Allison Diepen - The Oracle Rebounds

They all wince as if they’ve popped sour candies into their mouths. What Jared said was cliché and we all know it. Taking a step back is the same as needing space or a time-out. It’s almost as bad as “we’ve become different people.” Lots of my clients have had those lines thrown at them and the cliché seems to add to the insult. But then, what’s a guy to say? I’m not attracted to you anymore? You bore me?

“Was that it?” Viv asks. “Is that his only reason?”

“He’s really disappointed about not getting an art scholarship. He somehow blames it on being too into me and not focusing enough on his goals.”

“Maybe he’s trying to punish himself by breaking up with you,” Viv offers.

“Too into you?” Sharese says. “What crap.”

The others agree that it was a lame thing to say. The stupid part of it was, I believed him. But I guess he was just trying to save my pride. Maybe he thought it was kinder to tell me he’d been too into me than not into me enough.

It doesn’t help when Ryan says, “I’m sorry to say this, but he probably met another girl.”

Sharese elbows him. “Nice job upsetting her.”

“Ouch!” He rubs his ribs. “Well, it’s true. It’s better if we prepare her for it.”

“I believe him that there’s no one else, but there could be another girl soon, I know that.” Or would there? If he said he needs to take a step back, wouldn’t that apply to all girls? Maybe not. If I believe that, I’ll be deluding myself.

“You can find someone, too,” Amy says. “A rebound can be a beautiful thing.”

The red numbers on the clock read 12:27 a.m., but I’m nowhere near sleep. I can think of nothing but rebounding.

REbounding.

ReBOUNDING.

I get out of bed and switch my desk light and computer on. I look up rebounding on an online dictionary.

1: To spring or bounce back after hitting something.

2: To recover from a disappointment.

The first definition is a lot more fun. I don’t want to “recover” I want to bounce back. Jared is the wall I’m bouncing off. I’m going to bounce off, do a back flip and land in the arms of a cute guy.

I’m aware of what’s happening to me. It’s textbook for someone who’s been dumped. A void has opened up in my life and I am looking for the quickest way to fill it: what better way than with another guy? Textbook or not, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s not like I’m going to fill it with drugs or alcohol.

Come to think of it, I wrote something on rebounding a while ago. I search my archives, and find a blog from last November.

You Know You’re Rebounding If You:

are too embarrassed to tell your friends you’re dating someone new because they’ll say it’s too soon.

believe that dating someone else will prevent you from thinking about your ex.

keep thinking of how your ex would feel if he spotted you with your new date (in fact, you hope he will).

The Rebound Equation:

Calculate the number of days you were together and divide it by 8.

Add 30 days if you are the dumpee.

Subtract 20 days if you are the dumper.

Add 30 days if you fantasize about getting back together.

Subtract 20 days if you believe the breakup is for the best, even if you were the one dumped.

= ___ days before you should enter into another relation ship.

I grab a calculator. Jared and I were together for five months, three weeks and two days, for a total of 173 days. 173 divided by 8 is 22. He dumped me, so I add 30 days. I add another 30 days because, damn it, I have fantasized about getting back together. Do I believe it’s for the best? No!

Total number of days before I can start dating someone else: 82. No way!

Maybe I should reconsider my answers. Did he really dump me? Undoubtedly. Do I fantasize about getting back together? Yes. Is it for the best? Ha! That’s where I put the wrong answer. If Jared wanted to break up then, of course, it’s for the best. It can’t be anything but for the best. I should have answered yes.

I subtract 20, which leaves my total at 62 days.

62 days—that’s two months! That means I won’t be able to date anyone until the middle of May. What was I thinking when I made up the equation? I’m sixteen; I don’t have two months to waste!

Of course, I don’t have to take my own advice.

By the time I get to school on Monday, the breakup is headline news.

Midwood High School is where Brooklyn gamer kids, gangster kids, emo kids and normal kids (me and my friends) collide in a maze of gray hallways. You can hear a dozen different languages in the cafeteria on any given day, not to mention the fact that we have tons of clubs representing diverse nationalities, religions, interests and sexual orientations.

Everybody is tormenting me with questions about the breakup. I can’t tell everyone the truth, can I? Thankfully, my friends have already put out the official version of events, and I stick to the story. The official version: Jared and I mutually parted because we’ve been drifting apart and (Amy added this part) I wanted to see other people.

I know that Jared won’t contradict it. He isn’t the type to make me look bad. This is the same guy who briefly dated the most popular girl in school, Brooke Crossley, and tricked her into dumping him so he wouldn’t have to hurt her feelings.

Speaking of Brooke, she tracks me down in the hallway after first period and plies me with questions—like she has a right to know! Why does she care anyway? She’s back with the king of the jocks, Declan McCall.

“So what really happened?” Brooke demands.

“What do you mean?”

“With you and Jared. Come on, you dumped him, right?”

“Ah…it was pretty mutual.”

“Was he an asshole to you?” She has the nerve to put an arm around me. Puh-lease. We’ve never been anywhere close to friends.

“He wasn’t an asshole to me.”

“Were you an asshole to him?”

“No.”

She grimaces. Obviously this isn’t as cut-and-dried as she’d hoped. “Then why’d you break up?”

“We grew apart.”

“Grew apart? So you don’t think, like, he’s a total loser?”

“No. I’ve got nothing bad to say about him.”

She looks crestfallen. I’m almost sorry I can’t give her a better story. Then she tosses her hair and walks off.

It would have been the perfect opportunity to get revenge on Jared, but I just couldn’t do it. If he starts trash-talking me, then I suppose I should do the same to him. But that’s not Jared. And that’s not me either. I admit that part of me would love to hurt him the way he’s hurt me, but I can’t. Sure, I could start some drama, but there wouldn’t be a point. I can’t break his heart if he’s not still in love with me.

At least the official version leaves my ego intact. It makes it seem like I was restless, like I’d had enough of one guy. But the truth is, sticking with one person suits me. When I was with Jared, I didn’t want to be with anyone else.

I see Jared a few times in the hallway. We say hi, but neither of us stops walking. It’s up to him to stop, since he’s the one who did the dumping. If I stop, I’ll just seem desperate. Why can’t he ask how I’m doing?

His eyes—God, they’re bluer than ever—aren’t warm. They’re not cold either. I’d say they’re careful. Maybe they’re even a little angry. My friends, I admit, haven’t been mature about this. They give him dirty looks or turn away. Even Viv, who’s one of the kindest people on the planet, glares at him. I’ve told them to be nice, but they don’t listen. He hurt me, and they believe he deserves to be hurt, too.