Sarah's Journal: May 5, 2013

Sarah:  May 5, 2013

I stayed off the Internet for the last three days, got both my papers written and transferred my notes from American Lit to my phone so I can listen to them while I ride the bus. I should be able to go through them all at least once before the final. I deserve a reward for all my hard work, right? I do, don’t I?

When I get home I’m going to check the gossip site for Will. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I've missed him. It was hard not clicking on the website and searching for his username in the comments. Part of me wants Will to disappear to where I can’t find him so I won’t get hurt when he turns out to be a fraud. It would be easier if we just never connected again. Eventually, he would erase from my memory—probably. But the other part of me wants to meet him and date him and lose myself in him. I think I just need to be more direct and ask him specifics, like where he lives and why he doesn't have a last name. Then maybe I will feel better about wasting my time.

Megan's Blog: May 4, 2013

Megan:  May 3, 2013
The thing with Peterson had stretched out way past the last game of the season and I was starting to contemplate cheating on him with one of his friends, like Evans, just so he would see what an awful person I am and end it. Most guys can see a breakup coming and step up so they can be in control. With Peterson’s laid-back attitude I wasn’t sure he would take the lead. But then the text came on Tuesday, telling me he was coming over to talk. What a relief. I was ready for the usual quick ten-minute breakup that I’ve been through so many times before, but nothing is ever that easy. He spent twenty minutes talking to my housemates. He gets along with my friends—that’s another drawback of breaking up with Dylan Peterson. Finally, in front of everyone, I said, “You wanted to talk?” Sarah and Jessica went silent and then made excuses to leave the kitchen. Alli gave Peterson a hug and then followed the others out of the room. They knew what was coming. They know me.

“Not here,” he said in a stern voice that I hadn’t heard before as he motioned toward the door.

I followed him upstairs to my room, where he proceeded to make himself at home. He removed his shoes and stretched out on my bed, patting the space next to him for me to lie down.

But I knew I couldn’t give in. I crossed my arms in front of me, a little irked that he was taking so long and said, “I thought you wanted to talk.”

“I do.” He stared at me like he was searching for the right words.
 
“Then talk,” I said, getting more annoyed as time ticked by.

“What’s going on with us, Megan? Are we ending?” he asked.

“If that’s what you want.” I tried to inflect that it was him making the decision. It’s better that way.
His lips hardened and he shook his head not meeting my eyes. “Is it what you want? Ever since basketball ended, you’ve been pushing me away. You haven’t stayed over in weeks and this is only the second time that I’ve ever been on your bed.”

I could have put it back on him, implying that he put too much emphasis on sex, but I didn’t want to burn bridges. I like Peterson. He’s not the mushy type and he doesn’t expect much from me, which is good because I don’t give much. “Finals are coming and then summer. You told me you’re working at that football camp up north. You may as well be in another state. I don’t expect you to be faithful. I know that’s too much to ask. Why pretend?”

“Is that all this is about. I never know what’s going on in that head of yours, Megan.” He grabbed my hand the pulled me toward him. “I thought it was another guy,” he added.

I wasn’t going to tell him it was lots of other guys. I shook my head, climbed up on the bed next to him and draped my arm across his chest.

He smiled and said, “I understand. Summer’s a long time.”

We laid there for another half hour, without talking, before he had to leave for work. When he left we kissed goodbye. Even though it took so long, it was one of my better breakups and now I’m a free agent again. Not that I was tied down to Peterson, but he has a lot of friends and I’m not the type to humiliate a guy in front of his buddies. Not that I haven’t done it before—I have. But just twice and they both deserved it, Peterson doesn’t.

Despite my roommates telling me that I need to break it off completely, I can’t. I know it’s not fair to Peterson, but part of me wants to hang on to the big Teddy Bear, so I blamed my insecurities. “What’s going to happen once school ends? You’re moving home for the summer, right? Are we really going to keep it going with you out in Minnetonka and me in Stillwater? It’s an hour drive without road construction. What’s it going to be like this summer once every road in the Cities is down to one lane? Do you think we can keep it together with texts? I’d rather end it now before we hate each other.” 

He took a deep breath and pushed his head into my pillow. “Is it another guy?” Of course, he would assume that.

