The Book - E Lockhart

And that was it.

We were going to Canoe Island.

We were a “we.”

For the first time in months, I didn’t feel like a leper.

Neanderthals on the Telephone: Or, How to Converse

It has come to our attention here at The Boy Book that telephone conversations with members of the opposite sex are largely painful and awkward. Samples of this kind of crap can be found on page 14, “Traumatic Phone Calls, E-mails and Instant Messages,” but the problem is so widespread that we have decided to write a new entry in hopes of not just complaining but actually remedying the situation.

We know what you are thinking. It is not girls who need lessons in how to talk on the telephone.

We are experts at it.

Some of us could even medal in it.

The problem is the boys. And they need to shape up.

True, true, true.

However.

The boys are not going to shape up. They are not going to read magazines or informational textbooks such as this one that tell them how to talk to girls on the telephone. And they are not going to magically figure out how to converse either. It is a demonstrated fact that even bona fide boyfriends such as Finn and Jackson and Kaleb are hit with paralyzing stupidity and boringness on the telephone, and you, my girlfriends, you are the only ones who can do anything about it.

Some tried-and-true tips:

1. No feelings. Not if you can possibly avoid it. Feelings in person only.

2. No long silences. The male of the species hates long silences. If he is silent, say, “I gotta go, I’ll see you later.” And hang up. This is mysterious and alluring. And if it is not, at least you don’t have any more awkwardness.

3. Some people will tell you that you shouldn’t call guys, you should wait for them to call you. Hello? This is the twenty-first century. We can call them.

4. But have a reason. Don’t call “just to talk,” because they have nothing to talk about. Have a story to tell them, or ask if they watched some TV show just now, or ask about homework, or make a plan for the weekend.

—written by me and Kim, in my handwriting. Approximate date: November of sophomore year, following a long and boring phone call with Jackson where I couldn’t believe we were actually going out, we had so little to say to each other, and a conversation Kim had with Finn where she almost decided he was too much of a boring muffin to be her boyfriend anymore. There was a space at the bottom of the page where we’d hoped to add more tips—only we never thought of any.

when I called Angelo, I reread the instructions from The Boy Book before I did it.

I was supernervous, because I wanted to see him again. I mean, I wanted to make out with him again, frankly. Nothing beyond friendship seemed to be going on with Noel. And Jackson hadn’t talked to me once.

I remembered the warm feeling of Angelo’s lips on my neck, and the way he unbuttoned my shirt, and the perfect curve where his bottom lip connected to his chin. But I wasn’t sure we had anything to say to each other.

I figured I’d ask him if he wanted to go see Cry Baby, this John Waters movie that was showing at the retro film place in the U District, and we could talk about John Waters maybe. Or Johnny Depp, or Iggy Pop, or Ricki Lake, who are all in it.

Juana answered the phone.

Ag. I had completely forgot that Juana would answer.

Now it was like I was broadcasting this thing with Angelo to our parents, which was a patently bad idea.

“Hi, Juana, it’s Ruby. Is Angelo around?”

“Roo, no, he’s at his dad’s this week. You want the number there?”

“Oh, um, no that’s okay. It’s no big deal. I had a question to ask him.”

“Ring him at Maximilian’s,” she said, giving me the number.

I wrote it down and hung up.

But I didn’t call.

I sat there looking at the phone and thinking how if I called Angelo at his dad’s, it would seem different. Not like just a thing that happened because our worlds collided, but a thing that I was making happen, a thing of more importance, a thing that was full of weight, instead of the light, airy, secrety thing we’d had so far.

While I was sitting there, the phone rang. “You get it!” yelled my mom from the bathroom, where she was drying off after a shower. My dad was sitting at his computer, printing out mailing labels for his catalog and writing pithy gardening tips for his newsletter. Lost in his world of miniature roses.

I picked it up. “Ruby, it’s Doctor Z.”

Oh my God.

I had blown off my appointment and never called.

“I’m calling to see if you want to reschedule the hour you missed.”

“Oh, um.” I was completely embarrassed. “I’m sorry, something came up.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “But you do know I have to charge you for any sessions you miss without twelve hours’ notice.”

I hadn’t known that.

My parents pay for the therapy, and Doctor Z doesn’t charge them too much because she works on a sliding scale, meaning people pay what they can afford to pay. But I knew they would not be happy to be shelling out cash for Doctor Z to sit alone in her office while I ate pizza with Noel.

“I don’t think I can,” I answered. “I have to work at the zoo tomorrow afternoon and Saturday.”

“Well then,” she said, “I’ll see you next Tuesday. I hope there wasn’t any emergency?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Good. Tuesday it is, then,” she said. “But Ruby?”

“Yes?”

“If you miss another appointment, I’m going to have to notify your parents.”

Friday was all right. Better than before. Nora sat with me and Noel and Meghan at lunch. Meghan hadn’t said any more about her new arrangement with Bick, and she didn’t mention him quite as often as she used to before he started talking about enlightenment and the full college experience. I didn’t feel like I could ask, “Hey, is your boyfriend squeezing it into anyone? Do you know for sure?”

So I didn’t.

I spent Friday afternoon doing my penguin orientation at the zoo, learning to read from the script. “Humboldt penguins are endangered. They used to be hunted for meat, skins and the oil that comes from the layer of fat under the skin. Today, they are primarily threatened by commercial fishing.” And “The sound penguins produce resembles the braying of donkeys. They also communicate with head and flipper waving.”

Saturday I did the Family Farm orientation and helped Lewis put in some more plants. That night, I went to Cry Baby with Meghan, and we drove home swooning about how hot Johnny Depp was before he got old. Sunday, I wrote a paper and did a bunch of Precal homework and bothered my dad and Hutch in the greenhouse.

Around nine o’clock, the phone rang.

“My mom told me you called.” It was Angelo.

“Oh, yeah, I did, a couple days ago.”

“I was at my dad’s.”

“She told me.”

“How was it?”

“Fine.”

A long silence. The kind you’re not supposed to have.

But it wasn’t my fault. He caught me unprepared.

“So what’s up?” he finally said.

“Not much. I did homework all day.”

“I mean, why’d you call?”

“I was gonna see if you wanted to see this movie, Cry Baby. ”

“Maybe I do. What is it?”

“I already saw it,” I said. “I went with my friend Meghan.”