Say Anything
Not That I'm Desperate
"I don't fucking believe this."
The Cure's Disintegration plays on repeat mode.
Ricky examines the chess board.
"I just don't fucking believe this happened," I say. "How did this happen again? What exactly did I do wrong?"
"Well, since you asked," Ricky says, "it's like this: One, you were too much of a wimp to say anything to her. Two, you went back to school with no plan. Adam had a plan. He got Hayleigh. You got nada." Ricky leans back, balancing on the back legs of the chair. "Zilch. Zero. You didn't have the balls to go up to her. Dude. I warned you this would happen."
"Thanks. I feel so much better now." I move a pawn up two spaces.
"I don't even get it. You had no problem with Michelle, and any guy would kill to nail her. What's so hard about talking to Hayleigh?"
"She's different. It's complicated."
"Okay," Ricky says. "You fucked up. But there's hope."
"There is?"
"Totally, man. Look, I'll tell you what to do, but if I tell you, you have to swear that you're gonna do it."
Ricky's practically the only person I trust for advice on getting the girl. His whole philosophy of dating has been about quantity, not quality. So he's had a wide variety of experiences. You can most definitely trust a person with experiences.
"And just what am I supposed to do?" I say.
"Promise you'll do it first."
"Whatever. She's already going out with Adam."
"Man, what's with you? Why are you being such a pussy?"
"What if she doesn't like me?"
"You don't get it. He just asked her out, what, Tuesday? It's not like he's suddenly her boyfriend in two days. You have just as much chance as he does."
"Right. Only he's the one who's with her." I move my rook. "Fucking asshole."
"You have to play it like you're the most incredible guy out there." He moves his rook. "It's all about strategy."
Ricky is so kicking my ass right now. He's like this chess mastermind. We're both smart types in general, but no one else really knows this. He tries to reject academic restraints like me. At least, until his mom threatens that we can't practice at his place anymore. Then he's forced to do his homework.
It's this big mystery to everyone why I choose to be such a massive slacker. The guidance counselor is always like, "Your grades are not reflective of the work you could do," and "Don't you want to make something of yourself?" As if we're actually going to encounter any of this in real life. Maybe if classes weren't so useless I might work up an interest. They don't get that the reason so many of us aren't into school is simply because it's boring. Why can't they make it relevant to our lives? Anyway, I make decent grades by acing all the tests and quizzes. They're always cake. Not doing homework kind of balances the whole thing out, and I end up with a B-minus or C average every year. Which is fine with me.
So now I'm trying to convince the ultimate class brain that I'm smart. Or at least smart enough for her to want to be with me.
I sigh in defeat. "Adam's got her. I should just accept it and move on." But the thought of moving on from something I never had in the first place is depressing. "I can't move on."
"Shit, man. Force her to notice you."
"How?"
"You can strategize it so you just happen to run into her."
"Uh-huh."
"Like. . . you can see when she goes to her locker to switch books. Then you just figure out which way she walks after. And you can try to find out her schedule."
"So that's what I'm supposed to do? Pretend to run into her?"
"Just. . . talk to her! The same way you talked to all the others, man!"
But that's the thing. All the other girls I've been involved with approached me first. I didn't really have to convince them to like me.
"See what she does," Ricky explains. "If she likes you, talk some more the next day. But if she's totally repulsed, then you know she doesn't like you."
"This is your major plan?"
"No, dude. This is my typical chick-catching method. For single girls. In your case, we need something more extreme."
"Like what?"
But Ricky is hesitating. "I bet if I tell you, you won't even do it."
"I'll try anything at this point." I don't have to look at the chess board to know I'm losing this game. "Not that I'm desperate."
"No, of course not. You?" Ricky snorts.
"Yeah, okay. Let's go already."
"If you don't do it, you have to wash my car."
"I don't even know what it is yet!"
"Too bad. That's the deal."
I'm so obviously desperate. "Okay, fine. Just tell me what to do."
"And wax."
"Fuck you!"
"And wax."
I pick up my king. "Fine," I tell him. "But it can't be, like, some crazy shit you know I would never do anyway."
Ricky pretends to look hurt. "Am I not your best friend?"
"Let me try to remember."
"Look, people pay for this kind of advice. Self-help books are written about this stuff, and I'm telling you for free."
"That's why I let you hang out with me," I say.
"So. Is it a deal?"
"Wait. What do I get if I do it?"
"Same thing."
"Deal."