 “It’s not another guy.” I climbed up on the bed and straddle his chest. “I’m really bad with distance and I don’t think it is fair to expect you to stay faithful this summer when we’re so far apart. We’ll never see each other.”

“It’s not that far. People commute further than that every day for work.”

“Not me. I can’t do it. I know that if I’m spending my entire summer trying to connect, I’m going to end up despising you. I don’t want that and right now I have to concentrate on school. Finals are in less than two weeks. When classes start again in the fall, we can see where we’re at and go from there. I like you, Peterson. Basketball wouldn’t be the same without you.” I leaned down and pressed my lips to his. It didn’t take more than a second for him to respond—everywhere. If he weren’t so easy-going he would have stormed out of my room before it got to that point. Maybe he just knew how to play me, but I felt bad and whispered, “One last time?”  

 

Paris in LA: May 4, 2013

Paris Borel:  May 4, 2013

OK. I've made my list: Sabastian Defoe, Kaleb Gosselin or Sean Rutledge. They are all on Gerard’s team. I think Defoe is still married, but his wife hasn't been around in over a year. I don’t want to foul anyone else’s marriage. I know the opposite end of that too well. The two other players are rookies and single. I’m not sure which one would bother Gerard the most, probably Defoe or possibly Gosselin. Gosselin and Gerard had a falling out in January. I never found out what it was about, but Gosselin was really pissed and slammed him into the boards. They haven’t mended their issues yet and that might work to my advantage. While Gosselin would be the easiest, Rutledge would be the most fun. He’s got a wholesomeness that I would love to ruin. Sleeping with him wouldn't upset Gerard nearly enough though.

The person who would grate on Gerard the most isn't in the Hockey League. He’s an actor. Jonathan Williams. It would drive Gerard crazy if he caught me with him. Gerard calls him my “special friend,” because he thinks I’m obsessed with him. I've followed Jonathan’s career since his first big movie and I have to say he’s matured quite nicely over the last four years. I've helped him out with PR more than a couple of times and we've developed an unmistakable bond.

Most actors snub their noses at gossip websites. They think they are above our means, but Jonathan is different. Since his time with Mia Thompson, “the media queen,” he recognizes the importance of the press. He knows the amount of influence my website wields and he’s not above using me to his advantage. I let him. He could use me for anything he wants. Absolutely anything. And Gerard knows it. That is why sleeping with Jonathan would be like a freshly sharpened skate ground into Gerard’s back. But I’m not sure the opportunity will present itself anytime soon, so I’ll make a backup plan just in case the wait is too long.

Paris in LA: May 2, 2013

Paris Borel: May 2, 2013

I hate that bastard I married. If he thinks that I’m just going to sit back and watch as he screws every fresh little flower he stumbles across, he’s mistaken. I had to find out about this last one from Trish. Trish, the recovering coke-head, who claims to be born again with a new and improved Deity. I know about her and Brad’s past, and Gerard, with all his faults, has never sunk that low. She acts like they’re so much better than us, though. They’re not. To them, religion is like a new Dior coat used to hide last year’s trend. It’s just a shiny cover to distract from the ugly reality hidden underneath. She’s the same catty hockey wife she’s always been and I've seen how she looks at my husband. She would totally do him if he ever gave her aircraft carrier sized ass a second look.

She probably thought she was doing me a favor by telling me and maybe she was, but I think she just enjoys passing judgment on others. I’m not about to end my marriage over the girl in the locker room, though, but I will make my husband’s life hell. As much as a Frenchman is indifferent to his own infidelity, he can’t stand the thought of his wife with another man. Gerard is no different. I’ll give him a taste of his own poison and see how he likes it.

Sarah's Journal: May 2, 2013

Sarah:  May 2, 2013

It snowed three inches last night. What the hell? It’s May. It is not supposed to snow in May, even in Minnesota. I guess this is why my dad never plants his tomatoes outside until the middle of the month. I hate cold weather this time of year. Most the guys on campus have been wearing shorts and flip-flops for at least two weeks, and once Minnesotans switch to their summer wardrobes, it requires much more than a few inches of snow for them to pull their cold clothes back on. Still, it pains me to see people wearing flip-flops in the snow. I’m a freeze-baby and all I want to do is stay home where it’s warm and I can chat with the Internet guy.

