Optimists Die First Read online

  “Exactly. It’s not life or death. And neither is this.” He didn’t turn left. “Come on, Petula. Walk with me.”

  “No.”

  “You can do this. Just like you can talk to Rachel.” He reached for my hand. “We’ll do it together. If you want, you can close your eyes.”

  My breath started coming in short, sharp bursts.

  “Breathe in,” he said. “Breathe out.”

  I did. Then I took his hand and closed my eyes. I leaned into him. I focused on the sounds. Cars. A child wailing. The cries of seagulls overhead.

  “There,” Jacob said.

  I opened my eyes. We were on the other side of the construction site. He smiled at me. “See? You are much more capable than you think.” He started to walk, but I held him back.

  Gripping his hand, I turned and made us walk past the construction site again.

  On the third time past, I kept my eyes open.

  —

  I caught up with Rachel at lunchtime. My palms were moist and my heart was racing, like I was about to ask my crush to the prom. “There’s a huge craft fair at the convention center this weekend.” Beads of sweat formed on my upper lip. “Guess who’s going to be there.”

  Rachel’s eyes widened. “No.”

  “Yes. She’s doing a demo. I was wondering if you’d like to go.”

  Rachel started to laugh. “Are you kidding? I’m in.”

  —

  The convention center was crowded with fellow craft lovers. Rachel and I had dressed for the occasion; I wore my blue batik skirt and patchwork vest, and she wore a crocheted sweater and matching crocheted tam. We wandered up and down the aisles, our heads practically exploding with new ideas. I barely gave a second thought to the germs, the lax security, or the fact that there weren’t enough fire exits.

  “We have got to design our own lampshades,” Rachel said at one point, and my heart soared because she had said we.

  Just before noon we found seats in front of a makeshift stage at one end of the enormous space. Our crafting idol, Wendy Russell, stepped out to a warm round of applause. Rachel and I spontaneously leapt to our feet. I think we even screamed just a little, seeing her in the flesh.

  Wendy wore a shimmery white blouse and jeans with red cowboy boots. Her accessories—a large butterfly brooch and multicolored cufflets—were her own creations. We knew, because we’d seen her make them on TV.

  She gave a demo on how to create a DIY earring holder from an old cheese grater. Rachel and I took notes.

  When it was over, Rachel and I moved to the lip of the stage. Wendy was packing up her supplies. She smiled when she saw us. “Hi, girls. Did you enjoy the demo?”

  We both nodded. “We’re your biggest fans,” said Rachel, her voice quivering.

  “That’s so nice to hear. You like to craft?”

  “We’re crafting fiends,” I said. Then I started to giggle uncontrollably, which made Rachel giggle, too.

  “Can we have your autograph?” asked Rachel.

  “Of course.” Wendy signed our craft fair programs. Then she reached into her supply kit and handed us each a bottle of high-quality fabric paint. “It was a pleasure meeting you both.” She held out her bare hand. And I shook it.

  When she was gone, I didn’t take out my bottle of sanitizer. I didn’t run to the bathroom to wash my hands through two rounds of “Happy Birthday.” Because whatever germs Wendy Russell had, they were Wendy Russell germs, and I wanted as much of her to rub off on me as possible.

  —

  Rachel and I were buzzing with excitement when we left the convention center. “We have to make those earring holders,” said Rachel. “Like, today.”

  I looked at her. “You mean, together?”

  “Yes, dorkus. Together. We just need to buy cheese graters. I have everything else we need at my house.”

  Her house.

  My bowels clenched.

  “Um. I just remembered.”

  Her pace slowed. “Remembered what?”

  “This thing. With my mom.”

  She stopped. Hands on hips. “Oh, really? What thing?”

  “A movie.”

  “What movie?”

  “That one. With the dark-haired actress. You know.”

  Rachel’s tone shifted. “Okay. Whatever.”

  “I’m sorry, Rachel.”

  “Hey. No worries.” She gave me a sad smile. “See you Monday.” She walked away.

