Well, That Was Awkward Read online

  SIENNA: do I talk too much?

  me: no! absolutely not. Riley is just rude. On purpose

  Riley texted only Sienna to say Michaela and Beth and Fern and Fara and she all thought maybe Sienna should put on a bikini and take a selfie in it, because, #boys, and also, then she could say something about how it’s supposed to be hot out tomorrow.

  Sienna copied it to me and was like, no way, never, not doing that, omfg, no.

  me: hahahaha

  SIENNA: sorry, but really, why did you tell those people anything? I’m not mad. well, maybe a little, but srsly, Gracie.

  I sat with that for a second or two and then I decided too bad—I owed Riley nothing. So I texted Sienna back.

  me: I actually didn’t. okay here’s how I found out that AJ likes you: Riley asked me to find out who AJ likes because she likes him! and it turned out AJ didn’t like Riley. he likes you. so point for AJ for taste. the second after I told Riley that AJ liked you, not her, she puked at Dorin. so that’s what all that was about

  Sienna didn’t respond for a while. I regretted everything.

  why didn’t you tell me that? she eventually texted.

  It took me a bunch of tries to not insult myself and my stupidity, but after a lot of feeding the delete button, I ended up with the sad truth of: she asked me not to tell you.

  Nothing. Nothing. I flopped down onto my bed and counted backward from one hundred, and if I got to zero before Sienna responded, I would drop out of school and just go sit at the Hungarian with a book and a croissant for the rest of my life.

  I got to eighty-two before Sienna texted back: you’re a good person, Gracie.

  can’t respond w/o insulting myself, I texted back, though I was flooded with relief. Literally flooded. Sweat stains on my pillow.

  Riley wants me to send bikini selfies to them so they can help me choose, Sienna texted. I’d rather stick a fork in my eye.

  We decided she should text a cross-eyed selfie back to Riley and be done with that conversation because wow, weird, no.

  For AJ, we settled on the selfie idea (they are the experts, so), but one with her wearing her hat and mittens and captioned with: unless it snows tomorrow.

  Sienna thought maybe that sounded too random, but I convinced her that random is funny. Also, it gives him an opening to say, No, it’s supposed to be hot, since it is, and then maybe he could say something like, speaking of hot . . .

  Sienna texted back, oh no, don’t even.

  Michaela and Beth and Riley all think it’s an awesome idea, I texted.

  She texted a picture of herself looking, I’m not sure—mad or stunned or both. But still so cute.

  hahaha, jk, I texted back, followed by a bunch of emoji hearts. Not sending selfies to duel hers, thanks anyway.

  She sent back a bunch of hearts and some tortoise emojis too.

  Then she went to find her mittens and hat.

  Mom said, “Hey, let’s go to Thai Market, Gracie! What do you think? You love Thai Market!”

  I do, so I said, “Okay, be ready in five minutes?”

  That’s what happens when she says no to something I want to do, like walk down Broadway with Emmett just now. She comes up with something wonderful, like go out to dinner at a restaurant I like. She fully doesn’t need to do that. I could just be disappointed or sad or annoyed for a minute and get over it. But no.

  “Or we could go somewhere else if you want,” Mom said, outside my door. “Are you more in the mood for sushi?”

  “No,” I said. “Thai Market is great. Just, I just need a few—”

  “Five minutes,” Dad said. “But then let’s go because I’m hungry and I have work I have to do after.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Almost ready—I’m just . . . watching something on YouTube.” I don’t know why I lied. I could have said I was texting with my friends. We have the unlimited texting plan. It’s not that. I just . . . I don’t know. Felt like lying.

  “Can’t you watch YouTube later?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah, but I’m almost done,” I said, actually watching nothing, just waiting for a picture of Sienna in a hat and mittens even though it’s mid-April.

  adorable, I said honestly when it came through. absolutely perfect.

  So Sienna texted AJ the hat and mittens and unless it snows pic.

