Every Girl's Guide to Boys (10 page)

Dad speaks first. “Did
you really believe we’d never find out?” Maybe this is what hurts the most for
a parent, the fact that his child is arrogant enough to think she can get away
with anything because she is younger and faster and supposedly smarter. Maybe
this hurts the most because they’ve been trusting me enough to treat me like an
adult all along, and I have betrayed this trust by going behind their backs.
Maybe I should have known better—of course they’d find out. They’re my
parents.

I reply, “I wanted to.”

Mom says, “I thought
you’d be more responsible than this.”

I say the only thing
you’re supposed to say when you fall short of somebody’s expectations: “I’m
sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Nathan showed up with
chicken soup and bottles of orange juice, saying he hoped you were feeling
better. I asked him why he wasn’t in Zambales with the rest of the Student
Council for the weekend sports clinic, and he said, ‘What weekend sports
clinic?’ And it confirmed what I’ve been suspecting since this morning.” Dad
speaks evenly, like he is just narrating the events of a regular day.

“One month,” Mom says.
“No phone calls, no texting, no Internet, no going out, no parties, no
shopping, no visitors, and definitely no out-of-town trips. You are to come
home straight after school, except when you have Student Council meetings,
which I shall have to verify beforehand.” She pauses. “You want to act like a
little kid, then prepare to be treated like a little kid.”

I
nod stoically. I don’t argue. I have no right to.

“Good,” Dad says. “Now
go up to your room.”

I trudge upstairs and
close the door behind me. I set down my overnight bag on my bed and start
unpacking. I need to do something systematic, something that doesn’t involve
emotions. I re-fold my clean clothes and place them in my closet, then line my
toiletries up by height on the sink. I toss my empty bag onto the bathroom
floor, but something clinks against the tiles, and I open it expecting to find
a broken perfume bottle, or a shattered compact mirror. Instead, I find Nico’s
silver watch, a thin crack running across its glass face. Oh no, why is this
with me? And then I remember—Nico asked me to put it in
his
bag when he went
surfing with Enzo, and I must have absent-mindedly put it inside mine. He
always did this when we were younger: he’d ask me to hold on to a handkerchief
or a piece of gum, or lend me a book or a CD, then forget all about it. He’d
often call me at odd hours, asking me if he had left a jacket or a folder or a
set of keys with me. I’d scramble to look for whatever item he was missing,
knowing I was partly accountable for it. I’d swear to never allow him to leave
stuff with me again, and he’d laugh and tell me, “If you say so, Chrissy.” And
then he’d do it all over again. He was so careless with his belongings, and I
was so careful about making myself better, making sure I was somebody he could
count on. I wonder what I should do with his watch now. Should I wait for him
to realize it’s gone, or return it right away? He is always losing things; I am
always losing him.

Rule number 10:

Open your eyes to the

infinite possibilities.

.

It is always
just a matter of perspective. When you realize
“no Internet” means “no online advice column,” you can choose to see it as a
positive thing; you need a break from it all anyway. In between classes, you
describe the parental situation to your friend Anna and ask her to post a note
explaining that you are going to be on leave for a while, and that you would be
back soon. Besides, you don’t think you’re in any position to be giving good
advice right now, so maybe it’s all for the best.

It is always just a
matter of perspective. You can choose to look at being grounded as an
opportunity to rest: catch up on your reading, spend time with yourself, update
your old-fashioned journal, watch the DVDs of foreign movies you’ve never
gotten the chance to sit down with, and just lie on your bed staring off into
space and thinking about why you’re grounded in the first place. You can choose
to look at being grounded as a vacation from your own normal fast-paced life,
as something that will be beneficial in the long run.

It is always just a
matter of perspective. When your parents are mad at you, you can either sulk
and insist it wasn’t your fault, or get up off your ass to earn back their
trust and approval. When your parents are mad at you, you can bring them
breakfast in bed every day, offer to wash the car or do the dishes, and write
them a long, sincere, heartfelt apology letter. You can prove that you are
still “responsible” and “mature” and “level-headed,” even if you make the wrong
decisions sometimes. You can prove that they have still done a wonderful job
raising you, even though you can be stubborn and inconsiderate and childish.
You can be persistent enough in showing how sorry you are, until they finally smile
at you and start talking to you again.

It is always just a
matter of perspective. When you’re stuck at home on a Friday night, you try not
to think of it as torture. Instead, you knock on the door of your little
brother’s room and tell him how much you’ve missed him. You’ve been too caught
up in your own life that you’ve sort of been ignoring him recently, and you’d
like to make it up to him. And so you watch cartoons, and eat cookies, and play
board games. He asks, “You wanna draw?” and you say, “Okay.” You sit on the
floor with a basket of crayons, drawing mountains and flowers and trees and
houses. You peek at his paper, expecting to see a bunch of stick figures.
Instead, you see actual portraits of people, with very realistic-looking eyes
and ears and noses and mouths. Impressed, you ask, “Wow, Justin, how did you
learn to draw like this?” and he replies, “
Kuya
Nathan taught me.” You
ask, “When?” and he says, “The weekend after Gio moved away. He came over to
cheer me up.” He tells you, “His basic rule was, ‘Draw what you love.’ And I
like drawing people, so I’ve been practicing.” He shows you a booklet full of
sketches of a girl who looks quite familiar. Your brother says, “
Kuya
Nathan left that with
me. It’s his sketchbook. He says it might inspire me.” And you realize that the
girl looks familiar because she looks a lot like...you. A happy you, a sad you,
an annoyed you, a bored you—all captured fondly by hands belonging to
someone who obviously appreciates all these various aspects and facets of yourself.
Draw
what you love,
he said. And he chose to draw YOU.

