The Oracle Rebounds (2 page)

I take the painting down and put it in my closet, facing the back wall. Then, since my closet is messy anyway, I throw a cardigan over it so I won’t have to see it.

A bleep comes from my computer. It’s an instant message for
the Oracle. Forget it. I’m not in the mood to answer questions. Right now I’m having trouble dealing with my own life.

I try to turn my mind to other things, but then my conscience kicks in. What if it’s important? What if someone really needs me?

Oracle: Good evening.

NYCgirl224: Hi, Oracle. My family hates my boyfriend. They’re doing everything they can to make me break up with him. They won’t tell me when he calls or stops by. It’s to the point that I have to meet him in secret.

Oracle: That must be really difficult for you. Have you talked to your family about why they feel this way?

NYCgirl224: Of course. They think we fight too much. But all couples fight, don’t they? It’s normal. They just don’t know him like I do. They don’t see how sweet and loving he is.

Oracle: Maybe your family’s concerned you’re not happy with him.

NYCgirl224: They’re so judgmental. Yeah, he’s made some mistakes, but he’s always apologized for them. He’s not a bad guy.

Oracle: What type of mistakes do you mean?

NYCgirl224: Our fights have gotten physical a few times. My BF’s got a bad temper—it runs in his family.

Oracle: Has he hit you?

NYCgirl224: Yeah, but it doesn’t happen often. Just when I make him really angry. And my family judges him on that, like he’s beating me up every day or something. You can’t blame him. He had a really screwed-up childhood.

Oracle: It sounds like your family is afraid for you. Do you think it’s okay that he sometimes hits you?

NYCgirl224: No. I’m not stupid. But sometimes he can’t help it. He’s working on his anger issues. He says he’s going to get counseling.

Oracle: It’s not your job to stick by him while he gets help. It’s not acceptable for him to hit you—not even once. Let him work out his own problems.

NYCgirl224: *Groan* You sound like my parents. Are you really a teen?

Oracle: I am. But I strongly feel that anyone who hits you has lost his right to be your BF.

NYCgirl224: You just don’t understand, Oracle. No one does.

She disconnects. It’s the first time a client has ever hung up on me. Did she really think I would support her in staying with her boyfriend? Usually I try to be diplomatic, but I couldn’t this time.

Talk about perspective on my situation. A breakup isn’t so bad compared with having an abusive boyfriend.

I hope I’ll hear from her again, but I doubt it. I can only hope she comes to her senses before it’s too late.

That night, as I lie in bed, I can’t stop thinking about it: the moment I fell in love with Jared. The moment I knew that my feelings weren’t just a trick of teenage hormones, but the real thing.

It was back in January. The school day had just ended, and Jared and I were getting our stuff from our lockers when we saw a crowd gathering in the hallway. We went over to see
what was going on, and saw idiot jock Declan McCall giving Evgeney Vraslov a wedgie as a bunch of people cheered him on. Evgeney’s glasses had skidded off on the floor, and his face was bright red with humiliation.

Jared dropped his book bag, strode up to Declan and grabbed the collar of his shirt, hoisting him backward. Evgeney dropped to the floor, and Declan stumbled. A hush came over the crowd. No one could believe that someone would dare challenge Declan.

“What the hell?” Declan glared at Jared, rubbing his neck where his collar had bit into it. “You promised
me
a wedgie,
Dec
.”

Now no one, I mean
no one,
called Declan “Dec,” apparently due to his dislike of being compared to patio furniture. Since Declan was a little slow, it took him a few seconds to realize that now
he
was the one who looked like a jackass in front of everyone.

Declan got up in Jared’s face. I felt my heart pumping with fear. He was big and brawny and had made mincemeat of plenty of guys on the football field. A ripple of excitement went through the crowd as everyone braced for Declan to throw a punch. Several guys started chanting, “Fight!”

Jared held his ground. Didn’t even flinch. I realized that although Declan was the bigger guy, Jared had something far more dangerous. He had a quiet, deadly confidence about him. A
please take a shot at me because I’m just dying to hand you your ass
look in his eye that made Declan stop in his tracks.

After a few tense moments, Declan turned and walked away. The crowd, revved up for a fight, erupted in boos.

