TITLE: Online Confessions of a Teenager
AUTHOR: Dream Catcher
DISCLAIMER: Me Poor. Enough said.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the wait, but here is chapter five. Special thanks goes out to Nibirosa, my beta reader for keeping me motivated. I hope everyone had happy holidays. I know I did, when the power was working, that is. Dern ice storms. I'm still waiting for real snow. Anyway, here's the next chapter.
CHAPTER FIVE…
ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG
(where freedom of thought rulez)
Diary: Online Confessions of a Teenager
User: JuneBunny
4/20/04
8:43 PM eastern
I arrived at work at the usual time, but instead of finding Ms. Tight-Ass behind the counter of the small new and used bookstore, I found Uranus, who usually works in the storage room sorting the books and repairing the damaged used books that might be brought in for store credit. Uranus is anti-social and doesn't try to hide it, which is why Ms. Tight-Ass or I usually work up front. Ms. Tight-Ass says it's because "we have a much friendlier demeanor," which I know is a lie since she included herself with the usage of the word "we."
Admittedly, I can be pretty friendly with the customers, so long as TA (Tight-Ass) isn't breathing over my shoulder to make sure I ring up purchases right and shelve the books in the order. I know my alphabet for Pete's sake. I don't know why she must check to make sure I don't put Ron Rash before William Faulkner.
Anyway, when I come in, Uranus was ringing up a customer, a five-year-old boy whose mother was patiently—and slowly—helping the child to count out the money for a picture book.
Uranus looked like she wanted to beat herself over and over with the picture book until she became unconscious.
I smiled in sympathy as I went to the back storage room to exchange the T-shirt I was wearing for the one with the book store's logo on the front and READING OPENS WORLDS written on the back. The employee bathroom was occupied, so I went ahead and changed behind a shelf of books waiting for me to shelve out front.
When I finished changing, I loaded a cart with some of the books and pushed it into the front room. The kid and his mother were gone when I returned pushing the cart.
"Having fun?" I asked jokingly.
"Hell no." Uranus slumped on the counter. "If you want to teach a kid how to count money, buy him the game Monopoly."
"I think that's a little above a five-year-old's head. I've never even played the game all the way through. Hey, where's TA?"
Uranus and I really do call Ms. Tight Ass Ms. Tight Ass, or TA for short. We both share a mutual dislike for the woman.
A funny grin spread across Uranus's face when I asked where TA was. The grin turned wicked. "I think TA is having some stomach problems. Diarrhea probably. When I came in, she told me to take over the cash register and then bolted for the bathroom. She's exited the restroom once since then, and I saw her slip out a bottle of Pepto before returning to the restroom."
"Ew, gross. I did not need to know that. But thanks for the warning, anyway. I won't be answering nature's call unless it rings while I'm at home. Ick, it's still gross."
She laughed. "Sure the hell is, but it's also hilarious."
And it was. Hilarious and gross.
It was about an hour from closing time when my day turned interesting. I was standing on a small step-ladder, at TA's request, trying to put up a new poster advertising the latest sci-fi thriller to come out.
TA has this obsession about advertising the new releases in the form of giant posters that she likes (me) to tack onto the back wall above the book shelves.
As I was putting up the poster, I was mumbling the words to diarrhea song. You know the song I'm talking about, the one you learn in elementary school that has endless verses, one of which goes: If you're on a ladder and you feel something splatter, diarrhea, diarrhea.
Uranus and I had started to sing it while TA was in the bathroom, mumbling it to each other every time she rushed from the room. The dern thing ended up stuck in my head.
So I was putting up the poster, and I had just finished saying, "If you step on a bug and you feel something tug," when someone behind me went, "diarrhea, diarrhea."
This surprised me, of course, since the voice is deep and masculine. Definitely NOT Uranus. So, because I am surprised, I gasp and sort of loose my balance. I would have toppled three feet to the floor, but suddenly there was a hand on my arm. Then there was a chuckle; a deep and masculine chuckle.
Once I'd steadied myself, I turned around. And you know who was standing there? Well, of course you don't because I haven't told you yet, but you can scroll down.
Blue Eyes! That's right, the waiter with the nice butt (that I pinched) who also called me cute the other night (which is very sweet even though he is not Arcade Dude) saved me from a three-foot fall off a step-ladder.
I seem to be running into him a lot lately. That's also the second time he's saved me from falling flat on my tush. Is he stalking me? Is he lying about not being pissed that I violated him?
