Tell Us Something True (13 page)

From Everett's yellow pamphlet, page one, bullet point two:

I understood this and willingly violated it week after week.

And now Daphne, who didn't pretend to be someone she wasn't, who respected Everett and his rules, grappled with the uncomfortable truth that she was violating page two, bullet point four:

“Being honest in there is really important,” she told me between kisses. “But I just don't think everyone needs to know everything.”

“Being honest is important to me too,” I heard myself say.

“I know it is, River. It's one of the reasons I like you. And one of the reasons I can see us together.”

“I thought it was my quick wit and unmatched charm.”

I hadn't been able to wait until Saturday. I didn't want to share her with a roomful of addicts. So on Friday I begged her to meet me at a movie. We only made it through the first twenty minutes, after which we left to buy popcorn and never returned. I didn't want to watch a movie; I wanted to watch her. We sat out in the empty lobby.

“Yeah, that, and you understand my problems and I get yours. We're a broken set.”

“A broken set. I like that.”

“What about Christopher and Mason?” She took a piece of popcorn and tossed it in the air, catching it in her mouth. “Maybe we should tell them.”

“Well, Christopher is overprotective of you, and we all know what a big mouth Mason has.”

“That's rude.”

“What?”

“Making fun of someone with an eating disorder.”

“I wasn't making fun of him. I was saying, literally, Mason has a big mouth.”

“No, River, you weren't saying
literally
he has a big mouth, like he's a Pac-Man or some shit. You were saying it
figuratively,
but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt that you were talking about his gossiping and not his eating.”

Man,
I thought.
I could really fall in love with this girl.

The next night we met out front. I got there first and stood with everyone until Daphne arrived and greeted us casually, like there wasn't one among us who'd been counting the minutes until he could kiss her again.

We sat together at the far end of the circle. I spent the whole meeting sweating that I'd somehow out us, make an amateur mistake, forgetting that I'd become a world-class liar.

It was Daphne's turn.

“It's been…a pretty amazing week.” She smiled at Christopher, who sat across from her, like he was the reason. “All the work…none of it felt like a burden, you know? Like I didn't really mind. And I think that's because for the first time in a really long time I'm doing something for myself. Just for me. I know I come here, and that's something for me, but I mean something that makes me excited and happy. That's maybe what the shoplifting is about….I don't know…maybe it's about taking something nice for myself. Maybe that's why I steal stuff I don't even care about. Because I'm trying to take something for
me.
I don't mean that to sound like an excuse, I'm just trying to understand it better. That's part of this whole process, right?”

Hand gestures back and forth.

“And I know we're here to share or whatever, but I feel like keeping this to myself, you know, keeping it…just for me.”

“That's okay, Daphne,” Everett said. “Not every piece of ourselves must be shared. So long as what you keep secret isn't feeding your addiction.”

It was my turn to speak, but Everett's last sentence stopped me cold.
So long as what you keep secret isn't feeding your addiction.

Was Daphne Vargas, my new and beautiful secret, feeding my addiction? Was I addicted to having a girlfriend? To being loved? Was I incurably needy? Was that why I couldn't even be honest with the girl I was falling in love with about who I really was? Did I even know who I really was?

I took a deep breath. Tried clearing my head. I couldn't pose the questions that flooded me, and I couldn't just sit there saying nothing. I shifted in my seat, and my chair made one of those noises that hurt inside your teeth.

This is it,
I thought.
This is what it's like for every other member of the group. This is what it feels like to come here and wrestle with something real.

Everyone waited. We'd all become experts in the art of patience.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to speak as me, not as that nameless Midwestern kid with a blog and an addiction to weed. Not the liar and the faker. Not the impostor. I wanted to be honest. I remembered Everett's directive from a few weeks back:

Tell us something real. Tell us something true.

“I don't need marijuana,” I said. “I'm not an addict.” It was my opener, but I didn't know how to follow it up. The room stayed quiet.

“So that's it,” Mason finally said through a fake smile. “You just gave up weed. See how easy that was? Bam! Up in smoke!” He waved at me. “You can go now. Have a nice life.”

“What I think Mason is trying to say”—Everett shot Mason a disapproving look—“is that you may not believe you need marijuana anymore, but addictions don't disappear, we just get better at controlling them. You'll always be an addict, even though you can be a healthy person. Don't forget that.”

Forget it? It was all I thought about.
How the hell do I shake this fake marijuana addiction?

That night we went back to Philippe's—just Christopher and Daphne and me. Mason opted out. I sat across from Daphne in the booth. If I sat next to her I wouldn't be able to keep from touching her.

Christopher reached for one of my potato chips. “Mason sure has it out for you.”

“Yeah…I don't know. Maybe he's right about me. Maybe I do have it too easy,” I said.

“Well…weed is kind of a lame vice.”

