Well, not really a final list. I can’t imagine I’ll ever stop making lists. But a final list in this long chronicle of my therapy process, romantic debacles and friendship dramas. A list of Stuff That Happened After.
Mom’s latest performance-art monologue—
Even after it opened, she continued to explore charcuterie—in other words, she continued to perpetrate creative horrors on the bodies of dead animals and then eat them—until I lost five pounds from lack of edible deliciousness at breakfast and dinner and she got reworried I was anorexic; meanwhile, Dad gained ten pounds and she new-worried he would have a coronary.
At this point she agreed we could have pasta or burritos or something else normal for dinner.
My five pounds came back, but Dad’s ten stayed on.
Varsha and Spencer became regulars at the B&O Espresso. We’d go and meet Nora and Meghan there after swim practice. Yes, they were Future Doctors of America, but they were also seriously nice people. It was good to have a group to eat cake and try to figure out the Calc homework with.
It was nice to have Nora there, especially. After everything. Despite everything.
Robespierre got Imelda the pygmy goat pregnant. In the spring, if all goes well, two little Robespierres will be cavorting around the Family Farm. He seems exceedingly proud of his accomplishment and walks with quite a jaunty step.
First lacrosse team meeting: I rejoined the team. I’ll be playing varsity goalie this spring.
Hutch returned from Paris with DVD recordings of himself fronting a retro metal cover band called Les Hommes Metallique (Metal Men). The other guys were all French high school students he hung around with.
It turns out that Hutch can sing—if by “sing” you mean wail and thrash around and occasionally switch into a high falsetto that makes him sound like an angry girlie opera star.
It is good to have him back.
Though now he considers himself an expert on French film and insists he is going to take
I sent off the last of my college applications January 4. The movie, the essays, the exam scores, the transcripts, the lists of activities—it was all done.
Which means that next year, I will be living in some other city, learning how to make movies.
Though I will miss Polka-dot (a lot),
And I will miss my parents (a little),
I won’t have to deal with the wenchery of Cricket and Kim.
And my roly-poly-slut reputation will be left behind, along with most of my self-loathing.
I won’t have to be in the Tate Universe. Ever again.
And I won’t be in therapy anymore either. Doctor Z says I can stop when I feel ready.
I asked her: What if all the panic badness comes back when I go to college? If it does, can I call you? Can we have phone therapy if I go completely mental?
And she said, “Of course. You can call me even if you’re not having any particular challenges.”
But she also said: “I am not worried about you, Ruby. You have come a long way.”
And I thought: She’s right.
As for Noel and me, part of me would like to tell you it was ride-off-into-the-sunset easy—but that wouldn’t be true. He is jealous, I am needy. He is silent, I am talky. But we see each other for who we really are, I think. He picks up the phone when I call, and never checks his messages while I’m talking to him. We sit together in the refectory, no worries, no second-guessing. And we kiss. All the time. A lot.
Oh, and we make each other laugh.
And write each other silly notes.
And go on adventures planned by the Mutual Admiration Society.
And make each other laugh some more.
And that is saying a lot.
The story about the gay penguins stealing eggs is true. It happened in Polar Land in Harbin in northern China. I combined it with a story about some German gay penguins who were given a rejected egg to raise at the Bremerhaven zoo. The panda porn is real too. I couldn’t make this stuff up.
Elizabeth Kaplan represents me. Beverly Horowitz edits me. I would be lost without both of them. Melissa Sarver handles everything. The people at Random House have been spectacular, in particular but not limited to Kathy Dunn, Jessica Shoffel, Rebecca Gudelis, Chip Gibson, Tracy Lerner, Lisa McClatchy, Meg O’Brien, Wendy Louie, Lisa Nadel and Adrienne Waintraub. Diana Finch does foreign rights. Thank you!
Sarah Mlynowski offered invaluable plot advice and made me cut out the boring bits. My mom gave me ideas for Doctor Z’s therapy. Libba Bray, Maureen Johnson, Scott Westerfeld, Robin Wasserman and Cassandra Clare kept me company. Heather Weston solved a major plot problem. Bob did nothing but support, support, support.
Melissa James Gibson and Zoe Jenkin helped me sort through the college application process. Melissa Clark was Seattle consultant. Mrs. Friday Next gave me the idea for the melodramatic chapter headings. My blog readers, Facebook friends and Twitter followers helped me with Roo’s movie lists, swim team lingo and books for Mr. Wallace to assign. Dennis O’Brian dreamed up a meatloafery and let me steal his idea. Most of all, my family bore with me and encouraged me. Thank you.
