1/1 1:04 pm
It was official: I was blind.
At least that’s what I thought until Kit rolled over and helped me pluck my puffy eyes apart. “I told you not to wear false eyelashes in bed,” she said.
I started crying all over again and pouted at her.
“Just help me unstick my whole face. My eyeballs hurt!”
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “It’s freaking Enzo.” (That’s why she remains my best friend and I will love her forever and ever because she always knows just what to say and also she saw the whole freaking thing happen.)
“I have eyelash glue on my eyeballs.”
“That’s impossible, and even if you did it would be dry by now, not wet. Does it feel like glitter?”
I nod.
“Your eyes are all big and gluey and have gold glitter stickered on ’em because New Year’s Eve sucked, except for I finally made out with French Marcel, until we like, almost passed out. But,” she added, “that was before I saw the very worst breakup of all times.”
I couldn’t even begin to talk about it because my eyes hurt and my heart hurt and I refused for it to be true. Because this is not how my senior year will end. I’m not going through spring semester or the rest of my life without Enzo. Did he completely forget about New York? Is he really assuming Kit and I will go without him?
Andy Warhol said, “Everyone winds up kissing the wrong person goodnight.”
Once again, he knows everything. I have to wonder: What would Andy do right now? How would he deal? Would he paint? Because that’s all I want to do right now. That, and throw up.
1/2 9:41 pm
Having life explained to me at the 610 Diner rivaled everything, especially by someone as incompetent as Marli. Kit took me for Diet Coke and mashed potatoes and gravy. She ordered her regular tater tots and ranch dressing. We expected Nadia to come back with our order and surprise, there was Marli. I thought she’d be with STD Ronnie today, thought it was her day off, but of course, I am most definitely not my sister’s keeper and I don’t even have an idea of when she goes back to college. Her winter break is like 6 months long, which is so stupid considering it never snows in Texas, everyone knows that.
“Well, if it isn’t Angsty Warhol and Etsy Betsy,” Marli said as she flung our food at us. “Hi, poseurs. Nadia didn’t tell me you were sitting in my section.”
“We thought it was HERS,” Kit said and Marli said, “Shut up, KATRINA.”
Kit asked her if she’d picked up any new STDs since she’s been home and I coughed into my drink.
“You look like shit, Piper. What’s the matter? Disappointed with another one of your arts and crafts projects? D-I-Y turn a little D-I-E?”
I looked up at her, wishing my sister would just be cool for once.
“Enzo broke up with her,” Kit said.
Marli stepped back.
“Pipsqueak.”
Marli had not called me that since I was 7.
“Pip, that sucks.”
My eyes started watering, maybe from the leftover eyelash glue, maybe from Marli, and I turned my head to look out the window so she couldn’t see my face. It was confusing whenever Marli was nice to me. A trick. In the parking lot, a family wearing cowboy hats was squeezing out of the cab of a truck, waddling toward the front door.
“Pip.”
“She heard you,” Kit interrupted.
“What happened? Maybe I can help,” Marli said.
“You thought Ronnie contracted crabs in Galveston . . . from the beach,” Kit said. “You. Definitely. Can’t. Help.” I almost choked on my straw, snorting.
“So much for New Year’s resolutions,” Marli said. “I was trying to be nice, you little shits.”
Nadia called Marli over before we could say anything, which was a relief. I could eat my mashed potatoes in gloomy peace. I guess it’s cool Marli has a job to come back to during winter break so she can have drinking money for next semester, but I wish she would leave for good. She always has just the right amount of miserable in her to make me feel miserable, too. So when she’s nice, I can never really trust her. It is trick or treat all year round with her.
“Is it my hair?” I asked Kit, checking my reflection in the restaurant window. I leaned my head against the back of the booth seat and sucked in my cheeks. I used to have long dark brown hair like everyone in my family. Now it is short, like Andy’s. And silver platinum-blond, like Andy’s. And it looks better with black T-shirts, like Andy’s. Even writing in my journal feels freer, being more like Andy’s. When I go to NYC with Enzo and Kit, I will make art, as important as Andy’s. And I will finally be away from Marli and be happy.
“It’s definitely not your hair,” Kit said. “It’s his eyes. He’s shortsighted. He can’t see the future.”
Marli delivered a Diet Coke refill to the table and said, “It’s not his eyes, Stupid. It’s his peen.”
Kit and I both gave her death glares. I didn’t want to discuss the insides of Enzo’s pants with anyone, especially Marli, over a plate of mashed potatoes.
“That’s what I’ve heard from the whole baseball team,” Marli said. “And the football team, too.”
“Still hanging out in the high school locker rooms?” I said. “I guess some habits don’t change.” I was being nasty but who cared. “And even though it’s none of your beeswax, for your information, Enzo is not gay. When are you ever going to understand the difference between homosexual and creative?”
“When will YOU, Pipsqueak?” Marli asked, and walked to another table.
“A gay guy wouldn’t break up on New Year’s,” Kit said. “And besides, Enzo’s Italian. He’s got too much . . . style . . . class . . . for that.”
“His parents are Italian,” I reminded her. “He’s just a Texan like the rest of us.”
I felt my throat get all lumpy, the reminder of how much I hate living here. I mean, I don’t hate Houston. It’s just wrong. Everything is wrong when you’re in the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong decade.
“We won’t be Texans for too much longer. We’ll be New Yorkers before the end of the year!”
My head was throbbing. I could feel the beats in it. “So like, are we all supposed to just be friends now? It has to be the three of us, but . . . he’s just royally screwing this up! We’ve been planning this since freshman year. What does this breakup even mean?”
“It means we’ll figure it out.”
“Are you sure?”
“All for one and one for all,” she said, clinking her coffee against my Diet Coke. Then she sat up and threw her shoulders back and adjusted her black horn-rimmed glasses and dougied her soft, springy spirals, which made me smile even though I didn’t feel like it.
“C’mon, dance a little.”
“I don’t wanna,” I said. The music was bad.
“Then I’ll have to bust it for two.” She jumped from our booth and moonwalked in front of the table over to the pie counter. She propped a “Soda Jerk” cap onto her head, pulling it over her eyes, Michael Jackson–style.
“What are youuuuuuu looking at?” Kit said, dancing and pointing at the diners who were checking her out.
“Not much,” mumbled an old dude at the counter. “Just a fool.”
That made Kit freestyle back into her dougie, dance harder, like she was actually going to win him over. This is why I love her.
I left $20 on a $15.43 check on the table.
At least Marli can’t say I don’t tip.
1/4 1:45 pm
I called him this morning. I don’t know what I was thinking. Here’s the stupid message I left for him:
“Enzo, it’s me. We need to talk. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. And I know you didn’t mean what you said. I love you. You know that, right? We’re still meant to be together. You and me and Kit and New York. We can’t mess up THE PLAN. Call me.”
