“Oh my god, your hair!” I yell.
Then she grabs me and we’re hugging and squealing and doing this thing where we’re hopping around.
“I know!” Sterling goes. “It was supposed to come out more like yours, but the stylist said your color is complicated.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were dyeing it?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Oh, I’m surprised.”
“So, what do you think?” Sterling twirls around so I can inspect her hair from all angles. It’s a lighter blonde than mine, since my hair has different shades of blonde mixed in, and I’m not sure if it works with her coloring.
“It’s hot,” I say. Maybe I just have to get used to it.
She points to my usual stool in the kitchen. “Sit,” she says.
Sterling took over the kitchen when she was twelve because her mom can’t cook. Plus, she’s never here. And Sterling got sick of eating things like hot dogs and Tater Tots and those instant pasta sides every night for dinner. So one day, Sterling announced that she was doing all of the cooking. Now she takes cooking classes and everything. Her mom was thrilled. The agreement is that Sterling puts what she needs for the week on the grocery list and her mom gets everything.
There are four different pots going on the stove. Vegetables in all different colors compete for space on the counter. Two place mats are set out across from each other on the other counter where we always sit, with cloth napkins and schmancy silverware.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I go.
“Of course I did. What kind of lame welcome home dinner did you think I was making?”
“Yeah, but it’s so . . . extensive.” I had to beg my parents to let me come over to Sterling’s for dinner since it’s my first day back and all, but they finally let me. And we’re going to a pier party after.
“Only the best for you, friend girl.”
“Wow.” Something bubbles in one of the pots. Everything smells so good. “Thanks for doing all this.”
“Please. You’re the one who’s doing me a favor. No one’s tried any of this stuff yet. Well, except for me, but I’m not exactly impartial.” Sterling picks something out of a bowl and stuffs it in her mouth. “I can’t stop eating these,” she says. “Try one.”
I peer into a bowl of weird-shaped cracker thingies that look like someone cut them out of cardboard. “What is it?”
“Feng Shui rice crackers.” Sterling used to have this tone with me when I asked her what something was, like, How can you not know this?But now she’s used to my culinary ignorance. My family is basically the meat-and-potatoes kind.
Slowly, I stretch my hand into the bowl, as if a rice cracker might bite me. They feel kind of sticky. But I don’t want to insult Sterling, so I take a small bite of my cracker. “Hmm.”
“Aren’t they so good?”
I guess I’m not a rice cracker person. “They’re . . . different,” I tell her. Which I know will make her happy. That’s like the highest compliment you can give Sterling about anything going on in her kitchen. She’s into the exotic.
“I know.” She chomps into another cracker. “I’ve already eaten like a whole bag of these.”
It’s hard not to be jealous of Sterling. She’s so tiny, but she eats constantly. If I even look at a doughnut I immediately gain five pounds.
Sterling darts to the stove and multitasks between two pans and a massive pot.
“What are you making?” I ask.
“Risotto. Wait, I have to concentrate on this part. It’s all about the timing.”
While we’re eating, Sterling tells me about her new lifestyle plan. She got on the self-improvement train the first day of summer vacay and is riding it right into sophomore year. “Okay. So.” She puts her fork down. “Do you need more sauce?”
“No, I’m good.” Everything tastes incredible. Sterling could be a professional chef right now, and people eating at her restaurant would never know she’s only fifteen. You know, if she stayed hidden in the kitchen and all.
“So,” she goes. “You know how I’m kind of high-strung?”
“Pretty much.”
“Guess what I’m into now?”
“Uh . . . competitive Ping-Pong?”
“No.”
“Auto repair?”
“No! Guess real guesses.”
“I give up.”
Sterling puts her hands up, like, Wait for it.Then she announces: “Yoga!”
“Yoga?”
“Is that cool or what?”
I’m kind of leaning toward “or what.” If it was anyone but Sterling, I’d agree that it’s cool. But she’s the most hyperactive person I know. Her attention span is nonexistent unless a recipe is involved. She can’t even sit still for more than three minutes. And now she’s doing yoga? How is that possible?
Of course, I can’t say any of this. I’m her best friend. I have to be supportive.
So I go, “Is it fun?”
“It’s already changing my life! I can feel my concentration improving.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Totally. Now you.”
We do this every year. We get together before school starts, when all of the electric energy of possibility is zinging around, and make a pact on how we want our lives to change.
“I’m tired of waiting for my real life to start,” I go. “Like, when’s all the good stuff finally going to happen?”
“Now! This is our year!”
“How do you know?”
