Taste of Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul III (2 page)

My Best Friend

Mmm. Look at those eyes, crystal-blue with just a touch of green. Those long eyelashes are just reaching for me. I can feel it. Oh, my God! Is he looking over here? No, that's silly. I'm looking at him; therefore, there is no way that he'd be looking at me. I mean, that doesn't happen in my life. Or maybe he actually is! No, no, that's just my imagination playing tricks on me. Well, you never know, crazy things do . . .

“What's up, Katie?”

“Oh, hey,” I replied as my best friend, Michelle, abruptly interrupted my ongoing battle of mind versus heart.

“So who have you got your eye on tonight? I see those thoughts circling around in that mind of yours. Maybe tonight you'll actually act upon them!”

“What are you talking about? I don't have any of
those
thoughts in my head, as you like to put it. I'm perfectly content to be by myself right now.”

I could feel the obviousness of the lie throughout my entire body as I tried to look Michelle straight in the eyes. I'd never lied to her before, and I'm not exactly sure why I did right then. I couldn't believe that I pulled it off. I mean, that's what best friends are for, to obsess over our crushes with. But something inside me prevented me from telling her about this one. I really liked this guy and, as horrible as this sounds, I didn't want any of my friends to mess it up. Every time I even mention that I think a guy is cute, Michelle goes into full matchmaker mode and won't snap out of it until she feels she has accomplished something. Needless to say, that never happens. She makes my crush into such a big deal that I become completely nervous around the guy, and then he thinks I am a complete idiot. I ­wasn't about to let that happen this time.

“Well, whatever you say. Let's go talk to Tommy, he's hot!”

What did she say? Tommy?!! How did she know? I didn't even tell her this time. No! Now she's going to become little miss matchmaker again and screw things up. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe she just thinks Tommy is cute. No, that's terrible! We can't go after the same guy. Michelle would never be interested in Tommy. He's too short for her. Okay, nothing to worry about.

“Come on, Katie! He's walking away!” Michelle screamed as she forcefully tugged on my cute new suede jacket.

“Okay, okay, I'm comin'.”

All right, so now we are approaching him. My right foot just got closer. Now my left, right, left, right. STOP THIS! I'm not in the army! It's okay. I can do this. What is the big deal about talking to a guy anyway? He's just a human like me. Oh, but he's such a beautiful human! Look at that body! I can't do this. I can't do . . .

“Hi, Tommy. How's it goin'?”
Oh, my God, I must have sounded like the biggest nerd!

“What's up, Katie? Hey, Michelle. You girls are looking good tonight. Having fun?”

His voice is so sexy. And he said I looked good!! But he said girlssss. He can't flirt with both of us. That's not allowed.
“Oh, Tommy, stop it. You're so silly. Ha ha. You're ­tickling me.”

Michelle's giggling was loud enough to interrupt all of the conversations at that party. I couldn't believe how much she was flirting with him. Even worse, he was flirting back! Here is my best friend with the guy of my dreams—even though she doesn't know that—and the guy of my dreams was rejecting me more and more by the second. I couldn't exactly pull Michelle aside and ask her to stop. That would only make things worse. She would either be mad at me for not telling her before or she wouldn't even believe me. The only thing I could do was sit there and be quiet.

The whole drive home from the party I had to listen to Michelle go on and on about how amazing Tommy is. She was completely “in love” with him.

“Did you see the way he was flirting with me? I think he likes me. We were talking for an hour and he didn't seem to be paying attention to anyone else! Aren't you happy for me?”

I had always admired Michelle for the amount of confidence she had when it came to guys. If she wanted one, she went for him. Now she just sounded arrogant, as if any guy would be stupid not to like her. I just clenched my teeth, nodded my head and kept on driving.

After what seemed like the longest car ride in human history, we finally reached Michelle's house. I dropped her off, and the second I heard the door shut I started bawling.

Why was this making me so mad? She is my best friend. I should be happy for her. But I thought this was going to be my turn. I was really going to go for Tommy and make something happen with him. Michelle doesn't like him the way I do. But it's too late to say anything. We always promised each other never to let a guy come between us. I guess this is the tester.

I was awakened the next morning with a phone call, which I thought would be Michelle calling to obsess more about Tommy.

“Hello,” I said in that groggy, don't-want-to-answer-it-but-feel-I have-to kind of tone.

“Hi, Katie?” A thick male voice replied through the phone, and I knew in an instant it was Tommy!

Why is he calling me? If this is to ask for Michelle's number, then I'm gonna hang up right now. No, I have to be mature about this. I should be nice. Yeah, right, man, I don't have to be nice to anybody.

“Katie, are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm here.”

“Well, how are you?”

He wants to know how I am! I'll tell him how I am! I'm a depressed teenage girl who thought she had a chance with a guy who she thought had some class. But now she finds out that this guy is in love with her best friend when he has no clue what he'd be missing by going out with her. I've been bawling and tossing all night as if I was trying to quit an addiction, and hearing his voice right now drives me even crazier because it re­minds me how much I still like him.

