bed.
I turned around and grabbed hold of one of his legs, burying my face in his pant leg, and cried some more.
“Something happen between you and Patrick?”
“I think w-we b-broke up,” I sobbed. “Oh, Dad!”
I felt his hand on my forehead, his fingers brushing back the wet hair that clung to my temples. “Want to tell me about it?” he asked softly.
“It’s just … just … there’s this girl, Penny, and she’s been chasing him, and …” I couldn’t go on. I was putting it all on Penny, I knew. I still couldn’t face the fact that the feeling between her and Patrick was mutual.
Dad did it for me. “And he let himself be caught?”
I nodded vigorously and went on crying, curling up against his leg as though it were a pillow.
“Love is really hard sometimes,” he said. And I was glad he said “love.” I was glad he acknowledged that I loved Patrick, and didn’t modify it with “puppy love” or “high school infatuation” or something.
“It’s worse than being sick, worse than throwing up,” I told him, my nose clogged.
“I know,” said Dad.
“I feel like there’s nothing left. That Patrick’s gone and taken a part of me with him.”
“In a way, I suppose he has,” said Dad.
I was doubly grateful that he didn’t immediatelystart talking me out of my crying jag, that he accepted how I felt.
“I feel alone and ugly and scared, like I don’t know what to do next. Like … like I don’t even know how to act without a boyfriend. It’s all so stupid, and yet … oh, Dad, it hurts! It really hurts.”
“I know, I know,” he said.
Deep inside, however, I felt maybe it wasn’t over. That Patrick would go home and feel as bad about this as I did. That he’d E-mail me, maybe, or the phone would ring about ten o’clock and his voice would be soft and gentle the way it often was after we’d argued. I could even imagine him saying, Alice McKinley, may I have the honor of escorting you to the Snow Ball? and I’d sort of giggle and maybe cry, and we’d both say how dumb the argument had been. He’d tell me how he couldn’t bear to lose me, and I’d say I’d been insanely jealous, and everything would be okay again.
Except that the phone didn’t ring and Patrick didn’t E-mail. I had a horrible night. I looked incredibly awful the next morning—my eyes were all puffy. I wanted to stay home. I wanted Dad to write an excuse, say I needed sleep, but he wouldn’t.
“Al, do you really want everybody to notice that you aren’t on the bus? Do you want the news of your breakup to travel around, and everyone know that you’re taking it hard?”
That, I realized, would be even worse than letting them see my puffy eyes. I wrapped some ice cubes in a dish towel and sat at the kitchen table, holding the ice to my eyes, taking deep breaths to quiet my nerves.
Lester came clattering down the stairs for breakfast. I saw him pause in the doorway, staring at me, and then, out of the corner of my swollen eyes, I saw Dad shake his head at him sternly. Les came on in the kitchen without a word to me, mumbling something about how his car needed gas and he’d just drink a little coffee and get a muffin on campus. Then he was gone.
When my face began to feel numb, I dumped the ice in the sink and went upstairs to shower. I knew I couldn’t keep anything down if I tried to eat, so I skipped breakfast and concentrated on my face. I carefully put on foundation and blush and powder, dropped Murine in my eyes, blow-dried my hair, and dressed in a beige top and khakis. Walking beside Elizabeth to the bus stop, I kept my face turned away from her a little, and she didn’t seem to notice my eyes.
She was talking about an English assignment and how she’d almost forgotten to wash her gym clothes the night before, how her shorts were still damp, and when the bus came, we got on and sat together across from Pamela. I could sense Patrick’spresence at the back of the bus, but I didn’t hear
I turned around and grabbed hold of one of his legs, burying my face in his pant leg, and cried some more.
“Something happen between you and Patrick?”
“I think w-we b-broke up,” I sobbed. “Oh, Dad!”
I felt his hand on my forehead, his fingers brushing back the wet hair that clung to my temples. “Want to tell me about it?” he asked softly.
“It’s just … just … there’s this girl, Penny, and she’s been chasing him, and …” I couldn’t go on. I was putting it all on Penny, I knew. I still couldn’t face the fact that the feeling between her and Patrick was mutual.
Dad did it for me. “And he let himself be caught?”
I nodded vigorously and went on crying, curling up against his leg as though it were a pillow.
“Love is really hard sometimes,” he said. And I was glad he said “love.” I was glad he acknowledged that I loved Patrick, and didn’t modify it with “puppy love” or “high school infatuation” or something.
“It’s worse than being sick, worse than throwing up,” I told him, my nose clogged.
“I know,” said Dad.
“I feel like there’s nothing left. That Patrick’s gone and taken a part of me with him.”
“In a way, I suppose he has,” said Dad.
I was doubly grateful that he didn’t immediatelystart talking me out of my crying jag, that he accepted how I felt.
“I feel alone and ugly and scared, like I don’t know what to do next. Like … like I don’t even know how to act without a boyfriend. It’s all so stupid, and yet … oh, Dad, it hurts! It really hurts.”
“I know, I know,” he said.
Deep inside, however, I felt maybe it wasn’t over. That Patrick would go home and feel as bad about this as I did. That he’d E-mail me, maybe, or the phone would ring about ten o’clock and his voice would be soft and gentle the way it often was after we’d argued. I could even imagine him saying, Alice McKinley, may I have the honor of escorting you to the Snow Ball? and I’d sort of giggle and maybe cry, and we’d both say how dumb the argument had been. He’d tell me how he couldn’t bear to lose me, and I’d say I’d been insanely jealous, and everything would be okay again.
Except that the phone didn’t ring and Patrick didn’t E-mail. I had a horrible night. I looked incredibly awful the next morning—my eyes were all puffy. I wanted to stay home. I wanted Dad to write an excuse, say I needed sleep, but he wouldn’t.
“Al, do you really want everybody to notice that you aren’t on the bus? Do you want the news of your breakup to travel around, and everyone know that you’re taking it hard?”
That, I realized, would be even worse than letting them see my puffy eyes. I wrapped some ice cubes in a dish towel and sat at the kitchen table, holding the ice to my eyes, taking deep breaths to quiet my nerves.
Lester came clattering down the stairs for breakfast. I saw him pause in the doorway, staring at me, and then, out of the corner of my swollen eyes, I saw Dad shake his head at him sternly. Les came on in the kitchen without a word to me, mumbling something about how his car needed gas and he’d just drink a little coffee and get a muffin on campus. Then he was gone.
When my face began to feel numb, I dumped the ice in the sink and went upstairs to shower. I knew I couldn’t keep anything down if I tried to eat, so I skipped breakfast and concentrated on my face. I carefully put on foundation and blush and powder, dropped Murine in my eyes, blow-dried my hair, and dressed in a beige top and khakis. Walking beside Elizabeth to the bus stop, I kept my face turned away from her a little, and she didn’t seem to notice my eyes.
She was talking about an English assignment and how she’d almost forgotten to wash her gym clothes the night before, how her shorts were still damp, and when the bus came, we got on and sat together across from Pamela. I could sense Patrick’spresence at the back of the bus, but I didn’t hear
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