The Year of Living Awkwardly Read online

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!”

  She still looked skeptical. In the spirit of being honest with her, which I wasn’t always last year, and which led to us drifting apart, I said, “I guess there’s a tiny possibility he likes me.”

  “And you don’t like him?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  She examined my face. “If that’s true, you shouldn’t flirt with him.”

  I groaned. “I’m not flirting with him, Hannah.”

  “You pushed him into the pool.”

  “Oh my God! Call the romance police!”

  “If he really does like you, it’s not fair to get his hopes up.”

  I was about to say something rude, but it occurred to me that as annoying as it is to listen to her lecture me, she’s always right about this stuff, so I said I’d think about it. Then we went back to watching YouTube hip-hop tutorials in preparation for the Halloween dance.

  Monday, August 22

  I went to work determined not to flirt with Grady, which was easy, because Reese was the lifeguard on duty, and first thing in the morning she yelled across the pool, “You guys are so adorable in there! You look like you’re playing house!” so of course Grady and I were too embarrassed to even look at each other for most of the day.

  During an adult swim, when Reese got a break, she wandered over to steal a Tootsie Pop.

  “You know Noelle, right?” she asked me.

  “I think so,” I said, trying to be cool, although what’s so cool about pretending not to know someone who’s been in your class since kindergarten?

  Reese unwrapped the lollipop. “It’s scary how much people can change in such a short time. She’s one of my best friends, but I feel like I don’t even know her anymore. I’m, like, the last person to slut-shame, but I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s right to have sex with multiple guys on vacation. I just worry about her health, you know?”

  In our bullying workshops, the teachers talk about taking the side of the victim. I could have said, “It sounds like you are slut-shaming Noelle, actually.” Joking is another option, or “disarming the bully with humor,” if you want to get fancy about it. I could have said, “Wow, where do I sign up for a trip to Paris?” I knew all this, but I nodded and said nothing.

  Then Grady said, “What’s wrong with having sex with multiple guys on vacation?” Either he was truly curious or he’s a great actor.

  Reese laughed. “You’re hilarious, Grady. Anyway, it’s not just that.” She looked around like she was checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned forward. Grady and I both leaned toward her. “She hung out with Nevaeh and Nick last night, and Nevaeh said she was fully hitting on Nick. She was wearing this low-cut shirt and Nick couldn’t stop staring at her chest. It wasn’t his fault. If she doesn’t want people to look, she shouldn’t flaunt it.”

  Reese shook her head and gave the lollipop a contemplative lick. “We already had our costume planned for the Halloween dance, but I texted her and told her she needs to find someone else to go with. Which is so sad, but I don’t think I can be friends with someone like that.”

  After she’d gone, Grady whispered, “She is ice cold.”

  “Right?!” I said. “I knew she wasn’t going to stand for a smoking-hot best friend.”

  “Is Noelle going to take her on?” Grady asked.

  “What, like try to dethrone Reese?”

  He nodded. He really is fun to talk to about this stuff. He’s much gossipier than Hannah, and almost as gossipy as Tristan.

  “I would be shocked,” I said. “Noelle is basically a sweet person, and Reese is like one of those Roman ladies who poison their enemies. Noelle wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Grady shook his head. “Poor Noelle. Do you think she really banged a bunch of French dudes?”

  I laughed. “No way! No way. But it doesn’t matter. She can’t prove she didn’t, right?”

  We both looked across the pool at Reese, who was back on her chair, her face shadowed by her baseball cap, looking serene and beautiful.

  Tuesday, August 23

  I feel so terrible that I didn’t stick up for Noelle even a tiny bit. What’s the worst that could have happened? Reese could have decided I’m an enemy and made the next three years of my life a living hell.

  That’s why people don’t take on bullies. Self-preservation. Or just plain selfishness, I guess. I wish I were brave enough to think, So what if she hates me? I’ll live. Standing up for this person is more important than trying to save myself. That’s what a strong, confident person would think. I’m weak and scared. It’s gross.

