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  As for not telling Gabby about this particular story yet, mainly it was because she loves Syd so much. Gabby, like Robby and Justin, is not the president of the Becky Webb Fan Club. I’d asked Mom specifically not to show Gabby the story, not yet. Guess I should’ve said, “Don’t show anyone, ever.”

  “Just didn’t get around to it yet,” I tell Syd.

  “Well, you should’ve seen your mom’s face. She’s really proud of you.”

  “What are you?”

  “Also proud. But, um … simultaneously, pretty pissed off. Maybe a dollop of jealous. Maybe more than a dollop, actually.”

  “Syd …”

  “Where are you exactly? What park? I think it’s time we had a chat about your mistress.”

  “Okay, that is so totally not true,” I say. “Come on.”

  “Where, Tyler.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Yes, tonight.”

  “You’re overreacting,” I say, knowing that really, given her tone, she’s taking it all quite well, considering what she read.

  “You wrote a love story about another girl,” Sydney states. I hear paper rustling. “ ‘When she danced, my eyes swapped places, putting everything else out of focus, leaving her physical masterpiece the only light on which to rely for vision,’ ” Syd quotes.

  I hear the magazine being flung away. “Could you get any more sappy? Plus, she’s a sucky dancer.”

  I disagree, but have the sense to do it in silence.

  I’d always assumed Becky had friends in the drama department, and assumed Sydney was among them. The day Becky first talked to me in the hall, watching her walk away, trying to drink in every detail of her red board shorts, her lightly tanned smooth calves, her sandals, her black T-shirt, the raised outline of the back of her bra pressed against the jersey material, the peach fuzz on the back of her neck tapering up to her same adorable haircut … I wondered, How does she know about Syd and me?

  Because, it would turn out, Sydney had talked to her that morning in the drama department.

  And kindly advised Becky to, quote, “stay out of my way.”

  “So you were going to go to Rebecca’s house?” Syd says through my silence.

  “Yes, Sydney, I was. Past tense. I’m not going there now. It’s no big.”

  “Going to your crush’s house in the middle of the night because she called you on a whim?” Sydney says. “That’s a very big, Tyler.”

  It’s only, like, ten o’clock, I say to myself. I know better than to say it to Syd. My buzz is wearing off very quickly.

  “She’s not my crush!” I say.

  All right, I stand corrected: I do lie to Sydney when it comes to how I feel about Becky. And Sydney, assuredly, knows it.

  “Why do you do this to me?” Sydney says. To her credit, any other girl probably would’ve been all weepy or screaming. Like the chicks Justin and Robby date. But not Syd. She still sounds twice, three times as old as she really is. She’s upset, sure, but not melting down like any other reasonable seventeen-year-old girl.

  “I’m not doing anything to you, Syd,” I say. “She’s a friend, and that’s all she’s ever been, and all she ever will be, and Jesus! You know all that! Gimme a break!”

  “So you’re not going over there?”

  “No.”

  “But only because you’ve been drinking and can’t drive.”

  “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

  “I need you to tell me, Ty.”

  “Whatever. I gotta go.”

  “Fine.”

  The line goes dead. For a moment, I consider throwing my cell as hard and far as I can. But that would be stupid.

  Which is to say, completely in character for me.

  If I didn’t know I was officially in a relationship before school started sophomore year, it was made clear our first day back during lunch.

  Syd and I were together in Honors English again, and she sat beside me like she had the previous year. Which was fine, because we still got into debates and arguments and discussions about the reading assignments, and had a good time doing it. We had Ms. Hochhalter again, which was awesome. But that first day, I was still reeling from Becky’s sudden contact, and anxious to get to the cafeteria and see if anything else had changed about her. Or us.

  Sydney grasped my hand as we walked out of English together and gave me one of her big smiles. “So, where do you want to sit during lunch?” she asked.

  I almost came to a complete stop but managed to keep it to an awkward stumble. “Sit?” I said. Because I’m cool like that.

