Why Girls Are Weird (29 page)

Suddenly, girls from the crowd walked up the bleacher steps. Boys followed suit. Kids who had never met before were shaking hands and shaving heads. Smith was shouting her manifesto and I was amazed. She didn't stammer. She wasn't searching for words. She was huge up there, full of energy and passion. She spoke without hesitation. She had finally figured everything out.

“We're not freaks!” Thanh-Mai shouted into the microphone.

Smith laughed but was drowned out by the crowd below her. Girls were joining them, sitting on the bleacher steps, bending their heads to get shaved. At least fifty girls were bouncing with clumps and tangles of hair remaining on their heads. They giggled and squealed and wiped hair out of their faces. Boys shyly rubbed the backs of their newly shorn heads, unused to the air on their skin.

Smith turned and looked at me. “Miss?” she asked into the microphone.

“No,” Dale said behind me. “Tell her I'm not fucking doing that.”

“She didn't invite you, Dale,” I said, walking away. As I climbed up the bleachers, I couldn't feel my feet. It was like I was floating up to her.

Smith grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “Thanks for being here, Miss.”

I still couldn't talk. I didn't know what to say. Hair floated past my eyes in tiny black clouds.

“This is my adviser, Miss Koval!” Smith shouted to the crowd as she held my arm up. “She helped me form this group and she showed me that you have to take chances to move forward. You have to be willing to expose yourself to let others in. She's not afraid to be herself and she's not afraid to break rules to make people happy. She's the strongest woman I know.”

Looking over the sea of freed hair at the crowd of kids cheering with every sentence Smith shouted into the microphone, I was swollen with pride. I also had no doubt in my mind that I was going to be fired on Monday. I didn't mind at all. At least I was getting fired for a reason. At least I'd done something real, something people saw, that they'd talk about. I was a part of something honest from start to finish.

I sat in the chair. I grabbed Smith's right hand and held it tight, her rings digging into the tender places near my knuckles. I lowered my head.

“You sure?” Smith asked me, holding the clippers over my left shoulder.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

“Go.”

When I got home I found Ian asleep on my futon. I never did get back my key.

The sound of my purse hitting the coffee table woke him. He sat up and lit a cigarette. I saw him grin and shake his head as he cleared his throat. He seemed amused with something. He turned my laptop toward me. I saw my webpage on the screen.

He said, “I want you to sit there and explain this and then I want you to explain it to me again. I want to understand how anyone could do something this fucked up.”

I felt my stomach crash to the ground. “How did you find this?”

Ian laughed and ran his hands through his hair. “It's a great story, actually. I didn't want to come bragging to you over the past couple of months, but you may have noticed that I haven't been calling much. I wasn't avoiding you. I met a girl. I liked this girl. Shortly thereafter, this girl liked me. One night we got a little drunk and she got a little sad and she told me she needed to confess something. I figured she was about to tell me that her dad beat her or she had slept with someone else or she has a prison record or something with the way she was crying. Turned out she had to tell me that she knew me before she met me. That she knew who I was when I first started talking to her. She knew things that I'd never told her. And some of the things she thought she knew weren't true at all.”

“Did you read it?” I asked.

“No, I didn't read it. I don't want to see it. I just want it gone, Anna. I can't believe you did this. You wrote a webpage, pretending we were still dating?”

“I broke us up a few weeks ago,” I mumbled.

“Oh, well,
thanks
. This is unbelievable. This girl was initially attracted to me because of you. That's fucked up! She was mushy about some story you told that didn't even happen. It broke her heart when I told her you made it all up. I felt like an asshole. You made me an asshole.”

I sat down next to him, finding my feet for the first time since he turned my computer toward me. “I only said good things. I'm sorry. I really am. I never meant for you to find it. I never thought it would become popular. I never thought you'd meet someone that read it.”

“Yeah, well, it's weird. You wrote about our sex book?”

“I just wrote about how things affected me. I didn't spill your secrets.”

“What's a secret anymore?”

“It wasn't supposed to turn out this way,” I mumbled.

“Take that shit down.”

I nodded. He walked out.

He never said a word about my shaved head. I was pretty sure he hadn't even noticed.

I liked that Smith continued our track bleacher tradition even when I couldn't be there anymore. I was mostly impressed that she didn't replace me with anyone and chose to spend her smoke breaks alone these days. I slinked into a shadow under the bleachers as she kept watch.

“I still can't believe you got fired for that, Miss. It's bullshit.”