What if he liked it?
Instead of asking him if I could help him with anything like any good sales girl, I asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Saving your life, it seems." He smiled, and although it was a charming smile, I forced myself to glare. His smile just got bigger, though. "You could have broken your neck if I had let you fall."
I think I pouted as I turned back around to finish hanging up the poster. I'm not much of a pouter, but it's possible that I did it anyway.
With my back turned towards him, I said, "I wouldn't have broken my neck. It's just a three foot drop. Besides, I always manage to fall on my butt anyway."
He laughed, and I stabbed the last tack through the poster, wishing it was a voodoo doll of Blue Eyes. When I was finished, I climbed down and faced him.
"So what do you really want? I can point you to where the Julie Garwood books are. After all, the other night you did say she was an 'interesting choice of reading.' Am I right?"
He leaned lightly against one of the bookshelves and put on a serious face. "Nah, I'm more of a Karen Robards kind of man, myself."
I was shocked. Blue Eyes named off a real romance writer. He didn't make up some name and try to pass it off as a real author. The thing that had me confused was how he had ever heard of Karen Robards? I mean, yes, she is a popular romance writer, but she's not exactly a popular household name like Mary Higgins Clark and Stephen King. So, I had to wonder if Blue Eyes had actually read a book by Karen Robards. Was Blue Eyes an in-the-closet romance reader? Or was he gay?
I mean, most boys (if they read at all) read real literature or sci-fi. Not romance.
I suddenly didn't like the idea of him reading romance novels.
If he was gay, then that meant I had been called cute the other night by a gay guy. I had hoped that if Blue Eyes had seen me as "cute" then maybe other guys (namely Arcade Dude) may seem me in the same way. However, coming from a gay guy, the information no longer seemed reliable.
If Blue Eyes was straight, well, he seemed less masculine to me. While every girl dreams of a sympathetic guy, they don't want a pansy, and a guy reading romance novels seemed too pansy-ish to me. A man writing a romance novel didn't seem as bad as a man reading one.
I know I sound kind of hateful, and I don't even know why I'm fretting about it. After all, I like Arcade Dude. Why should it bother me if Blue Eyes is a secret Karen Robards fan?
Or maybe, in the past, while looking at the books in a grocery store he happened to see a Karen Robards book and remembered her name. No big deal, then.
Still, I had to know. So I asked, "Really?" in one of those you-pick-your-nose?-well-that's-nice sort of voices.
He quirked his lip to the side, and found a spot near my right ear to stare at. "I used to read them to my mom while she was in chemotherapy."
A huge rush of air left my lungs in one swift blow. There I had been, worrying that he might be a little too in touch with his sensitive side, when he was just a caring human being. I felt like a heel, a heel of well worn shoes that had walked through dog crap.
His usage of the past tense hadn't escaped my notice, but before I could mutter the appropriate sympathetic response, he straightened away from the bookshelf and smiled as if he had just commented on something mundane and amusing. "Actually," he said, "I heard you had some used college text books, and I wanted to see if you had any that I need for next semester."
I guess it's uncomfortable to talk about. I wouldn't really know myself, since no one close to me has ever died, at least while I've been alive. My mom's dad died before I was born, so it really doesn't count.
I wonder how long she's been gone, and if he's used to it. Or does it still hurt?
For some reason, the idea of him hurting touched some maternal instinct I never knew I had. It made me want to make him smile, a real smile, and not the fake one he'd put on when he'd changed the subject, either.
To be honest, this maternal instinct freaks me out. I mean, I've had fantasies about being held by guys, being kissed by them, but, in all frankness, I'm usually slightly uncomfortable and nervous around boys. The idea of me wanting to take the initiative and reach out to hug or touch a boy first (And Blue Eyes of all people!), before he makes a move, is somewhat surprising and new for me.
I don't really understand it.
Since Blue Eyes obviously wanted a change of subject, I directed him to the section of the store where we kept the textbooks. Then I returned to the front desk to allow him to browse through the books alone.
TA was back, managing her post, having sent Uranus to the back room once her bowels settled. Since there were no customers waiting to check out, TA was busy rearranging the display of bookmarks for sell.
"Put up the poster like I asked?" TA grated out.
When TA is talking, it's almost impossible not to stare at her lips. Her bottom lip is full, but the top one is so thin it's almost nonexistent. In an effort to balance out her lips, TA uses a bright red lipstick to not only color her bottom lip but to draw in a top lip for herself. The effect comes out looking like a schoolmarm who's just spent her planning period making out with a clown in the janitor's closet.
