By Wednesday, things were no better. Between Molly and me, that is. And that sucked, because even though she may be a self-centered narcissist (as Emmett continued to remind me), she was still one of my best friends. Now that I was readying to level with Julian, I really could have used her advice.
Since turning to Molly wasn’t an option, I kept a low profile, focusing on classes, avoiding Molly’s hard stares, and allowing myself to enjoy being the continued recipient of Julian’s attention, especially since I knew said attention was probably coming to an end, and fast.
Much to Emmett’s obvious confusion and slight annoyance, I also continued to embody Janna Ika Ilka. No, I wasn’t walking around Delmar High School speaking in a Hungarian accent, but I was still dressing like my alter ego. I figured I’d embrace the confidence and attitude that came along with my new look, at least until I had to say good-bye to Janna Ika Ilka for good.
“Have you told him yet?” Emmett asked Tuesday night after we had finished going through our respective rants. As had been the case over the past few days, my rant centered around Molly and Henry, the latter of whom was relentlessly trying to cash in on my situation by blackmailing me. He’d recently moved on from Legos and had begun negotiating for a cut of my allowance and pawning off the more undesirable chores. Why couldn’t I have a brother who excelled in baseball or math instead of the fine art of extortion? At least once everything was out in the open, Henry would no longer have anything to hold over me.
But I digress. Going back to Emmett’s question about telling Julian, I gave him a status update, aware that it would be met with disapproval. “Not yet. I’m going to see him tomorrow after school. I think I’m going to tell him then,” I said.
“You think?”
“Let’s just say I’m planning to tell him. I haven’t completely figured out what I’m going to say yet. I’m still really scared of what’s going to happen when he finds out.”
“There’s no easy way to do it, Jan. It’s kind of like ripping off a Band-Aid. You just have to tear it fast and hard and hope you don’t pull off too much skin.”
“Thanks for the lovely visual,” I said. “Look, I know you’re right, Emm. I just feel like I’m going to puke whenever I think about it.”
“It’s not going to get any easier. In fact, the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be. I guarantee it.”
And so that’s why I decided to definitely tell Julian on Wednesday after school. I would just find the perfect opportunity and blurt it out. After much deliberation, I’d come up with the approach of, “What would you say if I told you I wasn’t going back to Hungary next month after all?” thinking it might be a good place to start. You know, get him excited at the thought of me sticking around. Then I would simply explain why I was staying. Maybe the reason itself wouldn’t even be such a big deal. Hey, maybe he’d be so glad he didn’t have to say good-bye to me that he wouldn’t even care about the whole deception thing. Yeah, right.
Julian and I had planned to meet by Rachel the pig, which is to say, the bronze pig statue that marks the main entrance of Pike Place Market. I’m not sure whether I showed up a few minutes early or Julian got there a few minutes late. It doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that, in the five minutes I spent waiting for Julian, my resolve to tell him the truth slipped away. It’s not that I was backing out altogether. Rather, after careful consideration, I had rationalized that I should wait for the universe to give me some sort of clear sign that it was the perfect moment to tell him. After all, timing is everything, right? And since the odds were stacked against me, having timing on my side would definitely better my chances of a positive outcome.
Now, some people might say the fact that I spotted one of my mom’s best friends, Ms. Finchel, at the market might have been a sign that I should tell Julian everything. I, however, read it in a completely different way. To me, seeing Ms. Finchel’s overprocessed mane of red hair moving toward me through the market stirred a fear in me I hadn’t felt since the midnight showing of The Exorcist with Emmett last year. Furthermore, any lingering courage to tell Julian flew right out the window.
Up until the time I spotted Ms. Finchel, everything had been going great. Julian and I had been perusing the different tourist shops and artisan booths, inspecting the kitschy art, photographs, homemade jams, and other wares. We had watched the seafood vendors toss around gigantic fish, much to the delight of the throngs of vacationers, who followed up the theatrics with collective oooohs and aaaaahs. The energy between Julian and I was light and playful. For the first time in my life I felt like I was actually half of a couple.
We had passed by the dozens of fresh-flower vendors and headed out of the market to check out the booths along Western Avenue when Ms. Finchel came into view. I wasn’t sure if she had spotted me or not, but I couldn’t afford to take any chances. The second I saw her, I dove into a giant pile of T-shirts in the booth to my right. I forgot, however, to tell Julian, and apparently he continued to walk a half block talking to air before realizing I wasn’t next to him. By the time he found me, I was frantically rifling through T-shirts as though in a desperate search for the right color and size. I had pulled my hair out of my ponytail so it hung loosely and covered up most of my face.
“There you are! I didn’t realize you wanted to look at these … cheesy T-shirts,” Julian said.
Julian wasn’t being judgmental. I looked up at the shirts on display. They were all images or sayings about cheese.
“Sorry,” I said. “I, er, love cheese. I just vanted to look.”