  “Don’t you eat in the cafeteria?” Syd asked.

  “Uh … yeah,” I said. “With Robby and Justin.”

  “Cool,” Sydney said. “Is it okay if I come with?”

  There was, of course, only one answer to that. “Sure,” I said.

  “Great!” Syd said. “I’ll see you then.”

  After chemistry, I met Syd at the doors to the cafeteria. Admittedly, I did enjoy watching all the incoming freshmen look around the cafeteria like it was a slaughterhouse, eyes wide or pretend-narrowed for toughness. I was coming up on sixteen, and somehow managed to be nostalgic for fourteen.

  It didn’t occur to me until then that Syd and I hadn’t sat together before. Maybe she didn’t like Robby and Justin, maybe she already had a special place she liked to sit, or maybe she didn’t want to look all committed and possessive. I don’t know, and I never asked.

  We got our lunches and found Robby and Justin sitting at the table we’d occupied last year. Only this time, they each sat beside a girl, and not the ones I’d met—correction, seen—last year at the mall.

  And Becky sat at her same table as well, on a corner. Also alone. Well, alone in the sense that no one was talking to her, anyway; she had empty seats on her left as well as across from her, but there were other people at the table. Freshmen, I thought.

  But at least she was facing me.

  Or would have been, had I grabbed the seat I’d intended to.

  “Hey, what’s up, Pink Floyd?” Robby said as Sydney took the seat I’d been aiming for.

  “Nothing much,” Syd said. “Who’s Pink Floyd?”

  Justin snorted and shook his head, taking a big bite of his hamburger.

  “Nothing, nothing,” Robby said. “Hey, man, are you going to sit or what?”

  It took me a second to realize he was talking to me. And that I was, indeed, standing.

  “Yeah,” I said. And sat across from Sydney, my back to Becky. The instant my ass touched the seat, I thought, You wanted me to sit this way, didn’t you? And for no reason—no legitimate reason—I got utterly and completely furious.

  “Hey, so this is Staci,” Robby announced, smiling broadly and gesturing to the girl next to him.

  “Hi!” Staci said to us.

  “Michelle,” Justin said, waving his burger absently at the girl next to him.

  Michelle, looking none too thrilled with this introduction, smacked Justin across the shoulder. Justin cowered sarcastically before laughing with his mouth full.

  “Hi,” Sydney said, immediately friendly. Of course. “Sydney. I don’t know what the whole Pink Floyd thing is all about.”

  “Nobody does,” Michelle said. “Robby’s always got some—”

  “Why don’t you look it up?” I said, my jaw barely moving.

  Michelle paused. “Look … what up?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.” I shoved a French fry into my mouth and chomped it to death, but I have to say, fries just don’t have that anger-satisfying crunch.

  “Are you okay?” Syd asked me softly.

  “Oh, I’m just ducky.” It was this thing my mom said when she was mad.

  Syd stared at me for a second, then picked up her tray. “Okay. I think maybe I’ll eat outside today.” She stood up. “Nice to meet you,” she said to the girls, and walked through the cafeteria to the exit, tray in hand.

  The other four turned to look at me.


  “What’s your deal?” Michelle said.

  Still pissed, and I mean righteously set to deck someone, I eyeballed her and said, “I’m sorry, you matter because?”

  “Whoa,” Justin said, but very quietly.

  “Ex-cuse me!” Michelle said, and stood up.

  “Hey, man …,” Justin said to me.

  “What?” I said, louder than I meant to. I think. “She your girlfriend now? It’s the first day of school—how’d you even meet her? Huh?”

  “Dude,” Justin said, frowning.

  “You’re an asshead!” Michelle declared.

  “Jerk,” Staci added.

  I turned to face Staci. “Did we have a class last year?” I asked her.

  “Maybe …”

  “I thought so,” I said. “Have you gained weight since then?”

  Staci gasped and covered her mouth. She bolted up and away, with Michelle squealing after her.

