Gimme a Call (12 page)

“Shoot,” I say. “So what now?”

“You need to stop her from trying out for cheer.”

I can still hear the screaming from inside. “I think it’s too late. And anyway, cosmetic surgery is still better than anorexia.”

“Yeah, but they’re both kind of craptastic. You really will have to discuss these things with me.”

“But what about the rest of the list? The seventy-two things we’re still supposed to fix?”

“I’d hardly call Karin fixed. And I don’t know about the rest anymore…. What if you make things worse? Let’s hold off on the list for the time being. And from now on, you have to run everything by me. Everything.”

Yes, she’s mentioned that already. Three times. I shuffle my feet. Just because she’s older, does that make her the boss? “But—”

“No buts. Karin is getting a boob job and it’s your fault,” she snaps.

“She hasn’t had the surgery yet. Maybe you can convince her not to.”

“I’ll have to fix your screwup somehow, won’t I?”

I roll my eyes. What does she know? She didn’t even have friends two days ago. There’s more cheering behind the door. “I think I should get back inside. Unlike you, I want to support my friends.”

“Oh, God.” I hear a sharp intake of breath. “I have to go. It’s Bryan.”

“But you guys broke—I mean—”

She hangs up.

Now what do I do? I can’t let my best friend become a plastic-surgery junkie. I need to fix this. I need a plan.

chapter fifteen
Monday, May 26
Senior Year

I’m on Fleet, halfway between school and home, and Bryan is half a block up, beside a stop sign. He’s wearing his green shirt—my favorite color on him—and he’s smiling. I can see his dimples from here. Bryan, my Bryan.

Exept he’s holding hands with Celia King. I stop in my tracks. What. Is. He. Doing? Why is he touching her? We hate Celia! She’s annoying! The only thing we like about her is that we met at her house! Otherwise we think she’s a snobby party girl who wears too much glitter and turns every compliment she gives into an insult.

He leans over. And kisses her.

Oh. My. God.

My legs freeze. My arms freeze. My blood is liquid ice. Hasn’t he already done enough damage? Is he trying to give me a heart attack? He lifts his hand and runs it through the back of her hair, like he does with me.

Like he did with me. Or like he didn’t do with me anymore. I take two steps back, as if he just drop-kicked me in the stomach. I need to sit down. I need to get home. If I click my heels together, can I go home? Please? Stranger things have happened this week.

I try. It doesn’t work.

I need to run. Home. Now. I turn at the next corner, a slightly longer route home, and run. My eyes are pricking with tears, but I’m not going to cry. The image of them kissing is still burning my eyes. But I won’t cry. If I can just get home, then I won’t cry.

My heart pounds angrily against my rib cage, but I don’t stop until I’m in my house, in my room, on my bed.

I never thought I’d feel this sick. Seeing him with another girl—imagining him with another girl—feels even worse than his breaking up with me. Feels worse than anything.

I have a secret. I lied to Frosh.

Bryan never cheated on me.

What else was I supposed to say? She wasn’t listening to me! She would have gone out with him. I had to tell her something that she could grasp. Something bad. It was better than making up something worse, like that he was a drug addict or a bank robber or something.

I wouldn’t have said that. Though it did cross my mind.

But how else could I explain? You can’t understand what it feels like to have your heart stomped on until you’ve been through it yourself.

She wouldn’t have understood the truth: that he broke up with me not because he doesn’t love me—so he said—but because he wants to see who he is without me. Because even though we had decided to go to Stulen together, he decided to try something new, something else, something different. Because he thought it was time for a change. Because his dad convinced him to go to college in Montreal, where his dad lives and where SAT scores don’t matter. Because he made plans that didn’t include me. Because he’s leaving me. Without anything.

“Who knows?” he said to me the night of our breakup. “If we’re meant to be, maybe we’ll get back together one day. But right now, this is what I have to do. It’s not about you. It’s about me.”

That was the problem, though, wasn’t it? Everything I did was about him.

I flip over onto my back and bang my fists into my duvet.

Someone who loves you doesn’t leave you. I’m better off without him.

And now he has a new girlfriend. Or an old girlfriend. Of course he has a girlfriend. Why shouldn’t he? Just because I don’t have photos of him in my bedroom doesn’t mean someone else doesn’t. I wonder how long they’ve been together. Are they in love? Did he have feelings for her when he was with me?

Maybe I was right after all. Maybe he
did
cheat on me. Jerk.

I wonder what happened to all the other frames I tossed. Is he gone from those photos too? I rummage through the garbage and pull them out.

They’re all of Karin, Tash, Joelle, and me. Us holding up chopsticks and eating sushi. Us outside a school dance. Us in sleeping bags, making kissy faces at the camera.

Fun. But Bryan?

He’s gone. Still gone. And the lump in my throat? Still there.

I look down at my bare wrist. I look up at my bulletin board. There are pictures of me and the girls, birthday cards I don’t remember getting, collages of words and pictures I don’t understand or remember the importance of. A picture of Harry Travis’s head on a cartoon body.

The card Bryan made me for our second anniversary. Gone. The card he got me for Valentine’s Day. Gone. The acceptance letter from Stupid State that was tacked to my bulletin board. Gone.

Wait a sec. I jump into a sitting position. Instead of the white sheet of paper congratulating me for getting into Stupid, tacked to my bulletin board is a mint green paper.

It says
Congratulations! You’ve been accepted to Ballor State!

I have?

I jump up and pull it from the board. Yup. It definitely says that I’ve been accepted to Ballor. Sure, Ballor is a fourth-tier school, but it’s better than Stulen. It doesn’t accept everyone.

How did
that
happen?

Maybe … because I didn’t spend all my time hanging out with Bryan, I spent more time studying. And by spending more time studying, I got better grades and got into Ballor.

