Word Therapy

Dear Diary,

         I can’t believe I just wrote that. “Dear Diary”, Diaries are for six year olds. I am not a six year old, and the last thing I want at the moment is to write in a diary. Carol thinks that somehow, magically, by writing down my troubles in a tacky little tie-die notebook, it’ll help my emotional state somehow. I told her that the little terror (aka Trevor, my eight year old brother) would like nothing more than to break the tacky little lock on this book and read all of my darkest secrets. Oh, he would love that.
So I’ll just write the basic facts. My name is Kayla. I like music. I also like shoes. My best friend in the world is not speaking to me, and because of that earlier today I sat in the dark watching American Idol reruns and eating ice cream. Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have added that last part.
There. That’s enough. Now I’ll go tell Carol about how therapeutic everything was, and hopefully she’ll get off my case.

Dear Diary,

More time writing in my diary. Hooray. Well, since it seems that we’ll be spending a lot of time together, we might as well get to know each other! Tell me about yourself, diary. Oh, right. I forgot.
There is no you. “you” is a bunch of ground up dead tree fibers (that is how you make paper, I think) that are stuck together and bound with glue. Oh, did I mention how tacky the tie-die cover and the little metal lock are? I did? How funny.
What is Carol’s problem? Why can’t I just mope around in peace? Can’t I pretend like Tolo never happened? What does she expect writing will do, besides giving me a writing cramp? Hey, I’m a 21st century girl. I use my laptop—and am not used to writing by hand. Maybe if I just write a bunch of gibberish, the diary Nazi (Carol), when she makes her daily rounds, won’t notice.
La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
Sigh. Carol will be able to tell if I wrote the same thing over and over again. Back to actual writing.

Dear Diary,

Do you know what Tolo is? It’s one of  the two formal dances at my school (three if you’re a senior. I, being just a lowly sophomore, do not get to experience prom). Olot’s the other one. If you look really hard, you can see that Olot is Tolo backwards! Wow! How creative! I hope you’re picking up on my sarcasm! What kind of a world is Tolo anyway?
Tolo is the dance where the girls ask the guys. There’s lots of stupid traditions where the girl buys the tickets, pick the guys up, spend fifteen minutes riding awkwardly in the car while her mother listens in, and finally goes to some event. Then she gets all dressed up, people take pictures, and they go have a normal dance.
My first year around doing it was all good. Seriously, I was going with Drew McKay, and we just blew off all the dumb traditions and had a lot of fun. I wore jeans last year—everyone was scandalized—and well, I couldn’t resist some shiny, shiny pumps, and a tee. Drew wore sweats, and was still taller than me (another reason why I love—ahem, loved-- him). It was basically the same thing for Olot (by then me and Drew had broken up, gotten back together, broken up, gotten back together, broken up, and gotten back together just in time for the dance), so I didn’t have any experience with a formal without a real date. It’s like me to screw everything up… but it’s not really my fault.
Blame Tolo. No, blame Drew. Yes, let’s blame Drew for what happened.
God, I hate him.

Dear Diary,

Today, after history, Ms. F took me aside, out into the hall.
“Kayla, are you having problems?” she asked me softly.
I crossed my arms, which, if my history teacher wasn’t around 80 years old and so completely out of it, she would have realized that this defensive stance meant “none of your business”.
“What do you mean?” I asked cautiously. I made my expression as dark and unfriendly as possible. Ms. F didn’t get the hint.
“Well, I’ve noticed that lately you’ve been acting strangely. I was wondering if something was wrong.”
“No, nothing’s wrong.” I told her quickly. “I’m fine.”
“If you ever need someone to talk to,” she said, “you know where my office is.”
I gave her a fake smile, then scurried away. Did Ms. F really think I was going to talk to her? She was old, single, chubby (although that’s not her fault. Some people just have body types like that, I know, I know…) wore bright red, smeared lipstick, and had no fashion sense at all. I point to her dark green skirt, chunky red heels, and bright pink shirt as evidence.
After the horror wore off, I began to think a little. Why does everyone think that confiding my problems in someone will make me feel better? I’M FINE! Today was just a normal day for me! I did normal things! When I got home today, I ate half a box of girl scout cookies (you know the ones that are caramel and coconut and chocolate… mmm) then since I felt really guilty I went and ran six miles, and then after that I watched some tv, and after that…
I’m not fine, am I.
This is why I started writing in this dumb, tacky diary again, even though diary Nazi doesn’t come around regularly anymore. I guess I decided that I might as well try to do the confiding thing, and better a tacky little tie-die book than Ms. F. God this book is tacky. Did I mention that?
So I guess it’d be best if I started telling the story of Tolo and how it ruined my life. But not tonight. I’ve decided to start getting back to normal, and so that means homework. Damn.
Tomorrow, I’ll write what happened. I’ll start all over again, like I haven’t written anything in here, like I actually mean to keep a diary. But I’ll keep these pages. Maybe one day I’ll have everything fixed and I can look back on these and laugh.

