project. It didnt exactly motivate my writing at the time, but it helped remind me why I had chosen to do a collection of short stories from the point of view of young adults. The last book I read before starting college was John Greens Looking for Alaska. Greens narrator, Miles Halter, reminded me of Charlie, the narrator from Chboskys novelthe insecure sixteen year old boy who was looking for something more in life than what his small

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town had to offer. Miles Halter went to seek the Great Perhaps. I, too, fell in love with the charming, self-defeating Alaska Young, and cried when tragedy struck the life of narrator Miles Halter. Two similar-seeming characters experienced different things and went through different levels of depression and tragedy, but I stood by them both. And in the end, I felt I had been lifted out of it along with them. I felt ready to face the world. That is what teenagers need: inspiration to face the world head-on, regardless of fear or consequences. Mind you, I was only seventeen when I started college, so I suppose my maturity level wasnt much different from Miles and Charlie myself, but I knew that these two great works would shape my writing and the way I thought about life, and I made the goal for myself to be able to do what Chbosky and Green had done: I wanted people to be able to read my stories and feel like they had undergone some sort of enlightenmentthat they had entered the mind of someone vulnerable and innocent, and had come away from it having also experienced a complete transformation. In one of my first creative writing courses, I experimented with different ideas and themes. But the stories I enjoyed writing most were the ones that included teenagers and the things they dealt withheartache, family drama, trying to explain themselves, to prove that they were worth something, to reach a sense of achievement. These stories were usually short, and after workshopping them once, I would tuck them away. But someone asked me once after I

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shared a piece about a girl who sticks her fingers down her throat for the first time if I wanted the story to end there or if I wanted to keep going. Unsure, I told her I could go either way. And she agreed, saying that it was strong enough as it was, but could be developed into something further. Still having most of my college career ahead of me, I just shrugged it off, but not after hearing someone say, That would be a good senior project. So when I walked into my first senior project meeting, I had already been cultivating in my mind for three years what I wanted to write. The only thing to do now was to get it down on paper. Inspiration for my format stems from young adult author David Levithans book The Realm of Possibility, a collection of poems, each told from the point of view of a different student in a high school. Each of these poems has different links and references to the other narrators portrayed in each story, and at the end of the story, readers come to see that in high school, no one is as different as they seem. My story about Bethany and her unrequited feelings for Tristen was inspired by a poem called The Day in David Levithans book. I knew within my project that I would need a story about a break up. The disintegration of any romantic relationship is universally known, regardless of age. But the first breakup is the one that throws us all, and I struggled immensely with what I thought would be the simplest story to tell. I had originally wanted just a scenea

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girl walks down the hallway after school the day after being dumped. She sees him for the first time since he broke her heart. Everything shatters. She feels like everyone is watching and everyone knows. I wanted to portray a microscopic view of every hair on her body rising as chills run down her back and she wants to cry and run and scream all at the same time, but is forced to stand still and watch him pass her. That is what I wanted to create. Of course, once a writer gets into something, the details catch up to him or her, and it is easy to get lost in the world of possibilities. So I struggled for months with Bethanys storyfirst it started off with a third person omniscient point of view, and I watched her struggled back and forth with her boyfriendat the time Mark Jenkins. After writing my story Cheesy Puffs, however, I decided his character was not messed up enough, and not motivated enough, to break her heart. The story jumped around chronologically, and mostly just kept going back to clues given that she shouldve seen it coming. But it wasnt working. So I developed her character in Cheesy Puffs, making Bethany a lovable, easy-going, brilliant girl, and then I tried to invent someone who would be able to break that strong-willed girl down. Enter Tristen Goldhart, whose situation, I suppose, was also inspired by young adult author David Levithan, who incorporates strong gay male characters in his writing. It didnt start out that way, however. Tristens story Leaving was inspired simply by the fact that divorce

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happens, and I have struggled for years with what I call being a product of divorce. I needed to write about it. But then, after writing the scene where Tristen finds out that his parents are splitting, I couldnt do a feel sorry for me story. Affairs are too clich. So I made his dad gay. I have big plans for Tristen and Bethany of One-Hundred and Twenty-Six Days, although I am not going to reveal them right now. All I will say on these two is that I hope to turn their much-longer story into a novel, with a format will similar to that of David Levithan and Rachel Cohns short novels Nick and Norahs Infinite Playlist and Eli and Naomis No Kiss List, sectioned off by different narrators in order to create a world in which readers can see the larger picture through different lenses. The Long Night has been a work in progress for years. I worked on it once in my first semester of college, and then put it aside for two years. I attempted submitting it for publication once, but it needed something more. It had ended at the scene where the paramedics come to take Lauren to the hospital. But the narrator, Christine, had yet to change. The feelings of helplessness keep Christine from opening up to her mom. Although the main conflict seems to be between Christine and Lauren, the story turns into one that focuses on Christines internal conflict as she struggles to face the act of desperation that Lauren attempts. Many stories written about suicide are taken from the point of view of the one who tries to commit it, but here in The Long Night

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the reaction of those around the troubled soul are emphasized, and the final lines of the story go to show that sometimes help lies closer than one thinks. My own experience with family members is portrayed here. It was only recently, after confronting certain family members about different grudges Ive held for years that I realized that I was tired of being put in uncomfortable situations against my will. Thats when I could finish the story. While on the subject of family, Moths was also inspired by a little brother of mine. Although he is in his first year of high school now, and would never run through the neighborhood streaking no matter how hot it is, part of my commitment to the topic of teenagers is because of my brother and sister, twins. I strive to produce stories they can relate to, something they would want to look to for advice. Angelas character is protective and sisterly indeed, and I wanted to portray a relationship of understanding and protectiveness. I hope the reader appreciates the loving qualities she and her brother share. Despite the need for social peer interaction as a teen, I wanted to remind readers in this story that family is always there. In Moths, a girls dull attitude toward being stuck at home all summer transforms into a refreshing appreciation for her younger brothers ability to make her laugh. The elements of her setting: drunken parents, limited peer connection, and a thick stifling heat wave reflect the novel shes reading at the beginning of the story:

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Catcher in the Rye. Holden Caulfields depressing view on such a vicious world pulls Angela, the narrator, into an observant questioning of her own life. Her unhappy, lonely summer, however, is made better when her ten year old brother asks a nave question, which she answers through laughter as the two of them walk home together. The closeness of Angela and Joe, her brother, also reflects the relationship of Holden and his younger sister Phoebe, as both sets of characters holds their siblings close to their hearts, even showing that the relationship between siblings is something unlike any other relationship out thereits something that is always there, even when the world seems to be falling apart. The only story that I didnt pull from a specific event in my life is Cheesy Puffs Versus Mac and Cheese, in which shy guy Mark Jenkins, attempts to hold his ground with the opposite sex and redeem himself from his first queasy kiss. This is one of the first stories I ever attempted to write from a male characters perspective. After writing the initial scene in which Bethany invites him to babysit with her, I was unsure of where to go should he kiss her? Should she kiss him? Should he even join her for the evening at all? What would a sixteen-year old boy want? In the end, with help from a good friend of mine, I decided that he would want what a sixteen-year old girl would want: he would want a chance at love. Or at least, he would take his chance on what he believes to be love at sixteen.

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Each of the characters in these stories experiences a change, large or small, and is forced to grow, sometimes painfully so. It was often difficult for me in my time writing these stories to relive the similar experiences Ive had, and that pain would sometimes make me want to give up on the story. But I know these are important, and that they need to be told, and that someone needs to read them because someone else is experiencing the same thing right now. Perhaps not the exact same thing, but they can feel the same way as Bethany did when she reflected on her prom night, or as Mark did when she rejected him. No one wants to be alone with these feelings. Writing and sharing stories is a way to connect to others so that they know they are not alone. The contrast of subject and tone in these stories shows that not all of adolescence is made up of just good or bad experiences, but a mix of delicate situations. These events all have the possibility of embarrassment, pain, or a number of other feelings. They are all a part of the human experience of growing up. These stories are short but honest. I wanted to make sure that readers could feel a connection with each character I createdwhether its the disconnection from parents, the need to help others, a need to communicate through bold action, or just knowing the fact that breakups

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are painful. Ive worked for months on this project, and I actually enjoyed writing it when I managed to stop putting it off. I hope you that you, the readers, enjoy reading it. More than just enjoy it though, I hope that you can connect with the characters, and struggle along with them. I hope that they remind you that although there will be events in life that will surprise us, scare us, and intimidate us, they are not worth backing down from.

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Works Cited Atwood, Margaret. The Handmaid's Tale. London: McClelland and Stewart, 1985. Print. Bradbury, Ray. Zen in the Art of Writing. Santa Barbara, CA: Joshua Odell Editions, 1994. Print. Burroway, Janet. Writing Fiction. 6th Ed. New York: Longman, 2003. Print. Campbell, Patty. "Drowning in Success." Horn Book Magazine 82.1 (2006): 61-65. EBSCOhost. Web. 22 Apr. 2010. Chbosky, Stephen. The Perks of Being a Wallflower. New York: MTV Books/Pocket Books, 1999. Print. Cohn, Rachel, and David Levithan. Ely and Naomi's No Kiss List. New York: Random House, 2007. Print. Green, John. Looking for Alaska. New York: Dutton Books, 2005. Print. Grossman, Lev. "Good Novels Don't Have to Be Hard Work." Wall Street Journal 29 Aug. 2009. Web. 23 Apr. 2010. Hurston, Zora Neale. Their Eyes Were Watching God. New York: Perennial Library, 1937. Print. Levithan, David. The Day. The Realm of Possibility. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2004. 106-21. Print.

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Salinger, J. D. The Catcher in the Rye. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1951. Print.

