Matt's Story (3 page)

After class the next day, Cindy pulls me to the side.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks, today wearing a dress with horses on it. Her hair is back in a headband, and she kind of looks like she’s from the 1950s.

“Fine,” I automatically answer.

“No, you said fine yesterday, but you were clearly not fine. You freaked out on us.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just . . . going through some things,” I say, scratching my head, and hoping that says enough.

She presses her lips together and stares at me. “I know, you told us. And again, I’m really sorry. About your brother . . . is everything okay?”

I sigh, because I don’t want to talk about this, but I should answer. “Yeah, right now, he’s home and okay.”

“Good,” she says, nodding. “And your girlfriend . . .”

“Yeah . . .”

“Are you fighting?”

“Not exactly.”

“Is the distance a problem? Because that can be a problem, from what I hear.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” I say, hoping that’ll give her the answer she wants so we can move on.

She cocks her head and stares at me. No,
through
me. “This girlfriend . . . she’s not a girlfriend anymore, is she?”

I open my mouth, then close it and just nod in response, because I’d rather not admit it.

“And you’re not happy about it.”

“Yeah . . . look, do we need to talk about this n—”

“So why don’t you get her back?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips.

“What? It’s not that simple,” I say, backing up so I’m leaning against the wall. I need to rest on something, let something else hold me up.

“But it could be,” she says. “Meet me after school in the bookstore.”

“No, I don’t think—”

“Matt,” she says, stopping my protest. “Just do it.”

“Why?” I ask. “I don’t mean to be rude, but seriously, why? After yesterday. After everything.”

“Because you can’t keep sitting alone in class,” she says, decisively. “Besides, we all go a little crazy when we’re in love.”

This time Cindy and Kat are the first ones at the bookshop, watching me as I walk in and take my seat across from them. I feel like I’m being judged, like I’m on trial.

“Hi again,” Kat says, and I try to smile at her. Cindy stares at her, and Kat rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry I was so . . . candid yesterday. I’m a bit overbearing sometimes.
Some people
like that about me.”

“They do. But not around new people who might get scared,” Cindy says, and I nod. This is kind of weird.

“Listen,” Kat continues. “Cindy said you seemed like a cool guy, and when I saw you, you had this . . . like . . . puppy-dog look on your face, like you were begging for someone to just talk to you, and that’s probably why she invited you out, because she likes to take in strays. And that’s what I love about her. But I just . . . I wanted to see why you were a puppy dog, if you were just emo and needed to get the shit kicked out of you, or if something happened that turned you that way.”

“Whoa,” I say.

“Told you, candid.” She shrugs, and I look at Cindy, who further explains what’s going on.

“Once she stared down a waiter until he gave her the chips she wanted.”

“They had this gross lime flavor, and I just wanted plain ones!” Kat protests.

“They were delicious and you know it!” Cindy says, staring at Kat until Kat laughs softly. “She’s actually a big ol’ baby, and this whole thing is an act.”

“I hate you,” Kat says, shaking her head.

“I’m learning so much,” I say.

“He jokes!” Kat exclaims, and I can’t help but smile.

Cindy twists her hands and explains. “Last time we invited someone to hang out with us, they kind of went psycho. Like, telling-the-whole-school-that-we’re”—she gestures toward the two of them—“
together
psycho. So, Kat’s a bit . . . cautious about the people we hang out with now. But I told her you were different.”

“Like, not stab-us-in-the-back different. She said you needed a friend,” Kat continues, and I bob my eyes back and forth between them. They really have this whole duet thing down.

“And I thought we could be just that!” Cindy concludes excitedly.

“You kind of make me sound like a charity case,” I say, scratching the back of my neck in contemplation.

“I mean, you kind of are,” Kat says, and Cindy playfully hits her.

“You’re
not
, I just felt bad that you were always alone. And it’s not like we have many other friends to hang out with. . . .”

“We have plenty of friends,” Kat says, to Cindy.

“Who all left us when they found out about us. So, no, we don’t. Matt, you won’t leave us, now that you know about us, will you?” Cindy turns to me and I feel like a bright beam is shining down on me. God, they’re intimidating.

“Um, no.”