“That’s cool.” I could tell as he started flipping through the piles of shirts that he probably didn’t think it was cool at all, but for whatever reason, he went along with it.
As I continued poring through piles of cheese shirts, I stole a glance behind me and was relieved to see Ms. Finchel about to walk inside the market. Crisis averted.
Trying to simmer down the adrenaline coursing through my body, I stood up straight and suggested we move on.
“I done. I sink I don’t get shirt.”
“Really? Come on. Let me get you one. How about this?” Julian held up a T-shirt with a picture of a cowgirl on it lassoing a hunk of swiss. It said REAL GIRLS EAT CHEESE.
“No, zat’s okay. Sank you.”
“Come on, please? Think how cool you’ll be walking around Budapest wearing this piece of art!” Ouch. The mention of Budapest jabbed me, reminding me of how I’d lamely chickened out of telling Julian the truth.
Julian held up another T-shirt, this one covered with cartoony pictures of different types of foods featuring cheese: Cheez Doodles, cheese bread, cheese fries, pizza, and so on. The saying was EVERYTHING’S BETTER WITH CHEESE.
I put my head down in embarrassment, but Julian took my lack of response as my way of saying yes. A minute later he’d handed over eight dollars and I had a new addition to my wardrobe.
“Come on, let’s see it on you,” Julian said, holding it up to me. What the heck. I didn’t want to insult him. After all, this was the first present Julian had ever given me. It had meaning.
I slipped the shirt on over my black, long-sleeved T-shirt. “How does eet look?”
Julian stepped back and eyed me like he was a fashion critic. “Great. You’ll be the envy of all your friends in Hungary.”
There it was again. My lie staring me back in the face. As hard as it would be to tell him the truth, I wouldn’t miss having this cloud of guilt hanging over my head, that was for sure. “Sank you,” I said.
“My pleasure. A little something to remember me by.”
After Julian dropped me off at home later, I walked in the door and saw my mom and brother had just sat down at the table for dinner. Dad was in Chicago.
“Hi, honey!” my mom called. “I was starting to get worried about you. Where were you?”
I peeked into the dining room. “Oh, just hanging out with Emmett,” I lied.
“Hey, Janna. Crackers just called for you. They want their shirt back,” Henry said. “Get it? Cheese and crackers?” Henry snorted.
I gave him a dirty look.
“Yes, that’s an … interesting T-shirt, honey. Where did that come from?”
I pulled the shirt off over my head. “Nowhere. It’s just a joke,” I said, hoping she’d let it go. “I’ll be down in a sec, okay? I just want to drop my things off in my room.”
“All right honey. But hurry down … dinner’s getting cold.”
Grateful for a five-minute reprieve, I headed up to my room. I threw my things on the floor and sat down to quickly check my e-mail. A second later I got pinged. It was an IM from Emmett.
How’d it go?
Hey Emm.
Did you tell him?
Not yet.
Why not?
The universe told me not to. Long story.
When are you going to tell him?
IDK … This week.
You have to do it J.
I will. Promise. This week. Gotta run
for dinner.
Okay. Talk to you tonight.
Thursday and Friday crawled by. Before my fight with Molly, I hadn’t realized how much of my mental space was usually taken up with her drama and antics. As a result, I now found myself with way too much time on my hands to stress over the whole Julian situation. Julian and I had pretty much been in constant contact since Wednesday, though we couldn’t see each other for the rest of the week since he had stuff going on after school and I wasn’t allowed to go out after dinner on school nights. I probably could have pushed the ’rents a little on that one, but it just didn’t seem like it was worth getting into it. Too many questions I didn’t have the energy to answer.
Instead I was half looking forward to, half dreading Saturday night. Julian and I were going on the quintessential American date: dinner and a movie. At some point in there I had to find the perfect moment to come clean with him. That is, of course, unless the universe gave me more signs I couldn’t ignore.
Friday night I was once again going over the scene in my mind—imagining the exact words I would say and how Julian would respond—while lying on my futon listening to music. In my most optimistic version, Julian would profess his love for me and say it didn’t matter what country I was from, that we would take on the world together. Worst-case scenario? He’d tell me to take my goulash and shove it, never to speak to me again. I chose to focus on version one.
My visualization was interrupted by my cell. I looked at my clock: 10:00 p.m. Right on time. I grabbed the phone for my nightly rant.
“Yo, wassup!?” I said in a loud, obnoxious voice.
“Hello? Sorry, I must have dialed the wrong—”
Oops. It was Julian. Why was he calling me at ten o’clock on the dot? Should I hang up so maybe he’d think he dialed the wrong number? No … too risky.
“Julian? Oh, hallo!”
“Janna? Oh, it is you.”
“Ah, yes! Soddy. My host brudder try to teach me slang!” I said with a chuckle. I surprised myself with how easily that little lie slipped out. And not in a good way.
Julian laughed. “I’d say you have it down. You sounded completely American just then.”
