I finally got through to Katie and almost wish I hadn’t.
I’m not sure what to do or feel.
Katie and Andy have started going out together.
The conversation started out normally. How’s school? What are you wearing to the party? Any good gossip? All the questions that I normally ask.
Then she said, “Listen, Phoebe, I don’t know how to tell you this . . . .” And then she told me.
She called right back, but I told my mother to say I just left.
When I get upset or angry, I need time to figure things out or I say things I don’t always mean, that I may regret later.
What choices do I have?
Do I tell them what creeps they are, what louses, traitors, cruds that are lower than earthworms? No—because they really aren’t like that. They’ve always been my friends because they’re wonderful people.
Should I go to the party, pretend I don’t know them, and flirt with Charlie Shaw, who’s had a crush on me since second grade? No—I do know them, and it’s not fair to Charlie, who’s a nice kid but not my type.
Should I try to find an excuse—like Andy’s only going out with her because she’s a real slime queen? She isn’t. She doesn’t. She has the same standards I do.
Should I rant and rave and carry on, sob that my life is over and no one’s ever going to go with me again? No—that’s not my style.
I’m not even sure of what I feel. I’m glad that ambivalent was on the English vocabulary list last week. It means having different feelings about the same thing. I guess that’s the way it is for me. I like them both and think they’ll be good for each other. Katie’s been my friend since kindergarten. Andy was only my boyfriend for a couple of months. Part of me, though, also wants to wring their necks. Another part of my New York life is changing. But that’s the way it’s got to be because now I have to face the truth. Woodstock is the place where I have to make a new life. Thank goodness for Rosie.
What should I say to them? How should I handle this? Life certainly gets complicated. I guess that I’ll have to take it all as it comes.
The phone rings again.
My mother comes to my door. “Honey, it’s Andy. Is everything all right?”
I shrug and debate whether to take the call. “I guess I’ll live. I’ll take the call. Please hang up the phone in the other room. I’ll take it in here.”
Andy starts to explain right away, how they both missed me a lot and spent lots of time talking about me when school first started. Then they both were elected homeroom representatives and spent even more time together.
I just listen, saying nothing except “Uh-huh.”
He continues. “It’s hard with you gone. I want to go out and do things, and you’re not here. My parents kept yelling about my calling you, that the phone bill would be too high. It gets lonely and boring, and Katie’s a nice person—like you.”
I say, “I guess it was kind of dumb to promise not to see other people.”
“It just doesn’t work long-distance, but I hope we can always be friends.”
“Sure. Me too,” I say, and realize it’s true. We’re only fourteen years old. It’s just the beginning. And I think that one of the reasons I didn’t make friends in Woodstock when school first started was because I gave off bad vibes about being there. Part of me really wasn’t there.
After we hang up, I think for a minute, then pick up the phone to call Katie. A friend of my mother’s once said, after the divorce, that relationships with men may not always last but that a good friendship between women is like gold. I’m not sure if my mother agreed, but I thought about it a lot.
Katie and I talk for about five minutes. We both cry a little, but I think it’s more from relief than sadness.
She asks me if I’m still going to the party, that all the kids want to see me.
That would be too hard. I couldn’t stand having everyone look at the three of us and think, Poor Phoebe. “My mother and Duane want me to go out with them,” I say, hoping it was true. “They’re going to a play. I’ll see you all the next weekend I come down.”
I feel grown-up after the talks, like I can handle anything. I think that kids who have gone through divorces are more used to handling problems. Maybe kids who haven’t would disagree, but that’s my opinion.
I think of a greeting card that I sent my mother once from the Woodstock Framing Gallery. It was when the divorce thing got really heavy. She still keeps it on the mantelpiece. It says WHEN THE GOING GETS TOUGH . . . THE TOUGH GO SHOPPING.
I walk out to the living room where my mother’s waiting to find out what’s going on and say, “Tomorrow let’s use your credit cards and hit the stores.”
She looks at me for a minute like I’m off the wall or something. I usually don’t like to go with her, since our tastes are so different.
I point to the mantelpiece. “The card, remember.”
It dawns on her. She walks over and hugs me. “I only hope that whatever this is can be cured with an outfit, not a whole wardrobe.”
I rub my head on her shoulder as she strokes my hair. “I think so.”
It’s kind of funny. I know that shopping doesn’t take away bad feelings. It’s just a symbol for keeping on with life.
It won’t be so bad though to get some new clothes out of this. Maybe she’ll feel so sorry for me, she won’t bug me about buying stuff I don’t want to wear.
Only forty-eight hours till I’m back in Woodstock.