It is officially time to dump my boyfriend.
My friend Cali does not agree.
“Hon, the universe has decided that you two are meant to be,” she says, eyeing me from beneath her bangs. “You can’t go messing with the universe. I mean, you could tear a rift in the space-time continuum or something like that. You could delete our births!”
I smile at her, and put down my magazine. “You don’t think that’s a little… much?”
“Um, if I say yes, will you forget the whole dumping-Jason thing?”
“I’m guessing that’s a no.”
Cali cuts her eyes in disbelief. “Jason is a god, I swear,” she says, rolling onto her stomach. “And his parents are loaded. They probably have a 401k tucked away for him in their own, private bank. He’ll never have to work if he doesn’t want to. I would marry him today.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Then my dumping him would just smooth the path for you!” I say triumphantly.
Cali tosses a pillow at me, but misses. “You know what I mean,” she amends. “I mean, you – you look like this.” She gestures toward a mixed-race model in my magazine, all snazzy in a Dolce & Gabbana suit, perfect nails, and flawless makeup, all that jazz.
“My hair is definitely not that shiny,” I interject. “And I am nowhere near that gorgeous. Or that airbrushed.”
Cali ignores me. “And Jason is like, Adonis. You guys are a perfect couple and you’re going to ruin it! And what about prom? Who are you going to take to prom?”
I pretend to consider this. “Well,” I say seriously, “I could just go… with… myself! Kori and Kori!” I erupt into a fit of giggles, but Cali isn’t laughing.
“You’re messing with the universe, girl,” she says solemnly.
I keep snickering. I stare at Cali’s grave face. I fire pillows at her until she laughs, too.


☼

Talking about dumping your boyfriend is a whole lot easier than actually doing it, which, I guess, applies to a lot of things in this world. When Cali left, I picked up the phone and dialed Jason’s number with focused determination.
But before I could press ‘send,’ I heard Cali’s voice in my ear. So what messing with the universe was a stretch. Cali could be right: Am I really messing up a good thing?
So I get out a pen and paper and begin cataloguing the pros and cons of being Jason’s girlfriend. If I have enough cons, I reason, I will be totally justified in dumping the lad. Voilà! Problem solved.
When I find myself struggling to think of more than three cons (I have seven pros so far), I get frustrated. I take out my mother’s fish picture and stare at the broken fishbowl. I have tried to imitate this drawing so many times, but can never get it right. I was working on it when General Greene blew up on me the other day.
I have this theory. We all live in a giant fishbowl, basically, going on with our day-to-day lives, being completely satisfied with what we have (well, for the most part). But sometimes, we realize that we want to get out. That there’s more on the other side. An ocean.
“Keep on Going,” reads the drawing. I ponder the flying fish. Maybe it has wings so it can get out of the fishbowl, and once it reaches the ocean, the wings will melt or something. But how did the bowl get broken in the first place?
I fall back on my bed. What does this picture mean? I really wish I could talk to my mom right now, but more than that, I wish I could know why she left the picture especially for me.

☼

“Hey, cutie.”
I turn around and face Jason, who’s smiling at me in an I’m-about-to-surprise-you-but-don’t-want-you-to-know-it-yet sort of way.
“Hi,” I say, slamming my locker shut behind me. I edge to the side, trying to get around Jason, but he grabs my arm.
“I have something for you,” he says, winking.
Thinking about the plans I’ve had for our relationship lately, I awkwardly stammer, “Oh. Um. Wow, I didn’t get you anything!” I check my mental calendar. Month-aversary? Anniversary? Give-your-girlfriend-a-gift-for-no-apparent-reason-at-all-day? No, no, and, um. No.
“You didn’t have to,” he tells me. He kneels on the ground, this big, stupid grin spreading over his face.
Oh, crap, is all I can think. “Please don’t do this,” I whisper. I don’t know what he’s planning on doing exactly, but, the kneeling thing is scary. The last thing I need is for Jason to make a big romantic scene in front of the whole school.
Jason ignores my protests and begins pulling something out of his pocket. A velvet case.
I see Cali walk by, smirking. She’s in on this, I can tell.
I see my AP Spanish teacher beaming at me, her eyes welling up with happiness. Some cheerleader coos, “How cuuuuute!!” Gag me.
Jason gazes into my eyes and opens the case. “Will you go to prom with me?” he asks, holding a glittering Tiffany & Co. chain out to me.
Prom, huh? I am going to kill Cali.

Speak of the devil, and she appears.
“Oh. My. God. What Jason did during passing period? So cute,” Cali breathes. She adjusts her pace to match mine.
It’s gym now, and we’re running the monthly mile. Cali and I have this thing where we try to shave 20 seconds off our last recorded mile each time we run it. But I don’t think she’s all that focused today. Usually I’m sprinting to catch up with her, but right now it looks like she’s interested in chatting. I increase my speed.
“Yeah, yeah, real cute. Sure you didn’t have anything to do with that little PDA?” I ask.
Cali opens her eyes in faux disbelief, her ponytail bobbing innocently with each stride. “Kori,” she gasps. “God. After what we talked about?” She’s good, I’ll admit. But not good enough. My dad’s a lawyer. With his tips, I’ll have her squirming in seconds.
We turn the corner of the track, passing the soccer players, who are engaged in warming up. A few of them hoot at us, but we don’t give them the time of day. Even though they are pretty cute.
Correction: I don’t give them the time of day, but Cali winks at Peter Osgood. I reel her back into the issue at hand.
“Hmm,” I say. I deliberately let silence pass between us. I concentrate on breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth.
“What?” Cali asks.
In through my nose, out through my mouth.
“Oh goodness, are you doing that freezing thing again? Because,” she says, “I did not tell Jason to do that today.”
“Today?”
We finish our mile and head over to the locker room to change. Cali pulls an Evian out of her bag and takes a series of tiny sips. I know Cali. She only does that when she doesn’t want to talk.
“Spill it,” I demand, dousing my head in Dasani.
“On my head? No thanks. I like the taste of Evian,” says Cali.
I glare at her. She knows what I meant.
“Okay, fine,” she sighs. She puts the cap back on her water bottle.
I knew I could break her.
“Well, when you told me that you were going to dump Jason, I knew that that would be bad news because prom is in, like, nine weeks and no way were you going to get a date in time if you dumped him. I figured you could do that after the festivities are over, girl! Besides,” she says, “guess who asked me out? Peter! And guess who’s going to prom with Peter? Me! So you see, the universe has decided that we double-date!”
I eye my friend, shaking my head. “Sometimes I wonder about that universe of yours,” I say.
“And how do you like that Tiffany & Co. bracelet?” Cali asks darkly.
I pour the rest of my Dasani on her head and she chases me in and out of the locker room, both of us shrieking and laughing and sprinting like we’re little girls again, and this is kindergarten, and everything is just fine.

☼

I am very late.
I hate being late to class. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not Douglas Fincher or anything. That guy is waiting by the door for first period before zero period even packs up to leave. But I do despise that look teachers give you when you try to sneak in unnoticed.
Yeah, I saw you, The Look says. You delinquent. You’re late. Then they red-pencil you. “Tardy” is sealed on your transcript forever, ruining your chances of getting into Stanford, Princeton, or even your local community college. At least in their minds. The real-world does not give late passes. Be on time or you will be fired. Nobody loves a late person.
That look.
So here I am, trying to slip into pre-calc without incensing General Greene’s fury (like that’s even possible), when I notice something strange. He isn’t here.
Instead, there’s this perky blonde chirping our names as she calls roll.
“Kori Parker?” she calls.
“Here,” I say, trying not to draw attention to the fact that I just stepped in the door. See, there’s this policy at Walden Prep, the school I attend. Three tardies a week and you’re out. Detention, revocation of senior privileges, all that. I was late to 4th period earlier because of Jason’s little scene, and, well, I kind of want to save my extra tardy – just in case.
The blonde looks at me, her pencil poised mid-air. I brace myself for The Look.
“Well,” she says, “looks like you made it just in time, huh?” She giggles, and declares in a loud whisper, “I’ll mark you on-time. Just between us.” And to make matters even weirder, she winks at me! I definitely hear snickers.
Okay, that was almost worse than being marked tardy.
I sink into my seat and will myself not to cover my head in shame. Do not turn red, I tell myself. Do not. Turn red.
I immediately feel the blood rushing to my ears. Jeez.
The blonde finishes calling roll and picks up a sheet of paper that had been lying on General Greene’s desk. She shakes it out authoritatively, and announces in her Substitute Teacher Voice: “Mr. Greene would like you to work on derivatives today. Please open your books to page 721 for the practice problems. You will do numbers 8-20 even, and 31-41 odd. There will be no talking. I will write a list of names of people who don’t follow these instructions.” She glances at us.
“But,” she continues, placing the paper on the desk, “that doesn’t sound very fun. God. I remember derivatives. You guys work in pairs. Just turn your desks around and work with the people behind you. If we have enough time at the end of the day, I have a game you guys would looove!” She does this stupid little dance, all arms and hips.
Newbie.
We all turn our desks around, scrape the floor with the metal legs of our chairs, and face whoever was behind us.
Well, almost all of us. I look at Douglas Fincher, but he doesn’t exactly return the favor. He just sits there, working over a problem, muttering to himself, punching keys on his graphing calculator.
“Hey,” I say, and wait.
He doesn’t say anything.
A few minutes pass. I hear other pairs talking to each other, laughing, introducing themselves for the first time all semester; arguing.
Finally I do that awkward coughing thing that means it’s been too quiet for too long.
He doesn’t even look up, instead just flipping the pages in his book back and forth, back and forth, shaking his head like he can’t believe his eyes.
Frustrated, I take out my pencil and jab him in the arm with it. “Hello?”
Douglas looks up at me; all slow, and carefully places his pencil in the exact center of his desk. He folds his arms.
“If,” he says, “you want to work together, you’re going to have to open your book.” He nods at me then, as if encouraging me to take a chance, open the book, you’ll see! “You will need two sheets of lined paper, college ruled. And,” he says, eyeing the pencil I just stabbed him with, “a sharper pencil.”
He waits.
I open my book. I get out two sheets of (college ruled!) lined paper. I sharpen my pencil.
“Good,” says Douglas. “Now, let’s begin. Derivatives aren’t hard as long as you follow the formula.”
Over the next 45 minutes, I learn a few things about Douglas. One, he is a pretty good teacher. Two, he is obsessed with perfection. I have a hard time swallowing his lust for flawlessness, especially since I grew up under my mother’s freelancing wing. It’s like, to Douglas, impeccable is not a fantasy. It’s totally attainable, as long as you prepare for it in the right way, if you follow all the rules. Open your book. Two sheets of lined paper, college ruled. Sharpen your pencil. Follow the formula.
But for some unexplainable reason, after Douglas makes math understandable to me, I want to attain perfection, too.

I met Jason at summer camp two years ago. It was the summer of sophomore year, the summer of record-breaking strawberries, the summer of romance. The summer my mom died.


We met pretty cute, I have to admit. Like something you’d see in a rom-com. I was riding my bike, the soundtrack to Purple Rain blaring in my ears, me singing along to “Take Me With U” just loud enough to warn other bikers that I was right on their tail. Only one biker didn’t hear me.
Jason Shelton.
Well, I tried swerving out of the way. I really did. But when Jason suddenly slammed on his brakes, he did so in such a way that a crash was inevitable. I sprained my ankle that day, and let him tape me up. Later, I let him take me out on a date. And he let me into his circle.
I’d been there ever since.
My mom liked Jason. When I brought him home to visit, she took one look at him and brought out her pictures. “Because he looks sweet,” she whispered in my ear. That’s another thing about my mom. She didn’t show her pictures to everyone. Just like you wouldn’t share your deepest secrets and desires with a stranger, she didn’t offer up her artwork to just anybody. So her showing them to Jason like that was huge. From that moment on, we (including my cross-examiner of a father) accepted him as family.
My dad was pleased to discover Jason’s GPA (3.95) and was even more pleased to find that he was considering UC Berkeley as his lorry for further education. “I’d be happy to write your personal letter of recommendation for you,” he told Jason over dinner one night.
“Thanks,” said Jason, “but the mayor already offered. I’d hate to disappoint her.”
It’s pretty easy to see how he fell in with my parents.
Jason attended my mother’s funeral later that summer. He sat with the family, patting my back the entire time, wiping his eyes, trying to be strong. He squeezed my hand when I cried, and led me through school in the following weeks, protecting me from probing questions and further stress.
And months later, when I felt guilty about laughing, he encouraged me, telling me that my mom cherished laughter. “Remember what she always said about laughter?” he’d whisper, stroking my hair.
“Yeah,” I’d say. “It cleanses the soul even more than tears.”
So yes, Jason’s a nice guy. An amazing guy, even. And you’re probably wondering what on earth would make me want to dump him.
Well, let’s just say that lately, Jason has become a fishbowl.

☼

“Another party, Jason?” I ask, staring at the phone in disbelief. “It’s the third one this month!”
“Yes,” he says, his voice muffled. “And I think you should wear the blue dress. The Ralph Lauren that my father bought you.”
“Why?”
“Because you look so distinguished in it. It’s all about appearances in this world, babe, you know that.”
I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe you are doing this to me again. Let me pick my own outfit. You’re treating me like a show dog.”
Silence.
“I think,” Jason says again, “that you should wear the Ralph Lauren.”
Suddenly, a flash of heat trickles down my neck. I am angry. “And I think that I’m being suffocated by you and your parents,” I blurt out. “Why can’t I just wear what I want to? It’s pretty insulting that your father bought me a dress that he felt I would look distinguished in. And the fact that your mom is giving me fashion advice every time I show up at your house? Not cool.” I cross my arms and sit on my bed. Part of me wants to just hang up right now.
Jason’s tone changes. “Kori,” he sighs.
“Jason.” I’m not budging.
“You’re not cutting me any slack. My parents adore you.”
“They’d just adore me a little more if I dressed the part. Like if I’m not dressed head to toe in Dior, there’s a problem with me.”
“That’s not true,” Jason says, too quickly.
I just sit there, counting the seconds ticking by in my head.
Finally, he relents. “Wear what you like. My parents won’t mind. Wear whatever you want.”
And I do.

☼

“Great party, Coco!” gushes a tipsy lady in wobbling heels. She leans in to kiss Jason’s mother on both cheeks. I can smell her musky perfume from twelve feet away. Literally. She must have worn at least half the bottle tonight. I turn in the opposite direction, trying to get some fresh air. For the past ten minutes, I’ve been watching Mrs. Shelton’s guests bid goodnight to her. With every guest that leaves, I am that much closer to leaving this place. So it would be nice if they cut down on the rituals, please.
Jason is not pleased with me. He’s letting me know this by his tight-lipped smile and his curt movements, designed to show me that he’s right on the edge. When he finishes saying goodbye to his personal guests (not to mention the mayor) he takes my hand and pulls me into the foyer.
“You have embarrassed me,” he spits between his teeth.
“Really?” I say. “How so? I’m dressed decently. I’m not kitted out like some hooker or anything. I look like a respectable person.”
Jason sucks air through his teeth and shakes his head, a wry smile on his face.
“Unless you consider this disrespectful?” I ask, indicating my jeans. So what I’m being a little catty. I could have worn ripped jeans instead of these unassuming dark-rinse ones.
Jason doesn’t grace me with an answer. I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I was comfortable, and I had a much better time tonight as a result. I don’t see Miss Chanel No° 5 dressed in Ralph Lauren.”
“No,” says Jason. He glances at someone, nods, smiles. “But the fact that you could distinguish her Chanel perfume counts for something.”
God, he’s so materialistic, I think. I never saw it before.
“There’s more to life than name brands,” I tell him, thinking of the bracelet he tried to buy me with.
Just then, a figure emerges out of the darkness and enters the foyer. I crane my neck to see who it is, but can’t tell yet. Then I hear a familiar voice.
“Jason?”
Jason turns and smiles into the dark. “Douglas Fincher!” he exclaims, clapping a red-faced Douglas on the back. “Did you have a good time, buddy?”
I almost drop my jaw. I have never seen Douglas without his belted khakis. Or his graphing calculator.
“Actually, I just got here,” says Douglas falteringly. “Hi, Kori,” he adds.
“Douglas?” I can’t believe it. I didn’t know that Douglas owned clothes other than his self-enforced uniform. He’s actually wearing jeans. Nice ones.
And I can’t get over not seeing his graphing calculator. It’s like he’s missing his nose.
“I know, can’t believe I’m here, right?” he says, running his hand through his hair. “Well here I am, actually invited to a party. That I’m late to.” He eyes the departing guests. “I guess it’s safe to say there aren’t any appetizers left. Or are there? ”
I snort. Jason looks at me. “What?” I say. “It was funny.”
“Anyway,” says Douglas, totally oblivious to the tension between Jason and me, “thanks for inviting me, Jase. Sorry I missed the whole thing. Although I might’ve come sooner if I knew Kori would be here.”
Jason, alarmed, goes, “What? Why would that make a difference?”
“’Cause, you know, she’s really something,” Douglas says. “You should see her eyes light up in pre-calc. It’s something to see.”
Jason stares at me. “Pre-calc? Your eyes light up in pre-calc? Kori,” he says firmly, as if I needed correction, “you hate math.”
Douglas nods deeply, affirming this. “I’ve been working with her lately. I think she’s starting to understand that math is not that complicated.”
“You’ve been working with Kori.” Jason shoves his hands in his (Tom Ford) pockets. He’s starting to get that look that the janitors give Douglas whenever they have to clean up spilled milk.
Somehow, Douglas doesn’t hear or see the warning signs that Jason is letting off. He just keeps talking.
“Yep. She’s a fantastic girl. She understands the connection.”
Douglas looks directly at me then. “You understand the connection, Kori. There’s more to math than you think. Once you grasp it… it’s almost like... you’re stuck in this fishbowl, right? And then you get out. And there’s this ocean. And it’s like, wow. This is life. Math is life. Even when it isn’t. You know?”
I nod slowly. He knows about the fishbowl, I think. Douglas. Knows about the fishbowl.
“Yeah,” I say after a few moments. “I do.”