If ever there was a romantic hero, it was Jared at that moment. He was a guy who’d known trouble in the past—had
even been in juvie—and wanted nothing more than to avoid it now. But he’d put himself on the line for Evgeney.

How could I not have fallen in love with him?

Sunday night is
Glamour Girl
night for me and my friends. It’s our favorite show about rich, spoiled teens and their world of brand names, booze and love triangles. As usual, we’re in Viv’s basement in Park Slope. Some might think we’re a strange mix because we’re all so different. Viv, who’s from a strict Indian home, is an honors student. Amy is a blonde bombshell who’s always looking for a party. Ryan is a metrosexual—a guy who isn’t afraid to add frosty blond tips to his hair and doesn’t mind being compared to Ryan Seacrest. Sharese is a church-going debate-club member who’s never shy about sharing her opinion. As for me, I’m not sure, but I think I’m the one in the middle who brings their different personalities together. I’m also the Oracle of Dating, of course, but Viv is the only one who knows that (and I’d like to keep it that way).

I break the news. There’s dead silence for two seconds. Then…

Viv: “That jerk!”

Ryan: “Good-for-nothing ass clown!”

Sharese: “May all his Jonas Brothers hair fall out!”

Amy: “You’re way better-looking than him anyway.”

At that, I’m slightly comforted, even though I know it’s not true.

“We always thought he was weird,” Sharese says.

“You did?”

They all nod.

“He was too quiet,” Viv says. “It was kind of creepy sometimes.”

“He didn’t know how to dress,” Ryan points out.

I’m surprised by their reaction. I thought they liked Jared. “If you guys didn’t like him, you should’ve told me.”

“It’s not that we didn’t like him,” Sharese says. “We just thought he was weird.”

“No offense, Kayla,” Ryan says, “but you weren’t much fun when you were with him. You never went to parties.”

He’s right about that. Jared preferred that we spend time on our own, and I was happy to just hang out with him. I have to admit, parties mostly lost their appeal because I already had a guy and didn’t need to meet one.

“You’ll find someone else—don’t worry.” Amy smiles. “Maybe a guy on the soccer team?” Amy’s boyfriend, Chad, is on the soccer team, and Amy is a huge fan of the team’s, um, man power.

Viv turns to Amy. “Don’t pressure her to find another guy right away. She needs time to discover herself again.”

“Self-love, huh?” Amy smiles wickedly.

Viv’s eyes flash. “You’re such a perv!”

I laugh. I’m glad I have my friends. Too many girls make the mistake of drifting apart from their friends when they’re in a relationship—a mistake the Oracle always warns people against. Thank goodness I followed my own advice. I need my friends so much right now.

“What you deserve is a hot stone massage,” Ryan says. “Total pampering, total relaxation.”

“I can’t afford that, but I’ll do a mani and pedi.”

Ryan looks skeptical. “That’s all you ever do. You need to work more shifts at the Hole and save some money.”

The Hole, short for Hellhole, is Eddie’s Grocery, where Ryan and I work. I have three four-hour shifts a week and that’s enough for me. My greatest dream is to make enough money as the Oracle of Dating to be able to quit.

“No spa day is worth more time at Eddie’s.” I pick up the remote control.

Amy grabs it from me. “No, wait!
Glamour Girl
doesn’t start for five minutes and we need to hear more about the breakup. How did he do it?”

“What do you mean,
how?
He just did it. Over pizza.”

“Did he at least wait until you were finished eating?” Ryan asks.

“No. I was still on my first slice. But I forgot to leave money, so I guess he paid.”

“Damn straight, he should pay!” Sharese says.

“So how did he say it?” Amy asks.

“He said he needed to take a step back and figure stuff out.”

They all wince as if they’ve popped sour candies into their mouths. What Jared said was cliché and we all know it. Taking a step back is the same as needing space or a time-out. It’s almost as bad as “we’ve become different people.” Lots of my clients have had those lines thrown at them and the cliché seems to add to the insult. But then, what’s a guy to say?
I’m not attracted to you anymore? You bore me?

“Was that it?” Viv asks. “Is that his only reason?”

“He’s really disappointed about not getting an art scholarship. He somehow blames it on being too into me and not focusing enough on his goals.”