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We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. -John Green Looking for Alaska

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The Long Night

Its Friday afternoon, and Ive just gotten through my first week of high school. Mom waits in the car while I run in the house to get my overnight bag. As I unlock the door, the phone rings, and I can see on our caller ID that my cousin is calling. I laugh and pick it up. Somehow, she always knows when I home. Hey Lauren! Im excited about our sleepover, I tell her. Hey Christine! Can you ask your mom to get us tuna sandwiches please? Sure, I say, Do you need anything else? I ask her as I rush into my bathroom to stuff my toothbrush in my backpack and rummage through my drawers for some shirts I might want to wear tomorrow. I can always borrow Laurens pants. No, thats it. I got a bunch of cool stuff I want to show you when you get here. Awesome! Im leaving now. Ill see you soon! On top of being one of the worlds coolest cousins, Lauren is also my best friend. Right now, she lives with our grandma in the next town over because her parents couldnt handle her, what with running away from home this past summer and her bad grades and stuff. Im not into doing that. I do what I need to do, and Ive found that this approach to life has kept my mom out of my hair. Lauren is a junior, Im a freshman. Im taller than her, but we wear the same pants size; shes much curvier than I am. She also has a boyfriend that goes to the arts academy nearby,

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though Im not really sure how they met, considering I live in a small town in northern Michigan, and she grew up in Detroit. She says that hes the main reason she moved into town because now they can be closer to each other, but I think her parents just got tired of waiting up for her at night. It makes me sad that she and her parents dont get along. They never have really. But either way, Im glad Ive been getting to see her more often. When my dad left two years ago, she stayed up at night with me while we listened to my moms muffled sobs come in from the master bedroom. Plus, Lauren is the only person who knows Ive had a crush on Justin Matthews since the fifth grade. I dont like talking to my friends at school about him because Ive been going to school with the same people since I was five, and hes gone out with every other girl in my class. But Im trying to move on now that were in high school. Anyway, this story is about Lauren. Like I said, I feel bad for her. Last year, she was kicked out of school because the principal caught her with weed. Then in July, the police found her at my house after she ran away from home to be with her boyfriend. She spent a month in juvy. I went to Planned Parenthood with her last month when she had her abortion. Her boyfriend drove us, and I held her hand in the backseat afterward while she cried. I trashed the towels I had bought for the occasion in Old Lady Schneiders bin. Basically, shes the opposite of me, Miss Goody-good-church-choir-girl-at-private-school-never-kissed-a-boy-drug-free Christine.

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But shes not a bad person. Shes always been my best friend, and I wouldnt trade a thing to have it any other way. I want things to be better for her. I really do. I just wish that she did too. My mom calls from downstairs, Christine! Are you ready to go yet? I stand up, take one quick glance around my room to see if I forgot to pack anything, then run down the stairs. Can we stop by Subway before going to grandmas? I ask my mom. They want tuna for dinner. *** On the drive to grandmas, I roll my window down, letting the breeze of the late afternoon brush my face. Are you sure youre okay sleeping over there? I could just pick you up after you guys have dinner, Mom hassles me. Mom, its fine. I know Lauren does crazy stuff, but Ill be okay there for the night. Besides, grandma is there. Okay Christine. I just worry about you. I know mom. Ill be fine, I tell her. I turn my face to the window and let the warm breeze whip my face.

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*** After giving grandma a kiss on the cheek, I leave my mom to talk to her and run into Laurens small guest room, where I find her amid her makeup collection, which is strewn across the floor. Here, I say, handing the paper-wrapped tuna sandwich on wheat bread to her. Thanks, she says as she takes it out of the bag. I put my backpack down. It has been a long week at school. Im finding this high school stuff to be hard, and I am grateful for weekends like this where nothing is planned and nothing is expectedwell probably lock ourselves in here until noon tomorrow, when well ask grandpa to take us to the mall. The TV is on while we eat, each of us laughing at the unrealism of MTVs reality shows. *** While Lauren experiments with a cat-eye look on me, she tells me about her day at schoolboring as usual. Yeah. My algebra test today was kind of hard, but choir was really good this week. I agree with her. What else did you do before I got here? Well, she says as she pulls a plastic Ziploc bag out of her backpack. Inside are five blue tablets. Look at what I bought today, What are those? I ask.

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She stares at me, apprehensively. Sometimes, I feel like she just wants to see how Ill react to the crazy things shes done. I think she thinks that Ill judge her. Our parents have always called me the good one and shes been the bad one and I wonder sometimes if she wants me to do anything with her, so that theyll stop labeling us. Ecstasy. I spent a hundred dollars on them today. I stare at her, not sure what to do now. Laurens done ecstasy before. At least, Im pretty sure she has. I also know that Im not going to swallow any of those pills, so I have no idea why shes showing them to me. Then again, we share mostly everything with each other. Maybe shes going to a party tomorrow. She tucks them back into her backpack and leaves to go to the bathroom, the awkward moment over. The TV is still on, so she probably thinks I dont notice how long shes taking, how the faucet is on the entire time shes in there. I sigh. What a waste. Five bucks on a sandwich thats just going to end up in the toilet. I cant tell her to stop though; I dont feel like I have the right to bring it up since I tried it out a few months ago after she told me it was a good way to get rid of baby fat. I researched it first, just to see if other people actually did it. Purging, thats what they call it on the websites. Purge, like you can become a better person by sticking your fingers down your throatbut only when I feel it absolutely necessary, like after eating ice cream. I eat ice cream a lot actually. Its kind of my comfort food, and I need

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a lot of comfort these days. But aside from that, I try to keep my face away from the toilet. I cant sing well if I do it too much. *** Im drowsily lying on the twin mattress while the blonde girl on the Real World screams at the guy she likes. Laurens into this show, but I cant really relate. Reality shows always seemed kind of stupid to me. I know a lot of people who dont have to get drunk and get into fights all the time just to try to get what they want. Reality TV just doesnt seem all that real to me, but I also dont know a lot of people, so maybe Im wrong. I dose off while Lauren sits on the futon just five feet away, talking to her boyfriend on the phone. Her voice is quiet, soft. She seems sad. I drift off to sleep. *** Christine. I wake up two hours later to Laurens voice. I check my cell phone that I tucked under the pillow before I went to sleep. Its midnight. I took the pills. I sit up. All of them? She nods gravely.

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I stare at her, my exhausted mind quickly starting to turn. She does not seem as shaky as someone who has just swallowed five ecstasy pills. Then again, Ive never been around anyone on ecstasy. There is a strange calm about hera hysterical look in her eyes, but held within a calm, transfixed body. She looks just slightly worried and asks me in a small voice, Can you call Brian for me, please? Tell him to come here I do what Im told. I never really talk to her boyfriend that much, but I dial his number on her cell. Brian, I say, feeling anxiety building up in me, can you come over? Laurens done something bad. *** When he arrives minutes later, I run to open the front door, not caring about whatever noise I make. Youve got to get her to yak it up, Brian says. We lead her to the bathroom in the hallway, but I remember that theres nothing in her stomach for her to throw up. I hurry to the kitchen and see some bananas on the shelf. I grab one and bring it back to Brian. He peels it and pulls a piece off. Lauren is sitting on the floor, cross-

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legged and swaying. She reminds me of a dog, sitting there, waiting to be fed, to be cared for. Lost. He tells her to eat, and asks her to open her mouth. She does. She chews slowly. She cant possibly comprehend that having something to throw up in her system could actually save her right now. I watch her drift in and out of consciousness, even though her eyes are open. But I cant see a soul inside of her body. She is no longer Lauren. This thing stares blankly at the two people who care for her the most. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, Brian keeps saying. We need something else. Get her soup or something. Ill call the police, I tell him. No! You cant do that! But theyll know what to do, I say back to him. He cant be serious. Theyll take her away again, he says to me, and I know hes right. I scurry back to the kitchen. My hands make the cupboards fly open. Soup? Is he serious? I have time to cook soup right now? I shut the cupboards and put my hands over my face. What am I doing? I cant do this.

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My tired-looking grandma wobbles into the kitchen, cane in hand. I hear her ask why Im making so much noise. I tell her that Lauren is in the bathroom trying to throw up. She shakes her head at me, That girl brings way too many problems upon herself. Yes, I know grandma. Too many problems. Then I reach for the phone. Christine, its past midnight. Who are you calling? I dial 911. My cousin took ecstasy, I say quickly into the phone. I hear my grandma gasp, her hand reaching up to her chest. Then for the first time, I realize whats really going on and start to choke on my words, She took a lot of ecstasy. Please help her. Please. *** The ambulance arrives within minutes. Lauren is on the floor in the bedroom now. The men armored in black are talking to her calmly. She looks as though shes trying to pound the floor with her fist. But she is moving so slowly that all she is really doing is patting the floor softly. Were going to give you some charcoal, the man says.

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There is a small plastic cup filled with a thick black liquid in his hand. He helps her tilt her head back and pours it into her mouth. The slick black solution now covers her teeth, her lips. She looks completely ridiculous and I grow angry with myself for thinking so. The thick blackness on her mouth burns its image into me, and I can feel a similar bubbling begin to form in my stomach, in my throat. I want to talk to her. I dont understand what is going on. I want to know why she did it. But the thickness of the concoction blocks me from reaching her. Instead, a red heat covers my cheeks and a burning sensation grasps my body. The black- armored men with their drugs and straps are putting my cousin onto a stretcher. I walk to the front door with my grandma and Brian. We watch the paramedics take Lauren away with them. I watch quietly, frightened at my feelings. I feel tears fall from my face, adding to the hotness of the dread that I feel. My best friend leaves me with this terror and I wonder if she will return. *** My mom picks me up from grandmas house. I continue to cry. I dont know how long its been since they took Lauren away. My mom tries to ask me questions, to talk to me, but I cant hear her through these shades of red and black. Its not just anger or sadness or one of those emotions that you can line up with a facial expression that you learn about in school. Ive never

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felt this way before, so immersed in a feeling that I cant speak. All I know is, Im crying and my face is numb from hyperventilating so much and my hands are shaking and I dont know when this is going to stop. Now Im in my room sitting in my bed. Its still dark outside. I should probably go to sleep so I lie down and realize Im freezing. I get under the covers and cry myself to sleep. *** Its Saturday now. Dull sunlight streams in through my bedroom blinds. My clock says that its one o clock. Mom is talking to me. Christine, how are you feeling? She sounds normal, her soft voice comforting. Im ok, mom. Then I remember what happened and I feel my face crumple into what Im sure is some hideous expression. Christine, its going to be okay. The doctors pumped her stomach, so its all out of her system. But shes really out of it sweetie. We can go visit her tomorrowthey said thats when she should be conscious again. Conscious again???

