In Every Way (4 page)

Confession time: I’ve never had a boyfriend.

Though I probably don’t need to confess that. I’m pretty sure the entire world could take one look at me and, if asked the question “Does this girl have a boyfriend?” they would answer no right away.

I think not having something only makes you want it more. I have friends who’ve been heartbroken and trampled on by guys, and they still want a new boyfriend when things with the first one blow up. So maybe there’s no escaping it. We all just want to be loved, no matter how much it might suck when you get your heart broken.

I snort to myself as I head to work a few days later. I’m sure heartbreaks suck. I can’t even imagine. And that’s just it—I
can’t
imagine because I’ve never even been close to it. You have to be in love before you can have your heart broken.

No one loves me.

No one crushes on me.

I don’t know why.

Maddie says it’s because I’m so quiet and I keep to myself. She swears that I’m not too ugly to get a boyfriend, but I think that’s just the kind of things friends say to other friends. Maddie is sweet, and kind. She would never say, “Bess, you’re too chubby to get a guy’s attention.” Even though it’s true, and even though it wouldn’t really hurt me to hear it, she still wouldn’t say it.

I guess that makes her a nice friend.

I send her a text, even though I’m pretty sure she’s already left for her vacation on the other side of the world.

Bess:
I miss you! Summer sucks without you.

Maddie:
I miss you too, chicka. We’ll hang out when I get back :-)

I don’t reply because I’m not sure if we’ll get charged for texting internationally, but the short exchange puts a smile on my face. Maddie and I met in class when she moved here last year. Although she was quickly picked up by Mindy and the popular crowd, we were still friends in class.

Although she promises to hang out with me this summer, I’m not entirely sure it’ll happen. I mean, it would be fun, totally. But she’s in the popular crowd and I am most definitely not.

Grandma and I don’t even live anywhere near Shady Heights, the uppity part of town where Maddie lives with her family in what is literally a mansion.

Still, I’m grateful for the friendship, even if I don’t belong.

Today I remembered to bring healthy snacks. I have a baggie of strawberries and blueberries for a snack. For lunch, I grabbed one of those premade salads at the grocery store. It doesn’t exactly look super appetizing, but I’m trying here.

The biggest problem in my life is that I’m overweight and it ruins my happiness. So the only way to fix that (short of tons of liposuction that I definitely can’t afford) is to go on a diet. I tell myself I can do this.

I can succeed this time. I know I can.

Just because I’ve failed every other time I’ve dieted doesn’t mean I’ll fail now. I am an adult after all, eighteen years old, and able to make good food choices.

I bite the inside of my lip as I walk into work. Thinking positive doesn’t really help. Sure, it boosts my confidence for a few minutes, but then I’ll smell pizza or see a Snickers bar and suddenly I want to eat. It’s an insane craving to eat junk food, and I’m not sure I’ll ever survive long enough to lose weight.

Usually, I’ll do really well for about ten pounds, and then I fall off the diet wagon and I gain it all back.

I hold my chin up, shoulders back, as I smile and wave at Julie. I will not fail this time.

“You okay?” Julie asks while we put price stickers on a new shipment of jewelry. “You seem like something is bothering you.”

My first reaction is to shake my head and tell her I’m fine, but then I figure that I’m not really helping myself by denying the problem.

I press a sticker to the top of a necklace box. “I’m starting a new diet today,” I say with a sigh. “It’s just depressing because I know it’ll never work.”

“Well you can’t think like that,” Julie says, her voice as happy as always. “You have to be positive.”

I smile. “Like all of these positive messages on the walls?” I say, gesturing to the wall of framed quotes.

She nods. “Precisely!”

She goes on, talking about how it’s important to drink lots of water and plan meals ahead of time so I know the calories. She talks as if she’s an expert on successful dieting, and it dawns on me now that maybe she’s not just naturally thin. Maybe she works hard at it. So maybe I can work hard, too.

“So what triggered this choice?” she asks a few hours later when the store gets slow. “Your grandmother used to talk about dieting all the time, but then one day she said she’s happy with herself and wouldn’t diet again.”

