I said all this, and still he wasn’t scared away.
Now he goes back to reading Robinson Crusoe and I supposedly return to biology. Every now and then, he hums the song that’s playing in his head, and doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It could be annoying, but I think it’s sweet.
He’s told me about his exes, the ones who weren’t truthful with him. One moved away, and he hasn’t bothered to stay in touch with her. One kept lying even after they broke up, telling everyone that it had been Alexander’s fault, that he hadn’t even tried to make it work. They’re not in touch, either. But the most recent was this girl Cara, and the two of them have stayed friends. We’ve even hung out with her, in a bigger group. I felt a little weird about it, but Alexander told me that it was all good, that he and Cara knew they were bad for each other as boyfriend-girlfriend but okay for each other once they took the boy- and girl- off and just made it friend-friend.
Thinking about Cara makes me wonder why I can’t be friends with A.
I know it’s not the same. I know we didn’t break up because we stopped feeling like we should be together. We knew we should be together, or at least try—but we also knew we couldn’t. Which isn’t the same thing.
But still, there’s nothing saying we can’t be in touch.
The twisted thing is I’m thinking that I’m wanting it as much for Alexander as for me. Because until I can get this straightened out, my truth is always going to be dishonest. And if the stumbling block is that I’m missing A, then I should at least get through the silence, because the silence is the worst part.
It’s not about getting A back.
It’s not about being with A again.
It’s about knowing where A is and what A’s doing.
It’s about having A in my life in whatever way can actually work.
So I take out my phone. I check my email. I try not to think about it too much. I just do it. I put A’s email in the TO: spot, and a simple Hello in the subject line.
I keep the message simple.
A,
I know you thought it would be easier if you disappeared. It isn’t. Even if we can’t be together, I still want to talk to you.
R
I am about to hit send, but then I read it over and decide to change a word.
A,
I know you thought it would be easier if you disappeared. It isn’t. Even though we can’t be together, I still want to talk to you.
R
Without reading it again, I hit send.
The response is instant.
There’s an email in my inbox, telling me my message is undeliverable. The mailbox no longer exists.
I check the address. I resend the message. The same thing happens.
“Ugh,” I say out loud.
“What?” Alexander asks from his perch.
“Nothing,” I say. Then I decide to get closer to an honest truth. “I was just trying to email a friend of mine who moved away. But the mailbox is full or deleted or something. My email didn’t go through. I wish they’d tell you that before you spend the time writing the email instead of after.”
“Ugh,” Alexander says.
“Exactly!”
He goes back to work, humming happily. I can’t go back to work—now that the idea of talking to A again has taken hold, it won’t let go.
But there isn’t any other way.
I think about the post I left on Facebook. The songs. If A saw them, why didn’t A respond?
Maybe I wasn’t clear enough.
Even though I can’t be too clear when I’m someplace other people can see.
Dishonest truth.
Or maybe just dishonest.
But I have to try again.
I go on to my Facebook. I think of another song to post. I go on YouTube and find one called “Say Something.”
But how will A know why I’m posting it? How will A know it’s ours?
And how can I post it without anyone else knowing it’s ours?
I look at Alexander on the bed. Now I’m definitely being dishonest. Because I realize how I can do it.
I attach the link for “Say Something”—and for the caption, I write:
A— You can interrupt me any time.
I post it. Exhale. Go back to my biology.
About ten minutes later, Alexander says, “Something!”
I look at him and find him smiling. His phone is in his hand.
“Now, did you want me to interrupt you, or was this just a way to see if I was checking my Facebook when I should be reading this terminally boring book?”
“Both, I imagine.”
Still smiling, he puts down Robinson Crusoe and sails on over to the couch. I move my legs to make a space for him.
“So now that you have my undivided attention…,” he says.
Once he sits down, I put my legs back where they were, only now they’re on his lap.
“Do you want to do my bio homework for me?” I ask.
He playfully, emphatically shakes his head.
“Do you want to read me the sexy passages from Robinson Crusoe?”
Another head shake.
“Do you want to kiss awhile and then get something to eat?”
This gets a nod.
A very enthusiastic nod.
He is the first person I’ve been with who has been so enthusiastic. No doubts. No regrets. No conflict. Just…happiness to be here with me.
I still feel dishonest. But the honest truth is that I want to kiss him, and mean it.
So I do.
A
Day 6099
Say something.
I don’t see the message until the day is almost done. And it’s awkward because my father is hovering behind me—not exactly looking at what I’m checking out, but watching the clock closely, to make sure I don’t spend more than my allotted half hour on the computer.
Turns out, I’m on probation.
Or, more to the point, Lilah White is on probation.
Her phone’s been taken away. She has to come home directly after school.
She is not, under any circumstances, to talk to Jeff James.
Her boyfriend. Or her ex-boyfriend. It depends on who you ask. Or it depends on who she’s talking to, because it seems like there are at least a half-dozen different versions out there.