Amelia buys a few tops, I buy a pair of socks with little notebooks on them, and then we walk to the burger place across the way.
“Don’t tell my mom about this,” I say once we sit down with our food.
“Ugh. She’s so weird about eating,” Amelia says, pulling the pickles off her burger before taking a big bite. She chews for a moment before saying, “I know she lost all that weight or whatever, but she shouldn’t put her food issues on other people—especially not on you.”
I nod but say nothing. Instead I think about how, when my mom was fat, she, my dad, and I used to come to this burger place all the time, especially when one of us had a bad day. My mom and I definitely don’t do that now. We barely even eat together anymore.
“So, you know, while we’re here, I was hoping we could talk,” Amelia says.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“Seriously, Charlie. About earlier. Tony, he’s—”
“Don’t.”
“But—”
“Please. I can’t.” My eyes plead with her: Just drop it. Don’t make me hear it again. Don’t make me say it again. Don’t make me think it again.
She looks at me for a long time, then finally says, “I’m just sorry, then.”
“Thanks.”
After a few minutes of eating in silence, she speaks again. “If you’re sure you don’t want to talk about it…”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. Then there’s something else. I could use your advice. About Sid.”
I look at her and put my food down. I think it’s really sweet that Amelia sometimes comes to me for boy advice. And she always takes me seriously, even though I have no experience to back anything up—unless reading excessive amounts of romance books counts.
“Of course,” I say. “What’s up?”
“I think I’m in love,” Amelia says.
I nearly choke on my food.
“Really? You’re in love with Sid?” I hope the surprise shows on my face more than the disappointment. (Like I said before: Amelia is way too good for him.)
A wistful smile overtakes her face. “Yeah. I am. He’s so sweet to me when we’re together. It’s like it’s just the two of us, you know? He trusts me and, like, isn’t even threatened by the other guys that come on to me, which is nice. And he makes me feel special without fawning over me. He’s just…amazing.”
“And hot,” I add.
“That helps.” She bites her lip. “But I’m not sure I should tell him I love him. I mean, we’ve only been dating for a few months. I want to, but I also think maybe I should wait for something special. Like our six-month anniversary. It’s on Valentine’s Day.”
“That’s really cute.” It’s adorable, actually, but I still can’t stop the pang of envy in my gut. I push past it and say, “Honestly, Amelia, if you love him, I think you should be real with him. Who wouldn’t want to hear that their girlfriend loves them?”
“But I feel like he should be the one to say something first.”
“Says who?” I ask. “You can totally tell him you love him first.”
“I know I can, it’s just—I don’t want to be seen as clingy or anything.” She plays with her fries. “You know what people say about girls who say they love the guy first. Dudes will ghost you or break up with you or whatever.”
“Well, I think you have to be okay with him not saying it back right away. You have to feel good enough—strong enough—in your feelings that it’ll be okay if he needs more time.” I take her hand. “But he probably will say it right back, because how could he not love my beautiful, wonderful, amazing best friend?” She gives me a gentle smile, but I can tell I haven’t persuaded her. “Riiiight?” I prod.
“Yeah, I mean. It’s just. There’s more, too.”
“More than just telling him you love him?”
She nods. “I think I’d also like to…” Amelia leans in closer to me. “You know. Sleep with him.”
I can feel my eyes widen, though I don’t mean for them to. “Oh!”
“It’s just that, in my head, I have it all planned out. It would be super romantic. Like, we go out to celebrate our anniversary, I finally tell him I love him, things feel really right, and then we just…have sex. It seems pretty perfect.”
I’m nodding as she speaks, but my head is swirling—Amelia is ready to profess her love and lose her virginity and I can’t even fall in mutual like with a boy. It’s a selfish thought, I know, but it’s hard for me to deny the jealousy I’m feeling right now. I can’t even imagine having sex with someone. (I mean, I’m no prude, of course I can imagine it, but I can’t really picture me—clothes off—with another person with their clothes off.)
“Yes, it sounds like it could be romantic,” I say tentatively.
“But I also don’t want to build it up too much in my head or anything. I might be overthinking this. I don’t know. I don’t know!”
She buries her head in her hands and sighs and I know that I’ve got to put my own stuff all the way aside to help. Plus, the hopeless romantic in me wants this to happen for her sake. “It honestly does sound pretty perfect, Amelia. I think if you feel ready—like, really ready, on both counts—then that’s what’s important. I don’t see a better day than your anniversary-slash-Valentine’s Day to share how you feel. It’s so perfect that it’s like, who even are you, the main character in a rom-com?”
She laughs a little at the last part and looks up at me. “So I’m not overthinking it?”
“Oh, you’re totally overthinking it. But you want this, right?” I ask. Amelia nods. “Okay, then. Love plus special date plus Valentine’s Day seems like a great reason to get naked.”
She tosses a fry at me. “Damn, Charlie!”
“I’m just saying!”
“I hate you and I love you,” Amelia says, smiling.
I smile back. “Hate you and love you, too.”
Chapter Five
“I like that it’s tropical.”
It’s the only thing one of my classmates can think of to say when we’re critiquing my triptych in art class.
As I recently learned, a triptych is a work of art made of three linked panels. I decided to do a beach scene, based on a photo from a trip my mom and I took awhile back. In the left panel, the day is sunny; in the middle panel, the sky looks a bit less blue; and in the right panel, I’ve got some dark clouds rolling in. I thought it was deep, but as I look at it now, I’m not so sure.
Art class is probably my second favorite after English. I try really hard in this class, but I’m not naturally gifted. My mind is much better at visualizing my creations than my hands are at creating them. Thankfully, our teacher, Mr. Reed, is super nice and passionate about the subject and seems to recognize that you don’t need to be perfect at art to appreciate it. He’s also a tad on the dorky side, which I like. (Confession: I actually used to have a major crush on him in ninth grade.)