Forever for a Year (36 page)

*   *   *

So that's how all of school went. History was almost as bad as biology, and my other non-Trevor classes were terrible in a different way because I couldn't see him there and dream he would look at me and love me again.

Lunch was terrible too. Duh. Boys laughed at me, and girls whispered stuff. Only the soccer girls sat with me. Kendra sat the closest. She kept saying, “It will be okay,” over and over. I knew it wouldn't be. I knew my whole life was ruined—YES, RUINED! IT'S FINALLY TRUE! SO I CAN SAY IT AND IT'S NOT ME BEING IMMATURE OR EXAGGERATING AT ALL! CUZ IT'S TRUE! RUINED! RUINED! RUINED!—but anyway … gosh … anyway … yes, so it was nice of Kendra to say it would be okay even though it was a horrible, terrible lie.

*   *   *

I sent Trevor texts, like, every five seconds I had my phone on. He didn't respond. Even if he had cheated on me, I would have responded. I would have wanted to yell at him! Why wouldn't he yell at me? Why? WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY? If he yelled at me, I'd know he still loved me. But he doesn't. He doesn't look at me or talk to me or text me or think about me. I bet he doesn't even have one thought about me. I bet someone today said, “What's happened with you and Carolina?” and he said back, “Who?” Yep, I bet he's forgotten every beautiful thing we ever did and having sex and saying we loved each other. I bet he's already looking at new girls and thinking about them and kissing them and he'll probably think the new girl is his real soul mate. But I am. I'm his real soul mate. And he doesn't remember. He has amnesia. He has to remember. If he would just remember, he'd forgive me. He would. Then everything would go back to normal. My life would be fine. I don't need Peggy or my dad or good grades or a job or anything besides Trevor. Just him. Oh, please, please, please, please let me have him back.

 

80

Trevor has pizza with his dad

After I got back in the car with Lily Sunday night, she asked, “What happened, Trevor? What happened?” She was so scared. She cried a little. Not a big cry. But a real cry. Our parents sucked. She knew it. But I think she, maybe me too, wanted Carolina and me to be her real parents. The real couple. The couple who loved each other so much we could take care of anyone else too. Like Lily. So Lily didn't have to be so goddamn old when she was just seven.

“We broke up,” I said. Face twitched. Twitched bad. Like my skin was about to peel off and this monster was going to take over. Like I was always a monster. Like only Carolina kept the monster from taking control.

“Get her back, okay? Please! Please!”

“I hate her.”

“You love her! You love her! Trevor! Don't say that! You love her!” And she just kept saying I had to get her back, but I pulled out of the driveway and started driving.

*   *   *

Eventually Lily stopped talking. Eventually my body stopped feeling like it was just one huge raging piece of flesh, and I realized I had driven halfway to Wisconsin. I pulled over into the next gas station. Lily, who looked like a ghost, said, “Where are we?”

“I don't know.”

“Dad should be home by now,” she said. “Can we go see Dad?”

“I think Dad and Mom are going to talk by themselves all night, Lily.”

“What are we supposed to do?”

“I don't know.”

“I'll think of something,” Lily said, and she closed her eyes. Like the idea of how to fix all this crap would come to her if she just concentrated.

“How about we pick up McDonald's, go home, and watch TV?” I said.

“That's a good plan, Trevor. Except can we go to Sonic? They have better milk shakes.”

“Okay.”

*   *   *

I didn't sleep that night. Sometimes people say that, but I know they're making it up. I really didn't sleep. I just lay there and thought about Carolina kissing and touching another boy. Like, each time the image of that would hit my brain it was like this giant bird dinosaur would tear into my chest with its giant dinosaur claws. Here's what I had to do. Fucking had to do: Pretend she didn't exist. Ignore her. Ignore people who talked to me about her. Not look at her. Not think about her.

I was thinking about her every goddamn second. Crap. But I would keep yelling at my brain until I stopped. Or something. Just ignore her, Trevor. Just ignore her until your brain can forget her.

That's what I did Monday. Didn't look at her. Not once. My whole stupid body wanted to look at her. For her to see me and tell me it didn't happen. Even if that was a lie, I wanted her to convince me. Maybe. Crap. I don't know. What the hell happened? How did this happen? My mom. My mom and her dad and their bullshit.

*   *   *

My dad picked me up from practice Monday night.