I laughed nervously. “Yes, Henry practice vis me all night.”
Julian seemed to buy my response. “I just wanted to check in about tomorrow. You’re going to be at the Regatta, right?”
My eyes widened in fear. “Yes, I vill be zere. But you help friend move tomorrow, right?” Since every school in the city was participating in the Green Lake event, I had already confirmed Julian’s plans for tomorrow to make sure I could still show up without having my worlds collide.
“Yeah, my cousin. What time are you finished? I was thinking I’d pick you up at your house around six.”
“Zat is perfect. Zat gives me time to shower and get ready.”
“Cool. Sounds like a plan. So, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow. Good night!”
I hung up the phone and let out a yell of frustration. These close calls were taking their toll. If the truth didn’t come out soon, I was risking certain breakdown.
I jumped when the phone rang. Again. This time it was Emmett, who apologized for being late for our nightly rant. Again. I was in a pissy mood. Yes, I know I should have looked at the caller ID before answering the phone, but Emmett should have been on time. The way I saw it, my close call was pretty much all Emmett’s fault.
“Don’t blame this mess on me. I’ve been trying to help you get out of it. You’re the one who keeps avoiding reality. Seriously, Janna, this is getting ridiculous,” Emmett said.
“Stop judging me! I’m doing the best I can! I obviously need help!” I said desperately. I did need help. How was I going to go through with it?
“It seems to me like this whole idea of finding the right time to tell him isn’t working for you, right?”
“I guess not.”
“Then don’t sit around and wait for the right time. Call him up and see if he can meet you tomorrow morning for a coffee or a walk around the lake before the Regatta. Then, as soon as you see him, just tell him. Don’t wait for the universe to give you a sign, don’t wait until the perfect moment. Just tell him. ‘I am not from Hungary.’ They should be the first words out of your mouth. And don’t tell him while you’re speaking in accent, either. That would just be weird for everyone.”
“But the moment I start talking without the accent, he’s going to know.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s not going to work anyway. Julian has something he has to do all day tomorrow.”
“Well, maybe you can see him beforehand. I’m sure if you called him up and whispered sweet goulashes into his ear and asked him to meet you, he would.”
Once again, Emmett was right. The time was now. I just had to bite the bullet.
“Okay. I’ll do it.” Wow. I actually said that with something that sounded like conviction.
“Great. I’ll wait here while you get the ball rolling.”
“What do you mean?”
“Call him on your land line and set up the meeting. I’ll wait. It’s called being held accountable. You’ll thank me later.”
Damn. Emmett wasn’t messing around. But maybe being held accountable was exactly what I needed. “All right. Be back in a sec.”
I set down my cell and opened the bedroom door, sneaking over into my parent’s room to use their cordless phone. I quickly dialed Julian’s number before I lost my nerve.
“Hello?”
“Hallo, Julian? Eet ees Janna.”
“Hey, what’s up? Everything still okay for tomorrow night?”
“Yes. But I have favor. Can you meet in za morning? Before you meet your cousin? I have somesing to talk vis you about.”
“Yeah, okay, I guess so. I should be able to see you before I have to leave, but we’d have to meet by nine. Does that work?”
“Nine ees perfect. How about Starbucks, north of za lake?”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” Julian hesitated. “Is everything okay, Janna?”
“Yes,” I lied. “I just vant to talk.”
“All right. I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Sank you. Good night Julian,” I said.
“G’night.”
I sat down on my parent’s bed and hung up the phone. What had I just done? Was I going to regret making the call? Was there any way out of it? Why was Emmett pushing me so hard to set up the meeting? Would Emmett … oh shoot, Emmett. He was still on the phone in my bedroom. I ran back to my room and closed the door, scooping up my cell as I fell onto the bed.
“Hello?” I said.
“Yeah, I’m still here. So, did you do it?”
“I did it. We’re meeting at nine.”
“Perfect.”
I sighed. “If you say so.”
“It’ll be okay Janna. By the time I see you tomorrow afternoon, this will all be over. Think of how relieved you’ll be.”
Yeah, relieved and single. “I know. You’re right.”
“I know I’m right. Hey, do you wanna head over to the park together tomorrow?”
“Sure. Is Molly still going?”
“I think so. Don’t worry. I think she’s starting to cool off. Maybe you guys can work things out tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I said. Yes, I missed her, but I was still feeling wronged and wasn’t ready to make up just yet.
“Well, let’s just see how things go tomorrow. We have to be there by one, by the way, so just call me when you’re ready to leave. Then you can tell me how everything went with Julian.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Wish me luck.”
“May the force be with you.”
I looked at my clock: 10:11 p.m. In twelve hours Janna Ika Ilka would no longer be. In her place would be just plain old Janna. In twelve hours Julian and Janna might no longer be. The thought of losing Julian made me shudder. My life was a nuclear weapon that had just been armed by some clueless government official with the secret code. Operation Get Real was in motion, and there was no turning back.