I was going to go. That was it. I told Amy this, months before anything had been decided.
“I’m going.”
“What makes you think I am?” she retorted. Oh, she was so clever. And yet, I didn’t get her joke.
“You’re going to beach week. Fool.”
“What makes you think that I’m going with you?”
“It won’t be just the two of us.”
“I’m just fucking with you, Zach.”
It came up a few other times in the fall. I had begun my campaign to be included well early. I didn’t want to be left out. These were my closest friends in high school — people I had classes with every day. They were not my favorite people. They were not even people I saw too much of outside of class. But they were my friends; I didn’t socialize much outside of school.
And I didn’t want to be left behind. I didn’t want to miss the trip. I didn’t want to miss anything — the trip would be the last time we were together as a group. The last time I had a group to be together with before college.
And then I found out she was going. And that changed everything.
It was no longer about being included. It was no longer about being with a group of people that I liked in small doses, that I enjoyed sitting in the classroom laughing with behind teachers’ backs. Suddenly, the entire trip, the entire week at the beach became about avoiding her. Kate.
It had been a messy breakup; I was stupid and in love. And even though it had been a while, just over a year, I wasn’t ready to be social with her. Around her. Even with that much time gone, I wasn’t over her. Not like this.
I wasn’t going to go. That was it. I told Amy this, weeks before we were to leave.
“I’m not going.”
“You’ve already paid.”
“So?”
“Fine by me. Don’t go. Your money.”
But, honestly, it wasn’t my money. It was my parents’. I wasn’t going to explain it all to them. And, I didn’t want to miss out on anything. Even though that meant I had to maneuver around her. I was going to go.
Post a Comment