The Year of Living Awkwardly Read online

  “I said . . . I said I missed him too.”

  “So you still like him.”

  “No. I mean, I don’t want to. And I don’t. I don’t know. It’s confusing.”

  He turned to look at me. Don’t say it, I thought. Don’t, don’t, don’t.

  “Chloe, you know I like you, right?”

  His deep-set eyes. His tangled eyelashes. Plus crazy cheekbones and a full mouth. And more than that, his niceness, his funniness, his easy-to-talk-to-ness. But when I look at him, I think, You’re sweet. When I looked at Mac, I thought, I want to put your entire body inside my mouth.

  “Grady . . . ,” I said, and I saw from his expression he knew what I was going to say next.

  “OK,” he said. “I had to tell you. Don’t worry about it.”

  “You’re one of my best friends.”

  He flinched. I should have stopped talking, but I couldn’t.

  “I really like talking to you,” I said. “And being with you.”

  “I know. You’ve been flirting with me all summer,” he said, sounding angry.

  “I have not!” I said, even though of course I have.

  “Whatever.”

  How long had this conversation been going on? It felt like the summer had ended, a year had passed, and we’d slogged through a whole other summer.

  I tried to count backward from 10 to calm myself down, and gave up at 7. “You’re a lot younger than me. I don’t see you that way.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, OK. I get it.”

  “Grady.”

  “It’s fine, Chloe. Let’s talk about something else.”

  But we couldn’t. We barely said two words to each other for the rest of the day.

  Reese came over during the last adult swim and said, “Look at you two in here. So cute! When are you going to make it official?”

  “Do you want a Popsicle or something?” I said.

  “No thanks. I’m good. Can you believe this is our last day of work? Wait, let me get a selfie with you guys. My little pool buddies!”

  When she left, Grady said, “The worst,” and I said, “The worst,” and we almost smiled at each other, so that was good, but oh, Grady.

  Thursday, September 1

  First day of school. Smiling teachers, clean classrooms, everyone hugging and saying hi in the halls. It’ll all fall apart within two weeks, but it’s nice for now.

  I was dreading seeing Grady, but when I finally did, right after the last class of the day, it was fine. He was with some friends, and he was wearing his cutoff Dickies, Vans, and a black T-shirt. It was strange to see him fully clothed. I said hi first, but he said it back right away. For a second, after we’d passed each other, I thought I might cry. Probably the trauma of being back at school had gotten to me.

  Grady’s friends were loud and cute and dressed like him—punk/skater types. I wonder where they fall in their class’s social system. If I had to guess, I’d say they aren’t popular and they claim not to care about being popular and for the most part they genuinely don’t care. Because they’re confident and have a distinct style, they’re probably respected by the aristocrats in their grade, and will gain power over their four years of high school as everyone in their class slowly realizes that the jocky, purportedly cool kids have excellent hand-eye coordination and are great at making other people hate themselves but are otherwise talentless and boring. But it’s just a guess.

  After dinner, I took Snickers for a walk. We went past the pool. The gate is pulled shut and locked for the season. Someone—probably Reese—had taped up an 8.5 x 11 sheet of notebook paper Sharpied with SEE YOU NEXT SUMMER! and a smiley face. It’s odd knowing I won’t see Grady at work anymore. I keep thinking of things I have to tell him and then remembering I won’t get the chance. I guess I could text him—we have each other’s numbers—but we’ve never texted anything beyond running late see you in 10 min or forgot to cash out can you do it?

  I looked down at Snickers’s little Boston terrier butt, waggling along without a care in the world. I wish I were a dog.

  Friday, September 2

  The only thing scarier than seeing Grady was seeing Miss Murphy. I walked into honors English today feeling like there was a 67% chance I was going to develop anxiety diarrhea.

  Miss Murphy was leaning against the whiteboard saying hi to everyone, and when I came in, she said “Nice to see you, Chloe” in a friendly, plain way. No extra eye contact, no meaningful look, no apologetic tone in her voice.

