Watch Me Disappear (17 page)

Chapter 12

I am nervous for the ride to school Monday morning. Despite Paul’s reassurances, I don’t know what to expect of Maura, but when I get in the car she acts nicer than usual. Neither of us talk for a couple minutes. Maura taps her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music from the radio. Then she turns the volume down and glances at me.

“Paul’s a great guy, isn’t he?” she asks.

“Yeah, he is,” I say.

“I was surprised to see you together at the dance. I mean, you’re totally not his type.”

I know that’s true but I hate to hear Maura say it.

“But then he told me how you’d never had a date to a dance before, and that’s just like Paul. So sweet and thoughtful.”

He told her I was a pity case, which I guess I was. A convenient pity case to help him get closer to Missy.

“You know it just kills me that Paul made this little deal with his friends. I mean, I get that they want to make senior year their glory days and whatever, but would having a girlfriend really take away from that? You know what I mean?”

I am starting to doubt the truth in Maura’s account of why she and Paul broke up. I believe that Paul told her that he and his friends made a pact agreeing that they wouldn’t get caught up in relationships their senior year, but I don’t believe that any such pact exists.

“Paul and I—we’re destined for each other. We both know it’s true,” Maura says. “I’m not worried that we aren’t together now, because we’re going to end up together. You’ll come back to reunion in ten years and I guarantee you we’ll be together, telling you about our fantastic kids and shit like that. I just don’t see why we have to delay being together for his idiot friends. In ten years, probably none of them will even talk to each other anymore.”

She stops and I know she expects me to say something, but I can’t imagine how I should respond. As far as I can tell, Paul does not share her belief in their entwined destinies, and as one who does not believe in fate, I struggle to think of a response that will please her. At last I say, “It must be nice to know there’s someone out there for you.” It is the truest and most neutral statement I can come up with.

“Yeah, but what good is it doing me now?”

“Maybe you should take Paul’s lead. Get out there and have fun and make the most of this year with your friends,” I say.

Maura shakes her head. “My friends?” she says. “They don’t know the first thing about me.”

We roll into the parking lot and Maura drives toward the back exit, as always, poised to be one of the first cars out at 2:15. Before she gets out of the car, she says, “You know, Lizzie, you’re cool. I mean, you’re a really good listener, so thanks.”

“Oh,” I say. “Sure. Anytime.”

*          *          *

One night the week after the dance around 7:30, my cell phone rang. It was Paul.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Calculus.”

“Hmmm. Calculus. You’re a real smart cookie,” he said.

“What can I do for you, Paul?”

“You can help me avoid writing my essay for English.”

And so began a daily routine in which Paul calls me for no reason in particular. I love it. So what if he told Maura I was a pity case? It got her off my back, and the fact that he calls me for no good reason just proves that I am more than a pity case to him. Sometimes he brings up Missy, but mostly we talk about other things—music, movies, college applications, kids at school. On more than a few nights I’ve practically had to hang up on him to give my parents my phone at “bedtime.” Also “bedtime” has quickly become homework time, as I can’t talk and do a decent job on my assignments. I’ve been staying up until two or three in the morning and barely dragging myself out of bed for school. Once there, I muddle through the day until art class when I see Paul and then I don’t feel tired anymore.

I know Paul doesn’t
like me
like me. I know there is nothing romantic, for him, in talking to me, and in a way, that makes his phone calls and lunchroom banter even more significant. He really, genuinely likes me, and it isn’t about how I look or what anyone else thinks of me. Still, part of me believes that eventually our friendship will turn to more. One day, he will look at me and realize I am the girl for him, just like in the movies.

“Do you know that Maura believes that the two of you are soul mates?” I ask him one night.

“That crazy middle school crap.”

“Yeah, but she really believes it.”

“I know,” he says seriously. “She’s got our kids named and shit. I think she’d be thrilled if I got her pregnant tomorrow. She could drop out of school and boss me around and have a baby’s unconditional love.”

“She thinks you feel that same way.”