"Yes, I put up the poster."
"I heard you talking to the customer. Were you helpful?"
"I answered his questions."
"Good, good." She nodded her head, pleased with my responses, and moved a bookmark.
I began drumming my fingers quietly on the countertop, wishing TA would go spend another hour on the John so I could go back to playing solitaire on my cell phone between sells.
A middle aged woman came in with some used books to trade in for store credit, and after scanning the barcodes of the books into the computer to check our stock on the particular titles, I accepted four of the five books. The fifth book I handed back to the woman because we all ready had enough copies of that particular novel.
I then took the four novels to Uranus in the storage room, where she would then stamp the books' inside covers with our store logo and then check them for any damages.
When I came back to the counter, TA was browsing the long list of books we had in stock. In what I hoped was a discreet manner, I slipped my cell phone off my belt clip and opened my saved game of solitaire, but before I could really get into it, TA asked me to go check on our customer, a.k.a Blue Eyes.
Gulping silently, I slipped my phone back on my belt and forced myself to walk towards the nonfiction section of the store. Blue Eyes was crouched on the floor examining the row of textbooks lining the bottom self. He already had two books stacked beside him on the floor.
Deciding it would be best to avoid the topic of our earlier conversation, I went into cheerful-helper mode and pasted on my "helpful smile" that I give to all the customers. I figured the fake role would distance me from Blue Eyes and protect me from any embarrassment.
"Need some help?" I asked.
He jumped slightly when I spoke and glanced up quickly. "No, I think I've got everything." He blinked, and I started to turn around when he stopped me. "But, the thing is…" he trailed off and ran a hand through his hair.
My brows drew together as I followed the movement of that hand. Wasn't that a sign of nervousness? Was he about to elaborate more on his mother? I hoped not. That was way too personal for him to be telling me, a close-to-stranger girl who just happened to sexually harass him two days. He opened his mouth, and I prepared myself for what he was about to say.
"You like Arcade Dude, don't you?"
That I had not expected.
The first thing I asked myself was HOW THE HELL DOES HE KNOW THAT? I haven't told anyone, well outside of cyberspace, and I didn't think I was that obvious in me, er, feelings.
Just to make sure I had actually heard him correctly in the first place I asked, "What?" in my you're-crazy-as-hell voice.
"You like Arcade Dude." This time he didn't say it as though it were a question.
"You're crazy," I said forcefully while laughing nervously.
He just gave me a look that, oddly enough, reminded me of my mom when I was little and told her that I had not snuck a cookie out of the box when I and clearly had chocolate chip hanging from the corner of my mouth. I absently wondered if I had LIAR written on my forehead.
I still had the upper hand, however. I was standing. He was squatting in the middle of a bookstore.
I was the dominant figure, dammit.
Still refusing to let the cat out of the bag, I crossed my arms defensively and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
And you know what he said? Nothing. He had the gall to continue starring at me, like he knew his pretty blue eyes would pull a confession from me.
Want to know the sad thing?
His pretty blue eyes worked.
I couldn't stand it. They were staring at me! I started to get nervous and fidgety, and even though I looked away I could feel his eyes looking at me. I know its crazy and cliché being able to "feel" someone looking at you, but I swear I could feel his eyes looking into every tiny pore on my body. Maybe I did have liar written all over my skin in invisible ink, and his eyes were the secret decoder.
Trying to be nonchalant, I asked, "So what if I like him?"
"Nothing, I just figured I could help you get him." He shrugged and stood up with his selected books under his right arm.
"Excuse me?"
Again, I wasn't sure I had heard him right.
"I live with him. We're OK friends. I can tell you about him, help you to get him to notice you and stuff."
"He notices me."
And he does…when he's not sucking face with Venus.
"But not the way you want him to."
OK, I couldn't argue with him there.
Still suspicious, I asked, "What's in it for you?"
He seemed to pause for a moment before answering, "Venus."
"Say what?"
"You get Arcade Dude and I get Venus."
"You like Venus?"
I was shocked. He liked Venus? God, not another one of her followers! Why does everyone fall in lust with Venus? Even girls at school envy her when they aren't calling her a slut.
Blue Eyes shrugged. "Yeah. So are you with me or not?"
