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The first definition is a lot more fun. I don’t want to “recover” I want to bounce back. Jared is the wall I’m bouncing off. I’m going to bounce off, do a back flip and land in the arms of a cute guy.
I’m aware of what’s happening to me. It’s textbook for someone who’s been dumped. A void has opened up in my life and I am looking for the quickest way to fill it: what better way than with another guy? Textbook or not, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s not like I’m going to fill it with drugs or alcohol.
Come to think of it, I wrote something on rebounding a while ago. I search my archives, and find a blog from last November.
You Know You’re Rebounding If You:
are too embarrassed to tell your friends you’re dating someone new because they’ll say it’s too soon.
believe that dating someone else will prevent you from thinking about your ex.
keep thinking of how your ex would feel if he spotted you with your new date (in fact, you hope he will).
The Rebound Equation:
Calculate the number of days you were together and divide it by 8.
Add 30 days if you are the dumpee.
Subtract 20 days if you are the dumper.
Add 30 days if you fantasize about getting back together.
Subtract 20 days if you believe the breakup is for the best, even if you were the one dumped.
= ___ days before you should enter into another relation ship.
I grab a calculator. Jared and I were together for five months, three weeks and two days, for a total of 173 days. 173 divided by 8 is 22. He dumped me, so I add 30 days. I add another 30 days because, damn it, I have fantasized about getting back together. Do I believe it’s for the best? No!
Total number of days before I can start dating someone else: 82. No way!
Maybe I should reconsider my answers. Did he really dump me? Undoubtedly. Do I fantasize about getting back together? Yes. Is it for the best? Ha! That’s where I put the wrong answer. If Jared wanted to break up then, of course, it’s for the best. It can’t be anything but for the best. I should have answered yes.
I subtract 20, which leaves my total at 62 days.
62 days—that’s two months! That means I won’t be able to date anyone until the middle of May. What was I thinking when I made up the equation? I’m sixteen; I don’t have two months to waste!
Of course, I don’t have to take my own advice.
By the time I get to school on Monday, the breakup is headline news.
Midwood High School is where Brooklyn gamer kids, gangster kids, emo kids and normal kids (me and my friends) collide in a maze of gray hallways. You can hear a dozen different languages in the cafeteria on any given day, not to mention the fact that we have tons of clubs representing diverse nationalities, religions, interests and sexual orientations.
Everybody is tormenting me with questions about the breakup. I can’t tell everyone the truth, can I? Thankfully, my friends have already put out the official version of events, and I stick to the story. The official version: Jared and I mutually parted because we’ve been drifting apart and (Amy added this part) I wanted to see other people.
I know that Jared won’t contradict it. He isn’t the type to make me look bad. This is the same guy who briefly dated the most popular girl in school, Brooke Crossley, and tricked her into dumping him so he wouldn’t have to hurt her feelings.
Speaking of Brooke, she tracks me down in the hallway after first period and plies me with questions—like she has a right to know! Why does she care anyway? She’s back with the king of the jocks, Declan McCall.
“So what really happened?” Brooke demands.
“What do you mean?”
“With you and Jared. Come on, you dumped him, right?”
“Ah…it was pretty mutual.”
“Was he an asshole to you?” She has the nerve to put an arm around me. Puh-lease. We’ve never been anywhere close to friends.
“He wasn’t an asshole to me.”
“Were you an asshole to him?”
“No.”
She grimaces. Obviously this isn’t as cut-and-dried as she’d hoped. “Then why’d you break up?”
“We grew apart.”
“Grew apart? So you don’t think, like, he’s a total loser?”
“No. I’ve got nothing bad to say about him.”
She looks crestfallen. I’m almost sorry I can’t give her a better story. Then she tosses her hair and walks off.
It would have been the perfect opportunity to get revenge on Jared, but I just couldn’t do it. If he starts trash-talking me, then I suppose I should do the same to him. But that’s not Jared. And that’s not me either. I admit that part of me would love to hurt him the way he’s hurt me, but I can’t. Sure, I could start some drama, but there wouldn’t be a point. I can’t break his heart if he’s not still in love with me.
