Sam Steele

A Format

12/10/06

Losing It

Before going to Trick Smitty’s “my parents are gone for the weekend so let’s get shitfaced” party, I decided to ask Jen for advice. At lunch, no less, surrounded by the creepy art kids in the cafeteria. In retrospect, I should’ve listened.

Her initial response, with a mouthful of the tuna fish sandwich I was intending on eating: “Are you actually going to that ridiculous thing? Just because Jake’s going? Come on, Stu, it is going to suck so majorly. And Mandy’ll be there too, right? So it’ll suck doubly majorly.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Doubly majorly?”

She scoffs, runs a hand through her newly dyed greenish hair to make it stand up at odd angles, and says, “Yes, my dear friend, I believe this is a situation which calls for the usage of two adverbs ending with ‘y.’ Try to stay with me, I’m doing this for your benefit.”

“But, I mean, Jake told me I should come. It could be fun. It has the potential.” I glance over at the other occupants of the table, Jen’s friends. I’m pretty sure two of them are talking to each other in Elvish, and then there’s another one making origami with used Kleenex. “Right?”

“Mmm, yeah.” Jen takes a bite of my sandwich. “I hate to break it to you, for the gazillionth time, but you’ve gotta give up on him. Move on. I did, I have yet to slit my wrists with a rusty steak knife and jump in front of a bus. I mean, Jesus, he’s not worth it.”

Before I go on, a little backstory. I could try to show it cleverly through dialogue, but I’m sort of an idiot when it comes to smart stuff like writing. And math. And school. I’ve never taken one of those career placement things, but I bet if I did I’d end up with something along the lines of “leech farmer/ hobo.” My future, at the moment, isn’t looking bright.

But anyway, you’re probably wondering who Jake is. Put simply: my best friend, since he moved into the house next to me and we started crawling around together in the sandbox. Some—and when I say some, I mean Jen—might say that he stopped being my best friend when he made varsity soccer in his freshman year. Or maybe when he made out for the first time with Ashley Porter. And Vanessa Haynes. The same night. Yeah, maybe it was then. Or maybe—and keep in mind that I’m speaking for those nutjobs, no offense to Jen, who actually believe our friendship is over—maybe it was when he was walking in the hall with the whole varsity soccer team (think a solid mass of matching green jackets), saw me, and sort of… well, kind of, in a very vague, undefined way, pushed me over. And kept walking. I know what you’re thinking: this Jake kid is just one of those conceited, guffawing muscleheads that have totalitarian rule over every high school. But that’s where you’re wrong. Because even though he may be kind of an asshole at school, that’s only because the other guys on the soccer team are there, and I can’t know for sure, but it seems like he kind of does whatever they do to stay cool. I mean, keep in mind, right up until the first day of high school, he was just like me: the sort of cool but slightly gawky, kind of athletic kid, freaked out about what would happen when he got to Spring Point High. And he’s still pretty much the same guy, except a little more… into himself. Most days after school we go back to my house, put on some Clash or Hendrix or Police, or something else good, and play video games and ping pong and basketball until my mom makes him go home.

I mean, think about it. You can’t just scrap a friendship that’s lasted thirteen years. Okay, Jen was the third part of our neighborhood group from five to, oh, fourteen, but think about it: that’s only nine years. That’s nothing. That’s zilch. After nine years, there’s still time to realize that, oh wait, this guy isn’t my friend, and just forget about it, but thirteen? Come on. We’re like family.

Or, at least, that’s what I’m thinking at the moment, my mind wandering through all the great times we’ve had over the years…

“Stu? Stu? Mind coming back from dreamland for a second? Hey, is any of this registering, or, I dunno, should I start singing the chorus of “Mandy” at the top of my lungs? Maybe she’d hear it, and you could take over and serenade her out of the arms of your ‘best friend.’ Oh, MANDY… WELL I KISSED YOU AND STOPPED ME FROM SHAKING…”

“No! No! Stop! Stop!”

“I NEED YOU TODAY, OH MANDY—”

“I’m listening, you vicious psychopath!”

She falls onto the table, laughing uproariously. The creepy kids around the table start laughing too, but it’s that sort of zombie laughing that just reaffirms their creepiness. In case you were wondering, they’re creepy. I have no idea why Jen hangs out with these guys. “Okay, okay. But it’s your own fault. Maybe you should’ve chosen a girl to fall in love with whose name isn’t the title of a Barry Manilow song. Or perhaps—” she pauses for dramatic affect—“perhaps you should’ve chosen a girl who didn’t also happen to be going out with Jake. Who, you still maintain, is your best friend.”

I glare at her, grab my half-eaten sandwich, and stand up. “I’m going to the party. And you know what? I’m going to work out everything there. On Monday, my problems will be over.”

She snorts. “Yeah, right. I’ll bet going to Trick Smitty’s party will make everything all better.”

“You know what? It will.” All I have to do is work out how.