I don’t know why, but every time I turn around in pre-calc today, Douglas is staring at me. I can feel his stare even when I’m not facing him. General Greene isn’t here today. Again. The blonde lady didn’t make an appearance either, so we’re not in pairs today.
For once, I try to focus completely on my homework. I start chewing my pencil, studying the directrix on a graph.
Four minutes into a problem, I feel a poke on my back.
“What?” I whisper, facing Douglas. “Did you drop your calculator again?”
“No,” says Douglas.
“Did you… drop your pencil?”
“No.”
“Did you… want something else then?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what do you want?” I hiss, exasperated.
“I want you to read the note that I slipped under your arm a few minutes ago,” says Douglas matter-of-factly. Then he bends over his textbook again, muttering something about parabolas.
How did I not notice that?
I sink lower in my desk and adjust my textbook so that it’s slightly tilted up. Then, making sure the substitute doesn’t notice me (he doesn’t; he’s texting) I open the note and read it. Douglas has really neat handwriting for a genius.

You’re not a Tom Ford girl. You don’t have to pretend to be if you don’t want to. –D

Thinking of what this could mean, I turn around and gaze at him. His head is burrowed in his textbook, but I continue to stare at him, willing him to look up at me. When he does, I indicate the note in my hand.
“What is this supposed to mean?” I ask him.


“Whatever you want,” says Douglas.
When he says it, it takes me back to the times when I was little, watching my mom drawing. When she’d finish her work, she’d lay it before me with a flourish and a grin. “What does it mean, Mommy?” I’d ask. “What is this a picture of?”
“Whatever you want, baby,” my mom would tell me. “Whatever you want.”
And when I didn’t think about it too hard, when I followed my first instinct, I was usually not too far from the truth.
“Douglas,” I say, folding the note, “I –”
“Tell me something,” he interrupts in a low voice. “Do you rich girls really believe that you can have the world? Is that true?”
Caught off guard by this question, I falter, “No. We don’t. Not all of us. Not realistically. No.”
“I’m not entirely convinced,” says Douglas, closing his textbook. I glance at the clock. It’s almost time to go. For once, I wish it wasn’t. I have to explain myself. I don’t want to be a Tom Ford girl. I’m not about the material things. He has no idea.
“Douglas, do you think –”
“It didn’t seem like you two were having a good time last night,” says Douglas. “You and Jason.”
“Well, we weren’t,” I say, and I stop, amazed that I just told the truth. It’s not like it’s his business anyway. I don’t know why I feel so obligated to explain my situation to him.
I try to change the subject. “It was interesting seeing you without your khakis, at the party,” I say. “Those jeans were pretty cool.”
Douglas is not deterred. “I would say you like Jason because of his expectations. You think he can buy you the world, and maybe he can. But I think that’s exactly what you want.”
“That’s not true!” I yell. The entire class, including the sub, glances at me in unison. “Sorry,” I say. “It isn’t true,” I whisper to Douglas. “In fact, I don’t even want to be his girlfriend. I’m – I’m dumping him. Soon.” So there, I think.
But Douglas surprises me. “Why would you do that?”
The bell rings, and he grabs his stuff. He walks out the door.
It takes all that is within me not to chase him down.

☼

Cali is shaking her head at me. “I don’t know why you even explained yourself to that loser,” she says. “Should I wear the blue or the pink top?”
“Blue,” I say. “The pink makes you look like Barbie.”
Cali sticks her tongue out at me, but puts the glittery pink shirt back in her closet.
“And Douglas isn’t a loser,” I add.
Cali smirks. “Were you not in the cafeteria today? He dropped his lunch again!”
“Only because Brock pushed him,” I point out.
Cali’s sneer slides off her face. “You like Douglas,” she accuses. “That’s why you’re dumping Jason. Ew. You like Douglas. Oh my god! You like someone and you didn’t tell me?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t. Like Douglas,” I tell her. “I just… I’m not satisfied with Jason. He... I don’t know. He’s so constricting. I feel like I can’t be myself when he’s around.” I look into Cali’s eyes to see if she gets it. She doesn’t.
“Constricting? That’s a little much. Like, I know you’re this free little bird, Kori, but. He’s not exactly caging you.”
“He is, Cali,” I protest. “He is.” I start twirling the rings on my fingers. I feel the tears forming in my eyes, hot and stinging. I slump in defeat.
Cali sits down across from me. She looks concerned.
“I feel like I’m dating his parents,” I say. “Not him. Not anymore. All he cares about is what I look like. If I’m distinguished enough. And I am not a Tom Ford girl. I’m just… Kori.”
Cali tucks her hair behind her ears.
“Nobody’s asking you to be anyone different, hon,” she tells me. She leans over and gives me a hug.
I wish she were right.

☼

“Kori?”
I put down my SAT prep book and dog-ear the page I was working on. I smile, thinking of how much my dad hates it when I do that. I crease the fold a little deeper, then, with a change of heart, smooth it back out. I slip a Post-It in to mark my place.
“Yeah, Dad?” I call.
“Would you come down here and eat? Pad Thai is getting cold.”
I slowly make my way down the stairs and into the kitchen, where my dad is barely visible behind massive cartons of Asian cuisine – and his laptop.
I grab a plate from the cabinet and study my dad for a moment. “Bringing work home with you again, huh?” I say, spooning noodles onto my plate. “And you forgot the chopsticks.”
“No,” says my dad around a (huge!) bite of food, “they’re right… uh… right here.” He fishes some chopsticks from beneath a disorganized pile of papers, information from his latest case. I take the chopsticks, watching him swallow.
“It’s amazing that you even remembered that I exist,” I say, sitting across from him. “Much less call me down for dinner.”
“Kori,” says my dad, glancing up from his computer. “I can just move into the office, if you prefer. I’d rather bring my work here, though. So I can see your pretty face. And hang out.”
For some reason, this makes me sad. “When?” I ask.
My dad isn’t looking at me anymore, instead, frowning over something he’s reading. “Hmm. Gonna have to email Macy about that,” he mutters.
I clear my throat. “Daddy,” I say.
“Hmm?”
“When were you planning on ‘hanging out,’ exactly?”
“Eat your food, Kori,” he says, staring pointedly at my plate.
I obediently take a bite, but no way am I giving in on this one. “After dinner, we should go watch a movie. Or play some board games. Scrabble. I could kick your butt in Scrabble!”
My dad’s face softens. “I bet you could, sweetie. I’m getting old,” he sighs, teasingly. He gives me a big wink.
I smile. Finally, a guy in my life who listens to me, I think.
But my dad isn’t finished. “Maybe some other time, though. It sounds fun. But I have to finish working on this case. It’s a career-buster, if you know what I mean. Why don’t you go with Jason, or with Cali? Your friends?”
I put my chopsticks down, staring at my Pad Thai, which looked so delicious earlier, but now resembles a pile of oily flatworms.
“No,” I say softly. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I need to study tonight.”
“Oh, well,” says my dad. He scribbles something on a piece of paper, nodding deeply to himself. “I know how that is.”
Something tells me that my dad has no idea what he just said.

There are about twenty different types of peanut butter at this store, I swear. They run down the whole list for you. Creamy. Chunky. No-stir. Honey. Sugarless. Organic. Store-brand. Vegan. All different prices, too.
Me, I’d just go for the cheapest, most reliable one. Oh, wow, ingredients: peanuts, oil, sugar, and some random chemical compounds. Sounds good to me. Everyone likes a little mystery – especially at the affordable price of two-fifty. I grab a jar of (all natural!) Jif and head toward the snack aisle.
When I was little, my dad and I used to play this game whenever we visited a store with multicolored, tiled flooring. The rules were that you could not step on the white or beige tiles, instead taking strategic – not to mention acrobatic – steps around the store on the colored tiles, and sometimes (if necessary) the little black strip of linoleum that edged the floors. If you lost, you’d have to give up your dessert for a week. Somehow, my dad never lost, though I’d clearly see him stepping on the white tiles. When I’d point this out to him, he’d adjust his foot so that it was on the edge of a colored tile, give me a stern look, and tell me, “Kori, in the court of law, the defendant is innocent until proven guilty. Do you have a witness or any non-circumstantial evidence?” And because I never did (Mom hardly ever went shopping with us) I was subject to years of frustration and my dad’s totally undeserved ice-cream sundae nights.
Smiling at this memory, I begin playing the game with myself, careful not to step on any white tiles, watching my every step. I’m almost at the snack aisle when I smack right into somebody, head-to-head.
“Sorry,” I mumble, and I start to back away in embarrassment. I look up, feeling a little dizzy from the impact. “Oh!” I say, recognizing the person I’ve just head-butted. “Hey, Douglas. I’m really sorry about that.”
Douglas stands there, rubbing his head. “Ouch,” he says, frowning a bit. “You have quite a powerful head,” he tells me, and for some reason, this makes me laugh really hard.
“I have a powerful head?” I say. “You’re the one who’s making me see stars. God. Be careful where you put that thing!” I grab my head melodramatically. “Oh, the pain!”
“Shut up,” says Douglas, teasingly. “I’m going to need a check-up on this one. Don’t complain. You won’t even need an aspirin. You’ll be just fine.”
We keep laughing for a few moments. I’m struck by how much of a regular guy Douglas actually is. I notice that he’s wearing jeans again. Then I remember the peanut butter jar in my hand. “Oh, I’m going to have to get some pretzels to go with this,” I say. “Homework snackage.”
“Pretzel logs,” says Douglas suddenly.
“Huh?”
“Pretzel logs,” Douglas repeats. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of them.”
“I haven’t,” I confirm.
“And you’ve lived on earth this long. I must say, I am surprised. I didn’t think people of your kind existed anymore.”
“People of my kind?” I ask, cocking my eyebrow.
Douglas nods. “Yep. The kind that has never experienced the magic of pretzel logs. I thought you died out in the stone ages. Put that peanut butter down. You’ve got to try these.” He takes the peanut butter from me and rushes to the snack aisle.
I laugh. Poor kid. “There will be,” I call after him, “no pretzel logs there. I would have noticed by now. By squatter’s rights, I own the snack aisle. I go there all the –”
Douglas comes running back to where I am standing, holding a bag of chips and a little blue sack. He holds the sack out to me. “These,” he pants, “are pretzel logs.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well then. I stand corrected.” I take the sack from him and inspect it. They’re like these little pillows made out of pretzels. I presume there is peanut butter inside, judging from the smell.
“Vegan and delicious,” he says. “My treat. Don’t you dare take out your wallet. If you don’t like them, I’ll get you something else.”
“I don’t know, Douglas,” I say.
“Come on. It’s the D-man guarantee.”
“Don’t,” I say, laughing, “ever say that again.”
“I won’t if you let me buy the logs. And,” he continues, shaking his finger at me, “if I can have some when we leave."
“I knew it!” I yell. “I knew there was a catch!”
“There always is,” says Douglas, as we reach the checkout counter. He smacks his selections onto the conveyor. “These are on me,” he tells the cashier, indicating the bag of pretzels with a dramatic flourish. She picks up the bag and rings it up, snapping her gum in a less than impressed manner.
“Wow,” I say to Douglas. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Oh, but I did,” Douglas answers. He pulls a couple of bills out of his wallet, hands them to the cashier, and takes the bag and his receipt. We walk out of the store.
“You think I should have let her keep the change?” he asks me, in a serious tone.
I burst out laughing. “Definitely,” I say. “And –”
“Pretzel logs,” Douglas interrupts.
“Oh,” I say. “Right.” I take the bag from him. I put a pretzel log into my mouth.
Douglas eyes me apprehensively. “Good?”
I chew, considering. I am never buying pretzels and peanut butter separately again, I think. “Yeah,” I say aloud. “Yeah, it is.”
“See?”
“Oh yes. You were definitely on to something,” I tell him.
“Wait till you try the chocolate-covered ones,” he informs me. “They’re like. Made of. Awesome.”
Oh man, I think. Chocolate ones?
“Thanks for telling me about these things,” I say. “You kind of just enlightened me. I’ll never be the same again.”
“No, usually people aren’t once they’ve converted,” he says. He takes the pretzel sack from me and shakes a few logs into his hand. “I better go,” he announces a few moments later.
“Why?” I ask, wanting to hang out some more. Then I fight the urge to cover my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that.
Douglas pauses in the act of popping a log into his mouth. “I’ve uh… got stuff to do,” he says after a slight pause. “Organizing my music library. Stuff like that. Boring. You wouldn’t…” His voice trails off, and he makes a little gesture with his hand to fill in the gap. But I don’t let that go over.
“I wouldn’t what?”
“You wouldn’t like it,” he says simply.
For some reason, I suddenly realize that I’ve never laughed as much with Jason in one week as I have with Douglas in twenty minutes, not even during the good times. And that might be the reason behind my next words.
“Yes,” I declare. “I absolutely would.”

“Graffiti Bridge?!” I exclaim, turning the CD over in my hand. “I love this album!”
Douglas looks up from the stack of CDs he’s been looking over and smiles at me. “Yeah,” he goes. “One of my favorites. Prince is just so cool. Love his music.”
“Me too,” I agree, thinking of the Prince posters on my walls, “but Graffiti Bridge is like, so low-key. It’s not his most mainstream album. So I’m pretty shocked that you have it. I don’t even have it.”
Douglas crosses over to where I’m sitting and picks up another stack of CDs. “If you like Graffiti Bridge so much…” he mutters, sifting through the CDs. “Ah. Here we are.” He hands another CD to me. “You can take this home with you. It’s really nice. One of his soundtrack albums. It’s for his movie, Under the Cherry Moon. A little more popular, but I think you’ll appreciate it.”
I glance at the title. “Parade,” I say. I skim through the track listings. Some of the songs I recognize, others I don’t. I smile at the title of the track “Anotherloverholenyohead” and decide to check it out first. “I’ve never met another teenager who likes Prince,” I tell Douglas.
“Really? I don’t see why you haven’t.” His voice is muffled. When I look up, I see why. His head is in his closet.
“What are you doing?” I ask, giggling.
“I’m… ah… trying to… find something…. Ow!” Douglas emerges from his closet, rubbing a spot on his chin. “I found it,” he says wryly. He picks up a notebook and waves it in the air. “My journal for AP Lit. I really need to clean out my closet,” he tells me.
That reminds me.
“Douglas,” I begin, flipping the Parade album over and over in my hand, “why do you wear khakis to school every day?”
Douglas looks at me, and for a moment I feel like I overstepped.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “Just forget it. Forget I said anything.”
“No,” says Douglas earnestly. “You asked a question, a legitimate question, and I’m going to answer it. On one condition though.”
“What?” I ask. “You want me to give this CD back eventually?”
“Of course,” says Douglas. “But that’s not the stipulation. I want to ask a question about you.”
“Oh. That sounds fair.”
“I wear khakis,” says Douglas, “because I feel that they are conducive to a proper learning mental state. If I dress the part, I will perform proportionately.”
I stare at him. “Really?”
“Yes,” says Douglas. “The logic is pretty watertight. I mean, look at athletes. They wear specialized uniforms that allow them to enhance their performance. You wouldn’t see a basketball player running down the court in cleats, or in ballet flats.”
I snort at the image of Kobe Bryant in a tutu.
“Don’t you care about what people say about you?” I ask.
“No,” says Douglas. “Why should I? I won’t ever see most of them again. Unless they end up working for me. If they make it past the first job interview.”
“You don’t care that people call you a nerd. A loser.”
“No, Kori,” Douglas affirms. “I don’t.”
I sit there for a moment, considering this. “You don’t care that people like Brock push you around? Make you spill your lunch? Write mean words on your locker – in Sharpie?” I realize that I’m being a little pushy, but I am in awe over Douglas.
“If it gives them a boost,” says Douglas, shrugging his shoulders, “then whatever. Some people make things. Some volunteer. Some people do yoga. Some people bully. What matters isn’t the action, Kori. It’s the reaction.”
“You are,” I tell him, “so… smart. And not just in a graphing-calculator-expert kind of way, either.”
“Why thank you, madam,” says Douglas, bowing.
I smile and go back to alphabetizing Douglas’ CDs.
A few minutes elapse in silence.
“Kori,” Douglas goes.
“Hmm?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question about you.”
“Oh,” I say. “Right. Go ahead.”
There is a pause, and I see Douglas struggling with himself for a moment.
“Douglas?”
“Did you ever truly like Jason?”
I stop organizing CDs and fold my hands in my lap. I bite my lower lip.
“Yes,” I say finally. “I did.”
“Why?”
I can practically hear Cali screaming at me right now. You don’t have to explain yourself to that loser!
I shake my head, as if to clear the thought away. “Because he was there… I don’t know. I was attracted to him. He was a nice guy. And cute.”
“Not like me,” says Douglas, but more to himself than to me.
“Oh! You’re cute,” I tell him.
“Sure.”
“No, really,” I say. I stand next to him and put my hands in his hair. “If you’d just… fluff your hair up… like so… and smile more…. You’re really cute when you smile, Douglas.” I grab his arm and lead him into the bathroom. I flick on the light.
“See?” I say. “Smile at yourself. Go on. Smile. Like you’re a big shot. The big cheese… D-man… God, I can’t believe I said that!”
Douglas grins at me, then looks in the mirror. “Not bad,” he says. He looks at me, and strikes a little pose.
“I can turn you into the next It Boy,” I say confidently.
“Is that a threat?” Douglas asks, holding his hands up to his mouth in mock-shock.
“No,” I say. “Definitely a promise.”
Douglas gazes in the mirror a little longer. I notice that he’s really tall, with lean, toned muscles.
“All right, Hot Shot,” I say. “Let’s get back to work.” I start walking out of the bathroom, but Douglas holds me back.
“Kori,” he says, a little bashfully. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For… for this… for….” he trails off. He steps a little closer to me. “For being my friend,” he finishes. He looks down at me, a little half-smile on his face.
That’s when I realize that Douglas has hazel eyes.