  Gotta say—it felt good.

  Until my two friends zeroed in on me.

  “Wow,” Robby said calmly, folding his hands on the table, quite possibly in an effort to keep from tearing my jaw off. “That was impressive, Ty. Now do you mind, please, explaining to us what the almighty holy fuck just happened here?”

  I tried not to. I really, really tried not to. But I looked over my shoulder before answering.

  “I dunno,” I said as the anger drained out of me. Becky sat reading a book, but I couldn’t see the title. I wanted to get up and go ask her what it was.

  Justin turned his head too, to see what I was looking at. When he figured it out, he said, “Wait a sec. Are you still crushing on that chick?”

  “Looks that way,” I said.

  I faced our table again and saw that Robby had relaxed a bit. “What about Syd?” he asked. “Did you just break up here or what?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I tossed another fry into my mouth. It was already cold. “Sorry about the girls.”

  They both shrugged. “Just met ’em,” Robby admitted. Then he laughed and picked up my hamburger. He took a huge bite and put it back on my plate. I guess that made us even in his book.

  “Did you gain weight,” he said, shaking his head. “That was awesome.”

  I’m still debating chucking my cell when I get another text. This time from Gabby.

  Congratulations on the pub! Also, you’re a dick. :)

  So’s your face, I write back. It’s an inside joke of ours. No matter how ridiculous or plain a sentence might be, we always follow it with “So’s your face.”

  Gabby sends another text. Why didn’t you tell me?

  I text back as I walk slowly toward the table. It’s no big deal.

  LQR is a huge deal, Gabby writes. And you really hurt Syd. Idiot.

  I stop short. Even though Robby and Justin are all of ten feet away and arguing loudly about who the world’s best lead guitar player is, I barely register them. Gabby’s text glares from my screen.

  I don’t know what to write back. I didn’t mean to hurt Sydney. And I’d love nothing more than to argue with my sister, come up with some plausible deniability, but Gabrielle’s no liar. If she says Syd is hurt by the story, then it’s true.

  What did she say? I write.

  Nothing, Gabby writes. She didn’t have to. Fix this, bro.

  I wander back to the table. Justin has the champagne bottle upended over his red Solo cup and is slapping the base for the last possible drops of alcohol.

  “So, how’d it go with ol’ Pink Floyd?” he asks, and laughs.

  “Shut up.”

  “I don’t wanna tell you your business or anything,” Robby says. “But …”

  “I know, I know, I know, okay?”

  I sit on the bench beside Justin and hold my head in both hands. I’ve got the vague whisper of a headache starting behind my skull.

  Robby socks my shoulder. Ow.

  “It’s not fair, man,” he says. “To Pink Floyd. You can’t drag her around like that.”

  I don’t say anything.

  I didn’t tell Syd about running into Becky that first day of sophomore year. I wasn’t trying to deceive her or anything; I mean, it wasn’t like I’d hooked up with Becky. Syd had asked me not to talk about Becky anymore, so I didn’t.

  Not even when Sydney cornered me after school.

  “Okay?” she asked, falling into step beside me as I trudged toward the bus stop. “You calmed down now?”

  “Yeah,” I said. I didn’t think I was lying about that.

  “Want to tell me what the hell happened?”

  No answer would be sufficient. I sure couldn’t tell her the truth, and I wasn’t a good enough liar to come up with anything convincing.

  “Bad day,” I said. Which I suppose was the truth.

  “Well, you hit Staci pretty hard,” Sydney said as we turned left toward the parking lot. “She’s had eating issues.”

  Okay, that honestly did make me feel bad. I’d pulled the “gained weight” comment out of thin air; I hadn’t recognized Staci at all.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t tell me, tell her,” Syd said. “You can tell her this weekend when me and her and Michelle go out for coffee.”

  “You’re going—what?”

  Sydney nodded. “I caught them on the way out of the cafeteria, trying to get away from you, in fact, and we had lunch together. And made plans.”

  Perfect.