“I told you it was going to happen.”

“Yeah, well, it's still bullshit.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you broke now?”

“Kind of. I have to find a job.” I felt like I was purging my entire life. I was rid of Ian, the job that felt motionless, and I was slowly moving farther and farther away from my website, writing fewer entries from my heart, opting for quick notes rather than full stories. It felt good to keep some things to myself. Soon I'd have nothing from my old life. I'd be starting over. A clean slate.

“I have some money saved up for my college fund,” Smith offered.

I took her hand and squeezed it. “I'll be okay. Thank you, though.”

She smiled at me, as lines formed on the top of her head, making her look worried. “You sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“Man, this sucks. I'll have the Action Grrlz rally until they hire you back.”

“I'm going to look for something new. Besides, they'd never hire me again. Smith, fifty-seven kids shaved their heads. Do you know how many pissed-off parents that is?”

“I'm already sick of all the popularity.” She popped her gum and puffed her cigarette.

“Poor you,” I said.

Smith laughed. “The best part is this totally fucked up the skinheads. Now these people are walking up to them wanting to talk about racial equality and shit like that. Getting all political on their asses. I love it.”

We watched a group of cheerleaders practicing. Tiny bald girls popped into the air, kicking and cheering, the sun glaring off the tops of their heads.

“It's all so beautiful,” I said.

“I'm gonna miss you, Miss.” She kicked me in the back of my leg.

“I'll miss you, too.”

“When does Dale need me for the shoot again?”

“Next month. You think your parents will let you do it?”

“I told them I'm getting paid for it, so I don't see why not. I think it'll be fun to make a movie.”

“You're going to be awesome in it.”

We heard a screechy voice, a warbling birdlike caw calling out behind us. “Doris Smith? Are you smoking?”

We wheeled around to find Mrs. Langston, the cheerleading coach. We tossed our cigarettes far away simultaneously. “No, Miss!” Smith shouted at her.

“What class are you supposed to be in?” Langston asked.

“Homeroom,” Smith mumbled.

“Then get there.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Langston turned and stared at me for a very long time. I was the reason she was dealing with a double-bald basket toss. She turned sharply and stomped away.

I grabbed my things. “Call me if you want to hang out.”

Smith hitched her backpack up. “Dale said we might all get together next weekend and watch the tape of the rally. He had one of his movie friends make some edits for my submission to Hampshire.”

“Sure thing.
Doris
.”

She kicked dirt at me. “I rage against my name.”

Langston was coming back toward us. We ran away in two different directions.

23 MARCH

My bridesmaid dress was as itchy as my blond wig, and I could feel my panty hose twisting around my ass, squeezing my thighs like tiny pythons. I excused myself to the bathroom to fix them. It was down the hall from the bridal preparation room and was so small only one of us could go in at a time. I opened the door and almost tripped on Becca. She was on the floor with her head over the toilet and her dress hitched up around her hips.

“Oh, my God!” I said.

“Shut the door. Don't tell anyone I'm here,” she hissed. “My mom thinks I'm fixing my hair.”

“Are you okay?”

She answered by vomiting into the toilet. I grabbed her veil and tied it in a knot on top of her head.

“Shit,” she muttered through a wracked sob.

“We shouldn't have had those last tequila shots,” I said. My stomach was still queasy from last night, when I tried driving all thoughts of Kurt out of my head by consuming numerous shots at her bachelorette party. Becca had matched me shot for shot, and before I knew it, five women were having a contest to see who could outdrink the other. Each girl became more passionate than the next about how much she needed a drink and how much she could drink before she was unable to stand upright. It was a bad idea to have a bachelorette party the night before the wedding, but I seemed to be the only one having a hard time bouncing back. The other women swooped into the dressing room early in the morning, showered and beautiful, excited for Becca's big day. I had shown up half an hour late, still not in makeup, growling at anyone who tried to have a conversation with me before I finished my third cup of coffee.

“I'm not hung over,” Becca said. “I'm terrified.”

She leaned back against the wall and took a few deep breaths, wiping her mouth so hard with toilet paper that pieces of it stuck to the corners of her mouth. She carefully dabbed at her eyes, but her mascara had already run.

“Why did I want a wedding? Why? Every single person out there is here because they want to be at a wedding. It's not about Mark and me. It's about free booze and dancing and bridesmaid sex. I paid for all of these people to get drunk and in return they bought us knives and sheets. It's a strange bartering system. It's not about love.”

