Freshman Year & Other Unnatural Disasters by Meredith Zeitlin Page B

Missing my soccer game when he was playing on the other field … even making me feel guilty at lunch the other day when she was obviously trying to cover up the fact that she had just been doing it with Jordan in the home ec lab or something.
    And saying Nathan gave her a ticket to the concert tonight? Did I actually fall for that?
    I furiously push my way back to Keith and I’m like, Kiss me, you fool! (I do not actually say this.) We proceed to make out like crazy, which is still totally wretched, but it’s the most distracting thing I can think of. I am a pillar of strength in the face of adversity.
    You know, you hear about groups of friends who split apart in high school for one reason or another, but I never thought it would happen to us. Sure, my relationship with Cass isn’t quite as close as the one I have with Em, but I never thought in a million years that Cass would stab me in the back. I know I’d never do something like this to her.
    But she went ahead and did it to me. I seriously can’t believe it.
    It occurs to me that I’m actually still kissing Keith and should probably try to focus on that, though to be honest I would rather be curled in a ball on the floor of my closet right now. After about five more minutes of face-smushing discomfort, I realize I’m not quite sure how to bring the whole making-out situation to a close.
    Luckily the show ends and everyone boos as the lights come up. Keith mumbles something at my shoes and wanders off to do who-knows-what, so that’s solved, I guess. So, what—are we going out now or something? Do I even want to go out with Keith Mayhew? Of course, with my luck, Keith will ditch me for Julie Nelson or someone and I’ll have to marry Danny Zifner. Or else resign myself to spinsterhood, I suppose. I’ll probably end up living with my parents until I’m fifty.
    But truth be told, at the moment? I just feel so sad I don’t even care.
    I go outside and hail a cab, leaving the Traitorous One to figure it out for herself. When I get in the car, I realize I can’t even call Em yet, because I know I’ll burst into tears as soon as she answers and she won’t be able to understand anything I’m saying. And the driver will probably think I’m on drugs.
    I succeed in not crying the whole way home.
    .   .   .
     
    After surviving three endless minutes of small talk with my parents, who are pretending they weren’t waiting up for me but were just “hanging out” in the kitchen, I finally get to my room and look in the mirror above my dresser.
    There I am: Kelsey Finkelstein, a girl who has been kissed and betrayed all in one night. I look a mess; the skin around my mouth is swollen and red. I might as well be wearing a big sign that says, “I just had an uncomfortable makeout session!” I can’t believe my parents didn’t say anything. I think about washing my face and brushing my teeth, but I just don’t feel up to it, so I crawl into bed fully clothed. The tears finally start pouring down my cheeks, and even though I know I’m going to be yelled at for mascara-streaked pillowcases, I don’t care.
    I am never speaking to Cassidy Gayle Rosenblum again.
    EVER.
    Not even if she came to me on my birthday and offered me my own horse (brown, with white feet and a brown mane) and a lifetime pass to Disneyland and the world’s biggest chocolate mousse cake. And her Wii system. And a Blu-ray player. And a million dollars. And an unlimited gift card to Sephora.
    Not even if she apologized on her hands and knees and offered to become a nun immediately. In the Alps.
    Not even if she were in a horrible accident and was about to die and all she wanted in her final moments were my forgiveness and an opportunity to touch my hand.
    Never.
    I suddenly feel completely drained. I’m too exhausted to even put my thoughts together, or cry more, or anything. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to sleep.

15
     
    What seems like a very short time later, I am nearly suffocated