Reconstructing Amelia (4 page)

Ian hadn’t wasted any time taking advantage of all the female attention either. But somehow, the very unassuming way he’d gone about sleeping with every girl who came his way made the whole thing seem sort of civilized.

“Aren’t you even going to ask me?” Sylvia demanded, glancing in the direction of the Grace Hall steps.

“Ask you what?” I’d completely lost track of what we’d been talking about.

“What happened when I said hi to Ian,” Sylvia snorted, stamping her foot.

“Oh yeah, totally. What happened?”

She squinted at me for a second. “He came over
to my house
.” She gushed finally. “And . . .” Sylvia looked around again, but the crowd on the sidewalk was thinning as most kids—the nonlate ones—had streamed inside. Her eyes got wide as she put a hand to her lips. “And we
totally
kissed.”

“Really?” I asked, trying to sound excited. But really I was kind of aggravated. I didn’t even know why. “That’s amazing!”

Because I had to give it to Sylvia. A lot of times she exaggerated, but this was big. Ian Greene had his choice of girls, but he’d picked Sylvia, at least for one afternoon and one kiss. It wasn’t actually that much of a surprise that she’d snagged his attention. Boys had always loved Sylvia. She was pretty and curvy in just the right way, but lots of girls at Grace Hall were. Sylvia had something more than that. She had a wildness tucked inside her that made her seem fun and unpredictable and just a little tiny bit dangerous. Of course, it was also the exact same thing that eventually ended up driving the boys away. After all, there’s a fine line between wild and full-on whack job.

So if getting with Ian was serious news, why was I so annoyed? Oh my God, was I jealous? Not jealous that Sylvia had kissed Ian Greene, though. It was more like I was jealous that she had wanted to kiss him and she had. I couldn’t imagine feeling that way about someone, much less acting normal enough to pull it off.

“I know—it’s crazy, isn’t it?” Sylvia nodded quickly, biting on her lip. She looked nervous now. “Except I don’t know what to do when I see him now. Do I just act like nothing happened? If I’m too nice, he’ll think I’m a loser. But I don’t want him to think I’m a bitch either.” She looked like she was in pain. “I know you’re basically totally clueless about this stuff, but do you think I should go up to him?”

“Um, I don’t think you should, like, chase him down,” I said, trying to sound sure. “But don’t ignore him either. Ian’s the kind of guy who would think that was stupid, too.”

“That’s totally
not
helpful
at all
, Amelia. I need specifics.” As she moved closer, I stepped back. I was worried she was going to yank one of my arms again. “You have to tell me
exactly
what to do.”

“First of all, breathe,” I said. Whatever weird jealousy thing had popped up in me was gone just as fast as it had come. I was there to help Sylvia 100 percent now. I put my hands on her shoulders, holding them until she took one deep breath and then another. “This is good, remember? Ian wouldn’t have kissed you if he didn’t like you.”

Sylvia looked down, shuffling her feet back and forth. It was getting late. There were only a few people left out on the sidewalk. Will was still standing next to the open front door, but he was going to let it drop shut any second. When he did, we’d officially be late. I could probably be late for six weeks straight before the school would even think about doing anything about it. So I tried not to care. But I totally did anyway. Especially because I wasn’t even
actually
late.

“But what if
I
kissed
him
?” she asked. “I mean, he walked me home and we were talking about photography and then we sat down on my stoop and we were talking about music and fashion, of course, and then . . . I just—” She put a hand over her mouth again and turned to look at me with these crazy, bugged-out eyes. “Oh my God. I think I did.
I
kissed him.”

“He kissed you back, right?”

“What if he didn’t?” Sylvia’s voice was high and screechy.

“Come on, you would have noticed if he wasn’t kissing you back.”

“How would
you
know?” she snapped, then looked down. “Sorry, but it’s true. Anyway, even if he did kiss me back, maybe he was just being polite.”

This was starting to get seriously painful. I knew the only surefire way out was to give Sylvia what she really wanted—to have her ego pumped up. It was pretty much what she always wanted in life, just in general.

“Ian Greene seems pretty smart to me. I’m sure he sees how great you are. Now, all you have to do is
not
act like a freak around him.”

I linked my arm through Sylvia’s, tugging her toward school. Will squinted in our direction. I waved, hoping he’d wait. He leaned forward and shielded his eyes with a hand. Then he shook his head and started talking to himself. I tugged Sylvia a little harder.

