Who Do You Love(45)
Author: Jennifer Weiner

I turned. Andy was standing in doorway of our dorm room. He had my necklace dangling from one hand. “It was in the hall,” he said.

I slumped against the wall, trying to calm down, wondering how much he’d heard, feeling my face flame as I remembered. “Oh, thank God,” I said.

Bethie was still crying. I felt dizzy, almost sick with shame, worse than the time my dad had caught me sneaking a look at the Penthouse I’d found under his mattress, worse than when I was six and my mom had refused to buy me a candy bar at the grocery store, so I’d slipped one in my pocket, and the cashier had seen. I picked the stuffed elephant’s eye off the floor and walked to Bethie’s bed. “I can fix it for you,” I said.

“You can’t,” she said. She had her knees pulled up tight against her chest. One hand was yanking her hair, hard enough that it had to hurt. “You can’t, you can’t, you can’t,” she said, pulling her hair with each repetition.

“Sure I can,” I said, and made myself touch her shoulder. Her flesh felt hot and loose under the nightshirt. “And I can give you some other ones, too. I’ve got a million Beanie Babies, from when I was in the hospital.”

Bethie kept rocking and pulling. “You don’t even get it,” she said. “I don’t want new ones. I want Tyler. He’s the only thing left.”

Left from what? I wondered. Left from her parents, probably. I felt so small then, as small and low as I’d ever felt. The happiness that had filled me when I was in the shower was gone, along with that odd, savage joy that had animated me when I was calling Bethie names and hurting her things. I wanted to climb under my covers or shut my eyes like a little kid.

“Bethie,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

“Everyone’s mean to me,” she snarled. “You’re not special. You think you’re special but you’re not.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. She flung my hand off and turned her face toward the wall.

Andy was still in the doorway. I looked at him, and he looked down, his face expressionless. Without a word, he put the heart back on my dresser, then turned and walked away. The three of us were silent until the door had closed behind him.

“Good work, Bethie,” said Marissa. “Way to ruin other people’s love lives.”

Bethie didn’t answer, didn’t even turn her head to look at us.

Slowly, feeling stunned and embarrassed and completely miserable, I took off my cute outfit and put on my pajamas. Without a word to Marissa, without even brushing my teeth, I climbed into my sleeping bag and turned toward the wall. I was shivering, with an ache in the pit of my stomach, too sad to cry. Whatever Andy and I had had, whatever had started between us, it was dead now. I wasn’t the girl he wanted . . . and I didn’t have anyone to blame but myself.

•••

I got to breakfast early the next morning and left my duffel bag by the door in the pile labeled “Beth Am.” Rabbi Silver had told us we needed to get everything out by nine, to make room for the incoming volleyball players. In the dining hall, Andy was sitting with his classmates, with his eyes on his plate, not looking at me, not looking at anyone. I sat between Marissa and Sarah Ackerman, not eating a bite, not saying a word. I’d put my hair up into a bun, the way I did around the house when no one I cared about would see me. My face was scrubbed, and I was wearing cuffed jeans and my single remaining clean T-shirt, a plain white one. That morning, when Bethie was in the bathroom, I’d taken my Walkman and my tapes and left them on her bed with a note that said, “I’m sorry.” I had no idea if she liked the kind of music I did, but they were all I had, and it was all that I could think to do.

When breakfast was over, we filed into the auditorium for the farewell session. There were speeches from various rabbis and priests and teachers about how we’d done great work, how giving back was important, and how we’d formed friendships that could last a lifetime. After the final “goodbye and Godspeed,” Andy was one of the first people to leave the auditorium. I jumped out of my seat, stepped over a few of my friends, and ran to catch him.

“Hey!”

He was walking toward the buses, moving fast, with his hands in his pockets and his head down. “Andy!” I reached for his hand, and he let me take it, but his fingers were cool and limp, and when I squeezed, he didn’t squeeze back.

“Can I . . .” I swallowed hard. “Will you talk to me?”

He let go of my hand and picked up the pace. “We’re supposed to be on our buses.”