Today is the perfect day to dump a boy, I think to myself. Overcast. Gloomy. Dark.
I close my journal, which I’ve been scribbling in for the last twenty minutes, and decide to call Jason. No way am I calling Cali first on this one. So she can tell Jason? No thanks. I can live without her advice for today.
He answers on the third ring.
“Kori,” he says brightly. “Hi.”
“Jason,” I answer weakly. He sounds so… happy, I think. “Hi.”
There is silence for a moment. I hear Jason shifting on his chair, or on his bed, or on his couch. I hear muffled voices, probably Mr. and Mrs. Shelton. I take a deep breath.
“We need to – ”
“Can you come over, Kori?”
“What? I…. uh…”
“I need you to come over. Around three. Let’s see… today is Thursday… and you have nothing to do, since peer-mentoring is over. Am I correct?”
I realize that I am gripping the phone too tightly. “Mm-hmm. You are,” I say in what my dad calls a squeezed-lemon voice. “You probably have my life catalogued in your calendar. When’s my next dental?”
Somehow he doesn’t catch the bite in my voice. “So you’ll be there? Great.” I hear him writing something down, and the image of him penciling down my ‘appointment’ ties up my tongue for a few moments. The opportunity to deny is lost.
“Okay. See you in a few,” says Jason easily. He hangs up. And it reminds me that our relationship was always like this, even early on. All business. No unnecessary words.
I just sit there, staring at the phone. I love you, Kori. I try to imagine those words spilling out of Jason’s mouth. But I can’t. The words keep morphing into other words. Words that don’t even fit together. I. Cottages. Mayor Nancy. Kori, I... Ralph Lauren. I try to envision tender emotion on his face, but I all I can conjure up is the memory of him crying at my mother’s funeral… even then trying to conceal his feelings behind a mask.
I used to think he was being strong for me, trying not to break down, trying to provide comfort for me. But now I realize he was probably just doing it to save face.


☼

This is what you wear when breaking up with a boy, for future reference.
First things first – comfortable shoes. That way, if he gets angry, you can run away, no problem.
Next, nice pants. The last thing you want him to think is, “She’s doing me a favor, actually. Look at those raggedy jeans. No class.”
No jewelry. Imagine, twirling your rings or plucking nervously at your necklace while pronouncing the finalizing words. That gives the guy permission to think you still want him, and are having second thoughts about breaking up. This means he will not leave you alone.
Hair pulled straight back. Business-like. Need I say more?
I pull up to Jason’s house in my mom’s old car – a Mazda – and eye myself critically in the mirror. I look fine. This is the face of a woman in control, I tell myself. I climb out of the car, hit the automatic lock, and head towards the Shelton’s massive receiving yard.
Jason is already there, waiting for me. He’s been looking at his watch, which startles me a little. Tardy, I think, grimacing.
“Kori,” he says. “Glad you could make it.”
I nod. “What did you want me for?” I ask. I hear the words in my head, echoing over and over again. Funny how I chose those words. What did you want me for. What. Did you. Want me. For….
“I wanted to hang out,” he says, spreading his hands out in a gesture of openness. “Catch up.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me to the little gazebo where Mrs. Shelton has outdoor tea. We sit.
Now or never, I tell myself. Do it.
“Jason,” I begin. I place my hands in my lap.
“Kori, don’t,” Jason interrupts, waving his hand grandly. “I know what you want to tell me. I ask you permission to plead my case.”
“What?”
“I know that you want to end our relationship. But I have a few arguments against that. One, we haven’t even talked over our problems. Two – ”
“We haven’t. Talked over our problems.” I tighten my jaw in frustration.
“Two,” continues Jason, as if I hadn’t said anything, “I love you, Kori.”
I stop protesting. My jaw unclenches.
So that’s what it sounds like.
It’s not what I expected, which is probably the reason I can’t bring myself to say the words I rehearsed over and over on my drive here. I’m sorry. But things haven’t been working out between us lately, and I feel it would be best for both of us if we ended it here. Please don’t be hurt, Jason. You’re an amazing guy; I’ve told you time and time again. I will always be your friend.
“Kori,” Jason says again, grasping my hand. He twines his fingers in mine. “I love you, Kori. I really do.”
I will always be your friend…
“I just want to make things work.”
It would be best if we ended it here.
“Kori?”
“I’m… I’m sorry…” I mumble. The world seems to be spinning around and around. I hear the Blue’s Clues theme. I am beyond confused.
Jason lets go of my hand, and rubs his thumb down my jawline. He puts his free hand on my arm. “Kori,” he says softly. “Please give this a chance.”
Please don’t be hurt, Jason. You’re an amazing guy.
When he leans in to kiss me, I don’t stop him.


☼

I hate myself.
After Jason kissed me, he spewed out this long list of ideas for what he called “relationship therapy.” One of them was a weekly session in which he and I would rationally talk over our problems. Or if there weren’t any, we could talk about other stuff. Life.
I don’t want to talk about life with Jason. I don’t want to have weekly sessions. I don’t want a boyfriend who is practicing his career techniques on me. Jason wants to be a therapist. I am not trying to be his first client.
I drive home giving myself a serious mental whipping after that.
I am really glad that I didn’t call Cali now, I think. Imagine the shame I would feel if she knew I didn’t follow through on ending it all with Jason. She would be so exultant, thinking (incorrectly, of course) that I am starting to see things her way.
When I get home, I see that my dad is gone, presumably at work.
Perfect. An empty house.
I am all alone with my thoughts, thinking about the kiss I never wanted.

Hey, Mom.
I remember the day when you and Dad renewed your vows. It was like watching you guys get married for the first time. It was a sunny day, and it took you forever to get me to sit still, so you could brush my hair. I was seven years old.
You looked like Pocahontas that day; your long, black hair was straightened and parted down the middle. You had on a white, flowy blouse, and equally flowy pants. You had a feather in your hair, and a leather circlet with turquoise beads. You didn’t wear any shoes, which made me giggle.
But I didn’t giggle at all when you looked up at my father, saying, in the murmur of a pan flute, how much you loved him and lived for him. God. I couldn’t laugh at you then.
I remember that Dad – strong, known for his impassive “lawyer face” – actually had tears in his eyes. That he kissed you over and over. That he said he’d love you all the days of his life. That it would never change.
Daddy has a girlfriend now. I met her last night.
I guess ‘never’ is a lot shorter now than it used to be.

☼

“So, Kara –”
“Kori.”
“Kori. Right. How’s school?”
This, undoubtedly, is the epitome of Adult Filler Questions. “How’s school” means I’m trying really hard to show that I care about you deeply, even though I’ve met you only a few times since you found out I was dating your father. “How’s school” means that there really isn’t much of anything to talk about besides this pea salad, and I’ve already complimented it ten times and we need to talk about something else now, so I’m going to bug you about something that we both already know plenty about.
It also means it’s been too quiet.
Well, at least for Diana, my dad’s new fling – uh, I mean, girlfriend. I was perfectly comfortable not having to engage with her, but she won’t leave me alone.
It started with compliments.
“Oh, Karly,” she’d say. “You have such beautiful hair. And eyes.”
“My name’s Kori.” It isn’t hard.
“Oh,” she’d breathe, holding up a perfectly manicured hand to her mouth, “but I’m so bad with names.” Then she’d giggle at me tentatively, inviting me to partake in the humor of something I definitely didn’t want to smile about. Bad with names, huh? Wonder how long it took you to learn my dad’s.
Now she’s asking me about my school life.
“Well,” she says, spearing a bite of fish with her fork. “What are your classes like? Are you taking honors? A girl as smart as you must be.”
I sigh and force myself not to roll my eyes at her. “I’m taking APs, yeah.” I focus on my linguini. We eat a lot of noodles in this house, I think.
“Oh my,” says Diana, holding her hand to her mouth again, her ballet-pink nails glinting in the light. I can tell that I’m going to be extremely annoyed by this habit of hers in an astonishingly short amount of time. “But that must be so hard. I don’t know how you do it.” Of course you don’t, Diana. You don’t know me. You don’t know us. I let her words hang in the air. Alone. Just the way I feel.
My dad looks up at me sharply. Say something, he mouths.
“Yeah, well,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s a challenge. But I can handle it. It’s not brain surgery.”
“No,” says Diana, smiling warmly at me, “for a girl as smart as you, I guess it’s not.” She wraps some linguini around her fork and takes a delicate bite. “But then,” she continues, “your dad is a smart man.” She looks at him from across the table and winks. “It’s what I noticed first.”
First. Like she noticed other things. What else has she noticed?
God. I don’t even want to think about it.
“Actually,” I say, pushing away my plate, “I like to think I got my intelligence from my mom.” I look right at my dad then. “Or rather, it was a combined effort.” I stand up from the table. I can’t take this anymore. “Excuse me,” I say, and then I walk out of the kitchen, leaving my dad and Diana – and her manicure-assisted gesture of surprise – to themselves.

☼

I watch Diana leave from my bedroom window. My dad leads her to her car, gently guiding her into the driver’s seat, his hand lightly on her back. Just the way he used to do for my mother.
He waves her off, smiling slightly as he turns toward the house again. He looks up at the window, and I quickly draw my curtain. I inhale deeply.
He doesn’t keep me waiting long.
“Okay, Ice Princess,” he says, even before he reaches my room. “Don’t think I didn’t notice what you were trying to pull at dinner tonight. This is the second time you’ve frozen Diana out like this!” He steps into my room, giving me a look he’d never show in court. One with emotion.
Livid emotion.
“She’s just trying to be your friend!” my dad explodes.
“My… friend?” I repeat, incredulous. “No way. You know you do not believe that, Dad. Diana doesn’t want to be my friend, okay? She wants to be my mother!”
“Diana wouldn’t dare to try to take your mother’s place, Kori. You know that.”
“Oh,” I say, unable to contain myself. Suddenly all the pain and frustration I’ve been harboring from my mother’s death, my boyfriend’s misunderstanding of me, and everything else in my life threatens to explode out of me. “Diana wouldn’t dare. But you would. You’re the one who found Diana. You’re the one forcing me to be nice to her. And that says what?”
“Kori Fay Parker –”
“You always told me the defendant is innocent until proven guilty,” I say, feeling tears rush into my eyes. “Well, I have evidence this time. You told my mom that you’d always love her. That it would never change.” I look at my father, who, for once, is letting me speak. My one-minute rebuttal, I think. My one chance to speak, uninterrupted. This is my career buster, my make or break.
“Well,” I continue softly, “it did change. I guess I win.”
It’s not what I expected, the feeling of victory over my dad. This feeling is rancid and bitter. This feeling is nowhere near the elation I thought I’d feel in having non-circumstantial evidence. My visions of defeating my dad at his own game always involved ice cream and brownies. Not tears.
“Kori,” says my dad, limply.
“Just leave me alone,” I say, grabbing my purse. “I’m out of here.”
I walk out of my room and down the stairs, fumbling for the keys to my mom’s car. When I get outside, I look up, and see my dad’s shadow through the curtain of my bedroom.
He’s still standing there.

☼

When I arrive, I can’t believe where I am. When I got in the car, I decided to drive over to Cali’s house. She’s been through this before with her own dad.
But I’m not at Cali’s house.
I’m at Douglas’s.
For a moment, I sit there, wondering what I should do. It’s kind of late. Maybe I should just go over to Cali’s. But I don’t.
Instead, I climb out of my car and hit the automatic lock. I don’t even bother with the mirror, the way I always do whenever I visit Jason. I just stride up Douglas’s walk and knock on the door.
He answers. “Kori?” he goes, in obvious shock. “What are you doing – ”
“Can I come in?” I ask, and I hate how stuffed up I sound, like I have a cold. Or like I’ve been crying. Which I have.
Douglas stares at me for just a moment, but he opens the door and lets me in. “Kori,” he says, ushering me into the house. “Are you okay?”
And when I tell him the whole story, painful words just spilling out of me like when you accidentally knock over a full glass, he doesn’t interrupt me with all this girl-you-should-do-this prattle like Cali, nor judge me like Jason. He doesn’t grill me like my dad. He just lets me be me.
And that’s all I want.

“Kori?! You answered the phone this time! God. Where were you last night? I was worried sick!”
I can practically see Cali right now, pacing her room, waiting for my answer; chewing the inside of her cheek the way she always does when she’s upset or nervous.
I stare at my wall. I don’t know what to tell her.
“Answer me, Kori. I called you twenty times last night. And you never picked up. Finally I got desperate enough to call your dad, and you know what he said to me when I asked where you were?”
I know better than to ignore Cali. “No. What did he say?”
Cali’s voice drops an octave. “He said he didn’t know. What the heck was that supposed to mean? How does your dad not know where you are?”
I hear something in Cali’s voice, something to be careful of. Usually I can handle her theatrics no problem. But this time is different. “Cali –”
“And then, to make matters worse, he said that he thought you were with me. He thought you went to see me because you two had an argument. And then,” she says, her voice breaking, “we thought you were with Jason. So we called over there. And he said that he hadn’t seen you in a couple of days. So basically, you just got pissy and ran off somewhere. And no one knew where you were.”
Listening to her is like watching a roaring train go by.
“You could have called me, Kori. I could have covered for you if that’s what you needed.”
“Cali –”
“Kori, I swear, don’t you do that to me again. I thought you did something drastic. You’ve been acting weird lately. I was so scared.”
I hear Cali breathing shakily into the phone. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I really am.”
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Cali whispers. Then, switching gears as only she can, “Are you going to tell me where you were or not?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Uh, yeah? Considering.”
She has a point. I did kind of freak her out a little.
Okay, well, a lot.
“I meant to come over to your house yesterday,” I say. “But I don’t know… something just….”
“Cut the mysterious crap and just tell me where you went.”
“Okay, okay! I was at Douglas’s house.”
All is hushed and stagnant. I could almost swear that I hear Cali blinking. Which is not the best sign. I try to fill in the silence.
“Yeah, so, I initially wanted to come over your house, but I was so upset, I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, and then –”
“You decided,” says Cali slowly, “to go to Douglas’s house. Not mine. Not your boyfriend’s. But just some guy in your math class. You got me so worried for that. What. The hell.”
I cringe a little.
“I didn’t decide,” I explain. “I just ended up there. Like fate or something. I don’t know.”
“What is your fascination with Douglas Fincher anyway?” Cali goes, and I can tell it isn’t like the first day she accused me of liking Douglas. This is admittedly much more serious.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, I’m not exactly fascinated with him; he’s just a really nice –”
“Kori,” Cali says, her voice soft. “You’ve been blowing me off. You’ve been hiding stuff from me. What’s going on? Aren’t we the same Cali and Kori we’ve always been? Why don’t you trust me anymore?”
I pause. I do trust her. I’m just not sure if we’re the same people we were when we met. But while I’m thinking about this, I realize that too much time has passed.
“Fine,” Cali says, assuming the worst. “Sure. Great. Whatever. At least you have Douglas.”
“Cali, no, wait! You don’t –”
But she’s already gone.