I laugh. “Yeah, she’s still like that. And it makes it hard for me to diet because she still cooks all kinds of delicious foods.” I curl up my lips in annoyance. “But I guess I just want to lose weight because I’m sick of being single and gross.”

“Bess, you are not gross,” she says as if on autopilot. Everyone is always quick to deny my claims of being anything less than perfect. I want to tell her it’s okay. It doesn’t matter. I’m not perfect, and I know it. It’s fine.

Instead I just nod. “I’d just really like a boyfriend, if I’m being honest.”

She puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me a sincere smile. “You just remember that it takes guys a lot longer to mature than girls. So you might be waiting a while for the right guy to show up, but trust me, he will. You’re a catch, dear.”

“
Ha
,” I say all sarcastically. “I am not a catch.”

“Sure you are,” she says, waving a hand dismissively at me. “You’re adorable and sweet, and you’re super smart. You’re a good friend and you’re always asking to help out. Plus, I never see you getting drunk on the beach with those other idiots who go to your school.”

“True,” I say, nodding. “I’ve never drank alcohol at all.”

I’ve also never been to a party,
but saying that out loud would just make me feel like a bigger loser than I already do.

Julie brushes a strand of blond hair out of my eyes. “You’ll be just fine, Bess. If you want to lose weight and feel better about yourself, that’s fine. But don’t you dare do it for a boy.”

“Don’t worry, there’s no boys,” I say, slumping my shoulders. “They all act like I don’t exist.”

She gives me this knowing look. “Immature,” she says, tapping her temple. “I have an idea. Let’s get us some green smoothies from the shop down the street. They’re super healthy and keep you full for a long time.”

I lift an eyebrow. “I dunno, I’ve never had one.”

“Trust me, they’re good,” she says. She pops open the cash register and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill. “Go get us two of them, okay? It’s on me.”

I can’t really argue with a free healthy smoothie, now can I? I venture out of the store and head past the pizza stand to where the healthy smoothie place takes up residence between two unhealthy food places. It’s kind of ironic that way.

On the way back, I’m sipping on my smoothie (which is actually pretty good) and gazing out over the strip. The beach is packed now that it’s summer, and I can see the college guys already building their annual bonfire out on the sand. They keep it going for two weeks as a celebration of summer.

A weathered wooden mermaid sign flaps in the wind as I walk past a surf shop. The windows display mannequins dressed in cute clothes and they’re seemingly having fun, even though they’re just mannequins.

Those surf brand clothes are so cute. Bright colors, pretty styles. Even the handbags call out to me, but I’d never actually go into a store like that. They probably only sell clothes in super small sizes and the employees would look at me like I’ve gone crazy if I were to step inside.

The urge to go inside and check out some sandals or handbags is overwhelming. They even sell beachy jewelry, like ankle bracelets made of hemp and shells. I would love one, but I’m not going to let Julie’s smoothie melt.

At least that’s the lie I tell myself as I bypass the Flying Mermaid and go back to work.

Lying is much better than the truth, which is that I don’t belong in a place like that. 

Blowing off Jenny last night was a stupid move that resulted in a hundred more text messages from her. I ended up sending another text, a lie, saying sorry but I had gotten sick. And now, two days later, I’m a little terrified of what I’ve gotten myself into.

“This girl is certifiably crazy,” I tell Bryce as I restock the bowl of Lokai bracelets on the counter.

He nods, as if in a daze, while he scrolls through her messages on my phone. He’s been over here since I arrived this morning with my dad. Bryce hit up the bonfire party last night and crashed on the sand.

I don’t envy the hangover he has, but I haven’t camped out on the beach in a while and I miss it. When the air is cool and breezy and the smell of salt water has coated your skin, nothing is more blissful than sleeping on an old blanket on top of the sand. The sound of the ocean lulls you to sleep, and the stars in the sky make a perfect view. I make a promise to myself that I will camp at the beach before the summer is over.

