My heart skipped, and it took me approximately two seconds to convince myself my mother had come back to reunite with me. I rushed to the door, opened it, and found nothing.
What a day for Courtney to play Ding Dong Ditch.
When I went to slam my door, my eyes landed on a package sitting on my porch. It was the worst-wrapped present I’d ever seen, parts of a brown box peeking through a clumsy mess of tape and what looked like wrinkled, pre-used wrapping paper. Taking it inside, I set it on my kitchen table before tearing the paper off and sliding the flaps of the box open. On top lay a card. The picture on the front was of a serene landscape with the wordsMy Condolencesprinted across it. Opening it, I found some generic sympathy message printed inside, but beneath it, spelled out with magazine cuttings like a message from a kidnapper, were the wordsHappy Birthday.
Inside the box was a tub of cookie dough ice cream. Pulse thundering in my ears, I pulled it out and opened the lid. The seal was already broken. The ice cream inside was a gloppy mess, likesomeone had sorted through it and picked out all the cookie dough, which I assumed was exactly what had happened.
Courtney.
She must have figured out I hated ice cream, either by the way I closed my blinds every time the ice cream truck drove by like I was warding off evil, or because she noticed all the ice cream coupons I viciously crumpled and threw away. Using that knowledge, she’d given me the worst gift she could possibly think of.
But she’d somehow known it was my birthday.
And she’d given me a gift. A personalized one.
I scrambled to my computer, and sure enough, there it was: the final nail in my heart’s coffin, her new Wi-Fi name and a mostly accurate acknowledgment of my birthday:BryceEST.5/18/1945.
It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for me. Maybe not thoughtful in the normal way—her thoughts weren’t busy considering other people’s feelings; her thoughts were full of schemes and malicious intentions. Still, it was atypeof thoughtfulness.
A sudden desperation to see her took hold of me. I wanted to run to her door and knock until she answered and then… and then what? Yell at her? Hug her for the next hundred years or so?
And that was when I recognized the feeling that had secretly crept into my heart over the past few months. Happiness. Courtney had made me feel happy. Then she’d given me ice cream.
I knew what came next.
I could practically feel sticky ice cream melting down my child-sized fingers while hot tears rolled down my baby-fat cheeks. Could practically hear the wordsShe’s not coming back. Could practically feel the happiness bleeding out of my heart.
I’d done everything I could to ensure we would not form a happy relationship, and yet we had. Kinda. I didn’t know what to call her. Friend? Enemy? Frenemy? It made no sense, and it was infuriating.
I smacked the lid back on the ice cream, swiped it off the table, and took it to the trash can. Maybe I could move away, but the likelihood of finding a rental as cheap as this one was slim. No, she had to go. Soon. Before she had the audacity to make me feel full-fledged joy. This girl would wreck me if given the chance, and I needed to put a stop to it.
CHAPTER 5INWHICHI DISCOVERASHITTIERVERSIONOFNARNIA
COURTNEY
I smiled to myself as I gazed across my dew-soaked front lawn. A new day stretched before me, full of opportunities that I intended to ignore. The phrasesame shit, different daywas my motto. My days were endlessly unremarkable, and mediocrity was bliss.
I couldn’t believe I’d actually apologized to Bryce when I first met him. I guessed some old part of me that still yearned to behave properly felt guilty about all the animosity. Thankfully, he rejected my apology, because I’d rather have an enemy than a friend.
I didn’t know for sure why he decided he didn’t like me, but it didn’t matter. You had to care about something, even a little, to be able to hate it. If you didn’t care, you’d simply be indifferent, which had been everyone else’s attitude toward me, ever since they gave up hope I’d eventually soften back into the mold they kept for me. I desired Bryce’s undesirable feelings, because without them, no one would feel anything for me at all.
So I decided to hate him back fiercely and with all my heart. Some people said love was forever. I said never underestimate the power and longevity of pure, unadulterated spite. Maybe true love didn’t exist, but true hate sure did.
Suddenly, I’d gone from one life goal to two.
Have No Goals
Hate Bryce
The amount of care and attention he and I dedicated toward trying to destroy each other almost made our relationship feel intimate, if you disregarded the fact we both wished the other would fall down a manhole.
My smile broadened as I tore open a new pack of Christmas lights. I had to finish decorating my half of the duplex before Bryce woke up. This was phase two of his special birthday surprise. Hanging lights in May was untraditional, but Bryce was a grinch who hated all things Christmas. He’d demonstrated as much by convincing me he had epilepsy for the entire month of December to guilt me into keeping my lights turned off. Suspicious, I’d kept an eye on his mail until I eventually found a medical bill for a checkup a few months later that revealed the name of his primary physician. A phone call, some sweet-talking, and a borderline HIPAA violation later, I’d learned his supposed ailment was all a lie. A lie he would soon regret.
I hummed while I worked, chewing my gum to the beat of my tune. Though we were well into a balmy spring, the mornings were still crisp. Birds chirped, lawn mowers droned, and the invigorating scent of new life laced the air, fueling the pep in my step as I decorated.
The house and lawn looked like they’d been crop dusted by a fairy. Countless twinkling bulbs zigzagged up the exterior walls. A single strand of lights divided the roof precisely in two, and my side shone like a disco ball, haphazard clusters twisting across the shingles. Wires draped in clumps over the hedges, weighing down the branches until they drooped. I even wound a strand around the left porch railing in messy knots (unfortunately, the right rail wasn’t inmy jurisdiction). I’d connected the lights to a blinker thingy and fully planned on leaving them on all year, electric bill be damned.
I couldn’t wait to see Bryce’s expression. Anticipation sent adrenaline coursing through my veins. I didn’t think feuds were supposed to be fun, but each interaction with Bryce filled me with an addicting rush of supreme indignation and uncontrollable mirth.