“Maybe he’s trying to punish himself by breaking up with you,” Viv offers.

“Too into you?” Sharese says. “What crap.”

The others agree that it was a lame thing to say. The stupid part of it was, I believed him. But I guess he was just trying to save my pride. Maybe he thought it was kinder to tell me he’d been too into me than not into me enough.

It doesn’t help when Ryan says, “I’m sorry to say this, but he probably met another girl.”

Sharese elbows him. “Nice job upsetting her.”

“Ouch!” He rubs his ribs. “Well, it’s true. It’s better if we prepare her for it.”

“I believe him that there’s no one else, but there could be another girl soon, I know that.” Or would there? If he said he needs to take a step back, wouldn’t that apply to all girls? Maybe not. If I believe that, I’ll be deluding myself.

“You can find someone, too,” Amy says. “A rebound can be a beautiful thing.”

The red numbers on the clock read 12:27 a.m., but I’m nowhere near sleep. I can think of nothing but rebounding.

REbounding.

ReBOUNDING.

I get out of bed and switch my desk light and computer on. I look up rebounding on an online dictionary.

• 1: To spring or bounce back after hitting something.
  
• 2: To recover from a disappointment.
  

The first definition is a lot more fun. I don’t want to “recover” I want to bounce back. Jared is the wall I’m bouncing off. I’m going to bounce off, do a back flip and land in the arms of a cute guy.

I’m aware of what’s happening to me. It’s textbook for
someone who’s been dumped. A void has opened up in my life and I am looking for the quickest way to fill it: what better way than with another guy? Textbook or not, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s not like I’m going to fill it with drugs or alcohol.

Come to think of it, I wrote something on rebounding a while ago. I search my archives, and find a blog from last November.

You Know You’re Rebounding If You:

•  are too embarrassed to tell your friends you’re dating someone new because they’ll say it’s too soon.
  
•  believe that dating someone else will prevent you from thinking about your ex.
  
•  keep thinking of how your ex would feel if he spotted you with your new date (in fact, you hope he will).
  

The Rebound Equation:

Calculate the number of days you were together and divide it by 8.

Add 30 days if you are the dumpee.

Subtract 20 days if you are the dumper.

Add 30 days if you fantasize about getting back together.

Subtract 20 days if you believe the breakup is for the best, even if you were the one dumped.

= ___ days before you should enter into another relation ship.

I grab a calculator. Jared and I were together for five months, three weeks and two days, for a total of 173 days. 173 divided by 8 is 22. He dumped me, so I add 30 days. I add another 30 days because, damn it, I have fantasized about getting back together. Do I believe it’s for the best? No!

Total number of days before I can start dating someone else: 82. No way!

Maybe I should reconsider my answers. Did he really dump me? Undoubtedly. Do I fantasize about getting back together? Yes. Is it for the best? Ha! That’s where I put the wrong answer. If Jared wanted to break up then, of course, it’s for the best. It can’t be anything
but
for the best. I should have answered yes.

I subtract 20, which leaves my total at 62 days.

62 days—that’s two months! That means I won’t be able to date anyone until the middle of May. What was I thinking when I made up the equation? I’m sixteen; I don’t have two months to waste!

Of course, I don’t
have to
take my own advice.

By the time I get to school on Monday, the breakup is headline news.

Midwood High School is where Brooklyn gamer kids, gangster kids, emo kids and normal kids (me and my friends) collide in a maze of gray hallways. You can hear a dozen different languages in the cafeteria on any given day, not to mention the fact that we have tons of clubs representing diverse nationalities, religions, interests and sexual orientations.

Everybody is tormenting me with questions about the breakup. I can’t tell everyone the truth, can I? Thankfully, my friends have already put out the official version of events, and I stick to the story. The official version: Jared and I mutu
ally parted because we’ve been drifting apart and (Amy added this part) I wanted to see other people.

I know that Jared won’t contradict it. He isn’t the type to make me look bad. This is the same guy who briefly dated the most popular girl in school, Brooke Crossley, and tricked her into dumping him so he wouldn’t have to hurt her feelings.

Speaking of Brooke, she tracks me down in the hallway after first period and plies me with questions—like she has a right to know! Why does she care anyway? She’s back with the king of the jocks, Declan McCall.