Amy Inspired - Bethany Pierce [116]
“It’s not fair. I’ve been single for like forever. I haven’t even gotten to third base. I’m not even sure I know what the bases are.” He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, pinched his eyes shut. “The girls in my hall don’t even know I exist.”
“You don’t know that.”
“They think I’m just some geek. Like I’m in love with Buffy or something. Don’t get me wrong, she’s about the most premium girl there is, but I’m not in love with her. I know she’s not real.”
“I’ve been in love with a lot of fictional men,” I said. “It’s easy to fall hard for people, for things, that aren’t real.”
“What about your guy?”
“My guy?”
“That dude with the tattoo who used to walk you to class.”
It was my turn to be embarrassed. “We’re not together.”
“That’s not what it looked like,” Lonnie persisted.
“He’s just a friend.”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes again, leaned his head against the wall and nodded back and forth slowly. “Whatever.”
For one absurd moment I was actually tempted to ask him if he thought I had a chance.
Back in my office I gave him the campus dance recital tickets one of the professors had passed off to me. I’d been holding on to them in the hopes I would have someone to go with.
“Listen, Lonnie. I want you to find a nice girl and take her to this concert, and I want you to do it for fun, okay? She doesn’t have to be your soul mate to be a nice date.”
He turned the envelope in his hands, studying it as if it were a complicated piece of machinery.
“What if I ask a girl and she says no?”
I genuinely hurt for him. Of all the students I’d befriended, of all the aspiring writers I’d coached, it was when looking at Lonnie— Lonnie of the Battlerstar Galactica T-shirts and the cherry berry ChapStick—that I saw myself.
“Then you smile, shrug your shoulders, and ask someone else,” I replied. “And, Lonnie—no poems. Not right away. Your readership may not be ready for them just yet.”
“Okay,” he said, stuffing the envelope in his backpack. “I promise, Ms. Gallagher.”
As soon as he left, I returned to my office and dug through the trash until I found the postcard Eli had sent. I folded it in half, slipped it in my jacket pocket.
From the office window I watched until Lonnie appeared on the sidewalk below. Maybe the next object of his love would return the interest. Maybe she would even be his age. But what can you do with a romantic, really? They’re called hopeless for good reason.
“This is just like the last one; his work’s not even on here,” Zoë said. She handed the postcard back to me. “That’s not a good sign. They always put the best stuff on the card.”
She carried the dishes I’d stacked to the sink. “You know, the problem with Eli is that he waits too long and farts around and doesn’t get the big projects done. It’s the lack of discipline that most hurts his work.”
When her criticism of his procrastination didn’t cheer me up, she went on, “I’ve been thinking that it’s a good thing you and Eli didn’t work out.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s not the settling type.”
The phrase sent bells off in my head. I heard Adam breaking up with me all over again. “You were born settled.”
She left the room complaining about e-mails. I stayed in the kitchen and copied recipes from Vegetarian Weekly. I lay in my bed and tried to read. I did a Luna Lady face peel. I reorganized my closet. I put my sweaters in the boxes I used to store journals and organized the journals by date on top of the shelf where my sweaters had been.
When I tried to throw one last notebook on top of an already too heavy pile, the rest fell down on my head. I hollered some unnecessary obscenity before throwing myself backward on the bed.
Zoë tapped on the door.
“Are you all right?”
“Mmm-mmm.”
She peered in the closet. “What happened in there?”
I had my eyes closed. I waved my hand dismissively. “Something fell.”
“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”
I shook my head.
She lay down on the bed beside me. “I got my work schedule for next week. Did you know it’s already the twenty-first? I can’t believe