☼


Kori Parker, you are not helping the situation at all, I tell myself. But it doesn’t stop me from reaching up for Douglas’s door and knocking on it.
Mrs. Fincher, a petite lady with a shock of pink hair, opens the door. She’s wearing nothing but a bathrobe. “Kori,” she says, giggling. “Hi baby. Come on in.”
She’s drunk. “Oh,” I say, trying to step away, “um... maybe… I should come back at a better time....”
She lunges for me and grabs my arm. “Dougie is upstairs. Why don’t you two just have some tea and play upstairs?” She laughs again, swaying back and forth. Then, in a voice surprisingly sober for a woman so batty, she says, “He’s not doing too good right now. Go see him.”
She all but pushes me upstairs, causing me to trip on a step. I grab the rail for support, and, trying not to look back at Mrs. Fincher, who is laughing again, head for Douglas’s room.
His door is closed.
The other times I came over, Douglas’s door was wide open, inviting. This time, it is shut, and maybe I’m reading into it too much, but it looks slammed. I knock on the door.
“Get away from the door!” Douglas yells, shocking me. Something is not right.
“It’s me, Kori,” I say. “Can I come in?” There is no response. I press my ear to the door. To my surprise, Douglas yanks it open. I almost fall over, but he catches me. “I… I wanted to make sure you were alright,” I explain uncertainly. There is something in Douglas’s eyes that I can’t explain, but it bothers me.
“Douglas? Are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer me, instead pulling me into his room and shutting the door. He stands tensely at the door for a moment, his hand on the knob. He seems to be listening for something, but I can’t hear anything. Finally he relaxes slightly and slumps onto his bed.
“She’s drinking again,” he says, his voice hollow. He looks at me. “Did you see her?”
I swallow. “Yes. She let me in.”
Douglas laughs then, but it’s dry and brittle. “She said she wouldn’t anymore. She promised. She said she’d never do it again.”
I stand there, not knowing what to say. Unfortunately, I know what it’s like to have somebody make a promise they don’t keep.
“She’s an alcoholic. Went to AA meetings, everything. It was ruining our lives. Made my dad leave.” Douglas says all this without changing his tone. “She lost her job; we almost lost our house… God…” Douglas runs his hand over his face. “I thought it was all over. I just want to get out of here.”
Seeing Douglas like this makes me feel really sad. I walk over to him, sitting next to him on the edge of his bed. “It’s going to be okay, Douglas,” I whisper.
“Sure it will.”
“You just have to have faith. Things happen for a reason.” Yeah, right, I think to myself. Give Douglas the advice that you suck at following. Very two-faced of you.
“You know what, Kori? That may be true, but I’m so angry! Why can’t my life just work out for once? Why do things have to spoil?”
I close my eyes. The very words I often think to myself are exploding out of Douglas like bullets.
“The only thing that keeps me going is you,” he says. “My only friend.”
I don’t know what to say to this, and I tell him so.
“You don’t have to. Just that I know you’re here. That I have somebody that I can trust.” He falls back on his pillows, his legs kicked out toward the floor.
“That’s how I feel about you, Douglas,” I murmur. I gasp, wishing I could bite my tongue off. There’s no way I can get out of that – I just want to be platonic – I’m not fascinated – I don’t like him – there’s so many reasons why I can’t possibly have feelings for him –
Douglas stares at me. “Kori,” he says, huskily. “Do you –”
I don’t let him finish. I am, apparently without permission from my brain, leaning toward Douglas, looking into his hazel eyes, which have suddenly turned green. A little closer… no, no, no, I can’t be doing this! … Closer….


But Douglas stops me, putting his hand on my arm, leaning his head on my shoulder. No, Kori. Not now. Not yet. He holds me like that for a while, pulling me close, as if he wants to be with me, only me, me forever. Just the way I’ve always wanted to be held.

We haven’t even talked about it.
When I came home from Douglas’s house, I was on an emotional high for a while. It was amazing how strung out and giddy I felt off of a hug. From the major nerd in school. Only he’s not just a ‘nerd’ in school, he’s a boy with a heart and feelings and really pretty eyes…. I kept reliving those last moments: wrapping my arms around Douglas, staring into those eyes I know so well, feeling his warmth surround me, almost like being safe.
But it’s been four days since then. And I’m not giddy anymore.
I am having a hard time calling the boy, though. So I’m waiting.
Every time the phone rings, I find myself jumping, like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I rush to answer the phone, but it’s usually someone unimportant – Brad from English class asking about the Hamlet essay due the next day; Julie from Spanish wanting to team up for our dialogue next week. It’s never the one voice, the voice I want to hear.
Until sixth period math.
I slide into my seat, early for once. I place all of my pencils near the edge of my desk. I open my textbook; take out a sheet of college ruled lined paper, and label it neatly. These steps taken, I wait for Douglas. He doesn’t disappoint me.
“Hey,” I say in what I hope is a controlled tone as Douglas enters the room. He puts his bag on the ground and smiles at me.
“Hey, Kori,” he goes. He notices my desk, all neatly organized, just the way he taught me. “Prepared, I see.”
“Yeah. Observe.” I point out my newly whetted pencils. “In order by degree of sharpness.”
“Impressive.” Douglas winks at me, almost throwing me off guard.
“You taught me well.”
We just sit there looking at each other.
“So Douglas,” I begin, but the bell cuts me off.
Ugh. Took too long. Stupid pencils.
“Attention up here, ladies and gentleman,” booms General Greene, patting himself on the chest. “We’re doing function families today.”
Oh, what next – Broadway?

☼

This just in: If something interesting (or at least distracting) doesn’t happen in the next few seconds I swear I will scream.
Diana is over again, which means that I can’t go downstairs, plop on the couch, and watch reruns of The Cosby Show while I struggle over the conditional tense in AP Spanish. I can’t even leave my room without watching her simper over my dad like some desperate woman. I’d rather not subject myself to that horrible sight, so when I saw her, I headed straight for my room, with my textbooks and my pencil in hand, like a good little student.
But it’s been an hour, and quite frankly, I’m over Spanish. And my mind is whirring at top speed.
I slam my book shut. The verb conjugations are going to have to wait until I can clear my brain.
I slide out of my chair and turn off my desk lamp. I grab my laptop and the CDs Douglas let me borrow. Slipping my headphones onto my ears, I climb onto my bed and close my eyes.
“Anotherloverholenyohead” begins to play, and I am immediately sucked into Prince’s description of the sacrificial, burning love he has for this girl who insists on leaving him. He tells her that she needs another lover in the same way she needs a hole in her head – basically, she doesn’t.
I don’t know why, but these words impact me in an odd way. I find myself thinking about why Prince chose those words and who was he talking to and why would she want some other guy. Why does she want another lover? A whole bunch of questions are swimming around in my head. Probing like this song is the prompt for an essay in AP Lit.
I hate it when I get like this. I can’t even listen to music without overanalyzing things. God. It’s just a song.
I turn off the music and rub my temples. I decide to take a nap.
The phone rings just as I stretch out on my bed.
“Hello?”
“It’s me, Douglas.”
“Oh,” I say, my voice all high and squeaky. “Hi! I mean, hey. Hey, how’s it going?”
Ugh.
“Oh, it’s going,” says Douglas. I hear him switch the phone from one ear to another. “Can you come over? I really need your help.”
Suddenly I’m not tired anymore. “Oh, okay. Sure. I’ll be there in a few.” I hang up, stuff my feet into some boots and head for the bathroom. I examine myself in the mirror and decide that I look human enough to venture outdoors again. I rush down the stairs. To my relief, Diana is nowhere to be seen.
“Kori!” says my dad. “Where’s the fire?”
“Ha, ha,” I say, rolling my eyes. My dad has been saying that for years, and he still acts like it’s the funniest joke around. “Like that is one of the things that don’t get old.”
“I still think it’s pretty funny,” my dad answers. “So. Where are you off to? Cali’s? Jason’s?”
“No,” I say. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, love you, bye!”
“Wait, honey,” my dad says, catching me by the arm. “I thought we’d do a little hanging out today. I rented some movies and I got some snacks.” He nods his head toward the kitchen.
“Oh,” I say, pulling out of his grasp. “I’ll be back. Don’t start without me.” I get in my car and begin pulling out of the driveway. “And don’t eat up all of the candy!”
“I won’t,” says my dad, so softly I can barely hear him over the car motor. “I won’t.”

☼

“I need,” says Douglas seriously, “fashion advice.”
I survey all of the clothes that Douglas has spread out on his bed and shake my head. “You do need help,” I tell him. “Look at all of these crazy prints. Look at those perfectly creased shirts. And of course, the all-famous khakis.”
Douglas swats my head lightly. “Stop it. They’re my trademark.”
“So I take this to mean that you are willing to become my client?”
“Conditionally.”
“I’ll decide the conditions, thank you very much,” I say, throwing a blue polka-dotted shirt into the Do-Not-Under-Any-Circumstances-Wear-This-In-Public pile (or the DNUACWTIP pile, for short). “I told you that I would make you an It Boy. Internationally desired.”
“Hold on, Kori,” Douglas protests. “I like that shirt.”
I stop sorting and straighten myself to my full height (which isn’t that impressive, let me tell you). “Douglas,” I say, in a no-nonsense tone.
“Kori,” says Douglas, equally serious.
“You can keep it if you’re planning on being a clown at some kid’s birthday party,” I say. “But other than that, no.” I get right in Douglas’s face. “You better be careful,” I say. “Fashion police.”
“So intimidated,” says Douglas, looking me up and down.
So what? I’m short.
“You better be,” I affirm. “Because I’m really mean. Like, if you wore stripes with plaid I would throw you in the county, forty years, no problem.”
“A cop of your stature would be very scary if I didn’t happen to know you were ticklish,” says Douglas darkly.
Oh no.
“I am,” I bluff, because I am so ticklish it’s not even right, “not ticklish.”
“Ah,” Douglas says, grinning, “but that’s what they all say.”
“Wait.” I back away from him. “I thought we were friends.”
“Oh, yeah,” says Douglas, advancing. “We are. Of course we are.”
He seizes me, and even though I fight it, I can’t contain my laughter.
“Uh-huh, not ticklish,” he says, laughing.
“I’m not,” I gasp. “I’m just – laughing at – your face!”
This, of course, gets me tickled even more.
Finally I can’t take it anymore. “I give! I give! You can keep your stupid clown shirt,” I pant, struggling in Douglas’s grasp. He stops tickling me, and leans near my face, which causes my heart to jump nearly out of my chest.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “Was that so hard?”
His breath is warm and light in my ear. “Yes,” I say, squirming. “Because now I have to deal with the sight of you in that ugly shirt.”
Douglas chuckles quietly and lets me go.
I walk over to Douglas’s clothes and pull the shirt out of the reject pile. “I do this only because I love you,” I say. “And I’m willing to sacrifice my eyeballs for you. Remember that.” I wiggle the shirt around and then lay it on top of the clothes I’ve decided are keep-worthy. I need to take Douglas shopping, I think to myself.
“You love me,” says Douglas. “Hmm.”
I look up from the clothes and at Douglas. “Well, you know – I mean – like…”
“Like when you realize that polka-dot shirts naturally belong in my closet because I look so good in them,” Douglas says hurriedly, and somehow it reminds me of the night we almost kissed. Not now. What are we waiting for?
“Um, yeah,” I say. “Exactly.”
“I like you, Kori,” says Douglas. He takes a vetoed shirt from my hand and puts it in the ‘keep’ pile. “A lot.”
Suddenly my mouth gets dry, and it really hurts to swallow. “Then what… what are we…”
Douglas sits on the edge of his bed and takes both of my hands in his. “Kori Parker,” he says, his eyes turning green, “I like you so much it’s driving me crazy. Literally. But I can’t be with a Tom Ford girl.”
Fishbowl.
“But I’m not,” I croak. “Douglas….”
He stands up and puts his arms around me. “You are,” he whispers, stroking my hair. “I’m sorry.”
When I look up into Douglas’s face, I suddenly realize the meaning behind “Anotherlover-holenyohead.”
And I know who Prince was talking to when he explained the whole ‘another lover’ equals a ‘hole in your head’ thing.
Me.
He was talking to me.
I’m still Jason’s girlfriend, even though I’ve been out of sync with him for so long that I forgot it counted. But it matters to Douglas.
Jason is the unofficial Poster Boy for Tom Ford. And I am a Tom Ford girl, technically, by being his girlfriend.
Which means that something has got to change.

Today, Operation Change is in effect. As is usually the case with big leaps in my life, I decide to make it official by telling Cali.
I really hope she isn’t miffed with me still. Cali can hold a grudge forever. She still hates Stephen Agassi with a passion – for ripping up her owl in kindergarten. Kindergarten.
This might be a little difficult.
Taking a deep breath, I shut my locker and head for the cafeteria, where I know she’ll be hanging out at the jock table with Peter and his soccer friends.
I’m not wrong.
I walk up to the table – where Brock Adams is doing something fantastic with a straw – and tap Cali, who is laughing so hard she’s turned red, on the shoulder. I notice that her fingers are looped in Peter’s.
“Kori,” Cali breathes, stifling a giggle, “what are you doing here?”
Yeah, not exactly the reception I hoped I’d get from my best friend. But still.
“We need to talk,” I say, and at this some of the boys at the table ‘ooh’ like we’re on Jerry Springer.
“Sounds like a breakup,” says a particularly clever one, snickering.
“Yeah, and I’m sure you’d know all about that,” I shoot back, and his buddies ‘ooh’ again, clapping him on the back and shoving soggy carrots down his shirt.
By the time he comes back with a weak response (“Yeah, well, I’m a ladies man”) I’ve pulled Cali away from the table and near the main hall.
“Nice society,” I remark, glancing at the jock table.
“Better up than down is what I say.”
I stare at Cali for a moment, until she flinches a little. “Better up than down?”
“You’ve been ditching me,” says Cali, crossing her arms. “Who was I supposed to hang out with? The people we used to hang out with only liked me because you were there. But now you’re not there. You’re with Douglas all the time.”
“I take it you’re still mad at me, then.”
Cali straightens and looks me in the eyes. She pushes her bangs off of her face, a sure sign that she is irritated. “Um, yeah? Because you’re my best friend and you’re ditching me for some loser.”
“So he’s bad society? Douglas? Why, because he’s a nerd?”
“No, because he’s all you think about. When’s the last time we hung out? Huh? Every time I call you you’re at his house. I’d be surprised if you still know what color my house is.”
“Why can’t you just hang out with us? You hang out with me and Jason.”
“Because I don’t want to be the third wheel!” Cali hisses, and for a second, I think she’s about to cry.
“I’m not even with Douglas, so I don’t know what you mean.”
“But you really like him,” says Cali. She starts twisting her rings and looking around the cafeteria. “Not like Jason. I was comfortable with you and Jason, because I knew you guys weren’t going anywhere heavy. We could all be best friends. But it’s not like that with Douglas. You guys are probably going to get married, have kids and a dog and goldfish and –”
“So what?” I say, trying to contain a blush. Married to Douglas.... “You’re with Peter! I thought you had, you know, plans. I saw that you guys were holding hands –”
Cali shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Please. You know how that one is. I only want him for prom, and he only wants me for sex. Once he realizes that I’m staying chaste he’ll totally dump me. So I’m stringing him along until after prom. I’ve known since day one.”
I’m so taken aback by this that I can’t speak. I thought I knew Cali’s every move.
Apparently Jason’s not the only one I’ve been out of sync with.
“Cali,” I say, recovering. “You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose that.”

“I know,” says Cali. “But it feels like maybe we already have lost it.”
“Today, after school, we’re going to the mall,” I say. “We’re going to spend buckets of money and be totally pissed about most of the things we bought when we get home.”
Cali looks at me with an expression of cautious relief. “We’re going to go over my house and trade clothes and watch chick-flicks,” she adds slowly. “And talk trash about our boyfriends.”
I’m so happy to have Cali back that I squeeze her. Hard. “And talk trash about our boyfriends,” I agree. “While pigging out on totally unhealthy foods.”
Just then Douglas walks into the cafeteria and waves at me. I let go of Cali and glance at her apprehensively. She nods at me, a peace offering. “Go ahead,” she whispers in my ear. “You know you want to.”
“Thanks, Cali,” I say. “I mean it.”
“Whatever,” she answers, but I can tell she’s teasing. “You’ll return the favor sometime.” She walks away and heads for the jock table – or, perhaps more accurately, the Brock table – and is greeted by a loud roar from “the boys” and a kiss from Peter. She winks at me from the table.
I wink back and walk over to Douglas.
“Let’s go,” he says, a half-smile on his face.
I take his hand and we run for it.

☼

After school lets out, I drive home to change into my shopping clothes – a.k.a. jeans and flats – and drop off my books. When I get there, my dad is out on the porch reading something, probably having to do with law.
“Hey, Dad,” I say. “Getting some light reading in, I see.”
“Yes,” says my dad, rubbing his eyes. “I was waiting for you to get home. I thought we could hang out since you got home so late yesterday. And watch those movies I rented. I have to give them back tomorrow morning.”
“Oh,” I say, biting my lip. “Sorry about that. But I can’t now; I’m going to the mall with Cali. I kind of promised.”
My dad fixes me with a Look. “You promised,” he says, nodding his head deeply. “Ah. I see. Well. I suppose that changes things.”
I feel a twinge of guilt. “Daddy,” I say. “You’ve just been so busy with the case and all that I thought we could hang out later.” I hate how inconsistent I sound. First I was the one begging my dad to make time for me, and now when he meets me halfway, I’m evading him. Sheesh.
“Maybe you could hang out with Diana,” I offer, and at this, my dad closes his book.
“I know you don’t like her,” he says. “But she makes me happy, Kori.”
Not wanting to get into a syrupy conversation about Dirty Diana (pun totally intended) I nod and go, “Yeah, I can definitely see why. Well… better get going.” I move away. I don’t look back because I don’t want to see the disappointment on my dad’s usually emotionless face.