  I wanted to shout at her to come back. I’d missed her so much, and the day had been so awesome, and now it was falling to pieces, all thanks to me.

  But seeing her happy, intact family, seeing Owen…

  I just couldn’t do it. In spite of all the steps I’d taken, this one felt enormous, insurmountable. Just the thought of it made me nauseous with anxiety, even though I badly wanted Rachel’s friendship again.

  So I turned in the other direction. Stupid you. Stupid, fearful you.

  The gulf between me and my former best friend had finally started closing, and I’d just torn it open again.

  When I got home, Mom came into the foyer carrying Stuart Little. “Well? How’d it go with Rachel?”

  Tears welled in my eyes. Mom kept the cat in one arm and wrapped her other arm around me, holding me close. “Oh, Tula. What happened?”

  “We had a great time. But she wanted me to come over. And I couldn’t face seeing Owen, I just couldn’t.” Stuart Little made little merp sounds that I’d never heard before; he seemed to enjoy being squashed between us.

  I pulled away.

  Stuart Little’s stripes looked different.

  It wasn’t Stuart Little.

  “Mom. No.”

  “Isn’t she cute? I’ve called her Pippi Longstocking because of her white legs—”

  “Mom.”

  “Don’t be mad. Angie was—”

  “Let me guess, in a pinch—”

  “She’s five years old, abandoned by her owners to fend for herself or starve to death—”

  “We can hardly afford the cats we have! The apartment’s not big enough for more!”

  Now Mom was getting teary-eyed. “I know, I know. But what was I supposed to do?”

  “Say no! Oh my God, how many cats will it take to make up for one child?”

  Mom reeled back like she’d been slapped. “That was mean.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? But Dad is going to freak out.”

  “He already did. He’s gone for a walk.”

  I shook my head.

  “I swear this is temporary. I’m trying my best to get them adopted. So please, don’t you be mad at me, too.”

  I sighed. “Not mad.”

  “Thank you.” She pulled me close again and we stayed like that for a while, the new cat merping happily between us.

  —

  That night in my room I texted off and on with Jacob. Then I watched a few cat videos, including a couple more in Purrfect Pet Food’s Cat Video Contest.

  Ours is so much better, I thought.

  I clicked through to Purrfect Pet Food’s site. That’s where I read that the grand prize was a lifetime supply of cat food.

  A lifetime supply of cat food.

  My parents wouldn’t have to worry about the cost of feeding so many cats. It would be one less thing for them to argue about.

  We, of all people, could really use that prize.

  I hesitated for only a moment.

  Then I found the USB stick Jacob had given me.

  Ten minutes later, I’d entered Wuthering Heights: A Cataptation into the contest.

  I decided not to tell Jacob what I’d done. Chances were good that nothing would happen.

  He’d probably never find out.

  Koula’s house was practically mansion-sized, a big white stucco place at Fraser and the Kingsway. In front was a well-maintained garden.

  I’m not sure what I’d expected. Not this.

  “I grew up here,” she told us as we approached from the
bus stop. “When my folks split, I lived with my mom in Kitsilano. But she kicked me out over a year ago, so I moved back in with my dad.”

  The five of us headed through the wrought-iron gate. Rosebushes, carefully wrapped in burlap for the winter, lined the walkway. Koula opened the door and we stepped into a large foyer. “Take your shoes off,” she told us, then yelled something in Greek before leading us into a big kitchen.

  A man was at the table, drinking coffee and reading a Greek newspaper. He had white hair and bushy eyebrows and a stern look on his face. I assumed it was her grandpa until she said, “Everyone, this is my dad.”

  Having a daughter like Koula had probably aged him.

  Mr. Apostolos spoke sharply in Greek. She answered in English. “Relax, Bampas. They’re not druggies, they’re friends from art class. We’re here to shoot a video.”

  Betty had loved Alonzo’s piece. Jacob had done an amazing job yet again, managing to make the film both funny and poignant. Edith Piaf’s “Non, je ne regrette rien” played throughout. Alonzo loved it, too. He’d sent a copy to his family.

