Tell Me Again How a Crush Should Feel (13 page)

Ms. Taylor is making us read aloud from the essays she assigned before break. To get any of us to read aloud is like pulling teeth. Usually I help her out and volunteer because I feel bad, but this time someone beats me to the punch. Ms. Taylor is shocked when Lisa raises her hand.

“Is it okay if it’s creative nonfiction?” Lisa asks.

“Oh! Lisa! That would be wonderful. Please, go right ahead,” Ms. Taylor says. Lisa pulls out some tattered pages and walks to the front of the classroom. Ashley looks confused. Robert stops sipping from his Gatorade bottle. Tess, sitting beside me, whispers, “I didn’t think she even did schoolwork anymore.”

Lisa stands in the front of the class, staring down at her pages. Her hand trembles only slightly. She takes a deep breath and begins to read.

“My therapist has told me to be more honest with my feelings, which I think is a crock of shit—” Ms. Taylor opens her mouth to say something but reconsiders and apparently decides to let the swear slide, maybe because Lisa is actually participating—“because no one is ever
really
honest. We talk to one another but never really say anything. We hide from things that are uncomfortable, things like death.” I can’t believe this is happening right now. The whole classroom is so silent you can hear everyone breathe.

“So he’s dead now. Has been dead for a while and I get it. I understand that he’s buried in the ground, I understand that grieving is a process, I understand that my mother is emotionally starved for his attention and no longer has it, so she’s forcing me into her life. I understand all of that.” Lisa takes another deep breath and blinks for a few moments. It feels like hours. “What I don’t understand is that I should be over it by now. No one’s ever
over
it, but I should concentrate on wanting to feel better. Distract myself. Get back into sports. Go shopping with the girls. And the only thing I’ve been distracting myself with are thoughts of you.”

Ashley looks at the clock and sighs. Robert looks like he’s tearing up a little as he takes a long sip from his bottle.

“I think of you and how I spent so much time trying
not
to think of you. How I pushed away traces of you, memories we shared as kids, all the things I never knew I cherished because I was scared. Scared of what being around you meant and what you could take away. What you have taken away.” I have a feeling she’s not talking about her brother, Steve, anymore.

“And if I’m supposed to be honest, if I’m supposed to feel things even when they are uncomfortable, I’d like to do that with you. I’m ready to be honest, because his dying taught me I don’t want to waste any more time.” Lisa pauses for a minute and her bottom lip quivers a little. She exhales and composes herself. “If you’re ready to be honest, so am I.” Holy crap, it
is
about me! I stare at the floor to avoid making eye contact with anyone—including Lisa. What she just did was bold and fearless. But she could have warned me. She may be ready, but I don’t know if I am. I don’t know if I can be that brave.

No one is breathing now. Only the sound of Lisa folding her paper, finished, breaks the silence.

“Thank you, Lisa, that was—” Before Ms. Taylor can even try to say
what
that was, Lisa has walked right out of the classroom, leaving her backpack behind.

I skip history class to go find her. Lisa is sitting at the top of the bleachers, coatless, but seemingly unaffected by the cold and snow. I’m shivering, but not because of the temperature. I climb up the bleachers and stop a few risers in front of her. She looks out at the empty tennis courts, refusing to meet my eye.

“I don’t understand you,” I say. Lisa doesn’t say anything so I go on, awkwardly. I have had a few make-out sessions, but it dawns on me that I’ve never had a conversation like this one. “Just to confirm, I am not reading anything into that public reading that you didn’t intend—”

“It was about you,” Lisa says and now fixes her eyes to mine. It makes me blush, but I can’t look away.

“Lisa, are you . . . I mean, what are you?” She just smiles. How can someone be so unflinchingly blunt and remain so elusive? She’s not gay. She couldn’t be. It would be too easy to fall for her if she were. I don’t think I could handle that.

“I’m sad mostly,” Lisa says. “I didn’t like certain feelings I had for you in sixth grade. It was just . . . weird. You were one of my best friends. When I came to Armstead, I figured that would be the end of it. Of my feelings for you, and of feeling
that way.
”

My mind is
blown.
“Sixth grade! Seriously?” Lisa chuckles a little at my surprise. She pats the seat beside her. I’m hesitant to climb up, but her gaze doesn’t waver, and I make my way up the risers, as if I’m hypnotized. I sit next to her but far enough away that we can’t touch. This feels too real, and it freaks me out a little. Lisa takes a cigarette from her pants pocket. She fumbles with a matchbook, her hands shaking so that she can’t even strike a match. I take the matchbook from her hands.