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Okay, I say quietly, and I look at my mom. Do you want something to eat? You must be hungry after such a long night. Yes, please. Ill come down after I take a shower. Alright, sweetie. My mom leaves and I go to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and gasp. My face is red, my eyes swollen. My hair is a frazzled mess of knots. I turn on the shower and step in. The hot water soaks my body, numbing my hot feelings with its own scalding force. I think of Lauren, unconscious and empty, and I wish I were in her spot so I didnt have to feel this way. *** We head to the hospital after church on Sunday. Im nervous. I dont know what shell look like. I dont know what shell say. Does she even remember what happened? We walk through the doors and are told to waitshe cant have more than two visitors at a time, and her parents are in the room with her. I try to read a Home and Garden magazine. Finally, her parents come out. Laurens dad stands back with a distant look in his eyes, similar to that of his daughters just two days before. He doesnt talk much. My aunt hugs me tightly, and says Christine, thank you so much for calling the ambulance. Are you ok? I nod, and hug her back.

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She looks at me with sad eyes then turns to my mom. I space out while they talk, anxious to see how Lauren is, what she looks like, if shes there. My mom finally leads me down the hallway and we get to the last room on the left. Room 421. Lauren is lying in a cot under thin, white sheets, her eyes closed. Lauren? my mom calls to her soothingly. She opens her eyes. I stare at Lauren. She doesnt look like my cousin. Even now, after purging all that bad stuff from her, her gaze is far away, like she cant see us. How are you feeling? my mom asks. I stay quiet. Lauren replies slowly, Im okay. Just tired. Well, Im glad youre ok Lauren. Thank God Christine was there with you. Thats what everyone keeps saying. But what if I hadnt been? Does she even want to be here? She took those pills for a reason, right? She tries to focus her gaze on me, I dont know what I was thinking. The colors are back. Yes, you do, I want to say. Thats why you took the pills. Because you wanted something to happen. But I dont say anything.

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Instead, I continue to stare at herdark eyelids slowly drooping, her pale skin enhanced by the white sheets that surround her. She wanted out and she almost got it, but I saved her. I saved her. But did she even want to be saved? Instead of saying, youre welcome or, Im sorry that you tried to kill yourself. Life isnt that bad, is it? I say, You should try to go back to sleep. She looks at me blankly, the simple words havent translated. Or maybe they have. She asks, Are you mad at me? I shake my head no. Lauren says, Okay. Then she closes her eyes. *** On the drive home, I give up. I let the blackness take over me. My mom puts her hand on my knee. Christine, honey. Whats wrong? I realize that theres snot and tears on my hands from when I covered my face. This makes me cry even more.

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I must be in pretty bad shape because the next thing I know, theres a chocolate milkshake in the cup holder next to me, and were in the local diner parking lot. I take a sip and let the sweetness fill my mouth, the first good sensation Ive felt in days. My mother sits beside me, and I can see that she wants to listen to me. She always has. So I begin, I dont want to be in charge of saving her anymore. I know honey. She squeezes my shoulder and I look at her. For some people, Christine, it takes a lifetime to recover. From what, sometimes we dont know. But all we can do is try and make it a little bit easier for them. Thats what you did this weekend. And for that, I am very proud of you. And I collapse into my mothers arms, finally letting someone else do the saving.

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Cheesy Puffs versus Mac and Cheese Ive kissed one girl in my life. I didnt want to. I swear. I was in second grade. Everyone was cleaning out their cubbies and asking Ms. Woods what could go into recycling when Natalie Griffin pushed me into the closet at the back of the classroom and laid a wet, cheesy-puff tasting one right on my lips, her pudgy little fingers surprisingly strong. I was so embarrassed and overwhelmed by the smell that I threw up all over her and had to stay in at lunch while all of our classmates covered their noses whenever they saw me. I was labeled the barf bag for the rest of second grade. Ive tried to avoid the label, and so Ive mostly stayed away from girls since then. Especially their lips. But that was until tenth grade biology. The teacher, Mr. Gil, assigned us all permanent lab partners instead of letting us choose, and I was assigned to Bethany. Bethany is an A student who babysits some of the kids at the grade school down the street. She looks like she babysits tooshe wears those socks that go up to her knees and plaid skirts that sway around her thighs when she walks that make you think like youre going to be able to see some lace if you focus hard enough, but then you dont, no matter how hard you focus

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on them. Her blonde hair is always in a ponytail and I cant imagine it any other waysomehow the shape of her face looks like it was meant to be framed by a ponytail, like shes got nothing to hide. The thing I like about Bethany is that she doesnt look at me like Im a perv, even though I know shes caught me looking at her legs a few times. She laughs a lot and always asks what part of the lab assignments I want to do, without making me feel stupid if I ask to do the easier part. Today is frog-dissection day. After setting up our lab table, Bethany names our frog Hitler the Second, and says not to feel bad about ripping out his insides because he is the spawn of the Third Reich. I laugh and say okay, and then volunteer to write the answers on our worksheet so she doesnt get Nazi juice on our assignment. Bethanys laugh rings like bells, and I find it hard to look away from her latex-covered, frog juice-soaked fingers as she explains. She says that the only way shes going to be able to hurt this frog is if his name is Hitler. Now since it is, shes going to do all the cutting. I says thats awesome, and then, without transition, she jumps to talking about this one kid she babysits. She tells me about this one time this kid told her he was going to marry her, and she laughed and made him mac and cheese because, if you cant give a boy your heart, you should at least give him a good consolation prize for trying, Bethany proclaims. And at six years old, mac and cheese is the next best thing to love.

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I try to imagine what being six years old and proposing to her would be like. I wouldnt have been so bold at such a young age, but then again, Ive been scarredunable to work up the guts to even look at any girl too long. I ponder Bethanys ability to make a good mac and cheese when Mr. Gil tells us to take our gloves off and bring our trays to the front of the class so he can make sure each pair has correctly taken out the heart, intestines, and stomach. The line has dwindled down to just four pairs ahead of us when we realize that we forgot to take the heart out! Or at least, Bethany forgot. I just had to fill out the worksheet. I look at her, and worry that this missing heart is going to ruin the one A grade I have a shot of getting. She sees my face and says, Dont worry, and then removes the heart from poor little Hitler the Seconds gashed body with her delicate fingers. All nauseousness aside, it kind of turns me on watching Bethany excavate the thing. Excellent you two! says Mr. Gil when he sees her handiwork. I knew youd be a great team. You know, I have a way with setting up lab partners a pair I put together five years ago just sent me a wedding invitation. I laugh nervously, but Bethany just nods. Yes, Mr. Gil. Marky-Mark here is an excellent partner. Now about that take-home test.

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I can feel my face burning at this point, but manage to stammer out that Bethany is pretty cool herself, and Mr. Gil says that its a partner test due Monday. Good luck. You have all weekend. As she looks over the test, a look of worry comes across her face, and she looks at me. Crap! she exclaims. What is it? Is there an essay question? Do we have to diagram something? No, no. Its just, Im getting CPR certified tomorrow, and I have to lead a youth retreat on Sunday. Plus, Im babysitting tonight. I dont have time to meet up before next class! Bethany explains. But her look changes quickly and she yells excitedly at me, Hey! Why dont you help me babysit! You can meet Mr. Mac and Cheese himself, and we can work on the test together after putting him to sleep. Ill even split the profits with you Before I can even think about all the video games I have to play tonight, I find myself saying yes. Then the thought of cheese brings back a queasy reminder of the last time I was alone with a girl, and I try to remain calm while my stomach lurches. I breathe hard through my nostrils, and attempt a smile at her. Yeah, thatll be great, I wince. She ignores the anxious look on my face as she walks away. Great! See you tonight!

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Now its my turn to say Crap! to myself, as I stumble out of class, the faint smell of fake powdery cheese torments my nostrils. After taking a few deep breaths, I calm down, vowing to myself not to let Natalie Griffins cheesy-puff breath ruin tonight for me. *** Whos that? asks the small messy-haired boy that will be butting in on my date tonight. This, Bethany points to me in a magnificent gesture, is da da da DA! MARK! He will be your guest babysitter tonight. He likes to hunt snakes. AWESOME! Youre in, Bethany whispers to me. Just know his name is Michael. Got it, I say, even though Ive never touched a snake in my life, let alone talk to a sixyear old since I myself was six. And dont worry about his parents. Ive got that under control. Im just going to say that youre shadowing me so that you can get some babysitting experience. Theyll love you. To be quite honest, Im surprised at how easily Bethany is handling everything. Ive been here for two minutes, said two words, and already this family Ive never met likes me. I find this whole situation overwhelming. My weekends usually consist of Lucky Charms and video games. Although I must admit I do like how uncomplicated its been so far.

