One of the things that might be ironic—I really must remember to ask Autumn to explain irony to me—is that now I have something to tell Sylvie.
Sylvie will accept that I’m choosing Autumn over her if it’s for more than friendship. That’s what makes this so hard.
I try to be careful with my words. I try to only say what I mean and exactly what I mean. People think I’m hard to read, but I never understand that. I’m not secretive. More often than not, I simply don’t share information unless I’m asked.
The first time Sylvie asked me about Autumn, we didn’t actually talk about her.
It was the last day of freshman year.
Jamie had crossed in front of us as we left campus. He was carrying Autumn over his shoulder as she shrieked with joy and pretend panic, and their court of grungy offbeat friends trailed behind them singing an obnoxious song at the top of their voices.
“What’s with that?” Sylvie said.
Jamie’s little parade had passed us, and we’d started walking again. Sylvie and I were headed to the fast-food place near campus, and I had a sinking feeling that was their celebration plan too.
“Eh, that guy is always showing off,” I said. I watched as Jamie spun Autumn around and set her down.
“No,” Sylvie said. “What’s with you every time you see her with him?” “What are you talking about?”
“Autumn Davis and Jamie Allen.” Sylvie tugged on my arm, and I looked at her. “Come on, Finn. You were just glaring at them.”
“I don’t like him.” I shrugged. “I told you before: Autumn’s an old friend from when we were kids. Sucks that she likes such a show-off.” I shrugged again. Up ahead, Autumn and her friends were waiting at the crosswalk for the light to change.
“I mean,” Sylvie said, “aren’t they all kinda, ‘Woo-hoo, I’m so quirky’? She wears a tiara every day and seems to like the way Jamie tosses her around in public.”
“Autumn was born strange,” I said. “She’s being herself. Jamie does things for attention, and you know how I feel about that.”
That was a low blow, aimed as much at Sylvie as it was at Jamie, and we were silent for a bit.
Some weeks before, egged on by some older guys and someone Victoria was dating, Sylvie had made out with Alexis on a Ferris wheel, and we’d had our first really big fight.
I’d told Sylvie I wouldn’t have cared if she made out with Alexis because that was what she wanted to do. It would have been hot if either of them were really into it. That Sylvie had done it to impress some dudes we’d never met before grossed me out. And I had told her so.
“I can’t be with you if you’re only looking for attention.”
The rest of the way to the burger place, Sylvie and I were silent. Autumn and her friends were already there when we arrived. Sylvie went to the bathroom. I ordered for us and sat down facing away from Autumn and her friends.
When Sylvie came back from the restroom, she looked like she’d been crying.
“Syl—”
She held up a hand to stop me.
“I need to tell you something later,” she said.
We ate, and I was glad when Autumn and her friends left so they couldn’t see how awkward Sylvie and I were together. Afterward, we walked to the park and sat on a hill, and Sylvie told me about Mr. Wilbur.
Sylvie explained how in seventh grade, this teacher was interested in helping her develop her many talents. He’d offered to personally tutor her, talking about how he would prep her to finish high school early so she could start college classes at sixteen. Sylvie’s parents had thought this was evidence of how intellectually gifted she truly was.
Wilbur had taken his time with his motives. He claimed disappointment again and again in Sylvie’s progress, asking her why she refused to work as hard for him as he worked for her. He isolated her from her friends and had her drop her other activities to focus on her studies. And then came the comments about her needing to cover up, how he was a man after all, and she was so pretty. It wasn’t until midway through the second semester of eighth grade that he’d finally told her that she’d disappointed him academically and tempted him s*xually too many times. She owed him, he’d said.
Luckily, someone had walked in.
“We got caught,” Sylvie said, then frowned and corrected herself. “Someone walked in, and he got caught.”
“Yeah, they caught him,” I agreed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were rescued.” I wanted to say so much more, about how strong she was, how her intelligence wasn’t a lie he told her but a fact he exploited.
Sylvie shrugged. “A bit late anyway.”