“I just keep hoping she’s going to grow out of it, you know? Realize how stupid she’s being.”

 “So you made up this whole pact thing just to not have to tell her the truth?” I ask.

“Sort of. I mean we did all agree not to let girls come between us this year.”

“Okay, so how are you going to explain it to Maura when one of your buddies suddenly has a girlfriend?”

“My buddies? Are you kidding?”

“What if your wish comes true and Missy suddenly sees your charms?”

“Do you think she will?” he says, his voice full of exaggerated hopefulness.

“Never.”

But I’m not so sure about that really. Things between Missy and Wes aren’t going well. Missy has to divide her attention between running, schoolwork, her new brother, me, and Wes. I’m grateful that Missy feels I am worth making time for in her busy life and that she doesn’t expect me to be the perpetual third wheel, but Wes just feels slighted. He preferred the way things were back in the summer, when Missy had all the time in the world for him. Missy is holding out hope that once cross-country ends and before indoor track starts she can smooth things over with him, but she is also having her doubts. I don’t think she can bring herself to admit she might have to break up with him.

“He keeps kind of suggesting that I should have sex with him to prove that I love him,” she said the other day. “But I don’t know. I think sex is supposed to be an expression of love, not some way of proving yourself.”

“Well then it sounds like you know what you need to do,” I said, as if I had any experience that qualified me to give advice.

Another afternoon when I was at Missy’s house, Wes called and Missy went to another room to talk to him. While she was gone, Anna asked me what I thought of the situation because she was afraid Wes was being too jealous and controlling. I agreed, but I also know Paul is poised to be Missy’s rebound, which makes me secretly wish she and Wes can find a way to work things out, and then I feel guilty for my own selfishness. I’ve always thought of myself as a good and honest person, but my friendship with Missy is making me unsure about that.

*          *          *

Now everyone is scrambling to find a date and get a dress for the semi-formal dance. The semi is held every year on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. One morning on the drive to school Maura reveals that she decided to take my advice and get out there and have fun, and to that end, she’s bringing a guy she’s been hanging out with from East Vo-tech. Of course Missy and Wes are planning to attend. I had figured I’d just stay home alone, but then one night Paul suggests we skip it together.

“We can go grab a bite to eat, catch a movie, and then check out the parties,” he says.

“Definitely better than some lame dance,” I say, half believing it. I want Paul to want me to be his date and to see me as a beautiful girl in a beautiful dress, but I also know from my homecoming experience that dances are not my cup of tea. Still, he’s singling me out as the person he wants to spend the evening with, and I am excited.

Then he asks, “Will you help me with my math homework?”

Of course I agree and he says he’ll drive right over.

“You can’t come over! Maura lives next door.” I don’t know why I’m still obsessed with not rocking that boat.

“So if she asks, I’ll tell her you’re my tutor.”

“I guess she’d believe you. After all, she knows I’m not your type,” I say, instantly regretting the bitterness in my tone.

Paul thinks I’m just making a joke and tells me he’ll be here in 10 minutes.

*          *          *

My mother loves Paul. She loved him from the first time he picked me up for John’s party. She doesn’t mind that I spend so much time on the phone with “such a nice, handsome boy,” and now that he has started showing up a few times a week to “study,” she is beside herself with joy.

“He must like you,” she keeps insisting.

“He likes Missy,” I keep responding.

Generally, he comes over to do homework. He struggles in math and science, and I help him. We work on our college application essays and gossip about teachers. During one of our study sessions, I learned that his mom recently started working second shift at the hospital, which explains why he is suddenly showing up at my house each evening. He gets tired of being home alone. His mom starts work at three and doesn’t get home until almost eleven. Most of the time my mom ends up feeding him dinner, although he insists that’s not why he comes over.

When he told me about his mom’s work schedule, it occurred to me that as often as he speaks about his mother, he doesn’t ever mention his father. I had just assumed Paul was from a two-parent family. That’s pretty much what I assume about everyone until I learn otherwise. But that night I realized I must be wrong—unless his father also works in the evening. I didn’t know how to ask him. I am afraid it’s a touchy subject (if it weren’t, he would have told me already, right?), so I haven’t probed further.

