“Yeah,” June said. “Last year. So what? All of a sudden that means that I kissed him?”
Well—
“I guess that’s not crazy. But no. I didn’t kiss him. And no he wasn’t dark. That’s why I went out with him.”
Now I’m confused.
“I thought if I was his girlfriend, I’d get less dark.”
But so—
“I didn’t though. I stayed just as dark. I probably even got darker because of how I stayed just as dark and thought I should have gotten less dark — and I bet he told people I kissed him, that bancer.”
No, I said. I mean, at least that’s not what I heard, but look: Why’d you break up with him?
“Do you know that kid at all? He’s a total dentist.”
But you were his girlfriend!
“Now you’re being mean.”
I’m not, I said. I just don’t understand why you’d let someone be your boyfriend who you thought was a dentist.
“I thought maybe he wasn’t really a dentist,” June said. “I mean, I thought: Okay, he seems like a dentist, but sometimes people who seem like dentists are only acting dental because they think you’ll be mean to them, so maybe if I’m nice to him, he’ll stop acting dental.”
You went out with him just because he might not have been dental?
“Well not just that, Gurion. It’s complicated. Also, like I said, I thought I’d get less dark — it’s just… You’ve gotta understand: girls really hate me for some reason. I don’t know why. This therapist said it was because I’m pretty and I have red hair, but first of all that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Those aren’t good reasons to hate somebody. And secondly that’s exactly the kind of thing you say to someone who you’re trying to make feel good, who you’re paid to make feel better—”
You had a therapist? I said.
“The thing is—”
You don’t know that your gorgeousness is objectively factual? I said.
June bit her lip and squeezed her lids shut. = “I’m frustrated,” “I’m flattered,” or “I’m ready to cry.” I couldn’t tell which.
I didn’t mean to interrupt, I said. I’m sorry.
“It’s okay,” she said. “The thing is, though,” she said, unsqueezing her lids, “what I was trying to say was that most girls hate me, so most boys hate me so those girls will like them, so most boys don’t ask me out, and Josh asked me out, which meant he was different, at least in that one way, and since most boys are dentists, and Josh wasn’t like most boys, at least in that one way, I thought maybe he wasn’t really a dentist either, and maybe I should give him a shot.”
And then? I said.
“And then what? I broke up with him.”
But why’d you do that? What’d he do? What made you break up with him? Was it something I should hurt him for? I could hurt him, I said. I could break—
“No. Stop. He didn’t do anything.”
But so why’d you break up with him?
“Gurion, wow. You’re just drilling it in. Fine. You’re right. I was acting stupid. It was a stupid way to act, to be his girlfriend. Those reasons I told you were the reasons I was, and those reasons weren’t good reasons, okay? I barely believed he might stop acting dental. Even at the beginning when I first said yes. It seemed stupid even then. It was just what I told myself because I thought it would be nice if that’s how things were. It would be a nice story, a nice hopeful story. But I wasn’t in love with him. I didn’t even really like him. So there wasn’t any reason to be his girlfriend. There wasn’t any good reason to try to be hopeful. And so I broke up with him. You don’t have to laugh at me.”
I’m not, June, I said. You didn’t kiss Berman. This all makes me happy. Because I’m in love with you.
“And again,” she said. “That isn’t dark at all.”
I said, What does it matter if I’m dark or not, though? If that dentist wasn’t dark and you gave him a chance, then unless you think I’m dental, or secretly dental—
“Everyone gets damaged eventually,” she said, “so everyone eventually gets dark,” she said, “and that’s always a tragedy.”
I said, Well, I’ll be dark soon enough then, and so—
She said, “But I like you not dark, and if I love you, I love you not dark.”
I said, I really don’t understand the problem, June.
She said, “I’m dark and I might end up being what damages you, and then you’d be dark and the tragedy would be my fault.”
I said, How would you damage me?
She said, “Maybe I’ll break your heart.”
I said, You’d break my heart?
She said, “Well, not your heart-heart that beats, but your heart of hearts: the place in your brain where your love’s at. The frontal lobe? Yes. Maybe I’ll break your lobe.”
I said, You want to break my lobe?
She said, “I’d rather tear my eyes out — why don’t you pay attention? If I broke your lobe, then you’d be dark, and it would be a tragedy. And my fault.”
I said, If you don’t love me, it’ll break my lobe.
She said, “But if I love you for a while, then break your lobe later, it’ll be even more broken.”
I said, If you break my lobe, you break my lobe. Broken is broken and I break things all the time, so I know. I’d rather have you break my lobe later, I said.
June was hugging herself.
I reached out and put the hoodie on her shoulders again.
She said, “You’ll be cold.”
I said, I don’t get cold. You want a poem I wrote you?
“You wrote me a poem?”
I set it down on the floor between us and finally she stopped looking away from me. She wasn’t looking at me, but if she looked up, she would have been. I decided to skip the coaster joke. I touched the part in her hair. It seemed the right thing to do, though I didn’t know why.
She said, “Your poem’s attached to a Coke. I don’t like Coke so much. I like coffee.”
I said, Same here, but I wasn’t sure if you liked Coke or not, so I—
Miss Gleem came into the hall. She said, “Five or six minutes, June? And you,” she said to me, “you haven’t even gone to Mr. Klapper yet, have you? And what is that? There’s no drinks allowed in detention.”
June was standing already. She said, “Tell me the Coke story tomorrow.”
Miss Gleem said, “People, please.”
I said, I’ll call you tonight and tell you.
June said, “I hate the phone.”
Miss Gleem said, “People! If you don’t move along right now, I’ll have to give you detentions.”
I said, I’ll tell you by the buses, then — rush out to the circle when deten-tion ends. It’ll only take a minute. And I still have something to show you.
I’d completely forgotten about the birthmarks.
June said, “I don’t want you showing or telling me anything else today. I need to think.”
I said, But how will I see you tomorrow?
Miss Gleem said, “Fine. You’ve got detentions.”
“That’s how,” June said. She was so tough.
I said, I want you to tell me something, then.
June said, “I’m stealing your hoodie.”
I said, It’s yours. I’m giving it to you.
She said, “Let me steal it, okay?”
I said, Give me back my hoodie.
“No,” she said, “I’m stealing your hoodie.”
I said, You’re stealing my hoodie.
“Yes I am,” June said.
Then she went in the cafeteria and I put the Coke in my bag. The Coke was poemless. The poem was gone. June stole it.
Mr. Klapper checked e-mail at a computer-carrel and touched his mustache at both ends. The mustache was white like his suit, and I thought: He is Missouri-looking. The thought surprised me because I didn’t know what I meant yet — I’d never been to Missouri.