“See, told you he was cool,” she says, back to Kat.

“Should I be here?” I ask, confused, and they both smile, like, genuinely smile at me, and I think that’s the first time I’ve gotten a smile without sympathy since . . . moving.

“Sorry, sorry,” Cindy apologizes, again. “We can be a bit much.”

“And we’re sorry about the brother thing. That really sucks,” Kat says and I nod, because what else is there to do? “And the girlfriend thing.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking at them. “Um, thanks. For inviting me out. And thinking I’m cool, I guess. I don’t . . . mean to be awkward, I’m just going through a lot. So I’ve been keeping to myself, mostly.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Cindy says, sympathy in her voice, and I don’t want that now. I like going on without sympathy.

“Right. So, yeah. Thanks.”

“We don’t need to talk about anything. We can talk about, like, math, or whatever,” she continues, nodding her head encouragingly while Kat sits back and crosses her arms.

I open my mouth and am about to make a math
reference, but instead find myself telling them everything because I haven’t spoken to anyone, really spoken, in a while. “I move a lot. Like, yearly. I don’t make attachments, you know, because of that, which is why I’m kind of good keeping to myself. But I’m not, like, a shelter dog,” I say pointedly at Kat, and she grins.

“Good. That would be boring. You better not be emo, either, because I can’t handle all the whining. I get enough from her,” she says, elbowing Cindy.

“Hey,” Cindy says, and I kind of smile because they’re cute together, but I can’t fully smile because seeing them again reminds me of Ella and the relationship I don’t have anymore. We were like that. Playful and silly, and I’d always find an excuse to tickle her because I knew it would make her squirm.

“He’s doing it again. He’s looking forlorn,” Kat loudly whispers and I shake my head.

“I think it’s become my go-to facial expression,” I joke. “I’m kidding,” I add before sympathy oozes out of Cindy.

“My brother’s okay, by the way. He . . . um . . . he was caught in a . . . drug thing at college, but it’s all sorted out. He’s out,” I say, glazing over the whole thing. But as soon as I say just the smallest bit, I realize I’ve told them more than I told Ella. Which feels so wrong. I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just—there’s nothing at stake with them. There was everything with her.

“That’s crazy,” Cindy says, and I nod.

“Yeah, it really is, but it’s okay or something. And the girl, um . . .” I pause, gauging how much I want to tell them. But I actually don’t feel like censoring myself for once. I want to tell them. I want them to know because maybe if someone nonrelated does, I can figure it out and move on. “We were together in Orlando. And she was great, and everything there was really great, but then I had to move, so, yeah, it kind of sucks.”

“And you’re not still dating?” Cindy asks, her lips drooping down.

“No. I, um, ended it. I didn’t want to involve her in my whole family situation . . . and I just didn’t think long distance would work with everything going on. I mean, I wanted her to be happy, and not, just, wait around for me, wondering if we’d ever be in the same state again.”

“You did the guy thing and freaked out, didn’t you?” Kat asks.

“No, it’s just . . .” I pause, then admit it. “Okay, yeah, a little. I just . . . I’ve never had a relationship like that, you know?”

“So what’s up now with the girl?” Kat asks.

“Nothing?” I say more as a question than a comment. “But, it’s over now. I don’t even know why I told you guys about her.”

“Because you still love her,” Cindy chirps, stretching out the word “love” so it’s spelled with around seventeen
o
’s
. I roll my eyes.

“Stop being a guy and go to her,” Kat says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I can’t just do that. It’s complicated.” Plus, I still don’t want to get her involved. I still don’t know if she’d bail, or be angry at me for not telling her everything. I just . . . I don’t know how to deal with this.

“It can’t be that complicated,” Kat says. “If you like her, let her know.”

“But it’s too late, it won’t work!” I respond, spazzing out in my excuses.

“But what about next year?” Cindy asks. “Where are you going to college next year?”

“I . . .” I pause. I haven’t thought about it yet. Now is when everyone starts deciding on college, but I haven’t wanted to. Maybe it’s time for me to start looking into that.