The Internet guy. Maybe it’s not the weather. I don’t know why I can’t get Will out of my head. He sucked me in and I can’t let him go. He’s just too perfect. In my mind, I can imagine his arms wrapped around me and me melting into his chest as we laugh about some hilarious Internet story. I can’t picture his face, though. I wish I had a photo of him. Jessica thinks he’s a “catfish” like on that MTV show where people fake who they are to seduce someone online. That would crush me. She’s probably right. I really need to stop wasting my time. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I have finals in two weeks and two papers to write. What am I thinking?

Blonde Chicks Perferred: May 2, 2013

Liam Nordstrom:  May 2, 2013

Mia Thompson, what a trip. On our way down to the beach on Sunday I asked Will the same question that I had posed to her at the club. “Are you two getting back together?” His response didn't surprise me.

“How long have you and I been friends?”

I laughed and hefted my board and paddle into my shoulder as I followed him down the steps onto the sand. He seemed eager to hit the water and in a better mood than I’d seen him in a long time.

“So you’re not? Thank God.” I could feel the relief wash over my face. Mia has always rubbed me the wrong way and not many chicks do. I cheered when Will finally broke it off with her. At the time, he made it sound like the break up was mutual, but I could tell he was the one pushing for it.

“Remi talked me into the press with Mia. The fans eat it up when we’re seen together. It’s just for show to negate the bad press after that photo shoot,” he added.

“I didn't think you cared what the rags said about you. You shouldn't hook up with Mia because of bad press—just tell your publicist no. It’s not worth your soul.”

“You should talk.” He chuckled. “Have you seen your soul lately? I’m not hooking up with Mia. There is someone else I’m interested in, though.” He grinned with an innocence that I hadn't seen since high school.

I asked him if it was Rachel Marrero, the fresh new girl that every man in Hollywood wants to tap, and who just happens to be his love interest in his next film. Lucky him. Rumors of the two hooking up started circling the second they were cast together. He denied it was her, though. Then he refused to tell me anything about the girl who had clearly affected his disposition, except that he was going to take it slow with her. I hope she’s good to him. If anyone deserves a break, it’s Will.

Sarah's Journal: May 1, 2013

Sarah:  May 1, 2013

At the poetry reading, Jackson put his arm around the back of my chair and whispered in my ear a few times. He was really polite and way more mindful of my personal space than most guys, which I liked. I kept waiting for the butterflies in my stomach to start flapping, but no electricity sparked with his touch. It’s not that he isn't good looking—he is, in an intellectual sort of way. It’s me. I think my butterflies have died. I haven’t felt them in a long time, at least not for a real guy.

When Jackson slipped his car into park by the curb in front of my house, I thanked him and told him I had a good time before quickly opening my door. As I stepped out, I turned and watched disappointment disfigure his face. I don’t think he expected to be dropped into the friend zone so quickly. How can I tell him it’s not you, it’s me, without it sounding like a bad movie?

“We should do this again sometime,” he said.

I just nodded and smiled. I know we won’t.  

Sarah's Journal: April 30, 2013

Sarah:  April 30, 2013

The weather guy says it’s supposed to snow over the weekend. I don’t remember it ever snowing in May before. Damn global warming! The frosty air chased Jessica and me inside for spin class at the rec center this afternoon. Neither of us could imagine freezing our butts off jogging. The entire time that the spin instructor barked her orders and punished my body past its limits, all I could think about was how I was going to miss connecting with Will today. But when I got home and logged onto our site, he was there, as sweet as ever, like he was waiting for me.

I don’t know how he does it, but he always makes me feel like I’m the most important person in the world. Our "discover everything there is to know about Sarah" session lasted more than an hour. I told him my favorite color—turquoise; my favorite flowers—pink peonies; and my favorite season—summer. I revealed the kind of car I drive, what I’m majoring in school, and what my parent’s do for a living. But when I tried to ask him questions, he transitioned the conversation back to me without answering. His words were so smooth that I didn't even notice what he was doing until I was off the Internet. I hardly know any details about him. It’s not fair.