“River.” Daphne stared at me. “Your dad abandoned you. He just up and left you. I don't care if you think you don't care. If you think your life is fine because you have a nice stepfather now and a house in Rancho Park. You're an abandoned child. Stop thinking you have it so easy.”

You know how when the Grinch hears the Whos down in Whoville singing, his small heart grows three sizes? Well, it wasn't my heart; it was that stupid frog inside me. It grew into an enormous beast. I couldn't say a thing.

Christopher drew his hands up to his chest. “Awww. I'm moved that River opens up to you privately. Because I certainly haven't heard that sob story about his abandonment. I'm glad you two have that kind of…intimate relationship.”

Daphne kicked his shin under the table. “Shut up, Christopher.”

“Why so defensive?”

“Look,” she said. “I'm sick of the innuendo. If you want to know what's going on with River and me, just ask.”

“Okay. I'm asking. What's going on with River and you?”

She looked at me and then at Christopher. “Absolutely nothing.”

When we pulled up to Daphne's house, I got out of the car and held the door for her. I gave her a hug and tried to imprint in my sensory bank the quick kiss I landed on her cheek, because I didn't go to school with Daphne, she didn't live in a huge house walking distance from mine, she didn't have an SUV at her disposal—I didn't know when I'd see her next.

She hugged me back and whispered, “Good night,
guapo.
”

On the ramp onto the 10 West Christopher said, “For the record: she's totally into you. I don't care what she says.”

“No she's not.”

“I don't know why she'd like some skinny white boy from Rancho Park, but she does. I can tell.”

I just let the words sit there.

We pulled in front of my house and I said I'd see him next week. But I wasn't certain I'd go. I wanted to. I even felt like I
needed
it. But how much longer could I fake my addiction?

The irony wasn't lost on me that I didn't know how to get clean.

I walked into the house full of agitation that Mom sniffed out right away.

“You okay, honey?”

“I'm fine.”

“Everything all right?”

“Everything is perfect.”

“Nothing is perfect, River. Don't let perfect be the enemy of good.”

“Ah, yoga wisdom.” I put my palms together and did a little bow.
“Namaste.”

I avoided Leonard's disapproving glare. I wasn't even sure why I was being a dick to Mom other than that my agitation was growing like those tiny toy sponges you drop in water and watch turn into dinosaurs and seahorses, or in Natalie's most recent set, flowers and hearts. I couldn't help but think that maybe the best way to combat this feeling was to smoke a big fat joint. Getting my hands on pot wasn't a problem. Everyone at school knew who dealt pot. Maybe if I bought a whole bunch I could smoke it every day and develop a real addiction—become the person I pretended to be.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

When I saw that it was Daphne, that agitation vanished like a magic trick, and calmness settled in, like I had just smoked that nonexistent joint or maybe done some of Mom's yoga poses.

Her: Family picnic next Saturday. My brother Miguel is turning 10.

Me: K

Her: I want u to come.

Me: K

Her: K?

Me: K!

Her: Carne asada on the grill. And maybe some softball. How do u feel about piñatas?

Me: I'm against violence of any kind.

Her: It's some Minecraft character who probably deserves it.

Me: In that case, I'll bring my bat.

Wrong as I knew it was, I started to fantasize that after Daphne's final two mandatory meetings, neither of us would go anymore, and that we'd spend our future Saturday nights together doing what high school seniors do: going to parties, hanging out with friends, maybe drinking a little, but never, ever smoking any weed.

I knew the meetings helped Daphne. They were valuable to her. But if we stopped going I'd never have to tell her or the rest of the group the truth. We could start over.
The Girl Who Doesn't Steal and the Boy Who Doesn't Smoke Pot Meet Unexpectedly and Fall Madly in Love.
Even I wanted to watch that romantic comedy.

But I didn't want Daphne to step away from something that meant so much to her. I was starting to fall in love, and I wanted to do it right.

I had to come clean. Mom's yoga wisdom had it right.
Don't let perfect be the enemy of good.
I wasn't, couldn't, be the perfect boyfriend. I'd made too many mistakes. Told too many lies. But I needed to show Daphne that even though I wasn't perfect, I was still good enough.

Luke picked me up for school Monday morning. Will and Maggie sat in the backseat, where the ungodly hour didn't prevent them from having their hands all over each other.

“So this is out in the open? Are we done pretending it isn't happening? Was there a confessional moment I missed?”

Maggie untwined herself from Will. “You sorta miss out on all the moments, River.”

She was right. I'd missed too much. Of everything. That was something I didn't want to do anymore.

“I'm happy for you guys,” I said. “And Will, no offense, but Maggie was my friend first, she taught me how to do my makeup, so, you know, I'll have to kill you if you do anything to hurt her.”

He smiled.

We pulled into the parking lot and I grabbed my backpack out of Luke's trunk. Will took Maggie's hand and we started up toward the main building.

“So where were you Saturday night?” Luke asked me. “You missed the lamest party of the decade.”

“I was with Daphne.”