Ugh.
I went with Mom to the grocery store because I couldn’t sit around just waiting for him to call.
“We’re not drinking soy milk anymore,” Mom announced. “The clinic’s now saying there’s not enough calcium in soy milk to help with bone strength. With all of the fractures during football season, I think there’s something to it. Do you know how many of your classmates I’ve already seen? Besides, dairy milk isn’t going to hurt you. Maybe it will even help you put a few pounds on, which would be good. You’re looking a little too skinny these days. Also, soy is too damn expensive right now.” She finally paused.
“Why are you so quiet?”
I shrugged.
“Uh-oh,” she said. “What’s wrong? You love soy milk. Talk to me.”
“Wrong,” I said. “I don’t love soy milk. Soy milk is just a thing. I love people.”
“Oh, no. Here we go. Have a fight with the boy?” Mom asked, picking up the soy milk and rereading the carton.
“I guess.” I shuffled sideways to the cart and leaned down on the handle. She patted my back.
“My girls always have the worst breakups.”
“C’mon, you. Let’s shop this out. Spill the beans.”
“I can’t,” I said.
“Lorenzo’s always been . . . self-centered, you know,” she said.
I lifted my head to see she’d loaded the cart with chocolate soy milk.
“This isn’t a week to give up the hard stuff.” She winked at me.
Then I told her everything.
1/4 7:27 pm
Wasn’t hungry for dinner so I just had PB&J. Mom and Dad are at a movie now. OK, so back to today, breaking it down for Mom.
“When you left the house, everything seemed fine,” Mom said, unloading the groceries. “Even though the two of you were dressed like vampires going to a funeral in all that black, you still looked pretty cute. Though, coral really is your color.”
I had to remind Mom that wasn’t the point.
“It was just a little excessive,” Mom said. “You two were dressed to the nines!”
Kit and I worshipped the seniors who started the NYE Dance tradition when we were freshmen. They were total geniuses. Extra dances? Extra outfits!
Enzo had picked me up that night and brought me a silver-sprayed corsage. We respected the New Year’s Eve party theme, Everything Silver Must Turn Bold. We had painted our nails silver and I added silver streaks to my already silver-white-gray hair and he was wearing the Gaultier knockoff.
“We had to look good, Mom.”
Enzo, Kit, and I had talked about how the dance committee was going to deliver us a version of Andy Warhol’s first Factory, which was called the Silver Factory.
“Hello! We were basically in New York in the 1960s!”
“That’s a bit of a stretch. Besides, didn’t Andy Warhol and his friends do a bunch of drugs? I don’t think he’s such a great role model for you guys.” She brushed her fingers through my hair. We were sitting on the porch at this point. Mom had insisted sweet tea would make the whole thing seem less bad, which I didn’t want to admit was true, but was.
“The theme was BOLD,” I said. “Why not think bolder and bigger? It wasn’t a school dance. It was like . . . the beginning of our lives.”
She smirked at me.
“Anyway, on our way over to the dance I thought everything was fine, but now I realize he was in a totally pissy mood. When I asked him what was wrong, he said we were a bunch of conformists and then I asked, ‘Don’t you remember why we’re going? . . . for like, seeing what the Factory might have been like?’”
“I call bullsoup, honey. You just wanted to go to the dance,” Mom said.
I couldn’t explain to Mom that Enzo and I weren’t just going as seniors, but for artistic exploration as well. She wasn’t getting it. I stuck to the basics.
When we got there, Kit was totally holding court with the little freshmen who love her. Kit calls them her Little Fresh Fishies, which is kind of adorbs. I went to say hi to her. Enzo went to pee.
“What’s up?” Kit asked, covered in metallic polka dots. We kissed each other on the cheeks, two times, the French way. Kit’s girls watched us carefully.
“What’s up, Piper?” one of the freshies asked.
“Checking out the scene.”
“Your feathery eyelashes are wicked. How’d you . . . ?”
“Kit made ’em,” I said.
“Aaaaaaauuuuhhh, ooooooh,” they exhaled.
Kit twisted her arm into mine and leaned her head into my shoulder and said, “Take a picture” and we posed like we were the freaking cutest. The girls whipped out their phones to catch us, no filters required.
“One day,” I told them, “those photos will be worth a lot. Andy would have silkscreened us.” Then we were off to the table where the dance committee was handing out silver glow sticks.
Kit asked, “What did Enzo decide to wear tonight?”
“He’s calling it Trips, Tops, and Tails but I’m calling it 15 Minutes of Fabulous and it’s amazing as usual.” I reminded Mom of the details. Silver chain mail fitted top, black cropped trench coat over it, skinny black jeans, black hair spiked up and through a silver top hat, a reverse skunk he calls it, silver Docs with black laces. He’d sprinkled silver powder over the both of us after we got out of his car, and told me, “No matter where we stand the light will reflect off us, like we’re stars fallen to the ground.”
We pulled up next to him and I went to kiss him and caught his cheek.
“You look good in silver,” he said. First compliment he had given me all night.
“Wait a minute,” Mom said to me now. “He didn’t compliment you until then?”
“We’re post-compliment,” I said to her.
She shriveled her nose at me.
“Bullsoup again. You’re 18 years old. You are not over compliments.”
“Kind of,” I said. “So, DJ Anonymous—that’s DJA, Ms. Adams’s son—was spinning and everyone started to move and Kit was already in the middle of the dance floor, her minions around her, shooting looks at French Marcel.”
“The exchange student?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, she’s all into him.” Kit was dancing exactly like her idol, Janelle Monáe (she learned all her moves), except somehow even cooler. It’s her weird superpower that even when’s she being silly-stupid-funny, Kit’s kind of incredibly hot. She’s like the girl who should be head cheerleader, but chose the life of HEAD EVERY-FREAKING-THING ELSE instead. She’s a crockpot of crazy, as Mom would say, but in a good way.
“Anyway, Kit was dancing and I was about to go over to her, but then Enzo put his hand on my waist so I turned and kissed him and was like, ‘Let’s dance! Let’s dance in the new year!’”
There were 7 minutes to go according to his spiked silver watch. I wriggled my eyebrows at him the way he liked and he said no. He stood still and his eyes were watery and red and I said, “We can be pretentious asses later but let’s dance now! Look at Kit!”
“I can’t dance,” he said.
“Since when?”
“No, I can’t dance with YOU,” he said, louder than me. The way he said it . . . it was so mean. I hated telling Mom this part.
“But my outfit. It twirls like Saturn’s rings!”
“I know,” he said. “I’m the one who designed it!”
“Hey.” I was trying to be nice. “Have you gone catatonic? Can you just talk to me?”