At least the official version leaves my ego intact. It makes it seem like I was restless, like I’d had enough of one guy. But the truth is, sticking with one person suits me. When I was with Jared, I didn’t want to be with anyone else.
I see Jared a few times in the hallway. We say hi, but neither of us stops walking. It’s up to him to stop, since he’s the one who did the dumping. If I stop, I’ll just seem desperate. Why can’t he ask how I’m doing?
His eyes—God, they’re bluer than ever—aren’t warm. They’re not cold either. I’d say they’re careful. Maybe they’re even a little angry. My friends, I admit, haven’t been mature about this. They give him dirty looks or turn away. Even Viv, who’s one of the kindest people on the planet, glares at him. I’ve told them to be nice, but they don’t listen. He hurt me, and they believe he deserves to be hurt, too.
In American history class, I can’t concentrate. I keep asking myself what I did wrong. I’ll make a list…
Top Eight Reasons Jared Got Annoyed with Me
1. I play my favorite songs over and over. Which wouldn’t be so bad except:
2. I have no taste in music to begin with (in his opinion). I see nothing wrong with pop music, but he seems to think it’s an evil invention meant to enslave the human race.
3. I’m indecisive. Pizza or Chinese is a decision, for example, that takes many minutes of contemplation and perhaps a pros and cons list.
4. He says I don’t know how to stop and smell the roses, and that I’m always walking too fast and talking too fast and doing too much.
5. I have been known to complain, especially when I have a bad shift at Eddie’s (which, I admit, is practically every shift).
6. People-watching, for me, can be an afternoon’s entertainment. I can set up shop at the mall and observe them for hours. For Jared, it’s a dead bore.
7. When he gives an opinion, I get upset if it’s not what I want to hear. I take things too personally. I take any bit of criticism to heart.
8. I’m a little too focused on Glamour Girl. Yes, I have visited the Glamour Girl message boards a time or two. Is that a crime?
I read over my list. As far as I can tell, none of those reasons justify breaking up with me.
Another possibility comes to mind. Was I too clingy? We’d talked pretty much every day. But half the time he’d initiated it, so he can’t blame me for that, can he?
I know that what-ifs won’t get me anywhere. The cold, hard truth is that if Jared had wanted me to do something differently, he could have asked me. Since he didn’t, I can only assume he didn’t want to work things out.
In chemistry class, my lab partner is Evgeney Vraslov. Skinny, with curly red hair, he’s known to most people at school as “The Bulgarian Supergeek.” But most people are callous and unfair—Evgeney’s a pretty cool guy if you can decipher his thick accent. And smart as all hell, too. I just know he’s going to be the next Bill Gates and his former classmates will be kissing his ass.
I have new respect for Evgeney after seeing him do an awesome dance performance months back at the Halloween dance. And he dresses far better than he used to, thanks to the fashion advice on my website. In fact, Evgeney is one of my most loyal clients. He approaches dating like it’s a science and appears to study everything I post with the same rigor he gives a chemistry experiment. Anyway, I like chatting with him, and we’ve become friends. Whenever he decides to go to the cafeteria for lunch instead of hiding away in the computer lab, he sits with me and my friends.
When I drop my books beside him, he says, “I am sorry for your loss.” Which is what you’d say if someone died, not after a breakup. But the weird thing is, it touches a chord, and I have to bite my lip to keep it from trembling.
“Thanks, Evgeney. It’s for the best.”
He looks puzzled. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It just is.”
I admit, I’d gushed about Jared. Evgeney had asked me about our relationship and I was all too happy to tell him. It’s no wonder this new turn of events doesn’t make sense to him.
I should come clean. Since he’s all about studying relationships, I owe him the truth about mine. Evgeney’s faced a lot of rejection himself; he faces it in the hallways of our school every day because he’s different. There’s no need to put up a facade in front of him.
“Actually,” I say quietly, “it was Jared’s decision, not mine. It took me by surprise.”
He gives a sad nod. “I’m sorry.”
I can tell he means it.