I met Mandy before Jake did, so if the world didn’t suck, I would be the one holding her small, warm hand right now, and it would be my arm she was leaning her perfect, achingly pretty face against. She was in my math class, and she sat at the desk next to me. She pretty much always knew everything, and whenever Ms. Gordon glanced our way he would always find time to beam at her and give me the “if you don’t get this next problem right I’m going to eat your soul” look. By all rights, I should’ve hated her for it, but I was helpless. I mean, whenever I said anything remotely funny, she would turn her big, blue eyes to me and smile, and even though I knew I was just the stupid funny guy who didn’t matter… it got me. I started talking to her after class, and we had this one conversation that must’ve lasted an hour, and it was about—get this—“It’s a Wonderful Life.” You know that old Jimmy Stewart movie? I mean, come on, if we could talk for that long about that, we had a lifetime of deep, funny, amazing conversations ahead of us!

Or so I thought. Then I made the mistake of saying something about who she liked at school. I was pretty sure it was me—Jen still chuckles at this part, cruel-hearted sadist that she is—and I was just standing there with this smug grin on my face, and she goes, “Well, don’t tell him, but… it’s your friend Jake. Do you know if he, like, knows who I am? Could you check it out for me?” Her exact words. I told her yeah, sure, all the time wishing I could just go find one of those long samurai swords to commit hara kiri with.

I never ended up telling Jake about it. I mean, I did tell him about liking her (before I found out who she liked) but I didn’t say anything about how she felt about him. He may be my best friend, but I refuse to help him with girls. That’s his department, after all. I was hoping he would never find out, would just think of her as “that girl Stu liked”… but he did find out, and, despite the fact that, for all he knew, Mandy could’ve thought he was the relative equivalent of a big pile of lard, he asked her out. Anyway, she said yes, of course, and… here we are. On the way to dear old Trick’s little soiree, with me next to her, and her attached to Jake’s arm.

“So, dude, are you excited?” Jake asks. “I mean, I was surprised you agreed to come, I didn’t think…”

“What, that I’m the party-going kind of guy? Listen, jerkoff, I am the life of the party.”

Mandy laughs. It kills me. “Yeah, Stu, when I think of you, I think of that guy who dances on the table to ‘Margaritaville’ wearing nothing but a sombrero.”

“Yeah, I mean, there was that one time…”

She laughs. Again. I sort of wish she’d stop. “Yeah, let’s not tell the boyfriend about that, he might get jealous.”

“Ha ha ha,” Jake says. “You guys are incredibly funny. Here we are.”

Trick’s house is one of those big, three-storied colonials, and there’s a stream of kids… okay, more like an ocean, actually (like that analogy? I take back what I said before, I am damn good at writing) filing through the double doors. When we finally make it inside, I almost plug my ears, but then I figure that won’t score me any cool guy points. Still, the noise is incredible: you’ve got at least eighty kids, a fair number of them feeling the effects of Trick’s Magic Brew, screaming over the heartwarming melodies of Fergie’s “London Bridge” and dancing around the house. Then there’s Trick himself, a hulking red-faced blob in a polo shirt, yelling something incoherent at us. I make out “dude” about eight times, and then “free beer” twelve or so. That’s about it. I am so not telling Jen about this.

“Hey guys, I’m gonna go get something to drink,” Jake says. “Want anything?”

I feel like telling him he’s an idiot for following Trick’s example and turning his brain into slush just to get a buzz, but instead I say, “Nah, I think I’ll go find all my girlfriends. They’re waiting for me, you know.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll go with Stu,” Mandy says. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“All right, see you in a little while.” He winks at me—what the hell?—and walks off. I suddenly want to deck him, just wallop him right in the mouth, because at the moment he’s deep into his “I am so freaking cool” persona, which I hate. But then I realize Mandy’s standing next to me, so I stay where I am.

Okay, I won’t bullshit. I wouldn’t have done it anyway. If I cold cocked Jake every time I felt like it, our friendship would’ve ended long ago. Plus… He’s the one on varsity soccer. I mean, not that I couldn’t kick his ass, but still.

Mandy puts an arm out. “Shall we?” she says in her best British accent.

“Yesss, dah-ling.” I take her arm, and we begin our little dignified stroll through the hordes of drunken lunatics. We keep up the British aristocrat thing for around ten seconds, with me just relishing the feeling of her arm against mine (it sounds creepy, but you’d have to be an amoeba not to felt the same some time or other). Then Mandy cracks up, putting her arm around me for support. “You’re great, Stu.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Oh, of course.” She smiles, and I feel all fuzzy for a second even with some redfaced moron next to me, grasping at my shirt and telling me I’m “wicked frickin’ haht.”

“Wow…” She raises an eyebrow as my new friend gives us the classic dumbass expression and stumbles away. “Wanna go somewhere… else?”

“Sure,” I say. That’s right, I am the essence of cool. Except, okay, I am thinking “Yes! Yes! Yes!” But I held it together, didn’t I? That’s right. Watch and learn.

