friend who you feel that you can trust completely.
And we were good friends, you know? He always cared. That’s the thing about him. He cares. He really –
What am I saying? This is Graham, the guy I’ve devoted so much time to hating.
Could I have been wrong? Maybe I’m too cynical. Just because I’m selfish and self-absorbed and horrible doesn’t mean that the rest of the world is.
People make mistakes. It doesn’t make them bad people.
I turn the page.
The sun started hiding behind the clouds, and I was getting cold, so he made me put on his jacket. I mean, he insisted. It was warm and soft and soothing, like being wrapped in a blanket. It made me feel safe and loved. He’d given me this feeling. It’s stupid, but I loved him so much at that moment. Not in a romantic way, because it’s Graham , you know, but in a friendly way, in the sort of way that tells me that I’m never going to let him out of my life, that we’re going to stay close throughout school and college and marriage and children and all that crap. There are so few people I feel that way about, and it’s just amazing to have one more in my life, you know?
Chapter Fifty-Two
There are too many Mondays. And I think that if a scientific study was ever done, they would find that Mondays take far longer to get through than any other day of the week, thus explaining the way that by Monday evening it feels like several more days should have elapsed.
On Monday afternoon I am doing something which I can’t believe I’m doing, yet seems to make sense.
I’m going over to Graham’s house after school.
I’m crazy.
There must be a part of me that knows what I’m doing is completely stupid, because I don’t tell Sarah about it.
Of course, it’s not like it’s a big deal, so why bore her with the details? Besides, it’s not like I have time to mention it at lunch or anything. Sarah and I sit outside with a big group, including Fiona, Caroline and a couple of the people who were at the party and who know the guys in the band. It’s fun. Emily, Hugh’s girlfriend, is one of those people who always have something intelligent to say but never make you feel inferior while doing so, and we talk about the human need to label people. She’s cool in that offbeat way that I long to emulate, and I get a kick out of the fact that we click right away. I start to feel like an interesting, worthwhile human being.
Can this really be happening? Am I actually feeling something akin to happiness and contentment while in school?
So between this and the thoughts of seeing Graham later, it’s a rather bizarre day.
We agreed on half four. I’m five minutes late, deliberately. Because, with the crazy attitude there is in this country about time, being on time would be considered being early. In fact, being five minutes late is considered being early. But far more acceptable than actually being on time, if you follow me. I don’t want him thinking that I was desperate to see him. Casual is the key-word here.
And what am I doing? I’m not trying to impress him. I hate people who change themselves in order to impress people, and here I am doing exactly the same thing. I’m such a hypocrite.
And I’m obsessing over five minutes.
He answers the door.
“Hey, come on in.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
When we are being civil to each other, it is so strangely like old times that it feels like we never fought. Being friendly, talking about our day, talking about mutual friends and acquaintances and enemies . . . it feels so weirdly right .
When he hugs me, I don’t want to let go.
When I “accidentally” push up my sleeves in a casual gesture and he asks about the marks on my arm even though it hits him instantly what they are, I love the concerned look on his face, I love that someone gives a damn, I love that he makes me feel special and worthy of attention.
And that’s why that, when he leans in to kiss me, I don’t turn
And we were good friends, you know? He always cared. That’s the thing about him. He cares. He really –
What am I saying? This is Graham, the guy I’ve devoted so much time to hating.
Could I have been wrong? Maybe I’m too cynical. Just because I’m selfish and self-absorbed and horrible doesn’t mean that the rest of the world is.
People make mistakes. It doesn’t make them bad people.
I turn the page.
The sun started hiding behind the clouds, and I was getting cold, so he made me put on his jacket. I mean, he insisted. It was warm and soft and soothing, like being wrapped in a blanket. It made me feel safe and loved. He’d given me this feeling. It’s stupid, but I loved him so much at that moment. Not in a romantic way, because it’s Graham , you know, but in a friendly way, in the sort of way that tells me that I’m never going to let him out of my life, that we’re going to stay close throughout school and college and marriage and children and all that crap. There are so few people I feel that way about, and it’s just amazing to have one more in my life, you know?
Chapter Fifty-Two
There are too many Mondays. And I think that if a scientific study was ever done, they would find that Mondays take far longer to get through than any other day of the week, thus explaining the way that by Monday evening it feels like several more days should have elapsed.
On Monday afternoon I am doing something which I can’t believe I’m doing, yet seems to make sense.
I’m going over to Graham’s house after school.
I’m crazy.
There must be a part of me that knows what I’m doing is completely stupid, because I don’t tell Sarah about it.
Of course, it’s not like it’s a big deal, so why bore her with the details? Besides, it’s not like I have time to mention it at lunch or anything. Sarah and I sit outside with a big group, including Fiona, Caroline and a couple of the people who were at the party and who know the guys in the band. It’s fun. Emily, Hugh’s girlfriend, is one of those people who always have something intelligent to say but never make you feel inferior while doing so, and we talk about the human need to label people. She’s cool in that offbeat way that I long to emulate, and I get a kick out of the fact that we click right away. I start to feel like an interesting, worthwhile human being.
Can this really be happening? Am I actually feeling something akin to happiness and contentment while in school?
So between this and the thoughts of seeing Graham later, it’s a rather bizarre day.
We agreed on half four. I’m five minutes late, deliberately. Because, with the crazy attitude there is in this country about time, being on time would be considered being early. In fact, being five minutes late is considered being early. But far more acceptable than actually being on time, if you follow me. I don’t want him thinking that I was desperate to see him. Casual is the key-word here.
And what am I doing? I’m not trying to impress him. I hate people who change themselves in order to impress people, and here I am doing exactly the same thing. I’m such a hypocrite.
And I’m obsessing over five minutes.
He answers the door.
“Hey, come on in.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
When we are being civil to each other, it is so strangely like old times that it feels like we never fought. Being friendly, talking about our day, talking about mutual friends and acquaintances and enemies . . . it feels so weirdly right .
When he hugs me, I don’t want to let go.
When I “accidentally” push up my sleeves in a casual gesture and he asks about the marks on my arm even though it hits him instantly what they are, I love the concerned look on his face, I love that someone gives a damn, I love that he makes me feel special and worthy of attention.
And that’s why that, when he leans in to kiss me, I don’t turn
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