  We’d reached the parking lot. I’d need to cut left and follow the sidewalk to the east side of the school for my bus. Sydney always got a ride from her dad, but they lived in the complete opposite direction from me.

  Sydney and I stopped together on the sidewalk. Over her shoulder, I saw Becky Webb coming out of the drama department and heading for the parking lot. She stopped and sat down on the curb, in her usual spot. I’d watched her all last year sitting or standing there, always getting picked up by that flashy SUV.

  “So will you?” Syd asked.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Becky. Was it just me, or was she specifically avoiding looking in our direction? Like she knew we were standing there and didn’t want me to know she knew it? Probably not … but maybe …

  “Tyler?”

  “Hmm? What? Yeah. Okay. Wait, do what, now?”

  Sydney shook her head, leaned up, and kissed me once on the lips. “You’re hopeless,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d man up and apologize to Staci and Michelle on Friday night. I wouldn’t turn one down, myself, but, you know. Whatever.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said right away. “Really.”

  “Thank you.”

  At that moment, a red sports car squealed into the lot and rocketed between rows of parked cars. The driver damn near executed a one-eighty skid to pull up to where Becky was waiting. Syd and I both watched as Becky brought her hands to her hair, as if frustrated, and got into the car. Before the door had even closed, the driver took off, spraying loose rocks onto the sidewalk and earning no less than three middle fingers from various students in and around the lot.

  “Wow, asshole,” Syd commented as the car disappeared down the same street the SUV used to take last year.

  “Right,” I agreed. I wanted desperately to know who the driver was. Her mom? Dad?

  Boyfriend?

  Syd turned back to me. “So just give me a call Friday night. I’ll let you know where we end up.”

  “How am I supposed to get to wherever you are?”

  “Just tell Gabrielle,” Sydney said. “She loves me.”

  Couldn’t argue that point. And Syd knew about Gabby’s deal with my parents: she got a car but also had to agree to be my taxi on the weekends.

  “There’s my dad,” Sydney said. “You sure there’s nothing you want to talk about? About today at lunch? Or anything that happened before lunch?”

  That’s when I knew. I saw it in her face. She knew I’d talked to Becky that morning. Or at least suspected.

  “Nope,” I said.
“I’m good.”

  Her dad pulled up to the sidewalk. “Okay,” Syd said, kissing me again. “See you tomorrow.”

  I waved to her dad, who gave me a little salute thing back. Once Syd was in the car, I turned and headed for my bus.

  “Hey, muchacho,” Robby greeted me as I sat beside him. “It’s the first day back, and already this bus thing is getting old. We need a car.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, staring out the window.

  “Right,” Robby said, and put on his headphones. “Say no more, brother.”

  One great thing about Robby: the guy took a great hint.

  The next day, I passed Becky in the hall again. Turned out we’d be repeating this encounter every day because of where our respective second-hour classes were located. She’d be on her way to math; I’d be on my way to chemistry.

  I wanted to say something. Again, “hi” might’ve been a good start. But I didn’t. And neither did she.

  But we made eye contact. Oh yes, we saw each other. Sometimes she gave me a nod and a smile—small, barely registering. Other times a smirk, which to me read like, Why on God’s green earth are you going out with Sydney Barrett, you great feeb?

  Maybe I was projecting my own thoughts onto her expression. I don’t know.

  I continued hanging out and hooking up with Sydney. We’d eat lunch together, sometimes with Robby and Justin and some other people from Justin’s art class. With Michelle and Staci off their radar because “they were too clingy,” the guys moved on to other potential ex-girlfriends. Justin flirted endlessly and hopelessly with this tall granola-soy junior named Holly who made “sublime ecoterrorist sculptures” out of plastic utensils. He had no chance, and he knew it, but I gave the guy credit: he kept trying, which was more than I could say about myself. Robby brought a new girl to the table every few weeks or so, but he didn’t seem to really fall for any of them. Mostly he kept the whole table laughing, as usual.