Day 301

Writing exercise

Spring had been just around the corner for a month, and now she was running out of excuses.

…

I knew instinctively that whatever chance I had with Genevieve was gone. I mean, it wasn’t much of a chance in the first place; I just happened to be in the right place at the right time when she rebounded from Tommy.

That had been a hard pill for her to swallow, and I’d been there to pick up the pieces. I knew then that I was a convenient shoulder to cry on, that she had always been looking for Mr Right, and I was not it. I was Mr Convenient.

It was just the thought that in our senior year, I was dating the girl every boy wanted, and I wanted to care that she had feelings for me, but my older sister, she knew exactly what sort of girl Geneveive was, and said she was going to let her break my heart, if only to learn a valuable lesson for later on in life.

I was not sure if I was going to hate her forever or thank her later.

…

Staring at her with her friends across the divide that seemed to be more like a chasm than the fifty-odd feet it was in reality, I could see the writing on the wall.

I had seen her glance over, but where there once would have been a smile or a small wave, there was nothing.  When her friends glanced over, then back it was always with a burst of laughter.

Mr Convenient had become a schmuck.

I wasn’t exactly running with the popular squad, of which Genevieve was one of the leaders, but I was useful, especially when it came to helping with homework and tutoring.

Other than that, notoriety only came with the association with Genevieve, and I was not sure why she still put in the half effort she did to keep up appearances.

“It’s time to call it, Jack.  Seriously.  I’m sure what they’re saying about you isn’t complimentary.”

Benny, who hated being called that, was the guy I vied too in the class.  He was the fully fledged nerd, far cleverer than any of us, and was off to Uni next year with a guaranteed spot waiting for him.

Mine was not so assured.

It was clear he didn’t like her; his adjectives for her included brainless, vacant-minded, and vacuous.  One particular day, he found ten ‘v’ words that were rather accurate.

“You simply don’t like her, Ben.”

“What’s there to like, Jack?  If you take away the model looks and the wow factor that any normal guy would see through in an instant, what’s left?”

I was sure there was a nice girl underneath all of that so-called wrapping. I had definitely seen it there in her most vulnerable moments, but when she got over the hurt, it had gradually disappeared.

“Whatever it is, it’ll be over soon enough.  When Berkeley asks her to the Prom and she accepts, you’ll get your wish.”

“She’s only going to hurt you.  Girls like her don’t give a damn about the likes of you or I.”

No, they didn’t, which was why I had to wonder why she had bothered in the first place.

The group fifty feet away was breaking up, and Genevieve and two of her friends, whom Ben labelled the mean girls, were left.

She turned to look over in my direction, then said something to the other two, picked up her bag, and they started walking towards us.

“Incoming…”  Ben made it sound like a wave of bombers was about to pass over.

When I looked up, she was standing in front of me, the two others strategically placed.  For what?

I was sitting on the table, and almost at eye level.

“Can you share the joke?” I asked.  My tone wasn’t exactly conciliatory, but she wouldn’t know the difference.

“What joke?”  It was her model stance, the one where she would shift from foot to foot, the one where her hair would move in such a way that she had to exaggeratedly swish it.

I looked into her eyes, and realised finally that they were like a shark’s, lifeless and predatory.  I had, in a sense, made up my mind in the time it took for her to sashay her way over, that I was done, but now the moment was here…

“As much as I don’t know about you, Gen, I know you don’t have a bad memory.”

So, I was being a little obtuse because I knew she hated being called Gen. After all, it was a Tommy endearment.

Her look went from dull to suffused anger.

“I thought…”

“You thought what Genevieve?”  I interrupted her, another thing she didn’t like.

It was watching her friends’ expressions change.  It had been contempt before, now it was bordering on astonishment.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t use that name.”

“It’s been almost a year since he dumped you.  The name should have no significance.  Not unless you still care about him.”

I switched my glare to Harriet.  She was the definitive mean girl, living on the borrowed power from Genevieve.  She was one of those who knew which pack to run with.

“You tell me, then, since Gen has temporarily lost her memory.”

“Tell you what?”  Exasperation, a glance at Genevieve, then back, red spots appearing on her cheeks.

I took a few seconds and sighed.  Then, shaking my head, I slid off the table and grabbed my bag.

“I’m not sure what time warp all of you just came out of, but back here in the real world, friends don’t make fun of friends.”

Concern, perhaps, the mean girl mantle slipping a little.  “I don’t understand.”