Dear Diary,

My name is Kayla Evans. I know that you wouldn’t guess it from my really white name, but I’m a cute little Asian chick. Want to know what I look like? I look like the Asian girl in Jay-z’s “Show me what you got” video, except without a hair stylist, all that makeup, and her boob job. I’m kind of a freak—I’m totally obsessed with rap, hiphop, r&b, and pop, but in that category, only the really good stuff. My current obsessions are Akon, Lupe Fiasco, and Pharrell (he is so freaking HOT!). Not so much Akon, I guess, but definitely Pharrell. I have a thing for rapper-producers, and I love the Neptunes. My favorite beat? “Mr. Me Too” by Clipse. Plus, Pharrell looks totally hot in it.
I think that I could be popular, if I tried, but I think that all of them are so boring. I’m friends with a lot of popular girls, but not really good friends. I hang around with the normal people, about mid-way in the social ladder, and sometimes the artsy people. My best friend in the world (well, until last Saturday) was Eric Chandler, a British cutie who is the only person I know who is as obsessed with music as I am. The only problem was that he likes rock (all kinds of rock. Death metal, hardcore, emo, even some “pop” rock. But only the good stuff, ex. My Chemical Romance). We used to get into these huge arguments…
Anyway, there’s more stuff we have in common. He likes chicks who can sing and dance, I like guys who can sing and/or dance. Which rules (ruled) out each other romantically, because as much as we like this stuff, neither of us can sing or dance to save our lives. But we have (had) this little rule: No jocks for me, no cheerleaders for him. Like I said, they are boring and horny.
My other love in life is shoes, especially ones with ridiculous heels that my mom never lets me wear to school. As much as I think that Jessica Simpson is a curse on the music world, I can’t help but liking her pumps that have the zipper on them. You might know what I mean. My most recent purchase were these great Guess sandals; there are polka dotted, 4 inch heeled, have a ruched front with a little bow on them, have an ankle strap, and makes me happy.
I know how I sound to you. But I’m not a girly-girl, and I’m not stupid. I run track, cross-country, and I swim. Because I hate layers (the fashion now, in fall 2006) and leggings, I go to school in jeans and a tee most of the time. Not skinny jeans, though. I hate skinny jeans, even though I am one of the fifty people in the world who look good in them. I have the shapeless, skinny build (I’m 5’5”, and a size 2. And I’m not completely shapeless—I do have boobs.). Perfect for the tight fashions, but I’d rather not. Fashions I do like: boots, shirtdresses, and jean minis. I really don’t go shopping that much though, because a lot of my girl (aka not Chan) friends that I have are either tomboys or slaves to today’s ugly fashion.
Something you need to understand about me before I start writing about Tolo is what’s going on between me and Drew. He’s definitely my type—he’s white, but he’s the kind of white guy who’s really tan and has dark hair. He’s Irish, and has this unshaved thing going on for him, which I know is completely deliberate. He’s in really really good shape, and when we were dating, we’d sometimes go to the gym together. Mm, sweat. Not something most teenage couples do, but we weren’t normal. Drew is tall, dark, and handsome, plus he can really sing. He’s confident, well, maybe arrogant, and really smooth. I’m dark (I’m the dark skinned-asian type), pretty (at least I think), and had never had a boyfriend before. I felt so lucky!
Unfortunately we kind of developed a love-hate relationship. More like, hate-hate now, but this is a lot later. What happened was he broke up with me because he told me that I was too moody for him or too loud or too opinionated. Then he’d go date some blond chick from another school, and after a few weeks break up with her and come running back to me. This would happen over and over… until we kind of became the school joke. I’m sad to say that I was never the one to break up with him.
Grr… the little terror has just entered the building. I have to stop writing now, even though I didn’t actually get to the part where I talk about Tolo. Tomorrow, tomorrow.