  As an icebreaker, she asked us to go around the room and say our name, our favorite book, and our favorite word. When it was my turn, I said, “I’m Chloe Snow. My favorite book is Prep. My favorite word is ‘moxie.’ ” Miss Murphy smiled and said, “That sounds about right.”

  I studied her as she stood in front of us, laughing and crossing her arms while she listened. She was wearing a white Oxford shirt, green pants, and brown loafers. She didn’t have makeup on. She had a tan. She also had some wrinkles around her eyes, but they looked nice, like she got them from being a happy person.

  I miss my stupid mother.

  Saturday, September 3

  As we were eating lunch yesterday, Tris lowered his voice and said, “Did you hear Noelle had a threesome while she was in Paris?”

  “Oh my God,” I said. “That never happened.”

  “You don’t have to bite my head off,” Tris said.

  “You can’t spread this rumor. You have to promise me,” I said.

  “I promise,” he said. “Are you suddenly friends with Noelle or something?”

  “I’ve probably said five words total to her in my life,” I said. “But Reese is trying to destroy her, and it’s not right.”

  “Reese wouldn’t do that,” Hannah said, sounding shocked.

  “She’s already doing it, Hannah,” I said. I crumpled up my brown paper bag. “She’s not even a good liar, but it doesn’t matter! A threesome? Next she’ll say Noelle banged some guy at the top of the Eiffel Tower while eating a baguette and wearing a beret, and everyone will believe her. And why are people so judgmental? If Noelle had a threesome—which she didn’t—but if she did, good for her!”

  “I agree! Geez!” said Tris. I texted him and Hannah later to apologize. I wish I hadn’t snapped at them. If I’m going to snap at anyone, it should be myself. Maybe I could have nipped this whole thing in the bud by standing up to Reese at the pool that day.

  Sunday, September 4

  Tris is in Rhode Island with his parents for the long weekend, so Hannah and I had a girls-only sleepover at my house. We made ice cream sundaes, which we’ve been doing since we were eight. She puts peanuts on hers, because she’s a mutant. We were sitting at the island in the kitchen, and I was halfway through my sundae (extra whipped cream, no peanuts, for the love of God) when I noticed she was sitting there staring into space, not eating.

  “Are you OK?” I said.

  “I think I messed up with Zach.”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “He stopped by again today, and we sat on the back porch, and it was really fun, and we were kind of flirting, and we started talking about our exes.”

  I nodded. I know the old talking-about-your-exes move. Not that I have any exes to talk about.

  “So he was telling me about Ellie Rajavi and complaining that she hated going to Deposed Monarchs shows, which is crazy, because they’re an amazing band. I really think Zach could be a professional musician. Anyway, and then he said, ‘Didn’t you come to a show last year with Josh?’ and we started talking about Josh, and I kind of got carried away.”

  She poked a peanut with her spoon.

  “Carried away how?”

  “I told him how much I loved Josh, and how amazing he is, and how I’m almost positive he cheated on me at Prospective Students’ Weekend. And how I lost my virginity to him.”

  She looked at my face to see how I was reacting.

  “You think I shouldn’t have said that stuff, right?”


  “What? No, it’s fine! It sounds like you feel comfortable with him.”

  “I do, but maybe it was too soon to be so honest.”

  I said, “How did he react?”

  “He said, ‘Oh, uh, OK.’ Like that. Kind of shocked and quiet. And then he said he had to go.”

  Snickers came into the kitchen and flopped down at our feet dramatically, like he knew it was too much to hope for that we’d share our food, so he was going to preemptively die of sadness on the floor.

  Hannah said, “Do you think he’ll stop liking me because I’m not a virgin?”

  “If he does, he’s not good enough for you.”

  “I wonder if he’ll tell anyone.”

  “He wouldn’t,” I said, even though for all I know, he might.