“Please, Gen, let’s not go with the innocent angle.  It doesn’t become you.  Berkeley asked me what the deal was with us.  He’s a nice guy and a much better fit for you.  I told him there was nothing between us but air, Gen.  Is there?”

Ben was waiting in the wings.  If he was thrilled, I was finally called it a day; it wasn’t showing.

“I don’t get it.  What did I do?”

“Everything and nothing, Gen.  Everything and nothing.”

…

As a child, which in a sense I still was, there was a lot about the world I lived in that I knew nothing about.

Perhaps it was a failure of the education system that it didn’t teach us how we were supposed to live in a grown-up world, or perhaps they left that to the parents.

If that was the case, then just about every child would, if suddenly becoming an orphan, be totally at sea in a world they could never understand.

In my mind, that whole romance in high school thing was a mixture of intense feelings followed by considerable pain when it didn’t work out.

That was life, I’d read somewhere, the ups and downs of finding and keeping that one who should become your life partner, your best friend, and sometimes your soul mate.

Genevieve was never going to be that person.  I knew that before she stepped into my life.  He ideals were based on what she learned from her family, with a father who was up to vacuous wife number four, barely older than Genevieve.

In a day that began oddly, it was only going to get odder.

When I came home, my father was already home.  His car was in the driveway, making me think he had forgotten something he needed for work.

He was always away, so much so that I sometimes forgot I had a father.

I got as far as the first two steps on the staircase to safety when I heard him.

“Jack, spare me a few minutes, will you?”

What if I said no?  I was tempted, as much as I was, to escape by the side door.  A few minutes with him was generally about me not living up to the Whittaker way, whatever that was.

“Rather not, homework to be done.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

No, of course it wasn’t.  I should have known that not getting straight A’s for the last set of exams would elicit some sort of a response.

I shrugged and then retraced my steps to the study, which, when my father wasn’t in residence, was the library of first editions. That library was worth far more than the house.

A glance at the humidified bookcases as I passed showed no new additions.

He was standing behind his desk. “Sit.”

The chair of denouncement.  He always chose to look down on you when delivering the guilty verdict, making you feel small and squirming under the weight of the words.

“I prefer to stand.”  Eye to eye.

One of the more severe teachers at school, one whom we always believed hated his job, hated the other teachers and hated every single student, wasn’t who I thought he was.

Sent there for punishment, he stood me before him and looked me in the eyes, and asked me straight out why I shouldn’t be punished.

And I told him.  In no uncertain terms.

First kid to ever talk back to him.  I didn’t really care if he doubled it.  He didn’t.  We talked about how the world had gone to hell in a handbasket, then he sent me home, telling me that if an opponent couldn’t look you in the eyes, then he was not worth the effort.

“Genevieve Dubois?”

“Yesterday’s news.  I thought she cared about me.  She does not.”

“Not what her father tells me.  She’s under the impression she did something wrong.”

What did this have to do with anything?  When did my father give a damn about any of my romantic attachments?  His domain was making my sisters’ boyfriends shit themselves.

“If you want a list, give me a week.  You do realise her previous boyfriend was Tommy Blake.  He was more her speed.  There’s a new chap, Tommy’s clone, Berkeley.  Never get in the way of quarterbacks and Prom Queens.”

“The perils of high school, eh?”

My father had been there star quarterback for the school in his day, and my mother the prom queen.  Those days were long gone, but both apparently made a hit at the last reunion.  I saw the original prom photos, and she was every bit Genevieve, and yet nothing like her.”

“Different to your days, I’m afraid.  You want me to get an education, live up to the Whittaker ideals, then there isn’t time for girls like Genevieve.”

“Do you like her?”

Odd question.  Why would he care?  “I always have, since the first day I saw her.  But I also knew that she would never care for me in the same way.”

“And for the last year?”

How did he know any of this?  He was never home, and never asked, just yelled at me over slipping grades.

“I was a convenient shoulder to cry on while she assessed the boys for her next target.  I was the safest option.  She’s got over the hurt and she’s ready to move on.  I simply gave her permission.  What the hell is this all about?”

“Appearances.  Something you will never understand.  The two of you together … had a purpose.”

“Not for me.  To her, I’m an object of ridicule.  I’m done with her.”

He sighed.  There was more to this story, and if he was going to tell me, he’d decided against it.

“Give it some consideration, Jack.  I’m sure she’s not as bad as you think she is.”

I shrugged.  “As you wish.”

