The Book - E Lockhart

“Kayaking?”

“Sounds cold.”

“All right. So that one’s out. Be the Ball?”

“No way.”

Doctor Z sighed. “What do you like to do? That’s what I’m asking. What activity do you like to do?”

“I like to swim,” I said. “And read. And watch movies. But can you imagine a catalog description for that? ‘Exploring the Shallow Life: Students will enjoy a double feature of Love Actually and Bridget Jones’s Diary, wallowing in the hotness of Hugh Grant and Colin Firth, followed by thrift-store shopping, intensive reading of mystery novels, and a dip in the pool. Evenings will be spent consuming Popsicles and experimenting with cosmetics.’”

Doctor Z smiled. “Very funny. But you didn’t answer my question.”

I sighed. “If there was a nonbird wildlife one, I’d want to do that. But overall, I’m not really a nature lady.”

“Yet you’re telling me you want to go.”

“Yeah.”

She went silent again, and I changed the subject. We talked about how annoying my mother was for the rest of the session.

In Am Lit on Wednesday, Mr. Wallace stopped our discussion ten minutes before the end of class to talk about November Week. “I’m doing something new this year,” he announced. “Running my own show. As some of you know,” he said, nodding at Cricket and Nora and a few others, “I assisted on the rafting expeditions the past two years. But this year, Mrs. Glass and I are doing a course called Canoe Island, and I hope you will all come join us.”

I had seen Canoe Island listed in the catalog. All it said was “Expand your mind. Nourish your soul. $375.”

I hadn’t given it any thought.

Mr. Wallace went on to explain that the project involved going to a retreat on a tiny island in the San Juans, off the Seattle coast, where we’d read and discuss meaningful philosophical stuff in the mornings; then, in the afternoon, we’d swim in the pool, hike around the island and take turns making dinner. Evenings, we’d watch important movies from the history of cinema that would continue to spur our thought processes about the philosophical issues in the readings.

Movies. And swimming.

It was Exploring the Shallow Life, only deep.

So I told Wallace after class that I wanted to do it. Before I could chicken out.

He looked relieved and said I was the first person to sign up.

“Your catalog copy is too mysterious,” I told him. “You have a PR problem.”

Wallace laughed. “You can work on your flip turns while you’re there if you want. It looks like Imari from the boys’ team might come, so I’ll coach in the afternoons.”

That evening, I got my parents to write the check, and promised to pay them back three hundred dollars of it.

“I hope you have a real bonding experience with your peer group,” said my father, squeezing me around the shoulders.

“I’m just relieved we don’t have to buy her a backpack,” said my mother.

Angelo Martinez called me that night, and our conversation went like this:

Him: Hey, Roo. It’s Angelo.

Me: What’s up?

Him: Not a lot. Just got in from playing basketball.

Me: Cool.

Him: Um. Listen.

Me: Yeah?

Him: I, ah, I wanted to say I had a good time the other day. The other night. It was nice.

Me: Oh, yeah. Sorry about squashing your dog.

Him: De nada. He can take it.

Me: At least it wasn’t little Skipperdee.

Him: No. If you squashed her, she’d have bit you.

Me: Oh.

Him: I’m serious.

Me: Actually, I meant if I squashed her I might have killed her. She’s so small.

Him: You don’t know her like I do. She can take care of herself. Once I sat on this Yorkie we used to have called Stinky, and I broke her foot. I felt so bad.

Me: So. Hey.

Him: Hey.

Me: Nice of you to call.

Him: Yeah. Well. I didn’t want to be, like, not calling after what happened.

Me: Oh, you didn’t have to.

Him: But I did.

Me: Don’t angst. You’re quite the gentleman.

Him: Not if you ask my mom.

Me: I’m hardly your mom.

Him: No. (laughs under his breath) You are hardly my mom. (Silence. For too long.)

Me: Do you want to go for a drive?

Him: What, now?

Me: My parents are in all night. I can take the Honda for an hour or so, but I have to be back by ten.

Him: You mean go on a drive, and park?

Me: Exactly.

Him: I’m going out to the porch right now, with the portable.

Me: You’re what?

Him: I’m on the porch now. Waiting.

And he clicked off.

I told my parents I was meeting Meghan at the B&O and drove to Angelo’s. He got in the car.

We drove two blocks down to a parking lot next to a playground and made out for an hour, listening to stupid songs on the radio oldies station.

It was great.

Then I drove Angelo home. He kissed me goodbye.

“Don’t say you’ll call me,” I said. “I don’t want to have a calling/not-calling thing going on between us.”

“Okay. I won’t say it. But Roo?” He was halfway out the car door, silhouetted by a streetlamp.

“What?”

“You can call me .”

Levels of Boyfriends

1. Friend-Boy. The two of you are just friends.

2. Friend-Boy plus Unwanted Crush. You are just friends, but you can tell he likes you. It is highly annoying.

3. Friend-Boy plus Crush. You have a crush on him, but you’re just friends. Sigh. (Note: You are probably being highly annoying.)

4. Hopeless Crush. You long for him from afar. He doesn’t know you exist.

5. Friend-Boy plus Mutual Attraction. You are just friends, but maybe there is something more in the air.

6. Flirtation. But you are not friends.

7. Scamming Mate. You fool around, but you don’t hang out. Ever.

8. Friends with Benefits. You fool around, and you do hang out, but you are not going out.

9. Boyfriend. You are going out!

10. Serious Boyfriend. You can see a future. The two of you are getting horizontal on a regular basis. You borrow his T-shirts.

—written in my handwriting, with some additions by Kim. Approximate date: September of sophomore year.

when I got home from being with Angelo, my parents were asleep in front of the television. I went straight to my room, dug out The Boy Book and read all our old entries. Because I had no one to talk to.

I remembered holing up with Kim, lying on our stomachs on her big double bed, writing and laughing. And the time we brought The Boy Book over to Cricket’s house, and Nora made chocolate chip cookies, and I burned my hand taking them out of the oven, then had to dictate my contributions to the book because my fingers were too sore to hold a pen. And the time Cricket had the weird interaction with Billy Alexander and demanded that I bring the book to school so she could add an entry the next morning. And when Kim left it out on my parents’ coffee table, and my dad was just picking it up to look at it when we came back in the room, and we grabbed it and ran away squealing.

I fell asleep with my face on the page dedicated to Levels of Boyfriends. I drooled a little and smudged the ink. At two a.m., I woke up, brushed my teeth and changed into pajamas, then went back to bed.