  “I hate thinking about people finding out,” she said. “Not because I’m ashamed. Because everyone would be so surprised, and so excited to be surprised. ‘Hannah, the super-religious girl? No way!’ People love finding out they had the wrong idea about you all along.”

  “No one has the wrong idea about you,” I said. “You still are a super-religious girl.”

  “I guess that’s true,” she said, and started eating her sundae.

  Monday, September 5

  Another email from Mom.

  Hello darling,

  We had a massive thunderstorm here last night, and the internet went down, so I’m writing to you now from the library, which has a small, stuffy computer room and two tiny machines that can access the world wide web verrrrry slowly, as if they’re hobbling through it on walkers. Ah, the sacrifices I make to (attempt to) reach my sweet daughter!

  This morning it occurred to me that today is Labor Day, and Americans everywhere are soaking up the last drops of summer. It’s always odd to remember these holidays here, where they go unremarked and uncelebrated. I hope you’re putting your day off to good use: reading, walking, contemplating. Don’t waste the sunshine watching old movies with your father! I wish I were there to exhort you in person.

  All my love,

  Mom

  For one thing, she definitely went to the library because she’s addicted to the internet and couldn’t make it one day without checking Twitter. Emailing me had nothing to do with it. For another thing, I went for a bike ride and walked around the arboretum this morning, and Dad is outside mowing the lawn right now, but I’m going to force him to come inside and watch An American in Paris with me before it gets dark, to spite her. For a third thing, if she wished she were here so much, she could be. It’s called an airplane.

  Tuesday, September 6

  I saw Grady getting books out of his locker today, and without thinking about it, I went to talk to him.

  “How’s freshman year? As bad as you thought?” I said.

  “It’s OK.”

  “No one’s flushed your head in a toilet?”

  “Not so far.”

  Was he mad at me, or just being quiet?

  We stared at each other without speaking. At the pool, when a silence fell, it wasn’t stressful, because we knew we were trapped together for eight hours and of course there were going to be silences sometimes.

  He closed his locker. “I’m headed upstairs. You?”

  Even though I was headed upstairs, I said no, because our conversation was so stilted and I couldn’t take the contrast between happy-chatty-sweating-summer Chloe and Grady and awkward-quiet-chilly-September Chloe and Grady.

  Wednesday, September 7

  Roy tweeted a GIF of a sobbing animated Ariel from The Little Mermaid and captioned it “missing bb like . . .” Tris was beside himself with joy. I wonder what it’s like to know you have a boyfriend and he loves you.

  He’s still saying he doesn’t want to go to the Halloween dance, and I’m trying to respect his feelings, but if Hannah winds up going with Zach, and Tris won’t go at all, that means I’ll have to . . . go by myself?! I mean, I guess technically I could, but how would that work? Would I inch up to groups of people and hope they turn around and say, “Oh, hello, Chloe! We didn’t see you there! Would you like to join our conversation?” I want to have the courage to go alone. Maybe I can find it. I still have a month and a half left to transform myself into a confident, unselfconscious person.

  Thursday, September 8

  I did something a tiny bit brave today. Classes were over, and I was getting my stuff together at my locker. Noelle was a few lockers away talking to Harper, the only one of the popular girls who still associates with her. I have a sixth sense for Noelle now, maybe because I feel so guilty about not defending her, or maybe because her platinum hair makes her noticeable. I’m constantly spotting her in the halls, and I have to say, she’s an impressive sight. When everyone was talking about me last year, I scuttled around staring at the floor, trying to make myself invisible. Noelle walks with her shoulders back and her eyes straight ahead. She always has her hair blown out and her eye makeup on. She looks tense, but dignified.

  As I put my math book in my backpack, Reese rounded the corner with her friend Lianna, spotted Noelle, and came right up to her.

  “Noelle, so sorry to interrupt, but Lianna and I have something private to discuss with Harper.”

  I could tell from Lianna’s excited, surprised face that Reese was making this up on the spot and that there was no private thing at all.

