Dark Blue: Color Me Lonely with Bonus Content (10 page)

Finally, I think we’ve seen everything there is to see and I’m feeling overwhelmed.

“Do you want to get some lunch?” asks Jessie as we stand on the steps outside of the art exhibit.

“Sure,” I answer. Then I hope that I have enough money not to embarrass myself in case they decide to go someplace nice. I get the impression that Jessie is pretty well-off, and I think I only have about five bucks on me after paying for admission to the art exhibit. I had stupidly assumed it would be free.

Fortunately we settle for fast food and my five bucks is plenty. But as we sit there eating, I feel even more like an outsider. It’s not as if Felicia and Jessie are intentionally excluding me. But as they laugh and chat comfortably together, I begin to suspect they’ve been friends for years.

“How long have you guys been friends?” I ask when the conversation finally comes to a lull.

“Oh, man, we’ve known each other since diaper days,” says Jessie as she dips a fry in ketchup. “Actually, I might’ve been out of diapers, but Felicia was probably still a Pampers girl.”

Felicia laughs. “Yeah, our parents are really good friends. My dad works for Jessie’s dad and they play golf every Saturday. Our moms went to college together and, despite our obvious ethnical
differences, it feels like we’re all related.” She grins at Jessie now. “Which is kind of nice since I’m an only child and most of our other relatives live pretty far away. Quite a few are still in China. But the Rubensteins have always been like family to us.”

“That’s cool,” I say. And it is. I’m happy for them. Really, I am. There’s nothing like having a best friend that you’ve known for years.
Nothing.

Jessie decides to put the top down on the way home, and I imagine I am having a really great time. Three girls riding down the freeway in a convertible. Hair blowing in the wind, guys in cars waving at us. But the truth is I feel miserable. Sitting by myself in the backseat, I feel left out and lonelier than ever.

Still, when we reach my apartment complex, I force a big smile and thank them both for including me today. I tell Felicia how much I loved the art exhibit, and Jessie how much I love her car. Then I wave goodbye and jog toward the stairs of my apartment. I hope that my effort at cheerfulness is convincing because when I get safely to the privacy of my room I begin to cry again.

I wonder if this sadness will ever end. Just when I think I’m doing better, it’s like the rug gets pulled out from under me. I see the book that I read last week sitting on my dresser. I think about the girl, Alicia, who gave her heart to God and supposedly had a personal relationship with him. I wonder if that’s really even possible. It’s not that I don’t believe in God. Usually, I do. I’m just never sure what I think beyond that. Still, I was impressed with the way Alicia’s year went. Well, other than dying in the end. That was kind of a downer. But during that year preceding her death, she made lots of great friends and had a really good life. In her journal she kept saying it was the best year of her entire life. She was so totally happy and in love with life and God and everyone. And it had been
a real change for her, because it sounded like she’d been pretty miserable before. Sort of like me.

So I’ve been sitting here just wondering. What if I were to give my heart to God? What if I did like Alicia and it caused my life to really get better? I even wonder if that’s what it would take to get Jordan back as my best friend. I know that Jordan’s family goes to church. But not every Sunday since her dad’s pretty laid back about the whole thing and has no problem telling anyone that he would just as soon spend a Sunday at the lake as in church. I also know that Jordan believes in God and calls herself a Christian. But she’s never really been too involved in church. And she doesn’t go to the youth group because she says that the kids there are nerds.

Suddenly it’s pretty tempting to give this God-thing a shot. I mean, what do I have to lose? And what if it made my life go back to the way it used to be, only better? Wouldn’t that be worth a lot? I am beginning to feel hopeful. Perhaps I have found the answer after all.

Yet, at the same time, I feel like I might be just playing a game with fate here. Sort of like a holy “Let’s Make a Deal.” And that kind of scares me. I’m thinking that if God is really for real, and if he can really make you or break you, well, I could be playing with fire here. And I’ve got to wonder whether it’s worth the risk of blowing it with God just because I think I might be able to swing some sort of deal. I mean if
I
were God and some goofy girl was down there trying to strike up a bargain with me, well, how would that make
me
feel? So, I suppose I should give this some more thought before I jump into anything.