☼

Cali has been in the dressing room for so long that for a moment I wonder if she forgot how to put a shirt on. I’ve been standing here waiting for her to come out so we can pose at ourselves and take pictures in the clothes we would never buy.
I guess I’m not as patient as I thought.
“Cali,” I whisper loudly, knocking on the door. She opens it, holding the shirt she was supposed to try on.
“I can’t do this,” she says finally.
“Come on.”
“No. This looks like my one of grandma’s Christmas sweaters. I am not allowing you to take a picture of me with that on. I don’t trust a picture like that on anyone’s phone. Not even mine.”
“Please, Cali?” I beg. “I’m wearing it too!” I indicate the scratchy, oversized sweater that I’m wearing. It has the ugliest color scheme ever, and to make matters worse, it is misshapen.
“Yeah, but you’re so short, it looks adorable on you. Everything looks adorable on you,” Cali says. “I’d look like a person from Whoville.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” I say soothingly. “You’d look like a candy cane come back from the grave. Now please put this on!”
“I’d rather tattoo my lips,” says Cali staunchly.
I don’t know how I do it, but after about three minutes, Cali re-emerges from the dressing room wearing the stupid sweater. She sends me a look of mock-hate before smiling for the camera. As soon as I put my phone down, she whips hers out, taking loads of pictures of me.
“Hey, no fair,” I exclaim. “I wasn’t even prepared!”
“Paparazzi, paparazzi!” Cali yells, snickering. “Oh, Kori. I dare you to buy that. Think of how sexy you’ll look for Douglas!”
“Um, how about I don’t and say I did.”
Cali looks at her phone, trying to suppress her laughter. “God. You look so stupid in these pictures!”
“I hate you,” I tell her, and we go to our dressing rooms and change back into our clothes. Once again, I’m the first one out.
When Cali comes back, she smirks at me. “It’s my wallpaper now,” she says, smiling.
“What is?”
“You.” She shoves her phone in my face, and I see a wonderful image of my face all scrunched up, trying to avoid looking into the camera, the ugly sweater flashing all of its prickly glory.
“Thanks a lot,” I say. “You better change it.”
“Some things will never change,” says Cali airily as we head out of the store.
Some things never do.

When I get back home, my dad’s car is gone. So I guess movie night is out.
I drop all of my bags in my room to sort through. I shake out a plaid sweater-shirt and spread it out on my bed.
It’s for Douglas.
Cali laughed so hard when I got it. “I guess you have it bad,” she told me between giggles.
I guess I do. But I didn’t buy the shirt for Douglas because I’m love with him or anything. He just needs an update to his… ahem… nerdy repertoire.
Suddenly I get a crazy idea. I look at the shirt for a few more seconds and nod to myself, cementing my plan.
I take the shirt and put it on. It fits on me loosely, almost falling below my thighs. Wouldn’t it be funny to send him a picture of myself in this shirt? I think. I snap a picture of myself, smiling goofily into the camera, and send it to him, adding a message:

hey, Douglas, i got you this shirt at the mall today. but i don’t think it’ll fit. ;)

I press ‘send’ before I can change my mind and ruin my own fun.
I climb on my bed and settle into my pillows.
Before long, he responds.

very cute. are you sure it won’t fit? i like it :)

I tell him no, that it obviously won’t. Because it’s way too long and baggy, duh. I laugh maniacally at my own joke. Obviously, I’ve been stressed lately. Or this wouldn’t be nearly so funny as it is right now.
After a few minutes, Douglas texts me back.

i guess i’ll have to come over and try it on then

he says.
Whoa there.
That is what Cali would call, in a very suggestive voice, a “move.” I sit there with the phone in my hand, gaping at the letters on the screen in disbelief. Douglas isn’t like that. Not even Jason is like that. That is something Peter would say, according to Cali. But maybe I’m reading too far into it.
I do have a tendency to do that.
So I text Douglas back, giving him the okay to come over, as well as the directions he’ll need in order to get here. I take off the shirt and put on a tank top, almost wishing I had bought that ugly sweater. It’s totally boy-proof.
I fold the shirt, grab my laptop, and bring them both downstairs, deciding that my room is definitely off-limits.
Oh, so you can hang out in Douglas’s room, but he can’t hang out in yours.
I wave my hand in front of my face, wiping the thought away. It’s different. Especially with my dad’s firm rules. And if Douglas were in my room, if my dad were here, he’d be sitting on my bed with me, giving Douglas the same look he reserves for defendants in court.
After a while, I hear a knock at the door. I rush to open it.
“Douglas,” I say, “welcome to my humble abode.” I make a sweeping gesture and Douglas grins.
“Nice place,” he says.
“Oh, pish-posh,” I reply. “I’m only staying here till I can find something better.”
I’m hoping the British twang I’m faking is covering up the nervousness in my voice.
“Ambitious,” says Douglas. He’s kind of just standing there, as if he doesn’t know what to do.
“Douglas,” I say, losing the accent. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Right,” says Douglas. “Thanks.” He sits on the sofa in front of the TV and smiles
at me. “I brought you something,” he says. “Since you were so nice and let me over.”
“What did you bring?” I ask. I sit next to him and notice that he smells really good, like Ivory soap and guy shampoo and a hint of lemongrass and…
“These,” he says, drawing a little blue bag from his coat.
….and peanut butter.
“Pretzel logs,” I say. “You’re the best.” I lean in and hug him, then I open the bag like a kid with candy. “These things are so addicting,” I tell him.
“Yes,” he says. “They are.”
We sit there munching in silence.
“Oh!” I exclaim. “The shirt. You need to try it on. I left the tags on in case I have to take it back.” I pick up the shirt from the counter and hand it to him. “You can try it on in the bathroom. Second door to the left.”
“Thanks,” says Douglas. He takes the shirt and heads for the bathroom.
In a few minutes, he comes back out. “It fits,” he says. “It fits perfectly. How did you know?”
Oh my god.
Douglas looks so handsome it almost knocks me out.
Somehow, the colors of the shirt bring out his eyes more, and emphasizes his golden skin. His dark, curly hair is tousled a little bit, probably from lifting his other shirt over his head.
In other words, he looks like an It Boy.
“I um… I guess I knew from helping you out with your clothes the other day,” I tell him.
Wear that shirt every day, Douglas. Every. Freaking. Day. Wear it.
“Thank you, Kori,” he says. “Wow. It means a lot.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Seriously, I wish I brought you more than pretzel logs. It’s kind of an unfair tradeoff.”
“No, it’s okay. I love pretzel logs. I didn't expect you to bring me anything.”
I didn’t expect you to look so hot in that shirt.
Clearly, I need to refocus.
“So,” I say. “Um. Want to watch TV? I think my dad rented some movies.”
“That would be awesome,” says Douglas. “Movies and pretzel logs. What a perfect combination.”
I nod. Pull yourself together. It’s Douglas. Not Justin Timberlake.
“How’d you do on that precalc exam?” Douglas asks as I search through DVDs. I shake my head at Alien vs. Predator. Definitely not. Dad must have rented that for himself.
“I got a B-minus,” I tell him. “Thanks to you I have a solid A in precalc. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“See what happens when you follow the formula?” he asks.
I stop searching through the movies.
The thing is, I may be following the formula in math. But obviously, that rule doesn’t apply to the rest of my life. I’m still kind of waiting for the moment where freelancing falls into place. I guess I’m more like my mother than I thought. But still.
I can’t even follow the formula with love.
“Yeah, Douglas,” I say. I quickly select a James Bond movie and sit with Douglas on the sofa. “This one okay?”
“Sure. Love the James Bond movies. Even though this one is pretty old.”
“My dad’s a fan of the classics,” I say, getting up again. I pop the disk into the DVD player and dim the lights.
An hour into the movie, we pause for snack refills. I come back with chips, salsa, and enough candy to last us the rest of the movie. I balance the chips between us.
“Spicy salsa,” says Douglas around a mouthful of Sour Skittles. “You know me.”
“Yes, I do,” I say, brushing a sugar-crumb off his lip. I stop; pull my hand back.
That was such a girlfriend thing to do. I really hope he didn’t notice it.
But, much like everything else, he does.
“Kori, have you broken up with Jason?” he goes, always direct. There’s no way I can wiggle out of this one.
“No,” I admit. “Not yet.”
“Why not? Obviously you don’t like him anymore… or do you?”
Evidently, we are no longer focused on the Bond movie.
“No, I don’t like him anymore.”
“So what’s with the delay?”
I sigh and hit ‘pause’ on the remote. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I guess… I’m waiting for the right moment.”
“There’s never,” says Douglas, “a right moment to break up with somebody.”
“And what would you know about it?” I blurt out.
They really need to hurry up on that ‘Life Redo’ button.
Douglas stiffens slightly. “I’ve had girlfriends before, Kori,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
A few minutes pass in silence. I stare at the carpet. Wow, what a lot of ridges. And I never realized that this carpet is the exact shade of my wine-colored blouse.
After a while, I feel his hand on my knee.
“It’s okay,” says Douglas. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I know it’s hard to dump somebody, even if you don’t like them anymore. Because then you’re saying to the world, ‘Hey everyone, it didn’t work out. We couldn’t do it. We failed.’”
I lean my head on Douglas’s shoulder, closing my eyes.
“But you know what?” he continues.
“What?”
“I don’t think it’ll be like that for us. Because I can honestly say that I’m falling in love with you, Kori. And if we keep on going, we’ll get better and better. And the only thing we’d have to say to the world is ‘follow the formula.’”
“You’re falling in love with me, Douglas?” I ask, raising my head to look into his eyes.
“Yes, Kori,” says Douglas softly. He brushes my face with his fingertips. “I am.”

I finally know what it is like to be in love. I’m doing all sorts of stupid things, things I wouldn’t admit even to my diary.
It started with me singing sentimental songs around the house while doing chores.
Then I cut my hair too short. I cried.
I painted my nails bright pink. With hearts.
I wore a flowery dress. On a Saturday night.
And then a whole bunch of humiliating exploits (involving notes and lockers) that I really am quite ashamed of. And no, I’m not going to explain them here.
I don’t get it. When I really try to mull it over, to think about how and when and why I fell in love with a boy like Douglas Fincher – I can’t come up with concrete details. Just feelings and the little things that make me happy when he’s around.
Like yesterday, I invited him over to dinner with my dad and Diana. He noticed the tension between Diana and me, and lessened it with a few jokes and stories. Every time there was an awkward silence, he would fill it, his hand reassuringly placed on my knee. I had introduced him to them as a friend, but after dinner, I heard Diana say to my dad, “Duane, is that Kora’s boyfriend? I haven’t seen her smile like that before.”
And my dad answered, “No, but he will be soon.”
So apparently, it’s not just me catching vapors. Even Diana, who has yet to get my name right, noticed the feeling in the air.
When I walked Douglas to the door that night, the last image of him I had was the softening brown of his pretty hazel eyes, the way he always looks just before he smiles.
Or, rather, the way he looks just before he smiles at me.

☼

Dear Jason,
Hey Jason,
Jason,
I regret to inform you that I no longer want to
I have come to the decision that it’s best for us both to move on.

Twenty minutes at my computer and this is what I have to show for it.
After my failed attempt at breaking up with Jason before, I decided that emailing was the best approach. People might argue that dumping somebody by email is cold, but I could be colder. I could just text him. At least email sort of requires the use of actual sentences.
If I could write any.
Douglas was right when he said it’s hard to break up with someone. Although for me, it’s not because I don’t want to admit that I failed.
It’s because my mom approved of Jason.
What if my mom fully believed – died believing – that Jason was the right boy for me? She showed him her pictures (which she hardly ever did) and praised him lavishly… my mom adored Jason.
Would I be like my dad, messing around with Diana, thinking that he loves her, betraying my mother’s memory, if I walked away from Jason? Would I be breaking a promise to my mom by dumping the boy she believed in – the boy we all believed in?
I don’t know. I wish I could just do it already. I wish I could have done it that day when I had finally screwed up enough courage. But sometimes, when I’m thinking of Jason and how much I can’t stand to be with him, the thought crosses my mind that he might be the last thing connecting me to my mom.
And that’s what I’m afraid to lose.

☼

“Oh no,” Cali says in a hushed tone. “I look like an eggplant in purple. But I love this shade!”
We’re out prom shopping. This means we’re going to be in and out of stores all day trying on the expensive clothes that we’ll only wear for one night – and then poof! – like Cinderella, we’ll go back home from that incredible experience and then go scrub the toilet or do homework or whatever.
Go back to our normal lives.
Although Cali seems to believe that prom will totally change her life forever.
“Prom will totally change my life forever,” she says.
See? What did I tell you.
“I’m going to find a gorgeous dress and float down the promenade on the arm of the hunkiest soccer player alive, and I’m going to stay up till the stars disappear from the sky. Amazing things will happen, Kori. Amazing things.” Cali twirls in the (eggplant) purple dress and grabs my arms in a fit of excitement. “We’re going to dance the night away!”
“Cali,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Calm down!”
Cali lets go and nods. “Sorry. Got a little carried away. Chilling out now.” She assumes a look of complete composure.
But it doesn’t last.
“Ooh!” she shrieks. “Would you look at those Steve Maddens over there? I think I’m going to get them.” She starts making toward the shoe department with determined strides.
I need to intervene. The poor girl is so excited she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “Cali,” I say. “You don’t even know what dress you’re getting. And the shoes you think you’re going to go get happen to be a vibrant shade of blue. Reel it in.”
Cali stops walking and turns meekly toward me. “I’m sorry hon,” she says. “It’s just – prom –”
“I know, I know,” I tell her. “It’s going to change your life forever.”
“But what about you?” she blurts.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t even seem that excited. And you haven’t mentioned who you’re going with. I assumed Jason, but….”
“But you’re mortally terrified that I’ll be going with Douglas,” I finish for her as she reenters the dressing room.
“No, I’m not mortally terrified,” Cali calls out, her voice muffled. “Just… a little worried. Prom is one night, true, but prom pictures are forever. And Douglas isn’t the hottest boy ever.”
I stare at the green dress that I’ve picked out. “Maybe not to you,” I say. “But it’s not what matters. He is cute though.”
Cali steps out of the dressing room posing in a nude, lacy dress. In a moment, my words catch up to her. “Wait,” she says. “You actually think he’s cute. Not like, personality, but… like… face?”
“Cali, have you ever actually looked at Douglas, beyond the khakis?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever actually looked at him beyond his graphing calculators.”
“He’s cute, Cali,” I tell her decidedly. I examine my shoes, thinking of the qualities I like best about Douglas. “He has the prettiest eyes… and his smile… and his smell… everything. He’s so cute.”
I look up and find Cali staring at me. “You were swooning,” she says.
“Was I?” I feel the blood rush to my ears.
“Yes. You were.” I hear a calculation in her voice. She puts the purple dress on the rack and heads back into the dressing room.
“It looks like I’m going to have to start hanging out with you guys,” she tells me.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Cali fixes me with an intent look. “It means that you’re serious about the boy. So I guess, as your best friend, I should give this loser a chance.” She smiles at me then, but it’s a sad one. “It’s really over between you and Jason, isn’t it? All those plans we made in sophomore year… gone.”
“Not gone,” I tell her. “We’re just taking them in a new direction.”

Uh oh.
I don’t like the expression in my dad’s eyes. He’s giving me the look he usually gets right when he’s about to ask me to do something he knows I definitely will not like.
But maybe, as usual, I’m reading too far into it –
“Kori honey, I need to talk to you,” says my dad, folding a newspaper in his lap.
I take the opportunity to take small sips of my orange juice, á la Cali. Maybe he’ll notice and realize that now isn’t a good time. But instead of letting me off the hook, he decides to fill the silence with what he wanted to talk about.
“Diana wants to spend some quality time with you,” he says in what he thinks is an offhand manner. “Alone. Girl time.”
I almost choke on the juice. “What?” I gasp. “Oh, no. No. That isn’t going to work out.”
“Sure it will,” says my dad, obviously relieved to have delivered the news. “You and Di have a lot in common.”
“Um, no comment.”
“In saying that, you do indeed, have a comment,” says my dad blithely. “Now go get dressed. She’ll be here in twenty-five minutes.”
“I don’t even have a choice?”
“Of course you do, honey. We all have a choice. Either you go, or you don’t. Do whatever you want.”
“Really?”
“Of course, you’ll have to deal with the repercussions that go along with it,” says my dad, and at this, I sigh.
“Fine, but you won’t make me like it,” I say.
“You don’t have to like it. Just that you go.”


