So Much Closer (23 page)

“Uh, no,” Scott says. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know. Because you were saying how you wanted to keep things casual. She seems ... uncomplicated.”

“She is. That’s why I’m not interested.”

“I thought you wanted uncomplicated.”

“I wanted you.”

“Then why ... ?”

“You’re the one who didn’t want me.”

“Of course I wanted you!”

The kids sitting next to us suddenly stop talking. I pretend to concentrate on my project sheet. After they start talking again, I go, “Why are you twisting everything around?”

“You’re the one who was unhappy with the way things were. You wanted this serious commitment and everything.”

“You don’t think Leslie wants that? All girls want that.”

“Do you have any idea how threatened Leslie is by you?”

“Hilarious.”

“She is. She could tell I liked you more than I admitted. Or even realized. It’s like she knew what was going to happen with us way before I did.”

“Oh.”

“That’s why she’d always bring you up in conversations, like she was trying to test my response to hearing your name or something.”

“How do you know all this?”

“She wrote me the world’s longest email right after I got together with you. I don’t know why she sent it. She knew I chose you.”

“She was trying to get you back.”

“Well, it was too late.”

Is Scott trying to say that it’s also too late for us? Because he’s making it sound like the breakup was more my fault than his. Which is ridiculous. Only ... would I even want to get back together with him? A week ago, I would have said absolutely. Now I’m not so sure.

I’ve been looking back on everything and I don’t think I liked the person I was with Scott. I mean, being his girlfriend was amazing. But I was insecure around him. I’d never been insecure around boys before. Every time the phone rang, there was this jolt of adrenaline at the possibility that it was Scott, but there was also a twinge of fear. Like maybe it was Scott, but he was calling to say that we didn’t belong together. I never felt like he was completely mine. I couldn’t count on him the way I can count on John.

John fights for me no matter what. He keeps trying to break down my wall. He never gives up on who I am or who I could be. He doesn’t run away when things get complicated. Even when John was mad at me, he didn’t let that stop him from caring about me.

Here’s the thing. I could spend the rest of my life chasing that amazing feeling I had every time I even thought about Scott. Physical attraction that strong is addictive. And knowing that kind of magic isn’t just a fantasy makes me want to find it again. But what about being with someone who makes me a better person? What about sharing my life with someone who adores me as much as I adore him, whom I can always count on, who helps me find my way when I’m lost?

If I could find both intense physical attraction and strong emotional support with one boy, that would be perfect. But if it has to be one or the other? The choice is clear.

Whenever my mom calls, I usually try to keep the conversation short. I figure the less time she has to insult me, the better.

This time is different.

I’ve just told her all about meeting with the college advisor and visiting NYU and how I want to be an urban planner.

“That’s wonderful,” Mom says. “It sounds like you have a lot going on.”

“I do.”

“I’m relieved that you’re figuring things out.”

“Yeah. Maybe I’m not a loser after all.”

“Who ever said you were a loser?”

“You did. I mean, you implied it. All those times you said I wasn’t working hard enough. It felt like you gave up on me.”

“I said those things because I wanted more for you, Brooke.”

She sounds hurt. Now I feel bad.

“No, you were right. I wasn’t working hard enough. And that’s changed now. But why do you have to be so critical all the time? Why can’t you be supportive? You say you’re trying to help me, but all it does is make me feel worse.”

Mom doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“Mom?”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you,” she says, her voice cracking on the
you
. “I just want you to be successful.”

“You can stop worrying. Things are working out now.”

Uncomfortable silence.

“So,” she says, “do you think you’ll be home for winter break?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What about spring break?”

“I might be staying here for both. I really need to figure everything out.”

“Oh. Well, if you don’t come home I’ll see you at graduation. It would be nice to see you sometime in the next five months, though.”

I get that this is hard for her. But going back for Christmas break was excruciating. It felt like I was taking a step backward when all I wanted to do was keep moving forward. New York is my home now. The Knowing tells me that I’ll be going to college here. I won’t have to leave unless I want to, and I can’t imagine ever wanting to.

“You could always come visit,” I suggest.

“It’s been a big year for you. I wish I hadn’t missed it.”

“You didn’t, Mom. I told you everything.” Everything except for what happened with Scott. I wasn’t going to tell her anything about him, but I had to because Dad knew. There was the possibility that Dad would tell Mom. So I told her Scott was this boy I met here. Scott agreed to tell my dad the same thing if it ever came up. Luckily, Dad just assumed he was from here.

“Are you still getting along with your father?”

“Mostly. But I really miss your cooking.”

Mom laughs. “I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Oh, I’m saying it.”

“Even my meat loaf?”

“Especially your meat loaf.”

More uncomfortable silence.

“Well,” I say, “I better go.”

“Call if you need me.”

I can tell she’s sad about being apart. But in a way, the distance is helping both of us. Sometimes you just need room to appreciate what you have.

I thought tutoring
John would be awkward from now on. But it feels the same as always. At least it does to me.

John isn’t mad at me anymore. The night I slept over, he felt really bad for me. My dad and I haven’t said more than three words to each other since our fight, and that was a week ago.