“NO!” He was practically shouting over the music. And then. . . .
“What?” Mom asked.
“It’s so bad,” I said.
“What?”
“It’s so embarrassing.”
“It couldn’t be worse than his outfit,” Mom said.
“Mom! God!”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Go on.”
“He said it was about to be a new year . . . that he has to finally be him, the ‘real him’ . . . that he can’t be who the world wants him to be.”
“Uh-huh,” Mom said, sipping on her tea.
“So I told him I loved him no matter what.”
“Piper!” Mom said.
“Mom, but then, he started . . . he started doing this whacked-out, really crazy, dance . . . like first, he pulled out these gauzy scarves from the pockets he’d sewn into his trench coat, and he was holding them up over his eyes, like some kind of belly dancer or something, and the more he whipped them around, the more I like . . . could not stop watching. He kept dancing around the other seniors with the scarves, waving them like flags over their heads, and even though Kit was dancing with Marcel, she was trying to catch one of the scarves while it was midair, thinking he was just trying to create some trippy effect against the strobe lights and the disco ball. And of course, what Kit did, all of her little fresh fish did, too. One of them said, ‘Tragic cool!’ like she knew anything about being tragic or cool and held one of the scarves up to her face, smelling it! Then they all tried to catch one, waiting to see what he would do next. He had everyone’s attention . . . and that’s when he slowed down and grabbed one of the scarves he had dropped and looped it around his top. . . .”
“The metal one?” Mom interrupted.
“The chain mail, yeah, and he started lifting up his own shirt. It looked like he was putting on a show. I thought he was doing some kind of performance, a surprise! I thought he was doing something . . . important, maybe, like for me. People were kind of clapping . . . and whistling. But then he danced out of his pants, on purpose. Like, his pants were on the floor. He did, like, a striptease, for me and everyone else in the gym. We could all see him.”
“Wait,” Mom said. “Am I understanding you correctly? Did Enzo . . . did he get naked, Piper? Like streaking?”
I covered my eyes. Total embarrassment and humiliation and sadness hitting me all at once.
I’m crying again now. I need a break. More in a few. Going to take a shower.
1/4 11:34 pm
Just made some coffee. Have to get this out or I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. OK. So obvi, Mom was freaked.
“Naked? You let him get naked in the gym?” Mom was kind of laughing and holding her cheeks at the same time. She reminded me of the person in that painting The Scream, only if it was set in our kitchen.
“Naked,” I finally said. “And I didn’t let him. I didn’t know what to do! I thought it was a dance!”
“A dance?” Mom said, shaking her head. “That kid is nuts! I knew he was off!”
He wanted everyone to quote-unquote know the real him, he said when he was standing there . . . naked (I could hardly even think about it). And he said that I’d dragged him to the dance, he didn’t want to be there in the first place, and he decided he was going to express himself. He had to be true to THE REAL ENZO, which also meant breaking up with me. But I didn’t tell Mom any of that part.
“He’s on drugs,” Mom said, part question–part statement.
“Maybe,” I said. “I know he’s done some acid before. But not like Andy’s friends. They did speed. And like, all the time.”
“Piper! What the hell are you doing hanging around with him? And why do you know about what drugs Andy Warhol’s friends did? Jesus!” She was both laughing and yelling at me. “Wait till I share this with Dad.”
“He’s not going to get it.”
“He’s not the only one. Do YOU get it? And you know way too much about the drug scene, kiddo!”
“Mom, everybody knows about drugs. DUH! And it’s not called ‘the drug scene,’ there is no drug scene. Just drugs. And this whole thing is not Enzo’s fault,” I said. “I should have known he didn’t really want to go to the dance.”
“Oh, honey. None of this is your fault. What . . . how . . . did your evening end?”
“They took Enzo out of the gym, right at the stroke of midnight, the school security guards. They threw his trench coat over his . . . body. I was like, ‘You never loved me,’ but more like a question, and he said, ‘I’m sorry, Piper, we’re over,’ so then I was crying, it was getting all over my gold and silver feather eye lashes and Kit came running across the dance floor screaming, ‘MOTHER F’ER!’”
“Oh please, don’t watch your language now,” Mom said. She took one of her pills for headaches, washing it down with her sweet tea. Looked like the drug scene was right there on our porch.
“Kit pushed Enzo in the chest,” I continued. “Security tried to hold her back. She tried to punch him in the face but missed his eyes and nose because he’s so tall and she’s so short and that’s why her fingers are bandaged, were bandaged. She hit his chin.”
“Oh,” Mom said, “I thought that was one of Kit’s new looks.”
“No.” I laid my head on the kitchen table.
“What a crazy.”
“He’s not crazy. He’s just misunderstood.”
Mom leaned down to my ear and pulled my chin up so she could see my face.
“New Year,” she said. “New start. Let’s make a No Crazies promise. No crazies?”
“No crazies,” I said, hooking my pinkie with hers.
I wanted to tell her it was impossible to keep a No Crazies promise when I felt crazy myself, but promises don’t seem to mean anything anymore anyway.
Going to bed now. Done.
1/6 10:33 pm
Andy said, “The idea of waiting for something makes it more exciting.” It isn’t exciting though. I hate waiting and I hate that I hate waiting. I’ve called Enzo’s voice mail over and over again. It’s been a Sunday of this:
“Hi it’s Enzo. Leave me a massage and I’ll get back to you. Ciao.”
“Hi it’s Enzo. Leave me a massage and I’ll get back to you. Ciao.”
“Hi it’s Enzo. Leave me a massage and I’ll get back to you. Ciao.”
Substituting massage for message isn’t funny after you hear it 36x in one day. He still hasn’t called and Dad almost busted me getting a Shiner out of the fridge earlier. I told him I was bringing it to Marli because she was in her bedroom with cramps and he waved me off and said, “Good luck with that” and then I went back to my room, lay down, and waited. The idea of waiting may be exciting but actually waiting sucks.
In my last message to him, I said, “You may not want to talk to me about our breakup but we have to talk about New York. Don’t be stupid, Enzo.”
I hope he listened to it.
Looking at my palette of colors, my Pantones of pain. I can’t write anymore. Time to paint.
1/7 11:14 am
Just got out of third period. He’s not by his locker. He wasn’t there before school started either. He can’t just avoid me. The worst was that after Adams asked everyone how their holiday break was, did we do anything creative with our time/ selves, which I guess is a required question by an art teacher, everybody answered the same old shit, and when class ended she asked me to stay after, because I was quiet and didn’t answer her. She said—oh my freaking god I can’t believe she said this—
“I heard about what happened. Are you and Lorenzo okay?”
She reminded me that DJ Anonymous is her son, which does defeat the purpose of being anonymous.