I follow her outside, and pretty soon we’re walking along the grass, laughing about Ben Stiller movies, Ms. Gordon (our old math teacher), and, I dunno, everything. All I can tell you is, it flows, and soon enough I’m not even thinking about what to say, and how I’ll come off, and all that crap that starts up every time I have any sort of conversation with any remotely attractive member of the opposite sex. But then I make the mistake of saying the name “Jake.” As in:

“…Yeah, this one time Jake and I were watching TV, and you know the Spanish Channel? Well, there was this show on…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Jake’s just… amazing.” She just says that. Doesn’t even let me finish the story. “Oh, sorry, that probably sounds a little weird, him being your best friend and all…”

“No.” Yes. “No.” Yes. “Not at all.” Yes, Yes, yes, how the hell can you not see that I’m completely, head over heels in love with you? I mean, God! I’m a wreck! Can’t you tell?!

“Listen, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s a little weird, talking about him like that. I just feel so happy around him, you know?”

“Yeah. Right. No, it’s fine. You know what, I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll see if I can find him, and tell him you’re out here.”

“Okay, thanks.” She punches me on the arm. I can almost here the “You’re a cute kid.” “Have fun in there.”

“Oh, I will.” And I’m walking, past Stevie Baxter on the ground next to some very attractive looking puke, up the stairs and past Trick Smitty, waving his arms and screaming “I’m a bird! No, not just a bird, man, I’m a fuckin’ dove!” Into the entryway, up the stairs, lips mashing together on all sides, through the hallway… Wait. Who’s that, halfway down there, sucking face with Vicki Lapaglia? Is that… No. I squint a little. It can’t be… But it is. Jake. With another girl. “Amazing,” my ass.

“You son of a bitch.” Those words from my mouth, formerly attached to the spineless kid who always thought this cheating snotbag was his best friend. “I can’t believe this. You know how much she likes you? No, she loves you. Don’t you get it? How can you sacrifice that for… for this?” I wave a hand at Vicki. “Hey, Vicki, lookin’ good. By the way, just a piece of advice, doing makeup with a fire hose doesn’t always achieve the desired affect.”

This flies way over dear Vicki’s head, but I don’t care. I’m already running, down the steps, back in the entryway, knocking into Trick (“Watch it, asshole, I’m a dove!”), still going…

“Stu, wait! Wait a second, man, come on!”

I turn around, slowly, one foot on the grass. “There’s nothing to say.”

“No, wait, listen. I—I made a mistake. And I know you liked her, and I know I went behind your back, I know… But give it a chance! I mean, okay, I… I did something wrong. Yeah. It’s happened before. But Mandy’s the first girl I’ve ever really had something with. And… I don’t know why I was with Vicki. She just sort of started kissing me, and… It was stupid. But come on, man, please. Just one more chance. That’s all I ask.”

It almost stops me. I mean, he just sounds so hurt, and sorry, and honest, and maybe he is still my best friend. But then I see her, out of the corner of my eye, walking towards us. She looks confused, blue eyes narrowed, and I realize Jake means nothing compared to her.

He sees it on my face. “Can I tell her, at least?”

“I don’t think so. You’ll twist it, make it sound all weepy and repentant. You can talk to her afterwards.”

Mandy comes up next to me. “What is it?”

“Jake was just upstairs, making out with Vicki Lapaglia. I mean, they were going at it, and I saw the whole thing.” No wasted time. That’s how it has to be, I think. That’s how she needed to hear it.

I see the tears forming, teetering off her eyelids and rolling in between her freckles. Her hand goes to her mouth, and she chokes out a sob.

“I mean, I just, I thought you should know…”

“Oh, you did? Huh?” She turns to me, voice shaky but getting loud. “Why the hell would I want to know? I’ve… I’ve liked Jake forever! And… I’ve wanted to go out with him since I met him. And now… Now it just won’t work out! Why didn’t you just give him a chance?”

Jake steps forward, reaches an arm out. “Listen, I’m sorry. We can work on this…”

“No. Just… wait. Wait.” She turns away, silent. “I have to go.”

“Listen,” I say, “I just thought it would be best…”

“Forget it,” she says, already walking away. “Just forget it.” Then she’s on the street, dark against the pavement, almost invisible.

Oh, no. That’s not what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be a little weepy, but not so much that she couldn’t scorn him, fall into my arms…

“Stu…” Jake looks like he’s about to be sick. “Why’d you have to do that? What’s your fucking problem?”

Here’s where I should stay strong, say I can’t believe him, that he caused those tears, that… “I—I didn’t know… I didn’t think…”

“Yeah. Yeah. You never do.” He looks straight at me for a second, shakes his head, and runs off after her.

I sit down on the grass. Stevie Baxter’s recycling his Miller Light again next to me. Trick Smitty’s on the roof, making cooing noises. And here I am, alone, having just lost my best friend and the girl of my dreams.

Fuck high school.