“I like swimming in the ocean. Everyone does. And I always have real conversations at parties. I talk to everyone there. I like movies. Again—pretty much everyone does. Maybe you’re just a snob, Nanette. Maybe you think you’re better than the rest of us. You’re going to end up all alone if you’re not careful. I mean, now that Alex is gone, do you even have any other friends besides me?”
Her bringing Alex into this—someone she’s never even met—crosses a line.
“I’m sorry, Shannon. I wish you all the best—I really do—but I’d like you to leave now.”
“What? Why?”
“I—” But I can’t think of the right way to say what I mean without sounding like a complete bitch, and I don’t even really feel like I owe Shannon an explanation anymore. Maybe proms and parties and college soccer teams and traditional learning are just fine for people like her and most of the world, but it’s not fine for me, and I don’t know how to make everyone else understand that without insulting them, which I really don’t want to do. “Again, I’m really sorry, but I need you to leave. I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”
“Are you even fucking serious?” Shannon says, squinting out her rage. “You’re throwing me out because I called you on your shit?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Fine.” Shannon turns her back on me and then strides right out of the room.
I hear my mom ask how it went “up there” and Shannon says, “Your daughter is impossible, Mrs. O’Hare. I’m sorry. I tried. But I’m simply done.”
And then Shannon is gone.
Somehow I know that we will never speak again.
And I’m okay with that.
37
I Truly Hope That Girl Will Be Perfect
Although I overhear plenty of people whispering about what I did to Ned, no one speaks to me at school or asks me what happened. Maybe it’s more fun to fill in the blanks with gossip, and so it’s like I’m invisible again. It’s amazing how my entire class instantly unites against me without anyone even wondering if my motives were legit. Even the kids who aren’t friends with the Shannon-and-Ned crew seem to be avoiding me.
I do feel bad about ruining Ned’s prom, and so I go to his house one night and knock on the door. When his mother answers, she raises her eyebrows and says, “Takes a lot of nerve coming here.”
“May I please speak with him?”
“Okay,” she says, and then shuts the door in my face.
I wait there anyway because she said “okay,” and after what seems like an eternity, the door opens and Ned appears wearing an undershirt and huge green basketball shorts. He doesn’t come outside and he doesn’t invite me in. He’s trying to look tough and pissed off with his arms crossed, but I can tell he wants to cry.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry that I ruined your prom.”
“Why did you freak out in the limo?”
“I—”
“Wait—you’re speaking in first person now?”
“I was doing an experiment. With the third-person thing. Trying to be agreeable with everyone for a time. Trying to be like everyone else.”
“Everyone speaks in first person.”
“The experiment failed. Obviously.”
“So let me get this straight—whatever we had, that was just part of some experiment? I didn’t mean anything more to you?”
“Isn’t all teen dating an experiment of sorts?” I say, and then realize how horrible that sounds.
“Ouch.” He grits his teeth and looks down at his feet. “Your apology hurts worse than your leaving me solo at the prom. How did you even manage that?”
“Listen, I’m kind of fucked up right now. I don’t know what I want. Who I am.”
“Whatever. I’m okay.”
I can see how much pain he’s in, which sort of baffles me. “You really didn’t know that I was faking the whole time?”
Ned shakes his head in disbelief. “I feel sorry for you. I’ve never met a more selfish person. Yeah, I did really care about you—or whoever you were pretending to be during your experiment. So congratulations.”
“Ned, listen—I’m sorry. You’ll find another girl who will love you for who you are. And I truly hope that girl will be perfect for you.”
He looks at me one last time, and I can see his eyelashes quiver just before he slams the door shut.
38
World Population Clock
In June’s office, I bring her up to speed and then say, “The thing that really has me worried is this: I don’t have any friends. Not a single one left. I don’t want to see Booker anymore. Oliver has moved on. Mr. Graves is out of the picture. Alex is dead. My entire high school thinks I’m a selfish cunt because I stood up Ned at the prom. And I just read Charles Bukowski’s novel Women, which sort of ruined him for me. Have you read that book?”
“No.”
“It’s just so sad and pathetic—and clearly about him. It makes it damn near impossible to admire the Buk. Is there anyone worth admiring in the world? Or does everyone let you down eventually?”
June taps her chin several times and then says, “How many people were on your varsity soccer team?”
“What? Why?”
“Just play along. How many?”
“I don’t know. Maybe twenty-five?”
“How many students are enrolled in your high school?”
“About a thousand.”