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Michaels parents leave, and Michael and I actually get along pretty wellwe go bowling on his Wii after we eat dinner, which tonight, happens to be pizza. Then Bethany cleans up the kitchen and asks me to put him to bed, which also goes surprisingly smoothly. The kid knows how to dress himself and even brush his teeth. He did make me tell him about my adventures as a snake hunter, which I cant believe actually made him sleepy, but I guess Im not that great of a story-teller. *** When I meet Bethany back downstairs, she is breaking open her biology textbook. I notice that her hair is down for once, and she looks different. Prettier, even. My stomach churns again from lack of preparation, though for what, Im unsure. For some reason, I feel like this is it my chance at redemption. Plus the fact that dinner had nothing resembling cheesy puffs in it pushes me forward, and I realize that I like her. If nothing else, shes as real as anyone Ive ever talked to, and much closer to perfect than I couldve hoped for. How did it go? she asks without looking at me. He went straight to sleep. It was amazing. I knew youd be good with kids. Youve got that sweet, sensitive demeanor about you. I feel my face blush and I repeat, Sweet, sensitive demeanor? as I take a seat next to her at the dining room table.

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Bethany looks at me then, studies my face, and smiles. Yeah! You know, youre quiet and nice and you just have this calmness about you. I feel like Im staring at her too hard, and I hope Im not making those googly eyes that puppy dogs make. No one ever says nice stuff like that to me, I tell her. Yeah, well maybe youre not listening hard enough. I try to look away from her, but I cant. Her blue eyes stare back at me, making me uncertain of what to do, but her words make me melt like butter drizzled over a bag of movie popcorn and I cant help myself. I draw my face close to her, and I can smell her breath leftover traces of tomato sauce and onions, but I dont mindand I put my lips to hers in the boldest moment of my life, and everything is soft and quiet, and my heart is pumping faster than Ive ever felt it beat before. And then she pulls away. Whoa, Mark. What are you doing? I shut my eyes really tight, feeling my face turn red from mortification. This was not how it was supposed to be, she says, and I can hear irritation in her voice.

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After a few seconds of instant replay in my head, I open my eyes and look at her. In this extreme moment of shock, I notice that when she puts her blonde hair down, it is slightly frizzy, but she still looks as elegant as ever. Im sorry, I stammer. She studies my face again and sighs, a sigh meant for me alone. We were just supposed to work on the test, her voice is low now, far from its usual belllike quality. When I say nothing, she asks, What made you think I wanted to kiss you? I think really hard about how to answer. What did make me think that? And I realize that it wasnt so much that I thought she wanted to kiss me as it was that I needed to kiss her. I just needed to, I say finally. I know I sound like an idiot. What do you mean you needed to do it? Youre just so nice, Bethany. And pretty. And smart, the words come out at a speed faster than Im used to speaking and I know I sound like an idiot, and youre the only girl who really talks to me. And I just thought that maybe you kind of liked me. Oh Mark, Bethany says. More sighing. Im sorry. And then I watch her pick her words: Im just one of those people that needs to get things done. Ive found it makes things easier if Im friends with the people I have to work with. Like you. I like being your lab partner

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Mark. You make things easy. Youre so flexible about how we split things. And you always let me have the fun part. Shes being nice again. Now I know Im an idiot for mistaking niceness for flirting. But I dont like you like that. And there it is. I look down, take a few deeps breaths while processing this information. Then I ask, Any chance that you ever will? To which she laughs, that bell-like quality has returned. I feel my shoulders relax. Well I dont even know that much about you, other than you being a snake hunter and all. But who is the real Mark Jenkins, under all that camouflage and snake charming skill? I laugh. Things are back to normal. And thats okay with me. *** Bethany leans over the textbook, pencil in hand, while I lean over the steaming bowl in front of me, inhaling the aroma of the half pound of cheese she added to the Kraft box. It may not be natural, but it sure is good! she had exclaimed while shredding the block of cheese. I have to admit, it does look amazing, I say. Then I risk it and add, kind of like yourself.

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Bethany covers her mouth to suppress a laugh. Nice try Mark. But aside from the stuff in that bowl, I dont go for cheesy. Darn, I say. Her hair is back up in its ponytail, her eyes focus back on the page. Whats the difference between a prokaryote and a eukaryote? she asks me, not wanting to look for the answer in the book. Eukaryotes have a nucleus. Prokaryotes dont. Thats right! You know, you dont give yourself enough credit. Youre pretty smart. Thanks, I say, and I lift my fork up to my mouth. The melted cheese melts even more once it touches my tongue and I find my mouth watering for more as soon as I swallow. I can tell that shes being nice again, but maybe thats just who she is. Maybe thats all shell ever be to me, but I think I like her for being just that. For now, though, she seems to have her heart set on keeping it secure. One thing I learned tonight, though: if I cant have love, mac and cheese really does make a good consolation prize.

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Moths

The thick air smothers me as I sit by the pool in the McArthurs backyard. My family and I are at our neighbors house, soaking up the last few days of vacation. But were here mostly because my parents like the pool that the McArthurs have in their backyard more than they actually like the McArthurs. Mom and dad are busy schmoozing over beer and barbeque, leaving me to play peacemaker among the kidsmy ten year old brother, Joe, and his best friend/ arch rival, Wesley McArthur, the spoiled little eight year old bully. As the sunlight fades, I try to finish my new copy of Catcher in the Rye, part of my summer reading list. I finally got around to starting it last week, and now I have three more books to read before school starts in four days. I am so excited to go back. I spent the entire summer working in an ice cream shop, but always wanted to hang out with friends. I ended up always getting the late shift, having to close shop by myself. By the time I would call my friends, it would be way past curfew. The few of them who had licenses were never willing to pick me up, and so I would be forced to ride home with my dad, who never failed to play Bonnie Tylers Total Eclipse of the Heart while I would press my forehead against the window, hoping the lukewarm glass would relieve my headaches. Now that its dusk, the outdoor light has attracted a swarm of moths, and Im getting irritated with the new party goers. My headaches intensity corresponds with the volume level

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that increases with each beer my parents consume. On top of that, Ive never personally taken to the 80s rock music thats blasting through the stereo.

Im forced to turn my head away from the passage where Holden tries to get his sister Phoebe to ride a carousel when I notice Wesley splashing Joe and singing the neener neener neener song. I can tell that there is no hope for them to resolve whatever theyre fighting about for tonight. Joe is done with that little brat Wesley. Inspired by Holdens need to save kids, I call out, Joe! Were leaving in five minutes! I look over at my parents. Dad yellsslurs, actually, That is an awesome idea Angie! Walk your brother home, and you two should get in bed. School starts in four days! Gotta get back in the flow of things! I fake smile at him. Dads right; I should try to get used to going to bed earlier, but he doesnt have to remind me about what a lonely summer its been. Now I get to walk my irritated little brother home. Holden Caulfield led a more exciting life than I do, even if he was a little dramatic. Joe and I meet at the glass sliding door, while Wesley continues to chant his song to no one. Wesley! Shut up and go to bed! This is grown up time! Mrs. McArthur yells.

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Can we go now? Joe asks, and I cant help feeling sorry for him. He doesnt have much of a choice of who he plays with in this neighborhood. We walk side by side for the first block back in silence. Its normally a five minute walk, but the humid air makes the street expand far and wide. I glance over at Joe, and notice the baby fat on his cheeks. He still has that cute, innocent attitude, but I cant help fearing the awkward, quiet stage that will come soon, the one where hormones start changing your body and you get all insecure. At least, thats how it was with me. I know Im a girl and all, and people say its always tougher to be a girl with all the skinny model ads, so maybe hell be spared the torture. I just pray it wont be as painful for Joe as it was for me. With one block left to go, Joe perks up. Hey Angela, can I ask you something? I smile. Sometimes when we have time alone with each other, Joe asks me questions that he can only ask me. Being bottled up at home all summer made me appreciate these moments, and I realize that once school starts again, they may not happen as much. Anything booby, I tell him. Gelly! Dont call me that! I laugh. What do you need to know Joe? Whats streaking?

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Its nine o clock on a still, humid night and I hear my laugh break through our quiet street. Unable to stop myself, I bend over, whooping, with Joe staring at me expectantly, his little chubby face making his brown eyes look wider. Angela! Stop! Whats streaking? He stands next to me, waiting for my sisterly answer, his swimming shorts clinging to his legs from the humidity, his brown hair sticking up on one side of his head from the water in the pool. I laugh until my sides hurt, until Im gasping for breath and I hear Old Lady Schneiders voice yell, Get to sleep children! Youll wake the whole neighborhood! What are you doing out so late? Im so sorry, I call back up to her. Then I take a breath. Ok, streaking is when you take off all your clothes and run around in public. Really? I watch Joes face as his eyes grow huge. Yes. Its usually to make some sort of statement. Like for womens rights or something, I tell him, glad to be of a sisterly service to my brother. Oh, is all he says. We grow quiet, and I wonder if hes embarrassed as we turn the corner onto our street.

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As we get closer, I realize hes not next to me, and I turn to make sure hes close by. But as I do, I feel something wet being pushed into my hands. Swimming trunks. I look up to see my little brothers white thighs and round butt bouncing towards home. What are you doing? I yell to him. Streaking! But why? I shout as he runs across the grass in front of the Hanson house. Womens rights! I laugh until tears stream down my cheeks there under the streetlight and the moths. The moths dont bother me anymore though, nor does my summer of confinement as I look up and see my naked brother standing in front of our house, waiting for me to arrive with the key.