“I can just tell.”
I really hope she’s right. There’s only so much waiting a person can endure until they start thinking that maybe nothing exciting will ever happen to them. Like, ever.
“Your waiting is over,” Sterling insists. “Trust me.”
The problem with the last few days of summer? Is that you can’t hold on to them. They zoom by way too fast. You live through them in a dream until they’re over. And then everything slows down to a glacial pace again.
Usually I’m not nervous until the day before school starts. But today I’m already nervous because we’re going to Andrea’s pier party tonight and everyone will be there. Or at least the one person I’m extra nervous about seeing will be there.
When we get to Andrea’s house, we go around back and find her sitting on the sand. She waves us over.
“Hey, you guys,” Andrea says. “How was your summer?”
“Awesome,” we both say together. I glance around for him while trying to look like I’m not looking for anyone.
And then I see him.
There’s a volleyball game and Derek is serving the ball. His shirt is off and his bathing suit is sexy. It’s red and has a thin neon orange stripe along the seam. It’s so perfect that he plays volleyball because he’s got that classic California surfer boy look. If we didn’t live in Connecticut, you’d totally think he was from San Diego or something.
I watch him play. I haven’t fully absorbed how perfect his body is yet.
“Hello! Earth to Marisa!”
I snap out of my Derek trance. Sterling and Andrea are looking up at me. When did Sterling spread her towel out? How long was I staring at Derek? And did everyone see me staring at him like a total loser?
Okay, remain calm. Remember: Control your thoughts to control your actions.
I spread my towel out and try to concentrate on what they’re saying. As usual, Sterling’s drooling over some boy who’s too old for her.
“Who’s that?” she asks Andrea.
“Who, Dan?” Andrea goes. “He’s my brother’s friend from college.”
“How old is he?”
“Like, twenty-one? Twenty-two?”
“Does he have a girlfriend?” Sterling wants to know.
Andrea gives her a look.
“What?”
“Why can’t you like boys your own age?”
“Ew! Maybe because they’re gross?”
She has a point.
But so does Andrea. Sterling always likes guys who are way out of her age range. And then she complains when all they do is flirt with her.
“I’m just saying,” Andrea goes.
“Yeah, well I’m just saying that Dan is seriously hot,” Sterling says. “Can you introduce me?”
Andrea scrunches her face up.
“What?” Sterling goes.
Andrea’s all, “Forget it.” But she obviously thinks Sterling’s a slut for going after older guys. Sterling’s never done anything with any of them, though.
Sterling’s like, “Could it be any hotter?”
I go, “In hell, maybe.”
“The water’s great,” Andrea says. “You guys should go in.”
“Sweet. Coming?” Sterling asks me.
“I’m good.”
“I’ll go,” Andrea says. “I’m completely crispy.”
At first, I watch them in the water and talk to some girls I know from orchestra and convince myself that I shouldn’t stare at Derek anymore. But that doesn’t really work, because I keep sneaking looks at him.
And then something amazing happens. Something seriously life-altering.
Derek looks over at me and smiles.
He’s smiling right at me!
I think I smile back, but I’m not sure if my face is working right. He does this little wave thing and goes back to the game.
I wish it could stay like this forever, with the anticipation of everything.
It’s always weird seeing everyone when summer’s over. There are kids who got tanner. Kids who got thinner. Kids who totally changed their hair. It’s interesting to see how people reinvent themselves over the summer. I wonder if anyone thinks I’ve changed.
Walking home in the dark, I see Nash out on our dock. He’s sitting under the lamplight, probably getting a head start on whatever we have to read for English. It’s so weird that I don’t really know him anymore, because he used to be such a fixture in my life. We played together in third and fourth grades. We practically lived out on the dock all summer, swimming in the river and playing water games. But then everything changed when middle school started. I just didn’t feel like hanging out with him as much anymore. The thing is, I can’t remember why.
We’ve known each other forever. Far Hills is one of those small Connecticut towns where everyone knows everyone else. Where you go to school with the same exact kids from kindergarten until you graduate. Plus, Nash and I are neighbors. He lives three houses down, and we still use the same dock for swimming in the summer (our town is on a peninsula, sticking out into Five Mile River).
We actually like using the dock all year. It’s a really good place to go when you need some space. It’s just that now we avoid using it if the other one’s already out there. Sometimes when I see Nash on it, I want to go over and say hi or something, the way we used to do all those years ago. But then it’s like he got there first so I should respect his privacy. I know what it’s like when you just need to be alone for a while and block out the world.