We were sitting on this hill that overlooked the lake. It was too hot to be comfortable, but neither of us said anything about it. I was horrified to find myself frozen, unable to offer comfort or support. I simply sat there next to her and listened.
“So,” Sylvie continued, and for the first time in nearly an hour, she looked over at me. “I see this therapist once a month, and the point of me telling you all this is because you were right.”
My brow furrowed in confusion, and I blinked at her.
“About the Ferris wheel. I told Dr. Giles about our fight, and I talked with him about why I did it. It’s just—”
“Sylvie, it doesn’t matter.”
“No,” she said. “It does matter. I need you to understand this. Wilbur was awful to me, but his approval was like getting high. He had me so desperate for his validation that it was such a rush when it came. I don’t know. Dr. Giles says sometimes I miss that feeling. I”—she rolled her eyes here—“‘act out,’ but maybe he has a point.”
“I think I understand,” I said. It was all I had to offer her. I’d hurt her to protect my old wound with Autumn, never wondering if she had her own. I was appalled at myself and amazed by her strength and dignity.
“The thing I’m trying to work out with Dr. Giles,” Sylvie said, no longer looking at me, “is when I’m being me and when I’m being the way Mr. Wilbur made me think about myself. The Ferris wheel thing…I am working on it, okay?”
“Sylvie—” I started.
She held up a hand like before, and I fell silent.
“Wilbur tried to steal my high school years from me. No friends, no parties, just him and some community college classes as he fooled my parents into thinking he was preparing me for Harvard. I switched schools, and I’m doing all the high school things: cheerleading, student council,
dance committees. I want to have fun, wild times and make normal teenage mistakes.”
“I’m sorry you went through that. I’m sorry I said—”
“Let me finish, Finn. My ambition? That was always me, not Mr. Wilbur, though he exploited it. So when I say that I want to do all the high school stuff, I mean it. That’s the plan, and that’s really me.”
She glanced at me, and I nodded. I could see that.
She continued, “And part of that is, you know, having a high school boyfriend. But Dr. Giles says that I can’t be with someone who makes me feel insecure.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“What I need to hear, Finn,” Sylvie said, “is that you want to be with me. That I’m not the convenient choice for you because you can’t be with the person you actually want.”
She looked at me, calm and measured, ready for my response, whatever it would be.
“You are so strong,” I said, because it was true. I was trying to unscramble what I could say that was honest. It was convenient to be with her. Autumn didn’t love me. But I genuinely wanted to be with Sylvie. I told her, “I want to be with you. And everything you’ve told me just makes me respect you more. I love you, Sylvie.” I’d never used the L word around her before, and I felt a moment of panic, but she smiled softly.
“And?” Sylvie said.
“I don’t know what more you want me to say,” I lied.
“That you don’t want to be with anyone else. That you only want to be with me,” Sylvie said.
I put my arm around her. I didn’t do public displays of affection much, especially that first year. She leaned in.
“Sylvie, you are one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen in my entire life. And the smartest. You’re so driven. Before meeting you, I’d
never realized how attractive ambition is to me.” I kissed her forehead before continuing, “I want to do all the high school stuff with you, Sylvie— all the dances, events, and traditions that you want. We’ll go to parties and make stupid mistakes that turn into hilarious stories.” I went on like that for a while, making promises about all the stuff we would do together over the next three years as I held her close. I ended by saying, “I love you, Sylvie,” again and kissed her until we were breathless.
At the time, I thought that she hadn’t noticed what I had not said, but I was wrong.
Autumn stirs in her sleep. For my own protection, I shift her head off my shoulder and onto a pillow. I glance at the clock. It’s seven in the morning. Today I must tell Sylvie that I’m choosing Autumn over her, like she’s always feared.
I lie on my side and let myself stare at Autumn’s face until finally sleep comes.
She pummels me awake several times, and perhaps the noises I make as the blows land wake her too. Each time I’m falling back asleep, I reach for her, her face, her hands. I try to whisper, though I’m not sure the words ever leave my mouth, “I love you.”