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Leaving I walk everywhere these days. Despite living in the busy city of Toronto, everything feels frozen over, especially home. *** My girlfriend Elizabethshe likes to do things. We go get coffee and donuts after school most days, and I let her defrost my freezing hands with her own that shes gloved over on the way to the donut shop. Elizabeth says that I seem distant lately, and sometimes she gets upset when I dont tell her how Im feeling. I tell her that Im feeling fine, at least when Im with her. Its the only time, I say, when things slow down and feel okay. *** No one talks much at home. My dad leaves a plate of something out for me to eat before he goes to work in the morning. Mom comes downstairs after I eat and drives me to school. But no one talks. Even our dog Sadie doesnt bark much anymore. Theres just a layer of quiet over everyone. Weve all forgotten how to be next to each other. I can barely stand to be alone with myself. *** Still, despite everyone not talking, I wasnt prepared. Dad always came home late because hes a chef at a high class restaurant downtown. Mom was working more than ever, and

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she would talk about some sort of promotional tour going on at worksomething to do with marketing seasonal produce. So I would think to myself thats cool, and go on my way. One of them would always leave a note and twenty bucks so I could buy dinner. I just didnt think anything was wrong with us. But I came home one day and there was no dinner money. I was starving, so I looked for some, figuring they just forgot and I would have gotten it anyway. I found the signed papers in the computer room, tucked in a drawer behind her coin purse. They never fought or anything. At least, not out loud. *** I call Elizabeth to meet me. She gets mad at me when I tell her. Youre leaving? she asks. I nod and stare at the coffee table between us. But why cant you do anything about this Tristen? Theyre your parents! You should have a say in this decision. Cant you talk to them? she asks as she roughly places her coffee on the table. Brown liquid splashes out. I tell her, No, I cant. No ones ever home. I cant talk to them. Theres a maple donut on a plate in front of me. It looks dry and unappealing.

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But they should want to take care of you. They cant just take you out of your home. Youre their binding force! You have to stop this from happening. I dont even know why its happening. If I did, then Id know what to do. It would be better if you did something. Why dont you ever say anything to them? Or to me? her voice grows louder. If any of us actually felt like you cared, this wouldnt be happening. She stands up to leave, and throws the remains of her powdery white donut at me, leaving a trail of white dust from my jacket down to my pants. I sit in disbelief for a long time before going home. *** When I get home, I find Sadies shit is all over the living room. No one else is there. It figures. Poor Sadie, I think to myself. I clean the living room and wait, hoping my strokes on her soft coat are soothing. *** I stay up late to wait for one of them. Mom comes in a little past midnight. Why are you home so late? I ask her, feeling stupid. Isnt she supposed to be asking me this question? When did I become the adult in the family? Ive been working Tristen. Promotions dont just fall into your hands. They require time and energy.

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Ma, you already got the promotion. Why are we splitting up? Well, sweetie, you and I are moving to the U.S. I know that, I say, and shove the papers forcefully at her. What about dad? Dad is going to stay here with Sadie. At least for a while, until we get this all figured out. You guys seemed to have figured everything out already. How about letting me in on it? Why didnt you tell me things were bad? Honey, youre never here. You need to be focusing on school. Why should I focus on school if Im not even going to be here in a month? All I see is my mom, her tired face looking older than it did a few weeks ago. She looks at me, expecting me to say something else, I guess to close up the conversation. I spot Sadie in the corner of the living room, shaking. Shes not the only one. I stare at my mom and I scream. God Damnit! What the hell is wrong with you? You just tiptoe around everything like theres nothing to talk about! Im your son! Your SON! When was I going to have a say in this? I grab my jacket and I leave. Its dark and cold, but at least its not snowing. December in Toronto is a frozen over hell this year, but I walk through it like its a walk in the park. ***

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Dad finds me at a coffee shop across town early the next morning. It opened at 4:30, and I was their first customer. At five AM, dad walks in and becomes their seventh. It was the first coffee shop I ever ordered actual coffee from, and he introduced me to it three years ago, telling me it was one of the finest in town. Dont worry about that whole coffee stunts your growth thing everyone says. Its all a lie, he had told me. He sits across from me. I stare him down. At sixteen, I have never been more scared. I just wanted to tell you, son. Here, up front. I know its a bit late now, but you should know the truth. Dad, I dont understand why this is happening I tell him, I mean, I know none of us talk much but I dont get why this is happening now. My body is freezing. I didnt think that it was possible to be both numb and panicked at the same time, but here I am, both frozen to my seat and so terrified that I want to crawl out of my body. He pauses, and places his hand near mine on the table. I pull back. Your mother and I each have needs that the other cant help with. What the hell does that mean dad? Just fuckin talk to me, Im sixteen, I know that shit happens. Im gay, Tristen.

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I shiver. What? I know, Im sorry. I dont have a partner or anything. I just, I know now. Hes not lying to me. This isnt something you lie to your kid about. Even though Im shocked, I feel a small wave of relief come over me. Dad! Really? I thought that it was something else. I thought there was another woman or something and that you guys didnt love each other anymore, but you do! Tristen Dad! Why cant you come with us? Tristen, he starts again, and I know that its bad because even though it wasnt what I thought, maybe my dad being gay is worse. But I dont care because hes my dad and I want to stay with him because, gay or not, hes my dad. Your mom doesnt want me. Well, I know she doesnt want you like that, but that doesnt mean Tristen, I havent felt what I should feel for your mom in a while. She was really broken up when I told her. Its not fair for us to be living together, even if there is no one else in the picture. She needs someone who can be good for her. I cant be that man for her. But you ARE good for her dad! Even if you cant be there for her like that, you can still be her friend, cant you?

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*** The last time I got coffee with Elizabeth, she cried, but I couldnt. She always wanted more from memore expression, more feeling. I mean, I love herat sixteen, Im not sure what exactly that means, but I know it means something. But I also know I wont miss her. Not like Ill miss my dad, at least. *** The moving truck is outside. My mom is waiting. An eight-hour drive lies ahead of us to some stupid place called Traverse City. Mom has the house picked out and everything. You take care of her Tristen. She needs you more than she needs me, he tells me as I hug him goodbye. I nod and I tell him I love him, but I dont cry. I vow to be good for them both, even though I cant stand whats happening. I wish we werent leaving dad. Sadie comes out of the house. She knows something is wrong because she keeps barking at me, and she never barks. I hug her small little body close to mine and let her lick my face while she makes little dog noises at me. I get into the passenger seat of the truck and mom starts up the engine. I cant believe shes going to be driving this huge thing. I stare out at dad, who is standing there looking as sad and helpless as Ive ever seen him. Sadie is jumping up and down, barking loudly, and I can feel anger rising up inside me. This is so stupid. I dont even know why I have to go with mom. Why

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couldnt Sadie go with her, instead of me? What the hell does some other country have to offer me anyway? Then Sadie runs. She jets off down the street and through the trees. Mom is pulling the truck into drive. Stop! I say. Tristen, we have to go. They want me in town on Monday to start the campaign. But Mom! Sadies running away! Tristen, your dad will take care of her. We have to go. I know that this is what Elizabeth was talking aboutabout me not doing anything, about me not caring. I look at dad, who is just standing there staring at the truck, not even noticing Sadie. So I open the door and jump out. Ive gotta go get her! I say, and I run as fast as I can in the direction she did, not hearing what mom says or checking to see if dad is coming after me now. Maybe he planned this. Maybe he wants us to stay as much as I do. All I know is, Im running because if I cant keep my parents together, the least I can do is save my dog. I cant bear the thought of my dad alone in our house, not after all of this.

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The cold wind hits my face as I run. My shoes are holey and old; I was expecting to be sitting in a heated truck for hours. I run into the trees and Im breathing really hard and my legs start to ache, and I dont even know if Im running the right way or where Sadie may be running to, but I have to find her. I have to do something because I never do, and thats why Im moving and I wish I couldve done something about it before, but Sadies given me my chance and Im taking it. Branches reach out for me and I keep running until I cant anymore and I trip over an icy root and fall into the cold tree brush. Completely winded, I look up at the faint sunlight coming through and I shiver with excitement. I dont know where Sadie is, but maybe this will work. Mom cant leave without me. Shell have to stay until Im found. Shell have to talk to dad. *** Minutes pass. Even as my breathing returns to normal, my body stays warm from the cold. Then I hear her. Sadie. Close by, I can hear her whimpering and I can hear rustling and wet leaves and then she appears and scampers into my lap. She is safe with me, and at least I know that much. She sits in my lap, staring at me.

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Were just going to wait, I tell her reassuringly, more for myself than for her. But she doesnt mind. I hug Sadie close, and well keep each other warm until they come. It probably wont be too long because the forest isnt that dense, and I know theyve hiked through here a million times. But I want them to come together. They cant have me without each other. Sadie and I sit close to each other, and we wait.

One Hundred and Twenty-Six Days One-hundred and twenty-five days before Ive never been one to go out of my way to charm a boy. Ive never seen the need to. Relationships just arent for me. I mean, Ive seen how my friend Christine acts around her boyfriend Ryan. She has to take night classes at a community college because her mom thinks shes spending too much time with him, and gets scared shes going to fall behind. I dont want to deal with any of that. Things are just fine the way they are, thank you very much. Plus, the whole thing with high school boys being unable to talk about their feelings really pisses me off.

