Read Online Zarr, Sara - Sweethearts by Sweethearts - Free Book Online
Authors: Sweethearts
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everything and started over. Me: Because I'm dumb? J Ethan: You're not DUMB. Dummy. J
We chatted a little more; Steph signed off after I hadn't answered her. By the time I got up from the computer, my breathing had returned to normal after the stress of lying to Ethan, but I ended up in the dark kitchen anyway opening the fridge as quietly as I could so as not to wake up Mom or Alan. I needed sweet, I needed creamy. There was no pudding, no yogurt, nothing for making chocolate milk, no ice cream, not even any applesauce. All I found was part of an old bag of chocolate chips in the freezer. I dumped them into a bowl and heated them in the microwave until they started to melt. I got a spoon, went back to my room. I sat with my back against the door. The curve of the chocolate-coated spoon fit exactly right against my tongue. Sometimes I missed being Jennifer Harris. Obviously, being Jenna Vaughn was more of an overall advantage in life, but there were moments I missed being Jennifer the way you can miss versions of yourself when you get a totally new haircut, or a favorite pair of jeans finally wears out. Even though it was sad that I'd spent so much time home alone eating and reading, the truth was that those were some of my favorite memories. Getting lost in a book with something sweet or salty or hopefully both, like stacks of crackers with butter and jelly, seemed, in some ways, the closest I'd gotten to complete and total happiness. The two questions came into my head again: How could you have left me? Why didn't you say good-bye? I missed myself the way I missed what Cameron and I had before that day at his house, and how time almost stopped when we were together. We didn't have to explain it or understand it or talk about it, ever. Everything was innocent. It just was. Nothing, nothing could be as simple as that ever again. CHAPTER 8 CAMERON'S PRESENT IS A DOLLHOUSE. IT IS RIGHT IN THE middle of his bedroom and made out of wood. It's not fancy like a Barbie Dream House, it doesn't have furniture or anything, just a wooden back and two wooden sides and a slanty roof and it's open in the front. The side walls have little windows that are almost square but you can tell Cameron did it by hand, with a tiny saw, maybe. Because they are a little bit crooked. He looks at me, still holding limp Moe in his arms. It was too big to bring to school, he says. It has two stories inside and comes to my waist. I can picture how I'll put Rufus and Bitty, my toy mice, inside. I run my finger along the inside edge of one of the windows. Anything that could make a splinter has been sanded away. You made it? He nods. Cameron's father laughs. Okay, okay. It's the worst dollhouse you've ever seen in your life, right? Just tell him. He knows. No, I say. Its good. Me saying that the dollhouse is good makes something change in Cameron's father. Now he's looking back and forth at us in a way that makes me wish I hadn't said it. But if I hadn't said it then Cameron might think his dad was right, which he wasn't. So I don't know what I should have said. If you like it so much, why don't you play with it now? It's confusing the way he talks. I wouldn't mind playing with the dollhouse, but Cameron doesn't move. His father studies me and scratches at his dark mustache. I thought he was sweet on you but now... now I'm not so sure. I think maybe he just wants someone to play dolls and hopscotch and dress-up with. Yeah, that makes more sense, now that I take a good look at you. You're not really the type to be anyone's girlfriend, are you? This lines up with the kind of thing I hear people say about me at school and I wonder what is wrong with me that even Cameron's father can look at me and see the truth: that I'm ugly and fat and no one wants to be my friend. It makes me feel guilty. The fact that Cameron does want to be my friend somehow makes his dad act mean like this. If I were thinner and prettier, if I had the right clothes like Jordana and
We chatted a little more; Steph signed off after I hadn't answered her. By the time I got up from the computer, my breathing had returned to normal after the stress of lying to Ethan, but I ended up in the dark kitchen anyway opening the fridge as quietly as I could so as not to wake up Mom or Alan. I needed sweet, I needed creamy. There was no pudding, no yogurt, nothing for making chocolate milk, no ice cream, not even any applesauce. All I found was part of an old bag of chocolate chips in the freezer. I dumped them into a bowl and heated them in the microwave until they started to melt. I got a spoon, went back to my room. I sat with my back against the door. The curve of the chocolate-coated spoon fit exactly right against my tongue. Sometimes I missed being Jennifer Harris. Obviously, being Jenna Vaughn was more of an overall advantage in life, but there were moments I missed being Jennifer the way you can miss versions of yourself when you get a totally new haircut, or a favorite pair of jeans finally wears out. Even though it was sad that I'd spent so much time home alone eating and reading, the truth was that those were some of my favorite memories. Getting lost in a book with something sweet or salty or hopefully both, like stacks of crackers with butter and jelly, seemed, in some ways, the closest I'd gotten to complete and total happiness. The two questions came into my head again: How could you have left me? Why didn't you say good-bye? I missed myself the way I missed what Cameron and I had before that day at his house, and how time almost stopped when we were together. We didn't have to explain it or understand it or talk about it, ever. Everything was innocent. It just was. Nothing, nothing could be as simple as that ever again. CHAPTER 8 CAMERON'S PRESENT IS A DOLLHOUSE. IT IS RIGHT IN THE middle of his bedroom and made out of wood. It's not fancy like a Barbie Dream House, it doesn't have furniture or anything, just a wooden back and two wooden sides and a slanty roof and it's open in the front. The side walls have little windows that are almost square but you can tell Cameron did it by hand, with a tiny saw, maybe. Because they are a little bit crooked. He looks at me, still holding limp Moe in his arms. It was too big to bring to school, he says. It has two stories inside and comes to my waist. I can picture how I'll put Rufus and Bitty, my toy mice, inside. I run my finger along the inside edge of one of the windows. Anything that could make a splinter has been sanded away. You made it? He nods. Cameron's father laughs. Okay, okay. It's the worst dollhouse you've ever seen in your life, right? Just tell him. He knows. No, I say. Its good. Me saying that the dollhouse is good makes something change in Cameron's father. Now he's looking back and forth at us in a way that makes me wish I hadn't said it. But if I hadn't said it then Cameron might think his dad was right, which he wasn't. So I don't know what I should have said. If you like it so much, why don't you play with it now? It's confusing the way he talks. I wouldn't mind playing with the dollhouse, but Cameron doesn't move. His father studies me and scratches at his dark mustache. I thought he was sweet on you but now... now I'm not so sure. I think maybe he just wants someone to play dolls and hopscotch and dress-up with. Yeah, that makes more sense, now that I take a good look at you. You're not really the type to be anyone's girlfriend, are you? This lines up with the kind of thing I hear people say about me at school and I wonder what is wrong with me that even Cameron's father can look at me and see the truth: that I'm ugly and fat and no one wants to be my friend. It makes me feel guilty. The fact that Cameron does want to be my friend somehow makes his dad act mean like this. If I were thinner and prettier, if I had the right clothes like Jordana and
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