  Maybe that’s what I could do to make the Halloween dance memorable. I could march up to Reese and say, in front of everyone, “Excuse me, but remember that time you made up a lie about Noelle at the pool and then judged her for something she never even did? That was wrong!”

  Yeah, it needs some work. But the basic idea isn’t bad.

  Wednesday, August 24

  Another email from Mom.

  Dearest Chloe,

  It is your privilege, as my child, to show me you’re angry by refusing to respond to me. It is my responsibility, as your mother, to keep showing you how ardently I love you by continuing to write to you even in the face of your silence. I’ll be in touch soon, whether or not you are.

  Your faithful correspondent,

  Mom

  She is ridiculous. I’m ignoring her.

  Thursday, August 25

  Hannah and I went to Tris’s house after dinner. Hannah’s mom dropped her off, pulling up in her SUV right as I arrived on my bike.

  “Honey, you should have said you needed a ride,” Mrs. Egan cooed out her open window. “I’m always happy to pick you up.”

  “I like riding my bike. Thanks, though,” I said, taking off my helmet. I was lying, of course. Riding my bike is humiliating, and I’m counting down the seconds until I can get my learner’s permit. But I know how much Mrs. Egan enjoys pitying me because my mom’s away and my dad works late some nights, and I don’t want her stupid pity.

  Tris and Hannah and I sat in Adirondack chairs in the backyard, watched the stars come out, and tried not to look at our phones too much.

  “Do you realize school starts a week from today?” Hannah said.

  “I’ve been so bored all summer,” Tris said, “and now I’d give anything to have another two months off.”

  “School won’t be as scary as it was last year,” I said. “I mean, it can’t be. Right?”

  “We know where everything is now,” Hannah said.

  “And there’ll be a new batch of freshmen!” I said. “Automatically, they’re lamer than we are.”

  “True,” said Tris.

  “Maybe being sophomores will be great,” I said, getting into it. “We’re past the worst year, but we don’t have to start panicking about the SATs or college applications yet.”

  “I’m panicking about the SATs,” Hannah said.

  “But by choice,” I said. “You enjoy panicking about them. Tris and I can wait until we’re juniors.”

  “I ordered a PSAT prep book last night,” Tris said.

  “You haven’t started studying yet?” Hannah said. “We’re taking it in October!”

  “Stop! We still have a week of summer left! You’re both ruining it!” I said.

  “You’re right,” Tris said. “Let’s talk about sunburns or fireworks or something.”

  We tried, but it was too late, and we wound up discussing the PSAT 10 versus the PSAT/NMSQT until it was time to leave.

  Friday, August 26

  I think our discussion last night came as a big shock to Hannah. She must have realized Tris and I aren’t up to her organizational standards, because she called a planning meeting today.

  “What are we planning?” Tris said. It was 4 p.m., and we were sitting in Hannah’s living room. She’d made us drop our phones in a woven basket on our way in, and I think she must have hidden the remote controls, beca
use I couldn’t find them anywhere.

  “Various things!” Hannah said. “I printed out copies of the agenda.”

  Friday, August 26

  Sophomore Year Planning Session

  Attendees: Hannah Egan, Tristan Flynn, Chloe Snow

  Discussion items:

  Academic goals

  Extracurricular goals

  Personal goals

  Short-range goals (Halloween dance, PSATs)

  “How do you even know how to do this?” I asked her.

  “I read a blog for parents who want to help their kids do well in school.” (Of course she does.) “This one post said it helps to write down your intentions at the beginning of the year so you can refer back to them and make sure you’re on track. Here . . .” She passed out notebooks and pens. “OK, first item. What are our academic goals?”

  “Stay awake during math,” I said.

  “Chloe! This isn’t going to work unless you take it seriously.”