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Take last year, for example, when my lab partner Mark Jenkins tried to make a move on me while I was both a) at my place of work, and b) trying to work on a test. But I let him down gently because Ive found that under the bold moves most high school boys try to show off, its all a load of crap and theyre really easy to break deep down. However, Im finding that Im having trouble staying focused latelyon everything except Advanced Placement Chemistry. The formulas and the way certain elements come together to either ignite or transform into something else fascinates me. Also, I sit behind a boy named Tristen Goldhart in AP Chemistry. Hes a transfer student from Canada, and he smells really different. I cant quite place my finger on it, but his scent is different from the body odor/ Axe spray combo that all the boys in my class are sporting; they all fall for those commercials where a horde of girls jump on a freshly-showered guy after applying the spray. Talk about desperate. Anyway, what Im trying to get at is, Valentines Day is in two weeks. And me being the nerdy, but classy student that I am, have never had a Valentine. I mean, sure, Ive gone to dances with boys and what not, but Ive never seriously dated anyone. And well, this Goldhart kid has got some appeal. We dont have assigned lab partners or anything in AP chemistryits mostly just individual work, but Tristen and I sit at the same lab table sometimes and even though hes really quiet, I cant help but think about the elements he must use to make himself smell faintly

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of honeysuckle water. He cant possibly use honeysuckle soapthat would be way too girly for any high school guy. Theres just somethingI dont know what it isbut I feel like he knows something no one else does. I mean, maybe its just because hes the new kid, but I feel like he knows something worth knowing. I wonder if hes worth investing my time in. To know. One-hundred and eleven days before Today is Valentines Day, which has never really been noteworthy for me, but I feel like something good is going to happen today. The weather is warm for February in Michigan, a searing 40 degrees, and I can almost smell the scent of chlorine emanating from the pools that will lie dormant for just a few more months. As my first period Chemistry classmates get things ready for a salt crystallization project, I feel someone tap my shoulder, and I smile when I see Tristen standing next to me with a sheepish grin on his face. Hey, Beth, right? Its Bethany actually, but I smile on. Right. This was totally my bad, but I forgot the water bottle Mrs. Ginger asked us to bring for the crystals, and I was wondering if you would mind sharing yours? She says its a special Valentines lab, so we have to find a partner or something.

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I cant tell if hes making this up or not, but his light brown-green eyes draw me in, and I try to hide my enthusiasm when I say, Yes, of course we can share! To which he breathes a sigh of relief and we sit next to each other at the last corner table, away from everyone else. We actually hit it off quite well as we heat the water and mix in the salt, watching the tiny grains disintegrate. Something is happening here. I learn about his move from Ontario with his mom, how its kind of a big culture shock going from Toronto with its opera companies and IMAX theater to the cherry capital of the world, which I tell him is generally quiet until the summer when everyone flocks to us for the annual cherry festival. The bell rings. With our project, labeled crystallization in a bottle, finished we leave it for Mrs. Ginger to grade, and we head toward our next classes. Hey, would you like to hang out sometime? He lingers while I open my locker. I freeze. Hang out when? Doing what? I dont really have a lot of free time, I tell him before I can stop myself. Then I look at him, his deep set eyes catching me off guard. He laughs. HE LAUGHS! I feel my cheeks redden even though I can tell its a good kind of laughnot the smarmy kind, but the kind that shows he actually thought what I just said was funny.

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Then I say, Actually, yes. Let me give you my phone number, but let me know a few days in advance because I have a lot of kids to watch. You babysit or something? Yeah. Something like that, I say, trying to be nonchalant. As I write my number down on a piece of scrap paper and hand it to him, I catch a whiff of his sweet-smelling skin, which relaxes me instead of making me more nervous. One-hundred and five days before Its a study date. I have the night off from babysitting, and Tristen mentioned that there wasnt much to do at home since his mom was busy strategizing how to market the summers Cherry festival, so he came over to go over some chemistry worksheet, which I did in study hall earlier today. Its nice though, in a really non-awkward kind of way. Were sitting on the floor in my room, and Ive already helped him understand the lesson we went over in class. Were done with chemistry, so I ask if he wants to leave. No, Id rather stay here, he says, his eyes go straight through me. He looks a little sad. Still, the fact that he says hed rather stay makes me tingle. Im not sure what to do now, so I break open Shakespeare for awhile. Tristen just kind of sits there, looking at my CDs. Hes traced each one of them with his finger, and I ask if he wants to listen to anything in particular.

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No, just looking. I look at him, his eyes meet mine again. Its just nice to be near someone, you know? There is that sadness again. Even though I dont know him very well, I want to reach out and hug him, or at least rest my hand on his, but I think that would be too muchI mean I hardly know him. I smile at him, not sure if I should be charmed or not, but I decide I should be anyway. It is nice, I say. And before I can stop myself, I hear myself say, We should do this again sometime. But nothing else happens. He continues to examine my room with his eyes from where he sits near me. Now Im only pretend to be reading Shakespeare because Im thinking about how pleasant this feels, the comfort of just being with someone. Ninety days before Im not sure when this became normal, but Tristen comes over and hangs out a lot. He helps me make dinner for Elise, my eight year old sister, and sometimes even takes Tipsy, my five year old weiner dog, out for a walk. Tipsy used to be named Elvis, but my mom wanted to change his name when he started getting chubby.

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Ms. Goldhart picks Tristen up after she gets off of work. He receives a call from her, letting him know shes waiting for him in the car outside. We go into the garage so he can pick up the backpack he left in there earlier in a hurry to get into the warm house. Ive done this before, kissed him on the cheek. Tristen usually just returns the favor, and we never go beyond that whenever his mom picks him up from my house. But I think he wants to, and it scares me even though I know people our age are doing a lot more than just kissing on the cheek. Sometimes I dont even know how to hug him without seeming like a maniac that wants to touch him everywhere, breathe him inhis faint Canadian accent, the honey-colored eyes to match his honey-scented skin. Cutting it off at the cheek is keeping me safe. Anyways, Im hugging him goodbye in the garage and I feel like my senses are flying aroundthe way atoms do when you heat something and they just go crazy and jump off the walls of whatever container theyre in. I feel my heart fluttering around in my chest, and I feel excited and so nervous and I think Im going to die from being so happy right here. Then he kisses me on the cheek and I tell him that I dont want him to leave, I just want to stay in the garage with him. And then then we get really quiet and we kiss. It only lasts a second and it isnt messy or anything, but soft and sweet and ohmygodwekissed. Its not like I kiss him or he kissed me, but it was mutual and it was nice and

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I want to do it again but his phone starts ringing again so we walk outside and I wave to his mom as he gets in the car, then I go back inside and close the door. You know that thing girls do in movies after having a really wonderful night where they sigh and they lean against the door and fall slowly to the ground? Im doing that right now. Sixty days before I feel like time is speeding up lately. Im starting to get mail from colleges and my academic counselor is telling me to start applying for early decision deadlines. But Im just trying to get through all my classesShakespeare reading for advanced English, formulas for AP Chemistry. Its hard trying to balance everything out and enjoy life at the same time, especially now that I have a boyfriend. I guess thats why I never had one before; they take up a lot of time. On top of that, Ive been taking Elise to girl scouts and just discovered that I will need a prom dress. Thats rightprom is in two weeks. Tristen bought tickets for us right before spring break started, which was a surprise to mehe doesnt seem like the social-going type. Plus, hes visiting family in Canada for spring break, and I have no idea if he wants us to match colors or what, but my best friends, Christine and Angela, have stepped up to help me out. When I told them that Tristen and I are definitely going to prom, they both called out an immediate full-day prom dress hunt, to be lead at the end of spring break.

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Which leads me to today. Ive been babysitting every day this week since everyone is out of school. Ive taken my entire weeks worth of money and brought it downtown to meet Christine, her long curly brown hair is pulled up into a bun to show she means business, and Angela, who has recently cut off all of her red hair into a boy cut, which you wouldnt think would work on her, but it magically does. Boutique windows are adorned with dresses, and I am determined to find the perfect one. I have to admit, I was pretty hesitant on the whole prom thing. But after telling people that Im going and hearing them get excited for me, my boyfriend, and my dress, Ive decided that its probably worth it. Im also excited because I get to hang out with Christine and Angela, who I dont really see much anymore because of all my babysitting and Angelas cheer practice and Christines night classes. Itll be nice to be able to celebrate with everyone, even though Im not really sure what prom is celebrating. As the three of us march through the downtown boutiques, Christine shares her recent frustrations at home: My mom enrolled me in some genius summer camp, which is supposed to make me a shoe-in to Yale. Thats great Christine! I tell her. Whats wrong with that?

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Im not going to be able to see Ryan at all! The program is in Minnesota, and its for ten weeks! Geez! Angela and I both exclaim. But! I made him ask our college advisor to recommend him, and he applied. Hes on the wait list, but still. . . I step into a dressing room, two dresses, a short yellow one, and a longer white one, in hand. I hear Angela gag as I enter. I cant believe you want to spend the summer with him. Dont you guys get enough of each other here? Of course they dont! I jump in as I pull the yellow silk over my head. Its the whole forbidden romance thing. Her parents are basically forbidding her to see him. They are totally Romeo and Juliet. I step out and let them examine how the yellow dress looks on me. No way, Angela says. You look like a canary. Just add a yellow flapper headband and youll be Tweetys cousin. I roll my eyes. Thanks Angela, I say. Christine? I pray she gives me the same criticism. This dress is kind of tight.

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She gives me the once over. Why dont you try on the white? I think it will look better against your blonde hair. Always the classy critic, I thank her and step back into the dressing room. And since when did you become a romantic Beth? Angela turns on me. When did you even start liking guys? You never cared about them before. Youre always doing that youth retreat stuff. Why now? If you ask me, guys are good for nothing, and they all smell like Axe. Hey! Guys are good for some things, Christine pleads her case. And Bethanys got a good one as far as I can tell. Can one of you zip this up for me? I ask as I step out from behind the curtain. Christine grabs hold of the zipper and tugs. I turn to face them. They both stare at me. Christines eyes widen. Angela grins. Awesome. Amazing. Yeah, I kind of like it myself, I tell them. No, Beth, you have to really look at it, Angela demands. She pushes me into the threeway mirror the store offers. The dress is whiteit has this Greek goddess feel to itits long and flowing with a golden tie around the waist. I imagine Tristen seeing me in it, and I smile. I cant wait to wear it, I say.