Dear Diary,

It’s really ridiculous this is so hard to talk (write) about. It’s just a bunch of teenage drama… and if you think about all the starving children in Africa it’s really very insignificant. As a matter of fact, what am I doing writing in this book! I should be out volunteering for a food bank or something.
Nice try, Kay. You can do that after you write about Tolo. So, here it goes.
Drew and I were broken up right before Tolo, so I really didn’t know how to ask. I almost asked Chan—you know, we’d just go as friends—but he got snatched by my semi-friend Monique (yes, she’s French) before I could do anything. So I didn’t really make a decision about who to ask, but when I did, all of the good guys were already asked. All the people who were left were the nerds.
I asked an okay looking guy named Alexander Anton. He was pale, a redhead, and only around 5’6”. But he was more confident than the other nerds, and since I cannot STAND insecure boys he was the obvious choice. I had another reason too—a lot of the nerds tend to like me. Really like me. It’s not that I don’t like nerds, and I guess it’s unfair of me to label them all as nerds, but wtv, its just that romantically they’re really not my type. Alex was not my type, and, best of all, I knew that I wasn’t his type and I knew that he knew it. If that makes any sense. Drew got asked by a cheerleader named Rachel, who is actually someone who’s really nice and really curvy. The opposite of me. I pretended not to care.
So the day of Tolo came. I showed up at chez Alex wearing this really cute black strapless dress, I bough online at this store called Dillards. It had a satin top and a patent leather belt around the middle. My hair was up, I was wearing gold hoops and really nice makeup, courtesy of Carol, and these awe-inspiring guess pump-sandals. They were 3 ½” tall, were black pleated satin, and had gold trim. They were called “Opulent” or something. Anyway, the moral is that I looked really good.
So I pick up Alex, and, since neither of us can drive, he hops into my mom’s station wagon to go eat dinner with four other couples at this Greek restaurant. I tell him he looks good, just to be nice. He stutters, looks away, and says, “You look magnificent.”
Instantly, warning bells started to sound. Magnificent? I asked Alex specifically because he didn’t like me like that.
We made small talk the entire ride to the restaurant. Alex got really awkward, and so I did most of the talking. I was kicking myself inside for asking him. He was a nice kid and everything, but…
At the restaurant, Chan was there with his pretty, fragile looking French date. They were having a good time, and I took refuge from Alex there. I chatted with them (Monique was really actually a nice girl. I like (liked) her.), and let Alex mingle with the other guys there. Unfortunately, only one of his friends were there, someone who I asked to come with us specifically so that Alex could have another nerd to talk to, was in the bathroom, making out with the nerd girl he had asked. Carol took pity on Alex and began chatting at him fervently.
Hold on. I’ll finish this tomorrow, my cell is ringing.

