by Katherine Center. Copyright \u00a9 2020 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin\u2019s Publishing Group.<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Later, after Babette had gone up to bed, and most folks had gone home, as I rinsed cans and bottles for recycling at the kitchen sink, Alice leaned against the counter and said, \u201cWhat\u2019s going on, Sam?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Her shirt today said, \u201cGRAPHING IS WHERE I DRAW THE LINE.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Even though Alice was a year younger than me\u201427\u2014she was also six inches taller than me, and so she had a big-sisterly vibe. She was engaged to her college sweetheart, Marco, who was in the navy and went on long deployments. They rented a little 1920s bungalow a few blocks down. When he was gone, I saw a lot of her\u2014and when he was here, I saw almost nothing of her. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Fair enough.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
He had shipped out a week before Max died, and though I wouldn\u2019t want to say I was glad Alice was alone these days, let\u2019s just say I was grateful to have a friend. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
She knew me pretty well. Well enough to know something more was up than I\u2019d confessed to the group. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cSo,\u201d she said, like she\u2019d been waiting all night for all the other bozos to leave. \u201cWhat did you leave out?\u201d <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
I met her eyes, and I said, \u201cDuncan Carpenter is The Guy.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cWhat guy?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
I pursed my lips and leaned in to intensify my look. Then I said, slowly: \u201cThe<\/em> Guy.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Alice frowned a second, then said, in recognition, \u201cThe Guy<\/em>?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
I gave an unmistakable nod, like, Bingo.<\/em><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cThe<\/em> The Guy? The one who drove you out of California?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cI beg your pardon. I drove myself.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cBut he\u2019s the one from your old school? That you were obsessed with?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cNot obsessed<\/em>.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Alice squinted at me. \u201cPretty obsessed.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cIt was not an obsession. It was a healthy, red-blooded, American crush.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Now Alice was trying to remember. It had been a while\u2014a lifetime, really\u2014since we\u2019d talked about it. \u201cDidn\u2019t you snoop in his diary?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cI wasn\u2019t snooping, I was feeding his cats while he was out of town.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cBut you read his diary.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cWell, he left it lying open on the kitchen table. You could argue that on some unconscious level, he wanted<\/em> me to read it.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Alice gave me a second to decide if I could stand by that statement.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cPlus,\u201d I went on. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t a diary. It was just a notebook.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cA notebook full of private thoughts.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cWe all have private thoughts, Alice,\u201d I said, as if that was somehow a good point.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have taken that cat-sitting job in the first place,\u201d she said.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cWhat was I supposed to do? Let his cat starve? It was de-clawed and missing a tail.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cIt wasn\u2019t even his cat. It was the fianc\u00e9e\u2019s cat.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t know that at the time.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Alice gave me a look then that was part affection, part scolding, and part Give me a break<\/em>. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Anyway, there was no point in continuing the denials. She knew the whole story. I had<\/em> read his notebook that day all those years ago while he was on vacation in wine country about to get engaged\u2014or that was the rumor, anyway. And I hadn\u2019t just read the one page that was facing up on the table, either. I had grabbed a pair of kitchen tongs from the drawer\u2014as if not touching the pages with my fingers<\/em> somehow made it less awful\u2014and used them to turn every single page, searching for clues to his soul like some kind of lovestruck Sherlock Holmes, and careful\u2014like a crazy person\u2014not to leave any fingerprints.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
What can I say? It was a low point.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
A very low point.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
And, actually, it became a turning point.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Before that moment back then, I\u2019d been infatuated with Duncan Carpenter for two solid years. Big time infatuated. Hard-core infatuated. Infatuated the way teenage girls get infatuated with pop stars. If he\u2019d had song lyrics, I\u2019d have memorized them; if he\u2019d had merch, I\u2018d have bought it; and if he\u2019d had a fan club, I\u2019d have been the president.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Of course, he wasn\u2019t a pop star. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
But he was, you know . . . a celebrity of sorts. In the world of private, secondary school education. In our tiny little sliver of humanity, he was a big deal. He was the pop icon of our teaching colleagues, for sure. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
And for good reason. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
He had a big, friendly smile filled with big, friendly teeth. He was handsome without trying. He had a magnetic quality that was almost physical. If he was in a room with other humans in it for any amount of time, there\u2019d be a group of them gathered around him by the end. He emitted some kind of sunshine that we all wanted to soak up. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Me included.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Me especially.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
But I was terrible around him. I was the worst possible version of myself. All the longing and desire and electricity and joy I felt whenever he was anywhere near me seemed to scramble my system. I\u2019d freeze, and get quiet and still and self-conscious, and stare at him, unblinking, like a weirdo. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
It was uncomfortable, to say the least.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
When I\u2019d first met him, he was single\u2014and he stayed that way for one long, beautiful, possibility-infused year as I tried to work up the nerve to sit at his table at lunch. A year that slipped by fast, and then suddenly, before I\u2019d made any progress\u2014Boom!<\/em> \u2014a perky new girl from the admissions office just brazenly asked him out. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Their assigned parking spots were next to each other, apparently.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
It was front-page teacher news, and the grade-school faculty were by and large offended. Wasn\u2019t it a little uppity<\/em> to just swoop in and start dating whoever she wanted?<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Apparently not.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Soon, they were exclusive, and then they were serious, and then, barely a year to the day after she\u2019d first asked him out, they were moving in together. Rumor had it she\u2019d been the one to ask him. A move I would\u2019ve admired for feminist reasons if it had been any other couple at all. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
The consensus among the female teachers was that she was too conventional, too small-minded, and too ordinary to be a good match for him\u2014mostly because he was the opposite of all those things.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Frankly, I agreed\u2014but I also knew my opinion was based largely on one short interaction, when, awkwardly trying to make chit-chat at a school function, I\u2019d said to her, \u201cAdmissions! That must be tough! How do you make all those agonizing decisions?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
And she just blinked at me and said, \u201cIt\u2019s just whoever has the most money.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Then, reading my shocked expression, she shifted to a laugh and said, \u201cI\u2019m kidding.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
But was she, though?<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n
Nobody was sure she deserved him.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n