"Okay," Ricky begins. "Here's what you do."
The Cure's Disintegration plays on repeat mode.
Ricky examines the chess board.
"I just don't fucking believe this happened," I say. "How did this happen again? What exactly did I do wrong?"
"Well, since you asked," Ricky says, "it's like this: One, you were too much of a wimp to say anything to her. Two, you went back to school with no plan. Adam had a plan. He got Hayleigh. You got nada." Ricky leans back, balancing on the back legs of the chair. "Zilch. Zero. You didn't have the balls to go up to her. Dude. I warned you this would happen."
"Thanks. I feel so much better now." I move a pawn up two spaces.
"I don't even get it. You had no problem with Michelle, and any guy would kill to nail her. What's so hard about talking to Hayleigh?"
"She's different. It's complicated."
"Okay," Ricky says. "You fucked up. But there's hope."
"There is?"
"Totally, man. Look, I'll tell you what to do, but if I tell you, you have to swear that you're gonna do it."
Ricky's practically the only person I trust for advice on getting the girl. His whole philosophy of dating has been about quantity, not quality. So he's had a wide variety of experiences. You can most definitely trust a person with experiences.
"And just what am I supposed to do?" I say.
"Promise you'll do it first."
"Whatever. She's already going out with Adam."
"Man, what's with you? Why are you being such a pussy?"
"What if she doesn't like me?"
"You don't get it. He just asked her out, what, Tuesday? It's not like he's suddenly her boyfriend in two days. You have just as much chance as he does."
"Right. Only he's the one who's with her." I move my rook. "Fucking asshole."
"You have to play it like you're the most incredible guy out there." He moves his rook. "It's all about strategy."
Ricky is so kicking my ass right now. He's like this chess mastermind. We're both smart types in general, but no one else really knows this. He tries to reject academic restraints like me. At least, until his mom threatens that we can't practice at his place anymore. Then he's forced to do his homework.
It's this big mystery to everyone why I choose to be such a massive slacker. The guidance counselor is always like, "Your grades are not reflective of the work you could do," and "Don't you want to make something of yourself?" As if we're actually going to encounter any of this in real life. Maybe if classes weren't so useless I might work up an interest. They don't get that the reason so many of us aren't into school is simply because it's boring. Why can't they make it relevant to our lives? Anyway, I make decent grades by acing all the tests and quizzes. They're always cake. Not doing homework kind of balances the whole thing out, and I end up with a B-minus or C average every year. Which is fine with me.
So now I'm trying to convince the ultimate class brain that I'm smart. Or at least smart enough for her to want to be with me.
I sigh in defeat. "Adam's got her. I should just accept it and move on." But the thought of moving on from something I never had in the first place is depressing. "I can't move on."
"Shit, man. Force her to notice you."
"How?"
"You can strategize it so you just happen to run into her."
"Uh-huh."
"Like. . . you can see when she goes to her locker to switch books. Then you just figure out which way she walks after. And you can try to find out her schedule."
"So that's what I'm supposed to do? Pretend to run into her?"
"Just. . . talk to her! The same way you talked to all the others, man!"
But that's the thing. All the other girls I've been involved with approached me first. I didn't really have to convince them to like me.
"See what she does," Ricky explains. "If she likes you, talk some more the next day. But if she's totally repulsed, then you know she doesn't like you."
"This is your major plan?"
"No, dude. This is my typical chick-catching method. For single girls. In your case, we need something more extreme."
"Like what?"
But Ricky is hesitating. "I bet if I tell you, you won't even do it."
"I'll try anything at this point." I don't have to look at the chess board to know I'm losing this game. "Not that I'm desperate."
"No, of course not. You?" Ricky snorts.
"Yeah, okay. Let's go already."
"If you don't do it, you have to wash my car."
"I don't even know what it is yet!"
"Too bad. That's the deal."
I'm so obviously desperate. "Okay, fine. Just tell me what to do."
"And wax."
"Fuck you!"
"And wax."
I pick up my king. "Fine," I tell him. "But it can't be, like, some crazy shit you know I would never do anyway."
Ricky pretends to look hurt. "Am I not your best friend?"
"Let me try to remember."
"Look, people pay for this kind of advice. Self-help books are written about this stuff, and I'm telling you for free."
"That's why I let you hang out with me," I say.
"So. Is it a deal?"
"Wait. What do I get if I do it?"
"Same thing."
"Deal."
"Okay," Ricky begins. "Here's what you do."
