My Future Ex-Girlfriend

1

All Is Well

SAM

I’M THE FIRST guy at the bus stop, just waiting, waiting, waiting to get to Penn Valley Middle School. Part of me thinks I should just take off and start running, that’s how excited I am. But before the adrenaline kicks in, I hear the bus rumbling as it turns the corner and approaches.

Once I’m on and seated, I just feel great, I really do. If we had a flat tire, I swear our bus driver, Ruben, wouldn’t even have to jack up the bus. I could just lift it with one hand while he changed the tire. Are you getting the impression I’m excited for the final stretch of eighth grade to start?

You might be wondering why I’m so eager to get to school. The answer to that question is simple: Erica Dickerson, my new girlfriend. Erica is awesome and pretty. And pretty awesome. We got together just before spring break, and I spent most of my vacation thinking of all the things we’d get to do once we got back to school. Things like:

Double-date with my best friend, Foxxy, who hasn’t been around as much since he started dating Holly Culver.

Sit together on the bus when we go to New York City for our end-of-the-year class trip. Oh, and hang out in the city, I guess.

Hang out at lunch together and have a civilized conversation instead of sitting around with the guys making fart sounds and putting butter on the floor to see if anyone slips.

Go to the eighth-grade dance! (I won’t even mind if my sister’s dumb boyfriend drives us.)

I can’t wait to tell Foxxy about my plans.

When the bus pulls up to Foxxy’s stop, I instantly get the feeling that something’s wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, it’s just that Foxxy doesn’t have a grin on his face. And he always grins. As I watch him get on the bus I’m hoping maybe he’s just burped up his breakfast or something like that.

Sam, Sam, Sammy, Foxxy says as he plops down on the seat next to me like it’s the end of the day and not the beginning. You’re never going to believe what happened.

What happened?

She did it, Sam. She really did it.

We fall back into our seat as Ruben takes off. He’s an awesome bus driver, never in a bad mood. If he has to go to the bathroom, look out, our bus moves like a rocket. Today is one of those days.

Who did what? I ask.

Holly. Holly did it, Foxxy says.

I look at Foxxy. His eyes are red and his nose is running. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s a mess.

What did Holly do?

She dumped me, Sam. She dropped me like a bad habit.

Okay, so I don’t want to be a jerk, but the first thing I think is that now we won’t be able to double-date. And then I remember that Foxxy has a tendency to exaggerate.

What did she say? I ask.

‘I never want to see you again . . .’

It was probably in the heat of the moment.

‘. . . as long as I live,’ Foxxy says.

That could be interpreted many different ways, I say, borrowing a line from my English teacher, Mr. Minkin. Trust me. My sister Maureen breaks up with her boyfriend once a week.

And that’s the truth. Maureen’s in high school, and she goes out with this knucklehead (and I’m being generous here) named Lutz who’s always doing something to make her upset.

No, you don’t understand, Foxxy continues. She said it to my face. And then she sent me a text. And then I got an e-mail. And then she wrote me a letter, a real letter. And each time, she said she never wanted to see me again.

I look at Foxxy. Snot is dripping over his lips. His skin is pale and looks dry. His hair is uncombed. And his shirt is inside out. Besides that, he looks great.

How could she honestly say she never wants to see you again? I ask. You look terrific. I’m sure she’ll fall in love all over again when she takes one look at you.

Foxxy wipes his nose on his sleeve as the bus pulls up to school. Ruben jams on the breaks and leaps out of the door and sprints inside. I stand, ready to start my day.

I think things will be fine. I’ll see you at lunch, okay?

Where are you rushing off to? Foxxy asks. We still have fifteen minutes before class.

I gotta see Erica, I say, running up the stairs to school.

Hah, Foxxy says, right on my heels. Is that still going on?

What do you mean, is that still going on? I demand as we stop outside the cafeteria.

I’m sorry. Look, I’m not myself. I can feel people staring at me. Everyone knows I got dumped.

And my mom says I’m dramatic. I put my hand on his shoulder, like a good best friend.

I gotta go.

Then I skip off to see Erica. I actually skip, like one of those goofy kids from The Sound of Music. I’m actually smiling to myself, too, because I know if I saw someone skipping down the hall like this, I’d feel compelled to put a thumbtack on that person’s seat. They’d totally deserve it.