“Oh, I'm fine, just catching up on some sleep.” It's amazing how the lie seemed to shoot right out of my mouth.

“I'm sorry if I woke you. I was just calling . . . well . . . I feel kind of weird doing this . . .”

Just get it out already! I'll give you her number!

“Okay, here goes. Do you want to see a movie or something tonight? You probably think I'm really weird since we haven't even spoken that much. But you seemed really cool, and I thought I would take a chance. If you really don't want to it's okay, I'll understand. I just thought . . .”

Oh, my God! Oh, my God! What's happening here? He's ­asking me out! What happened to Michelle? This can't be right. But it is. It is! It is! It is! I have to say something now. Breathe. Calm. Act like a sane person.

“That sounds great, Tommy. Which movie were you thinking?”

Which movie?! Why did I say that? It doesn't matter which movie we see!

“I don't know. Why don't I pick you up at seven and we'll go and see which ones are playing?”

He sounds so calm. I wonder if I sound that calm.

“Okay, great, I'll see you at seven. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I am going on a date with TOMMY!!! I can't believe this. This is amazing, it's incredible, it's . . . terrible! What about Michelle? She's going to kill me. I have to call her.

“Michelle, I really need to talk to you.” My voice was as shaky as my body, she had to know something was up.

“What's wrong? Are you okay?” She was worried about me. Great, I'm about to hurt my best friend.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just wanted to tell you that Tommy called me. He wanted . . .”

“He wanted my phone number, huh? I knew it!”

“Well, not exactly. He seemed kind of, well, I don't know . . . he asked me to go see a movie tonight.” The words came out slower than imaginable. I thought I was about to be attacked by Michelle's raging hormones any second now. “Before you get mad, I want to explain myself, and you have to believe me.”

I was completely honest with Michelle. I explained how I liked Tommy for a long time and apologized profusely for not telling her sooner. I told her about her matchmaker disease and how I had cried the whole night before. I recited my conversation with Tommy word for word and poured out a million more apologies. The weight had been lifted off my shoulders, but I felt I had just passed it on to her. The long period of silence that followed assured me that Michelle was not going to accept my apology that quickly.

After not being able to take the silence any more, I broke in and asked, “Are you all right? What are you thinking? Do you hate me? Do you want me to break my date? What? At least give me an idea of how you feel.”

The heavy breathing on the other side of the phone was about to become a whimper when I heard the
click
. She didn't even say a word, just hung up. I called her back fifty times that day only to hear an answering machine that demanded that I never call her again. I have never felt so torn before in my life. The first time that something exciting actually happens to me, it has to break up the only solid relationship that I have in my life. Michelle and I always thought we were above this type of situation. Our friendship was too strong to let a boy break it up. We refused to be like those other cliques of girls that backstabbed each other all the time.

I called Tommy and explained the whole situation. He felt terrible and agreed that we could cancel our date for the night. He was disappointed but he understood. Every day for the following three weeks, I felt like I was in some never-ending chase. I would track Michelle down whenever I could and try to convince her to talk to me. I would fail each time. She would either snicker some rude comment or just shoot me down or she wouldn't say anything at all. I never realized she had the ability to be so cruel. After the countless number of rejections, I slowly began to give up. I couldn't keep chasing after something that she seemed to have given up on a long time ago. It was too frustrating and disappointing.

Tommy was great throughout the whole ordeal. We continued to see each other and became extremely close. I could safely say he was my best friend. As for Michelle, her hostility toward me slowly began to wear down but we still weren't friends. We had one of those say-hi-to-each-other-in-the-hallway relationships. The pain of ­losing her friendship never diminished either. I would find myself suddenly crying sometimes when I would think of what happened to our relationship. I wondered if she ever even missed me.

About a week ago, eight months after everything had happened, I built up the courage to ask Michelle if she wanted to go out to lunch with me. To my ultimate surprise, she agreed. We spent most of the lunch having little chit-chat conversations about the things happening in our lives. The whole time I wanted to scream at her about how much I missed her. I wanted to go back to my house, change into our pajamas, and gossip about every little detail about every little thing that could possibly be ­gossiped about! I wanted to laugh with her and feel comfortable around her. I wanted to curl up and eat five scoops of Häagen-Dazs coffee chip ice cream while we watched our favorite movies that we've both seen 50 million times. Most of all, I wanted the security of knowing that I had my best friend back.

The meaningless chit-chat continued until I reached Michelle's house to drop her off. The last time I had dropped Michelle off I had wanted to strangle her for obsessing over Tommy so much. Now all I wanted to do was hug her so tight so that she could never leave me again. Fortunately, I didn't have to. As I pulled the car over to the curb, Michelle looked at me with her welcoming warm eyes and said the four words that brought my whole eight months of misery to an end, “I've really missed you!”

Tears began to fall down my face but no words would come out. I looked into her eyes, leaned forward and gave my best friend a big hug.

Lisa Rothbard

Healing with Love

N
obody's family can hang out the sign, “Nothing the matter here.”

