Phoebe Berman's Gonna Lose It(43)
“I might be a little sad,” I tell her, and the admission comes out easier with my face pressed against her back.
She holds on to my hands tighter. “I know, honey.”
“But I’m so happy for Jamie.”
“I know that, too.”
We stand in silence like this for a minute. And then, once the moment has become too sincere to bear, I mutter under my breath. “The backsplash in the kitchen is terrible.”
She drops my hands and whips back around.
“Mustard yellow is the color,” she snaps back.
“The color of what?” I ask. “Baby poop?”
“Very sophisticated, Phoebe.” She shakes her head in disapproval. “Get it all out before this weekend.”
She turns and slips back into her bedroom.
Without Beauty and the Beekeeper to keep me occupied, I pick up the yearbook from my junior year of high school. Ignoring the impulse to turn to the page with Matthew’s photograph, I flip to the class of 2013 spread. I find what I’m looking for in between Lee Bergman (most likely to win American Idol) and Julia Bermann (most likely to qualify for the Olympics):
Phoebe Berman
Most Likely to Experience
an Extraordinary Love Story
My fingers reflexively migrate to the grainy two-by-one photo of my seventeen-year-old self, and the ache in my chest worsens.
You would be so disappointed in me.
Still the same frizzy-haired virgin wearing a graphic T-shirt.
Nothing’s changed.
That’s not true, I can hear Sandy’s voice ringing in my head, and I’m reminded of her original assignment. Still desperate for a distraction, I walk over to my desk, stocked with all my school supplies, and begin to draft up the list that Sandy originally requested:
Phoebe’s Accomplishments
Moved across the country
Found Jonathan, Nora, Meg, and Alex
Graduated from college with honors
Cleared my acne
Landed my dream job
Became Teacher Phoebe
Added over 20 T-shirts to my collection
Got a tattoo
Had not one but two viral Goodreads reviews
Ran a mile without stopping
Read over 500 books
Discovered the importance of a claw clip
Published my The Greatest Showman fanfiction on Wattpad
Taught myself how to crochet
Successfully completed close to 300 parent-teacher conferences
Amassed over 100 free drink tickets from Jeffery’s trivia
Was asked to interview for an assistant principal position
Received my first set of felt-tipped markers
Opened my first set of felt-tipped markers
I read over the list twice. It’s not nothing.
Maybe I’m not the same Phoebe I was in high school. In fact, I’m not even the same Phoebe I was two weeks ago. I have seven and a half items crossed off my list. I am that much closer to losing my virginity.
There is one problem, though. I can’t think of a twentieth accomplishment, and an odd-numbered list won’t do.
But it’s okay.
I’ll just have to do something worthwhile this weekend.
Phoebe’s Guide to Losing Her Virginity in Thirty Days
A Checklist
Redownload Hinge Practice Flirting with Teacher Rob Pet a dog with a cute owner and strike up a conversation Compliment a stranger on his outfit Flirt with someone at Jamie’s wedding Flirt with Finn Find the cutest guy on the plane to help me with my luggage Leave my number for a waiter
Give Finn my number Get a random guy to buy me a drink
Get Finn to buy me a drink Get drunk and make out with a stranger Rear-end a guy and exchange information Go on a date with one of the meet-cutes from above Go on a date with Finn
Go on a dating app date
Advertise myself on Craigslist
Go on a date with Matthew
Notes
—Leave Teacher Rob out of this.
—You’re obsessed with tote bags for a reason. Carry one with you at all times. This will minimize the chances of bodily harm.
—When complimenting an article of clothing, be sure to look at it first.
—Never trust a man wearing sunglasses indoors.
12
Thursday
(Twenty Days Left)
I place the last folded napkin on its corresponding plate and give the room a once-over:
Candlelit centerpieces. Check. String lights. Check. Interactive Guess Who?–themed seating chart. Check.
“You can let them in now,” I tell Tony, the restaurant manager. He opens the door for my immediate family, who I insisted wait at the bar while I added the finishing touches to the space for tonight’s rehearsal dinner. Mom, in her matching knee-length skirt and jacket, comes barreling in first, beelining for the nearest table. She runs her fingers over the linen tablecloth, squinting at the fabric.
“It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” she mutters under her breath. I’ll take it.