Back When You Were Easier to Love (5 page)

“He always loved linguistics,” I mumble. “He didn’t just invent that.”

I don’t want to point out the obvious: if Zan is the world’s biggest cliché, then Mattia is Haven’s biggest cliché. She’s smart but not too smart, peppy but not too peppy, pretty but not too pretty. She’ll go to Brigham Young University like forty percent of our class, she’ll major in psychology (a subject she’s been obsessed with as long as I’ve known her), and she’ll meet the perfect recently returned missionary. They’ll get married, have 3.5 children, and get family pictures taken up in the canyon every autumn. It’s so easy for people like her.

“You are
way
too good for him,” says Mattia, saying what she’s supposed to say. “The sooner you move on and see how you deserve to be treated, the better.” Realizing we’re stuck here a while, she slides the car into park and takes her foot off the brake. “So, about Homecoming. You should go.”

This conversation has never actually been a conversation, and only now do I realize I have just as much right to push an agenda as she does. “Hey, did you know we get three school-excused absences to check out institutions of higher learning? What do you say to a college visit? We could road-trip it to Claremont. I could even show you my old house.”

“Whoa, non sequitur.” She adjusts her sunglasses and says, “I’m not going to spend three days away from school just to visit some college I’ll never go to. I’ll miss too much.” When Mattia talks about “missing too much” in regards to school, she is not talking about falling behind academically.

“Well, what about next weekend? It’s UEA break, so we won’t miss any school and—”

“Joy.” Mattia rubs her temples. “You’re giving me a headache. Besides, I already know where I’m going to school next year.”

I know it, too. She’s not the right person to go on this trip with me. She can’t help me find the part of me that’s missing. She’s already whole.

There’s this long, awkward pause as we inch up to the stop sign.

“So, what, are you going all Zan on me? Leaving town, leaving the Church, leaving everything?”

It’s like she’s forgotten that I lived in California for sixteen years and in Utah for less than one. “Leaving Haven isn’t the same as leaving the Church, you know. They aren’t one and the same.” What does she think, that if I don’t go with her to BYU I’ll somehow lose my religion in the process?

“I know, I know.” Mattia sighs. “Non sequitur. Are you at least going to the Homecoming game tonight?”

“I already talked to Charlotte about it. If I don’t come to the postgame party at her house, she’ll never forgive me. So count me in.” Charlotte’s the current New Girl—her parents divorced right before senior year. Bad news all around. Now, not only were her parents split up, but she had to spend her last year of high school in a new town. And even worse, that new town was Haven.

I was the first person to talk to her. When we picked lab partners in AP bio I looked around the class and—surprise—didn’t see anyone I knew. But I knew the look on Charlotte’s face. It was bafflement mixed with terror—classic
where-am-I-and-when-can-I-get-out?
I asked her if she wanted to partner up, told her I was a transplant to this school, too. A connection like that can make you friends for life. It’s the New Girl code.

Mattia smiles and I know I’m slowly winning her back. “There’s no way you’d bother with the game if Zan was around,” she says. “Maybe his leaving is a good thing.”

The girl never knows when to quit. “So, about the college visit,” I mimic her perfectly. “You should go.”

I hate football.
I never used to go to games at my old high school because, as I told Gretel, “our high school football games are the biggest waste of time ever.”

I was so wrong.

Haven High School football games may well be the most pointless events on the planet. Everybody knows who’s going to win before the games even start—the Huskies haven’t won a game in seven seasons. The only good thing about this is that I can show up to the game at halftime, knowing I haven’t missed anything.

I flash my student ID at the gate and wander through the maze that is the concession area. It seems like every club at school is trying to get rich off of the fact that there’s nothing to do at sporting events except eat. I head for the bleachers, detouring past a line of people who want to buy pretzels from the marching band.

“Joy!” I was hoping to hear someone call my name, but not this someone.

A bunch of blond groupies scatter from Noah’s wake as he walks toward me, smiling. I know he wants to “be a friend,” but this run-in just seems forced and awkward.

“Hey, what have you got there?” He’s holding a huge box, cryptically labeled $1.00.

“Caramel apple pops. Want one? It’s for a good cause.”

“What cause?” I don’t mean for it to come out sounding suspicious. If Noah Talbot says it’s for a good cause, who am I to doubt?

“Girls’ basketball team.” He hands me a sucker.

“Why are you selling candy for the girls’ team?”

“Equipment manager.”

“Oh,” I say, wondering why anyone would choose to be an equipment manager, least of all admit to it so readily. Especially a Soccer Lovin’ Kid—in the Haven world, playing varsity soccer is about a thousand times more prestigious than playing basketball. Soccer is our thing. Other sports . . . well, aren’t. “I’d love to support the team, but I don’t have any money left. Spent it all on a ticket.” I hand the candy back to him.

He waves it away. “Consider it a gift.”

“Joy!” This time it really is Mattia, calling to me from high in the bleachers, even though she knows I hate heights. This kind of thing is her idea of helping me “conquer my phobias.” What a pal.

“I have to go. Thanks for the caramel apple pop, though. I’ll be sure to recommend them to my friends.” I purposely don’t look at him as I walk away.

“See you tonight at Charlotte’s?” he calls out.

I breathe in deep. “Maybe.” I don’t want to go to Charlotte’s. I don’t want to celebrate Homecoming like it’s New Year’s Eve. I hate this year. I don’t want to live this year. I want Zan.

After climbing over the legs of about a bazillion people, I reach my friends.

“Where’d you get that?” Kristine points to my sucker.

“Nowhere,” I say, and shove it into my jacket pocket. “What’s the score?”