Chinese proverb

On a bitterly cold and cloudy winter's day in upstate New York, I saw my brother again for the first time in a year. As my father and I pulled up to the reform school after four hours of driving, his attempts at cheerful commentary did nothing to ameliorate the dismal apprehension that I felt. I had little hope that my brother would be changed and, furthermore, I had convinced myself that any appearance of change would not necessarily be ­genuine.

Being with my brother after so long was like getting to know him all over again. Over the next couple of days, I felt a kind of peace developing between us, and, for the first time, I wasn't tense around him, nor was I scared of what he would do or say next. It seemed as though I would finally find a friend in my brother, and, more than that, I would find a true brother in my brother. While part of me rejoiced in his transformation, another part of me thought it was too good to be true, and so I remained skeptical of his seeming progress. Two days was surely not enough time to erase the hostility that had built up between us over the years. I showed this cynical front to my father and brother, while the hopeful voice remained hidden deep inside of my heart, afraid to appear, lest it should be trampled upon. My brother himself commented several times on my depressed disposition, but I knew he would never understand the complexity of my feelings, so I remained elusive.

I wrapped myself in this same protective silence during, what was for me, the most emotionally trying part of the visit. Meals at the school were more than just meals. They were chaperoned with two teachers at each table, and provided a forum for judging the students' progress and/or continued delinquency. My father had told me that these meals often lasted for an hour or two, as each student was treated separately and with the full attention of the table. As we sat down for lunch, I knew I wouldn't be able to make it through the meal without crying.

Several boys and girls were “brought up” in front of the table for transgressions they had committed, but a boy named Brian touched me the most. A fairly new arrival at the school, he hadn't yet lost the initial anger and bitterness at having been brought there against his will. He was an attractive boy, about sixteen years old and was, my father whispered to me, an exceptional soccer player with a promising future in the sport. As the head teacher at our table conducted a heavy interrogation of him, Brian shifted his weight nervously every two seconds, and I saw in his eyes what I had become so good at reading in my brother's. They darted anxiously about the room, resting upon everything except the man addressing him, and I knew that he was searching for someone or something to blame. He wasn't yet aware that only when he stopped looking for excuses could he truly hear and learn from those trying to help him.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I became aware of a bearded man standing at the closed door and peering in apprehensively at our solemn gathering, which must have looked more like an AA meeting than a meal. The realization that it was Brian's father trying to catch a glimpse of his son precipitated the first tear I had shed all weekend.

“Why is Brian here?” I whispered softly to my father.

“Oh, you know, the usual, drugs, violence . . . I think the last straw was when he hit his father in the head with one of his soccer trophies. . . . He was chosen for the National All-Star team, you know. . . . Must be quite a player.”

As the tears flowed more freely down my face, Brian looked straight ahead at the wall and told us that he had refused to see his father who had driven for many hours to see him.

Then the teacher spoke, “Brian, I talked to your dad, and he says he brought you your puppy because he knows how much you must miss him. He's willing to accept the fact that you don't want to see him, but he wants you to know that you can see your puppy.”

I was screaming inside. I wanted to stand up and tell Brian how lucky he was to have a father who obviously loved him so much, and who loved him enough to do the hardest thing a parent ever has to do: send his child away. I was bursting to enlighten him, but I knew it was something he would have to learn on his own, so I remained still and just let the overwhelming sadness spread over me like a dark cloud.

That afternoon, I saw my brother waving good-bye as we pulled up the dirt drive and out of the gates of the school. I couldn't look back, as I was too busy trying to suppress the emotion that I felt creeping up on me with the force of a tidal wave. I was filled with hopelessness and empathy for these kids who had somehow gotten lost along the way. I knew there was a fine line between them and me, a line I had walked like a tightrope at several times in my life. Indeed, part of my sadness lay in the guilt I felt for not having such a heavy load to bear and for never being able to fully comprehend the nature and sheer weight of this load my brother carried.

Several months later I returned to the school, this time in early spring and accompanied by my whole family, including my mother and two sisters. Everything looked brighter and more colorful in the sun. Wildflowers bloomed on the hillside looking out over the valley, and the water in the pond sparkled like jewels. I closed my eyes, held my face up to the sun and smiled. It was my family's first reunion in over a year. As it was family weekend, everywhere I looked I saw proud, attentive parents and beaming kids. This is when the full force of what I was experiencing hit me. For the first time in a while, I didn't feel the despair and hopelessness of these kids' lives, but the tremendous amount of love and support that surrounded each one of them. After a whole year spent doubting that my brother would ever be able to function normally in society, I allowed the seeds of hope to germinate in my mind, as well as in my heart.

Moments later, my new outlook was strengthened and forever cemented by the most beautiful sight I think I have ever seen. At first I couldn't believe my eyes. Brian and his father were walking arm in arm across the grass towards the pond and seemed to be in quiet discussion about one of those everyday, mundane things that is the business of fathers and their sons. A golden retriever, now fully grown, wagged its tail in delight as he trotted after them.

Cecile Wood