“I don’t condone this habit, just so you know,” I say while striking a match for her. She leans closer to light her cigarette. She pulls away and takes a long drag.

“Anyway, I liked some boys okay enough and figured those feelings for you were a fluke.” She slowly exhales a long wisp of smoke, sighing softly at the same time. “Then you showed up at my school. And it turned out I still liked you, which was really, really annoying. So I avoided you. Which wasn’t so hard given the sandals with socks thing.”

“That was just a couple of times!” I protest, and she chuckles again. She takes another long drag, as though it’s what powers the exhalation of truth that follows.

She rolls her eyes. “I was doing fine until you were so ridiculously sweet at just the right times. You’re crazy good at that by the way.” My cheeks burn in the bitter cold. “But I figured you were straight.” Have I landed in some parallel universe where everyone is gay and I don’t know it? If Ms. Taylor comes out next, I will die. “Then I saw you with
her
in the bathroom.”

“Oh,” I whisper. “She’s seeing Greg now.”

Lisa smirks and flicks her cigarette away. “I just want you to know that all of this is my therapist’s fault, that bitch.” I can’t help laughing. “And that you have someone to talk to. If you want.” I hear a twinge of hope in her voice.

“Thank you,” I murmur. I wish I knew the right words to say. I don’t know what this means for us, but I know it’s really nice to have someone I can trust fully for the very first time.

“Does your mom know?” I ask. Lisa shakes her head.

“I figured there’s no reason to tell her. I’m not dating anyone, so . . .” Lisa blushes, and wow. She’s really serious about her feelings for me. “I assume you haven’t told your parents?”

“Lisa, you don’t understand. It would hurt them. I’ve already disappointed them. My father is desperate for me to be a doctor. They’d probably kick me out. You know where they’re from, being gay is illegal? They imprison people over there for feeling like I do! Sentence them to death sometimes.” My lip trembles and my eyes water, but I don’t care if Lisa sees. She’s seen everything else.

And then, there she is. The Lisa I knew so well. She takes my hand and rubs my wrist with her thumb. “Then it’s a good thing you live in the good ole U-S-of-A. Let’s get out of here. It’s freezing.”

Tess and I are sitting in the library, supposedly studying for a science test. But Tess never really has to study for anything, and she’s going on and on about the Valentine’s Dance, still weeks away. We won’t have a prom in the spring because last year’s seniors filled the swimming pools with bubble bath, so the Valentine’s Dance, for all intents and purposes, is going to be our big formal occasion. All the girls in my grade are making a big deal about it.

“We should go shopping soon, before all the good dresses are taken,” she says.

“I’ll go shopping with you if you want, but I’m probably not going to the dance,” I tell her.

She’s already jumped ahead. “We should get a group together and rent a limo.” I can’t be too annoyed, because she really is a good friend to me. She could go with the girls from the squash team, who would be just as excited about it as she is, and leave me out, but she wants include me even though I’m being such a downer about it.

“What about dates?” I say, as though the answer to that question is not obvious.

“I could help,” Saskia murmurs, creeping up behind us.

“No,” I say, protective of Tess, even though Saskia is oblivious to Tess’s feelings about Greg, and Tess seems to be moving on. Maybe she figured she had a chance when I was the obstacle to her happiness, but waiting for Greg to get over Saskia is a statistical impossibility.

“I could help you pick out dresses! Oh, come on, you know you’re helpless, Leila. You have no fashion sense.” Saskia winks, looking me up and down as though part of her is assessing my body in a slightly inappropriate way. I cross my arms over my chest. “Think of it as my charitable contribution. We can all go shopping. What do you say?”

I want to be on better terms with Saskia for Greg’s sake. He and I haven’t spoken since our argument. I also should be on better terms with Saskia because she knows I’m into girls, but I’d rather send her to Saint Petersburg on Aeroflot. At least she’s trying to be friendly, in her slightly warped Saskia way. And her hair looks so good down.

“It’ll be great. You can get dresses for the dance, and we’ll also find something for you both that will guarantee you’ll get dates in the meantime.” Saskia smiles at Tess like she’s running for office, and Tess looks so hopeful I can almost ignore the feeling in my bones that this is a very bad idea.

Tess is doing her best to speak girl with Saskia, talking about upcoming spring collections, but it sounds rehearsed, like she’s memorized information out of a magazine. She half gives up and walks beside me as we enter the next store. It feels like we have been to about thirty already. I can’t quite figure out why Saskia has offered to do this, but if it helps Tess, that’s all that matters. Maybe she’s really making amends. I just don’t know why I let myself be roped into it. I have no intention of going to the dance.