I wet a piece of toilet paper in the sink and fixed her makeup. She leaned her head back against the wall. I tried to breathe away from her face as I wished for a mint.

“Everybody is here because they love you, Becca. The wedding is just a way that we all get to be a part of the day you and Mark become a married couple. It's a ritual. It's a celebration.”

“It's a sham. I cheated on Mark and he doesn't know it and I can't walk down that aisle.”

I wanted to find a time machine and go back to when my worst problem was crotch pythons. I took a few breaths and waited for the right words to find me.

“Do you love him?”

“I do, Anna. I love him so much. I don't want to hurt him. But I can't marry him without telling him the truth. Aren't relationships supposed to be built on honesty and trust?”

“Not all of them,” I found myself saying.

Becca blew her nose into another piece of toilet paper and tossed it into the toilet with the others.

“Pretend I'm Mark and tell me,” I said. “Do it quickly and then you'll feel better and then you can go out there and marry him.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “That's so stupid.”

“You are getting married today, okay? You're just scared and you're using this thing as an excuse. You've wanted this for a long time. You are getting married today.” I said it again, hoping the words would penetrate her.

“But what if it doesn't fix everything?” her eyes were brimming with fresh tears. “What if after we get married I still feel like something is missing?”

I didn't know what to say. But I wasn't about to break up her wedding, as it was minutes away.

“Becca, everybody feels like something is missing. We all feel that way all the time. That's what keeps us moving forward. When we're happy with our love lives, we hate our careers. If we have lots of money, we feel like we're unloved. You got lots of wedding presents from your guests, so you think that nobody's really your friend. You're about to get married, so you think that you're not good enough to love.”

She snuffed loud and hard. She moaned, “Yeah.”

“Telling Mark you cheated isn't going to solve anything. If you really need to tell him, you will when the time is right. I can't think of a worse time.”

“Do you think kissing is cheating?” she asked.

“What?”

She slid her body up along the wall. “When Mark asked me to marry him I got really scared. That night I drove to my ex-boyfriend's house. We had dated for four years. He's an idiot, by the way, and I hate that I did this. But I wanted to see if I could still feel something for someone else. I was about to hang it all up and be with Mark forever, and I didn't know if I was making the right choice. Scott opened the door and I pushed myself into him and kissed him.”

I untied the knot in the veil on top of her head. “What happened?”

“His wife threatened to call the cops. And I felt really good. Like this was the right decision.”

“Then you didn't cheat on Mark,” I concluded.

Her face relaxed. Her breath caught in her throat and I thought she was going to vomit again. Instead she said, “You're such a good friend.” She held my arm, her perfectly manicured fingers pressing into my skin. “I'm so glad you're here. I'm sorry Ian almost ruined this.”

Once back in the dressing room, the group of ladies more qualified to address her bridal issues tended to her every need. When she stood at the doorway, bouquet in her trembling hands, she looked beautiful and confident. She gave me a warm smile.

That moment when the music swells and everyone in the church turns to see the bride—that's what the entire day is about. For just a second everyone in the room is marrying the bride, and this is the first glance at her. She couldn't possibly be any more perfect.

The entire wedding melted away as I looked at her face beaming from beneath her veil as she marched in step closer to us. I could see her eyes wet with tears. She whispered something in her father's ear and he laughed. People stood abruptly to take photographs, quickly ducking back down and out of the way—a Whack-a-Mole of wedding guests all capturing a moment in time.

Will that ever be me up there?

As everyone sat down, my eye caught Ian's. He was standing across from me, a groomsman, and thankfully Becca and Mark hadn't made him my escort. I was standing across from my ex-boyfriend for as long as it took to unite two souls in holy matrimony. Ian and I held each other's stares for a moment, and then both looked away.

He always did look incredible in a tux. It did something to his shoulders, and he looked like he was about to pick you up and carry you off into a sunset. I thought about the weddings we had gone to together during our relationship. The one where I ended up getting lost and chased by a goose. The one where we had sex in the basement of the reception hall. The one where he caught the garter and it sat between us on the ride home, bringing up the subject that both of us actively ignored.

We must not have wanted it. Not badly enough. I wondered why I could be so hurt by him when I knew he wasn't what I wanted forever. I wanted him to be the one who was hurt by all of this. There was sadness in two people breaking up, sure, but what destroyed me was the notion that I wasn't necessary to someone anymore. I was disposable. I wanted to be the one who walked away. Then I knew I was worth something.