By lunchtime, the breakup is old news. Everything is as it used to be, except that Jared isn’t sitting with us. He’s on the other side of the caf with Tom Leeson and Said Abdullah, two friends he jams with most Thursday nights. Jared doesn’t look my way, not even once. I’m so miserable that my stomach feels queasy. How can he ignore me like that?
It’s as if the past six months have been erased and Jared is now a stranger. The guy who claimed he couldn’t get enough of me has had enough. The guy who could hardly be near me without touching me in some way—entwining his fingers with mine, squeezing my waist—now can’t spare me a glance.
I remember the first time he kissed me. It was after school in the art room. I’d felt a hunger inside him that lit me up, scorching us both, forging our connection. Over the next months his kiss had become familiar to me, but the fire had always been there. The hunger for each other. And for me, at least, our connection had only grown stronger over time.
Looking over at him, I see him tipping his head back to drink some soda. Even the act of drinking is somehow sensual, and a rush of longing goes through me. It occurs to me that I should be glad I never slept with him. I’d been sure that he would be my first, but I’d never quite felt ready, and Jared didn’t pressure me.
“I can’t believe he’s just sitting there.” Ryan’s voice jars me from my thoughts. He’s got the evil eye focused squarely on Jared.
Amy snorts. “I think he wore that outfit two days in a row.”
I want to rise to Jared’s defense. He’s still in the foster-care system, living with an elderly Italian lady who sells lingerie to transvestites. He’s been saving all of his money for art school, and doesn’t have money for new clothes. Plus, I think he has two of the same band shirt.
“Guys, you don’t need to talk about him like that. It doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Ryan turns to me. “It makes us feel better.”
Viv nods. “At least we know what kind of guy he is. Instead of working through a rough spot, he takes off. I heard about guys like that on Oprah.”
“Can we please change the topic?” I ask.
“I’ve got a new topic.” Amy looks at Sharese. “Are you going to tell them, or should I?”
“Tell them what?”
“About your new guy, of course!”
“He’s not my new guy,” Sharese says, shifting in her seat. “We’re going out for dinner, that’s all.”
“Which is obviously a date. Aren’t you going to tell them he’s an Olympic athlete?”
Sharese rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t the real Olympics, I told you. It was the World Transplant Games. Zink’s had a bad heart all his life and got a transplant two years ago. He’s doing well, but he still needs drugs to make sure his body doesn’t reject it.”
“Back up a minute,” Ryan says. “Did you say his name was Zinc, like the vitamin?”
“It’s a mineral,” Sharese corrects, “but yes, that’s his name. It’s his mom’s maiden name. It’s spelled with a k on the end.”
Ryan laughs. “What a name! Like he doesn’t have enough strikes against him already. So how’d you meet him?”
“He’s been in my church youth group on and off for a few years.”
I’m glad to hear that Sharese has a new guy in her life. Her last crush, on an ice-cream scooper named Mike P., came to nothing. By the time she’d worked up the courage to give him her number, he’d quit the Dairy Freez, never to be seen again.
“That’s so romantic,” Viv says. “He struggles with his health for years, and now he can finally ask out the girl of his dreams.”
Sharese makes a face. “Easy, turbo. It’s only a date.”
“So is he cute or what?” Amy asks.
“He’s cute, yeah. He’s kind of short. His heart condition stunted his growth.”
“It’s gonna be a hot date, I just know it.” Amy gives a sly grin. “I bet he wants to test out his new heart by getting some action.”
three
7 Days into Rebound Equation
With Regard to Key Lime Pie
When someone finds a partner, we’re happy for them. We’re so happy we have parties: engagement parties, wedding showers, weddings, gift-opening parties, anniversary parties.
Kaitlin used to have her boyfriend over every Sunday for dinner with her family. They used special plates and there was always a special dessert. Kaitlin’s favorite was key lime pie.
But since Kaitlin and her boyfriend broke up, this Sunday dinner ritual no longer applies. No fancy china, no special dessert. There is no denying that, because Kaitlin does not have a boyfriend, her parents do not believe Sundays are worth the extra effort.
Every Sunday, Kaitlin hopes against hope that her parents will buy dessert. She has compassion for her mom, who is watching her waistline, but she still feels that dessert would be nice.
