There wasn’t really a silver lining in sight for the monster storm cloud that had torrentially poured on my sophomore year so far, but hey, at least I was on Christmas break for three weeks. I had never needed it so badly. I stayed in bed and convalesced the first few days. I really truly fell ill from all the horror at school. My mom or dad would come in every now and then and report a phone call from Sophie or Whitney, but I wouldn’t take their calls. They each dispatched Kaitlin and Ava to come see me—they were scared of my inner wrath that had recently been released—but Ava and Kaitlin were really unable to make any sort of case for Sophie and Whitney and admitted they wanted the whole thing to be over also. It was a pretty gloomy time, especially with the white snow turning into dirty slush outside and an angry chill gripping the city.
On the fourth day, I lay in bed halfheartedly sketching some new dress designs—I’d been unable to salvage my paint-saturated gown and hoped a new dress would take my mind off of it—when my mom knocked on my door and came in.
“Whitney called again,” she said, sitting on the edge of my bed.
“I’m not talking to her.”
“She just wants you to know that she’s leaving tonight for Barbados or the Bahamas, hmm…I can’t remember which one, the Bahamas, I think? Anyway, she’ll call you when she’s back.”
“Great. Whatever. She can call, but I won’t talk to her.”
“I don’t blame you,” said my mom, pushing a strand of my hair behind my ear.
“Mom, why is high school the melting pot of evil?” I asked.
My mom clasped her hands and looked up at the ceiling, concentrating. My parents always took my questions seriously and never just whipped out a flippant answer.
“You want to know my theory?” she asked finally. “I think it’s because teenagers don’t get enough cuddling. Children get lots of hugs and kisses, and adults in romantic relationships do as well. But teenagers…they’re a little tactophobic. They just don’t like to be touched. They’re not used to it. A hug can be a terrific emotional balm.”
Hmm. “That’s a good point. I mean, we don’t go around hugging girls, and if we go around hugging boys we get a reputation, and if we hug our parents, we’re losers. I think you may be onto something, Mom.”
“So can I give you a hug?” she asked, smiling.
“Sure.”
We hugged for a really long time. I’m sure my ex-friends would say it was dumb, but I didn’t care.
“Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’ll be okay.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about you,” she said, rising. “I’m never worried about you. You’re armed with all the good qualities necessary to take on the world, Laura. That’s something that privilege can’t buy.”
God, I loved my parents. And that was something Sophie and Whitney definitely could not say.
The next three weeks were a perfect example of all those weird New Agey experiences that Dr. Phil and Oprah extol. I had free time to “regroup” and “recover” and “reconnect with my inner self.” All that psychobabble can actually be somewhat truthful, because it is healing to just hang out alone and focus on yourself. Sophie had left a message that she was jetting off to Aspen but would check in when she got back. Like I cared. With Sophie and Whitney away skiing and sunning, I tried to forget about them, and fully immersed myself in Lower Manhattan. I didn’t go uptown once, which is probably why I was able to escape and not think at all about the birthday party drama.
I actually spent almost the entire time concentrating on my designs. I thought a lot about what Whitney had said about me borrowing her stuff, and I realized I didn’t need or want to borrow her clothes or accessories anymore. Don’t get me wrong; they were beautiful, and I hoped one day I would be able to own my own Chloé gown, but I had faith in my designs and knew if I got back to work, I could make dresses that were just as good.
I spent weeks wandering through NoLita, the Lower East Side, and Williamsburg, taking notes at my favorite stores and hanging out in Incubator, watching Jade in action. She was cool and showed me her sketchbooks and tear sheets and told me what she thought would be the big trends for spring. I also went to Chinatown and scanned the fabrics, looking for ideas, and visited button stores and ribbon warehouses. No petite nook in the Garment District was too little for me. I had never felt so creatively engaged, and it was such a nice feeling. I realized I had wasted too much time on those stupid parties and catfights, and my New Year’s resolution was to try not to give a damn and stay true to myself.
My one source of anxiety was Jake. I mean, I had been a little nasty to him and I felt bad. I was just tired of the way he was taking his time choosing between Sophie and Whitney and really wished he would get on with it so he would put us all out of our misery. I mean, they call me Switzerland and tell me to choose or lose? If I was Switzerland, then he was Geneva. He’s the capital of Waffler Land. I guess he chose Sophie when he kissed her. But why did he still act like he wasn’t with her, and why did he seem confused when I mentioned her that day at the bus stop? The bottom line was that it was none of my business, so I really shouldn’t have been rude. I tried to ignore it and on Christmas even prayed a little in church that I didn’t hurt his feelings. (I am sooo dorky, I know.) I also felt a little weird that he’d witnessed the humiliating debacle that was the Gold and Silver Ball—and that he hadn’t called me. I guess after my harsh treatment of him that day at the bus stop, our friendship really was over. I also closet-repented for the one deadly sin that was creeping its way into my conscience, no matter how hard I tried to stuff it back down: Envy. I was Kermit-green with envy about that spin the bottle night. I had to admit it to myself finally: I liked Jake. A lot. All this time, I felt delusional—how could he ever be into me when two of the most gorge gals at Tate were fighting over him? Then I started thinking, But he calls me, we’re better friends, and isn’t that the most important thing? I screwed it all up by going psycho on him. So my holiday was tainted with regret, but then, on New Year’s Eve, I got my belated Christmas present.
I was sitting at home, watching the ball drop with my parents, when the phone rang.
“Hey, Finnegan…”
It was Jake.
“I hope I’m not calling too late—I assumed you’d be up ringing in the New Year,” he continued.
“Hey, Jake! I’m just at home having a Dick Clark fest with my ’rents. How’s Antigua?” I asked, trying not to show I was excited.
“Great. You know, sunny every day, nothing special. I just…wanted to say hey.”
“I’m so glad you called.” I wasn’t sure what to say about my snappage at him the last time we spoke, and I didn’t even want to bring up the night of the ball. “Um…Jake, sorry I was such a stress case last time I talked to you. I was having a total coronary.”
“No problem. I hope things are better.”
“Yeah, things are better now. Hey, the ball’s dropping! So weird that we sit here every year and, like, half the world watches this little ball drop. What is the meaning behind that, would someone tell me?”
Jake laughed. “I don’t know, but you are so observant.”
“It’s just weird, right?”
“Okay, Dad!” Jake said, his voice muffled. I guess he was being summoned. “Listen, I have to bolt; the fam’s waiting for me. But I just wanted to say Happy New Year, Laura. It’s going to be a great year.”
“You think so?” I asked, hopeful.
“Definitely. I feel it in my bones.”
“I hope you’re right. Happy New Year, Jake.”
“See you soon, Finnegan.”
When I hung up, my parents looked at me curiously. I turned deep red. “What?”
“Nothing,” they replied in unison, smiling. Then they gave each other a look. But I didn’t care. I was thrilled. I hoped he was right about it being a great year. That made my day.