“Of course,” Will said. “Where else would you be?”

“Listen, guys.” I stopped to face them. “Things are going to be different with Daphne than they were with Penny.
I'm
going to be different with Daphne than I was with Penny. Promise. I've been getting help. Working on my stuff.”

“Getting help?” Maggie asked. “You're seeing a shrink?”

“Sort of.”

“Don't be embarrassed, River. Look around you. At least nine-tenths of the kids at our school see shrinks.”

“I'm not embarrassed. It's just—”

“What?” They stopped in the middle of the steps. The bell was about to ring. I thought of the woman Mom made me see when I was little, the one with the smudgy glasses who reeked of patchouli. The one I kept asking why I didn't have a dad to cheer from the soccer sidelines. “It's just that she smells like patchouli.”

In Spanish class that week Penny sat next to me every single day, taking the whole
I want us to be friends
thing to a new level. I wanted to be friends with Penny too. How could I not? Penny used to be the person I thought about all the time. The person I wanted to call when I saw something funny on TV or when Mom said one of her ridiculous old person-y things, like when she held her phone at arm's length and said she was taking a facie instead of a selfie, or especially when I saw a wounded animal. Wounded animals were of particular interest to Penny, except when that wounded animal was me and she didn't seem all that interested, until now when I wasn't so wounded anymore.

And I needed a friend. Sure, three best friends is more than most people have, but I couldn't tell Maggie, Will or Luke the truth. Doing that would mean admitting I'd failed them like I'd failed everyone else.

And Penny? She was like a new friend. Someone I was just getting to know. In a way, our slate was clean. I hadn't betrayed her. I didn't owe her a thing. For all these reasons, I thought about confiding in Penny.

On Thursday she asked if I'd walk her home because her car was getting fixed and I said sure because she was my friend now, and I had nothing better to do.

“How come you don't come by anymore?” she asked when we were a few blocks from school.

“Because you told me not to.”

“Oh yeah. Well, it was kind of weird at first, you know? Like you weren't really getting the message that we were over?” She laughed.

I thought:
This is funny?

“My mom was, like, kind of freaked out that you kept showing up. She told Juana not to let you in the house!”

More laughter.

Really? This is sidesplitting humor?

“But we're friends now, so you should feel free to come over and text me or whatever, anytime.”

“Okay.”

We passed the deli where I'd bought her chicken soup. A quart of chicken soup goes for $12.95—not an insignificant amount of money. She'd never thanked me for it. I wondered if she ever even drank it or if she just dumped it down the kitchen sink.

“Did you notice I finally got that surgery?” She batted her eyelashes at me.

“I didn't. But I couldn't ever tell when you were wearing contacts anyway. And since you'd never be caught dead with your glasses at school…”

“I know, right? I looked hideous in those glasses.”

“Not true.”

“Come on. I looked heinous.”

“Hideous
and
heinous?”

“And horrifying.”

“You looked cute in your glasses. I've told you that before.”

“Yeah. You were always so sweet to me. I don't know why I didn't appreciate you more.”

“I didn't feel underappreciated.”

“You didn't?”

“Not until you dumped me.”

More laughter. She linked her arm through mine.

We were on her block now and I hadn't had a chance to broach the subject of the big stinking hole of lies I'd dug myself into, because Penny hadn't asked me about my life, because Penny and I weren't really friends, and we probably never would be.

“This is nice,” she said.

We walked up her front steps and Penny reached around in her backpack for her keys, then smacked herself on the forehead. “Duh. My keys are with my car in the shop.”

She rang the doorbell.

I didn't really want to go inside. What were we supposed to do as friends? We weren't going to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. I wasn't going to try to make out with her. And I definitely wasn't going to tell her about my problems.

Juana opened the door. When I saw the look on her face as she took me and Penny in, I knew it was time to leave.

“Hi, River.” She didn't move aside to let us in. “Um. Penelope? Your mother, she said that I'm not to let—”

“It's okay, Juana.”

“But your mother, she said—”

“It's okay, Juana. I invited River over. He's totally not stalking me anymore.”

“But—”

“Juana. Let us in. This is silly. It's just River. You know River. Does he look like a psychopath to you?”

“No, but—”

“It's okay,” I said, though everything felt far from okay. Uncomfortable, embarrassed and awkward? Yes. Okay? No. “I need to get going.”

“No, River.” Penny took me by the hand and tugged. “Come inside.”

“I'm going to go.” I slipped my hand out of Penny's and saw her narrow her eyes at Juana.

“I'm sorry, River,” Juana said. “You know I think you're a nice boy. It's just that—”

“It's okay, Juana. Thanks. You're just doing what Mrs. Brockaway told you to do. I understand.”

Penny turned her narrow eyes to me. “Well, I'm telling her to let you inside. This is stupid.”

“I gotta go.” I turned around and started walking quickly down the driveway.

“I'm really sorry, River,” Juana called out after me. “You take care now.”