Read Online Back When You Were Easier to Love by Wing Smith Emily - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Wing Smith Emily
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He obviously doesn’t want to see us. Or anyone from his ‘deep, dark past.’”
“We are not part of his past! All he needs to do is see us and he’ll remember that!” I start in on my Mattia spiel. “Listen, we get three school-excused absences to check out colleges. Besides, UEA break is next week anyway. We can take your car! You know, since it’s vintage and all. I totally want to road trip in that!” That part, of course, isn’t the truth. But since it’s something I wish was the truth, I don’t think it qualifies as a lie. “We can go to Claremont, stay with my friends there, and find out where Zan—”
“Joy,” he says. “Zan doesn’t want to be found.”
“Maybe not. But I need closure.”
I think of Noah’s serious eyes when he said, “Just because I have a lot of friends doesn’t mean I care about each one of them any less.” I know he understands even before I ask him if he does.
I can’t read his expression.
“I’m going with or without you,” I say. But I’m not going without him. I know it even before he sighs and nods his head.
“You’re crazy, you know that? It’s like you go out looking for ways to get hurt.”
Does Noah look disappointed? Even if he does, I don’t care.
I’m going to Claremont with Noah. I saw it in a dream.
NINETY-SIX PERCENT NEUROTIC
As hard as I try, I’ll never be as cool as Gretel Addison. She’s witty, sophisticated, and just counterculture enough to remain someone I aspire to be, but will never reach.
Gretel is the type who gives henna tattoos, burns patchouli incense, and drinks all-natural soda. She’ll put purple streaks in her hair just for fun. When we were little, we’d always come up with stupid get-rich-quick schemes. We sold lemonade, snickerdoodles, and fudge that was always burned. Once we even made perfume, throwing in tea bags and vanilla extract. Now jasmine is her signature scent.
We take advantage of our free weekend minutes every Sunday night, but this Sunday night is different. This Sunday night I tell her: “I’m coming to Claremont, and I need a place to crash.”
“Yeah, of course,” she says. Gretel’s quick to process—I love that about her. “Now give me the details—in descending order of importance.”
“First detail,” I say, “is that I need closure.”
She’s quiet for just two seconds too long. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning that in three days I’ll be at Pitzer, finding Zan and getting my life back.”
“How is that closure?” She exhales, long and deep, and I know she thinks this is a bad idea but isn’t going to say so because she knows it’s useless. There’s so much comfort in knowing exactly what someone will do, exactly how someone will react, not because you saw it in a dream but because you know them so well. “So, basically you’re planning to come here and get him back, right? In fact, don’t answer that. I already know I’m right.”
“Gretel,” I say, tracing the pattern on my bedspread, “I took this personality analysis last week that gave me a score of ninety-six on neuroticism. Do you think it was out of a hundred?”
“Undoubtedly,” she says without missing a beat. “So when do you get here?”
MONDAY MORNING: DETAIL # 1
Charlotte is my alibi.
“Okay,” she says when I ask. No annoying questions. No remarks about Zan. Ditto about Noah. Ditto about the trip. She just says she’ll cover for me, say I’m staying with her at her mom’s over the break, and we make a plan.
“Your parents won’t care if you tell them you’re staying with me while I visit my mom for the long weekend,” she says. “Trust me. Nothing ever happens in my old neighborhood. It’s a parent’s dream-come-true vacation destination.” She bites her lip, thinking, making sure we have our bases covered. Charlotte is nothing if not thorough. “If your mom or dad calls you, they probably won’t want to talk to me, but if they do just tell them I’m in the shower.
“We are not part of his past! All he needs to do is see us and he’ll remember that!” I start in on my Mattia spiel. “Listen, we get three school-excused absences to check out colleges. Besides, UEA break is next week anyway. We can take your car! You know, since it’s vintage and all. I totally want to road trip in that!” That part, of course, isn’t the truth. But since it’s something I wish was the truth, I don’t think it qualifies as a lie. “We can go to Claremont, stay with my friends there, and find out where Zan—”
“Joy,” he says. “Zan doesn’t want to be found.”
“Maybe not. But I need closure.”
I think of Noah’s serious eyes when he said, “Just because I have a lot of friends doesn’t mean I care about each one of them any less.” I know he understands even before I ask him if he does.
I can’t read his expression.
“I’m going with or without you,” I say. But I’m not going without him. I know it even before he sighs and nods his head.
“You’re crazy, you know that? It’s like you go out looking for ways to get hurt.”
Does Noah look disappointed? Even if he does, I don’t care.
I’m going to Claremont with Noah. I saw it in a dream.
NINETY-SIX PERCENT NEUROTIC
As hard as I try, I’ll never be as cool as Gretel Addison. She’s witty, sophisticated, and just counterculture enough to remain someone I aspire to be, but will never reach.
Gretel is the type who gives henna tattoos, burns patchouli incense, and drinks all-natural soda. She’ll put purple streaks in her hair just for fun. When we were little, we’d always come up with stupid get-rich-quick schemes. We sold lemonade, snickerdoodles, and fudge that was always burned. Once we even made perfume, throwing in tea bags and vanilla extract. Now jasmine is her signature scent.
We take advantage of our free weekend minutes every Sunday night, but this Sunday night is different. This Sunday night I tell her: “I’m coming to Claremont, and I need a place to crash.”
“Yeah, of course,” she says. Gretel’s quick to process—I love that about her. “Now give me the details—in descending order of importance.”
“First detail,” I say, “is that I need closure.”
She’s quiet for just two seconds too long. “Meaning what, exactly?”
“Meaning that in three days I’ll be at Pitzer, finding Zan and getting my life back.”
“How is that closure?” She exhales, long and deep, and I know she thinks this is a bad idea but isn’t going to say so because she knows it’s useless. There’s so much comfort in knowing exactly what someone will do, exactly how someone will react, not because you saw it in a dream but because you know them so well. “So, basically you’re planning to come here and get him back, right? In fact, don’t answer that. I already know I’m right.”
“Gretel,” I say, tracing the pattern on my bedspread, “I took this personality analysis last week that gave me a score of ninety-six on neuroticism. Do you think it was out of a hundred?”
“Undoubtedly,” she says without missing a beat. “So when do you get here?”
MONDAY MORNING: DETAIL # 1
Charlotte is my alibi.
“Okay,” she says when I ask. No annoying questions. No remarks about Zan. Ditto about Noah. Ditto about the trip. She just says she’ll cover for me, say I’m staying with her at her mom’s over the break, and we make a plan.
“Your parents won’t care if you tell them you’re staying with me while I visit my mom for the long weekend,” she says. “Trust me. Nothing ever happens in my old neighborhood. It’s a parent’s dream-come-true vacation destination.” She bites her lip, thinking, making sure we have our bases covered. Charlotte is nothing if not thorough. “If your mom or dad calls you, they probably won’t want to talk to me, but if they do just tell them I’m in the shower.
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