I asked if he was all right.
“Yeah, no, sure, fine.” And that’s an exact quote.
In the picture, Hannah’s arm is wrapped around Courtney’s waist. Hannah’s laughing, but Courtney isn’t. She’s nervous.
And now I know why.
Courtney was in the middle of having her cup filled, and I told Tyler to wait right there. When Courtney saw me, she asked if I was having fun.
“Someone wants to take your picture,” I said. Then I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her over to Tyler. I told her to put down her cup or the yearbook wouldn’t be able to use it.
Tyler put it in the scribble book at Monet’s. He wanted us to see it.
This was not a part of her plan. She only invited me to the party to clear her beautiful name after ignoring me for so long. A permanent photograph linking us to one another was not supposed to happen.
Courtney tried to pull out of my grip. “I…I don’t want to,” she said.
I whirled around to face her. “Why not, Courtney? Why did you invite me here? Please don’t tell me I was just a chauffeur. I mean, I thought we were becoming friends.”
He must have put it in the scribble book because he knew we would never find it in the yearbook. He would never turn it in. Not after learning what the photograph really meant.
“We are friends,” she said.
“Then put down your drink,” I said. “It’s time for a picture.”
Tyler aimed the camera and focused his lens, waiting for our beautiful, natural smiles. Courtney lowered the drink to her side. I put my arm around her waist and told her, “If you ever want to borrow anything from my dresser, Courtney, all you need to do is ask.”
“Ready?” Tyler said.
I leaned forward, pretending someone had just told me the funniest joke in the world. Click.
Then I told them I was leaving because the party sucked.
Courtney begged me to stay. She told me to be reasonable. And maybe I was being a little insensitive. I mean, she wasn’t ready to leave. How would she get home if her chauffeur didn’t wait around for her?
“Find another ride,” I said. And I left.
Part of me wanted to cry for being so right about her invitation. Instead, on the long walk back to my car, I started laughing. And I shouted into the trees, “What is going on?”
And then someone called my name.
“What do you want, Tyler?”
He told me I was right about the party. “The party does suck.”
“No, Tyler. It doesn’t,” I said. Then I asked why he was following me.
His eyes dropped to his camera and he fiddled with the lens. He needed a ride home, he said.
At that, I really started laughing. Not specifically at what he said, but at the absurdity of the whole night. Did he really have no clue that I knew about his night prowling-about his nocturnal missions? Or did he sincerely hope I didn’t know? Because as long as I didn’t know, we could be friends, right?
“Fine,” I said. “But we’re not stopping anywhere.”
A few times on the ride home he tried talking to me. But each time I cut him off. I did not want to act like everything was okay, because it wasn’t.
And after I dropped him off, I took the longest possible route home.
I have a feeling I’ll be doing the same.
I explored alleys and hidden roads I never knew existed. I discovered neighborhoods entirely new to me. And finally…I discovered I was sick of this town and everything in it.
I’m starting to get there, too, Hannah.
Next side.
CASSETTE 3: SIDE B
How many of you remember the Oh My Dollar Valentines?
How many of us would rather forget?
Those were fun, weren’t they? You fill out a survey, a computer analyzes your answers, then it cross- references with the other surveys. For just a buck, you get the name and number of your one true soul mate. For five bucks, you get your top five. And hey! All proceeds go to a worthy cause.
Cheer Camp.
Cheer Camp.
Each morning over the loudspeaker came the cheery announcements. “Don’t forget, there’s only four more days to turn in your surveys. Only four more lonely days until your true love is revealed.”
And every morning, a new peppy cheerleader continued the countdown. “Only three more days… Only two more days… Just one more day… Today’s the day!”
For every foot of sidewalk I put between Tyler’s house, Marcus, and me, the muscles in my shoulders relax a little more.
Then the whole squad of cheerleaders sang, “Oh my dollar, Oh my dollar, Oh my dol-lar Valentine!”
This, of course, was followed by whoops and hollers and cheers. I always imagined them doing kicks and splits and tossing their pom-poms around the attendance office.
I walked by the attendance office once, on an errand for a teacher, and that’s exactly what they were doing.
And yes, I did fill out my survey. I’ve been a sucker for surveys my whole life. If you ever caught me reading one of those teen magazines, I swear, it wasn’t for the makeup tips. It was for the surveys.
Because you never wore makeup, Hannah. You didn’t need it.
Fine, some of the hair and makeup tips were helpful.
You wore makeup?
But I only picked the magazines up for the surveys. The tips were a bonus.
Do you remember those career surveys we had to fill out freshman year, the ones that were supposed to help us choose electives? According to my survey, I’d make a wonderful lumberjack. And if that career didn’t work out, I could use my fallback career as an astronaut.
An astronaut or a lumberjack? Seriously? Thanks for the help.
I don’t remember my fallback career, but I got the lumberjack, too. I tried figuring out why the test saw that as my best career path. True, I marked down that I liked the outdoors, but who doesn’t? It doesn’t mean I like cutting down trees.
The Valentine survey was a two-parter. First, you described yourself. Hair color. Eye color. Height. Body type. Favorite type of music and movie. Then you put a check beside your top three things to do on weekends. Which is funny, because whoever designed the list forgot to mention drinking and sex-which would’ve been the most accurate response for most of our student body.
In all, there were about twenty questions. And I know, based on who appeared on my list, that not everyone answered honestly.
In the middle of the sidewalk, beneath a streetlamp, is a dark green metal bench. At one time, maybe this was a bus stop. But now, it’s just a bench to relax on. For old people, or anyone, too tired to walk.
For me.
For part two of the survey, it was your turn to describe what you were looking for in a soul mate. Their height. Their body type. If they’re athletic or not. Shy or outgoing.
I sit on the cold metal and lean forward, dropping my head into my hands. Only a handful of blocks from home, and I don’t know where to go.
As I filled mine out, I found myself describing a certain someone at our school.
I should’ve answered my survey seriously.
You’d think that if my answers all described one person, that person would’ve at least appeared in my top five.
