his voice and dared not look in his direction.
Pamela and Karen were sitting together comparing nail decals. This time the older kids on the bus were so loud that anything we said was drowned out. They were making up a new cheer for basketball games, with a lot of bawdy words in it, and of course all the ninth graders were drinking it in.
Elizabeth in her usual way was trying to carry on a conversation with me as though she weren’t subjecting her ears to their banter. “I forgot to take them out of the dryer and they’ll be a wrinkled mess,” she was saying. She stopped and studied me for a moment, then leaned forward and looked directly into my face. “My gosh!” she said.
I could feel tears welling up again. “It’s that bad, huh?”
“What’s happened? ” she asked softly.
I didn’t answer, and she looked quickly around to see if anyone else was listening. “You and Patrick?” she asked again.
I nodded.
“You and Patrick? ” she repeated, unbelieving. And when I didn’t answer, she said, “You broke up? ”
I leaned my head on her shoulder, swallowing and swallowing, till I’d managed to control my tears. She put one hand on mine and squeezed it, and I was never so glad for a friend.
9
Pain
I didn’t want anyone to pity me, though. I didn’t want to feel like “poor, rejected Alice.” I was pretty sure Elizabeth wouldn’t tell anyone until I said she could, but it turned out that Jill asked Patrick if he was taking me to the Snow Ball, and he said, “Probably not.”
That’s when Jill told Karen and Karen told Pamela and Pamela cornered me outside the cafeteria and said, “Alice, what happened?”
“It was by mutual consent,” I said.
“Was it Penny?” she asked.
“It was everything,” I said, starting to move away before the bell. Before I started crying.
“I’ll be over after school,” Pamela called after me, and disappeared down the corridor.
How do you look cheerful when you’re crying inside? How do you act interested in friends’ conversations when all you can think about is what you said to Patrick and Patrick said to you andhow he looked when he said it? How do you keep your mind on the blackboard and tomorrow’s assignment when tomorrow seems about as bleak and colorless as a tomorrow ever seemed?
It’s weird, but I was almost more depressed about breaking up with Patrick than I remember being over my mom dying, I think, because I was too young to understand what dying meant. That it was final. Forever. I remember everyone else crying at the funeral, but I kept thinking, “But when she’s better, she’ll come back!” The breakup with Patrick seemed pretty final to me because—even if we got back together sometime, how could it ever be the same? How could I ever feel that Patrick liked—loved—me best of all?
“Alice? Up here, please,” my history teacher said, tapping the pointer against a wall map. “You can’t see China out the window.”
At lunchtime, I noticed Penny studying me warily from the end of the long table where we ate, but I avoided looking at her. I found myself laughing a little too readily at Mark’s jokes, being flirtatious and silly with Brian, teasing Justin Collier. It was sickening. Exhausting. Pretending can wear you out, and so, about halfway through, I just stopped talking and concentrated on my chicken salad sandwich.
Patrick wasn’t on the bus going home. The band had left for a state competition that afternoon, andI was glad of that. Pamela got off at the stop with Elizabeth and me, and we walked the block and a half to my house. I held up pretty well until we got up in my room, and then I lay down on my bed and started crying.
Pamela sat on one side of me, Elizabeth on the other. Pamela was stroking my hair, Elizabeth rubbing my back.
“Alice, it wasn’t about ‘everything,’” Pamela said. “Nothing is about ‘everything.’ It had to be more specific than that.”
“We just … we had a big fight,”
Pamela and Karen were sitting together comparing nail decals. This time the older kids on the bus were so loud that anything we said was drowned out. They were making up a new cheer for basketball games, with a lot of bawdy words in it, and of course all the ninth graders were drinking it in.
Elizabeth in her usual way was trying to carry on a conversation with me as though she weren’t subjecting her ears to their banter. “I forgot to take them out of the dryer and they’ll be a wrinkled mess,” she was saying. She stopped and studied me for a moment, then leaned forward and looked directly into my face. “My gosh!” she said.
I could feel tears welling up again. “It’s that bad, huh?”
“What’s happened? ” she asked softly.
I didn’t answer, and she looked quickly around to see if anyone else was listening. “You and Patrick?” she asked again.
I nodded.
“You and Patrick? ” she repeated, unbelieving. And when I didn’t answer, she said, “You broke up? ”
I leaned my head on her shoulder, swallowing and swallowing, till I’d managed to control my tears. She put one hand on mine and squeezed it, and I was never so glad for a friend.
9
Pain
I didn’t want anyone to pity me, though. I didn’t want to feel like “poor, rejected Alice.” I was pretty sure Elizabeth wouldn’t tell anyone until I said she could, but it turned out that Jill asked Patrick if he was taking me to the Snow Ball, and he said, “Probably not.”
That’s when Jill told Karen and Karen told Pamela and Pamela cornered me outside the cafeteria and said, “Alice, what happened?”
“It was by mutual consent,” I said.
“Was it Penny?” she asked.
“It was everything,” I said, starting to move away before the bell. Before I started crying.
“I’ll be over after school,” Pamela called after me, and disappeared down the corridor.
How do you look cheerful when you’re crying inside? How do you act interested in friends’ conversations when all you can think about is what you said to Patrick and Patrick said to you andhow he looked when he said it? How do you keep your mind on the blackboard and tomorrow’s assignment when tomorrow seems about as bleak and colorless as a tomorrow ever seemed?
It’s weird, but I was almost more depressed about breaking up with Patrick than I remember being over my mom dying, I think, because I was too young to understand what dying meant. That it was final. Forever. I remember everyone else crying at the funeral, but I kept thinking, “But when she’s better, she’ll come back!” The breakup with Patrick seemed pretty final to me because—even if we got back together sometime, how could it ever be the same? How could I ever feel that Patrick liked—loved—me best of all?
“Alice? Up here, please,” my history teacher said, tapping the pointer against a wall map. “You can’t see China out the window.”
At lunchtime, I noticed Penny studying me warily from the end of the long table where we ate, but I avoided looking at her. I found myself laughing a little too readily at Mark’s jokes, being flirtatious and silly with Brian, teasing Justin Collier. It was sickening. Exhausting. Pretending can wear you out, and so, about halfway through, I just stopped talking and concentrated on my chicken salad sandwich.
Patrick wasn’t on the bus going home. The band had left for a state competition that afternoon, andI was glad of that. Pamela got off at the stop with Elizabeth and me, and we walked the block and a half to my house. I held up pretty well until we got up in my room, and then I lay down on my bed and started crying.
Pamela sat on one side of me, Elizabeth on the other. Pamela was stroking my hair, Elizabeth rubbing my back.
“Alice, it wasn’t about ‘everything,’” Pamela said. “Nothing is about ‘everything.’ It had to be more specific than that.”
“We just … we had a big fight,”
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