☼

While in my room, I text Cali and Douglas for back up. They both know all too well how I feel about Diana.
Cali is more than supportive.

he’s doing WHAT? no fair! don’t go! fake like ur sick or 2 busy. that’s what i do when becca comes over

Douglas has another idea entirely.

you never know kori. i think you should give diana a chance. you might like her.

Oh, sure I will. I’m liking Cali’s idea, but no way could I pull that off with my dad. So I resign myself to my fate, shaking my head at Douglas’s deluded notions.
As I brush my hair in the bathroom, the thought crosses my mind that I once felt the same way about Douglas, and now that I’ve gotten to know him, I can’t help but like him.
My phone chirps, another text from Douglas.

kori I can tell you’re a little anxious. Just relax and try to be open-minded okay?

I take a deep breath, nodding, even though he can’t see me.

ok. but i can’t make any promises

I say.
I pull my hair into a loose bun just as Diana’s horn beeps outside. Staring at myself in the mirror, I square my shoulders, preparing for battle. I put my game face on.
It’s going to be a long day.

☼

“So, what kind of food do you like? Pizza, Chinese, Mexican?”
I try to contain a sigh and answer amiably. “I really don’t care."
“Oh, I know what you mean,” says Diana. “Sometimes it just depends on what you see.” She turns on her blinker and waves at the driver behind her, who couldn’t wait for the two seconds it took to pull off. Some people are just so impatient.
Diana doesn’t say anything more until we’ve arrived at the beauty spa, where we’re hanging out, apparently.
“I thought it would be fun to get all prettied up for our girl time,” she says, winking.
I’m not exactly sure what about me screams “beauty spa” but obviously Diana’s into that sort of thing. I remember what Douglas said about having an open mind and paste a smile onto my face. “Sounds… relaxing,” I say in a conciliatory tone, and we head inside.
As we settle into our chairs, being fussed over by pedicurists and beauty specialists of many kinds, Diana smiles at me hopefully.
“So, Kori,” she pronounces carefully (probably after having been coached by my dad a million times), “I really enjoyed meeting your friend the other night.”
My heart jumps at the mention of ‘my friend.’ “Oh, yeah, Douglas,” I say.
“He’s really cute,” Diana says. She catches me blushing. “You going to ask him out, or are you waiting for him to ask you?”
“Oh, um,” I say, “I have a boyfriend, so…”
Diana suddenly nods. “Oh, I see. You have a Situation.”
“Huh?”
“Thanks, hon. I like this coral color, what about you, Kori?” Diana pushes a tray
of nail polishes to me. “I think you’d look good in teal.”
I select a promising shade of blue and hand it to the nail artist. “A… Situation?” I resume.
“Oh!” says Diana. “Yes. So let me guess: you don’t like this boyfriend you have, but you’re finding it hard to dump him. But you want to be with Douglas, and he wants to be with you. So, Situation. Right?”
I gape at Diana until I remember that it is extremely rude to ogle someone the way I am doing right now. It’s just… how did she know? About my… Situation?
“Yeah. Right.”
“Well, I may not know a lot of things. But one thing I do know? If you don’t take steps soon, you’re going to lose your opportunity. Now Douglas may be a nice boy, but he isn’t going to wait forever.”
“How do you know he isn’t?” I demand, suddenly annoyed. I was so happy to be talking about Douglas that I momentarily forgot my feelings regarding the woman. I don’t like Diana. How am I going to take romantic advice from the woman who caused my dad to fall out of love with my mother?
“How long would you wait?” Diana asks. “I could understand waiting if you were young forever. But you’re not. You’re going to get older, and then all that time you spent waiting for one person would be wasted. Because you could have been spending that time making a difference to someone else. Right?”
“Yeah, but what if you ended up together eventually?”
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t get time back. Believe me, I’ve tried,” says Diana, pointing to her hair, which is dyed a glossy shade of brown.
I try to stop myself, but I can’t suppress a giggle. Diana smiles at me, then assumes a serious expression.
“I know you don’t like me,” she says. “I know how it is. When my mom died and my dad got a girlfriend, I tried my best to make her life hell. But then I learned about time,” she says. “And how tricky it is. It’s so temporary, right? But then, you can say something to someone that they carry in their heart forever. And then – boom! – time doesn’t seem so temporary at all. So you have to be careful how you treat someone’s life. They’ll have a record of what you did, good or bad.”
I feel so guilty. Diana has known all along what I was trying to do to her. She’s known all along that I hated her. I don’t like her, but that doesn’t mean I have to be so rude to her.
“Diana,” I begin, “I’m really –”
“Sorry? Don’t apologize. Let’s just say I deserved it, okay?” Diana reaches over and pats me on the arm. “I’m not asking us to be chums. And I’m not trying to take your mother’s place. Your father talks about her all the time.”
“He does?”
“Yeah, he does. He hasn’t forgotten her, you know. I kind of think you keep her alive for him.”
“Then why does he need you?” I ask.
Diana considers this for a moment. “Do you really want him to be alone for the rest of his life? Is that it?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “But he isn’t alone. He has me.”
“He won’t always,” says Diana. I glare at her. Of course he will. She shakes her head sadly, and then flips open a magazine. She fishes her iPod out of her purse and puts her earphones in, closing her eyes.
I take that to mean the conversation is over.

☼

“I’m guessing it didn’t go so well?” Douglas asks.
“No.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“My, but you’re snappy today,” Douglas says.
“She rubs me the wrong way,” I reply, crossing my arms.
Douglas walks over to where I’m seated on the porch and pours me some lemonade. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad, right? Look, you got a free mani-pedi.”
I take the lemonade from him. “Douglas…. Don’t try to make me feel better.”
“Since when do I have to try?” Douglas teases. He sits next to me and stares up at the stars, rocking the porch swing lightly. The steady motion of the swing relaxes me, and I feel like I could almost nap here.
“When I was little, my dad used to rock me to sleep on a porch swing almost like this,” Douglas murmurs. “I was always super hyper at bedtime, and my mom always gave up on me.” He settles more comfortably in the swing.
“Why were you so hyper?” I ask, staring at my knee, all too aware of how close he is.
“I guess I was sugar high, I don’t know. But he would always take me out here, rock me on the swing, and tell me stories about the constellations in the sky. And when I woke up in the morning, I was always in my bed. To this day I don’t remember him tucking me in or moving me.”
I hear an odd snag in Douglas’s voice.
I look up and catch him wiping his eyes.
“I’d give anything to have him back,” he says. “You’re so lucky.”
“I don’t have my mom,” I say. “So how am I lucky?”
“You have a woman, who, though she can’t take your mother’s place, is willing to love you like she could.”
“What?”
“Diana just wants you to accept her. You’re so lucky, Kori! My dad doesn’t care if I exist! And it isn’t even my fault!” He starts shaking with anger. “All I’ve ever done is try to please him. But whenever I call him he hangs up.”
“Oh, Douglas…” I lean over to give him a hug. I squeeze him tight, hoping to calm him down a little. It breaks my heart to see him so distraught.
“It’s like he doesn’t even love me,” he whispers into my hair.
“Oh, Douglas,” I say again. “I do. I love you.”
I lean away from him so I can see him better, but he pulls me closer. His eyes are dark in the dim light of the porch.
“I love you, Douglas,” I whisper, and he nods. He doesn’t protest as I kiss him on his porch, in the swing, under the stars.

SIXTEEN


After I impulsively kissed Douglas last night, I freaked out for a minute. I worried that he would be angry, but he wasn’t. In fact, I was the one who broke the kiss. I ended it. Not him – which is what I had been expecting, so I was very surprised that he went with it.
So after I said goodnight, and we exchanged see you tomorrow’s and I’ll text you’s, I got in the car and drove away, turning the whole thing over in my mind. But after a while, I stopped calculating the kiss and decided to just enjoy the fact that it finally happened.
I told Cali as soon as I got home. She was shocked, but oddly supportive. “I guess you’re taking things into your own hands for once,” she said. “Kudos.” Then she and I picked apart the details over and over, analyzing everything and giggling like our old slumber party days.
I woke up this morning with a smile on my face, thinking about it.
It’s the next best thing to being Douglas’s girlfrie –
Oh my goodness.
Jason.
☼

The thing I hate about Walden Prep lockers is that they were made to hold your books and your books only, so forget about trying to put your lunch in there without a struggle. In fact, forget about trying to fit your school supplies – which should be able to fit in a locker – in there at all.
And definitely forget about actually taking your books out once you’ve put them in. It’s quite a challenge. Which is why you don’t do this kind of thing during passing period, or you’ll be late. You do it during lunch. So you’ll have time to play tug-of-war with your metal box.
I’m preparing myself for this daily struggle when Douglas saunters up to me, an odd grin on his face. He’s wearing jeans to school – the third day in a row! – and it is such a relief to see him walk around without people making snarky comments about his college-prep attire.
“Hey, Kori,” he says. “How are you?”
He’s so cute. He’s been acting all shy with me lately, and it’s so adorable. “I’m great,” I say, tugging my locker door open. “Just trying to figure out how to get my government book out of here.” I study the books in my locker critically and sigh. “How are you?”
“Great,” says Douglas. He leans against the locker next to mine. “I’m awesome. So…”
“Kori!”
I jump, startled, and turn to see Jason walking in my direction. “Oh, hey Jason,” I say. My heart starts racing, but it doesn’t feel pleasant at all. More reminiscent of fear than of fun. But what do I have to be afraid of?
Jason walks up to my locker and shuts it.
“Hey,” I say, “I didn’t ask you to do that!”
He turns to me. “I wanted to be sure I had your undivided attention.” He sounds very cold.
I look over at Douglas, who has stiffened and is standing straight, at his full height. He towers over Jason by almost four inches. Jason glances at him. “Hey buddy,” he says. “Stick around. I’m going to need you on this one.”
I cross my arms. “What do you want, Jason?”
“I’ll tell you,” he says, in a tone that I don’t particularly like. “So, last night, I was driving around, bored, looking for something to do, right? And I thought I’d see my Kori, who has been avoiding me for about – oh – two or three weeks. I drop by her place and am told that she isn’t home. So I curse my luck, like any self-respecting guy, and decide to just cruise around the neighborhood.”
I don’t like where this is going.
“And you won’t believe what I saw. Go ahead. Guess.”
“I don’t want to play your stupid games, Jason,” I say snappishly, but to be honest I’m more than a little uncomfortable.
“Fine, fine,” says Jason. “I’ll tell you what I saw. I saw you, Kori, on my man Douglas’s porch, making out with him. But then I was like, no, that can’t be true. Because she’s my girlfriend. So that can’t be her.”
I stare at the floor. “We weren’t making out,” I say, but I know it makes little to no difference.
“Oh, right. You were just cheating on me.”
At this I notice some students, who had been milling around the lockers, stop what they were doing and stare at us. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at them. I feel the heat flash up my spine.
“How long has this been going on, Kori?” Jason asks.
“Jason –”
“How long?”
I open my mouth to speak but Douglas cuts in. “Leave her alone. It was my fault.”
“I’ll get to you in a minute, jerk,” says Jason. “So my little Kori is a liar, a cheater. Amazing.”
“I wasn’t cheating on you, Jason…”
“So what do you call it? ‘Cause last time I checked, we were never in an open relationship.”
“I meant to break up with you months ago,” I say quickly. “Before Douglas even became my friend, because that’s all we are.”
“Like hell you are,” says Jason.
Douglas frowns at my last speech and faces me. “We are not just friends,” he agrees, and this takes Jason aback for a moment. “You love me, Kori, and I love you. So tell Jason and let’s go.”
“She loves you?” Jason says derisively. “Oh, that’s rich. What’s going to stop her from cheating on you, man? What do you have to give her that I haven’t already?”
“Something real,” says Douglas. “None of your insensitive materialistic crap.”
A small crowd has gathered around us. Most of them have the decency to pretend they’re not listening, but others are gaping at us shamelessly.
“Oh, wow,” says Jason. He chuckles a little. “But my insensitive materialistic crap is the thing that saved you and your mom’s lives, right? I bet you didn’t tell Kori that.”
Douglas glances at me for a moment. “No, I didn’t tell her everything.”
Tell me what? Everything what?
“Good choice,” says Jason, clapping in mockery. “Now that we know who she is and all.”
“You don’t know her the way I do,” says Douglas. “Come on, Kori.” He holds out his hand, and I take it.
“No, I guess I don’t know her as well as you. Kori never gave me that much action. We were supposed to be taking it slow.”
Douglas’s fist clenches, startling us all. “Back off, Jason,” he says.
“Or what?” Jason challenges.
But Douglas doesn’t even glance at him again. His eyes have darkened, a sign that I have come to recognize as one of two things – he’s emotionally involved in a romantic light… or an intensely angry one.
And in this situation, I can definitely count out romantic vibes.
“Or what, you creep?” Jason screeches, like a little child.
“Tell him, Kori. Tell him the truth,” Douglas whispers. His voice is kind though his face is hard. “Please.”
“I’m sorry, Jason,” I say softly. “But I haven’t had feelings for you in a long time.”
Jason pales. “You can’t mean that. After all I’ve done for you…”
“Maybe,” I say, “you’ve done a little too much.” I feel good, empowered. I am no longer Jason’s little puppet. I don’t have to be afraid of him anymore.
“Tell me something. Do you love this loser? Do you even know him? His history? Anything?”
“I know enough to make my decision.”
“Kori,” says Jason. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“You’ve always told me crap like that,” I tell him. “That I don’t know what I’m doing…. You can be angry all you want, but ultimately, the reason we never worked out is because you pushed me away. This isn’t Douglas’s fault and you shouldn’t be angry with him just because he happened to be there for me.”
“Falling in love with your math tutor,” says Jason, shaking his head.
“Well…. He taught me to follow the formula,” I say. “That freelancing is nice, but it doesn’t always get you all the results you want.”
“We can still work this out,” says Jason. “What do you have against trying?”
I don’t know what to say to this. I shake my head. I’m still debating over what to say, how to gently let Jason down, when I hear some voices from the crowd. I can’t quite make out what all of them are saying, but some of the words reach me all too clearly.
“You skank!”
“God, what a tease.”
“Some people can’t be happy with just one.”
They’re… they’re yelling at me. A milk carton flies out from nowhere and hits me on the arm. Someone shoves me and I drop my books. A laugh rustles through the crowd and I hear more name-calling, more insults. I hear things like “it’s okay, Jase” and “you’ll find someone better” directed at Jason. Everyone is sympathizing with him. Because he’s popular and handsome and, overall, approved of by the high school Powers That Be. And obviously, he can’t be blamed for this. But someone has to be.
So they hate me.
But even worse than that, they’re yelling out cruel things to Douglas. People are wadding up notebook paper – college ruled notebook paper – and chucking it at him. They’re saying horrible things. And he’s just standing there taking all of it.
Teachers, hearing the uproar, come outside and begin breaking up the crowd. Mr. Martin, the school superintendent, starts handing out detention slips to kids left and right. He looks at us sympathetically. “You guys can go home early, if you like,” he says, taking out some early-release slips from his pocket. And that is truly the best thing he could have said.

But the damage is already done.

SEVENTEEN


His name was Douglas Fincher, possibly the most awkward name I’ve ever heard in my entire life. It was a name that evoked images of pocket protectors, taped glasses, and humiliating cafeteria exploits (which, by the way, were never actually his fault). Oh, and graphing calculators. Definitely place an emphasis on the “calculators.”
The thing about Douglas was that, in spite of his obvious societal handicaps (minus the taped glasses, of course – Douglas had 20-20 vision), he was a really endearing guy. The kind of guy that you feel comfortable with almost instantly, even before you find out that he likes the same eccentric music as you, or that he totally understands your sentiments about fishbowls. Or that he has pretty eyes, and is actually very cute even with belted khakis, though he wears jeans and flannels more often now because he knows you like them. The kind of guy who can make you laugh harder in an hour than you ever did in your life. The kind of guy that you can fall in love with in spite of yourself.
Yeah, Douglas. At one time, everybody had it in for that guy.
All because of me.

☼

Douglas and I make our escape during passing period. Being offered an early day was too good to resist, so we’re taking it. I offer to drive Douglas home, but he doesn’t agree. For a moment I am scared that he hates me, too.
“Not a good idea,” he says. My heart seems to squeeze in on itself. “I can’t let you drive yet. You’re too upset.” He holds out his hand for the keys to my car. The world starts turning again.
Douglas climbs into the driver’s seat of my car and adjusts the seat. His legs are way too long for the setting I have for myself. I get into the passenger’s seat and buckle my seatbelt. We sit in the car for a few minutes in a sober silence.
“That was unpleasant,” Douglas says finally.
I jump at the chance to talk about it. “Douglas, I’m so, so, sorry. This was all my fault; I should have broken up with him ages ago and –”
“Kori,” Douglas says softly. “It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t. People were yelling and throwing stuff and calling you names and –”
“It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter.”
“But Douglas,” I insist, “that was so wrong. They shouldn’t have done those things. And all of it would have been prevented if I would have just dumped Jason when I meant to.”
“Kori,” says Douglas patiently. “Calm down.”
“But Douglas….”
“Kori, I’m not upset. I am happy to be out of there, though. I just don’t want to ruin it by revisiting the not-so-fun memories of what happened five minutes ago, okay?” He adjusts the mirrors and puts the key in the ignition. When the car turns on, Anotherloverholenyohead blares out of the speakers, Prince singing about other lovers accusingly. It immediately makes me feel guilty.
Douglas glances at my face and turns the volume down a little. “I’ve always liked this song,” he says. “Really catchy, great music.” He pulls out of the parking lot, his hand on my knee.
Again.