  “Let’s go,” Mom said, still outside my door. She knocked and then opened it without waiting for me to respond. “You ready?”

  “I . . .”

  Sienna texted me a stressed emoji and: he’s not responding.

  he’s thinking, I reassured her.

  “No phones, please,” Dad said, peeking in my door. “Let’s just have a civilized dinner and talk with one another.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “I just . . .”

  I looked at my buzzing phone. A line of ???? from Sienna.

  “I just have to—”

  “No, you really don’t,” Dad said.

  “Hon,” Mom said to Dad, her hand on his arm. “Just give her a minute.”

  what happened? I texted Sienna.

  AJ had texted her a screenshot of tomorrow’s weather report, high of seventy-nine, low of sixty-two, 35 percent chance of rain. And then, one second later, a picture of himself looking adorable and confused with the caption: Snow?

  “I just have to text Sienna one quick thing,” I told my parents.

  “I’ll push the button,” Dad said, heading toward the elevator.

  “Okay, cool.”

  Sienna was busy Snapchatting me her crazy variety of frowny faces, but I was like, no that is so awesome. that was a good answer.

  What I didn’t text was: I wish someone had texted Snow? to me.

  Or maybe that he had sent me that exact picture but then texted something like, Hey, but if it snows, let’s go sledding. That would be such an awesome response. Oh, I’d be even more in love with a boy who texted, Hey, but if it does snow, let’s go sledding, to me after a weather report showing highs near eighty degrees, and a picture of himself looking all confused and adorable and so much like, well, AJ.

  Hahahaha. Never. Gonna. Happen.

  No boy is ever going to text me flirty things if I am such a control freak that I would want to edit his texts and make them funnier, more random, more agreeable. Well, not that that’s the only reason no boy is ever going to flirt with me by text, but . . .

  Nope. Shut that down.

  Anyway, do I even really want a boy to flirt with me? The pressure! And really, what would be the payoff? Just, like, knowing somebody likes you? That would be nice, I guess, but maybe not worth the side effects? Maybe going out with somebody would be awesome and romantic like Michaela and David, but then you eventually have to kiss, which is a whole thing in itself and possibly disgusting. And then, after that, if the Loud Crowd is a guide (and they are, in all things except academics, social activism, and selfie selection), after a few times of kissing you have to fight and then break up (unless you are Michaela and David), which seems like a lot of work and drama to end up back where you started.

  I don’t know. Maybe I’m immature.

  Sour grapes?

  The thing is, Sienna is the most chill, even-tempered, anything-is-fine, social-justice-conscious person I know, and just trying to flirt with a boy—who has already said he likes her so she is at absolute zero risk of making a fool of herself—is completely freaking her out. She’s as off-balance as I was when I got an ear infection the summer before sixth grade and couldn’t turn to the side without wobbling, or swim for a week.

  Maybe she needs a Z-Pak. Antibiotics actually are a good invention.

  “Gracie!” Dad called from inside the elevator. “It’s here. Let’s go!”

  So I texted Sienna that I was going out to dinner with my parents/no phones, so good luck and I’d
catch up later, but for now she probably shouldn’t go swimming.

  I knew that would confuse her a little, but she’s used to me, and anyway, it was worth it, because I got into the elevator all smiley, which, with my parents, is wonderfully contagious.

  23

  HBD2M

  12:01.

  It’s officially my birthday. Fourteen.

  I’m twice as old as my older sister ever got to be.

  There are so few Hallmark cards for celebrations like that.

  So. Maybe I’ll go get myself a glass of water. Or take Lightning out to play, even though, like my parents, she’s sleeping. I could give her a string bean, despite the fact she already had one this week. Still, #yolo. I’ll only turn fourteen once. Some people never get to.

  • • •

  Okay, that actually was fun. That crazy tortoise chased after the string bean in such a sprint, she was belly-flopping across the kitchen floor, her mouth wide open. I love that someone, even a tortoise, can end up as discoordinatingly psyched as I get about food.