I wanted to say not, but he was willing to help me get closer to Arcade Dude. Sure, he had his own agenda, but at least it matched mine. Besides, just a few days ago I was thinking about plotting my own attempt to break the two up. Now I had the option of a partner to help me.
So why was I hesitating? I wondered.
"So are you in?" he asked again.
"Um, listen, I need to get back to work. I, uh, get off at six. Think we could meet somewhere to, ah, discuss this further?"
OK, so I was stalling and doing a shoddy job at it. At the moment though, I hadn't really cared.
"Umm, no. I have to be at work at six-fifteen. I'm working 'till ten. Are you free tomorrow?"
Tomorrow? This guy was serious! Serious about breaking up Venus and Arcade Dude, I mean.
I started to feel uneasy. After all, this guy I barely knew was willing to help me steal Arcade Dude. I think I had yet to address this guy by his name! Now we were supposed to be friends? Or were we going to be partners in crime? No, crime's too illegal sounding, and trying to break up a couple was far from being illegal.
Unethical? Sure.
Sneeky? You bet.
But illegal? No way!
Still, I was feeling anxious and not entirely because of whom my partner was. Was this what I wanted, to steal my sister's boyfriend?
But I still informed him of my plans tomorrow. "My friend Jupiter has a home soccer game tomorrow. I was planning on going."
He seemed to think it over a moment. "What time is the game?"
Cautious, I answered slowly, "Six-thirty. The boy's game starts at eight o'clock."
I was worried. Did he plan on going to Jupiter's soccer game so we could talk and plan out our evil plans? What if does show up and Jupiter spots us sitting together on the bleachers? I'd never hear the end of it! Or worse, he's still there when the girls' game is over and Jupiter decides to sit with us to watch the boys' game!
I know Jupiter. She'll sit there, assuming there's something between us, jabbing me with her elbow. She would never believe that we were "just friends" or some other excuse, especially since she saw me pinch his butt.
I know what she'd say: "There is no way you can claim to be just friends with a guy as hot as him because you can't help but want there to be more, and when you want there to be more, you've moved beyond the just friends thing."
However, Blue Eyes was thinking exactly what I was hoping he wasn't thinking. "Fine, I'll see you there. You go to the same school as you're sister right?"
I nodded, too shocked at the time to say, "Duh!"
"Can I have your cell phone number? You know, just in case I can't find your school. I'll probably get directions from Arcade Dude, but on the off chance I don't see him because of our, um, work schedules I can call you for directions."
I almost told him that I didn't have a cell phone. It was on the tip of my tongue, but then I remembered that I had it clipped to my pants, a game of solitaire currently saved in its memory. So, I reluctantly—but cheerfully—gave him my number, which he programmed into his own cell phone, a spiffy looking camera phone that I bet had tons of games.
There was then an awkward moment where I didn't know what to say before I shifted my weight to the heels of my feet and said in my sales girl voice, "Ready to check out?"
"Sure," he shrugged and followed me to the counter, where instead of TA, I found Uranus leaning on the counter looking bored as usual.
I sent a look at her asking, "Why are you up front?" I half expected her to tell me that TA's diarrhea was back.
"Tight Ass is inspecting my work in back. She asked me to man the counter since you were with the customer."
"Tight Ass?" Blue Eyes asked from behind me.
Uranus gave him a curious look, and I answered his question as I moved around the counter to the cash register. "She's our boss. The nickname pretty much explains all."
"Oh."
He sat his books on the counter and I scanned their barcodes and told him his total. He paid and left, saying casually as the bell above the door tinkled, "See you tomorrow."
"Know him?" Uranus asked after we watched his truck pull out.
"Yes. No. Well sort of. I mean, he's my sister's boyfriend's roommate."
"What a mouthful. He's cute for a guy. I bet he likes you."
I almost laughed. If only she knew. "Nah, he likes someone else."
"Yeah, and he just happened to come here."
Yeah, I thought with some irony, he came here to pump me for information on my sister.
After work, I walked home as usual, passing Nasty Magazine Guy on the way. He yelled something crude at me, like he normally does, and I pretended that he didn't exist, like I normally do.
Once home, I ate dinner with my family, including Venus who decided not to go out with friends and eat. Throughout dinner I kept playing with my carrots (Blech! Vegetables suck!) and wondering what I would say to Blue Eyes tomorrow. He seemed so determined about splitting up Venus and Arcade Dude.
I guess determinations a good thing, even in this case.
'Nite, World.