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And its on sale! Christine squeals. A hundred and fifty bucks! Wow, I say, I can still afford shoes, then. Awesome, Angela says. Then were done here. Wait, what? I ask. I thought you guys needed dresses too. No, Christine says, We already have ours. We just wanted to help you out, seeing how this is your first big dance and everything, Angela explains. I laugh, Really? They both nod, and I cant help but be grateful for them. I bring the dress to the cashier, and check out. As we walk out the store, Angela says, Now, about some protection. Because youre going to need some when Tristen sees you in that. Forty-three days before Now, I know Ive said before that dating boys and dances and all this romantic stuff is not my thing, but prom is tonight and I cant help being swept away in the commotion of it all. Tristen seemed out of it when he got back from Canada, but he was happy when I told him about my dressthe simplicity of ithe doesnt have to wear a bright green tux like

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Christine is making Ryan wear. I ask him to stick with the simple black and white, with a gold tie, which he agrees will look nice. We all meet up at Christines househer parents take pictures of the three couples Tristen and me, Christine and Ryan, and Angela and get thisMark, my old lab partner! She pulled him from her trigonometry class since she cant afford to date anyone regularly. She fears that a relationship will distract her from cheer competitions and then she wont be able to get onto a college squad. I smile at them both because of how ridiculous it all is, but Im glad I get to see him again too. We all look nice and Im really happy that I get to be here. We pile into the limo, which was another eighty bucks for me. Tristen and I agreed he would pay for the prom tickets and I would pay for the limo, which I like because he doesnt play into the traditional gender roles of having to pay for everything just because hes the man in the relationship. I learned about those in my advanced literature class. It makes me sad that there are a lot of relationships like that where people completely turn themselves inside out because theyre so stuck on being something to someone else. We get to prom after Ryan tries to get us to pour some of his smuggled vodka into our cokes, which even Christine refuses, but Angela takes a shot. Waiters serve us our dinner, and there are golden Christmas lights draped over the dance floor along with a cheesy disco ball, but its fitting. At one point, Tristen takes my hand in his

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and leads me outside, where theres a deck that overlooks a magical-looking garden where are there peacocks roaming around. I didnt even know peacocks could live in Michigan! This feels right, he tells me as we catch our breath. His eyes look into mine, and I feel closer to him right now than I ever have before. I smile at him, his face gorgeous in the outdoor light. It does, I tell him. It really does. Our fingers intertwine, and we wait on the deck just a moment longer before heading back inside. We all dance and get our dresses and tuxes sweaty, but its fun anyway. During the slow songs, Tristen holds me close and he kisses me just as the songs end, which I nearly swoon over. At one point, Tristen leaves to go to the bathroom, and Mark comes over and asks me to dance. You look really happy with Tristen, he tells me. I mean, not that you werent happy before. You were always one of the happiest people. I laugh. I am happy with him. Its weird, though. I never even really liked guys like that, you know? Yeah, I kind of got that picture last year when we did that take home test. We laugh and I hug him because even though I didnt feel anything for Mark, Im glad he gave me my first kiss, as awkward as it was. Plus, at least I can say I have some experience.

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Are you having fun with Angela? I ask him. Isnt she the best dancer? Yeah kind of a lot of energy for me, but Im glad I came tonight. Its prom, you know? Yeah, I know, Angela pulls Mark away from me as her favorite song comes on. Well, I hope you have fun the rest of the night, I call out to him. We dance some more, and as silly as this sounds, I wish the night could go on forever, but then the DJ says its the last song, and then before I know it, the limo is dropping us back off at Christines place. I say goodnight to all my friends, and Tristen, now the owner of an American drivers license, brings me home. I invite him in for some water after realizing how thirsty I am, and then we turn the TV on low and snuggle on the couch. By now its 1 AM, and I know my parents and Elise are asleep. They dont really worry about me being out late since it doesnt happen often and they know they can trust me. Then Tristen and I start kissing, and I feel brave and beautiful in my white dress, so I hike it up and get on his lap, holding him closer than Ive dared to before and his hands find my waist. Were kissing and he unzips the back of my dress and the entire top part falls and Im in my push up bra and I smell gross, but he looks good in his tux and his hands feel like silk on my skin and

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his honeysuckle smell is still there through all the sweat. I unbutton his shirt while he unties his gold tie, now stained with pasta sauce. His shirt comes off. My heart is beating wildly now, and I know this isnt how its supposed to happen. I wasnt planning on doing this tonight, but our kissing has grown more intense since we first started kissing last month, and I always want to do more even though this wanting scares me, and somehow it feels right, right here, right nowwith my family asleep upstairs and an abdominal workout video advertisement quietly glowing from the TV. My bra falls and everything is bare, but I dont feel insecure here with him holding me, taking me in, his mouth on mine. I can feel him through his pants, and I know its supposed to be like that, but it still surprises me to feel it there, so close to where I can feel the warmth growing. Then everything is off and I cant stop myself because he feels so right, and so I get the condom that Angela gave me after dress shopping, and he fumbles with it, which I find adorable. Im sorry I dont have a lot of practice with these things, he says as he struggles, but I dont mind and Im nervous but my body just wants him. Then hes on top and I can feel him and it hurts. But my brain is buzzing on I dont know what, and I grit my teeth and tell myself it will feel better once it gets past that point but it doesnt. Then I ask if I can be on top and I know its dangerous here, with the TV on and my parents upstairs, but I want this more than I ever thought I would and it scares me and I dont know when Ill be this daring again, or reckless

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even, knowing thats a better word for it, but I want all of him and I can only hope that thats what he wants from me because thats what Im willing to give. When I get on top it doesnt hurt anymore and then Im staring at him, trying to read his eyes under the dim glow of the television, but he looks as scared as I am excitedor whatever it is that Im feeling. And I tell him, its ok. I want to, but he doesnt relax so I just hug him and tight to everything that is Tristen. And then I hear him moan an Oh God, and I know its over and I look at him. His eyes are shut, and hes asking me if it was ok, and I say yes and he holds me and Im happy and I kiss him and he kisses me back and even though I didnt get toyou know, that pointIm still happy I did it and I know he is too, even if hes too embarrassed to say it right now. We put our clothes on and we sit in the quiet for another ten minutes. He drinks his water. I want to be held. Then he says he should go, he has to be home by two, his mom will be waiting for him, and I say ok. He kisses me goodbye and then leaves. I go upstairs to my room, my thighs aching. I smell like metallic sweat and dirty teenager, but I dont care. I pull my sheets back, and unzip my dress once again. I hang it up, then get into bed, in just my bra and underwear, wanting to revel in my new body, my new level of womanhood.

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I lie in bed and think over the night. I think about Christine and Angela and how much I love them for enjoying the night with me. I think about dancing and vodka and slow songs. And I think about Tristen and try to fall asleep with the remnants of his scent. In my dreams, a sadness hits me. Forty-two days before I feel guilty when I wake up, thinking maybe I was too impulsive and pushy. I call him and I ask him if it was ok, and he says yes, and that he loves me. I tell him I love him too and that Im happy we did it, but Im starting to feel scared that well be different now. He asks me if different is bad. I tell him I hope not. Forty-one days before After taking an entire day to recover from Prom night, Angela and Christine come over, the dark circles a little lighter under our eyes. Man, that Mark Jenkins kid is just so nice, dont you think? He would not do a thing with me, Angela spills to us. What did you guys do after prom? Ryan had to leave really early in the morning before my mom came back from work, Christine says. But we were both so exhausted. So you didnt do the dirty? Angela asks her.

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Angela, that is private information, Christine tells her, and then turns to me, smiling. What about you Beth? Did you and Tristen do fun anything after prom? Yeah! Hang out? Make out? Let it all hang out? Angela chimes in, laughing. I feel my heart lurch forward, but I smile at them, trying to look relaxed. I shrug. No. He dropped me off, kissed me goodnight, and I went to bed. Really? Angela asks. Really, I tell her, looking her straight in the eye. Tristens quite the gentleman, Christine says. Yeah, I tell them as I trace my left thumbnail with my right index finger, now just flecked with gold after I nervously scratched off a lot of my manicure yesterday. A perfect gentleman. Forty days before Ive been a jittery wreck. I havent been able to see him because everyone used their curfews up on prom night, and we usually dont talk on the weekends anyway, but I just needed to be close to him, to know we were okay. Im waiting in my seat in AP Chem, my right leg rapidly moving up and down from nervousness. Tristen walks in and sits next to me, his normal seat. He looks at me and gives me a small smile.

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Hey! I say, trying to sound cheerful. Hey Bethany. His voice sounds different, and I wait for him to say something else, something that will tell me where I stand, make me stop jittering, but he doesnt. We dont speak for the rest of class. Lecture today. Its okay, were all still recuperating from prom. Ill give him the rest of the day. Thirty-seven days before Tristen hasnt talked to me since Monday. He hasnt come over after school. He hasnt done anything. I havent been able to eat or sleep and I am just worried because I think something is wrong, but I dont know if its me or something else, and I just hope its not me because I dont want it to be over this soon. Sixteen days before Christine is having a party tonight. She tells me to bring Tristen, says maybe hell come out of his shell if hes forced to interact with other people besides me. He clammed up after prom nightwhen we both let ourselves go. Thats how he refers to itlike he didnt give me a part of him, but he just lost something, let it get away. He still comes over after school sometimes, though not as often. And when he does, I can feel that hes sad. Nothing I say makes him laugh anymore.

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So I tell Christine Ill try it out. When we get to the party, Tristen heads for the couch in front of the TV, a beer in hand. I sigh and decide to ignore him for now, hoping hell come out of it. Maybe hes just not a party person, but I cant even know that for sure because he wont tell me. I spend the night by Christine and Ryans sidethe third wheel. Except its not awkward with themwe talk about our plans for the summer. Ryan got into that Minnesota program, and theyre both really excited about going now. Im jealous. I head back to Tristen, who has been watching the TV set for an hour now. Hey, whatcha watching? I go for easy. I dont even know. His eyes are glazed over. Well, are you having a good time? No, not really. But better than if I were at home, so I cant really complain. Why, whats going on at home? Is your mom okay? He turns his head to look at me, for what I think is the first time in days. I try to hide my surprise when I see how empty his eyes look, how far away he seems, how sad I am to be here sitting next to him and not have it be enough. He manages a small smile. Its just rough when no ones home, he finally says.