  We sat in the almost dark of the kitchen together, my tortoise and I. Only the light of the bathroom from the apartment across the air shaft lit up the room, and even that was just really a dim streak highlighting our stand mixer and making a stripe of light across the hardwood floor. I had to laugh, because we were some hella party. The happy little tort chomped at her string bean and I chomped at my chocolate chips. (I know I said a glass of water, but I lied. It is my birthday; leave me alone.)

  “You and me, pal,” I said to my tortoise. “We are the Awkward Club.”

  She smiled up at me.

  Not even kidding. I know I am delusional, probably, but I swear she did smile. Luckily I had my phone with me, so I quickly snapped her picture. So cute. I was thinking, I should text somebody that most adorable ever picture, but all the parents are like, Cell phone curfews. No texting after ten p.m. Which usually I am fine with, because I love sleep, but: smiling tortoise!

  She walked away and snuggled into the corner of the kitchen under the cabinet. Oh, Lightning, you are my role model. You get tired? Off you go to sleep. You have enough of being with people? Good-bye. If only.

  On my way back up the hall to my room, a new text lit up my phone. It was from Emmett, who I realized must be on his way home from performing at the Met:

  HBD2U.

  Oh, Emmett, you best person ever.

  As I was holding the phone, about to text him the picture of Lightning smiling, in came a Snapchat with a picture of him in the back of a taxi, looking hugely exhausted, his hair all messed up and standing up in points, stage makeup smudged under his eyes, and the caption Totally fine, yeah under it.

  He really is the best.

  How horrible is it that one tiny terrible part of me was thinking, Wouldn’t it be awesome if it was AJ who did all that for me?

  Because I completely suck.

  Obviously it is way past the time for me to get over any of those weird blasts of complete potentially belly-flopping discoordination every time I think of him. Enough.

  I mean, I know AJ likes me. We’re pals. He just doesn’t like me like me; he likes likes my best friend. Which is awesome. AJ and Sienna make a great couple. I am completely happy for them.

  I checked my Facebook. Emmett had posted a message on my wall that just said first at 12:01.

  He’s so great.

  The Emmett stuff is just friend stuff, and please, let’s not start overanalyzing that! I am not the romance type of girl. Why would I even imagine myself in, like, a romantic entanglement thing, with AJ or anybody?

  With Emmett?

  Who really is the best? And has the cutest face of anyone, all crinkly eyed and seeing the humor and the deeper meanings?

  Nope. Stop it. Stop it. Nope, nope, nope. He’s just being a good friend, a buddy, funny. Not being romantic. If AJ did those things for Sienna, sent her HBD2U one minute after it turned to her birthday, obviously, he would be flirting.

  Context is everything, according to Ms. Valerian, our English teacher, who is so smart, she went to Columbia twice, including grad school. Context: Emmett is pretty much my best friend other than Sienna, if you think about it. It doesn’t need to be contaminated with romantic nonsense. Me and Emmett?

  No.

  He doesn’t like me like me, obviously! Emmett has so much going on, he probably doesn’t have time to even think about stuff like liking somebody, and if he did, he’d probably like somebody little and cute like he is.

  Not lurchy and big-nosed like me.

  We’re buddies. We’re solid. We have epic battles of video-game boxing and board-game Stratego and racing each other up and down the stairs in our building, and a couple of times we tried playing chess. We are the best partners for school projects.

  We get each other’s jokes. We have infinity inside jokes.

  Stop.

  Anyway, Emmett is like me: not the romantic type. We’ve got bigger fish to fry in this world, really. Emmett and I both fully get that.

  So: relax. No need to go concocting fantasies about me and AJ, me and Emmett, me and any boy. That’s nothing. Nothing to see here, folks; move along, move along. The romantic story does not and will never star me, the big, doofy, funny sidekick. Which is fine, more than fine; it’s awesome. I’m the second, in every sense. And who doesn’t like seconds? Hahahaha. Everybody likes seconds. Especially me.