Because the sorry truth is my life is cruddy enough without going and making it worse by messing with someone like God.

I
SPENT ALL DAY
S
UNDAY BABYSITTING FOR THE NEIGHBORS, WHICH WAS
better than moping around and feeling sorry for myself. Plus I earned a little spending money. Not that I have anything to spend it on. I’ve discovered that one must have a life to need money. I suppose that could be one of the upsides of being friendless. I could become rich in time.

Now it is Monday and I am trudging back to school, wishing that I were someplace else, or someone else, or had someone else for a best friend.

As I walk into the school I notice a boy that I’ve always thought was cute. His name is Jeremy Thatcher and I’ve known him since grade school. He’s standing by the bulletin board at the entrance, probably trying to look inconspicuous, like he’s actually reading the dribble posted up there. He’s one of the shiest kids I’ve ever known. Even if you only say “hi” to him his face turns beet red. But he’s also very nice.

“Hey, Jeremy,” I say, waiting to see him blush.

“Hey,” he says in a quiet voice. Then he glances away as if something more important than the bulletin board has captured his attention. But I’m not disappointed because a couple of bright pink spots suddenly appear on his cheeks.

Feeling slightly mean, I push things a bit further. “How you doing?” I ask, walking right up to him.

“Uh, okay.”

“Did you get your economics report done?” I ask. He’s in that class with me.

“Yeah.”

“Pretty boring, huh?”

He nods without speaking now.

I’m thinking I’ve pushed Jeremy about as far as is safe. So I give him my best smile and tell him to have a good day.

To my surprise, he smiles back and says, “Thanks, Kara.”

Wow,
I’m thinking as I head toward English,
maybe, if I worked really, really hard at this, maybe I could actually strike up some sort of relationship with this guy.
I’m thinking maybe I should quit hoping for a girl to be my best friend and just go after a guy instead. I’ve never really had a serious boyfriend before. Oh, I’ve gone with a few guys. Okay, maybe only two. And these were both a result of Jordan setting me up with people who were friends with the guys that she liked. A convenience thing. But these relationships felt awkward and were short-lived and even sort of silly when you think about it.

But what if Jeremy and I became a thing? Already I am imagining us together. Walking to class together. Hanging together in the hallway. Maybe even kissing? I imagine Jeremy saving me a spot at lunch and taking me to the games and dances. And suddenly this sounds like a perfect solution to my miserable little life.

The problem is that I’m just not sure how to go about it. Because even though everyone knows that Jeremy is extremely shy, I happen to know that I am probably only a few degrees less shy than him. And what I did this morning was pretty out of character for me. At least I
think
it is. Lately, I’m not too sure about much. But what if I
could change myself? Or maybe I already am changing and I just don’t know it. Maybe I don’t have the foggiest idea of who I am.

I find a seat by the only window and ponder these thoughts all through English class, which now means I have
homework
. But I don’t care about this as I hurry toward my next class, economics. I am hoping to catch another word with Jeremy now, maybe even sit by him and make my best attempt to flirt. So I linger by the door, pretending to study a paper in my hand until I finally see Jeremy approach. As usual, he keeps his eyes downward and doesn’t even see me. But that’s okay. I’m up to the challenge.

“Hi, Jeremy,” I say again, trying my best smile.

His cheeks begin to flame again and this time he mutters a barely audible greeting, then ducking his head back down, he goes into the classroom and heads for the back row. And before I can nab the desk beside him it is taken by Jonathon Knight, an overweight boy who’s nearly as shy as Jeremy. I wonder if they have some sort of secret pact or club. Shy Boys United.

I take the desk a couple seats away from Jeremy and spend the best part of the next hour trying to get his attention. However, I fail miserably and as soon as class is over, Jeremy makes a beeline for the door. I’m sure I have scared this poor boy to death. I find this ironic since I consider myself the shy person in most social settings. I wonder what Jordan would think if she knew what I was up to. Most likely she couldn’t care less.