  “Fine, Mom,” I said, and then instantly felt bad. My actual mother wasn’t here to nag me, and my father was too busy to do it. It was nice that Hannah was helping us with this. It was more than nice: it was generous and thoughtful.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I do want to improve in math, for real. And I want to study for the PSATs.”

  “What GPA do you want to maintain?” Hannah said.

  “Um, what’s an A-?”

  “A 3.7,” Hannah said. “OK, write all that down in your notebook. Tris?”

  “I want to move up to honors English. And I’ll say 3.7 too.”

  Hannah said she wants to maintain her 4.0 and excel in chemistry and trig so she’s set up to get into AP Calculus and AP Chemistry, and possibly AP Bio.

  “Moving on to extracurriculars!”

  “Do I have to be modest?” Tris said.

  “No, be honest,” Hannah said.

  “I want to be a lead in the musical again,” Tris said.

  “Me too,” I said.

  “I probably won’t get a good part, but I’ll try out for the musical too,” Hannah said. She didn’t sound self-pitying. She sounded matter-of-fact. “And of course I’ll keep volunteering with youth group.”

  “Can we do personal goals now?” I said. “Because I have a bunch. Number one: I want to learn to drive! Number two: I want to stop thinking about guys so much and focus on more important things.” I could feel Hannah and Tris struggling not to give each other meaningful looks. “And number three: I want to be a better friend. Less selfish.” I was hoping they’d say, “What are you talking about? You’re not selfish!” but they just looked thoughtful and nodded, which made me feel kind of sick.

  Tris said, “I want to be low-maintenance with Roy, so he doesn’t think of me as a whiny annoyance he has to feel guilty about not calling more.”

  “I want to abide by my own religious beliefs,” Hannah said, and if you didn’t know her like Tris and I do, you wouldn’t know she actually meant “I don’t want to have sex again until I’m married,” which makes me worried she’s feeling guilty for no reason, but which I didn’t say anything about, because hey, it’s her goal, and who am I to judge?

  We wrote it all down. It felt great, like just by putting our goals on paper, we’d already started carrying them out.

  “On to short-range goals,” Hannah said. “What are your thoughts on the Halloween dance?”

  “Here’s what we need to do,” I said. “Number one: decide if we’re doing a group costume or not. Number two: find out if anyone’s having a pre-dance party.”

  “I want to skip the whole thing,” Tris said, before I could get to number three.

  “WHAT? You can’t!” I said.

  “It’s going to be too sad, watching everyone else slow-dance and thinking about Roy.”

  We spent the rest of the night trying to convince him he has to go, and never got around to discussing the PSATs, which was fine by me.

  Saturday, August 27

  I rode my bike over to Hannah’s today without texting first, and who should be there but Zach Chen, guitar-playing dreamboat! Last year, when I was a mere child and had never even kissed anyone, I put him on a list of guys I wanted to make out with. Now here he was, sitting in the kitchen with Hannah and her mom, helping Mrs. Egan snap the ends off of green beans (Mrs. Egan is the type of mother who plans meals for the whole week on Sunday and preps dinner ingredients right after lunch is over). “Hey, Chloe,” he said when I came in.

  “Chloe! Hi! Did we have plans?” Hannah said. She looked terrified.

  “No. I wanted to surprise you,” I said.

  “Are you OK?” Zach asked Hannah. She’d gone pale.

  “I’m fine. Chloe, can you show me that thing . . . with your bike?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said.

  We walked out to the garage in silence.

  “What’s going on?” I asked when she’d pulled the door shut behind us. “That bike ruse was quite something, by the way. You would make a terrible spy.”

  She looked confused. “You’re not mad?”

  “About what?”

  “About Zach!”

  “What, that he’s sitting in your kitchen clearly in love with you?”

  “You think he’s in love with me?” She sounded thrilled.

  “Hannah, he’s prepping vegetables for your mom. Case closed.”

  “And you really don’t care?”

  “This is the kissing-list thing? You don’t get to claim someone for all eternity by writing his name down in your diary.”