He said, “Let's go talk.” I nodded. He drove. We went to this pizza and bar place near the train tracks. They gave you peanuts to eat and had no real menus, just big chalkboards with pizza toppings. My dad got a beer and I got a Coke. We ordered a pepperoni pizza.

“How are you doing?” my dad said.

I shrugged my shoulders. He knew about Carolina. Lily had told him this morning when my dad started yelling at me about the BMW having a dent. Lily was the smartest, best person ever.

“Sorry about Carolina.”

“I want to go back to California,” I said.

“We're not going back to California.”

“You're leaving Mom, right? You're getting a divorce, right? No way Lily and I can stay with her. No fucking way.”

“Watch your language.”

I wanted to yell,
Yeah? Yeah? I should watch my language? Yeah! How about you watch your wife?
But I didn't say anything.

“Trevor … we're not getting divorced. You get married, you make promises. You make promises to the Church and God—”

“I don't believe in God.”

“He still believes in you.”

“Mom doesn't believe in God,” I said.

“And she's not very happy because of it.”

My dad was a lunatic. In a different way from Mom or me, but still a lunatic.

“Trevor, listen … sorry … I didn't want this to be combative. I want this to be a grown-up talk. Your mom and I will keep working on things. But you have to let us work on them. If you unleash that wrath of yours on her every time she steps into a room, she won't be able to take it. She's fragile. She needs our strength.”

“Isn't a mom supposed to give her kids strength?” I said, and as I did I almost lost it. Not mad. But emotions. I held it. Barely.

“Yes … you're right. Your mom gave you lots of talent, and brains, and passion. But she needs strength from you. I'm sorry about that.”

“How can you stay with her?”

“I love her.”

“Well, she doesn't love you!” I said.

That smacked across his face. Then he breathed for a second and said, “I'm not a perfect husband either.”

And—f-ing unbelievable—I saw it in his eyes. Man. He had done the same to her. Before? Before she tried to kill herself? Or after? Now? “When?” I asked.

“What you think you know, you don't. You shouldn't have to know any of this. But you do, and we have to deal with it.”

“Kids know everything. You both suck.”

“Don't use that language.”

“AAAAH!” I yelled out, and the whole restaurant looked at us and I felt so fucking stupid, so I just started mumbling in this whisper that didn't even sound like me, “Aw, Dad … God … you tell me that … you tell me that … and you and Mom … my language … you're worried about me swearing … I don't know, Dad. You're worried about me saying words, and you two do all this crap.…” Then I stopped talking. And he didn't talk. He always filled silence. Always. He could be quiet for days, but he always filled those strange silences. Not today. Not now. The pizza came. We ate. We watched
SportsCenter
on the TV above the bar. He kept opening his mouth, had something he wanted to say. But nothing. Nothing.

We got back in his car, started driving home. Then he pulled over into the parking lot of a closed bank.

“I'm sorry, Trev. Really sorry. You're right. I'm going to be better. Your mom is going to try and be better. I promise. Let us try. Give us that?”

Can't say anything to that besides “Okay.”

*   *   *

That night I was super tired. So tired. But my brain kept obsessing about Carolina and wishing I could kiss her and have sex and spend forever happy with her. I couldn't stop, could I? I was so mad at her. So mad. So goddamn mad. But I loved her. I loved her so much. And if I moved away or I died, maybe I'd be able to keep myself from wanting to be with her. But she's in school and she's a five-minute drive away and I had to be with her again. I had to. I just had to beat the shit out of Alexander Taylor first.

 

81

Carolina attends a fight

Kendra told me at lunch on Tuesday.

She said, “Trevor and Alexander are going to fight after school.”

“Really?” I said, and, oh my gosh, I was so sad and excited at the same time. Like, I can't believe I hurt Trevor and I can't believe I kissed stupid Alexander and it was my fault and I'm a horrible person … but also, like, two boys would fight over me? ME? In junior high, boys wouldn't even look at me, and now two boys were going to fight because of me.

And then I decided that as amazing as that was for the dumb girl in my head who wants to be important, it's a very bad thing for the person I'm supposed to be. You know, the nice, mature, good person.

So I started texting both Alexander and Trevor, pleading both not to fight. Alexander texted me back right away, saying he wouldn't fight Trevor if I kissed him “for real” next time. I think he meant sex or a hand job or something that made me want to throw up. But I almost said yes because I didn't want Trevor to get hurt. But kissing Alexander because he tricked me was how I ruined my life in the first place, so I texted back to him, “I hope you lose.”