Saskia holds up hangers to Tess with the fervor of a
Project Runway
contestant. When Tess emerges from the changing room, she looks really good in the clothes Saskia has picked for her. I will give Saskia one thing; she does know fashion.

“Leila, you should totally try this on,” Tess says, pulling a red dress from the rack. Saskia looks at the dress and gushes about it, too.

“Excellent eye, Tess!” Saskia says. “Yes, you must try it on, Leila!” I know this means I’m not getting out of it. Whatever Saskia wants, Saskia gets. Saskia pulls me into a fitting room, dress in hand. She blocks the door and smiles.

“Just try it on,” she purrs, inching closer to me. I gape at her. “God, you’re such a prude! Fine. I’ll close my eyes.” She covers her eyes with her hands.

“I don’t want to try this on with you in here.” She keeps her hands over her eyes, and I angrily take off my pants and shirt, because it’s just another battle I can’t win. When I zip up the dress, I tell her she can look. When she does she look, it’s with lust in her eyes.

“You’re delicious,” Saskia says, and my legs are jelly and my face is on fire. How can she still have this effect on me after everything she’s done? “I love being in dressing rooms with you. Last time you were so nervous. Remember?”

“Can you get out now?” I plead, but she wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me close.

“We have time. Tess is still shopping.”

“Why are you helping Tess, anyway?” I ask. Saskia leans in close and brushes her lips against mine. I momentarily forget where I am.

She grazes my cheek with hers when she whispers in my ear, “Tess is important to you. Or to your science grade, anyway. So I wanted to help.”

I shove Saskia away. “What about Greg?”

She backs away slightly and rolls her eyes. “God, he’s so dull. He only ever wants to have sex missionary-style. And he has very little stamina.” She laughs a little but the whole thing is twisted, and now I feel a little sick to my stomach, thinking about the two of them together, thinking about poor Greg. I don’t want to hear any more. As if I could stop her. “But you, Leila . . . You always have something interesting to say. You know about Hitchcock films, you pretend to like my jazz music, you even make me laugh, which not many people can do. Not a real laugh anyway.” She inches closer again and grabs at my hips. In spite of myself, it feels good and a part of me wants to give in.

“But Greg’s my friend,” I whimper.

“Ugh!” she groans. “Fine!” She pulls her cell phone from her purse and begins typing a text message. “There.”

“There what?”

“I broke up with him.” She says this like she has just decided to make toast.

“By text?”

Saskia shows me the screen of her phone. It reads
It’s Over. Sorry!
Just like that. Like he didn’t matter one iota to her. Like what he’s feeling on receiving this message doesn’t matter, either. She plops her phone back into her purse, then lunges forward aggressively and bites my lower lip.

“Stop!” I force her off me. She crashes into the wall behind her. I’m not sure what is happening, but she eyes me like a feral animal. Where are the store clerks to knock on the door? They’re always available at the wrong times.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Saskia asks in a sultry voice.

“Saskia, you hurt me.” I look for any sort of sympathy in her expression. “Do you understand that?” Nothing. “I don’t . . . This isn’t what I want.”

Saskia looks unmoved. “Then what do you want, you stupid dyke?” she asks icily.

Oh.

This bitch is
crazy.

Saskia gets close to my face again and caresses my cheek. “No one is done with me until I am done with them. Do
you
understand?”

I’m getting a little scared now but don’t let on. Saskia gives me an evil smile before she exits the dressing room.

As soon as I get my hands to stop shaking I change back into my regular clothes. I find Tess and Saskia at the cash register, paying for a dress Saskia has picked out. Tess is smiling, so at least something good has come out of this whole afternoon. Saskia signs her credit card receipt and behaves as though nothing strange has happened.

“Should we keep looking?” she asks Tess and me cheerily.

Tess looks worried. “Leila? Why are you shivering like that?” she asks. Instantly, Saskia’s face changes. Her grin disappears and her eyes grow wide with fake concern. But I can’t tell Tess what just happened without outing myself. Saskia knows it, too.

“Tess, can we go home? I don’t feel well,” I plead.

“But we have so many more stores to see!” Saskia says, throwing an arm around Tess like they are best buds. I have to get out of here.

“Please,” I blubber. Tess rushes toward me and gives me a hug.

“Don’t cry! If you feel that sick, I’ll drive you home.” Tess walks me out of the store and Saskia trails us, asking me what’s wrong and why won’t I tell my best friends what’s troubling me.