It is always just a
matter of perspective. When you see Nathan in school after dismissal the
following Monday, you can be mad at him for ratting you out to your parents,
for visiting your house and winning over your little brother without your
knowledge, for being the reason why you’re grounded right now. Or, you can be
happy that he’s in front of you at this moment. You can be happy that he seems
to have forgiven you for everything you’ve done. You can be happy that, when it
all amounts to something, the pure, simple truth is that he loves you.

It is always just a
matter of perspective. This is what you
can
do: You can take his hand and thank
him. For being patient, for being understanding, for being who he is. You can
thank him for giving you time and space, for driving you home and taking care
of you, for stepping aside and being the bigger person, for knowing you needed
help even when you didn’t ask for it and probably didn’t deserve it. For always
being in the background of your life.

You can say, “I hope
you’re doing fine with Queenie Cooper,” to which he will reply, “I’m not
with
her. We’re friends. We
have fun. But that’s it.” And then you can say, “I really thought you’d be good
together,” and he will say, “Maybe. But she’s not you, Chrissy.”

And then you can wait
for him to squeeze your hand and smile at you like you are the only person in
the world, or at least the only person in the world
for him.
You can wait for him to
tell you, “It has always been just you. And it will always be just you,” before
putting an arm around you and offering to walk you to your car.

You
can wait for him to do this. Because he will.

Dear friends,

      
My
month-long hiatus is over. My parents have finally taken pity on me and
un-grounded me, and it feels great knowing things can go back to the way they
were.

      
But here’s
the thing: I don’t want things to go back to exactly the way they were. This
past month has made me realize so much, and mostly, it made me realize that
change is inevitable. There has been a lot of speculation about my life lately
(and I really don’t get that—I am not interesting at all), and maybe it’s
time to clear things up. Yes, Nathan and I are officially a couple now. We’re
trying to take things slow, working on building both the friendship and the
romantic relationship. Nico has decided to move back to the States with Enzo;
he feels he can find himself better there. He has promised me that if he ever
comes back here again, he will do it for the right reasons.

      
Forgiveness—I
guess that’s what this past month has truly been about. People hurt you, and
lie to you, and take you for granted, and treat you badly, but eventually you
learn to forgive. You learn to forgive because you have your own shortcomings
and imperfections. You learn to forgive because life is too short to be bitter
and angry. You learn to forgive because it is the only way you can move
forward.

      
Which is
why I hope you guys can forgive me for closing this site down. My mind is already
made up—this site has fully served its purpose, and I thank you all for
sharing this with me. Someday, I’d like to be able to be heard in this way
again. But right now, I have my own problems to find solutions for, my own
mistakes to make, my own dreams to chase, and ultimately, my own happiness to
create.

      
Because,
much like you, I am still learning.

Love
lots,

Chrissy

Next in the
Every Girl’s Guide
series:

Every Girl’s Guide to Flings

Rule number 1:

Know where to start.

Hi, I’m Ericka
Barcelona. Some people
know me as Rickie, the wayward friend of good girls Anna and Chrissy—the
girl in short skirts and high heels who has a hip party to go to every Saturday
night, who so-and-so dated or so-and-so had a summer fling with—and I
can’t really say I mind.

But most people know me as the sister of Alexa Barcelona,
”theater’s next big thing”, “favorite teen leading lady,” which translate to
only one thing—superstar.

She
came home last night in a good mood, as usual, telling our parents how the
audience hung on to her performance. Of course, she was being all modest and
humble and trying to downplay how amazing everyone thought she was, as usual.
My parents gave her their full attention, as usual, listening to her story like
they were not yet used to their daughter being so extraordinary. I
simultaneously tried to tune them out and keep my ears peeled for the point
where they finish fawning over her. I sulked in a corner of the living room,
flipping through a gossip magazine as I waited. As usual.

And
then she said, “Mom, Dad, do you remember Timmy Fernandez?”

“Your Philosophy classmate?” Mom asked. Of course she
remembered. Lexi has had a crush on Timmy since heaven knows when. But then
again, every other guy on the planet has a crush on Lexi. Timmy also happened
to be Anna’s older brother, but I guess my mom wouldn’t know that, since she’s
never had a single decent conversation with my friends.

“Yeah,”
Lexi smiled. “He’s coming over in a while. We just need to discuss something
for our group’s Philo paper. We won’t take too long.”

I
thought,
He’s coming over for something
school-related, and she’s smiling like they’re about to go out on a date. She
knows he has a girlfriend. Pathetic.

Dad
yawned, standing up. “Well, good luck on the paper. Goodnight, munchkin.” Yes,
he calls her munchkin. Yes, even in public sometimes. And no, she totally
doesn’t mind. Eww.

Mom stood up to leave too, then noticed me in the
corner, “Rickie, is that trashy magazine for school, or is there another good
reason you’re still up?”

“I was just about to go to bed,” I said. I brushed past
them, made my way upstairs, and locked my bedroom door behind me. After ten
minutes, I heard Timmy talking and Lexi giggling.
Schoolwork,
my ass.

So,
yes, I’m Rickie—Anna and Chrissy’s wayward friend, the girl this and that
guy dated, and Lexi’s not-so-perfect younger sister. I’d like to be able to say
that this is really all there is to me, that what you see is what you get.

But here’s the deal:
give me a chance and I promise I’ll give you a whole new perspective on who I
am. Whether it’s for the better or for the worse, well, that you’ll just have
to decide for yourself.