“So what happened?” she asked. “Are you back together now?”
“No. He won’t return my calls or texts. I thought I’d see him here today, but like, he’s avoiding everything. Me. Kit. School.”
“He knows winter break ended, right?”
I nodded.
“Well then,” she said, “he can’t stay away forever. I’ll let you know if he comes to 5th period. He won’t miss my class.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“You’ve never missed my class,” she said. “The talent never misses.”
I think she felt really good about saying that.
“Where are you supposed to be?”
“Lunch.”
She gave me a gentle push into the hallway and told me to go eat.
I’m writing instead. I have zero appetite.
1/7 8:45 pm
“People should fall in love with their eyes closed.” —Andy Warhol
Totes. Then you wouldn’t have to see the one who destroyed your life over and over again.
1/8 6 am!!!
Way too early for Marli’s shit. She decided that she had to drive back super early to school so she could avoid rush hour on the freeway in time for her first class, Anthropology for Amateurs (no kidding). She barged into my room at 5:30 am, WTF, because she wanted her blue T-shirt back that she swore I had and I swore I didn’t and I heard her yelling all the way to the laundry room until she marched back into my room and flipped on my closet light which, HELLO, blinded me, and started rummaging through all my shit. I morning-mumbled at her to get out and she said not without my shirt, like she was some kind of war hero, and I dragged myself out of bed to where she was standing in a huge pile of my stuff, picking through it, when she pulled one of Enzo’s black leather coats that I had been painting on.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Art,” I said.
“This isn’t yours,” she said and I said, “Yeah, the jacket’s Enzo’s, but the paint on it is mine.”
“What’d he say?”
I looked into my pillow.
“Tell me you talked to that queer duck, Pipsqueak.”
“Stop sounding ignorant and no I didn’t. I haven’t seen him.”
Her eyes flashed hot, like the way they used to right before she’d chase me.
“You want me to send Ronnie to talk to him?”
“Good god, no. They don’t . . . speak the same language.” I shivered at the thought of it. Ronnie? Enzo? World War III much?
“Oh, I think Enzo’d understand Ronnie just fine,” Marli said, sneering. She plucked her T-shirt from the bottom of my floordrobe and smelled it.
“Mom must have folded it in with the rest of my laundry.” I’d never wear that shirt because it has no, and I mean no, personality.
“I’ll send Ronnie over,” Marli said into the armpit of the shirt. “Nobody’s allowed to make an ass out of you, you know?” She gave me one of her devil smiles that worked on everyone but me.
I turned in bed and tried to ignore her. Who was she to tell me that nobody was allowed to make an ass out of me? She’d made an ass out of me—all of our family really—forever. Watching her trying to be nice to me was too much work. It was too early and too late for me to try and give her a chance. I had at least 27 more minutes until my alarm was going to ring.
Now it’s beeped and this is me, not asleep.
1/9 Midnight
Told Mom I was going to study with Spanish group at the library, but accidentally landed at Enzo’s instead, with Kit hiding in the bushes next to me. We could see the light on in his bedroom, two shadows pacing back and forth. I could tell one was his and one looked like his dad. Definitely not his mom, since she’s so short and her shadow would have been tiny in comparison. We rang the doorbell twice, but nobody came to the door, even though the shadows froze. Kit wanted to knock on his window but I held her back. We watched their silhouettes until Kit whispered, Cops! and we both ducked behind the brick wall of their house. We weren’t exactly doing anything wrong. I mean, if anyone did something wrong, it was him.
I’m just going crazy because you don’t love someone since middle school and then get dropped because they had like, a moment of weirdo-freakiness. Love is weird and people are weirder. Andy loved a million weirdos. He loved Edie. He loved Nico. He loved Ultra Violet. Maybe not in the same way I loved Enzo, but maybe. Kind of.
I didn’t think our love was supposed to be this confusing, this kind of confusing. My heart felt like when Enzo accidentally pricked me last year, that time he was draping canary-yellow polyester for my junior prom dress. Except this isn’t an accident. And it keeps stinging.
Kit reminded me of our plan: We’ll graduate, this will all be over soon. We’ll still go to NYSCFA in the fall. We’ll both meet awesome new guys and change the art world.
I don’t want to say this out loud but I do, I can’t stop myself:
“I don’t want to meet new guys. I want Enzo there with us. He’s the reason I even decided to apply there and not the New School. And we don’t even know if we’re in yet. We could all be stuck here forever.”
“Well, you have good backup schools,” Kit said, and I told her I didn’t apply anywhere else because second options are dead options and she asked Did Andy say that and I answered, No, I did.
“Besides,” I added, “the deal is that we all go to New York, right? If any of us went to backup schools, they would still have to be in New York.”
Kit nodded.
The cops kept cruising down Enzo’s street and Kit and I ran home.
Time for Spanish homework for real.
1/11 Study Hall 2:51 pm
Kit just passed me a note that says there’s a party at Jen’s house tonight. Enzo is going, Jen told her. We’re going. I have to wear something mind-blowing. And I can’t look bloated. Periods suck.
I passed back: “What costumes shall the poor girl wear/to all tomorrow’s parties. . . .”
Kit nodded at me, knew it was the Velvets, of course.
We’re shopping after school.
1/12 11 am
Kit is still passed out on my floor. Her jeans are unbuttoned, and the cashmere sweater vest she bought yesterday is covered in toothpaste. Mom has knocked twice to see if we want hot chocolate but I know she’s secretly just checking in on us. Both of us are wrecked and Mom probably thinks we’re drug addicts now. And I know that even when Kit wakes up she isn’t going to be interested in talking with me. Last night at Jen’s, I kind of made up with Enzo.
I’m not totally sure where we’re at but like he definitely still has feelings for me, even though he thinks we need to see other people. I know he loves me and I know he thinks he wants to see other people, but once it’s just us, he’ll be happy again. I think. I hope. When he’s talking to me, I don’t understand how he could want to be with someone else. Why would he want to hang out with me if I’m so awful?
The night started off like this. A bunch of us (Amy, Niki, Rooftop Bryan, me) were doing Jell-O shots on Jen’s mom’s new kitchen island. Then Enzo appeared and pulled me over by the fridge and said, “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“Of course I’m going to be here, it’s JEN’S PARTY. Who doesn’t come to JEN’S PARTY, right?”
“Well, I just thought after New Year’s Eve you wouldn’t make it,” he said.
“Why not? Jen’s like one of my best friends.” What I wanted to say, of course, was that Jen was my friend first and hell if I’m not going to her parties, you can NOT MAKE IT to her parties, but also I wanted to see you, you haven’t returned my calls, why would you break up with me like that, I’m in love with you, jerk, and you aren’t allowed to break my heart like that. YOU, my best friend. YOU, my supposed soul mate.