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He finishes the last swig of beer, then says, Hey, what time do you want to leave? Uhmm, whenever youre ready, I guess, I answer, caught off guard. We leave about a few minutes later. In my driveway, I ask, Do you want to hang out for a little bit? He hesitates, my heart quickens. Im pretty tired. My mom will be pissed if I get home even a minute after midnight. Its barely 10:30, way before curfew, but I say, Okay. Ill see you on Monday. He kisses me on the cheek before I get out of the car. I want to comfort him, but I dont know how or why. The day of Finals start tomorrow and its been two weeks of silent treatment. Whenever I call Tristens house, I get nothing. We do our lab assignments in silence, while I let my frustration creep into the crack between us, angry, boiling, and hidden. I spend hours looking for colleges online, trying to distract myself, but I keep hoping that hell call, bringing me back to now. After dropping Elise off at girl scouts, I hear the doorbell ring. Im surprised to find him on my doorstep, where the sun spills out onto the pavement, making the day look brighter than it feels.

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Im sorry I havent been talking to you, he starts. Hearing him surprises me even more than seeing him there. Its okay, I start. I mean, I havent really been okay, but its okay. I feel beads of sweat start to seep out of my forehead. The weeks of silence are finally ending. But why am I nervous? Can we talk now? I ask him. I just wanted to say Im sorry. I examine him, his eyes the only sad part of his body, everything else just tense. I dont even know what youre sorry for. You havent done anything. I just dont get why you stopped talking, I tell him, looking straight into his eyes, wanting to know whats happening, why hes sad. But most of all, I want to know why hes been hiding. Look, he begins again, looking down now. Oh no, I whisper. I know whats coming now, and I try to prepare for it the best I can, but I dont know how. I cant be your boyfriend anymore, his turns his head away. I shouldve told you earlier. I just didnt know how. I dont move. I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. I stare at him, his dark hair twisting into sweaty curls. I stare and I stare some more, trying to make him look at me.

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When he doesnt, I finally look away, sit on the grass in front of my house, and tell myself to breathe out. Why? I ask him, the word escapes my mouth more forcefully than I expect it to. He slowly sits next to me, and I can see from the corner of my eye that his head is still down. Why are you doing this now? I ask him. You havent talked to me in weeks. I dont know whats going on. Beth he starts. Did you know that finals are tomorrow Tristen? You do know that, right? Because if you did, you wouldnt have done this, I keep talking, and I know Im being mean, but I dont know what else to say because Im trying to hide the fact that my heart feels like its pounding harder than it ever has before and I dont know if my body is going to be able to contain it. Why are you so sad all the time? Why dont you talk to me? Im your girlfriend. Or I was, I start to choke on my words. Im just really messed up right now Bethany, his voice breaks and he lets out a sob. If I werent so confused, Id try to hug him. But I dont know what he needs, and I wish I did. I dont understand Tristen! We were fine, werent we? Bethany, my dad

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Was it because of what happened after prom? He gasps for air. I wait, my mind exploding in thought. After a long moment of silence, he says softly, Kind of. Then he finally looks at me and I stare back at him. He looks even emptier than before, and I know he has nothing to offer. Im really sorry Beth, he says and he gets up. He gets into his beat up Chevy and backs out of the driveway. I watch him drive away, the heat engulfing me. I sit on the grass for a long time, staring into the greenness of it, hoping it will magically give me a sign on what to do next. I go back inside, the air conditioning cools me. But its not enough. I head for my closet, the white goddess dress hanging where I left it that night, protected by plastic wrap. Im breathing hard. I dont want it. I stuff it under my bed, hoping that if I dont see it, I wont think about it. I call Christine. I cry. I sob into the phone, and I know she can barely understand me, but she gets it: I dont know what to do. I dont know what happened. She says shes so sorry and I tell her how he ended it, and I cry some more, my breath coming out in heaving sobs that sound hideous. Christine tells me shes coming over.

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No! I cant. I have to study, I manage to get out between short breaths. Im coming over Bethany. You cant stop me. One hour later Christine walks through the front door, which I forgot to lock after Tristen left. In her hand is a pint of Chunky Monkey ice cream. She finds me bent over my books, my eyes slightly puffy, but Im okay. I have to be. Finals are tomorrow. You will not study right now. You will eat this ice cream and you will talk to me. I stare at her, unable to move. My hands are still shaking from my outburst earlier, and Ive been trying to analyze Shakespeare, but I cant. She sits on the floor next to me and hugs me. And Im off again. I lost it to him, Christine! Things were going so good and it felt right to be with him that night and I gave myself to him and then he just stopped trying, and I dont understand why. After everything! I didnt even like boys until him! I know, Beth, I know. Christine hugs me hard and I can smell her sweat from running inside whatever grocery store she bought that ice cream at because she knows I love chunky monkey, and even though Im dripping in my own bodily fluids, I cant help but be grateful for her being here.

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I tried to get Angela to come, but she has cheer. So dumb. I cant believe they would schedule practice during finals week. We each eat half the pint of ice cream and I calm down. She tells me that shes spending the night. Well study together. She already told her parents. They call once to make sure shes actually here and not with Ryan. She comes with me to pick up Elise and plays with her when I start thinking about it too much so that Elise doesnt notice. My parents get home from work, but they dont bother us. They know its finals week. We spend all night studying. There are statistics formulas, Shakespeare quotes, and advertising slogans for mass media. I have three finals tomorrow. Luckily, none of them are with him. AP Chemistry is my last final, in three days. One day after Christine drives us to school in the morning. My eyes are red and my body aches. But I can still analyze Shakespeare and how all the worlds a stage. I stand up for healthy body image in mass media. I do a t-test and show how accurate the results of an n=1,032 survey study are. I kick the asses of literature, statistics, and mass media, all in record time. Im done with finals for today. I stand at my locker, trying to think about which books Ill need to study for tomorrow.

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Then out of the corner of my eye, I see him, and I feel my heart drop. Goosebumps cover my skin, and I break into a cold sweat. Without wanting to, I turn and look at him. His eyes meet mine and he holds my gaze for a long, sad moment. I can feel my stomach flopnot in the good way, like the first time he asked me to hang out and laughed at how I reactedand I try to turn my attention back to my locker. But its no use. I reach up to grab a book when the contents of my locker flood out, crushing my toes with heavy books, spilling tampons out onto the floor. I bend over to pick my things up. I see hands helping me, and I thank whoever they are attached to, though I cant see them. Forgetting about the books I need, I shut my locker and run. I run outside, even though the heat has been making everything move slower than it should. Then I realize I dont have my car. Christine is meeting with her academic counselor. I dont have a ride. Seeing the bus stop down the street, I run to it. I wait. When it comes a few minutes later, I get on and finally breathe. I feel my body go limp, my hands drop to my thighs and tears pour from my eyes, mixing with the sweat that has been running from my forehead all day. I sense stares from the people next to me, but I dont look at them.

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Everything is a blur. The windows are rolled up, and I know Im sitting in the wafting odor of sweat and bus folk that sits in the air, but I cant smell anything. When I get off, a block away from home, I feel my sweat trying to glue my thighs to my seat. I get to my room. I sit on the floor. The bravery I felt downstairs on the couch with the TVs low hum of abdominal exercise praise seems so foolish. Im ashamed. I thought it had meant something more than just bravery. I had wanted more for myself. Its not supposed to end like this. I get up and pace before I can cry again. I tell myself to breathe in and out, something Im smart enough to know to do already, but its the hardest thing to manage. Finally I lay on my bed, the cool air from the ceiling vents sooth my anxious body into rest. Then Angela walks in. Hey! Ive been chasing you since you had your tampon explosion. I was going to give you a ride. My eyes open. What? I ask her, dazed. Im so tired now, and so overheated. I picked up all the stuff that fell out of your locker after you bolted, she says, and takes a bunch of tamponsall mineout of her purse and throws them at me.

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I sit up. What is going on? I ask her, my voice cracks from exhaustion. Hello! Your locker volcano-d out onto the floor. You cant just advertise your supply to the world, Beth. Girls are going to stop buying their own and just bum them from you. Geez, youve got quite the selection. I know it doesnt make any sense, but seeing my friend standing next to my bed throwing feminine products at me, I start to feel the weight of the past few weeks lift, and I feel a smile start to form on my face. Before I can hide it, she says, Dude, you look like a crazed psycho killer right now. I know, I tell her, and even though its not a statement that on any given day would make me feel better, I start to laugh. Its not a loud laugh, but its a start, and I remember a time when thats all I would do. I reach my arms out to her, and hug her. Im still laughing, but I feel tears fall down my face, and Im so exhausted I dont know if Im crying because Im sad or because I have the greatest friends in the world, but Im laughing and crying either way and its actually, for the first time, feeling like relief. Thanks, I tell her. So what do you want to do now? she asks.

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I reach under my bed and feel for the dress. I pull it out and show her its new state: wrinkled and dusty. I want to take this to Good Will. Its already done its magic for me, if you could call it that. Sounds like a plan! We lay the dress out nicely on my bed for the last time, and try to smooth out the wrinkles its accumulated from lying for twenty-four hours under my bed. I lean over it, and take one last whiff. The dress smells like a mix of stale sweat, the honeysuckle scent gone. I step back and stare at the dress. Thoughts race in my head, but they seem to start coming together now with Angela standing next to me. Even though virginity is something that people say you lose, I dont feel like thats what happened with me. I gave it willingly, and even though Im sad and wont do it again for awhile, somehow I still feel like it was supposed to happen, despite the consequences. Yes, it hurts and I wont be able to look at him for awhile, but as I stand here staring at the dress that made me invincible, I know that its okay to be this sad. At the same time, I know that one day, maybe not anytime soon, but one day, Ill be okay.