  She still looked sick. “You don’t . . . you don’t like him, do you?”

  I put my hands on her shoulders. “Hannah, I swear to you, I don’t like him. He’s all yours.”

  “OK. Thank goodness.”

  We smiled at each other.

  “How long have you two been hanging out?” I said.

  “We haven’t been. This is the second time I’ve seen him. He picked his sister up from ballet yesterday and wound up giving me a ride home too. Then he texted me today asking if he could stop by. It could turn out to be nothing.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It could! I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

  “Well, I’ll get my hopes up for you.”

  She gave me a big hug.

  Now Hannah will almost certainly have a date for the Halloween dance. I should be happy for her. And I am! Or if I’m not, I will be soon, as soon as I get over feeling disappointed that we won’t get to go in a group of three, like we’d planned.

  Sunday, August 28

  School starts this Thursday. Summer’s essentially over. Why, oh why, did I spend so much of it staring into my phone? Why didn’t I work out so I could amaze everyone with my physical transformation? Why didn’t I take some hip-hop classes? I could have shown up at the Halloween dance with the moves of a video vixen! And now most likely Miss Murphy will pick Chicago and I won’t get the lead because I can’t handle the choreography. Actually, I should have spent the summer getting up to speed on math. Geometry’s coming and I never even grasped the point of algebra. I’m letting down my entire gender being so stereotypically bad at anything STEM-y. What a waste of the two best months of the year! All I did was work on my tan, read, read some more, chat with Grady, eat Dad’s dinners, and hang around with Tris and Hannah.

  I changed my mind: it was the perfect summer, and now it’s over forever.

  Monday, August 29

  I know what I should have been doing this summer, and I’m embarrassed it took me this long to realize it: I should have been marching, or resisting, or doing something socially conscious. I’m like a satire of a privileged person. What is my problem, exactly? My parents are getting divorced. Whoop-de-doo, it happens to literally half of all kids everywhere. True, not everyone’s mother moves to another country, but at least I have a mother. And a father who loves me. I’m not persecuted because of my sexual orientation or gender identity or race. I’m rich compared to almost everyone else in th
e world. And yet all I do is whine and obsess about myself. I want to do more, or at the very least, I want to remember how lucky I am every single minute.

  Tuesday, August 30

  Uhhhhhhh, Mac texted me.

  - whats up sophomore? Hope ur good. Miss you kid.

  A thoughtful text wondering how I’m doing and expressing affection? Did someone steal his phone?

  Maybe college has already changed him! That’s a thing that happens. Maybe he’s realized he made a mistake, messing around with me and then abandoning me. People make mistakes. I certainly do! And you have to forgive people, not hold a grudge against them forever.

  I texted back, I miss you too! I keep making my screen dark and then unlocking my phone so I can look at the exchange again, like it will have somehow changed in the 30 seconds since I last studied it.

  There’s no reason to feel so sick with excitement. Nothing has changed. Mac is still a grade-A sleazer who broke my heart. He still has a girlfriend. He’s still away at college.

  But he texted me!

  Wednesday, August 31

  Something awful happened.

  Grady and I were at work. It was hot and still. No breeze. The trees drooped over the pool, looking exhausted. I kept zoning out and missing what Grady was saying. The third time I asked him to repeat himself, he said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh . . .” I contemplated lying, but then decided, Eff it. “Mac texted me yesterday.”

  “Mac. Your boyfriend from last year.”

  “Uh, not my boyfriend, exactly, but yeah.”

  Grady stared across the pool. Reese was sitting on her white lifeguard chair near the shallow end, rebraiding her hair while she watched some kids play chicken.

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing. Just that he misses me.”

  “What did you say?”

  I glanced at him. He wouldn’t meet my eye. The whole conversation felt like it was happening in a dream. Grady sounded so serious and quiet, and I knew why, and I didn’t know what to do about it.