  Noelle flinched, but said, “I’m talking to Harper right now.” She looked at Harper for backup, but Harper wouldn’t make eye contact.

  “Um, it can’t really wait,” said Reese. “So if you could give us some privacy?”

  Noelle stood her ground for another moment, but then she lost her nerve. “Whatever,” she said, and turned to leave.

  “Hey, Noelle!” I heard myself calling, before I’d had time to think it through.

  Everyone turned to look at me. I slammed my locker shut and jogged over to Noelle. I linked my arm through hers, pulled her down the hall, and whispered, “Laugh.”

  “What?” she whispered back.

  “Ha! Ha! Ha!” I said. “That’s hilarious!”

  “Hahaha!” she said, catching on. Her fake laugh was much better than mine. “Are you serious? That’s so funny!”

  We didn’t look back, but I could feel Reese burning holes in our heads with her eyes.

  We turned the corner and kept laughing for a while, then kept walking in silence, but with our arms still linked. Finally we stopped outside an empty classroom.

  “Thanks,” Noelle said. “That was nice of you.”

  “No problem,” I said. “My friend did the same thing for me last year. I just stole his idea.”

  She looked like she would have smiled if she weren’t so miserable.

  “I’m sorry Reese is . . .” I paused, not sure how to finish my sentence. “Punishing you for being beautiful”? “Torturing you”? “Singling you out because tyrants need enemies to maintain their grip on power”? I couldn’t figure it out on the spot, so I abandoned my opening and said, “Are you OK?”

  She toggled her hand back and forth like so-so. “I’ve been better.”

  “I don’t know if you know this, but all the seniors hated me last year because I hooked up with Mac Brody.”

  “Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that.”

  It’s hard to explain how weird this conversation was. In high school, everyone pretends not to know what’s happening outside of their immediate friend group, even though we all know what everyone else is doing and who they’re dating and who got moved down a level in history because he was flunking out of AP. Noelle and I have never been friends. We don’t even say hi to each other in the halls. And now we’d admitted we know all about each other. I think being alone after school had something to do with it. It felt like we’d stepped out of time, and so it was OK to talk about real stuff.

  “Sure, ask me anything,” I said.

  “What did you do when everyone was gossiping about you? Did anything work?”

  “Nothin
g made people stop talking. But I deleted Facebook and Twitter and everything for a while. That helped.”

  “Yeah, I should probably do that. My mentions are a freaking disaster.”

  “Don’t even look.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t.”

  She fidgeted with her backpack strap. “Sorry I didn’t say hi to you at the pool this summer,” she said. “I don’t know why I didn’t.”

  It had never occurred to me that she would say hi to me. Of course she wouldn’t—I’m a nobody. I was shocked that it had crossed her mind, and even more shocked that apparently she felt guilty about ignoring me.

  “I know why!” I said. “Because you’re popular.”

  She laughed. “Not anymore.”

  Normally I would have contradicted her, to be nice, but since we were being honest, I said, “What does it feel like? To be popular and then not?”

  “It sucks!” she said. We both laughed.

  “I have to go,” she said. “But put your number in my phone.”

  After I did it, she took it back and texted me: It’s Noelle.

  I texted her back, It’s me Chloe the person standing right next to you.

  She texted back, Bonjour.

  Then we texted smiley faces back and forth, and then we smiled at each other in real life, and then we really did leave.

  Friday, September 9

  I think I might be friends with Noelle now? After school she texted me, What are you up to, and I texted back, Creeping on you with the googly eyes emoji, because she happened to be in my line of sight in the lobby. She looked up from her phone and came over.

  “How was your day?” I said, and she said, “Horrible,” so I knew we didn’t have to revert to being polite and fake even though we were no longer in the magical empty minutes inside the magical empty hallway. We leaned against the wall while she told me Harper’s no longer speaking to her. “She gave me this apologetic expression as she walked past with Reese and everyone, and it was like, you obviously don’t feel that bad or you’d come over to say hi.”