  Koula and I had both come up with ideas for videos, too. The only one who hadn’t come up with an idea was Jacob. “I don’t need to,” he’d argued in YART. “Directing them is my therapy.” I could see that, in a way, this was true. He looked so at ease, so content when he was behind the camera.

  Koula’s dad still eyed us with suspicion. Jacob pulled off his John Deere cap and stuck out his bionic hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

  Mr. Apostolos immediately brightened. “That’s a beauty,” he said as he shook it. “I work in biotechnology.”

  The ice was broken. Koula’s dad insisted on giving us snacks of dolmas, pita, and hummus while he talked to Jacob about his prosthetic limb. Ivan shoveled down most of the food; I wondered if his dad ever fed him.

  Finally Koula said, “Stop talking his ear off, Bampas! We have work to do.”

  We followed Koula upstairs to her bedroom. “Nobody laugh.” She pushed open the door.

  It was pink. Pink walls, pink frilly bedspread, pink area rug, pink curtains. A shelf above a white desk—the only non-pink piece of furniture in the room—held a bunch of trophies. Shot-putting? Rugby? I studied the hardware more closely. “You were on Reach for the Top?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. Reach for the Top is like a sports event for the brainy set, where schools compete against each other to see who has the most knowledge. Sort of like Jeopardy! but without the cash prizes.

  “Yep. At Trafalgar Secondary.”

  Alonzo flopped onto Koula’s bed. “Hard as it is to believe, she’s kind of a brainiac.”

  Jacob put his lucky director’s cap back on and started setting up.

  Koula’s idea was simple, based on some other videos she’d seen. She’d written out short sentences in black marker on a series of index cards. The statements were her version of making amends.

  Jacob put his camera on a tripod. “Koula, you have to be a hundred percent on your game. We have to shoot it in one take.”

  “Got it. I’ve been rehearsing a lot.”

  “Okay, then. You ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Jacob started recording. Ivan stood briefly in front of the camera. “Koula video, take one.”

  “Action.”

  Koula looked directly into the camera and held up the cards one by one.

  My name is Koula.

  I am an addict.

  I’ve been clean four weeks, five days, and thirteen hours.

  Not that I’m counting.

  I started using three years ago.

  Whatever pills I found in the medicine cabinet.

  It snowballed from there.

  I wish I could tell you the reason.

  There was no creepy uncle.

  No abusive parents.

  Nobody died.

  The truth is, I liked it.

  But pretty soon I couldn’t stop.

  Koula paused before she held up the next card.

  I used to have good friends.

  I lost them.

  I used to have parents who trusted me.

  I lost that trust.

  I don’t expect to get my friends back.

  But I want to say I’m sorry.

  Sorry for the lousy things I did when I was high.

  Sorry for the lousy things I did to get high.

  Alberta, I’m sorry I stole twenty bucks from your purse.

  Twice.

  Parvana, I’m sorry I stole the charm bracelet Ambrose gave you.

  Henry and Farley, I’m sorry I stole a bunch of your recycling money.

  Sheri, I’m sorry I punched you. I thought you were hitting on Braeden.

  You were hitting on Braeden.

  But still. That’s no excuse.

  Carol Polachuk, I’m sorry I shit on your desk.

  “You WHAT?” Alonzo shrieked, blowing the take. Ivan burst out laughing.

  Jacob stopped recording. Koula looked at the card. “Oh, for— No, I didn’t shit on her desk. I put shit on her desk.”

  “Yours?” I asked.

  “Of course not! Gross!” Koula tried to explain. “She was making me crazy, okay? I didn’t want to see her anymore. So I got high outside, before one of our sessions. This woman walked by with her dog, and it took a dump on the grass, right in front of me. The woman scooped it into a bag and started looking around for a garbage can. And I said, ‘There’s a bin near the front entrance. I’ll take it for you.’ But instead of throwing it in the garbage, I emptied it onto Carol’s desk. It made infinite sense at the time.”

