“
That
I can teach you. C’mon,” she said, and I had my first business lesson.
I got along fine, actually. I guess I’d watched Marilyn so much when she was working the Shoppe that I’d soaked up a lot by osmosis. Around eleven o’clock Dad came out of his office and said, “Marilyn told me she’d like to hire you full time on Saturdays, Al. What do you think?”
“
Please,
Dad! I need something to take my mind off things right now.”
“All right. If you think you can spare the time.”
I hesitated. “If something really big comes up once in a while, could I still get the day off?” I asked.
“We could probably arrange it,” he said.
So I was hired from ten to six on Saturdays at minimum wage. I truly didn’t think about Patrick again until I went back to the stockroom to eat a sandwich with Marilyn. I’d just been too busy. But we were sitting next to a brand-new five-piece Ludwig drum set that Dad hadn’t put out on the floor yet, and it reminded me of Patrick. My eyes welled up, just like that.
“Alice?” Marilyn questioned. “Good grief, what’s the matter?”
I pressed my fingers over my eyelids, determined
I wouldn’t cry, and kept swallowing until I had things under control.
“Alice?” she said again.
“Patrick and I broke up,” I said finally.
“Oh, no.” Marilyn sat back and looked at me, one hand dropping loosely into her lap. Then she gave me a little smile. “We’re two sad sisters, aren’t we?”
I dabbed at my eyes. “Do you still miss Lester?”
“All the time,” she said.
“I cried so much yesterday that one of my friends posted a suicide watch,” I told her.
“All needless, I hope. Alice, don’t ever jump in the river over
any
body. It’s an insult to the sisterhood, as though he’s worth everything and your life isn’t worth squat. At least I’m not as sad as I used to be. I
am
getting over him. Getting Janice’s old job helped. Anything that builds your self-esteem helps.”
She was right about that. I worked hard all afternoon and once I’d mastered the cash register and Maryland tax and counting change, I began to think of the Gift Shoppe as my own little place. I even put a pair of men’s briefs on display, with
Beethoven
on the seat, and sold three pairs by five o’clock.
As good as I felt at the store, however, I felt awful after I got home. Saturday night, and I wasn’t going out with Patrick. Of course, I wouldn’t have been going out with him, anyway, because he was in a band competition at Frostburg, but at least I could
have fantasized that he was thinking about me.
Both Elizabeth and Pamela called and asked if I wanted to go to a movie or something, but I knew we’d just sit around afterward talking about Patrick and Penny, so I said that Dad and Les and I had plans. I put on all my favorite CDs and cleaned out my dresser drawers. Then I sorted through all the clothes in my closet and filled a couple of bags for Goodwill.
On Sunday I studied. I even read ahead in history, had a chance to go over my algebra homework twice, memorized the new vocabulary for Spanish, and did my nails. And all the while I had a pot roast on the stove, simmering with carrots and celery and onions. The house smelled wonderful. I’ll admit I checked my E-mail about six times to see if Patrick was back; if he had, perhaps, sent a message.
And around nine o’clock, I found one:
I really didn’t want things to work out like this. I’d like to keep seeing you, but I need other people, too.
I E-mailed back:
We all need other people, Patrick. That’s not the point. I thought we were pretty special to each other, but Penny is obviously special, too. You can’t be “special” to us both.
He called. I pulled the phone into my bedroom and sat on the floor, my back stiffly against the edge of my bed; I wasn’t comfortably curled up on my rug with my pillow as I usually was when Patrick called.
“You want to talk?” he asked cautiously.
“About what?” I said, which was stupid, but I couldn’t think of what else to say.
“About whether you’re going to get over this or not.”
“Why is it
my
problem, Patrick? You can do whatever you want, and I simply have to get
over
it?”
“All I’m trying to say is that I still like you a lot, but I also like Penny. I don’t know where it will lead—maybe nowhere—but I still want to go out with you.”
How can a guy as smart as Patrick be so
dense?
I wondered. “In other words, you want me to be here for you so that if things fall through with Penny, I’ll welcome you back with open arms.”
“That’s not what I said.”