I saw Ian smile out toward the crowd. He gave a quick nod of his head. I followed his glance to a redhead sitting on the groom's side. That must be her. His new girlfriend. The one who knew him because of me.

I was the reason they were together. They weren't even grateful. Not only had I gotten them together, I made him the person she loves. I only told the good stories about us. Stupid me—I should have been more honest. I should have talked about his bad habits or the fights we got into over nothing. It was all my doing. I couldn't stop spilling stories. She loved him because I was never anything but complimentary. She loved him because of how much I loved him.

He owed me, big-time.

I followed her gaze and saw Ian watching her. He was smiling. She waved. He blushed and looked at his shoes. I watched them flirt, listening to the priest explain love and commitment.

I decided to name Ian's new girlfriend Mitzi. I made her a shoe salesgirl.

Then it was my turn to speak, and I read a poem written by Becca's father that discussed devotion, honesty, and purity. I wanted to leave. I didn't want to stand there comparing myself to this girl who had what I no longer wanted. And if I no longer wanted it, why did it kill me to not have it? Why couldn't I make real progress away from Ian?

After exchanging “I do's” with Mark and before walking back through the church, Becca ran to me and kissed my cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. As much as I didn't want to be standing across from Ian at that moment, I knew that it was a good thing I was.

I started drinking the second we hit the reception. Everyone was dancing and laughing, dental work sparkling in the chandelier light. Children ran around circular tables, threatening to take down tablecloths with each careless step.

I played with the stem of my glass and let my feet slip out of my shoes. They hurt like a bitch.

Ian sat down beside me in a rush of air.

“Hi,” I said quickly.

“I don't want to talk long,” he said. “But I'd like to know what makes you think you're entitled to every single relationship of mine?”

I sat up defensively. “Ian, I already apologized.”

“Why didn't you tell me about Stephanie? She called me last night panicked because she thought I was getting married. She said you were going to a wedding and some guy was going to make a big decision without you. I told you to take that site down.”

People took away whatever they wanted from my entries.

“She just made an assumption. I never said you were getting married. She only e-mailed me once, and she asked me not to tell you.”

“Then she tells me that reading your journal made her feel like she was never very special to me. Seeing how I treated you the same way I treated her made her feel like just some girl.”

I didn't know what I was about to say, but I knew it wasn't going to start with an apology. “We do feel less special, Ian. We all do. I wouldn't have known this before, but you treat us all exactly the same way. We mommy you, and then when you leave we feel like complete failures and furious that you left a better person because of us. Then you keep us hanging on for months, hinting that you might come back, keeping us wondering what we're supposed to do to get all of your attention.”

“Well, we fucking love ourselves these days, don't we?” He spat it at me, then drained his champagne glass. It didn't faze me, as it's impossible to look tough drinking out of a champagne glass. “You call up all of my exes and tell them that bullshit?” he asked.

“I didn't tell Stephanie any of that. I didn't tell her anything. She figured it out on her own. That's another thing you do, Ian. You date smart girls. Smart girls that wise up eventually.”

He tossed a napkin on the table and stood up. “So when are
you
going to wise up, Anna?” He leaned down and put his face close to mine. I could smell his breath, still sweet with champagne, but with a sharp twinge of cigarettes. It made me wince as he spoke. “We're over. We've been over. Quit looking like a pathetic puppy.”

I watched Ian grab Mitzi and lead her to the dance floor. And as I watched her drape herself over Ian, I suddenly felt calm. I wasn't jealous of Mitzi. I didn't yearn for what she had. She idolized me so much that she decided to get my boyfriend. She had read my love letters and then went for the boy. She read the Ian manual and then acted accordingly. She was in the same room as the inspiration for her relationship, but she had no idea. The reality was she wanted to be me. She wanted what I had. Ian was just a prize.

I imagined kidnapping her, taking her somewhere dark and scary, and then telling her off. “I hope you're happy living in my shadow,” I'd say. “I hope you enjoy living in my past.”

Dale plopped down beside me.

“You look scary,” he said to me.

“I'm imagining telling off Ian's new girlfriend.”

“The one you set him up with?”

“Yes.” I plopped my head into my hands.

“Careful!” he shouted. “That wig's not going to last much longer if you keep flinging yourself around.”

“Everyone in my life got exactly what they wanted from me and then left. But the bitch of it is—I think I wanted it that way. I pushed them just far enough away that they could leave without a shred of guilt.”

“The martyr look doesn't become you, Anna. This is such bullshit.”