1. He’s a Soccer Lovin’ Kid and enjoys such lame frivolity as Beverage Night.

2. He’s a Soccer Lovin’ Kid and thus a popular kid. I don’t hang out with popular kids.

3. He’s a Soccer Lovin’ Kid. They’re the ones who made Zan leave.

I don’t want
anyone to know I’m looking for Zan. It would seem obsessive. Give him his space, they’d say. He didn’t give you his new address for a reason. He changed his phone number for a reason. Stalking people is just wrong.

I checked the student directory on the Pitzer website at the beginning of the year. They had Zan on record, but none of his information was available. I figured they hadn’t added details about new students yet.

I’ve checked every day since. I’ve bookmarked the page.

Zan doesn’t want anyone to find him, I know that.

But I can’t believe it.

Charlotte lives in
a normal-size house on a lot that measures the length of a football field from the front porch to the back fence. It’s the house her dad grew up in, the house where her grandparents still live, the house where Charlotte and her father have returned.

In preparation for the party, she’s strung Japanese lanterns from the trees, and in the twilight they illuminate the stream running through the backyard. I’ve got to hand it to her—the place looks magical. Now I can see her starting a bonfire in the pit, bags of marshmallows and packages of Hershey bars at her side. Perfect. I’ll go help her. I will not think of Zan.

The problem is Alyssa. I’ve purposely come solo to the party, and purposely late, too, hoping to sneak in and avoid talking to any and all people outside of my circle. Alyssa’s so far outside my circle I’m surprised we’re even at the same party. Although I’m sure this is exactly what Charlotte wanted, as the New Girl in school: a party with guests she doesn’t even know, a word-of-mouth party. That was me, once. That was what I’d wanted. I’d wanted Zan. But I’d wanted friends, too.

Now I know all these kids well enough to know I want nothing to do with any of them. I know that Alyssa’s been the official school gossip since they all went to Haven School for Tots, or whatever fine establishment it was that turned my classmates into my classmates.

Alyssa walks over. She’s short and slender, but she towers over me in her see-through wedge sandals. In addition to school gossip, she’s also known as school skank, which at Haven High means that the pink cami under her hoodie shows the slightest hint of cleavage. “I’ve heard Zan’s in California.”

“Yeah,” I say, noncommittal, when it’s clear she’s waiting for a response. “He went to college. Some people do that, you know—go to school somewhere out of state.”

“Well, I heard he was selling pot. And carving driftwood on the beach?” She looks up at me, her wide blue eyes framed by lashes coated in blue mascara.

Pot? Driftwood? Please. She doesn’t know Zan, and this makes it even more obvious. Nobody in this town knows Zan. Nobody in this town cares about Zan. As far as gossip goes, this is B-list, at best. Zan is only A-list to me.

I want to look around for Mattia, but Alyssa’s managed to rope me into a power-stare. If I look away I’ll be admitting defeat, and even though this game is stupid, it’s crucial that I win.

“I wanted to confirm with you before I told anyone else.” Her voice holds a challenge, but I don’t know what it is.

“Very generous of you,” I say evenly. That’s all the skank’s getting.

Mattia’s picked up on the help-me vibes I’ve been sending and she’s talking before she even reaches me. “There you are, Joy, I’ve been looking all over for you!” There’s a fake smile to Alyssa, a tug to my arm, and we’re off, just like that. “C’mon, I’ve staked us out a place to sit by the fire.” She motions to a bench where Kristine is sitting, talking to some guy reclining on the lowest branch of the cherry tree next to her.

“Alyssa thinks Zan’s a drug dealer who carves driftwood on the beach,” I tell Mattia, still in a daze.

Mattia rolls her eyes. “Alyssa thinks wearing thongs instead of V-strings make her classy. Forget Alyssa. Come chill.”

I take in a long breath through my nose and try to relax, but my body is having none of it.

The fire gets started and real night falls, with darkness and crickets and burned marshmallows and the Haven High spirit song sung by two dozen seniors who have prepared themselves for this moment their whole lives.

I watch Noah in sideways glimpses. Never long enough that he can feel it. Just hummingbird-fast glances.

Sometimes I envy him. Noah looks so happy, pounding it hello to the other guys, smiling at the girls in his casual, nonthreatening way of flirting. The girls know there’s no possibility with him, which of course makes them like him even more.

None of the male Soccer Lovin’ Kids have girlfriends. They’ll all go on two-year missions after graduation, and they don’t want to get serious with a girl before they leave. Mattia told me this when I first moved in and was trying to figure out who was coupled up.

“It’s to keep people from getting hurt,” she explained. “That way they don’t have to break up when he leaves. Or if they don’t break up, she doesn’t have to spend two years pining away for him while he’s gone.”

It all sounded very practical, but totally foreign. How is it that easy? How do you decide not to fall in love and then keep yourself from doing it? It didn’t make any sense.

But right now, it does. Noah does not look like a guy who, less than two months ago, lost his best friend. Noah has lots of guys to fill that void. It’s probably the same way with girls. He doesn’t need a girlfriend because there’s always someone there to flirt with or take to a dance or hang out with at a party. It’s all so easy for him.

It’s who he is. He doesn’t have to hurt.

Eventually the fire gets low and so does the crowd. Alyssa waves bye like we’re tight now. I resist giving her the finger. A half-eaten marshmallow sits dejectedly on a patch of flattened grass. Show’s over. Mattia, Kristine, and I are staying over for one of our customary Friday-night sleepovers.

“We’re going inside to get our stuff,” says Mattia. “You coming?”

“In a minute.” There’s something soothing in staying just where I am, alone for a little while. I shiver. It’s too cold to be sleeping outside, but we are young and adventurous, ready for anything. But that part of me is gone. It left when Zan did.