But instead I slammed a yellow lemonade-tasting Jell-O shot and tossed the little plastic cup into the sink from where I stood. Rooftop Bryan cheered, “SCORE!” and tried to high-five me from behind the island but fell over instead. Island of Idiots.
“I’m surprised YOU’RE here, frankly,” I said, “I thought you were dead of something.”
“What? Why?”
“You didn’t answer any of my calls or my emails or anything. It’s been 13 days. 13 days since you . . .”
I didn’t even know what to call it. My voice was trembling, which I hated, because I knew I was going to cry when I should have been giving him the worst, meanest, most awful treatment ever. I should have slapped him in front of everyone or thrown a drink in his face like in the movies but all I could do was want him to confess it was all a mistake and notice that I had a new outfit on, a bright green angora sweater dress that looks like it was made for me even though I got it for $4.99 at Another Man’s Treasure.
“Look,” he said, “I listened to your messages. I still want to go to New York. And I still want to be there with you and Kit.”
Everyone moved to the living room to dance and I slid closer to Enzo.
“You do?” I asked him.
Somebody in the living room yelled TURN IT UP and the music started thumping. We were alone on our own island, even if it was a kitchen island.
“You really still want to come to New York?”
He nodded.
“So what was that all about then?”
Enzo shrugged and touched my hair and told me it was the truth, partially, he thinks. He was confused, still confused.
“Me too,” I said. “Really confused.”
Then we both started laughing (that way that we do) and he handed me another Jell-O shot and we tapped the little plastic cups against each other and threw back our shots and he looked at me and said “If anybody gets me you do” and I said “I do, I do get you” and then he said “I’m sorry” and before he could say more I leaned in and kissed him, shutting him up for a couple of seconds at least.
We were kissing and the music pounded and Kit stumbled through the swinging kitchen door with Jen and Perry and Rooftop and they were all talking about getting more drinks and Kit saw me and I saw her and I saw her see Enzo and her mouth dropped open like she was trying to catch her breath, hand on her chest and everything.
Enzo didn’t see her. I tried to shoo her away, like Stop! Don’t come over here!
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.
Enzo stopped kissing me.
“Hey,” Enzo said.
Kit bolted out of the kitchen. I chased after her into Jen’s backyard.
“Hey!” I said, “Don’t be mad at him! We’re okay now!”
“You’re okay now? You’re OKAY? He was a total dick, Piper.”
“No, we’re good,” I said. “And besides, you know him. He just got confused!”
Kit grabbed her hair like she wanted to pull it out.
“Enzo’s on my shit list because he broke up with you in front of everyone and he didn’t care about your feelings! And now you’re kissing him because you’re ‘okay now’? What the hell?”
“Is this about Jack?” I accidentally said out loud and realized at that moment I am the dumbest jerk ever.
“No,” Kit said calmly, “BUT THANKS FOR BRINGING HIM UP!”
She stormed away and I went back to Enzo, who was chowing down on sour cream and onion dip.
“I pissed her off,” I said to him.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Well, actually, you pissed her off,” I said. “You know that, right?”
I didn’t want to be mad at him now that we were making up, but I couldn’t help myself. He nodded and continued to eat chips and dance at the same time.
“So, we’re just cool now?” I asked. “Back together?”
“Yeah. We’re cool.”
“Back-together-cool?”
“We’re post-back-together cool. We’re just us.”
We moved into the living room and started dancing but didn’t kiss anymore because he smelled like onions and sour cream. Nobody said anything to us about NYE, the last time we’d danced together in front of people, but everyone was also pretty wasted by that point. I felt weird, but I also felt calm. I understood Enzo; sometimes he just had to disrupt everything, including us. We were post-back-together cool, whatever that meant. I think I get it. I hope I get it.
Pretty soon the cops showed up because of a neighbor’s noise complaint, and I went to find Kit, who was trying to start her car. I took the keys out of her hand.
“C’mon,” I said, “you can crash at my house.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” I said. “Leave your car here and we’ll get it in the morning.”
She fell out of her driver’s seat and I locked the door behind her.
“You’re messed up, bestie,” I said.
“Look who’s talking,” she slurred.
So we stumbled the five blocks back to my house, instead of driving all the way to Kit’s in River Oaks. We kept tripping over each other the whole time. I was kind of glad Kit was so drunk because I hated when she was mad at me. She pointed at the sky and said, “Look, it’s STARRY NIGHT, GET IT. Except the stars keep moving.” Then she burped and tried to cover her mouth before she threw up in the street. We stopped by the park and went to our bench so she could clean up and wipe off her mouth, just in case Mom was still awake.
“Let’s just stay here. Let’s just stay out all night. This is perfect,” Kit said, leaning her head against my shoulder.
“My mom would kill me, you know that.”
“Just text her, that’s what I’d do.”
“I know.”
Kit’s mom and my mom are totally different.
I wrapped my arm around her waist and walked us the rest of the way. Mom and Dad were asleep when we got here and we raided the kitchen. Now I’m awake and Kit’s asleep and there are cookies and chips and candy wrappers all over the room. It looks like a piñata broke over my bed.
I want to sleep but I keep thinking about Enzo. If I wanted us to get back together so much, why do I feel so weird about this whole back-together-cool thing? The ceiling is spinning and so is my head and all I’m imagining is The Starry Night whirling round and round, fuzzy spiraling stars never-ending.
1/13 3:07 pm
I’ve called Enzo all day. I thought we were cool. He said we were cool, back-together-cool, us. We kissed. My mind keeps translating all of this to Spanish as I write it, I guess because I’m avoiding español homework. SOMOS FRESCOS. NOS BESAMOS. Everything is sadder in Spanish.
I called Kit.
“What’d you expect?”
“I expected everything to go back to normal.”
“Well, it is back to Enzo’s version of normal.”
I said that’s not cool and she said, It’s the truth. Deal.
“Do you really think it’s over between us?”
“You have to do what I did with Jack. Let him go and just focus on New York. Because in 8 months, we’ll be there and they won’t.”
“Enzo still wants to go,” I said.
Kit sighed.
I told her I had to go study and she said, “Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’M NOT!” I said.
But I was. Am.
1/15 8:57 am
What I’m wearing today:
1/16 11:08 pm
I met Enzo at the park. He said he wanted to talk to me but I told him he couldn’t come over. When he asked why, I said Mom and Dad are having a fight, which is a straight-out lie because they’re playing Scrabble on the porch.
So I told Mom I was going to Kit’s to hang and study for a bit and she said be back by 10, so I raced to meet him and also had to race back, which didn’t give me much time.
His face looked pale. He was wearing the deconstructed flannel scarf I made for him out of Dad’s old sleeping bag, even though it was like 70 degrees out. He looked sad to me. Wounded. Like something really bad had happened. I was scared.