There’s this SAT prep course John’s taking. He already took the course last year, but his mom wants him to take the SATs again to try for a higher score. I’m supposed to help him with practice exams until he takes it again in March. We’ve been working on this one essay in the writing section forever. It wants to know if memories help or hinder your success.

“What’s that shape that’s like ...” John tries to remember. “The one with sides that are all—a rhomboid.”

“Like a parallelogram?”

“Except the sides aren’t parallel.”

“You mean a rhombus?”

“No, that thing with—”

“A trapezoid?”

“Yes!” John pounds the table. “That one!”

“Can you guys keep it down over there?” Sadie jokes from the next table. “Some of us are trying to learn.”

“Rhomboid,” John informs her. He gives her a thumbs-up. Then he writes down whatever it is he was trying to say about memories.

While he’s finishing the essay, I go up to Mr. Peterson to ask a question. Except it’s not a real question. It’s just an excuse to sneak something into his bag. When he turns away to get a book off the shelf, I drop a copy of my report card into his open messenger bag. There’s a warm-fuzzy Post-it note stuck on saying thanks for pushing me to be better. Out of all the teachers and other school types who have pressured me to improve over the years, Mr. Peterson is the only one who gave me a good enough reason to do it.

After tutoring, I walk out with John and Sadie as usual. But instead of Sadie and I walking home together, John waits until she leaves. Then he says, “Can I come over?”

“What for?”

“Jeez, I didn’t know I needed an engraved invitation.”

“No, you totally can. It’s just that you’ve never come over before.”

“Exactly. You’ve been to my place twice already. Don’t you think I should catch up?”

So John comes over. As usual, Dad’s still at work.

“It’s so quiet here,” John says. “Is it always this quiet?”

“Pretty much. My dad works late.”

“That rules. I never get the place to myself. Even when it’s just me and my mom and Hailey, it feels like eight people are there. Must be an estrogen thing. Having girls around always seems like more people than it is. Okay, what am I talking about? That SAT prep fried my brain.”

We go to my room. I wish I’d known John would be coming over. It’s a disaster in here.

“You have the
Office Space
stapler!” John shouts.

“I do?”

He goes over to my desk and picks it up. “I didn’t know you had this!”

“Neither did I. I just thought it was a stapler.”

“This isn’t any old stapler. It’s a Rio Red Collector’s Edition Swingline. Remember that poster I have with the smoking red stapler?”

“Oh, yeah. I like that one.”

“Where did you get this?”

“My dad’s interior designer picked it out.”

John’s all obsessing over the stapler.

“Why don’t you just get one?” I say.

“Oh, I will. It never even occurred to me to just, like, get one. This is so cool!”

I turn on some music. John sprawls on my bed and I take the beanbag.

“Listen,” he says. “You know that thing I said to you the night you slept over?”

“You mean about—”

“Yeah, that. Just forget about that. Erase it from your big brain.”

“Sadie’s the only one allowed to say my brain is big.”

“No, she gave me privileges. Anyway. I want you to pretend you never heard it.”

“Heard what?”

“Do you not know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, I meant ... forget it.”

“Oh! Like—okay. See, I told you my brain is fried. My communication skills are even more horrocious than usual.”

“Horrocious?”

“It’s a combination of horrific and atrocious.” John looks at my collection of city skyline prints on the wall. “I should probably get up and check out your stuff. This being my first time in your room and all. Tragically, I am too lazy to do so.”

“That’s okay. I’m feeling pretty exhausted myself.”

“How are you holding up?”

“You mean ... with the whole breakup thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Not great. I’m distracting myself with college plans.”

“Sadie told me. It’s awesome that you’re taking your life more seriously.”

John makes me smile. He says these things that, coming from anyone else, would sound ridiculous. But with John, it’s really the way he feels.

“You’ve helped me a lot,” I tell him.

“How?”

“You helped me figure out that I want to be an urban planner. All those times on the High Line and walking around with you were like ... It made me realize that if the two of us feel the way we do about New York, lots of other people must feel the same way. And that I can actually dedicate my life to improving how people connect with the city.”

John twists around on my bed so his chin is resting on the edge of my mattress and his legs are dangling off the other side. “I helped?” he says.

“Totally. You were helping me the whole time just by being you. I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“Wow. I didn’t even know I was doing anything.”

“Well, you were.”

“That’s intense.”

He’s right. It is intense.

John’s staring at me. I stare back. It’s like we get each other without having to say anything.

“Can I ask you something?” he says. “As my tutor?”

“Anything.”

“Do you think college will be an epic fail for me?”

“Of course not.”

“You can be honest.”

“I
am
being honest. You’re going to love it. That college that doesn’t give grades sounds perfect for you. Aren’t they all about creativity and diversity there?”

“Yeah, but what if I don’t get in?”

“What if you do?”

“What if I do and I’m not good enough?”

I had no idea John was worried about college. He always seems so certain. I’ve been a little concerned about how he’ll adjust academically, but I’m not worried about him socially at all. If anyone’s going to take advantage of everything college life has to offer, it’s John.

“You’re better than good enough,” I say. “You’re outstanding.”

“I’m sorry, have you seen my transcript?”

“Who cares? No grade could ever quantify how smart you are.”