Bunny
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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: JuneBunny-4/20/04-8:43 PMeastern
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Response: SeXyAbAbE
What the fuck? He likes your sister? Did NOT see that coming. Well, seems like Arcade Dude is just an evil plot away.
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Response: PantySnatcher33:
Did you ever hear the verse of the diarrhea song: "If you step on a ladder and you feel something splatter, diarrhea, diarrhea?" Kind of ironic, huh?
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Response: JoshIsMINE:
I had such hopes for Blue Eyes. I could have sworn that was flirting on his behalf earlier, but I guess I was wrong. Male minds do confuse me, except my Josh. His voice and lyrics touch the soul. He's not confusing as hell.
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Respnse: AniIZmyLeADer:
All this confusion for a boy? Seems like a waste of time to me.
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DannyBoi89 responded to AniIZmyLeADer:
Males are more complicated than women like to give them credit for. She has a right to be confused. He's not thinking about sex or sports, contrary to popular belief.
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AnitIZmyLeADer responded to DannyBoi89:
Oh, really? Then, pray tell, what is the mysterious Blue Eyes thinking about?
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DannyBoi89 responded to AniIZmyLeADer:
I don't know exactly, but that Blue Eyes guy might know more than he lets on he knows. For example, he may know more about Arcade Dude's feelings than he's letting on. He may know that Arcade Dude already does like Bunny, and this is his way of helping out a friend.
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AnitIZmyLeADer responded to DannyBoi89:
Obviously, boys do not have thesauruses. Know: realize, get, understand, comprehend, grasp.
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DannyBoi89 responded to AniIZmyLeADer:
Shut up.
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AnitIZmyLeADer responded to DannyBoi89:
Be quiet. Hush your mouth. Shhhhh. Be silent. Shut your pie-hole. Stuff it. Can it.
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Response: IH8Dis
This has turned into a freak show.
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ONLINE DIARIEZ. ORG
(where freedom of thought rulez)
Diary: Useless Information
User: GreenThumbs
4/20/04
10:36 PM eastern
Today, I think I came as close to being a stalker as I've ever come before. Now, before a whole bunch of people freak out, let me clarify that I was NOT sitting outside someone's window with a camera, panting heavily through my mouth.
Last night, I decided I'd had enough of Andrew's bullshit. So, plans began to formulate in my mind, sick twisted plans that my mom would have disapproved of. She would have told me it isn't right to mess with the minds of young innocent girls. However, I'm saving the minds—maybe even the hearts—of said girls. They just won't know it, at least not to begin with.
After I decided what I was going to do, I began pumping information from Andrew about Serena. Where she worked and what hours she worked there, for starters. Now, of course, Andrew suspects that I want to go out with Serena, which I probably wouldn't mind if she wasn't so clueless and in love with Andrew.
If asking her out for a date were my only motivation, I would have just shown up at her house (since I know where she lives) and I could have also avoided humbling myself to a smirking Andrew.
In order for my plan to work, however, Serena needs to think I DON'T like her, or at least that I don't like her more than friends.
So today, I went to the bookstore where Serena works. I already had my strategy in mind, and I was fairly confident in my ability to pull my plan off. Then, I walked through the doors of the bookstore and couldn't find Serena. That was when I began to worry. If I couldn't "accidentally" bump into her while she was at work, where could I find her and still make it look as through it were a random meeting.
I started to wonder if Andrew had just sent me on some stupid wild goose chase, the goose being the books and the wild being the half naked men on some of the covers. I wasn't about to give up just yet, so I walked past the woman at the counter towards the back of the store. I figured that if I didn't find Serena there, I could at least check out the sci fi section.
But as I reached the back of the store, I heard her before I saw her. Beneath her breath she was singing one of those songs I think I sang in elementary school, one of the more disgusting songs that would put me at the receiving end of some stern looks from my teachers. I wasn't familiar with the verse she was singing beneath her breath, but as she came into my view, I recognized the memorable melody.
Serena was standing on her toes at the top rung of a step-ladder. With her hand, she reached to smooth out the top corner of a humongous poster depicting a wine glass with a red substance (I assume blood) mixing with the drink. The title of the book being advertised was Unearthly. I was unable to find the connection between the book cover and its title.
"If you step on a bug," she sang with her back to me, "and you feel something tug."
I couldn't resist the temptation; it was too great.
"Diarrhea, diarrhea," I said, smirking slightly as I thought back to fourth grade, when the whole class had burst out into that song after Timothy Todd farted during the middle of a spelling test.