“Sorry! We’re coming!” I called out, then snaked around to glare at Sylvia. “Come on, being late isn’t going to help anything.”

“It’ll take a lot more than being tardy once to keep you out of Harvard.” Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Besides, weren’t you
face painting
kids or some shit at the Harvest Fest last weekend? I feel like that has got to earn you, like, a free pass for at least a week.”

“I helped set up, that’s all,” I said, though I had painted one kid’s face. Turned out it was less fun than it looked. “And anyway, Harvard? Ick, who said anything about—”

My phone pinged with a text message then. I tried to keep walking as I dug it out of my bag. It was from Ben.

Forgot to tell you. I think u r awesome. Exactly the way you are.

“Oh gross,” Sylvia said over my shoulder. She was looking down at my phone. “Are you seriously
still
talking to that freak?”

I never should have told Sylvia about Ben in the first place. Actually, I hadn’t told her. Two weeks earlier, she’d picked up my phone—totally without asking me—and read a text I’d gotten from him while I was in the bathroom.

“Oooh, keeping secrets, huh?” she’d asked, rolling onto my bed with my phone up above her head. “ ‘I feel like no one understands me the way you do?’ I have to say, I’m kind of personally insulted by that one, Amelia. Unless, of course, you’re getting laid by this Ben character, in which case kudos to you. But then, I’m offended you didn’t tell me.” I’d stood in the doorway with my arms crossed, squeezing my teeth together so hard it felt like they might crack. I hadn’t wanted to explain Ben to Sylvia. I knew she’d make me feel stupid. She bolted upright in my bed. “OMG! You did! You had sex with this guy!”

“No, I didn’t, Sylvia. Stop it, seriously.”

“OMG, you totally did. Who is he? What does he look like? I can’t believe this: my little girl, all grown up, and you left me out of the
entire thing
.” But really she’d sounded mostly psyched for me. “Okay, I’ll be willing to forgive you for not telling me before,
if
you tell me everything, right now. Starting with a picture of this Ben person. You do have a picture of the boy who deflowered you, don’t you? It’s that kid from Packard you met at that field hockey game, isn’t it?”

I marched over and snatched my phone out of her hand. “No, he isn’t that kid from Packard,” I said, stuffing the phone in my back pocket. “And he didn’t deflower me, which is, by the way, like, the grossest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Gross?” Sylvia asked, putting her clasped hands to her chest and batting her eyes. “Losing your virginity is a beautiful thing. Oh, my little girl.”

“Sylvia, stop it!” I yelled. “Just because you’re a slut doesn’t mean everybody else has to be.”

I’d heard myself say it, but I kind of couldn’t believe I had.

“A slut?” Sylvia looked like I’d slapped her. “Nice. Thanks, friend.”

The worst part was that it was true—Sylvia had slept with nine guys since she’d lost her virginity in the seventh grade. Most of the time she acted like she didn’t care. But I knew better. I was her best friend. And Sylvia might have said mean things to me all the time, but that didn’t mean she could take what she dished out.

“You know I didn’t mean that,” I said. “I just . . . I really don’t want you to make fun of me about this.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” Sylvia said, crossing her arms in a huff. “But I can’t believe you have some whole thing going on with a guy and you didn’t even tell me. I tell you
everything
.”

“He’s just a friend,” I said, and Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Seriously. I’ve never even met him in real life.”

“What do you mean?”

“He applied to that Princeton summer program, too.” I said, already bracing myself for how Sylvia was going to respond. “We e-mail and text and whatever. That’s all.”

“That’s
all
?” Sylvia’s mouth was open. “Are you e-mailing
other
kids who applied to that geekfest?”

“No.” I rolled my eyes. “Ben’s the only one who contacted me. I think he asked the program for the names of the other people who applied from New York.”

“Uh-huh,” Sylvia said with a smirk. “And what do you want to bet he’s not e-mailing any of the boys on that list?”

The worst part was that, at the beginning, I had actually kind of been hoping that Ben and I could maybe turn into a girlfriend-boyfriend thing. I’d never been able to talk to a boy the way I could talk to Ben, and I’d started thinking: Wow, this is finally it. I’m not a freak, after all. I just needed to meet the
right
guy. But it was almost like Ben knew exactly what I’d been thinking, because the very next day he told me he was gay.

