Waiting for You (19 page)

“What’s his name?”

Sterling smiles into her locker. “Chris.”

“That’s a good name.”

“Um-hm.”

“And when do we get to meet this Chris?”

“Soon.”

I don’t know why she’s being so secretive about him. And why I had to be the one to bring him up. Shouldn’t she be dying to tell me about him? I mean, how long have we waited for both of us to have boyfriends?

I go, “Well, can the four of us hang out this weekend?”

“I’ll ask.”

“Don’t sound too excited or anything.”

“No, it’s just that he’s not . . . here.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s . . . we met online.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And he doesn’t live here. He lives in New York.”

“What grade is he in?”

“He’s not.”

“Ew, he dropped out? Sterling, you can’t—”

“He didn’t drop out. He finished high school.”

“Like . . . last year?”

Sterling shakes her head. She goes, “He’s twenty-one.”

Okay. See, I’m trying to be cool about this? And understanding and all? But it’s just too much. She’s IMing with some creepy guy (who could actually be some middle-aged woman for all she knows) who doesn’t even live here. And who is breaking the law. Or at least, wants to.

“But that’s illegal,” I say.

“There’s nothing illegal about talking to someone. We haven’t even met yet.”

Yet
. She’s actually thinking about meeting this guy. She actually thinks that he could be her boyfriend.

“But you’re going to meet eventually,” I say. “And then what?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that he’s way more mature than any of the rejects I’ve gone out with. Look, I know I need a lot of attention. But Chris understands. He just wants to take care of me. So what if he’s older—that’s what I want. I need way more affection than some lame sixteen-year-old boy can give.”

You know how people talk about red flags? And how if you see one, it means stay away from that boy? I’m seeing a whole troop of red flags, flapping wildly and screaming,
Danger!

“I have to say,” Sterling goes, “I was getting really afraid that no one could ever love me enough. Like maybe it was me, you know? But Chris sees me for who I really am. And he cares about me. And he’s always there, whenever I need him.”

She’s for real. She’s seriously falling for some creepy online guy. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Because one thing I’ve learned is this: When you’re falling in love, no one can stop you. No matter what.

I follow her outside. “Fine,” I go. “But just so you know, I’m keeping score of how many times you blow me off.”

“I’m not blowing you off.”

“I’m not arguing over semantics.”

“I just have to go, is all.”

“So go.” I’m seriously ticked off by the whole thing. Doesn’t she know he could be some deranged lunatic?

Sterling doesn’t go. She drops her bag on the ground and says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Since when do you ask if you can ask?”

“I know, but . . . when did you first tell Derek that you loved him?”

“On Valentine’s Day, right after he told me. Remember?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Why?”

Her eyes get all far away and foggy. “No reason . . .”

And then I get it. Sterling and Chris must have been talking for a while by now.

The whole thing is so stupid. She’s avoiding plans with real people to go home and IM with some sketchy concept of a guy. She’s directing all her energy toward a fantasy that she’s treating as reality. So what if Chris IMs with her every day (usually more than once, apparently) while I sometimes don’t have a real conversation with Derek until the weekend? At least I know who I’m talking to.

I have a bad feeling about all of this and where it’s going, but I don’t want Sterling to get mad at me. And if I keep telling her what I really think, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. So I hold this in, adding it to all the other stuff I know I should say but won’t.

39

Sierra asked Derek to join yearbook and he said yes. Oh, and he told me over IM.

He’s
the one who needs to move on. Which is highly unlikely now that they’re both on yearbook. That means lots of days after school together. Working in that small office, all up close and personal. I keep getting these images in my head of them scrunched up together in front of a computer screen, deciding which pictures to choose. Remembering their history. Getting closer.

There’s only one person who can pull me out of this quick-sand. I know I need to be with him because I can’t be alone right now. So I text him that we need an emergency movie evening, and he texts back that I’m a genius and I should meet him at his house. When I get there, his dad answers the door.

“Hi, Marisa.” He moves to the side so I can come in. “Nash should be back soon.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m good.”

His dad nods thoughtfully, pondering this profound statement.

“Well,” Mr. Parker eventually says. He checks his watch. “He should be back any minute. You can wait . . . do you want to wait for him down here? Or up in his room, maybe?”

“Sure, Mr. Parker, I’ll go up.” It’s so weird with Nash’s dad. It’s like he never knows what to do with me. I always get the feeling that I make him uncomfortable. Maybe when Nash’s mom left so suddenly, he fell into this post-traumatic hole where he can’t deal with girls anymore.

When I push open the door to Nash’s room, some of his bells hanging from the ceiling chime. His bells are everywhere. I try to remember how many bells he had the first time I saw his room in fourth grade. I can’t. But he’s definitely added to his collection since then.

The only part of his bed that’s semi-made is the bottom right corner. I sit on that and look around. His room is way bigger than mine, which I always get jealous about. But he’s so messy! If I had a huge room like this, there’s no way I would leave everything out the way he does. You can’t even see that there’s a desk under all the stuff piled on it.

Mr. Parker knocks on the open door and says, “How’s school going?”

“Good.”

“Are you thinking about college choices?”

“Not yet.”