I probably should not have just jumped in on the middle of Serena's song like that because I, apparently, scared her. As soon as I said the first diarrhea, she was already jumping, and being in the position she was in, it was easy for her to lose her balance. Luckily, I was standing close enough to her when she had her klutz attack that I was able to steady her by reaching out and touching her arm.
Once she was steady on the ladder, I couldn't help but chuckle. The moment had been too classic, the basic premise for the slapstick humor everyone knows and loves.
She turned around wearing a glare on her face that quickly turned into surprise. I guess she wasn't expecting me to be standing there.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
I smiled. "Saving your life, it seems. You could have broken you neck if I had let you fall."
Not really, of course. The ladder wasn't even a ladder, really, since the top rung was only three feet or so from the floor, but I liked teasing her.
She made a comment on the improbability that she would break her neck, finished putting up the poster, and climbed down off the step-ladder.
"So what do you really want?" she asked, "I can point you to where the Julie Garwood books are. You did say the other night she was an 'interesting choice of reading,' right?"
For some reason, before I answered, I had this moment when I wondered how Andrew would have reacted to such an obvious blow to his manhood. He would have taken her teasing as being serious, then said something like: "Why would I want to read some stupid girly book? Those things are for pathetic little girls who can't get any."
I told myself to stop comparing myself to Andrew, and answered her teasing with my form of joking, "Nah, I'm more of a Karen Robards kind of man, myself."
I was expecting her to laugh. I thought it was funny, but apparently, she thought I was serious, that I really did stay up late at night, or something, reading romance novels. The thought must have weirded her out.
In the past, I have read Karen Robards novels to my mother when she was going in for her chemotherapy treatments. Dad couldn't always go with her, so I'd skip school and read to her when he couldn't go with her to her appointments.
"Really?" Serena asked, her eyes huge.
I could tell she was trying to act as though she was delighted to have found a guy who shared her interest in romance books, but Serena was a lousy actress.
For all I knew, she was starting to think I was gay—which I am NOT!
For my plan to work, she must think of me as the heterosexual that I am. The only way I could think to secure my sexuality was to tell the truth, and I did so in as few words as possible.
I still get uncomfortable whenever I discuss my mom. I never know what expression to put on. Emotionally, I'm as fine as I think I'll ever get, but I think people expect me to still be sad and torn up, on the brink of tears whenever someone mentions cancer or her name.
But the truth is I had a long enough to time mourn her death before she even passed on. When she was diagnosed with cancer, death was always in the back of my mind. She died so slowly, that I had enough time to go through all the steps of mourning before she even passed away in the hospital.
So when people, pause or look uncomfortable after they say something they think will upset me, I just switch the topic to help them out of their awkwardness.
I did the same for Serena.
"Actually," I told her, "I heard you had some used college text books, and I wanted to see if you had any that I need for next semester."
It was a complete lie, and I was hoping she had no idea that next semester is months away and that students haven't even registered for next semester, let alone know what books they will need.
Luckily, she seemed to have no clue. I guess she doesn't have much interaction with a lot of college students.
I followed her a few aisles over to where a large amount of textbooks were shelved. She left me there to peruse the collection. As I glanced over the titles and subjects, I tried to think of what I was going to say once I got her cornered.
I selected a few books almost at random, figuring I could put my plan into motion when I purchased them at the counter, but she came over to check my progress, like an annoying car salesman would.
Not that Serena is annoying, of course.
"Need some help?" she asked cheerfully as though we'd never met.
"No," I told her, "I think I've got everything." I paused, realizing it was the moment I had been waiting for. "But, the thing is…" I trailed off, not sure what to say.
I had everything planned out last night, but when it's time to put all my planning into action I freeze up. Great, just great, I thought to myself as I ran a hand through my hair.
I told myself that I would not chicken out, that what I was doing was a good thing, and opened my mouth.
"You like Andrew, don't you?" I asked.
Originally I had planned to strike up a conversation with her that eventually led to the topic of who she liked, but apparently I didn't have the patience for that.
And my forwardness startled her, if her expression (bug eyes and open mouth) was any clue.
"What?" she asked, trying to imply that I was insane.
Her reaction gave me more confidence. I was now ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that she liked Andrew.
"You like Andrew."
"You're crazy," she said, trying to enforce truth in her statement by laughing. When I continued to stare at her without saying anything, she let her laughter die.
