Getting Over Garrett Delaney(27)
Author: Abby McDonald

“A detox program? That’s so . . . cute.” LuAnn tries not to smile, but I can see the twitch at the corner of her lips.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” Aiko asks. “A movie star? A sparkly vampire?”

“Just this guy from school,” Kayla answers before I can. She shrugs. “Some girls think he’s cute, but . . .” She trails off, the implication clear: Garrett is nothing special, and I’ve lost my mind.

“So, you were never dating, and now he’s in another state? Why not just get over him already?” Dominique looks disapproving, as if her heart has never done a thing her brain hasn’t vetted and sanctioned.

“Haven’t you ever adored someone, even though you knew it couldn’t work?” I ask desperately, trying to make them see. I’m not crazy — this is something real I’m feeling here! “So you try, and try, to move past it and forget about them, but it’s like they’re stuck in your head — you can’t just flip a switch and stop loving them! So you hate yourself for it, because you know it’s no use, but nothing you do seems to ever make a difference.”

Silence.

LuAnn and Aiko exchange an amused look. Dominique just smirks at me, as if I’m the main exhibit in the Museum of the Hopeless and Lovelorn. Only Kayla looks sympathetic, but she’s probably thinking how lucky she is not to be stuck here working with a psycho.

I feel a rush of humiliation, hot on my cheeks. “Forget it,” I mumble, pushing my chair back. “I’m . . . um, sorry about the mess.”

“Sadie, wait —” Kayla starts, but I just turn and flee, hurrying out the back exit and through the narrow alleyway to the main street so I don’t have to revisit the site of my meltdown. I choke back a sob, furious with myself for rambling like that. I don’t even blame them for thinking I have serious psychological issues. I mean, this is not normal — it’s not anywhere close to normal — to be so dependent on a guy. I get that! But it’s not just a guy. This is Garrett we’re talking about here, and even if it seems crazy when you just lay it out in black and white, it’s real to me.

I have a quote from Anaïs Nin up on my wall: “Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” And that’s how it was with Garrett. Because he understood me, the me I wanted so desperately to be. Think about your best friend — how you tell them everything, how they’re the person who knows you best, all your deepest fears and insecurities. They’re the one you call when something amazing happens or when everything falls apart and you need someone to come over and watch movies and tell you that everything’s going to be OK. It’s not like family, who are obligated to love you and even then sometimes fail to be everything they’re supposed to be. Your true friend has chosen you, and you them, and that’s a different kind of bond.

That’s Garrett to me. I’m used to talking to him all the time, about the most meaningless stuff. To have him gone feels like a loss, an absence haunting me every day. Without him, there’s just the empty space that used to be filled with laughter and friendship and comfort.

Can you really blame me for finding it so hard to let go?

It’s hard to grasp now, but he isn’t a shining god among teen boys. He’s just a guy. A guy with radiant eyes, a chiseled jaw, and the ability to quote Sartre — in the original French — sure, but a guy nonetheless. Which means he has faults. Flaws. Aka glorious little gifts from the Gods of Regular Guy Behavior, there to help you get over him.

List them. Count them. Make a collage of all the irritating things he’s ever done, the stupid things he’s ever said. Meditate on those flaws night and day, until that pedestal you’ve had him on comes crashing down, and maybe you can see him clearly for the boy he really is, not the romantic hero you’ve built in your mind.

13

Now that I’ve managed to humiliate myself in front of the entire Totally Wired crew, I slump back into pitiful despair, my shiny new “How to Get Over Garrett” guide languishing under a pile of dirty laundry, crumpled and used up, like my dignity. So much for the power of a good plan; I couldn’t even make it past the very first hurdle! I may as well just quit now: the getting over him and my coffee-shop job. Not that I can show my face in there ever again. They probably have me up on a poster by now. Warning: this girl is emotionally unstable. Do not allow near hot beverages.

But when I go to fetch the newspaper Sunday morning, I find Kayla waiting on my doorstep, looking annoyingly perky in tiny denim cutoffs and a candy-pink tank.

“You can’t quit,” she says.

I blink at the bright sunlight — closed curtains being an integral part of wallowing. “What are you talking about?”

“Garrett.” Kayla beams at me. “You can’t quit your detox program thing now. You’ve just had a tiny setback — that’s all.”

“You call yesterday tiny?”

She wavers. “OK, maybe not so small. But it’s a good idea! You just need backup. Like all those support groups for people with sex addictions and drug problems.”

“Garrett Anonymous?” I say, dubious.

She laughs. “Exactly!”

I let out a long, weary breath. It’s sweet of her, but just the sight of Kayla so perky and full of optimism makes me want to turn around and burrow under my comforter for, well, the rest of my life. “You don’t have to humor me,” I tell her. “I know you think I’ve lost my mind. You made that pretty clear yesterday.”

Kayla makes a face. “I’m sorry about that. We should have been more supportive. But I was thinking about it, and it’s a good idea — it really is. You just need help, to keep you on track.”

“It’s too late.” I mope, sagging against the doorframe. “It was stupid to think I could just cut him off. I’m going to be a slave to this forever.”

She rolls her eyes. “OK, enough of the drama-queen act. Go get your swimsuit.”

“What?”

“Your beach stuff. Now. Come on.” She claps briskly, as if I’m one of her Sunny Dayze camp brats. “I’m heading to the lake with some friends, and you’re coming.”

“Kayla —” I protest weakly.

“Nope, I’m not taking no for an answer.” She talks over me. “It’ll be fun. And distracting. You can tell me about this plan of yours, and we’ll figure out how to make it work.”