“It’s never too early. It’s a different world now—everything’s so competitive.”

“I’ve heard.”

“Nash likes CalTech. They have an excellent robotics program.”

I didn’t know Nash was already thinking about college. And I didn’t know he wanted to major in robotics. Is that even a real major? I guess it would technically be engineering or something like that. But I can’t believe Nash never told me he’s already planning this stuff.

Mr. Parker flips through some DVDs sitting by the TV. “He stays up too late watching these. My fault for getting him a TV.”

“Yeah, I’m the same way.”

He smiles. “I guess all kids are. Same with putting off homework till the last minute and staying out late, huh?”

“I thought Nash couldn’t stay out late.”

“Well, on weekends.”

“Oh. I thought he had a ten thirty curfew every night.”

“What?” Nash’s dad obviously has no idea what I’m talking about.

“Doesn’t he . . . have a ten thirty curfew?”

“No. I trust him. As long as he keeps his grades up, I’m happy.” The phone rings. “Excuse me,” he says. He taps on the door frame on his way out.

Why would Nash lie to me like that? Why would he want to come home early when he could be out having fun?

Weird.

And why is his desk so freaking messy? I’m sure his dad’s desk looks even worse. I suddenly feel bad for Nash, like life has cheated him somehow.

I take all of the books scattered on his desk and pile them neatly on the side. I’m about to organize all these folders that are lying around when I notice a familiar paper stuck under a
South Park
desk calendar (that hasn’t been flipped since school started) and some headphones. The reason this paper is familiar is because it’s mine.

In seventh grade, I traced my hand with a silver pen on black stationery and wrote all my favorite song lyrics inside the tracing. Then I slid the paper into the clear cover of my binder. One day, the paper was gone. I thought it just slipped out because the cover was really loose by then. But I didn’t lose that paper after all. It’s right here on Nash’s desk.

I had no idea he liked me for so long.

Then I panic that Nash is about to come in and see that I found it, so I hide the paper back where it was.

“Hey, sorry,” Nash says. He’s out of breath. “I ran like halfway home.” He crashes on his bed, panting.

“What happened to you?”

“Crazy story. Have you been here long?”

“No. Like fifteen minutes.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You have a lot of bells.”

“Have we just met?”

“No, I mean you’ve gotten a lot more since the first time I came over. Remember that? In fourth grade?”

“Yeah.”

“Or maybe I haven’t met you yet.”

“How metaphysical of you. I’m Nash.”

“Marisa.”

We shake.

“You ready for emergency movie evening?” he says.

“Could not possibly
be
more ready.”

While Nash selects a movie from his massive collection, I look around his room in a new way, instead of just dismissing it as a messy boy room. I love how it always feels like home to me. And how you can see everything that’s happened since we played together when we were little, like it’s all preserved in a time capsule. There’s one of those plastic bracelets we used to have to wear at the beach. Spin art from the River Ramble. That family tree project we had to do last year. It’s like a time line of our parallel lives, how we experienced the same things. This bittersweet nostalgia of all the times we’ll never live again. It’s intense.

Intense in a good way. Because I have all of these memories and I’ll never let them go. They’ll become part of who I am, who I turn out to be when I’m older. And they’re the same memories that are part of Nash, too.

40

I’m psyched that it’s spring break, which is earlier than usual this year. Every year when it’s finally spring, we have the River Ramble. It’s this kind of carnival that’s set up on the first weekend of April on the boardwalk along the river. There are rides and food and games, and even if you’re too old for it, you have to go. It’s tradition. There’s even a section of tables set up for bingo.

Before Derek joined yearbook, we would hang out after school almost every day at his house or mine, watching TV and making out. Now I’m lucky if I get to see him twice a week. Even though it’s break so we can see each other more, I don’t know if he’s going to be here today. He hates these dorky town events, as he calls them. So I told Nash I’d meet him by the Ferris wheel.

I watch families wandering around. It’s so weird being at these things now, with everyone knowing that my parents are getting divorced. I watch a little boy with his parents. He looks so happy, just being here with them. I remember coming here with my parents and Sandra when we were little. I must have looked just as happy as that little boy. Now everything’s ruined and there’s no way to fix it.

Nash shows up and I instantly feel way better just seeing him. It’s like magic.

He looks up at the Ferris wheel. “Should we ride it?”

“I don’t think so.” Ferris wheels can be fun, but this portable one looks so chintzy.

We head toward the game where you have to pop balloons with a dart. Nash likes that one. I remember seeing him here last year and how he totally hogged that booth. It’s weird how I can remember the most random things, but then I’ll forget other things that are way more important.

Nash doesn’t stop at the balloons.

I go, “I thought you liked the balloons.”

“I do. But I’d rather play bingo.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, I’m serious.”

I look at him. He looks serious.

“Oh, well . . . I guess that could be fun. We could—”

But then Nash cracks up. “I can’t keep a straight face! It’s too easy!”

I swat his arm. “Ha-ha.”

We watch the bingo game anyway. There are some hard-core ladies playing. One old lady has like ten blotters in all different colors set up in a semicircle around her cards. A lot of people have lucky charms and toys in their areas.