Page 110 of Personal Foul
She nods understandingly. “So you have Stockholm Syndrome.”
A laugh bursts through my tears, like when a ray of sunshine pierces storm clouds. “I’m not sure it’s quite that severe. But if it makes you feel better to tell yourself that, I won’t argue with you.”
She gives me an unimpressed look. “Oh, well, thank you. I appreciate the favor.”
That makes me chuckle again, and even though we’re laughing at my own stupidity, it feels good to laugh at something.
“So is that why you’ve been spending every evening with us? Not that I’m complaining. I love having you here. And Grace thinks that you’re the bee’s knees.”
“Did we suddenly get transported back a hundred years? The bee’s knees?” I ask with another laugh.
She flashes me a grin. “No, but seriously. I know high school was rough, but you have friends now. Why aren’t you drowning your sorrows with them?”
All hints of laughter fade. “They didn’t know.”
She raises her eyebrows. “They didn’t know your boyfriend was blackmailing you at the start?”
I snort. “Well, no. They didn’t know that either. In fact, they still don’t, and I see no reason to tell them. They’d probably think it serves me right anyway. No, they didn’t know that I wasn’t like them. They think—well, they thought—that I had scholarships and student loans and babysat for extra spending money.” I tell her the whole story of how I met Isabelle and Andrea and Kayla freshman year, how I made fun of myself along with them without letting them know it was me that we were making fun of. How Isabelle reacted when I told her the truth on Sunday. How I have no one else once again.
“Wow. You really screwed up your whole life, didn’t you?”
“Yep. I really did.”
“I can’t decide if your implosion or Dad’s is more spectacular.” She narrows her eyes, staring off into the middle distance as she considers that. “I think I’m gonna go with Dad, though. Just because his has greater fallout.”
“I can agree with that. But at least we know where I got it from.”
That makes Hope chuckle. “So what are you gonna do?”
I sigh. “What can I do? I’m not really sure there’s anything to be done.”
Eyes narrowed in thought once more, she shakes her head. “No, I don’t think that’s true. There’s a lot to be done. Now, I’ll grant you that it’s possible your friends won’t forgive you. But you can make new ones.” She points at me. “Maybe don’t start off the relationship with a lie this time though.”
“Ha. Thanks for the pro tip.”
“Any time.” She adjusts on the couch, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged. “I think it would still be good to try to make amends with your friends. Offer a sincere apology with no defense or explanation of your behavior and try to reconnect with them over the things you genuinely have in common. Because you wouldn’t have been able to be friends with them if theonlything you bonded over was making fun of the girls whose parents threw the floor an awkward party.”
“That’s true.”
“Maybe give it a week or two and let them cool off, but don’t just wash your hands of them that easily. Let them have the chance to get to know the real you. I’m sure they already know the real you, they just didn’t know this one fairly recent aspect of your life. Right?” I nod. “Okay, that takes care of the friends issue. Now about this boy.”
“I don’t think there’s anything I can do about that.”
She tilts her head back and forth. “I feel like I can’t decide which would make me a worse sister—if I give you advice on how to get back together with him or if I don’t.” She points her finger at me again. “Because I absolutely do not condone this boy blackmailing you. However, you say that he’s also done a lot to help you.”
“He has.”
“You also said that he defended you when he was arguing with his mother.”
I nod. Having involuntarily relived that night over and over and over in the days since, even though I didn’t realize it at the time, he did. He would’ve chosen me had I let him.
“That one seems pretty simple to me. Go see him. Tell him you were scared, that you messed up, that you thought you were doing what was best for him. Tell him that you’re sorry for taking the choice away from him.” She punctuates her advice by pressing her finger into the couch cushion between us. “Tell him that if he doesn’t care what his parents think, you don’t either. Come on, Char. You guys are like Romeo and Juliet. Give it a better ending this time. I always thought it was dumb that they both killed themselves. Do better.”
Her comparison and assessment of Romeo and Juliet makes me laugh. “You’re right, it is dumb that they killed themselves. There are so many other options that they could’ve taken. If they could sneak out to get to the crypt, why couldn’t they just sneak out and run away?”
“Right?” she asks loudly. “That’s what I’ve always said too. Regardless, there’s no need for you to do something that stupid. While it might’ve started off really terribly, you were happy while you guys were together. I could tell. And that’s the only reason I’m giving you this advice.” She pats her hand on the couch. “Now that we’ve covered all of that, I wanted to let you know that I found you a full-time nanny job for the summer.”
I perk up at this news. “Oh? You did? Is it a live-in position?”
