The Boyfriend List

seventh and eighth graders every year. It’s like they never even heard of Hanukkah or Kwanzaa or atheism or Buddhism.4 Everyone at Tate has everyone else’s phone number. There’s a directory we all get every September.5 Katarina and Ariel and Heidi were always talking about their phone conversations with boys. Already, in sixth grade. I’d think, How do they get started with these things? Do the boys just call them up for no reason? Or do they make an excuse, like Oh, I forgot the math homework? Or did the girls call the boys? I just can’t picture any of the eleven-year-old boys we knew making phone calls on a regular basis.6 And once they were on the phone, what on earth did they talk about? At least with an IM, you can take a second to think about what you’re going to write, figure out something to say.7 Not that any boys were IM-ing me in sixth grade, either. They definitely weren’t. I just think I would have liked it better than phone calling, if they had.8 Kim’s analysis, back then: Chase was just shy. Doctor Z’s analysis, now: Josh was the one who liked me and Chase never had anything to do with it at all.(!!)9 This sounds desperate, don’t you think? I mean, what idiot would still want to go to a dance with a person he really liked, when the person made it clear that the situation was only platonic and it was basically a pity date? You’d spend the whole evening feeling like a reject.10 Oh, my God! I’m that idiot! That is exactly what I did with Jackson and the Spring Fling! I am obviously a desperate reject, as you will soon find out, if you keep reading.11 In Painting Elective, we had been given this ridiculous assignment where we had to “convey the essence of the poem ‘How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways,’” and most people painted hearts and flowers and sunsets, but Noel painted a car wreck, working off a photo he had from a newspaper, and I painted a frog. Anyway, the poem he sent me started, “How do I love thee? As much as this carnation is worth (a dollar). As high as a pig can fly.” And so on. So it wasn’t serious.

8. Sky (but he had someone else.)

Doctor Z thinks I have panic attacks because I don’t express myself. Like I’m repressing how I really feel, and all this repression triggers anxiety. Blah blah blah.

To take it out of therapy-speak, Doctor Z thinks I’m lying way too much of the time. She thinks I lie to my parents. She thinks I lied to Jackson.

She thinks I lie to myself, mainly. Not about truths or facts. About feelings.

And all that lying makes me not be able to breathe, because the horror that’s inside me pretty much has to express itself somehow, so it starts my heart up like a jack-hammer and turns off my lungs.

I never thought of myself as someone who lies at all. Actually, I think I’m pretty truthful. But maybe she was right. “How can I be honest with anyone when everyone is lying to me?” I said to Doctor Z.

“Who’s lying to you?”

“Jackson.”

“Who else?”

“Kim.”

“Who else?”

I felt like there were hundreds of people. But I couldn’t think of anyone.

We were silent.

“Who is it that you’re not honest with?” asked Doctor Z.

“No one.”

“No one?”

“I’m not a liar.”

“I’m asking if there are times when you don’t tell the truth about how you feel.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Ruby, that’s not what I asked you. I asked if you were honest about your feelings.”

Ag. Therapy is such a pain in the ass. I told her I wanted to change the subject and talked about how annoying my mother was for the rest of the hour.¹ But then I went home and I made a list of all the lies I told to Jackson.

I didn’t mind that he never came to my swim meets.

Watching the cross-country team run was interesting.

Japanese anime movies were interesting.

I liked his friend Matt.

I liked the half carnation.

I liked his new haircut.

I liked his mom.

I didn’t mind the frogs ending.

I didn’t mind him playing tennis with Heidi.

I didn’t mind when he said he’d call, but then forgot.

I didn’t mind him making friends with Kim.