I watch for Jeremy between classes but finally decide he is trying to avoid me. I’m not sure if this has anything to do with me personally, or if it is just because of his extreme shyness. Or maybe he’s gay.

“Hi, Kara,” says a guy’s voice.

I turn, hoping that perhaps it’s the mysterious Jeremy, then frown to see that it’s only Edgar.

“Hey, Edgar,” I say as I walk with him toward the art room. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Did you go to that art exhibit with Felicia?”

“Yeah, it was really good. Did you get to see it?”

“Nah, our church was having a missions conference this weekend and I had to stick around to help.”

“What’s a missions conference?” I ask as we go sit at the back table in the art room. I’ve taken up sitting in the back now so I don’t have to move my stuff at lunchtime.

“Our church supports a few missionaries in other countries. And once a year we invite them or someone else to come in and talk about foreign missions.”

I frown at him. “You mean like people who go to places like Africa and try to force the people there to wear clothes and go to church?”

He laughs. “Not exactly. The kinds of missions that our church supports do things like teaching people to read and building houses and digging wells.”

“Oh.”

“I think God is calling me to be a missionary,” he tells me now.

I just stare at him in wonder. He could be telling me that God had invited him to step onto a UFO and go live on Mars and I wouldn’t be any more surprised. “You actually
heard
God
calling
to you?” I ask skeptically as I pull out my current art project.

But then Ms. Clark begins to talk and our conversation comes to a fast stop. A relief, I’m thinking, since I really don’t want to get involved in a discussion like this.

However, as soon as lunchtime rolls around, Edgar brings up the subject again.

“I wanted to answer your question, Kara,” he begins as we all
start taking out our lunches. Mine is a raisin bagel and carton of lemon yogurt.

“What was her question?” asks Amy.

“She wanted to know if I could actually hear God calling me to be a missionary.”

Amy groaned loudly. “Oh, man, do we
have
to talk about religion today? My Jesus-freak aunt stayed at our house all weekend and I have been preached to up to here.” She held her hand high in the air to demonstrate.

“Hey, I’m with you,” I agree. “I was just making conversation with Edgar. I’m not looking for a sermon either.”

She sighs in relief. “Okay, let’s talk about the art exhibit on campus. Did you guys go?”

So Edgar is quieted, and the three of us girls monopolize the conversation by talking about the exhibit.

“But here’s the best part,” says Amy in an excited voice, for Amy anyway. “I met this really cool guy at the exhibit. His name is Leon and he’s in college, majoring in art. And he actually thought I was in college too. Of course, I didn’t tell him I wasn’t. Anyway, we really hit it off. And I had the coolest weekend. It was awesome.”

“Are you going to see him again?” asks Felicia, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Of course.” Amy looks at Felicia like she’s crazy.

“But what about your age differ—”

“That doesn’t matter. The important thing is we’re soul mates. Age has nothing to do with it, Felicia!”

I can see that Amy’s getting irritated here, and I decide to jump in and see if I can keep things calm. “I wish I was in college,” I say. Now, this isn’t untrue.

“Me too,” agrees Amy. “People are so juvenile in high school.”

“Not me,” says Felicia. “I think high school is great. Actually, I think it’s what you make it. And if you can’t make it good in high school, I doubt that you can make it much better in college.”

Amy glares at Felicia now. “Well, high school might work for some kids. Like kids who have a high-school mentality. But it’s
not
for everyone.”

“It’s a lot better than middle school,” offers Edgar. “I really hated middle school. Kids were a whole lot meaner there.”

“Yeah,” I agree with him, hoping to make up for cutting him off about his hearing-God thing. “I think there’s something inherently vicious about that age group. Man, you couldn’t get me to go back to that era for anything.”

“Anyone going to the Harvest Dance?” asks Felicia.

“Are you?” I ask her in surprise. I’m not aware that she has a boyfriend.

She nods. “You bet.”

“Who are you going with?” I ask.

Amy laughs. “Don’t you know about Felicia’s old standby?”

“Huh?”

“We’re not really dating regularly,” explains Felicia with what looks like a tiny bit of embarrassment. “But we have this agreement to go to dances and things together unless the other one is dating someone else.”