Maya was right all along.

If I apply myself this time around, I don’t have to have a B-minus average. I could have an A average. Or an A-plus average. Maya doesn’t have to be the only Banks girl to get into a good college. I can get into one too.

By not dating Bryan, I can change more than my relationship history. And my friendship history. I can change my college acceptance.

With Frosh on my side, I can go anywhere I want. UCLA, maybe. Why not? If Maya can go, why can’t I? I don’t have to be just the pretty Banks girl. I could be the smart one too.

There are a million possibilities.

I won’t even have to retake my SATs or anything. I’ll just have to instruct Frosh on what to do differently and then watch the changing acceptance letter on my wall.

Yes! This time, I am not going to let some boy distract me from making something of myself. No way. This time, I’m not going to let a guy who’s going to dump me anyway ruin my future. This time, I’m going to focus on school and get into a great college.

This time I have a plan.

I call Frosh immediately. “Guess where you’re going.”

“Can I pee first? I just got home two seconds ago.”

“The important thing is that you’re home. ’Cause you have work to do. You’re going to UCLA!”

“You mean for the weekend? To visit Maya?”

I laugh. “No, silly dilly. I mean later on. In four years.”

“I am?”

“Yes! You are. You are going to change our life, for the better. Before me, you didn’t care about school. You didn’t value your friends.”

“I do too—”

“You didn’t value them
enough
. Bryan came along and took you under his wing. Sure, he carried you at first, but then he dropped you into a big pile of mud. So I am here to steer you. To tell you what you need. To save you. Not only are you ridding your life of Bryan and keeping your friends, you’re going to get us into a decent college. UCLA, maybe.” I can see it clearly. The new me. Laughing with my girlfriends. Going off to a great school, my sun-drenched hair blowing in the California wind. Carefree, happy, supersmart me.

“What school am I supposed to go to? I mean, what school did you get into?”

“That’s the thing. You were supposed to go to Stulen.”

“Stupid State,” she says in disbelief. “All you could get into was Stupid State? What did you do, fail junior year?”

“No, I didn’t
fail
. I just didn’t
try
. I didn’t care about college. I just wanted to be with Bryan and he didn’t care about college either—or so he claimed—and we thought we would just save money and … never mind. It’s over. The point is that as of today, I’ve been accepted to Ballor.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s like half a step above Stulen. But you’re going to get us into a better school. A superb school. If Maya can do it, why can’t we?”

She’s silent for a moment and then she laughs. “’Cause Maya got all the brains.”

“Don’t say that! That’s a terrible thing to say. You’re smart. I’m smart. And anything is possible, no? If I can talk to myself in the past, surely I can get myself into UCLA!”

“Okay, smarty-pants, so how are we going to get into UCLA exactly?”

“Let’s see,” I say, thinking. “Maya had an A average.”

“You think I can get that too?” she asks. “I didn’t even have an A average in middle school.”

“It’ll take a lot of work. But you can do it. What are your courses again?”

“English, algebra, American history, economics, chemistry, French, and … I’m forgetting something. Oh, gym.”

“Okay. Let’s think this through. Your problem in English is that you don’t always finish the book in time. That’s the trick. Read the book before class. If you do, you’ll get a lot more out of it and then you’ll be able to ace your essays.”

“Of course I can do that. I’m reading
Jane Eyre
right now. Why wouldn’t I finish the book? I like to read.”

“You do? Oh yeah, you do. But you like hanging out with your boyfriend more. But now you’ll finish it tonight after we get off the phone,” I order.

“Tonight? But we’re going to Karin’s and—”

“No time for Karin,” I say. “You have work to do!”

“But—”

“No buts, Frosh! Do you want this to work or not?” When she doesn’t say anything, I continue. “Next. Algebra. This one’s easy. Pay attention! And if you don’t understand a concept, go to peer tutoring. If you understand what’s going on in class, then you’ll do fine on the tests. Next.”

“American history.”

“Right! That’s no problem. Did Karin tape all her classes back then?”

“Yup. Every one.”

“She still does it. She’s in my world history class this year. Not that we sit together. I mean, we didn’t used to when Bryan and I—” I clear my throat. “Everything’s fine now. You stopped studying with Karin when you started spending so much time with Bryan, but that won’t be a problem anymore, so you’re good. And it’s the same idea as algebra—if you understand the concepts, you’ll ace it. Don’t just try to memorize the dates. Next.”

“Economics.”

“All you have to do is read the chapters he assigns. The quizzes and tests are right out of the book. Next?”

“Chemistry.”

“Easy peasy. Tash will help you. She’s going to study premed at Brown, you know.”

“She is? That is so awesome! Tell me more! What about Karin and Joelle? Where are they going?”

“From what I heard around school, Joelle’s going to FIT—”

“That’s fantastic. Does she still wear the coolest outfits ever?”

“Yup. She makes most of her own clothes now.”

“Wow. And what about Karin?”

“Karin’s going to Buff State, from what I heard. It hasn’t come up in conversation, though, so I’m assuming it’s the same.”

“Cool. Yay for them.”

Yes, yay for them. They’ve moved on in their lives. Everyone has moved on. Time for me to play catch-up and move on too. I’m moving on all the way to UCLA! “Now, where were we?”

“French.”

“Hmmm,” I murmur. “That’s a tough one. No one speaks any French except …” Except Bryan. Having lived in Montreal, he’s bilingual. Bryan used to talk to me in French when he was trying to be cute. But I’m not going to Bryan for help. Not this time. Not ever. “You’re just going to have to focus. And do your homework.”

“Do my homework. Got it.”

“You’re writing all this down, right?” I ask.

“Where?”

“In your notebook! Remember?”

“Yup.”

I open my desk drawer, pull out the green notebook to see if she’s really writing it down. Nope. “Liar.”