“Look, you seem like a nice guy, we just want to help,” Kat says. “I hate when people say they can’t do anything about a situation. You always can. You think it’s easy being with her?” she asks, gesturing to Cindy. Cindy’s mouth drops. “Not like that. I mean,” she whispers, “us being together. People don’t exactly like that here. But that doesn’t keep us apart.”

“So tell us about this Orlando girl,” Cindy says.

Instinctively I want to smile. “Her name is Ella,” I begin, “and she’s, you know, really pretty and smart and she laughs all the time. We were silly together, but in a good way, like whenever we were nervous about something, we’d dare each
other to do it. Like go on roller coasters, or, I don’t know, try out for something.” I end with, “She got me, and she made me happy.”

I look up and see them staring at me with goofy grins.

“But she hates me now.”

“So undo it,” Cindy says.

“Or let go,” Kat continues, as if it were that easy.

We talk more about school (everyone is excited about leaving, and no one knows where they’re going), about their relationship (they’ve been together for six months, Cindy asked Kat out), and about life in general (Cindy wants to be an artist, Kat a surgeon). They listen when I speak, actually listen. I am here, in a bookstore, talking to people, and feeling like maybe the impossible might be possible after all.

When I get home, I check the mail sitting on the kitchen counter. There are a few flyers for colleges—I’ve been getting them nonstop since starting senior year—so I shuffle through them, now thinking about next year. I’ve only applied to one school—the University of Central Florida in Orlando—but I’m not sure about that anymore. I think about what Kat said, about going to Ella and actually
doing
something, but I don’t know if I can do that. I’m pretty sure that’s not an option anymore.

I hear the front door open and jerk my head up.

“Hey, Matt,” Mom says, walking in with a
clack-clack-clack of her heels. “How was school?”

She puts her purse down on the counter and goes through the mail.

“Good,” I start. “I got some more college stuff in the mail,” I say, showing her the papers.

She looks over my shoulder and asks, “Any idea where you’ll apply next?”

“No,” I say. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you’ll get into UCF, I’m sure, but you should always have other options.”

“Yeah,” I say, thinking of UCF and what it would be like there.

“You can apply to schools here, you know,” she says. “Stay close to your mother.”

“Ha,” I say, not really following the conversation and instead picturing what it would be like to see Ella again. She’d hate me.

“But I have a feeling you’d rather just go back to Orlando and leave your poor mother alone.”

“It’s not that—” I start. “I don’t . . . I don’t even know if I want to go there,” I admit.

“I thought you loved it there?” Mom asks, looking at me, trying to read me.

“Did. Past tense,” I say, searching for the right words without having to tell my mom
everything
. “I just, I want to go somewhere else, I think.”

“Where else?”

“I don’t know, I just . . . ,” I say, not sure
what
I’m saying. Sure, I want to go back, but despite what Kat said, I don’t think I can. I can’t go back to Ella and pick up where we left off; that would kill her. She hates me, and I can’t imagine being there when she actually hates me. Even after talking to Cindy and Kat about it, even after rehashing memories and feeling so alive for even a few seconds, I know I can’t do it. I can’t repeat the past. I told myself I’d move on, and I’m going to do that. I’m going to try.

My heart is beating so fast, covering the sound of everything else.

“You just . . . ?” Mom continues, curiosity crossing her face.

“I just, I left there. I’m going to move forward, or something,” I say, putting all of the papers back on the counter and shaking my head. “I’m going somewhere else,” I decidedly say, and she nods, staring at me, so I head to my room.

I shut my door, and lean up against it. It could never be that easy, could it?

I go to my desk and flip through the pile of college flyers also stacked there. I could go anywhere. New York. Virginia. Ohio. New Mexico. Washington.

Washington.

Washington is the farthest place away from Florida. I can go there. I can get away and start over. I can be rid of all of this for good.

I flip through the University of Washington pamphlet.
It’s located in Seattle, which, from what I hear, is a cool city. I’ve never lived in that state before—shocking—so it’ll be a new experience. I can move far away from temptations. I can start over.

All schools seem the same to me. They all offer the same majors, the same classes. So why is this school any different from any of the others? I pull up its website and look through the pictures. I look at the happy faces and wonder—next year, could I be the one looking like that? I then click Apply.