…

I usually left my cell phone off after six because it was only a distraction.  Sometimes I would leave it on to see if Genevieve would call, but she had better things to do, like the proverbial ‘wash her hair’ excuse.

She called on the beginning before the familiarity breeds contempt phase.

Today I left it on, and, predictably, Genevieve called.  It was short, meet her at the bandstand in the park.

It was, if anything, a set-up.  That’s how much I thought of her, which sadly wasn’t how I wanted to think of her.

A set-up for what, though?

These days, all the messaging we got was not to go out alone and certainly not to public places like the park at night.  There had been incidents, but not for a while.  The new sheriff was all about law and order and was as good as his word.

Just the same, I took precautions, but astonishingly, she was alone, waiting. 

Contrary to any other time I had seen her, she had dressed in a manner that I preferred, without looking half-naked and painted like a harlot.  It was an awful comparison to make, but she was not the only girl in that category.  But the one major difference, her hair.  It was messy and unkempt.

This version of Genevieve was totally out of character, like it was her sister, not her.  It was remarkable how the two looked so alike despite the two-year age difference.

I stood at the top of the steps, keeping a distance between us.  I could also monitor any movement in any direction.

“You came,” was all she said.

“You asked politely.”

“You said you were done with me.”

In not as many words, but yes.  “Don’t act surprised.  I ask a question and you ignore it.  I have two eyes, Genevieve.”

“Appearances can be deceptive.”

“In more ways than one.  I’ve always known who and what you are, and always hoped that would change; that I might have some effect on you.  People do when they’re together over time.  Most people.”

She hadn’t become less vacuous, just learned to hide it well in my company.  But I had seen her out and about when she hadn’t known I was there, and whatever I saw, it was just an act.

“I’ve changed.”

“With whom?  Did you switch places with your sister to try and fool me?” It was harsh and uncalled for, but I was angry.

“Do you hate me that much?” Tears.  I knew there was going to be tears.

“I don’t hate you, I could never hate you. But I don’t think you know or will know how to reciprocate that love.  It’s just not in you.”

She didn’t answer.  Instead, she used a tissue to wipe away the tears.

My father’s words were still ringing in my ears, that there was a purpose.  What purpose.  What could he need for Genevieve and me to be together?

“What’s this really about.  I get home, and my father is there.   He’s never there.  And worse, he’s asking me about us.  He’s never, ever, ever cared about anything I do except when my grades slip to an A minus.  In any other universe, you and I would be a world apart.”

“My father spoke to me, too, or, rather, he yelled a lot. He’s never done that. We are both in a different universe, as you put it. But he was right about one thing. You put up with me when I was a miserable bitch, and very few people would. My mother certainly wasn’t any help, not that she’s much older than me. God, I hate my father, because my real mother won’t have anything to do with me. I remind her of him, and so she hates me, so I had only your shoulder to cry on.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” It was a sad story, and it was making me feel bad, but I had to be unwavering. She was still the same manipulative leader of that pack of mean girls.

“No. It’s just how it is.”

“What about Berkeley. I saw you talking to him. He has to be happy you’re free now?”

“He is, but I read between the lines. I’m simply a challenge and a ticket to Prom King.”

“Give it to him. I don’t want to be King; in fact, I’m not going.” Or did I just work out what my father’s subtext was all about?

“Like me, you won’t have a choice. I told Berkeley he can be friends, but he isn’t going to be the King. You are whether you like it or not. Between the two of our fathers, both vying to be the school’s principal benefactor for this year, we got caught in the crossfire. I overheard my dad talking, well, yelling, at your father.”

Of course, I should have seen the signs. Elections for public office, nothing sticks in the minds of the voters than a large donation, and there were solid rumours about a school stadium for the basketball team. We had a good team, and a bad stadium.

I sighed. Nothing was ever going to be straightforward.

“So what’s the deal?”

“Do you have to make it sound like a transaction?”

“You don’t care about me, so what’s the difference?”

“What if I said I did?”

“I’d say I’d just stepped into whatever unreal universe you’re in.”

“Well, I guess I have about a month to prove the impossible. You could have come, told me where to go, and left but you didn’t. Instead, we had the talk we should have had six months ago, and I now know how much of the mountain I have to climb. To you, impossible; to me, improbable. Now, come over here and sit, and if you’re nice to me, I’ll share what’s in this picnic basket.”

I sighed, for about the tenth time in five minutes. What harm could it do?

….

©  Charles Heath  2025