Watch Me Disappear

you’d never had a date to a dance before, and that’s just like Paul. So sweet and thoughtful.”
    He told her I was a pity case, which I guess I was. A convenient pity case to help him get closer to Missy.
    “You know it just kills me that Paul made this little deal with his friends. I mean, I get that they want to make senior year their glory days and whatever, but would having a girlfriend really take away from that? You know what I mean?”
    I am starting to doubt the truth in Maura’s account of why she and Paul broke up. I believe that Paul told her that he and his friends made a pact agreeing that they wouldn’t get caught up in relationships their senior year, but I don’t believe that any such pact exists.
    “Paul and I—we’re destined for each other. We both know it’s true,” Maura says. “I’m not worried that we aren’t together now, because we’re going to end up together. You’ll come back to reunion in ten years and I guarantee you we’ll be together, telling you about our fantastic kids and shit like that. I just don’t see why we have to delay being together for his idiot friends. In ten years, probably none of them will even talk to each other anymore.”
    She stops and I know she expects me to say something, but I can’t imagine how I should respond. As far as I can tell, Paul does not share her belief in their entwined destinies, and as one who does not believe in fate, I struggle to think of a response that will please her. At last I say, “It must be nice to know there’s someone out there for you.” It is the truest and most neutral statement I can come up with.
    “Yeah, but what good is it doing me now?”
    “Maybe you should take Paul’s lead. Get out there and have fun and make the most of this year with your friends,” I say.
    Maura shakes her head. “My friends?” she says. “They don’t know the first thing about me.”
    We roll into the parking lot and Maura drives toward the back exit, as always, poised to be one of the first cars out at 2:15. Before she gets out of the car, she says, “You know, Lizzie, you’re cool. I mean, you’re a really good listener, so thanks.”
    “Oh,” I say. “Sure. Anytime.”
     
    *          *          *
     
    One night the week after the dance around 7:30, my cell phone rang. It was Paul.
    “What are you doing?” he asked.
    “Calculus.”
    “Hmmm. Calculus. You’re a real smart cookie,” he said.
    “What can I do for you, Paul?”
    “You can help me avoid writing my essay for English.”
    And so began a daily routine in which Paul calls me for no reason in particular. I love it. So what if he told Maura I was a pity case? It got her off my back, and the fact that he calls me for no good reason just proves that I am more than a pity case to him. Sometimes he brings up Missy, but mostly we talk about other things—music, movies, college applications, kids at school. On more than a few nights I’ve practically had to hang up on him to give my parents my phone at “bedtime.” Also “bedtime” has quickly become homework time, as I can’t talk and do a decent job on my assignments. I’ve been staying up until two or three in the morning and barely dragging myself out of bed for school. Once there, I muddle through the day until art class when I see Paul and then I don’t feel tired anymore.
    I know Paul doesn’t like me like me. I know there is nothing romantic, for him, in talking to me, and in a way, that makes his phone calls and lunchroom banter even more significant. He really, genuinely likes me, and it isn’t about how I look or what anyone else thinks of me. Still, part of me believes that eventually our friendship will turn to more. One day, he will look at me and realize I am the girl for him, just like in the movies.
    “Do you know that Maura believes that the two of you are soul mates?” I ask him one night.
    “That crazy middle school crap.”
    “Yeah, but she really believes it.”
    “I know,” he says seriously. “She’s got our kids named and shit. I think she’d be thrilled if I got her pregnant tomorrow. She could drop out of school and boss me around and have a baby’s unconditional love.”
    “She thinks you feel that same way.”
    “I just keep hoping she’s going to grow out of it, you know? Realize how stupid she’s being.”
     “So you made up this whole pact thing just to not have to tell her the truth?” I ask.
    “Sort of. I mean we did all