Now I was really steamed. “Patrick, what can you be thinking? How are either Penny or I supposed to be happy with
this
arrangement?”
“Look. None of us is tied to anyone else. You and Penny can go out with anyone you want. In fact, maybe we should just all consider ourselves friends and forget this ‘special’ stuff.”
“Is that what you want?” I asked, my chest already cold with the sound of it.
“I don’t
know
what I want right now. I still want us to go out, but I don’t want to be told who I can see and who I can’t. It’s that simple.”
“Then the answer is simple, too, Patrick. We can’t be like we were if you’re going out with Penny, too. How could you even
expect
us to be?”
There was a long silence. It sounded as though Patrick was toying with the telephone cord. Then his voice sounded flat and distant. “Well, I guess we’ll see each other around.”
“I guess so,” I said. And then we hung up, and I felt like an old milk carton, sour and empty on the inside.
I woke up Monday feeling bluer than blue. I knew that both Patrick and Penny would be on the bus, and that by now absolutely everyone would know that Patrick and I broke up. That now it was official. Patrick and Penny were free to be a couple, and even their names sounded right together:
Patrick and Penny; Penny and Patrick
. Just thinking about this hurt more than a smack across the face.
“Al,” Dad called from my doorway. “You getting up? You’re ten minutes late already. Better get a move on.”
I forced myself out of bed and went into the bathroom to shower. What would I wear?
Something Patrick loved, to make him regret we’d broken up? Something he hated, to show I didn’t care? Something sexy, so other guys would pay attention to me in front of Patrick? Something drab and mousy, so nobody would look at me and I could blend into the background?
How about something
I
liked? I told myself finally, and put on a pair of black leggings, black mules, and a huge purplish sweater with a mock turtleneck collar. Also tiny purple earrings set in sterling.
“You look great, Al,” Dad said at the table. I doubted he really liked what I was wearing, but I thanked him for the vote of confidence.
“Sort of like a huge grape,” said Lester. If you want the truth, ask my brother.
Elizabeth was waiting for me when I went outside. She didn’t want me to have to climb on the bus alone. There was a slight hush when I boarded—only the upperclassmen were talking— but among our friends—Karen and Jill and Mark and Brian—all eyes were on me. Patrick, to his credit, sat at the back of the bus with the guys again, not with Penny, but she was on her knees looking over the back of her seat, carrying on a conversation with him.
I gave a general “hi” and a smile to everyone at once and sat down by Pamela, who had saved a
seat for me. Elizabeth squeezed in beside us so that I was sandwiched between my two closest friends.
“Just ignore Patrick,” Jill whispered over the back of the seat. “Don’t even give him the time of day.”
“Why?” I said. “We’re not enemies.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call
Penny
your friend exactly,” said Karen, which was ridiculous, because it was Karen who had engineered that photo of Penny and Patrick and the nonkiss. Why is it so difficult to tell who your friends are and who aren’t? Is this just a problem among girls? Do guys act like this? I happened to know that Penny and Karen went shopping a lot together. Whose side was she on, anyway, or did she just enjoy starting a fight?
I changed the subject and, when the bus reached the school, was one of the first to get off. I wanted in the worst way to see whether Patrick and Penny were walking together, but I went on inside and straight down the hall to my locker.
One thing I noticed was that Mark and Brian and Justin and some of the other guys didn’t know what to say to me all day. As though guys had to stick with guys and girls with girls. But I tried to stay as cheerful as I could. I said hello to the boys when I passed them in the hall, and even got through the bus ride home again, though this time
I noticed that Penny had gone to the back to sit beside Patrick.
It was the next day that it hit. I had just come out of the library and Patrick and Penny were walking about fifteen feet ahead of me, holding hands. Penny seemed to be doing all the talking, and every so often, Patrick turned and looked down at her with the same smile I remembered, the affectionate smile he used to give me, the funny little smile that wrinkled the bridge of his nose. I whirled around and went in the opposite direction, a pain in my chest and throat as though I’d swallowed a tennis ball and it was stuck.