It’s strange how you can live so close to someone and grow up with him without ever really knowing who he is. Or maybe you used to know him, but now you’re like strangers. It’s weird how time can change something you thought would always stay the same.
2
Can I just say that when you’re hoping things will get better but they don’t, it majorly sucks?
I really, really thought that today would be different. I imagined getting to school and everyone reacting to me like I’m not such a freak anymore. But that’s not how the first day of school is going. It’s bad. Like, desperately bad. Because when everyone expects you to be a certain way, it’s really hard to escape that image. It’s like once everyone decides who you are, you’re locked into their version of you and that’s it. And everyone decided I was crazy last year. But I’m determined to break out of that. I have to believe that there might be a possible escape route for me.
Sterling seems fine. But she’s always fine. She’s little and cute and people like her. We don’t have any classes together this year and I have no idea how I’ll survive lunch. I saw her in the hall when we got our locker assignments and she was talking to people and laughing like she wasn’t even nervous. I always have a knot in my stomach on the first day of school that doesn’t go away until I get home. Plus, I can never fall asleep the night before, so I’m trying to handle the disaster of my life on two hours’ sleep.
I was expecting people to realize that I’ve changed. I made an effort to smile at people and say hi in homeroom, but I was basically ignored.
Why doesn’t anyone want to talk to me? I mean, other than the same people I’ve been talking to for years. I was sort of hoping to make some new friends. I only have a few friends and I find that to be lame. Lots of kids go out in these big groups. That would be so fun.
Whatever. I can’t even deal with this now because we’re supposed to be doing a getting-to-know-you activity in chemistry. I hate it when teachers make you sit in a circle on the first day of school and do some activity where you have to introduce yourself. It’s like, every nerve in your body is already twanging, which is bad enough. The last thing you want to do is talk in front of people. How can teachers not know that?
So I guess it isn’t too heinous that Mrs. Hunter is making us do this activity in pairs. We already got assigned seats. I sit in front of Nash. Then we got this sheet of questions and we had to pick ten that we would most want to ask a potential friend. Which isn’t a bad idea if you think about it. Being able to interview your potential friends would rock. Because then you wouldn’t get so many nasty surprises later. It’s not like you can take back a friendship.
After we pick our ten questions, I turn my desk around to face Nash.
Nash goes first. “If you were a shape, which shape would you be and why?”
I smile at my paper. That was the weirdest question, which is why it was my favorite.
“What?” Nash goes.
“I picked the shape one, too.”
“So what shape would you be?”
“Hmm.”
I have to seriously think about that. Not only am I sitting in front of this boy for the rest of the year, but we’re also lab partners. Which means we have to do every lab report together, plus a few big projects. So if I make a sucky impression and he thinks I’m a reject, it’ll be really hard to prove him wrong after that.
Okay, so it’s not the first time he’s meeting me. But this is the first time we’ve said more than three words to each other since elementary school and I want to make a good impact on everyone today. I don’t just care about how I look (shoulder-length blonde hair with natural highlights, brown eyes that have these green flecks if the light hits them the right way, not fat or skinny, white T-shirt, jeans, black Converse). It’s also important to make sure my new personality is showing.
“I’d be . . . a circle,” I go. “Within a square.”
“I think you’re only supposed to pick one.”
“Well, I can’t be defined by just one shape.”
“I see.”
“I’m a very complex person,” I say, even though I’m not. But I feel daring and wild, saying it. Like I could be anybody and he wouldn’t even know the difference.
“I’m getting that,” Nash goes. He has this glint in his eyes and a smile where his mouth only turns up on one side.
Don’t let that fool you. He’s not potential boyfriend material.
Here’s why. Nash is totally geeked out. His hair is always messy, his shirts usually look like he slept in them, and he constantly has to correct people when they’re wrong, in this annoying know-it-ally way. His social skills are pathetic and I want more friends, so we don’t exactly have the same priorities. Plus, I’ve seen him lick his fingers at lunch when the napkin is like right there.
There’s just no way.
Nash does have some good qualities, though. I like how he’s really shy and sweet. He’s not like most other b
oys who are always acting all doofusy and fifth-grade about everything, where it’s like, Hello, we’re in tenth grade now, grow up already.Nash seems a lot more mature. He’s the type of person Aunt Katie would say has an “old soul.”
All those good things about him were enough when we were younger, catching fireflies in the summer and making snowmen in the winter. We could be friends without things getting weird. But everything has a different meaning now that we’re older. Now there are, like, implications.
Susane Colasanti, Take Me There
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