“Sup?”
He patted our bench and I sat down next to him.
“It’s okay,” I said, “I love you, too. You don’t have to apologize.”
He blinked hard.
“Love means making mistakes and getting over them,” I said, and took his hand. I can’t believe I actually said that. I don’t even know where I got it.
“Yeah, well,” he said, “maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Piper,” he said, “I think we can really only be friends from here on out.”
I got a sharp bad feeling but tried not to let it touch me. Really, why would he ask me to meet him if he didn’t want things to work out, if he didn’t want me to try and fight for him?
He must have seen my face change because then he said, “I’m not for you,” and leaned closer to me and repeated, “I’m not for you.”
“You’re wrong,” I said. “We’re exactly alike.”
I was trying super hard not to cry at that point. Enzo dropped my hand and started pacing by the swings, pushing them as he talked.
“Piper,” Enzo said, “I’m not going to New York.”
“Of course you are! You’ll get in. You’re like the next Prada. You’ll be bigger than Prada one day!”
“No, I won’t. I’m not. I’m staying here. I pulled my application from NYSCFA.” He pushed a swing that had come flying back hard.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Is it because of me? Are you so scared to be with me that you would give up New York? Our New York?”
“No. Of course not. And I’m not scared of you.”
“Then why?”
“Because.”
“Because . . . ?” I wanted to push him down on the playground. I was furious.
“I just don’t want to go.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He wouldn’t say anything. He was just standing there, both swings swinging at his sides.
“Where are you even going to go then?” I was so loud I scared the crickets into silence for a few seconds. I sounded like Mom and Marli getting into one of their out-of-control fights.
“I’m hoping to get into Rice,” he said. So cold.
“Why the hell would you stay in Houston?” I asked. “All we ever wanted was to get out of here.”
“What about our pact? You, Kit, and me? Together Forever, The NYC 3? Remember? How long have we been saying that? Was it all just bullshit? You want to have a fashion line, or do I need to remind you of that, too? You can’t do that here. We have to be in New York. Kit and I are going to be in New York!”
“You have to be in New York,” he said, catching and holding a swing. New York is about you, Piper. And Kit. Not me.”
His eyeliner was making a little track down his face, like a temporary tattoo.
“Since when? Why?” I was seriously freaking out. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” I knew it all of a sudden, he was keeping some secret.
And then he turned away from me, but I could hear him whisper.
“Philip Schultz,” he said. “Philip Schultz.”
“What are you saying? Philip? You?”
And Enzo said, “I’ve just never been around the right person . . . until Philip.”
“You were around ME!” I screamed. “You kissed me! We did . . . things! Why would you be with me if you were . . . are . . .”
I couldn’t say what I was thinking, which was gay. How could you kiss me if you were, are . . . gay . . . and you knew it? Why would you do that to me? Why would you do that to YOU?
“Was I just your placeholder?”
“Don’t say that! Of course not,” he said. “You could never just be anything. . . . I’m so sorry, Piper.”
“Sorry about the dance?” I said. “Or sorry you ever kissed me in the first place?”
Enzo pushed the swing hard away from his chest.
“I don’t know how else to make . . . ME . . . clear to you,” he said. “How can I explain me, having some feelings for you and, but . . .”
I ran home before he could say anything more.
Everyone has been saying it. How could they see it and I couldn’t? How could I not know if my boyfriend was gay? Wouldn’t I be the first one to know? He sure kissed me like he was straight—at least I thought he did. What if everyone was still wrong? What if he was still wrong? What if he isn’t gay at all? Coach Bryan said in health class that sexual confusion is natural. Maybe Enzo is just confused. Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe it really is me. Maybe he could have liked me more if I was different, if I looked more “like a girl.”
I’m looking in the mirror now. My hair, even with its blue streak, still looks like Andy’s. My chin is still sharp and my eyes are still alien and too big for my face. My body is thin like Andy’s, too, which I can’t help. I thought by now I would have had a little more up front, like Mom or Marli, but I look pretty much like Dad through and through. I’ve always been the tallest girl in my classes and Dad was always pissed that I never got into basketball, but running around a sweaty court is the last thing I would want to do—ever!
I’ve searched myself for clues all night, fixing my hair, pushing my boobs together to try and make them look bigger. I’m not even close to a B cup, even with a push-up bra. If I looked more like a girl, maybe he would think he liked girls? Maybe because I looked like a boy, he thought he liked boys?
Every time this idea popped into my head it didn’t make sense. I wore plenty of dresses, when I wasn’t painting. And I knew that if someone was gay, that it was okay, it was natural, it was totally normal and fine and really who even cared? But what if Enzo HAD been straight? What if my body resembled a guy’s body so much, I had confused him? What if somehow I had changed him and made Enzo gay?
FML.
1/17 6:30 am
I cried all night. Fucking Philip Schultz. All I wanted to do was throw up. Kit emailed and said we should skip today but I can’t, it’s Painting Partner Day. I can’t stop crying. Have to get ready for school.
1/17 3:45 pm
I should be happy. I love Painting Partner Day. It’s one of the things that Adams does with us outside the classroom studio each month. Our last trip was to the Rothko Chapel, which was all about meditation and shape study. I loved that place. My mind felt like it shut off and woke up there.
Today we went to paint at the Museum of Fine Arts—like my favorite place in all of Houston. We were supposed to study the James Turrell stuff, all light and space. It’s one of the best parts of the whole museum. I usually love zoning out, just losing all my thoughts in the electric blue hallway, but today I felt like I was in a never-ending tunnel with nowhere to hide from the walls of cool lights. When we returned to our easels, which were set up in the museum classroom, all I wanted to do was stare. Instead I painted.
We’re allowed to wear headphones when we paint, if music be our muse, Adams says, and so I slipped mine on, even though I was listening to nothing. I wanted to lose myself. The rest of the class doesn’t care so much about painting and “reflection time” because art is just an elective to them—but for Sam Chang and Kit and me, it’s different. I always wished that Enzo was in our class, but his schedule didn’t work because of all his honors classes. Today I was happy he wasn’t with us.
When I was done painting, I stepped back and examined my canvas. My fingernails were splattered with violets and blues and looked like a bouquet of irises that had been run over by a car, evidence of the last few hours. I felt like I’d had nothing to do with it.
“Damn,” Adams said. “Damn. Damn. Damn.”
“What do you think?”
She patted herself on her heart. “Keep going,” she said. “Keep going. Tap in.”
I love Adams. LOVE HER.
1/18 Lunch
“Philip Schultz?”
“Yep.”
“So, they’re definitely having sex. Blowies at the very least. He’s in college.”