I began to feel that every corridor at school was a minefield. I didn’t want to see Patrick at all, and I especially didn’t want to see him with Penny. If either of them were coming and they hadn’t seen me, I’d duck in a classroom or lean over a drinking fountain—do anything possible to make myself invisible. Twice I started up a flight of stairs to hear them coming down the flight above me, and I’d turn and go the other way.
This is ridiculous!
I told myself. Wasn’t it enough that Patrick liked someone else? Did I have to be a prisoner in my own school, too? I knew I couldn’t go on hiding like this all year, but I just didn’t feel strong enough, or wise enough, to face Patrick and not see his eyes light up anymore. To say hello to
him in the hall and not hear any warmth in his voice. I just didn’t think I could bear it.
But after I’d seen them together, it helped to simply expect it: Patrick standing by Penny’s locker, his hands on her waist, her hands on his shoulders; Patrick at a table in the library, Penny next to him, his arm around her, and the worst— Patrick and Penny standing out on the steps, kissing lightly on the lips, the way
we
used to do.
It still hurt, but at least it didn’t surprise me anymore. If they did this in public, though, what did they do in private? I wondered. How far did she let him go? How far did he want to? Was it possible they went all the way? If
I
had … ? I didn’t finish the thought.
At home after school, all I wanted to do was curl up on my bed and listen to CDs. Sleep. I slept a lot. I also got my period, so I just dragged around the house and for the most part, Dad and Lester left me alone—didn’t yell at me if I forgot it was my night to do the dishes, or if I left my shoes where someone could trip over them, or forgot to take the clothes out of the dryer.
I was glad I didn’t have any classes with Patrick this semester. I’d been so disappointed in September when I’d found out I didn’t, but now I was relieved. On Thursday, though, third period, I went in the library to check out a book, and
Patrick was there at the desk, waiting, too. We were both embarrassed.
“Hi,” he said. He was wearing a white sweat shirt, and a lock of his flaming orange-red hair hung carelessly down over one eye.
“Hi,” I answered.
We both glanced in opposite directions. There wasn’t any clerk at the desk.
“Nobody here?” I said finally.
“She’s looking for a book I had on reserve. Said she’d be right back,” Patrick told me.
“Oh,” I said.
More silence. The librarian appeared, stared for a moment at the book in her hand, then must have realized it wasn’t the right one and went back in her office. Patrick shifted his weight to the other foot.
I felt I would rather have a tooth filled than stand here like this beside Patrick. Have a tooth filled without Novocain, in fact. About the only thing worse would be if Penny came in, too, and they stood beside me, kissing. I wondered idly how Patrick would react if I reached out and touched him. Moved over and kissed him lightly on the cheek?
That cheek belongs to me!
I found myself thinking. After being my boyfriend for two years, would he push me away? Was there any of the old feeling left for me at all?
Finally I said, “How was the band competition last weekend?”
Patrick looked surprised. Startled, even. “Okay, I guess. We came in second in overall performance. We could have played better, though.”
“Second sounds pretty good to me,” I said.
The librarian returned with Patrick’s book, stamped it, and he was done.
“See you,” he said.
“Bye,” I said.
I knew I’d done well. I knew things would be a little easier now that I had proved I wouldn’t hold a grudge—that we could speak civilly to each other. But no one could possibly know how much it had hurt to stand there talking like strangers when once we would have leaned against each other, Patrick caressing my arms as we waited. When we used to French-kiss, he would run his hands up and down my sides, and my breasts tingled. Where did those feelings go when you had once been so special to each other? How could they just evaporate as though you’d never had them at all? They didn’t. They stayed, and stayed, and stayed.
“Al, phone!” Dad called that evening.
“Hello,” I said, thinking that
maybe
it was Patrick. Maybe my speaking to him had broken the ice, and he’d changed his mind about Penny. But it wasn’t. It was Mrs. Price.
“Alice, I hope I’m not interrupting your studying
or anything,” she said, “but could we talk for a minute? Elizabeth’s gone over to the library, so this is a good time for me.”
I hate it when someone’s parent does that— talks to me behind her back and tries to make me the go-between.