Trevor didn't respond to any of my texts, and when I tried to talk to him in the hall, he just walked by like I wasn't even there. Worse. Like he would get a disease if I touched him or if he even looked at me.

*   *   *

The fight was supposed to take place in the parking lot of Riverbend Community Center Pool. It was closed because it was winter, so there would be no grown-ups there. Kendra and I got a ride with some sophomore she knew because of her mom. It seemed like the whole school was going because all these cars drove in a big line, and people were honking, and leaning out the windows and screaming just to scream.

There was already a big circle of people there when we arrived. It wasn't the whole school, I exaggerated again, closer to, like, fifty people. But that's still a lot to watch a fight between two boys fighting over me.

Trevor was standing there, in the center of the circle, looking at the ground. He was so still. So intense. I swear, he was like a monk. He seemed like he couldn't see or hear anything except his own mind.

Alexander Taylor wasn't there, and I hoped he wouldn't show up. That would be the best. Trevor would be the hero because he was brave enough to fight but he also wouldn't have to fight. See, Trevor is tall and strong, I think, for being a freshman and kind of thin, but Alexander Taylor is on the swim team and he has very broad shoulders and he's a junior, so he's thicker and probably has more experience fighting because he's an asshole. I never swear. But he is. I hate him. I feel so disgusting thinking about him. It's not like he molested me. I didn't say no. I didn't run away. I even said I'd kiss him. But the way he did it, the way he did everything, was so wrong. Boys who trick girls into doing sex stuff with them are the worst boys in the universe. They are gross and stupid and so uncool. I know I screwed up. I know. I should have been smarter. But that doesn't mean Alexander Taylor isn't a worse person than me. Because he is.

So … just when people started whispering that Alexander Taylor wasn't going to show up, these five SUVs arrive, including that dumb black 4Runner, and out of all these trucks jump twenty juniors and seniors from the swim team. All wearing their team blue-and-gold sweatpants and jackets. Oh. My. Gosh. This was SO unfair! Trevor had Licker and two other freshman basketball players and then Aaron and Tor from the cross-country team. And they were all, like, half the size of these swim people. (Henry and Jake were there, but I knew they would never defend Trevor because you can tell when someone's a wimp inside even when he acts tough outside.) So Trevor only had, like, five people and they were thin and young. And Alexander had TWENTY friends. Twenty big upperclassmen.

“Trevor!” I yelled because I didn't want him to die. But he didn't look at me. He was about to die and he hated me so much that he still wouldn't look at me. Henry mocked me by yelling, “Trevor,” in a girl's voice. I don't care. I know he's just trying to be funny because he knows he's a wuss.

*   *   *

After Alexander Taylor moved into the circle and the whole swim team pushed people aside to form this wall behind him, people started chanting, “FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT.”

Alexander paced, back and forth, one step toward Trevor, then back toward his friends; he kept smiling but you could tell he was nervous. He didn't want to leave his friends and go toward the center.

Trevor still hadn't moved from the middle. Not even one step. It was actually freaky. Like he was possessed. Who wouldn't move? Who wouldn't at least look up or look back? OR LOOK AT THE GIRL WHO LOVES YOU? But no, Trevor just stayed so still. So, so, so still I thought maybe he was a statue. Not really. But at least, like, not human. Oh my gosh, Trevor is so weird … and I love him. I love him so much. He's so different. Look at Alexander, acting all cocky with a million friends, but really he was so nervous and jumpy and boring. He was like five million other boys. But not Trevor. Trevor was so weird and unique and special. Trevor was like this super-spiritual master who could concentrate even when everything around him was crazy. He was so intense. His brain, you could tell just looking at him right now, was so much faster and deeper than anyone else's. Oh. My. Gosh. Trevor has a fast brain like me. Not that we're smarter than everyone. What I'm saying is, I didn't really understand what made Trevor and I love each other until right now, when I saw him so silent and about to get beat up. It's all the thoughts we don't tell anyone else. All the thoughts that move so fast through our whole bodies. I should have told him more. I should have told him every time I ever thought of another boy or about my dad or about when I was afraid or bored and everything. We should have just opened up our brains and put all our thoughts out there. Even if those thoughts hurt the other person, we would have been even closer. I wanted that. I wanted that with him. I wanted him to know everything I ever thought and felt and I wanted to know everything he ever thought and felt. Everything, no matter how bad or scary or weird. Everything. Love needs to know everything.