☼

“So,” says Douglas, putting his hands in his pockets. “I guess… I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah,” I say, resisting the urge to put my hands in my own pockets. “I guess.”
On the way over, something passed between Douglas and me. It was like, without really even communicating, we decided that we were official now. That I am Douglas’s girlfriend and he is my boyfriend. Only, right now, I’m forgetting how it’s supposed to go when you have a boyfriend. It’s like Douglas and I skipped the awkward part when we first became – well, whatever we were – and now it’s caught up to us finally.
Ergh.
“I’ll, um, call you when I get home,” I say, giving myself a mental facepalm.
“Okay,” says Douglas. He bends down a little to give me a hug. We gingerly embrace and then, prematurely, I slip out of his grasp.
“Bye,” I say.
“You be careful getting home now,” he says, and then the ice is broken between us. We laugh over how old and cautious he sounded.
“Okay, Grandpa Fincher,” I tease.
“Wow, didn’t know I was such a geezer,” Douglas jokes. “It’s a mercy I still have all the teeth I need to enjoy pretzel logs.”
“I know, right?” I say. I feel a wave of relief. He is still my Douglas. Still the same. And maybe he’s absolutely right. Maybe it doesn’t matter, what happened at school today.
“Totally,” says Douglas. Then the mirth in his eyes fades a bit. He touches my arm. “I need to give you a better good-bye,” he says. He steps a little closer to me, and I catch a whiff of Ivory soap and lemongrass, the scents I’ve come to associate with happiness.
My heart races and I look at him expectantly. I know instinctively that when he kisses me this time, I won’t forget it. That when I go home from here, I won’t be thinking about the kiss I never wanted, but instead, the one I’ve always dreamed of.
Douglas leans toward my face, and I see a faint smile playing on his lips before I close my eyes.
There’s a funny thing about intuition.
It’s pretty much always right.

“I heard about what happened at school today,” says my dad over dinner.
I snap out of my daydream, which involved – oh, I’m sure you can guess who.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. How did you find out about that? Exactly?”
“Cali. She called. Wanted to see if you were okay.”
“So… she wanted to see if I was okay. But she told you everything?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in disbelief. Sometimes Cali just goes too far. I could have told my dad myself.
“She said you weren’t answering your cell phone,” says my dad. He wraps some chow mien around a pair of chopsticks and looks at it thoughtfully. “She only called the house number because she couldn’t reach you. I made her tell me what she wanted.”
This is almost as bad as reading your kid’s diary. “Dad,” I say, frowning. “You don’t think you were being a little nosy? Why couldn’t you just ask me? Why did Cali have to tell you?”
“Because I hardly get to talk to you anymore, Kori,” my dad says. He wipes his hand over his tired eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on with you. You’re becoming this different person. You didn’t even tell me about Minnesota State. I found the letter on the kitchen table.”
About that. I got into Minnesota State University almost a week ago, but I didn’t exactly make a big deal about it. So I didn’t go ra-raing around the house, begging for kudos from Daddy-dearest. So what. I mean, it’s a college. We can celebrate if I actually enroll. So this is not a valid argument.
“And then this Douglas,” my dad continues. “When were you going to tell me that you liked him?”
“Um.” This is kind of a reach. I mean, I love my dad and all, but he isn’t the first person I’d go to in that kind of situation. I’ll take relationship advice any day, but I don’t necessarily think of my dad as my go-to in event of A Crush. That was my mom’s department.
“Or that you were through with Jason. I could have worked it out so that this fiasco at school wouldn’t have happened.”
“It wasn’t a fiasco, Dad. It was just –”
“Last time I checked, being called derogatory names by a crowd of people wasn’t the height of triumph,” my dad interrupts heatedly.
I stare down at my plate.
“I just don’t know who you are anymore,” says my dad. He puts his chopsticks down and stares at his plate, too. “You even blew off our movie night. More than once.”
I forgot about that.
“Dad,” I say, “I’m sorry. Really.”
“I realize it’s been hard for you ever since your mom… well…since your mom….”
“Yeah.”
“But I want you to know that you can come to me, too. You don’t have to hide things from me.”
“Okay.” This is a really uncomfortable conversation.
“Okay. Good,” says my dad, picking up his chopsticks again. I’m figuring out a way to leave the table when he looks up at me abruptly. “Kori,” he says.
“What?” Is he going to tell me to finish my food?
“Tell me all about it. Fill me in; the 4-1-1; give me the deets. In other words, I want to know everything about this Douglas guy,” he finishes, much to my surprise.
I get this enormous smile on my face, though I try to suppress it.
“You sure?” I ask.
“You know it,” he says. “And then after that, I’m going to kick your butt in Scrabble, Miss SAT vocabulary.” A flag of truce.
I settle more comfortably in my chair. “You can definitely try,” I tell him. I squint my eyes up at the ceiling, trying to figure out where to start.
“Well,” I say finally, smiling at my dad’s attempt at an interested pose, “it all started in Mr. Greene’s class, in pre-calc ….”

☼
The people who came up with the saying “Thank Goodness it’s Friday” totally discounted the gloriousness of Saturday. I mean, sure, Friday nights are pretty awesome when you work it out just right. But Saturday mornings are just delicious.
For instance, it is now 11:47 and I’m still in my pajamas, lazing around in my room until I have to get ready. Douglas is coming over to hang out, and so is Cali, a little later on. I guess she’s making good on her words at the mall a while ago.
But another splendid thing about Saturday is the amazing fact that I will not have to come within three miles of Walden Prep if I don’t feel like it. No homework, no switching from class to class, no endless droning in government, and – obviously – no angry crowd of totally biased, misinformed (and armed!) strangers.
And of course, there is the knowledge that after today, I still have tomorrow before school starts up again. So yes. Saturdays are good.
I pick up my iPod (I finally got one after weeks of saving) and plug it into my computer, synching my music library onto it. Thanks to Douglas, I have loads of songs to put on this thing. At this rate, I may have to get an iPod with more space.
I haven’t heard all of the songs Douglas has given me yet. So far, I’ve liked all the Bon Jovi he gave me, loved the Scorpion, appreciated the Justin Timberlake and the Simply Red, and, of course, adored the Prince. But then there are all these artists and groups I never even heard of. Like Bread. I mean, where in the world? I click through some of their songs and smile at the sentimental melodies and romantic words – “Aubrey” in particular. It’s incredible how much music Douglas knows.
And soon, he’ll be here.
I let my iPod finish synching while I sort through my closet for something to wear. I want an outfit that says, “cute and casual” but none of my clothes seem to be portraying that message. I should have done some laundry last night. Finally, I settle on a blue flannel and some shorts. I definitely got the ‘casual’ part down.
I’m sure I’ll be totally upstaged by Cali when she gets here.
I’ve just finished getting dressed when I hear Douglas downstairs talking to my dad. I’m pretty sure I am hearing sports talk. Lakers. Statistics. Good grief. I run downstairs.
“There she is, everyone’s favorite girl,” my dad announces. Now that he knows about me and Douglas, I’m sure that Dad will do his very best to mortify me in front of Douglas every chance he gets. My dad swoops me up in a big bear hug. “My little Kori-cake,” he says in a baby voice. He’s mussing my hair. “My sweet little Ko-Ko Puff.”
At this, Douglas hoots. “Ko-Ko Puff? Aw, how cute…”
I immediately get hot. “Let go,” I growl at my dad, and he laughs, a great rumbling laugh that shakes my whole body. I haven’t heard him this jovial in a long while. He lets me go and I adjust my flannel and smooth my hair back down, feeling very much like a rumpled lion.
My dad walks off to the kitchen, smirking, and Douglas winks at me, pretending to wipe a tear out of his eye. “Ah… Ko-Ko Puff. Can I call you that?” he asks.
“No,” I grumble.
“Come on, Ko-Ko.”
“Okay. You can call me that? As long as you have an immediate death-wish.”
“Kori-cake, then.”
“Shut up, Douglas,” I snarl, and Douglas erupts into a fit of hilarity.
Aw, specks. I can’t stay mad at him. His laughter is contagious. I grin a little.
“Ko-Ko Puff. I love it,” says Douglas, as his laughter subsides. “I mean, it fits perfectly. You know. Because you’re so small?”
I decide not to say anything.
“Okay, kids,” says my dad, reentering the living room. “I’m going out to meet with a client, so you’ll have the house to yourselves. Be good children, won’t you?” He pats my head, messing up my hair again, and shakes Douglas’s hand on his way out.
“Dad,” I call. “Briefcase.” I hand it to him.
“Ah, yes. Thank you, Kori. And I don’t want to come back to a house with lipstick on the walls,” he adds. “She used to do that, you know,” he informs Douglas, much to his delight. “She’d draw these terrible pictures on the walls with her mother’s favorite lipstick. Took forever to clean that stuff up.” He ducks out the door before I can send him a glare.
I smooth my mane back down. Douglas is laughing again. “Lipstick…”
Thanks, Dad.
“I have the cutest girlfriend ever,” says Douglas. Gosh, how sweet, honey. “You get so mad… you should see your face. You blush so hard. It’s adorable.”
“Shut up, Douglas,” I say again, and with that, he snatches me and tickles me until I’m out of breath.
“I have something to tell you,” he says, once I’ve recovered.
“What?” I ask. I take his hands in mine – honestly, more a precaution against further tickling than a sign of affection, in this case.
“I got into Minnesota State University. My first choice. I got my letter three days ago.”
“That’s great, Douglas!”
“Yeah, only… well, I really wanted to go there until we became friends.”
Oh. That is really sweet. I know exactly where he’s going with this.
“But now, I…”
“Douglas, guess what. I applied there too. I got in.”
“What? I didn’t even know you applied to MSU!”
“Yeah! But you were about to tell me that you were going to decline admission, weren’t you? And maybe go somewhere else so you’d be closer to me?”
Douglas lets go of me. “Yes.”
“No! I mean, I really appreciate that – it’s the sweetest thing – but no. Even if I didn’t go. MSU was your first choice. You can’t just throw your dreams away over me!”
Douglas steps back in shock. “You mean you would have wanted me to go?” he asks incredulously.
“Not completely, because I’m selfish and horrible, but yes, mostly, because I want you to have a good life.”
“My mother was wrong about you,” he says, almost to himself.
“What?” What was his mother saying about me?
But Douglas has recovered. He closes the gap between us. He wraps his arms around me. Before I can ask him what he meant, he kisses me, and I forget about everything.
For now.

“Okay… Truth.”
“Who was the boy you had the longest crush on and how long was the crush?”
“No way,” says Cali. “I’m not admitting that.” She takes a cheese puff from the bowl on the coffee table. “Pass.”
“You can’t pass!” I yell. “It’s outlined in the rules. You either tell the truth or you get punished.”
“Actually, I’m with Cali on this one,” says Douglas.
“What? You’re my boyfriend! You’re supposed to be on my side!” I punch Douglas lightly in the arm.
“No sides, only justice,” says Douglas. “Cali shouldn’t be forced to admit her crush if she’s too scared.” He sends a taunting smirk in Cali’s direction, which instantly riles her up.
“Kyle Altera; all middle school,” she huffs. “So there, Douglas. I never said I was scared.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Okay then, Mr. Smarty-Pants…”
I’m loving this so much. It feels so right to be sitting here, eating cheese puffs and watching two of my favorite people interact with each other. Cali had her reservations about hanging out with Douglas, but I assured her that he was easy to hang with. And obviously I was right. Hence, our very energetic Truth or Dare game.
“Your turn,” says Cali.
“Mine?”
“Yes. Truth or Dare?”
“Truth.”
“I want to ask the question,” Douglas says.
“Um, no. I’m her best friend; I get to ask.”
“Well, I’m her boyfriend.”
“Whatever happened to no sides, only justice?”
“Guys, I hate to interrupt, but… can somebody ask the question already?” I ask. Cali and Douglas both glance up at me with a dazed kind of look.
“Rock-paper-scissors,” says Douglas abruptly. “Best two out of three.”
“Deal,” says Cali. They proceed to fight it out.
I smack my forehead.
Douglas wins, and Cali begins protesting. “No fair! You totally cheated! I saw you!”
“Kori, did you see me cheating?” Douglas asks. I shake my head. “Thank you,” he says. “Now. The all important question of Truth…. If all three of us were on a boat, and Cali and I both fell into shark-infested waters, and you only had three seconds to save one of us, which one would you save?”
“That’s not a legit question,” Cali says. “But Kori, remember. Who have you known since preschool? Hmm?”
“Cal, don’t pressure her,” says Douglas. “Let her decide on her own. But if you must think of something as a determining factor, Kori… who was the one who enlightened you as to the existence of pretzel logs?”
“Oh no.” I bite my lip pensively. “Pretzel logs... preschool… pretzel logs… preschool….”
“Wait,” says Douglas. He gets up from the sofa where he and Cali are sitting and puts his hands on my shoulders. I instantly feel a little dizzy. “I love you, my little Ko-Ko Puff,” he says, stroking my hair.
“What? No boyfriend moves,” Cali objects.
“That’s it!” I shout. “I’d save Cali.”
“Ha!” Cali exults. “Sisters over misters all day.” She stands up and starts cabbage-patching around the living room.
“You ruined it with the nickname,” I tell Douglas in a low voice.
“I know,” he murmurs in my ear.
Cali walks over to us. “It’s your turn,” she says to Douglas.
I’m not about to get into a question frenzy with her. “You can ask him the question if he picks Truth,” I tell Cali. She smiles, knowing her power.
“Truth or Dare?”
“Truth,” Douglas says immediately.
“You guys are lame,” says Cali. “I haven’t gotten a chance to dare you guys to do something stupid yet. Fine. What is your most embarrassing childhood habit?”
Douglas closes his eyes, thinking. “I’ve got one,” he says. “But it’s pretty mortifying.” He sinks into an armchair melodramatically.

“The more undignified, the better,” Cali asserts.
Douglas chooses that moment to cram a huge handful of cheese puffs into his mouth.
“Get on with it!” Cali shrieks.
“Okay, okay,” says Douglas. “But only if Kori leaves.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I vow, seating myself on the arm of Douglas’s seat.
“Fine. So when I was little, I hated my name, right? I thought it was… I don’t know… nerdy. Uncool.”
I see Cali struggling to hide a smirk. “Uncool? How on earth could you think that?” she asks, unconvincingly. Douglas ignores her.
“But anyway, I decided that I didn’t want to wait until I was eighteen to change my name. And you know how teachers ask you at the beginning of the year if there’s a nickname you’d rather be called? I thought that was legit enough. So I asked my second grade teacher to start calling me Keith. And she did.”
“Keith?” I ask in amazement.
“I don’t know; I thought it was the total opposite of Douglas, which made it insanely cool in my mind.”
“So then what happened?” Cali asks. “Like, whatever happened to Keith?”
“Oh,” says Douglas, rubbing his hand down his neck, “it was so long ago….”
“Cut the crap,” says Cali. “Tell the story.”
“No.”

“Please, Douglas?” I ask, fluttering my eyelashes at him.
“No.”
“That’s it, Kori,” says Cali. “Your boyfriend is officially on my kill list. Say goodbye.” She pretends to shoot Douglas in the head.
“Never!” says Douglas, pushing me in front of him.
“Oh, you creep! You made me kill Kori!” Cali yells.
“You sacrificed me?” I accuse, glaring at Douglas. “Just when you think you know a guy…”
“It’s your fault for never letting me call you Ko-Ko Puff,” Douglas says, and we all start laughing.
“Can I call you Keith?” Cali asks suddenly.
“No.”

“What’s your middle name, then?”
“What, ‘Douglas’ isn’t good enough for you?”
“I just want to know,” Cali mutters.
“Me too,” I say.
“Cade,” Douglas says.
“I’m calling you that,” says Cali. “Cade. It’s so – fresh.”
“I like ‘Douglas,’” I say, dreamily.
“I like you,” says Douglas. His eyes turn intensely green, and I find myself getting lost in them. “Douglas –”
“Um. Guys? I’m still here, you know,” says Cali loudly. “And it’s my turn.”
“Right,” says Douglas, getting himself together. “So… Truth or Dare?”
“Truth,” says Cali.
“Okay,” Douglas begins, “what is the worst thing you ever…”
Douglas – Keith – Cade – whatever. I don’t care what you’re called. I’m just glad you’re mine.

“Maybe nerdy types are the fashion these days,” says Cali. “I mean, first the glasses and suspenders bit, and now, actual nerds. But yes. I’m not ashamed to admit it; you scored on this one, hon.”
“I know!” I squeal into the phone. “He’s so sweet.”
“So sweet.”