Dear Diary,

I’m going to skip the dinner, which was awkward and consisted of me avoiding Alex, and making friends with Monique. I really like that girl, even though she is way too skinny. She’s 5’7”, and a size 0, with no discernable chest. She was wearing this really nice halter that made her look like she had curves, though. But, in deference to Chan being 5’7, like her, she was wearing flats. I felt kind of guilty about how I towered over Alex, but oh well.
We got to the dance, and we, well, danced. I danced with Alex for one or two dances (I don’t think he’d ever freaked a girl in his life), but then began trying to avoid him. I buried myself deep in the glob of freaking people, hoping that Alex would not find me. For about an hour I had a really good time, and danced with a lot of cute boys. The best part was when they started to play “snap yo fingers” by little john, and everyone started snap dancing. That, and freak dancing, would be the only dances I know, except for the “let it rain” part of “chicken noodle soup”.
So the song ended, and since you can’t snap dance in the middle of a glob of freaking people, I had moved myself right in front of the speakers. “Snap yo fingers” ended, and guess what came on. “Show me what you got”! MY SONG! I look like the chick who Hov’s playing poker with! Oh wait, I already wrote that somewhere.
Anyway I screamed, and felt really good. I saw Drew in the crowd, minus Rachel, and walked up and began to dance with him.
Bad move.
I had a natural high right then, but I crashed to the ground as soon as Drew pushed me away from him. Not violently, just hard enough. The people around us stopped dancing.
“Hey, Kay, watch who you freak, k?” He said loudly.
“C’mon, Drew. It’s just a dance. Plus, it’s my song!” I practically sang.
“Kay, I’m here with someone else. Someone who can dance. Someone who has hips and a waist.”
Ouch.
“Someone who isn’t dressed like a slut.”
Double ouch.
“I get you.” I told him. “You don’t have to be damn mean about it.”
Drew shrugged, and at the moment Rachel came back. She looked as blond, as curvy, and as pretty as always. She looked at me and gave me a little wave, which just put me in a worse mood, because she was a genuinely nice person. Then Rachel looked around herself and saw how many people were looking at us with interest. Slowly, she put two and two together. I never said she was smart.
“Were you two fighting?” She asked curiously.
I nodded, hoping that’d be the end of it. Drew shot me a nasty look at told her, “Kay tried to freak me.”
Rachel, to my relief, was a reasonable teen and decided this was no big deal. “Okay. Go ahead.”
Drew drew (ha ha) her closer to him, and said loudly, “I told her no. I’d rather dance with you.”
Rachel looked a little alarmed at this weird romantic statement. “No seriously. You don’t have to dance with me the entire time. Go ahead and dance with Kay.” She pulled away from him and walked off.
Drew glared at me. I got the message, and turned to leave, but he wasn’t done.
“Kay, I like that girl! You can’t go and drive her away just because you want to dance with me.”
“Trust me.” I snapped. “I don’t want to dance with you.”
Drew continued like he hadn’t heard me. And maybe he hadn’t. It was loud.
“Everyone knows you’re really pretty, Kay, but I’ve moved on. I mean, you’re hot, but you’re just so stupid!”
My mouth fell open. Me being stupid was a new one, especially since I was a much better student than Drew. Hell, I was the reason he didn’t flunk chemistry last year! Now he goes and calls me stupid? This from the guy
“I’m stupid?” I demanded, knowing I sounded a little shrill.
“You’re just obsessed with dumb things! I mean, like this song, or your shoes! You may not be a drama queen or a slut, Kay, but sometimes you just act like one!” 
I curled my toes in my awe-inspiring shoes, and felt almost ashamed of them. I pulled myself out of shock. “Fuck you!” I snapped, and I walked up and slapped him. Hard. He looked surprised, and turned to leave. I smoldered where I was, and I noticed sadly that my song still wasn’t over. I wish I had someone to dance with…
My wish came true. I need to learn to be careful what I wish for.
Nick Kast, star player of the football and basketball teem, hunk and jock extraordinaire, placed his hands around my waist. I saw who it was, and let him. I was feeling too angry to care about Chan and my little code of conduct. So what that Nick Kast absolutely hated Chan? Not my problem.
We danced until the end of the song, and the next song (Buttons. God I hate that song.), and the next song. He was strong, and although I don’t usually go for jocks, he was hot. We danced for like a half and hour. Then a slow song came on, and I put my hands around his neck. He came closer, and closer…
“Kay?” Demanded a loud voice. I turned my head slightly, and saw Chan standing right there, fuming. I think that Nick felt a little competition, because he took his hand and firmly turned my face back towards him.
“Is there something going on between you two?” He asked skeptically. I sighed, and rested my head on his shoulder.
“Nothing. We’re just friends.” I assured him. Chan walked up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.
“Kay, if you’re going to slow dance/make out with anyone, it’ll be me or Alex. Definitely not Nick Kast.” Chan shot Nick a dirty look. They hated each other, although Chan had never told me why. Silently, I willed Chan to go away, because I wanted to slow dance with the hunk. Chan got the message, and, sulking, he went away.
“You sure there’s nothing there?” Nick asked. I couldn’t blame him.
“No there isn’t.” I snapped. “Are you going to ask me that the entire time.”
Nick removed his hands from my waist. “Whoa, Kay. You’re sounding a little defensive.”
“Sorry.” I said, and became quiet. We started dancing again, and I put my head on his shoulder again. I could tell that he still wasn’t sure. That he needed more reassurance.
“Chan’s gay, Nick.” I lied. “Nothing’s going on.”
Nick chuckled. “I should have known.” He said.
Where were my warning bells that warned me about Alex? I don’t know why they didn’t go off, and why I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Maybe I am stupid.
Anyway, me and Nick danced, and made out, and danced. You get the drill. Then it was the end of the dance, and I had to find Alex and pretend like I wasn’t avoiding him. Which, of course, I was. Then my mom picked us up, and, yawning, she drove us to Alex’s house. We dropped him off. Then we left.
I was feeling pretty tired, even though it was only midnight, and happy that tomorrow I could just sit around and do nothing. Maybe chat a little with Chan. I dozed off a little, I admit.
Then my mom got the call.
It sounded innocent enough. Just her boring, lame ring tone that just sounded like a regular phone, then her picking up, and talking a little. I noticed at the point where my mom, who is a very mild person, accelerated and took a U-turn at the light.
“What’s going on?” I asked sleepily.
My mom glanced back at me, then back at the road. “Eric’s in the hospital.”
I didn’t connect two and two. “Chan?”
“Yes, hon, Chan.”
I sat bolt upright, and felt my voice get squeaky again. “What happened?” 
“He got beaten up. He has two broken ribs, lots of serious bruising, and a bruised collarbone.”
I stared. Then suddenly I had a sinking feeling in my chest. Did Nick…? No, I wouldn’t think about it.
“Drive faster!” I squealed at my mom. 
“Hon, he’s unconscious. He won’t know if you’re there. I’m driving as fast as I can, anyway, just so I can talk to Liz!”
We got to the hospital after ten crazy minutes. Chan wasn’t in a serious condition anymore, so he wasn’t in the emergency room. They’d moved him to another wing of the hospital, and, ignoring my awesome heels, my mom and I sprinted there. We found Mrs. Chan there, looking pale and dead. My mom stopped outside of the door to talk to her, while I rushed inside. Chan was there.
He did not look good. His left eye was swollen shut. He had one of those tire-like things that doctors put around your neck when you have a neck injury. His left leg was raised and in a cast. I gulped, and felt inexplicably guilty. I sat down in the semi comfortable hospital chair, ignored my mom when she suggested I leave. I slept in the hospital that night, along with the famously high maintenance Mrs. Chan.
God this is hard to write. I don’t want to continue. Part three will be tomorrow.