“Kit!” I yelped. “Not helpful!”
“Sorry,” Kit said, taking a bite of her tuna sandwich.
“Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me it wasn’t that easy for Enzo to break my heart.”
“You need to eat,” Kit said, handing me the other half of her sandwich. “And no, it wasn’t easy for him.”
“Did you know about this, too?”
“No. I swear.”
“Kit.”
“I promise you, Piper. You know me better than that. I would never keep a secret like that from you.”
“But HE did! I thought friends, real friends, told each other the truth,” I said.
“Well, he did,” Kit said. “He just had really shitty timing.”
1/19 10 am
Last night, Marli drove back from school to have Mom do her laundry and make French toast for her this weekend. I was supposed to hang with Kit but Mom declared it Unofficial Friday Night Family Night and so plans had to be dropped and instead I got to hear about how hard Marli’s classes are—she almost puked in her anatomy class it was so gross!—how hard it is living in the dorm—the rooms are so tiny everyone is on top of everyone else!—how hard it is sharing a bathroom—with a total stranger who could be like a serial killer for all she knows!—how hard it is having a meal plan—it’s prison food!, and how she just wished she had her own apartment and that would make everything better, because she really just needs a safe place to study and chill. And if she had just a little more money, she could probably get her own apartment. Barf. She said this with her over-the-top sweet smile, like she couldn’t believe she had just revealed all of that at once. I’m sure Mom and Dad will find a way to make her happy. God forbid Marli be unhappy.
When she finally asked me how things were between Enzo and me, Mom answered.
“They are broken up for good, thank god.”
Rude much?
Then Dad said, “Now if we could only get you to break up with that Ronnie. . . .”
Mom and Dad both laughed, even though Mom said, “Not nice, Hank, you’re so bad blah blah blah.”
Marli smiled at Dad. Her eyes flickered at him, like her brain had just been turned on by her ears. I sat back in my seat and felt my stomach drop. Moments like this I was never wrong because my Spidey sense worked overtime around her.
“Daddy,” she said. “You don’t mean that.”
“Well, Ronnie’s fine for now.” He smiled back at her. “I just want my daughters to have the best.”
“The best what?”
The air shifted. I could feel it. I’ll never understand how they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, feel it, see it, smell it like I do.
“The best lives possible,” Dad said. “You know that’s what we want for you.”
“And you don’t think I’ll get that with Ronnie?” She was seriously baring her teeth. “You don’t think that he loves me just for being me? We’re in love with each other. He gets me. He doesn’t treat me like I’m crazy. HE doesn’t think I make awful decisions.”
“Nobody treats you like you are crazy, babe,” Dad said. “College has been good for you so far. You seem less . . . agitated. You look good.” He patted her hand. Miracle. Dad’s lion-taming skills had worked this time. She picked up her fork and I was relieved.
But why does Dad suddenly think college made Marli less crazy? She only appears less crazy because she isn’t here all the time. Maybe he was just trying to be nice. He knows you can’t tell a crazy person she’s crazy or else it all just gets worse.
1/20 4 pm
Mom treated Marli and me to manicures and pedicures for “bonding time.” In her words, we could all use some of her favorite TLC—Texas Lady Comforts.
Mom picked Coral by the Sea (of course, Mom’s OCD, Obsessive Coral Disorder), Marli got some god-awful yellow called General Mustard’s Last Stand, and I picked steel gray, Heavy Metal.
“Of course you’d pick that color,” Marli said to me, twirling around the salon.
“You’re always looking at the dark side of life.”
“I am not,” I said.
Andrea, the manicurist, pulled down her mouth mask and said, “Uh-huh.”
“I’m not dark,” I said. “I’m just me.”
And Marli said, “Oh, did I say dark? I meant DORK.”
She died laughing.
I shut my eyes and pretended she wasn’t my sister.
“You do get a bit dramatic sometimes,” Mom said from her spa pedicure chair.
“I do not,” I said. “I mean, I’m not Mary Freaking Sunshine, but I’m not like, a rain cloud.”
“Well, you’re creative,” Mom said. “Sensitive. It’s the artistic side of you. It’s not bad, sweetie. It’s okay.”
“Good lord,” I said. “Just because I’m not . . .”
Mom looked over her magazine at me and shot me her look that meant don’t ruin this day.
“Fine,” I said. I went back to the rows of nail polish. I put the Heavy Metal back in its place and picked up a bottle called Shout at the Devil. I handed it to Andrea.
“Very dark,” she said.
New York. New York. New York.
Enzo called me 3x and I didn’t answer. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t care if he’s upset. I want him to be as upset as me. CIAO, ENZO!
1/23 Study Hall
Okay. So weird. So weird! So weird but good weird but still weird!!!
We were having independent drawing in Art. Adams stood behind me, watching me work, and then said she wanted to see me after class.
“What’s up?” I asked after the bell rang.
“I want you to know how good you are.” She took a deep breath. “And I want you to know that NYSCFA called me to discuss your recommendation.”
“They called?” I asked.
“They are seriously interested in having you as an incoming student.”
I jumped up and down, I didn’t care how uncool I looked, and then I asked if they wanted to talk about Kit too, because I knew Adams had written her a recommendation, also.
Adams leaned forward in her chair, watching the next class come in, and said, “No. Not yet, Piper.”
“But they will,” I said.
“Acceptance letters arrive in March. We’ll find out.”
“Kit has to get in!” I said. “She’ll get in!”
She didn’t say anything else and then the bell rang again and I had to run so I wouldn’t be extra tardy here to Study Hall.
1/24 8:30 pm
HOLY SHIT.
Mom and Dad told me big news over dinner.
Marli is pregnant.
Marli will most likely be moving home.
Marli will most likely not finish her freshman year this year.
I asked what about Ronnie, and Mom said he doesn’t know yet, and took a huge bite out of her pepperoni slice that she’d covered in red pepper. She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. She was crying. She blamed the pepper, as usual. Her trick she thought I never noticed.
“I can’t believe he didn’t use protection,” Mom said.
“But,” I tried.
“Not now, Piper.” Dad cut me off quick.
That was so Mom to think Marli had no choice in the matter, like she couldn’t help control the situation. Once again, nothing was ever Marli’s fault.
I ate the rest of my pizza watching them not talk to each other. Fun times.
I found Enzo at the salad station and asked him if he’d talk to me. He said I didn’t return his calls so why should he talk to me now and I said, It’s not like that, it’s not about us, I’m totally freaked out about something else.
He looked at me with his big Enzo Owl Eyes, the way that usually makes me melt, but now just made me want to hide inside his cardigan.
“It’s about Marli,” I whispered.
“What?” He bit down on a carrot.
“She might be moving back in with us.”
“She’s dropping out?” he said. “That was fast!”
