Page 27 of The Way I Used to Be
He rolls his eyes, shakes his head, stifles a laugh.
Apparently, not that way.
He looks straight ahead for a few seconds, then turns to me in the passenger seat. “Ohh-kaay,” he says slowly, the way he did that day in the hall a year earlier, when I was still just invisible Mousegirl. “I didn’t ask you to be my girlfriend; I just asked if you wanted to go to this party.”
“Well, I don’t.” There’s this authority in my voice I never knew I possessed.
“Fine.” He tries to act nonchalant. I keep my eyes on the dashboard. The clock changes from 6:51 to 6:52. “So, this is it then?” he asks.
I shrug. “Maybe. Maybe not.” So cool. So calm. So collected. How am I doing it?
“I’m sorry, I don’t—I don’t get you. What exactly are we doing, then?” he asks, an edge of irritation in his voice.
“I don’t know. Couldn’t we just get together sometimes—just, you know, keep it casual?” I ask him, the words flowing from my mouth like they actually belong to me.
He looks skeptical as he takes a few moments to consider. “I think that’s probably the strangest thing a girl has ever said to me. You really don’t want to go to this thing with me tomorrow night?” he asks again, unable to understand. “It wouldn’t have to mean anything.”
“Look, I’m not going to argue about it. If you don’t want to see me again, that’s fine, okay? But if you do, then this is the way it’s going to be. The way it is, I mean.”
He inhales through his nose, exhales slowly through his mouth. I sigh loudly. Feign impatience, fingers tickling the handle, ready to open the door and bolt. “I don’t know,” he finally says, hesitantly.
I leave without another word. I know he’s watching me as I walk toward my house. I make sure I don’t turn around until I hear the engine fade into the silence surrounding me. I look—nothing but two red taillights glowing in the distance.
BY MONDAY I STARTto notice something about the way people are looking at me. Like the world has suddenly divided into two distinct camps. The first is the one I’m used to, the one where no one knows I’m alive. But then there’s this other faction emerging, one that throws looks of every type my way: disgust, pity, intrigue. I’m not sure if it’s because of the graffiti or if it’s due to the public departure with Josh on Friday. Or both.
But not here in the library.
Here, I’m safe. With all the subjects and letters and numbers to keep things in order: philosophy, social sciences, languages, technology, literature, A-B-C-D, point one, point two, point one-two, point three. It all makes so much sense, there’s no room for mistakes or misunderstandings.
“Hey,” he says, suddenly standing with me in the narrow aisle.
I jump, nearly dropping the book I’m holding. “You scared me!” I whisper.
“Again,” he says with a grin. “Sorry.” He stands really still, like he’s afraid to come any closer. “Still mad at me?” he asks.
“You’re the one who was mad, not me.” Though, that’s not completely the truth either.
“I was never mad. Just confused.”
I want to tell him I was confused too. I want to tell him how happy I am to see him, how thankful I am he’s not looking at me the way everyone else has been looking at me today. But I can’t admit that. I have to be sure and strong and solid because there’s something about him—I don’t know what, exactly—that makes me want, so badly, to be vulnerable.
“Look, can we just start over?” he asks.
If anyone is going to be allowed to start over, it would be me, and I would start over at that night in my bedroom. But since that’s not possible, I tell him, “No, not really.”
He looks down at his hands like he actually feels bad, or upset, or disappointed, or something. “Right,” he whispers, turning to leave.
“But we can just—” I touch his arm. He turns back. “Continue. Can’t we?” I finish.
He takes a step toward me, this new light in his eyes. “Yeah, I think we can.”
I nod. And I smile to myself. Because I just fixed this—me.
“Does this mean we’re on a phone number basis?” he asks.
“I guess so,” I say with a laugh.
He laughs too, as he takes his phone out. I recite my number to him, never wanting this moment—him standing close to me like this, smiling—to end.