“Sylvia, stop it.” I was starting to get kind of mad. She could never leave anything alone. “Seriously.”

I could have told Sylvia the part about Ben being gay, right then. It probably would have ended the whole conversation. But I kind of liked her thinking there was stuff about me she didn’t know.

“Uh-huh. And where does this Ben person go to school?”

She sounded like she
might
consider Ben being okay friend material for me, provided he met certain criteria. Like going to an acceptable school. To Sylvia, Packer, Trinity, and St. Anne’s got a thumbs-up. But everybody at Collegiate and Dalton were assholes—meaning that Sylvia had slept with more than one boy from those schools and had been blown off by them.

“He goes to public school, in Albany.”

“He lives in
Albany
?” Sylvia had said, like it was herpes. “You
are
joking? That basically doesn’t even count as New York. I can’t believe you’re going to have, like, a long-distance love affair with some dork from
Albany
.”

“For the last time, Sylvia, we’re just friends!” I’d shouted. “Why can’t I just be friends with somebody and have that be that? Maybe I don’t even want a boyfriend.”

It wasn’t until the words had come out of my mouth that I’d realized how very true they were.

As of two weeks later, I still did not want a boyfriend. And there was nothing wrong with a fifteen-year-old girl not wanting a boyfriend. Like Ben had said, there was nothing wrong with
me
. Sylvia being boy crazy didn’t change that.
She
had the problem. Not me.

“Ben is my
friend
, Sylvia, for the three hundredth time,” I said as I paused at the base of Grace Hall’s steps to write back to him. “And like I’ve also told you three hundred times, he’s
gay
, remember?”

Because by then, I had told her. She’d been driving me too crazy about the whole thing not to.

“I’m gonna shut this door in thirty seconds!” Will yelled then.

But I could be late, Sylvia was right. And if I didn’t answer Ben now, I wouldn’t be able to all day. As I typed, Sylvia snorted, then started up the school steps. She was jealous. And kind of for good reason. It wasn’t that I liked Ben
better
than her—Sylvia would always be my best friend—but sometimes he was a lot easier to be friends with.

“
Him
you’ll be late for, huh? And you think
I
put boys ahead of you.” Sylvia shook her head as she marched on. “Catch you later, I guess. Maybe then you’ll have more time for me and my boring Ian drama. And BTW, there’s no way that Ben kid is gay. I don’t care if he sends you a picture of him doing it with a dude.”

Sylvia slid inside just as Will dropped the door. I watched it click shut. There wasn’t any rush now. I was already officially late, which was kind of liberating in a weird way.

Thx, I wrote back to Ben. Idk what I’d do w/o u.

I hit Send, then waited.

When my phone pinged again, I looked down to see what Ben had written back. But the text wasn’t from him. It was from a blocked number.

Prospect Park Long Meadow, 3:00 p.m. Be there. But only birds of a feather can flock together—come solo, or don’t come at all.

Kate

SEPTEMBER 5, 1997

I took eight tests in all.

But the little plus sign in the window never changed. It didn’t matter if I took them late at night. Or early in the morning. Or after three glasses of wine. Every single test was still positive.

Today, the on-campus doctor confirmed the pee tests with another pee test. Part of me—the ridiculous part that made all the choices that got me here—thought maybe number nine might do the trick. It didn’t. Campus doctors referred me to an OB.

The OB confirmed “the pregnancy” with an ultrasound. They don’t say “baby” when they think you might not want to be pregnant. Might decide not to stay that way.

I’m nine weeks, approximately. They can’t say for sure, and neither can I.

Because it wasn’t just one mistake, one time. It was a summer of bad decisions, brought on by a lifetime of too many of the right ones. Apparently, I know only one way to screw up: royally.

As a little girl, I practiced piano without being told and always did the extra credit. I was class valedictorian at my fancy Chicago prep school. I graduated with honors from Duke and went on to Columbia Law School. I’m an assistant editor of the
Columbia Law Review
for Christ’s sake.

Of course, that’s a résumé, not a person. A person is what’s growing inside me. And that tiny, little germ of a he or a she won’t care about any of that. They’ll just want me to love them.

And how can I not, when that’s the only thing I’ve ever really wanted, too? Of course, at twenty-four years old, love is the one thing I’ve never come close to succeeding at.

So maybe I can’t promise to love this baby right. But I can promise to try.