Chapter V

chapter 5

Myra

            In Myra’s biology class the next day, she tried very hard not to kill any specimens of mollusks of other preserved creatures.

Preserved and pickled, she thought as she carefully jotted down questions about a squid trapped inside a jar. She wondered what it would be like if she were that squid. I wouldn’t feel anything since I would be dead, she thought. But the answer, however logical, seemed too dull for something that had once been alive. She decided that the squid probably hated humanity and Mr. Cunningham and every student who’d ever stood above with a notebook and a pencil.

The thought of hating someone or something as much as the squid must hate humanity was a thought to Myra. What kind of thought, she wasn’t quite sure, because she wasn’t sure how she felt about hatred and loathing. She knew it made people do terrible things, and she knew it was often the reason for many regretted decisions, but so were many things in life.

Maybe humans were just programmed to make decisions they regretted.

The bell rang. Myra broke out of her stupor.

A couple of girls at the table beside Myra’s and below the bell jumped, and one squealed in dramatic surprise. The boys at Myra’s table reacted by both rolling their eyes and puffing out their chests, two instincts fighting against each other and reaching a compromise.

Myra, however, only had one instinctive response to this: scoffing. She gathered her supplies in her arms and stopped by her locker to pick up her backpack. Cunningham eyed her suspiciously as she passed his desk, probably wondering in what way she had hurt his specimens now. Myra eyed him back.

Sean-

            No, don’t think about that, she instructed. I’m going to visit Clara at the hospital. I’m going to bring her petunias because they sound like flowers from the 80s. I’m going to exchange niceties with her for as long as I can stand her voice. I’m going to go home afterward. I’m going to work on the photography assignment I skipped out on.

            Sean-

She walked outside, the sun hitting her eyes at an angle, all penetrating and sharp. Brushing a wing of hair out of her eyes, she found Juliet near the corner of the parking lot, well away from the destructive teenagers in their four-wheeled machines.

At first she didn’t see Juliet because a Sean was standing in front of her, and then she did see Juliet, but a Sean was still standing in front of her. Myra gaped, and her inner monologue went, Oh, s**t, I think my heart just decided acrobatics is a good hobby for a heart.

“I hope you didn’t touch her,” she said when she got within earshot. Her voice came out even for the first part, but then rose into a question for the second part of her sentence, because, yet again, she had surprised both herself and Sean with the direction she’d chosen to approach this conversation.

“I’m starting to think worrying about your ride is your natural default when you feel uncomfortable,” he said smoothly.

“It is,” Myra said. Then she realized what she had just confirmed: that she felt uncomfortable around him. Although it had probably been blatantly obvious before, Myra felt like she had just taken off a piece of armor.

Annoyed, she said, “I thought you were going to call. Isn’t that the purpose of asking a girl for her number? Also, how do you know what school I go to?”

Sean shrugged. “I was passing by and I saw your motorcycle in the parking lot. I’m sorry - was I out of line?”

Myra didn’t immediately say Yes, you have now attracted attention to me, because the innocent-sounding inquiry felt like another trick question.

“So, how ‘bout that date?” Sean said, breaking into her thoughts.

Myra scowled. Now that the magic of last night had passed, she was beginning to regret her decision to give him her phone number. In the daytime, Sean looked like a normal boy, and Myra wasn’t interested in dating if she wasn’t going out with someone who could guarantee her more than just flowers and chocolates and anticipatory Valentines and a relationship that only lasted as long as a romantic montage.

Her scowl deepened. He was staring at her with large eyes, expectant and impatient. His mouth formed an O as though he were about to drawl, “Sooooo…?”

            And suddenly, Myra realized something. She realized that after all of her pining and obsessing, everything boiled down to one, simple fact: Myra had agreed to give her phone number to a boy she didn’t know at all because the moment seemed “magical” and he’d said the right words.

            In that moment, Myra looked at Sean, and she felt like she was seeing him for the first time without rose-tinted lens.

            Myra felt the realization sink in, and then, after that, heavy disappointment. She laughed cynically and shook her head disbelievingly. She’d turned into that girl.

“No. Sorry. Date’s off, permanently,” she told him flatly, all the emotion drained from her voice. She could tell he was hoping she would retract her refusal like last night, hoping she was just flustered, but Myra didn’t mean give me a good reason or why should I? this time.

She meant, No, this doesn’t make sense, this is not right. She knew now, as much as the thought hurt, Sean was just a normal person, and she had been a fool to think he was “something more.”

She swung her leg over Juliet and navigated past Sean without looking at him.

            “Why?” He followed on her heels, persistent and determined. “Just tell me why?”

            “Because,” she said matter-of-factly, “this is ridiculous. I’m not the kind of girl who would give her phone number to a stranger. In fact, I don’t know why I did it in the first place.”

            “But- but- but you did,” he said, running in front of her motorcycle. “That means something, right? You said it yourself, you’re not that kind of girl.”

            “Nope, sorry,” Myra said. She looked down at his feet and Juliet’s wheels, doing a little one-step-forward-two-steps-back dance as Sean tried not to get run over and she continued urging Juliet forward.

            “Please,” he pleaded, placing his hands over hers on the handlebars. Myra looked up at him sharply, nearly retracting her hands and hugging them to her sides. Her mouth formed a thin, firm line as he said, “Please give me a chance.”

            All she could remember was how she’d felt when she saw him last night with his chandelier smile telling her he would give her a story. And then she compared it to this Sean, this average, typical Sean, and the waters of disappointment welled up in her gut again, like a stone had been dropped inside of her.

            “Please, look at me,” Sean said, his voice coaxing.

            Myra did, reluctantly. She saw something determined and fiery in his eyes, and that scared her. Why was this boy looking at her so desperately? She shook her head, careful to keep her expression unreadable.

            “Please,” he whispered.

            That was the snapping point.

            I have to get out of here. Now, Myra realized. She jerked her handlebars away roughly and drove around Sean. Affecting her most annoyed tone, she told him, “I already told you no. Just go away already. Stop bothering me.”

            Sean stepped aside, finally, the fight gone from his stance. Myra couldn’t believe the rush of relief she felt as she shot out of the parking lot as fast as the speed limit allowed.

But this time, her feeling didn’t give away to the asphalt beneath her wheels. She sped away from Sean, staring straight forward. Tears blew down her cheeks, though she didn’t know whether they were the kind of tears you cried because you were sad or if they were the kind you cried because the wind was stinging you eyes.

Something more something more something more, she thought, she prayed. But no, that wasn’t right.

She heard her own voice, rational, inside her head.

Close your eyes, take a breath. Try again:

Nothing more nothing more nothing more.