43

SUNDAY NIGHT I CURL MY hair. Curling your hair is an intrinsically hopeful act. I like to curl mine
at night and think about all the things that could happen tomorrow. Also, it generally looks much better
slept on and not so poofy.
I’ve got half of it clipped and I’m almost done with one side when Chris comes climbing through
my window. “I’m supposed to be grounded right now, so I have to wait until my mom falls asleep
before I go home,” she says, taking off her motorcycle jacket. “Are you still depressed over
Kavinsky?”
I wind another section of hair around the curling iron barrel. “Yes. I mean, it hasn’t even been
forty-eight hours yet.”
Chris puts her arm around me. “I hate to say it, but this has been a train wreck from the start.”
I give her a wounded look. “Thanks a lot.”
“Well, it’s true. The way you guys got together was weird, and then the whole hot tub video thing.”
She takes the curling iron from me and starts curling her own hair. “Although, I will say that it was
probably good for you to go through all that. You were really sheltered, hon. You can be very
judgmental.”
I snatch the curling iron back from her and make like I’m going to bonk her over the head with it.
“Are you here to cheer me up or to tell me all of my flaws?”
“Sorry! I’m just saying.” She offers me a cheery smile. “Don’t be sad for too long. It’s not your
style. There are other guys besides Kavinsky. Guys who aren’t my cousin’s sloppy seconds. Guys like
John McClaren. He’s hot. I’d go for him myself if he wasn’t into you.”
Softly, I say, “I can’t think about anyone else right now. Peter and I just broke up.”
“There’s heat between you and Johnny boy. I saw it with my own two eyes at the time capsule
thing. He wants you.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “You liked him before. Maybe there’s
still something there.”
I ignore her and keep curling my hair, one lock at a time.

Peter still sits in front of me in chemistry. I didn’t know you could miss someone even more acutely
when they’re only a few feet away. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t look at me, not even once. I didn’t
fully comprehend what a big part of my life he’d become. He’d become so... familiar to me. And
now he’s just gone. Not gone, still here, just not available to me, which might be even worse. For a
minute there it was really good. It was really, really good. Wasn’t it good? Maybe really, really good
things aren’t meant to last for too long; maybe that’s what makes them all the more sweet, the
temporariness of them. Maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better. It’s working, barely. Barely
is enough for now.
After class is over, Peter lingers at his desk, and then he turns around and says, “Hey.”
My heart leaps. “Hey.” I have this sudden, wild thought that if he wants me back, I’ll say yes.
Forget my pride, forget Genevieve, forget it all.