“Something worse.”
“What’s worse than that?”
“I can’t tell you,” I said.
“Oh, c’mon.”
“My mom will kill me if I say anything yet.” Mom had said about a billion times last night, FAMILY ONLY. But how could he not figure it out? How many reasons could there be for dropping out of school?
“You can tell me anything. You know that.” He raised his eyebrows and when I didn’t answer him, he wrapped his arms around me. Whatever, I let him. His shirt smelled like cloves and sweat and the blankets on his bed.
“She just can’t move back in again. My parents said I could make her room my studio!”
Kit and Jen and Sammy pushed open the cafeteria doors and headed for the lunch line.
I pulled away from E. I know I’m not supposed to still love him, but I do. His fingers were locked with mine.
“When would she . . . ?”
I shrugged. “Within 9 months.”
He didn’t catch on at all. Totally clueless.
1/26 Morning sometime
Andy said, “The best love is not-to-think-about-it love.”
I’m not going to think of Enzo. I’m going to paint all day. This Saturday is mine. Mom and Dad are leaving me alone and having serious, quiet discussions, obviously about Marli. Kit is with her parents all weekend because they are not on call at the hospital.
Did Andy really know how not to think of his love, his best love? To just leave love alone? I love love and I love thinking about love. And the only way I know how not to think about it 100% of the time is by doing something besides thinking.
I’m painting. I’m going to paint. Now. I’m leaving the garage door open so I can get enough sunlight before it starts raining.
Coffee first. No thinking.
Adams said in class last semester, “Art is about getting to know one’s self.”
Looked at what I painted yesterday. I had no idea how much time I spent on Enzo. He’s in all of my work. All of it. I wasn’t even building a face for fuck’s sake, I was trying to capture yesterday’s thunderclouds. But when I see the canvas, I see his profile, his ears, his eyelashes. Need new medium because ENZO = OILS, PAINTS!!!! Must at least try something else, even though it’s hard to ignore paint, borderline painful. Maybe freaking watercolors, painting but lighter.
Told Mom I needed new pencils, so she drove me to Texas Art Supply, the good one on Montrose.
On the way there, she asked if there was anything I wanted to talk about and I told her what Adams had said about NYSCFA calling.
“I meant about Marli,” Mom said.
I didn’t say anything, just let her hear how that had just gone down.
“Well, Piper, remember that call doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” she said. “I mean, it’s good. I’m happy for you, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Just . . . stay grounded.”
“Sure.” So much for being excited.
“God knows your sister could have used that advice.”
“Right.” Of course. Always, always about Marli. Who cares if I might get into my dream school?
Kill me.
1/28 Midnight
Not sleeping. Not sleeping. Not sleeping. My heart feels like it’s speed-beating 100 beats a second. Marli is definitely moving back. There is going to be a baby here, too. Her baby. I should be happy to be an aunt. But I’m too young to be an aunt. Nobody’s an aunt yet. And should she even be having the baby? Am I allowed to ask that? Oh my gawd, what if it’s not Ronnie’s baby? Or what if the baby has an STD? What if the baby is born with Ronnie’s disgusting wet little mustache? Maybe she won’t have the baby. Maybe she’ll give it up. Can’t be two Marlis in the house and I don’t care how awful a sister I am for thinking that. I can’t stand her or any of this.
1/29 3:40 pm
“A picture means I know where I was every minute. That’s why I take pictures. It’s a visual diary.”
—Andy W.
Work in progress, Adams’s class: This is my Painting Partner piece I started at the museum. I should work on it, but I feel stuck and don’t want to screw it up.
Just watched Sam Chang and Ricky Davis from Drama act in a scene from Sam Shepard’s True West as a Drama and Art class collaboration project. Sammy’s a better actor than I would have figured. I like the two brothers in the play fighting it out. It felt right. True. It made me feel like screaming too, standing on top of my chair in the auditorium and shouting “That’s the way it really is! One of them always gets away with everything!”
But I didn’t. I am going to check out the play from Ms. Howland’s drama library though, even though I’m not a drama kid. I told her the play made me want to paint and she said that was a very good thing.
1/31 After school
I went over to Enzo’s. It’s the 1-month anniversary of our breakup. He still had some of my paintbrushes and I wanted them back. He cracked open the door when I got there so I had to ask him if I could come in.
“My parents aren’t here.”
“Since when do you care about that?”
“It’s different now.”
“How?”
“It’s not a good time,” he stuttered, and then said something about working.
I started tingling, knowing he was lying. If he had been working, he would never have opened the door.
I heard Tina, his mom, call out, “Who is it, Lorenzo?”
She opened the door wide and I said, “Hi, I thought you weren’t home.”
“Here I am!” She gave me a funny look. “Benvenuto, sweetie!”
Enzo tried to block me.
“Stop being rude, Lorenzo,” Tina said. “You can fit three on that couch.”
“Who else is here?” I asked.
“Philip,” she said. “He’s been telling Lorenzo all about his classes at the university. Now they’re watching that movie. What are you watching? The funny one?”
“Yeah, it’s funny.”
“What is it?” I asked, and he mumbled, “DevilWearsPrada.”
“You and Philip are just sitting around watching The Devil Wears Prada?”
“It’s a good one,” Tina added, wiping her hands on her apron. “I have to go check my tomatoes. Those babies are roasting!”
“Philip’s here?” I whispered/asked. “Does your Mom know-know?”
“Please don’t say anything.”
“Of course not!” I said, rubbing at my tears.
Philip showed up behind Enzo with a smile. So smug.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he said loudly.
He’s as tall and muscle-y as I remember him being when he went to our school last year, maybe taller. Why couldn’t Philip find some other college freshman to fall in love with? Why did Philip have to come back for Enzo?
“Can I have my paintbrushes?” I asked, staring at Enzo, trying as hard as possible to avoid Philip.
“Hold on,” he said, and then disappeared, leaving Philip and me standing there, face to face.
“Oh come on, you’re gorgeous,” he said. “You’ll be fine, y’know.”
“You took my boyfriend,” I said to him.
Enzo reappeared with my basket full of brushes.
“Here,” he said, handing it to me. “These are all yours.”
I dragged all the way home, knowing nobody could possibly understand an inch of my pain. Nobody. I no longer belonged to Enzo. He no longer belonged to me. And something about dating me had made him choose a boy. It didn’t matter if I was pretty or talented or that we had been friends forever. We were ruined. We couldn’t even be real friends anymore, which killed the most. He’d lied to me about Philip being at his house. He’d lied to me about being . . . himself. How much more lying was I supposed to take? Real friends were supposed to be honest.
So, my “New Year” looks like this:
THIS IS NOT THE NEW YEAR I WAS PICTURING.
January, you can piss right off.