She tried another tactic—I found it interesting that once I gained my own confidence I was able to see right through her—and said that she had no idea what I was talking about.
Still, I said nothing. My dad used to use this silent method when I was younger. Eventually, he always got me to confess, and confess Serena did.
"So what if I like him?"
"I figured I could help you get him," I told her, shrugging like it was nothing.
Apparently, though, she didn't understand me, so I had to elaborate, "I live with him. I can tell you enough about him that he might start noticing you."
"He notices me," she defended.
For once, I hated that she was so naïve. It was going to be hard to get her to realize that Andrew is one of the world's biggest jerks, but I figured it would be worth all the work.
"But not the way you want him to."
She seemed to give a bit, but still remained doubtful. "What's in it for you?"
After that, I knew what I said next would be the point of no return. Did I really want to do this? I wondered. Immediately, a part of me said yes.
"Mina."
Operation Expose Andrew was a go.
That's right. My plan is to make Serena believe that I want Andrew and Mina broken up because I like Mina. At first, I wasn't so sure about the plan since it could backfire in so many ways. Andrew could end up liking Serena, or Serena could find out that I'm lying to her, therefore, causing her attachment to Andrew to become stronger.
Serena had a hard time absorbing that I "liked" Mina at first, which did not bode well for my plan since I needed her to believe I was equally in love with Mina as she was with Andrew. She had to believe that we were equally motivated for the same cause, which meant I had to be a believable liar.
"You like Mina?"
Either she was being hard to convince, or I was not plausible enough.
Trying to be confident, I shrugged and said, "Yeah. So are you with me or not?"
She was silent for a long time, and I tried to be patient and let her think it through, but it got to the point where I figured she needed to be reminded that I was waiting for her to give me an answer, and I asked, "So, are you in?"
She then stuttered out that she got off at six, and wanted to meet somewhere to "discuss this further."
The thing was, I had to work tonight until ten, which I explained to her. I started to get worried. If I couldn't get her to agree to break up Mina and Andrew now, she would have enough time to come up with a reason to say no.
However, I couldn't think of a way for us to discuss it today, so I asked her about tomorrow.
"My friend Lita has a home soccer game tomorrow. I was planning on going."
Since I was grasping for straws, I figured a soccer game was as good a place as any to talk.
I asked, "What time is the game?"
I don't think she was all that willing to tell me, but she gave me the time of the game anyway, probably because she was too nice not to give it to me.
Then I told her I'd see her at the game before asking for her cell number. I told her I wanted the number in case I couldn't find the school, but that was another lie. I already knew where her high school was, since I pass by it on my way to work.
I really wanted her number so I could get in contact with her in the future, whenever I wanted her to meet me someplace where, conveniently, Andrew and his latest sex candy could be seen together, and thus bring to light his scumbag ways.
I checked out and left the bookstore, sincerely hoping that everything would turn out fine.
At work, I tried not to think about what I should have said in replace of the things I had said. In between orders, though, I couldn't help but wonder what I would say tomorrow at the soccer game.
I also wondered how, when she realized that I had lied to her—and she'll find out eventually—I was going to keep her from hating me. I want to be her friend, but she's an honest person, and I highly doubt she will be forgiving of lies, even if they are well intentioned.
Oh, well, I guess I'll see how everything goes tomorrow.
Today's Useless Information: The average "pouring speed" of Heinz ketchup from the bottle is 0.003 mph.
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RESPONSES TO ENTRY: GreenThumbs-4/20/04-10:36 PMeastern
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Response: TheWoRlDsDed
God, you're messed up. Your idea is completely twisted. What were you thinking?
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Response: NYsubwayMan
I think you're going about this the wrong way, man.
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Response: cutie4lyfe
This was the first of your diary entries that I've read. I had to go back a few days to try to figure out just exactly what is going on. I don't understand your reasoning behind your plan. I know you want to get her to realize your roommate is a playboy, but this will backfire. Once she figures out you've lied to her she'll hate you as much as Andrew. Trust me. Take my advice, a girl's advice. She's not going to suddenly fall in love with you once you air out Andrew's laundry. Are you sure the end justifies the means?
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Response: HomeworkBound
Hope everything goes according to plan.
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Response: xtreamSK8TERdude
Wow! Brilliant, man. Truly brilliant.
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Response: IH8Dis
When you go off to save the girl, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor, make sure you don't stab yourself with your own sword. OK?
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A.N. Tell me what you thought. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
