Of course it's only to the people who deserve an apology.
I guess you can call me apologetically selective. (I think I just made that up, but I like it.)
"Don't you live next door to that new guy from school?" Miranda asks. "He's totally cute."
Ugh! "You mean Nathan?"
I can feel the vibration of excitement over the line. "Yeah. Nathan. He sits in front of me in calculus and has the coolest eyes. Like emeralds."
"Don't waste your breath, Miranda. He's not into girls."
13
***
From the beginning when the Israelites were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt to the Nazis' attempt to annihilate the Jewish race, Jews have suffered--but in the end have prevailed and become stronger. They've even overcome God's anger (Exodus 32:10). Overcoming obstacles is in my Jewish blood.
***
"The whole school thinks I'm g*y."
I'm standing at my locker, fishing for my U.S. history book. It's in here somewhere. "Did you say something?" I say sweetly to Nathan, still keeping my attention on the books stacked in my locker.
"Amy."
Oh, there it is. I reach out and grab my book, wondering when Mr. Krazinski will spring a pop quiz on us. Maybe I should take the book home tonight and read it.
Nathan grabs my arm, pulling me away from my locker. "Ouch," I say. He's stronger than I'd ever give him credit for, but it doesn't hurt. I rub my arm for effect.
"I didn't hurt you. Yet."
"What do you want from me, Nathan? I've got to get to class and I'm already late."
He's wearing a stark white button-down shirt and pleated navy pants. I'm not even concentrating on his lack of fashion sense because I'm trying not to look at his eyes. I keep thinking about that ludicrous comment Miranda said about emeralds.
"I want you to admit you told the entire school I'm g*y-"
Leaning back against the lockers while avoiding his eyes, I say, "Listen, Nathan. I didn't tell anyone you're g*y. I may have said you're not into girls."
"Why, 'cause I'm not into you?"
"That's low, Nathan."
"Oh, I can get lower, Amy. Just try me." He steps forward and straddles both hands on the lockers behind me, locking me in. "Look at me."
I'd like to still keep my gaze on the wall opposite him, but that would be cowardly. I'm anything but a coward. He's tall and close. I can smell spicy cologne radiating off his body. And when I look up, I'm staring straight into his eyes because his glasses have slipped down. I swallow then say, "What's wrong with people thinking you're g*y? Jason Hill is g*y and he's probably the most popular guy in school--with girls as well as guys."
"If I was, I wouldn't give a shit. But I'm not."
"So tell everyone you're hetero. Just like I have to tell everyone I didn't join a dating service." I shove his arm out of the way and head to class, thinking all the while that his personality does not in any way match his looks. It's like dressing a buffalo up as a hyena. It's just not right.
Jessica is in my U.S. history class. I sit in my usual spot next to her after being grilled by Mr. Krazinski about why I was late. I lied and said it was a feminine problem and that quieted him real quick.
Jess looks horrible. I'd be surprised if she took a shower this morning, she looks so disheveled. Her brown hair is frizzed out; she's wearing sweats and no makeup. I don't care if she was insensitive to me last night. I need to find out what's going on. I've been best friends with Jess for twelve years. Our friendship can weather any fight.
I hope.
Now I'm worried. She won't even look in my direction, so I wait until the bell rings to corner her. I swear this school should be called Drama Academy instead of Chicago Academy today.
When the bell rings, Jess grabs her stuff and hurries out of the classroom faster than a jackrabbit being chased by a dog. I push the other students out of my way to catch up with her. I'm hearing curses from guys as I shove past them but all I can think about is my friend in trouble.
I find her in the girls' bathroom. "Jess, I know you're in here. I saw you." When I get no answer, I continue. "I admit I've been wrapped up in my own crap and have ignored you, but please let's talk about it."
The door to one of the stalls opens. It's Roxanne Jeffries.
With a toss of her red hair and a smirk on her face, she says, "I hear Mitch dumped Jessica for a freshman."
"Shut up, Roxy, or I'll tell people you got implants last summer when you told everyone you went to overnight camp," I hiss.
"You're a bitch," Roxanne says with a huff.
"So I've been told. Now scram. Your perfume is making me ill. Or maybe it's your B.O. that reeks."
Roxanne washes her hands, then storms out of the bathroom.
"You're not a bitch," Jessica's voice bellows from one of the stalls. I can tell from her tone she's been crying. "You're just preoccupied."
"No, I think everyone's right. I'm a bitch because no matter what's going on in my own life, I should never let down my best friend."
Jess pushes open the stall door with bundled-up tissue in her hand. "I'm sorry what I said about you and Avi."
"I'm sorry for not realizing earlier that you're having a crisis. What's up? Is what Roxanne just said true?"