“And fun. I told you that you’d like him.”
“You guys seem into each other. So what have you decided? Is he a keeper or will you ditch him when we go to UC Irvine this fall?”
I feel a sickening heave in my stomach, almost like when you miss a step on the stairs and you feel like you’re going to fall flat on your face. “Actually….”
“I mean, long-distance just doesn’t work out. No matter how sweet the guy is, he’s going to want someone to hug sometimes. And we all knew that MSU was his first choice since, like, third grade.”
“I applied to MSU, too,” I say, in a hopefully upbeat voice. “And… I got in.”
“Kori,” says Cali cautiously, “you’re not thinking of… actually going there, are you? I mean, we planned to go to college together. We were going to be roommates. We were going to have a blast. Together. Remember?”
Somehow I never thought something like this would happen. It’s not just Cali (or Douglas), either. What about all the other friends I’ve made, the people I’ve grown up with? What happens to those connections when we all go our separate ways? All those lunchtime confidences… the parties… even the fights… everything… gone.
“Yes, I remember,” I say. “But….”
“But… what? Think about this, Kori. You ‘love’ Douglas, right? And he ‘loves’ you. But did it ever occur to you that you guys really don’t know each other that well? And what if you break up in college.”
“Cali –”
“Then you’re going to be stuck up there in Minnesota, and your dreams will be crushed. You’ll see him everywhere you go. And you’ll be so mad that you ended up going somewhere else where you weren’t truly happy anyway.”
“I don’t think things would turn out that way,” I say.
“Don’t be so naïve,” says Cali. “You can’t just follow him to MSU. It would be different if he proposed to you or something. But honestly, Kori, you need to be a bit more realistic than that.”
I know that Cali is mainly saying these things because she’s hurt that I’m even thinking about going to MSU with Douglas. But even with that knowledge, I can kind of see where Cali is right, and it irritates me.
“I’m not being naïve,” I argue. “It’s just…. He makes me happy –”
“I’m sorry. Since when do boys have the power to change our life goals?”
“He isn’t.”
“Hmm… Irvine; Minnesota…Irvine; Minnesota…”
“I applied before I even liked Douglas,” I tell her.
“But not as your first choice. It was a safety.”
“Well, yeah, but….”
“I can’t believe it,” says Cali. “My best friend. Is dumping me. For a boy she’s been dating. For what – officially three days?”
“I’m not dumping you, Cali,” I insist. “Did I say I was definitely going? No. I said I was thinking about it.”
“I really am a third wheel,” says Cali sadly. “And what do you do with a third wheel? You put it in the garage until one of the wheels busts or something.”
“Cali.”
“But what’s so terrible is, Douglas is so nice that… that I almost don’t mind. And you were right. He is cute. You guys will be so happy together. Insert sad face here.”
How could I do this to her?

☼

Okay. Pull yourself together. You can do this.
I get out of my seat, my essay in hand. I give it to Mr. Stiegelman. I hear titters as I do so.
“Thank you, Kori,” he says, smiling. “I look forward to reading this. I expect excellent work, as usual.”
No-no-no-no-no-no. Why did he say that?
“Teacher’s pet.”
“She probably became such a has-been from hanging out with that geek.”
“Please. She always was a geek. That’s why she wasn’t happy with Jason.”
“Right?”
I step away from Mr. Stiegelman’s desk and cross my arms. I duck my head and try to get back to my desk as soon as possible. I hate that people are talking about me.
When I get to my desk, I slide in a bit awkwardly, tipping my notebook onto the ground. A few of my papers slide out. So now I have to get them.
People laugh at me some more while I reach out with my foot to kick them back over to my desk.
My fishbowl sketch fell out, too! It’s the farthest away, so I really have to stretch to get it.
“Oh my god, did she draw that?”
“What a piece of crap.”
“Like, hello, Picasso was bad enough. We don’t need to know what his work would look like if he were painting with his off hand.”
I feel my face getting hot. I have to get out of here. I raise my hand in the air.
“Yes, Kori?” Mr. Stiegelman says.
“Can I go to the restroom?”
“Lunch will begin in six minutes. You can go then.”
“Okay.” I try to avoid eye contact with anyone.
“Loser.” This is covered with a cough.
I sink lower in my chair.
When the bell rings, I’m the first one out.

☼

I thrust my notebook into my locker and slam it closed.
I run out to my car, texting Douglas to meet me there. No way am I going to sit in the cafeteria.
He joins me in about eight minutes.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says. “Cafeteria fiasco.”
“You spilled your lunch again?”
“No. More like, I wasn’t sure whether to get the leaky sandwiches, or the soggy enchilada.”
“Oh.”
“So what are we doing here?” Douglas asks.
“I kind of… wanted to be away from everyone.” I don’t mention my reason. I already know how Douglas feels about caring what other people think.
“Oh. That’s cool.”
I pick nervously at the fringe on the knee of my jeans. There’s something I need to talk about.
“Kori?” Douglas reaches over and gently pulls my hand away from the hole in my knee, which, due to my plucking, is growing more defined. “You okay?”
“We need to talk,” I tell him.
Douglas lets go of my hand and stiffens a bit. “Kori,” he says. “Those words are the kiss of death. What’s going on?”
“How would you feel if we went to college together?” I ask.
Douglas shifts a little in his seat, trying to get his long legs situated comfortably. “I would be stoked if that happened, but….Your first choice was UC Irvine, right?”
I nod my head slowly. “But what if I came with you?”
“Then… awesome. It’s self-centered of me, but I’d be really happy if you came. But it’s not like we couldn’t be together even if we went to different schools.”
“But that isn’t realistic,” I say. “You’re going to want someone to hug sometimes.”
Douglas gives me a sidelong glance. “What are you saying, Kori? That I’d cheat on you? Or break up with you?”
I don’t say anything.
“What do you think I’m about?” Douglas asks. “Like – the physical side?” He reddens. “No. I’m not. Think about it. I never once tried to… to pressure you or – tempt you…or… um…”
“No, you haven’t, and that’s awesome,” I say, putting him out of his misery. “And I’m not saying you are like that. It’s just… well… let’s say we have a Situation.’
“A situation?”
“Yes. I’m over here in California...” I move my fingers across my dashboard. “And you’re over here in Minnesota.”
“So the windowsill is Minnesota?” Douglas asks, grinning.
“Be serious. This is a Situation,” I say, fixing him with my most stern glare. “Now. Pay attention. At MSU, there’s this really hot girl – way prettier than me – who’s really nice and you guys have a lot in common. Now, your professor puts you in groups for a sociology project and she tells you she’s interested in you. What do you do?”
“I kindly let her down.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s not you.”
“Good answer, but is it the truth?”
“Kori...” Douglas shakes his head at me. “I love you. Why can’t that be enough? What is the point of this conversation? Are you breaking up with me or not?”
“I was never going to break up with you, Douglas,” I say. “It’s just… I’m worried about what’s going to happen.”
“What do you mean?” Douglas asks softly.
“I just don’t know what to do.” I explain about the situation with Cali and he nods.
“I never intended to come between you and your best friend, Kori,” he says. “I don’t want to do that.”
“I’m afraid to go our separate ways,” I say. “I wish I could have both of you.”
“Oh, Kori…”
“I wish the decision was easy.”
He kisses my forehead, but he does it absentmindedly, the way he does when he’s thinking deeply.

☼

And now I know what he was thinking about on Tuesday. When I visited Douglas’s house after school today, his mother excitedly announced that Douglas made his college decision and secured housing in her alma mater.
University of La Verne.
Approximately 32 miles away from Irvine.
Apparently, the decision is easy – if someone makes it for you.

“I knew he would see the light,” Mrs. Fincher says, adjusting her pink bathrobe. “Whoo! Go Leos!”
I glance at Douglas, but his face is unreadable.
“I’m so proud of him. Aren’t you proud of him, Kori? Going to my old school. Amazing. Amazing! I have to call up his grandma and tell her.” She gets up from the table excitedly, leaving her dinner untouched. Douglas stands up and makes to go.
“I better go get some extra napkins,” he mumbles, but I catch him by the shirt-sleeve.
“Douglas? La Verne?” I hiss. “Your mother’s old school? That is not your dream.”
“Kori, this isn’t the time or place,” says Douglas in a strained voice. “My mom’s really happy about it.”

“But are you?”
Douglas pulls out of my grasp and heads into the kitchen.
I could be a good little girl right now, and stay put. I can fake like everything is fine. But I can’t. Douglas is going to throw his life away and it’s all my fault.
So I follow him.
On my way, I hear his mom on the phone. “…Just amazing. He’s over MSU, finally. All my hopes and dreams for this kid… I know. I know! And the best thing is that he’ll be near his girlfriend. I just knew she’d be the thing to keep him here. Mm-hmm. She’s really changed his life. Oh, his bouts of depression? Yeah. Kaput! Long gone! I know. I know! And get this…”
She knew I’d be the thing to keep him here?
Depression?
What the – ?
Now is probably not the time for me to be caught listening to Mrs. Fincher’s conversation. I head back to the dinner table and play with my food pensively. In a few minutes, Douglas comes back – with no napkins. Hm.
“Not a fan of the macaroni salad, Kori?” he asks evenly.
“No, it’s fine,” I say, cramming a huge bite into my mouth.
“My mom made it,” he says. “It’s like, the only thing she knows how to cook. Everything else is take-out.”
“It’s good,” I assure him. “Really good.” I scarf down some more, but I can’t taste any of it. I want to talk to Douglas about what I heard, but how can I bring it up? It’s impossible.
“I’m glad you like it,” he says, smiling.
I’m dying.
Mrs. Fincher sails into the room, beaming so widely that I can see all of her teeth. “Do you mind if I leave you two alone for a while? My shows are coming on in three minutes.”
I have heard of blessings in disguise, but I never imagined that the disguise would be a fluffy pink bathrobe and flip flops.
“I don’t mind,” I say. Trust me. I could not mind any less.
“Okay, good, because if I miss the rerun of Desperate Housewives again….”
“Mom,” says Douglas, motioning in the direction of her room, “go. It’s fine.”
“Thanks, honey,” says Mrs. Fincher, heading upstairs. “You’re a good son, you know that?”
“Yep,” says Douglas dryly. He watches her ascend the stairs. He doesn’t speak until she’s gone. “Romantic dinner for two, I guess,” he resumes, reaching for the dish of potato salad.
If I don’t get information soon I may spaz out and make a complete idiot of out myself. I opt for the subliminal lead-in approach.
“Douglas, did you know that one in three adolescents are at risk for being diagnosed with clinical depression at one time in their lives?” I ask, groping desperately for health class trivia. “I didn’t know that.”
“Random. But yes, I did know that.”
“Yeah… it’s crazy. Because just thinking of the people at school… like, you, me, and Cali –that’s three people right there!”
“Yep.” Douglas bites into a leg of chicken, unperturbed.
“I’ve never known anyone who suffered from depression, have you?”

“This conversation,” says Douglas consciously, “is really out of the blue.”
“Okay, let’s play Truth, then,” I say, feeling anxious. I guess I’m not being as subtle as I hoped.
“You okay?” Douglas asks.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You’re acting really weird,” Douglas says.
“I’m just… stressed,” I say. And it’s not a lie. I have been dealing with a lot lately.
“Maybe a movie would make you feel better.”
“I just want to talk,” I tell him.
“Okay… about what?”
“You. Well… I’m like – it’s like – well, I don’t really know you that well. Not really.” I realize that I am rambling. “Like, I know you well enough to go out with you but. Not well enough to really… know you. If that makes any sense.”
“Um…”
“Why did you make the switch to La Verne, for instance?”
“They have an amazing Business Administration program. One of the best in the nation.”
“Douglas.”
“What?”
A pressure in my lungs is growing as I struggle with him. “Did you do it for me?” I ask tensely.
Douglas stands up from the table and takes my hand. He pulls me into his back porch. He slams the sliding door. “Please sit down, Kori,” he tells me.
I sit on a wicker chair and fold my arms expectantly.
“I have some stuff to tell you. I wanted to go over this later… but I guess now will have to do.” He rumples up his hair distractedly, pacing the porch.
“Okay,” I say. Finally. Some answers.
“Remember how my mom had… that problem?” When I nod, Douglas continues. “Yeah. So I told you how my dad moved out and how… he’s not really there for me.”
“Yes. I remember.”
“Well, when that happened… I got really depressed. And I snapped, okay? I lost it. I wanted to prove to my dad that he was total jerk for leaving us behind.” He stops pacing and grasps my hands, staring into my eyes intently. “Kori…”
I am a little startled by his manner. “Yes?” Maybe probing wasn’t such a good idea after all.
“If I told you something awful about somebody, would it change how you feel about them?”
“It depends…”
“What if I told you something awful about me? Do you love me, Kori? Honestly?” Douglas grips my hands a bit tighter.
“Of course I do,” I say in bewilderment. “You’re one of the best things that ever happened to me.”
“What is love, Kori?” Douglas asks.
Okay. I am officially confused.
“Um… is this a trick question?”
“Love is sacrifice,” he continues. “And that’s… that’s why I am going to La Verne. It’s a sacrifice. For you and for my mom. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say, furrowing my brow, “but… I don’t exactly see how that’s awful. It’s amazingly noble.”
“I can’t even talk to you!” Douglas erupts. “Gosh.”
“No, you can, I promise. I’m sorry –”
“No… it’s okay…” He musses his hair some more.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I whisper. “It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t. I have to tell you…” He sits on the ground next to my chair, leaning his head on my armrest. “I just don’t want to. Because I’m scared. Scared you won’t like me anymore. Scared that you’ll hate me.”
“I couldn’t hate you, Douglas,” I tell him. I stroke his hair lightly, brushing it back into place. Comforting him, just the way he does for me. “Tell me.”
“I am a – reformed – drug abuser,” says Douglas softly, and he pauses apprehensively.
The thought of Douglas – my Douglas – abusing drugs is so ludicrous that for a moment, I am almost ready to laugh. But the gravity on Douglas’s face gives me all the assurance I need. He’s telling the truth.
“My drug of choice was heroin. I know. Pretty bad, huh?” He turns away. He can’t even look me in the eyes. It makes me feel awful.
I slip out of the wicker chair and kneel on the ground next to him. I turn his face gently towards mine. “All that matters now is that it’s over,” I tell him, though inside, I am completely stunned. “Look at what you’ve accomplished since then.”
“I’m such a hypocrite,” he says. “How could I forget who I am? Getting mad at my mother for drinking, but she had to send me to rehab…”
“You’re not a hypocrite, Douglas. Look at what you’ve done!”
“I am, Kori. And it makes me feel like crap.”
“I’m not talking about that,” I say. “I’m talking about… well, you got straight A’s. You got into six great colleges, three with scholarships offered. You taught a girl who hates math how to use it and apply it to her life. Honestly, that last one might top the others.”
Douglas looks up at me slowly.
“You helped her learn how to not judge a book by its cover,” I continue. “You gave her the pretzel log experience. You helped her to become one of General Greene’s favorite students, even though he totally hated her before. You helped her to get the courage to stand up to her controlling ex-boyfriend.”
“But still. That mark is on me forever,” Douglas says falteringly. “It’ll follow me wherever I go. I can’t tell my job interviewers those things when they see that I was a drug abuser.”
“Well, you know what?” I say. “It’s fine, because I know exactly what you were going through.”
“What?” Douglas asks, alarmed.
“Yes,” I confirm, nodding. “Because I’m an addict, too.”
“You are? Kori, that’s terrib –”
“I am,” I interject. “And I don’t think I’ll reform anytime soon, because you’re my drug of choice, Douglas Fincher.”

☼

We talked for a long time, there on the back porch. To be honest, I am not quite over the fact that Douglas was a drug abuser, because when I first officially met him, he was such a – well, goody-two-shoes. You don’t see a khaki-wearing, teacher approved, straight A student and go, “Mm-hmmm. Stoner.” Add to that the fact that I didn’t really notice anything odd about him in sophomore year, the year he first got into drugs. I mean, shouldn’t I have seen something? Shouldn’t I at least have noticed that he disappeared for a few months, while he was in rehab?
Then again, we were never friends until a few months ago. And I was so wrapped up in sadness over my mom’s death that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if my shoes were on backwards.
Douglas told me that the reason he’d never kissed me all those other times wasn’t just because I was Jason’s girl. He told me that he’d had a crush on me since the ninth grade. (Talk about commitment.) But he never made a move later on, when he had the opportunity. He didn’t think of it as him being the nerdy boy and me being the pretty rich girl. He was worried that if I fell for him, I’d hate him later on when I learned the truth.
After about twenty minutes of me assuring Douglas that I don’t hate him, that I still want to be his girlfriend, he swore me to secrecy about his confession.
There’s only one problem. I may keep my promise, because I love Douglas and I don’t want to betray his trust. He’s never hurt me or done anything to make me want get even with him.
But there’s someone else who has the same information as I do – someone who may not be so willing to keep it under wraps.
Someone whose father had more than enough money to send Douglas to rehab. Someone whose father owed Mrs. Fincher a favor.
Someone who just might have something against Douglas.
Someone named Jason.