Erica’s locker is on the second floor near all the math classes. When I’m about two classrooms away, I see her. Wow. I mean, wow! Even though Mr. Minkin is always telling us to use descriptive adjectives in our writing, I don’t know how to describe Erica besides saying she’s a knockout. She’s wearing a pink sweater and jeans and she looks just great in them. My heart is pounding like a hammer as I get near, and I’ve never felt better. I’ve got tunnel vision, and I’m really focused on Erica, and everything is a blur around her face. I feel like a superhero. I’m certain if someone came up to me and hit me on the back of the head with a wooden chair, the chair would splinter into a million pieces and it would only feel like a bug had flown into me.

The best part is that when Erica sees me, her eyes light up. They sparkle, and she gives me a great big smile.

She smiles like she is happy to see me.

She smiles like she missed me.

She smiles like I’m the most important person in the world.

Hey, Sam, she says. It’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.

And then:

Hey, Foxxy. What are you two up to?

I turn and see Foxxy right next to me. He’s practically touching me, that’s how close he is. He’s so close I’m afraid his snot will drip on me.

Just trying to keep it together today, Foxxy says, looking down at his sneakers.

Erica sticks her head in her locker to switch out some books, and I give Foxxy the old heave-ho with my thumb and whisper through my teeth, Get out of here!

Didja hear, Erica, that I got dumped? Foxxy asks, totally ignoring me.

Oh no, Erica replies. What happened?

I’m the first guy to admit I don’t know much about girls, but I do know this: girls love to hear about guys getting dumped by their girlfriends. My sisters spend hours on the phone talking about that kind of stuff. And when Foxxy gives Erica his sad eyes and pinches the top of his nose between his eyes like he’s holding back tears, I know I’m in for the whole stupid, pathetic story again.

Foxxy tells Erica the whole stupid, pathetic story right there by her locker, and she listens to every word. Finally they stop talking, and Erica and I rush off to biology class, but we never get a chance to talk, and I never get a chance to tell her how much I missed her over break, and I never get a chance to ask if she missed me.

CHOLLIE

When I walk into Penn Valley Middle School after spring break, I’m a new man. A new man with a girlfriend. A girlfriend who picked me over other guys. It gives me this incredible feeling that I call the me-and-Miranda-Mullaly-dancing-in-the-moonlight feeling.

I haven’t seen Miranda since we made it official before the break, because she went out of town. (I always forget where, but it’s a state at the bottom of the US map.) She texted me a few times (seven times to be exact), which wasn’t too much or too little. My older brother, Billy, who knows everything about girls, thinks that seven is the perfect number of texts. Too many, he says, and the girl could be trouble. Too few, and she’s just not into you.

And because I miss her so much and this is, like, our one-week anniversary, I wrote her a letter last night. Here’s what it says:

Dear Miranda,

This past week has been the best week of my life and I want you to know how happy I am that we’re going out.

It’s been a really great week even though you’ve been away visiting your grandparents and I’ve been here in Penn Valley thinking about you. When I think of your pretty smile I feel like I’ve just hit the winning shot or made a spectacular catch for a touchdown or hit a home run in the bottom of the ninth. I just feel great.

I miss you and will be so happy to see you in class.

Yours truly,

Charlie

So I have a big smile on my face, and I’m holding the letter like it’s the most important thing in the world when I hear a voice.

Are you ready, Chollie?

It’s Coach, who’s an even bigger nut than I am about sports.

Ready for what? I ask Coach. Does he know about me and Miranda?

Baseball, he says.

I guess so, I say.

Let’s have a little chat, he says, and before I know it, Coach is leading me to his office.

His office is actually the office for all the gym teachers, but for some reason Coach always has it to himself. Sometimes I think he has the greatest job in the world. He gets to teach gym and coach football, basketball, and baseball. And he gets to wear a sweat suit to work every day.

I think we’re going to need you on the hill a few games this year, he says as he sits behind his desk, rubbing and sniffing a baseball.

Okay, I say, and I sit down and take off my jacket and put down my book bag. I know once he gets going, I’ll be here for a couple of minutes.

Arms win championships, Chollie. The bats will come along, but we need pitching to win it all.

He gets up from behind his desk and writes the date May 20 on the board.

Here’s the big one, Chollie, he says, circling and underlining the date about a thousand times.

You know what this date is? he asks.

It’s the Cedarbrook game, I say.

Coach nods, and he doesn’t have to say anything else. You see, Cedarbrook is our rival, and we lost to them in football when I fumbled on the goal line. And we lost to them in basketball when I missed those free throws at the end of the game.

Just the thought of those losses gets me interested in baseball again. I have to admit, I’ve been thinking so much about Miranda that baseball has kind of taken a backseat. But now I can picture myself striking out the side and then hitting a home run. And when I round third base, there’s Miranda on her feet (for some reason, in my dream she’s the only cheerleader wearing a fancy