“I don’t know what to do,” I say, using a box cutter to slice open a new box of merchandise. “She knows where I work now.”

“Get a restraining order,” Bryce says, handing the phone back to me with a grimace. “Oh, and delete that dating app. Maybe you can sue them for setting you up with a crazy person.”

I laugh and then take his advice and uninstall that app. “I’d definitely rather be single than have to deal with another girl like Jenny. But I don’t think I’ll go to the cops just yet. They’ll probably find a way to blame it on me.”

“Come out to the bonfire with us,” he says, his dark eyes wide with anticipation.

I lift my shoulders. “You’re not going to find quality girls at the bonfire.”

“Any hot girl is a quality girl,” Bryce says, letting out a groan. “Stop being so picky.”

“I’m not
picky
,” I say, emphasizing the word. “I just want someone real and someone that’s not a party girl who will ditch me for the next guy that comes along. That’s not picky, that’s being true to myself.”

He gives me a look and then spots an unopened snack sized bag of Cheetos under the counter and grabs it. “You don’t know how to have a good time, man. Stop worrying about forever and worry about right now.”

My phone goes off with another text, and then two and then five. They’re all from Jenny.

Bryce loves talking shit, but even he looks concerned for me. This situation with a girl I met through a dating app is getting a little out of hand.

I glance up and look for my dad, finding him by the surfboards. To Bryce, I say, “Can you get me if a customer comes up?”

He nods while shoving Cheetos into his mouth, and I slip into the back room and call my cell phone company.

After answering a series of questions to the computer robot on the other end, I’m brought back to the main menu, where the robot voice asks me to
say a few words about why I’m calling.

“I need to block a number,” I say loudly and clearly, but the stupid thing doesn’t get it. “Speak to a representative,” I say, leaning my back against the wall.

The robot voice tells me that the hold time is currently twelve minutes. Great. Stupid music plays over the receiver while I linger around, phone to my ear. I peek out in the shop but we don’t have any customers. Surfers and beach goers don’t really come in before ten in the morning.

The hold music makes me sleepy and I close my eyes while I wait. A few minutes later, Bryce slips into the back room, nodding in a way that means we have customers.

With a sigh, I hang up the phone. Two more texts come in from Jenny, but I ignore them, shoving my phone in my pocket. Maybe I’ll just get an entirely new phone number.

And a new job.

And a new way of meeting girls.

***

By the afternoon, I have a new routine every time I check my phone: delete Jenny’s texts unread.

Honestly, there’s not enough time in the day to read everything she’s sending me, and from what I’ve seen at a glance, her texts are now paragraphs long. She’s telling me about herself and seemingly every detail about her life that she can remember. I delete them all.

Around dinner time, Mom stops by the shop and talks Dad into going out to dinner with her. Apparently my sister is staying at her friend’s house, and Mom thought it’d be a great night for a date with my dad. I wish I hadn’t overheard that though, because the weirdly flirty look she gave my dad kind of made me want to throw up.

But with Dad gone, at least Bryce and I have the shop all to ourselves so we can talk about the latest disaster that is my dating life.

“Dude, she still hasn’t stopped texting me,” I say once a customer leaves.

Bryce loses his grin when he sees that I’m serious. “You need to be firm and direct with her. Text her back and tell her to stop talking to you.”

I heave a sigh and open her newest onslaught of text messages. “I’m not sure it’ll work, but okay.”

Josh:
Look. Your obsessive texts have become harassment now. Do not reply back to me anymore. I don’t wish to talk to you. Thanks.

I hold up the phone so Bryce can read my message before I send it. “Firm and direct,” he says with a nod. “Send it.”

She doesn’t reply right away, and it gives me hope that maybe she finally got the picture.

“I think this experience has scarred me for life,” I say with a little laugh, but it’s not really funny. It’s kind of terrifying. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to date again.”

“Nah, you’ll find someone,” Bryce says. It’s weird, but he’s actually acting like a decent friend for once. It helps more than he realizes, because without Colby here, the voice of reason has been ripped away from our little trio.