Mia's Fabulous World: April 30, 2013

Mia Thompson: April 30, 2013

I've been thinking about this friends-with-benefits thing with Jonathan and the more I envision it, the more I want it. Badly. I just need to figure out how to convince him, which shouldn't be too difficult, right? He is a man and I am me.

I ran into Liam Nordstrom and Jake Gorboni at Club Priela on Saturday. It always throws me off when Jonathan’s friends call him “Will.” With a last name of Williams, it shouldn't surprise me that they call him that, but when Liam asked me if Will and I were getting back together, it took me a second to figure out who he was talking about. After it clicked in my mind, I asked, “What have you heard?” I was hoping Jonathan had said something to him.

“Just what the tabloids are saying,” he answered.

“You’ll have to ask him. He’ll tell you if he wants you to know,” I said. “I don’t gossip, even about myself.” Which was a total lie. I’d be nowhere if I didn't self-promote.

“My guess is no, or you wouldn't be out clubbing tonight.”

He was right. I should have skipped the club—one more obstacle with the press. Match point. “Why do you ask, if you know all the answers?”

“I’m just looking out for Will. I would hate to see you hook-up with some guy at the club if he thinks you’re getting back together,” Liam said, like a true golden boy in wolves' clothes.

“Is that a proposition? Do you want to take me home tonight, Nordstrom?” I ran my polished nails up his cheek and through his hair, as I spoke. “I thought you preferred blondes.” I knew it wasn't a proposition, but I enjoyed toying with him. Men are so easy to torment. I wouldn't have gone home with him, anyway, and Liam knew it. Sure, he has his own following with his cable show, but it wouldn't do me any favors to be seen with him. Besides such an act would ruin my chances of getting back with Jonathan.

He stepped back, obviously affected by my touch. “I’m going paddle boarding with Will tomorrow. I’ll let him know you’re asking about him."

“Don’t bother. I’ll call him. So you’re still out in Malibu?” I changed the subject to prevent my intentions from spilling too soon.

I hung with Nordstrom and Gorboni a few more minutes, making small talk until Kiera returned from dancing with the piece of meat that she had selected from the nobody section. She doesn't seem to care about a man’s status in Hollywood. If he has a six-pack, a hot ass, and can hold a decent conversation, she’ll invite him in. It doesn't even matter if he has money. Of course, she’s always had plenty of her own, or I should say her parents’ money. She’s never had to fight to get ahead like I have. Sure, I have plenty of money, now, but being a self-made actress, I know what it’s like to struggle and I’m not about to lose all I've worked for over some hot bodied no-name. I don’t have her luxury. I have to care about who I’m seen with or the press will crucify me.

Her slum boy left the VIP area shortly after they returned from the dance floor. So the rest of the night, Kiera and I danced with Chet Blake, and a couple other trust-fund guys—no one famous, though.

I was tempted to show up at Nordstrom’s the next day and join Jonathan on his paddleboard, but I didn't. I know how to play him and he needs space. If I try too hard, it will only make him skittish.

Sarah's Journal: April 29, 2013

Sarah:  April 29, 2013

I ran into Jackson Tripp in line at the coffee shop. We sat for a few minutes and chatted about the classes we have left to take before graduation. He’s an English major, as well, and we’re in American lit together this semester.

It surprised me when he asked me to go with him to the on-campus poetry reading that Professor Hamel is forcing on us. I didn't think Jackson knew who I was. He’s barely said two words to me before today, but his eyes were all dark and flirty, so I’m pretty sure he didn't mean just as friends.

Jackson seemed too excited about the reading. Am I the only English major who loathes poetry readings? I like poetry—the kind found in the lyrics of songs and the words strung together in unexpected places, like a Jesse Eisenberg movie, but readings seem so coerced that I can’t stomach them. I agreed to go with Jackson, though, and I know why. I need to pull myself back into the real world and stop the constant fantasizing about the Internet guy. Will is not tangible.

I gave Jackson my number and agreed to let him pick me up. He seems harmless and I could see dating him—maybe, I don’t know. My last meaningful relationship was back in high school and that ended up being a lie. You would think that with all the psychology classes I've taken, I would have figured out how to trust the male species again, but I haven’t.