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therapy long enough to be able to figure out on my own that I had this desire to talk about her poncho because: 1. I wanted to make myself feel superior to someone, anyone, after a crap day at school. Or
2.I was uncomfortable in therapy again after two weeks of winter break and felt the need to get the upper hand in the situation. Or
3. I was angry at Doctor Z just for existing and asking me personal questions, and being obnoxious about her poncho would be a form of retaliation. Or
4. I'd like to know more about Doctor Z and who the heck she is in real life, only I'm not supposed to ask, and the poncho had become a symbol of that forbidden curiosity. Or
5. Something was bothering me that I was scared to talk about, so my mind was repressing it massively and just thinking: Poncho! Poncho! Poncho! all the time. Or
6. All of the above.
"You seem distracted, Ruby," Doctor Z said, popping a piece of Nicorette gum.4 "What?"
"You started talking about your American Lit class, but then you drifted off." Poncho! Poncho! Poncho!
"Oh, it's not important," I told her. "I'm doing some
***
4 That is the one thing I know for certain about her life outside therapy. Doctor Z must smoke like a Mend, because she's never without the Nicorette.
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Reginald today. 5 Even though I should be over the whole thing already."
"There's no 'should' about something like that," Doctor Z said patiently. "Whatever you feel is valid. We all grieve on our own schedules."
"Reginald."
She smiled. "We all Reginald on our own schedules. Do you have a sense of what might have triggered your Reginald?"
Poncho! Poncho! Poncho!
"Ruby?"
Poncho! "Oh. Um. Yeah. Going back to school is hard. Because I managed to kind of forget the existence of certain people over break, and now they're in my Am Lit class."
"What certain people?" Doctor Z leaned forward.
"I was expecting it to be my favorite class," I went on. "Because it's taught by Mr. Wallace and I'm going to like Edith Wharton.6 But when I walked into the room, there they were."
"Who?"
***
5Reginald: Not a normal therapeutic term, just in case you're wondering. Reginald is what Doctor Z and I have agreed to call the grieving process, meaning me grieving over losing all my friends and the other debacles of last year. Only, the phrase grieving process gives me hives. So we call it Reginald.
6 Edith Wharton. Mr. Wallace had told me The House of Mirth would be on the syllabus second term, and I knew from watching the movie that it's about the social downfall of a popular woman whose friends and boyfriends all desert her and she ends up a roly-poly pauper and eventually dead.
So basically, story of my life. Except the dead part, hopefully.
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"Cricket McCall, Ariel Olivieri, Katarina Dolgen. Kim Yamamoto. And Nora. Sitting together."
Doctor Z nodded understandingly. "Did you want to join them?"
"No."
Silence.
"I didn't," I protested. "Why would I want to sit with people who don't like me? I mean, some of them tolerate me, but that's about it, and I may be insane but I'm way over wanting to hang out with people who would write stuff about me on bathroom walls."''
"I thought you said Nora was with them."
"She was."
"How did that make you feel?"
"Nora is peaceful," I explained. "Nora is a good person. She never takes sides. So Nora is still friends with Kim and Cricket."
"Uh-huh."
"I mean, she didn't know I had Am Lit third period
***
7 Yeah. They did. It's still there, in stall number three of the main building girls' bathroom:
Ruby Oliver is a_. (fill in the blank)
Lousy friend.
Fantasist.
Slut...
Trollop.
Hussy.
Tart.
Chippie.
I know Kim's and Cricket's writing as well as I know my own.
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Tuesdays, so she was perfectly entitled to sit by them. She had no way of knowing I'd be left out."
"I'm hearing that you don't want to blame her."
Ag. I hate it when Doctor Z does that shrinky thing of repeating back to me what she hears. Poncho! Poncho! Poncho!
"Anyway," I said. "We're not fifteen anymore. No one was going to openly shun me. They all mumbled 'hello' or whatever and I slunk over to the geeky spot right next to Mr. Wallace."
"Did you have any feelings about that?"
"No."
"Anything you hoped or wished would happen?"
"No."
We sat in silence.
"What else?" Doctor Z finally asked.
"I talked to Wallace," I said. "About how Chelsea Lefferts was still going to be varsity goalie so I'm sitting out lacrosse this year. About my internship at the zoo and how I'm cranked to see the llamas and the goats on Friday. He asked questions about what I do in the Family Farm area. Small talk, really. I was actually trying to hear what Kim was saying across the table."8
***
8 What I didn't tell Doctor Z: I am obviously certifiable, because all through this conversation with Mr. Wallace about lacrosse and the zoo internship, and while I was trying to listen to what Kim saying at the other end of the table, I was also secretly trying to look down the open collar of my teacher's shirt to see chest hair.
Because I am hormonally deranged, that's why.
Wallace is nearly thirty. Plus, he's married.
Plus, he's my teacher. Gross.
Except, I still looked.
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How come?"
"It sounded like she was explaining about her breakup with Jackson."
"Ahh." A small smile played around Doctor Z's mouth. "So that's what this is about."
"What?" Poncho! Poncho! Poncho!
"You were diverting my attention."
"From what?"
"We spent a bunch of our session today talking about Nora. But really, we were talking about Jackson. Weren't we?"
She looked so pleased.
I hate it when she's right.
***
Nora called me that evening around seven. She didn't have lunch the same time as me on Tuesdays, so I had barely seen her since Am Lit.
"Please don't be mad at me for sitting with those guys in class," she said as soon as I answered.
I wasn't mad exactly. I just-I had wanted her to sit with me.
Only, how can you ask without sounding like a pathetic roly-poly? Please will you sit with me, Nora, instead of them? Pretty please?
Ag.
"I'll sit with you from now on," Nora told me. Without me asking.
And that's why I love Nora. She understands the fragility of other human beings and wants to make them feel better. She really does.
49
"Come over and we can get in the hot tub," she said. "I'll call Meghan."
It was too early in the term to have any homework besides Pre-Cal, so Meghan picked me up in her Jeep. Half an hour later we were in the Van Deusens' hot tub on the back deck of their huge but still-cluttered house, drinking pop and looking at each other through the steam that rose from the wooden tub into the cold night air.
I looked at Meghan, sitting on the edge in her bikini with her hair knotted on top of her head, and Nora in a tank top and boxer shorts, submerged in the hot water with only her head and her big feet sticking out, and I thought, I have a good life.
If only I can manage not to ruin it.
Which meant, I have a good life. If only I can manage to forget about boys.