“You just need to find the right girl.”

I nod. “One who fits all of my criteria for a perfect girlfriend.”

Bryce lifts an eyebrow. “And what would that criteria be?”

I shrug. “I don’t know . . . not too much because I’m not picky,” I say, throwing him a look. “Just, you know. That basic list of things a girl needs to fit to be girlfriend material. I won’t go on any more dating app dates because you don’t know if the girls fit the list just from an online profile.”

“I feel you,” Bryce says. He roots around under the front counter and comes back up with an old notebook and a pen. He blows off the dust and holds them out to me.

“What’s this for?” I ask. “Gonna make a flyer for a desperate guy who needs a girlfriend and post it all over town?”

“You’re going to write a list of your perfect girlfriend criteria,” he says, tapping the paper with his finger. “And then we’ll set out on an epic quest to find that girl.”

I slide the paper back to him. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the topic of conversation right now,” he shoots back, shoving the notebook back to me. “Come on. Pick ten things. What’s number one?” He grabs the pen and writes a number one on the paper, then his eyebrows pull together when he thinks. “Nice rack,” he says, writing it down. “Number two. Nice ass . . .”

“It’s no wonder you’re single,” I say, snatching the notebook and pen from his grasp. I rip off the first sheet of paper and start over again with my own list.

“The first thing would be, I guess, that she’s nice,” I say, writing down:
Nice to other people.

Bryce quirks an eyebrow. “You’re weird.”

I shrug. “Okay, number two is
pretty
. Are you happy?”

“I would say
fine as hell,
but you can go with pretty if you’re trying to attract girls who won’t put out.”

I decide to ignore that comment. Pretty is just a word that means I’m attracted to someone. Now that I’ve started making this list, as stupid as it may be, I’m finding myself really getting into it. I want to make a good list, one that would result in the perfect girlfriend if she actually fit each item on it.

I think back to Elise. We had fun and I really cared about her, but she wasn’t perfect. For one, she always wanted me to take care of the plans. Date nights, movie nights, they all required
me
to figure out what we were doing. It was exhausting trying to please her all the time.

I write down:
doesn’t rely on me for fun.

Elise, and every other girl I’ve dated, also had one common flaw—they were glued to their cell phones. This list becomes pretty easy when I look at it as a list of things I don’t want. Soon, I’m writing things down faster than I realize, and I’m already at nine before even a few minutes have passed.

“One more,” I say, looking up at Bryce, who is regarding my list like it’s something he wouldn’t have chosen in a million years.

“No STDs?” he offers.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “If a girl fits all of these other things then she’d be the kind of girl who doesn’t have STDs anyway. I need a good one for the final thing.”

My lips slide to the side of my mouth, and I recall what I was thinking when I met Jenny for the first time. Pretty faces and perfect online profiles only go so far. You need a spark for there to be a relationship. You need to feel it in your bones.

For number ten, I write:
A gut feeling.

When it’s finished, I stand back and admire my work. I already have a massive crush on the girl who fits all of these things, and I don’t even know her yet.

“Do you think I’m asking too much here?” I say, looking over at Bryce.

“Nah, man. You gotta have standards. Now don’t go off and hook up with some hot chick just because she fits one or two of these things.”

I shake my head. “That won’t happen. I’m not even considering asking a girl to be my girlfriend until she fits every single one.”

Before I fold up the list and put it in my wallet, I take a picture of it with my phone for safe keeping.

Of course, using my phone requires deleting unread messages from Jenny, which is annoying. I take one last look at my list before I get back to work.

The perfect girl for me is out there, and she’ll fit every single one of these things.

Josh’s perfect girl list

1.  
   Nice to other people
   
2.  
   Pretty
   
3.  
   Doesn’t rely on me for fun
   
4.  
   Isn’t glued to her phone
   
5.  
   Has less than 50% selfies on social media
   
6.  
   No crazy ex-boyfriends
   
7.  
   Won’t flirt with my friends
   
8.  
   Not a slob
   
9.  
   Smart
   
10. A gut feeling