I'll Be Here

make sure that I’m eating real food and not free-falling into some teenage depression that will spit me out on the other side with dyed jet black hair and a tattoo sleeve. 
    My phone beeps from the round table next to my bed that houses a stack of to-read books and a framed photo of Dustin and me taken on the beach last summer.  He’s got his arm draped across my shoulder and my head is wedged in the crook between his chin and collarbone.  I honestly don’t remember exactly which day it was taken, but we do look genuinely happy.  My hand snakes out of the blankets and I pick up my cell phone rolling my thumb over the blackened screen to light up the display menu.  It’s a notification letting me know that my online “relationship status” has changed.  Ouch. 
    The crater in my gut cracks open further.  Water rushes in and cascades over my lungs.
    I want to call someone.  Words press behind my lips, crowding my mouth.  It’s almost painful to keep them inside barred behind my teeth—caged.   If I don’t get them out maybe they’ll explode in my mouth and burn it all up. 
    Mom would love to talk.  Of course she would.  I’m sure that she’s imagining that because I talked to her Friday night it will become a habit and we’re suddenly going to become the inseparable mother-daughter duo of her fantasy.  We can dress in coordinating hippie outfits and create a slew of homemade crafts together. 
    I think of Laney.
    I think of Taylor.
    Allison.
    Alex.
    Dustin.
    Sabine.  Even freaking Roland Corry and his awful girlfriend.  That’s how bad the wanting is. 
    But here’s the thing.  I have no one that’s all mine.  And that’s no one’s fault but my own.
    This feels worse than Dustin Rant breaking up with me.  This feels like being dumped. 
    Way back when, Laney and I made fun of those girls.  You know the ones.  The ones that drop their friends the moment a cute guy turns their way.  I’d laughed at their utter stupidity and then, with one cut of Dustin’s hooded hazel eyes, I’d become one of them.  It was easy to rationalize it.  Sure it was.  It was easy to tell myself how lucky I was that Dustin Rant even gave me the time of day, let alone liked me.  I had spent so much time feeling awkward.  So much time longing. 
    Longing to be kissed. 
    Longing to be liked. 
    Longing to be looked at. 
    And he did look.  At me.  Me!   All I needed was his eyes on me.  I told myself that that was enough.
    Now they’re on somebody else.
    Time yawns.
    This is what I get.  This is who I am. 
    It doesn’t matter what I wear or who I date. 
    I am Willow James.
    Big sister to Aaron.  Daughter to Julie and Miles.  Stepdaughter to Jake.  Owner to Ferdinand the cat.
    Willow James is the kind of girl who ditches her best friend and her sketchbook because a pretty boy looks her way.
    This is Willow James and she deserves all she gets.
    ***
    Dinner is as awful as I imagined it would be.  All that forced happy and bravado.  Mom is trying way too hard, squeezing Jake’s hand when she thinks that I’m not looking, goading him to tell us funny stories from the conference.  The only problem is that stories from the latest conference of gathered marine biologists aren’t funny.
    She asks about Alex so clearly she knows that I saw him yesterday at work.  That’s pretty weird but I don’t let myself dwell on it.  One emotional crisis at a time.  Alex is just another reminder of my failed romantic escapades. 
    Narrowly avoiding a game of Monopoly (which I so cannot handle right now), I skulk back to my room and wait.  Sometime after ten I make the call.  My fingers press the phone hard against the skin of my face. 
    Maybe this is desperation but I’ve decided to reach out to someone in the group even if no one’s reached out to me.  I’ve chosen Taylor because of all the girls, I feel closest to her.  I won’t try to pretend that she isn’t Dustin’s friend first, but maybe there’s a chance that she’s my friend too.
    She answers on the third ring and I can tell by her voice that she’s seen my number on the caller ID.
    “Hi!”  She sounds way too excited to hear from me.  Why should she be so excited?
    “Hey,” I counter.  And then we’re both quiet for a moment.  My mouth is full of copper pennies. 
    There are sounds in the background and I make out someone shouting over the thump of music.  More sounds.  The sound of fun.  Of Roland’s party.