Dear Diary,

In the morning, Chan was awake. I was awake. There was something that I desperately need to ask him, and there was no reason why I didn’t. I told myself I would ask him when Mrs. Chan left the room…
Around nine she left the room to go get a change of clothes. She kissed Chan on the head, gingerly, and promised him she’d be back. I knew that I had to ask, but it was hard. It took me twenty minutes of that hour to build up the courage.
“Um, Chan.” I began hesitantly. By then I’d moved my chair next to his bed, so when he turned his battered face I could see every bruise. I flinched.
He stuck his tongue out at me. I smiled, and felt a surge of confidence. This was Chan. There was basically nothing I could say that would make him hate me…
“So, who was it who beat you up?”
Chan hesitated. “I don’t really remember. I remember a little, at the beginning… But I’m pretty sure that your man, Nick, was there. He was the one who made my eye so colorful.”
“Why did they do it?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Why don’t I just tell you what happened.” Chan said bitterly. “I was walking to the car with Monique. A bunch of guys came, and told her to scram, which she did after a moment. Then they called me a the f word…”
“Fuck?” I asked with confusion.
“No, Kay, they didn’t call me a fuck. See? I have no problem saying that word. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. They called me the other f, word, the one that rhymes with maggot and means gay. That’s basically all I remember.” He looked at my expression, and gave me a brave, bright smile. “It’s okay though. I’ll be back to normal in a couple months or something, so you don’t have to worry that much. I just wonder where they got the idea that I was gay, you know. Not something they’d just decide, you know?”
My next words caught in my throat. I looked at him, and I knew that I loved him so much. Not like that, but like a brother. Did I really have to tell him?
“Umm, Chan, I may know why they thought you were gay.” Chan looked at me expectantly. “I may have told Nick that you were, just to stop him from thinking that we had something going on. You know, I didn’t think that he though I meant it—“
“You did what?”
“I might have said something…” I babbled. “Though I’m not sure now, I mean, it was loud, he might not have even heard me…”
“Goddammit Kay, this is all your fault!” exploded Chan. I flinched. “What, you’re flinching at my face? Look at me Kay! This is all your fault! You might as well been the one kicking me, with your dumb, awe-inspiring heels!”
I think I whimpered.
“ How could you be so stupid!”
“I wasn’t the one who hit you!” I squeaked in my defense. Chan look livid, and he tried to sit up, but didn’t make it. Instead he clutched at his ribs, and turned away from me.
“Get out.” He said quietly. I thought hopefully I didn’t hear him right. “GET OUT!” He roared.
I ran out of the room, and into the elevator. It was only there that I started to cry.
So that was Tolo. Sounds like fun, huh? I need to give a little info on what happened after: Monday Chan didn’t go to school, but the word had gotten out. Not that he was beaten up, though, that he was gay. I felt like I had to do something, so I told the principle who it was who Chan thought did it. Then word got out about that, and so all of Nick’s friends aren’t talking to me. Same with all of Chan’s friends, and, to top it off, Drew’s friends or Monique’s friends. Carol, Ms. Open Mind, is the only person who allows me to be seen with her.
That’s my life, right there. So, Diary, think I can fix it?
Right now I don’t.