  Koula rewrote the card. Once we’d all stopped laughing, Jacob filmed again from the top. On the fifth attempt, Koula got all the way through to the end.

  Last but not least, to my parents.

  Mom and Dad, I will spend the rest of my life…

  …trying to make amends for the crap I put you through.

  All the stuff I stole.

  All the nights I didn’t come home.

  All the lies I told.

  Dad, thanks for letting me back in your life.

  I’ll try not to let you down.

  Mom, I understand why you haven’t let me back in yet.

  Maybe, in a few more months, we can try again.

  And finally…

  …please consider donating to my Kickstarter campaign…

  She turned around. Jacob zoomed in on her BEATIFUL TRADGEDY tattoo. After a few moments Koula turned back to face the camera and held up her last two cards.

  …so I can get this removed.

  Any amount would be greatly appreciated.

  Jacob invited me over after we’d wrapped. I was happy to accept, because the tension at my house was thick. Dad was still furious about Pippi Longstocking.

  “We’re not an animal shelter. The apartment smells!”

  “It’s temporary!”

  “So you keep saying, and nothing happens.”

  It had been like that all week, the same arguments over and over. When I told Jacob, he’d said, “Sounds like the movie Groundhog Day. Without the laughs.”

  His parents were out for the evening and wouldn’t be home until late. We ordered a pizza and watched one of Jacob’s favorite movies, Moonrise Kingdom.

  “I love this film,” Jacob said when it was over. “Wes Anderson is a genius. I wish I could live in this film.” He stared at the screen, watching the credits roll. “You ever wish your life was more like a movie?”

  “I’ve never really thought about it.”

  “I think about it all the time. You could choose what story to tell. You could set the tone. You could direct the whole thing. You could edit out the crappy parts.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Better still, you could do a page-one rewrite.”

  “I’d like that.” Maxine would still be alive in mine. Jacob would still have Randle and Ben. A thought struck me. “If we rewrote our lives, you and I might never
meet.”

  “Sure we would. I’d make mine a rom-com. We’d meet by chance somewhere. Like sitting next to each other on an airplane.”

  “Except I will never set foot on an airplane.” I started to reel off a list of aviation disasters, but then Jacob shut me up by putting his lips on mine.

  —

  We kissed all the way down the hall to his bedroom. He left the door open a crack. “What about your parents?”

  “I’ll hear them if they come in. And they won’t be back for hours.”

  Things heated up, fast. His window literally got steamy. We’d fooled around a lot, but we always kept our clothes on.

  Until now.

  I unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it off. He carefully pulled my bleach-art T-shirt over my head.

  Soon our jeans were on the floor. I had a moment of panic when I realized I was wearing my old granny underwear. When I’d put it on I’d had no idea that this was where the day would take me.

  But Jacob gazed at scrawny me in my saggy underpants, my functional beige bra, and hand-knit toe socks, and said, “You’re beautiful.”

  I wanted to weep. I gazed back at him in his black boxer briefs and the shark socks I’d recently knit for him, which made it look like the sharks were eating his feet. His skin was so pale, it was almost translucent. “So are you.”

  Then he said the magic words that took our relationship to a whole new level.

  “Do you want to see my stump?”

  It was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me.

  He carefully unstrapped his artificial limb and placed it on the night table. I gently ran my fingers along the stub of what was left of his arm. It freaked me out at first; it was lumpy with scar tissue and, well…stumpy. But I knew it was a big deal that he’d shown me. “Thank you.”

  Jacob drew a heart with his left hand in the steam on his window and added our initials to it. We crawled under the bedcovers and faced each other, naked except for our socks and undies. Our noses touched.

  “I think I love you, Petula.”

  I was glad I was lying down, because I suddenly felt dizzy and off-kilter, like I used to before I was about to faint. “I think I love you, too.”

  Words I never thought I would say, except to my parents.

  Words I never thought anyone would say to me, except for my parents.