Page 8 of Eye of the Beholder
“Virginia?Really?”
Cohen looks back at me, grimacing. “I know. He has bad taste.”
“You dated her,” I point out, frowning.
“I have bad taste too,” he says, flashing me a smile. His smile is his best feature. He comes back to the counter, tilting his head a bit. “You don’t still have a thing for him, do you?”
To my complete and utter horror, I feel tears starting to prick at my eyes.
I. Am. An. Idiot. For a lot of reasons, but the biggest one right now is that I’m about to cry, at work, in front of Cohen, about aguy. A gorgeous guy, yes, and one who’s actually nice and funny. But still just a guy.
It’s just—I at least expected him to know I existed. That he’dseenme before, even. But no—he thought I went to the only other school in town, a tiny Catholic institution. I guess I got too good at being invisible. I’ve never regretted that before, but I do now.
“No,” I finally say, once I’ve gotten the lump in my throat under control.
“You’re such a bad liar,” Cohen says, head still tilted. He’s looking at me curiously. “You still like him. It’s been years, Mina. And he—” He breaks off, but he doesn’t have to finish for me to know where he was going.
“Doesn’t know I exist. Literally. I know,” I say, my voice dull.
Cohen winces slightly. “Sorry,” he says. He sounds uncomfortable.
I shrug, trying and probably failing to act like I don’t care. “It’s fine,” I say. “I brought it on myself.” I clear my throat. “You’d better go.”
“Yeah, I should,” he says, giving the counter a thump. As he’s turning around, he stops suddenly. “Actually…” he says, looking back at me with hesitation. “I wanted to ask you—” He breaks off suddenly, shakes his head, and then says, “Never mind. See you later.”
I frown with confusion but just say, “Yep.” I watch him leave with the lump in my throat growing ever larger. It’s only when the door closes behind him that I let the tears come. I give myself a few minutes; then I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, grab a tissue, and square my shoulders.
It’s time to do some reassessing, and some potentially painful self-analysis.
***
While I get ready for bed that night, my self-analysis is mostly complete. And I was right—it was painful.
Well, maybe not painful. But uncomfortable. Definitely uncomfortable.
Because I am too introspective for my own good. I always have been. That and the fact that Jack literally didn’t know we go to the same school have compounded in my mind, and it led me to ponder my high school experience in somewhat agonizing detail—searching for regrets, but wondering a lot of other things, too. How have I changed? How have I grown? What have I learned?
And here’s what I’ve come up with: I have spent my high school years cowering.
Soon I’ll go to college. I’ll go off into the big, wide world—although, you know, nottoobig or wide, because I don’t think I could work up the nerve to go too far away, like Europe—and I’ll look back on high school and find…nothing. Nothing at all.
This revelation came when I was brushing my hair in the mirror before bed and then realizing that I look the same today as I did yesterday, and that I looked the same yesterday as I did the day before, and so on and so forth for the last four years. Somewhere in there I got a few curves and adjusted accordingly, but I’ve never taken any risks with my appearance. I’ve just tried to blend in.
And I’m well aware that I’m no social butterfly. But on top of that, I’ve never taken risks withanything. I drive the speed limit. I keep both hands on the wheel at all times. And I’m not saying that I want to go skydiving or buy a motorcycle or whatever. But this is my senior year, and Jack Freeman didn’t even know we went to the same school. I could have spent the last four years making memories and friends that I’ll have forever, and instead I spent it pretty much alone, hanging out in the well-worn corners of my comfort zone.
And how pathetic is that?
Before getting in bed, I pull a clean sheet of paper out of my desk drawer and start a list. I do well with lists. This will be my to-do list; ways to improve myself.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring vaguely at my closet door as I think. Finally I come up with number one.
1) Say what I’m thinking
That’s a good one to start with. I rarely speak my mind. I just keep quiet. But why shouldn’t my voice be heard? I bite my lip and keep thinking until I find number two.
2) Remember my worth
I compare myself to other people, and it needs to stop. Easier said than done, I’m sure, but putting it on the list is a start. I think for another second until I find the last item for my list. Three feels like a good number, and I don’t want to set myself up for failure by trying to do too much at once. I lean over my piece of paper and scribble down number three.