  Poor Emmett just wanted to say happy birthday. Chill.

  I swear I used to be a sane person, when I was thirteen. Things could happen without me flipping out all over the place like a dying bluefish on a dock.

  And besides, he is shorter than I am, so as everybody (now including me) apparently knows: Never. Gonna. Happen.

  24

  SURE

  My original idea was a picnic at Turtle Pond just with Sienna and Emmett, but Mom and Dad thought that might be kind of nothing. So instead, I invited fourteen random people and we went down to the ferry. It seemed like such an awesome idea when I was planning it with Mom—the Statue of Liberty! Ellis Island! Two subway lines! Three ferries! Like a class trip!

  It didn’t work out as well as I had hoped.

  Maybe fourteen is too old for something like the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island to be fun without permission slips. Everybody smiled quickly when I looked in their direction. The more polite kids even pretended to be interested in reading every single explanation as Dad insisted we all needed to do. Ultimately it was just hard on the feet, all that standing around.

  And getting rained on was super fun. So much for the 35 percent chance.

  While we slumped in the depressing interior underbelly of the ferry heaving damply back toward Manhattan, Dorin sat next to me and whispered, “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “I’m really glad you could come,” I said. I considered lying to add I was so sorry I got her e-mail wrong or something which was why she didn’t get the original invitation, but I decided to stick with just letting it be the awkward thing it was.

  I had asked Mom at Thai Market the night before if I should just invite Dorin last minute. She said it would be fine with her and Dad to add another friend. Over tao-hoo todd and soup, we discussed the pros and cons of how I could invite her, and what excuses I could make for why she was being asked so late. We decided maybe it would end up more awkward than it was worth, so better to just leave her uninvited.

  But then the pad see-ew came and I was still feeling bad about it, so we decided, better to be awkward and nice than awkward and excluding. Not that everybody in the grade was invited, just fourteen kids (plus me) out of fifty-four, but somebody like Ricky Wu wouldn’t care, and Dorin clearly did. So I texted her, right from the Thai Market table:

  me: hey a few of us are going to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island for my bday tomorrow. can you come? meet at my apartment a
t noon? I’d really like it if you could . . .

  I hit send and then we moved on to: Should we get the little foam Statue of Liberty headbands for everybody as a sort of loot bag souvenir thing, even though they are crazy-overpriced and also silly? Dad didn’t think the boys would want to wear foam headbands, but I said, “Are you kidding? They so would.”

  “Okay,” he said. “What do I know? Kids these days.”

  Before our sticky rice with mango showed up for dessert, Dorin texted back.

  DORIN: Sure! That would be great! I’m not sure if I’ll have time to buy you a present before then, but maybe there’s a tortoise thing downstairs in the store I could give you.

  I texted back not to worry about a present and that I was happy she could come, which I actually sort of was. I hadn’t thought about it before, but in truth I like Dorin a lot more than most of the people I’d intentionally invited.

  “I’m glad I came too,” Dorin said, beside me in the ferry underbelly. “It’s a really fun party.”

  I had to laugh a little. That was such a lie. The rest of us, including my parents, all looked like we were being transported to prison. Despite the Statue of Liberty headbands on most of the heads. Every boy’s head, I noted.

  “No,” Dorin said. “I mean, it’s sort of fun, other than the rain and the boringness! For my half brother’s party, he just turned five? We had a piñata and it was so adorable? He did the cutest thing with . . .” And on and on. I smiled and nodded, but I couldn’t honestly make myself listen to the details of her half brother’s adorableness again.

  When I was five, I had a piñata too. A duck piñata. Something made me cry that morning. Okay, it was that I wasn’t allowed to eat my entire cake all by myself before the guests arrived. As I wept about that injustice, my nana told me, “If you cry on your birthday, it will rain on your wedding day.”