But I’ve also realized how Paul lets me dominate our conversations. He asks a lot of questions and lets me ramble on, but I seldom ask him questions. I never have to; there is never a lull in conversation because I am always talking. I hate to admit that I hardly know him at all, and I feel totally self-centered for my willingness to talk about myself without ever thinking of asking Paul questions. In that regard, I could really take a lesson from Missy.

One morning on the drive to school I ask Maura about Paul’s home life and she fills me in: His dad left his mom and him when he was a baby. She’s raised him alone, and now they live in an apartment at Apple Valley Terrace.

This is also news to me. Another wrong assumption on my part. I assumed Paul lived in a house, like me, but Paul lives in an apartment. Apple Valley Terrace is a complex near Forest Park. It isn’t far from my grandmother’s and Missy’s houses. Like most of the apartment complexes in town, the tenants are a mixed bag. It’s a private complex, not a housing project, but a lot of the units are low-income. My grandmother often complains about the “shady people” who hang around the parking lot there.

My family hasn’t lived in an apartment since I was a baby. I associate apartments with single people, elderly people on fixed incomes, and people who are really poor. I’m beginning to see what a terrible tendency I have to assume that everyone is just like me. I can’t imagine what it’s like growing up your whole life without a backyard, always hearing neighbors through the walls and ceiling, always knowing that there are strangers living their own lives under the same roof. It’s crazy how different Paul’s experiences are from my own, and I want to learn more.

I’ve been trying to make a point of listening more, of asking Paul questions, but he is deft at steering the conversation away from himself.

“How come I never come to your house to study?” I ask one night.

“Because you don’t drive,” Paul says.

“I’m getting my license next month.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Paul is a very touchy-feely sort of guy. I’ve gotten used to him throwing an arm around me, walking up behind me and rubbing my shoulders, sitting sideways on the couch and letting his legs drape across mine. I know there’s nothing romantic in it—it is just his way—but I love it.

Amazingly, even with Paul showing up at my house a few times a week, Maura is unbothered. At first I thought maybe she deserved a little more credit than I’d been giving her, but then I realized the truth: Maura isn’t home most evenings to notice Paul’s car pulling into my driveway. She is out with friends just about every night of the week.

Even with the weather getting cooler and the days shorter, I feel so happy. No “Seasonal Affective Disorder” for me. I never minded going to school, but now I look forward to it. I have Missy and Paul, and maybe two friends doesn’t sound like much, but it’s more than I hoped for, more than I found at my last school.

*          *          *

When my brother calls Saturday to make plans for my parents to pick him up at the airport in Hartford, he shocks us all with the news that he is bringing his girlfriend home with him for Thanksgiving. It is the first any of us have heard about a girlfriend, and yet it must be serious if she’s flying to our house with him for a holiday. My mother is beside herself with joy. I am intrigued although not exactly excited. I have been looking forward to having Jeff all to myself for a while. I planned to show him around town and hang out like we used to. That seems unlikely now.

I drive with my mother to the airport. We wait near the baggage claim, and of course the flight is late. We sit on a bench, my mother impatiently tapping her foot and staring at the flight announcement board while I attempt to concentrate on
Hamlet
, which is due after Thanksgiving for English class. We sit there for about an hour before the flight comes in. Then the baggage claim is flooded with cranky people. We scan the crowd and finally I spot him, coming down the escalator, his hands on the shoulders of a cute, preppy-looking, blonde girl on the step in front of him.

We meet him at the bottom of the escalator and exchange hugs. Everything feels chaotic with all the people around us and announcements over the PA system. Jeff hurries to introduce us to Jen and to tell us that they hadn’t checked any bags so we can head right to the car. We lead them to the car and Jeff tells me to sit up front. He has never done that before. He sits in the back with Jen. I barely had a chance to look at Jen and the curiosity is killing me. I have to force myself not to keep turning around in my seat.