Hancock Park (17 page)

T
hat weekend, when the Whitbread MUN team met up at UC Berkeley to walk to opening ceremonies, I ignored Taylor, and she ignored me.

“So,” I told Alissa and Courtney, “my friend Joey Michaels is going to be here today. He's really nice. You'll like him, I think. Courtney, he's in our committee.”

Mr. Elwright, juggling a pile of binders and name tags, shot me a look and cocked his head to Kim.

“Kim,
what
are you wearing?” I asked while passing out agendas to the team.

Kim smiled. “Western business attire! Isn't this outfit so cute? I love pretending to be a businessperson!” Kim was wearing a skintight leopard-print skirt matched with
a cut-down-to-there V-neck sweater. And unlike me, she had boobs to show off.

I, too, had spent extra time getting ready that morning. Underneath my white button-down and tank top, I had on a lacy orange push-up bra and, underneath my pinstripe pants, a matching thong. I wondered how Aaron would react when he saw them.

“Okay,” I told the group, “we'll meet back in the dining hall for dinner, after our committee sessions. Good luck. I know you'll be great.”

My committee was meeting in a large lecture hall. The session hadn't started yet, so kids in business wear chatted with each other; some even tried to jump the gun and begin making allies. I scanned the room and found Joey and Aaron sitting toward the middle. I made my way over to say hello.

“You ready for this?” I said, smiling playfully. The Stratfield boys were representing South Africa, so I anticipated that they could be counted on to ally with us, Uganda.

“You're going down,” Aaron said, smiling.

I smiled back, trying to hide a slight uneasiness at his tough words.

 

“There are approximately 1.7 million AIDS orphans in Uganda, and over 11 million AIDS orphans in all of sub-Saharan Africa. This is not just Uganda's issue. This is a global issue. We need to increase HIV/AIDS awareness and education in order to prevent the increased transmission of
the disease as well as to decrease the stigma surrounding AIDS orphans in Uganda, and in Africa as a whole. Please join us and sign Resolution A–1.”

Amid applause, I made my way back to my seat in the third row. “That was great!” Courtney said. “You didn't look nervous at all. And you made eye contact with people. Mr. Elwright said that's important.”

Iceland, a dark-haired boy with a popped collar, poked my back. “Notes for you,” he said. In Model United Nations, note passing is an official form of communication. Countries can form allies and work on resolutions through notes (as well as gossip and flirt). I had sent a note to South Africa saying,
J and A—want to be a sponsor of our resolution?
Uganda.

Now, I received their reply. In Aaron's handwriting was
Nope. We're doing our own resolution. May the best team win.
My stomach dropped. Why were they doing this? South Africa, as a country, supported our stance on AIDS education. It would be better for both of us to write one resolution, not two, because that way, other countries wouldn't have to choose between two very similar resolutions. I twisted my head to Joey and Aaron and held my hands up, eyebrows wrinkled. Joey shrugged his shoulders and pointed to Aaron. I scowled. Sure, this was a competition, and not every team could win, but the core of this conference was supposed to be
diplomacy
.

South Africa was a few countries after Uganda on the speakers list, so, a few minutes later, Joey and Aaron walked
up to the podium to speak. Joey began by introducing South Africa's stance on the issue of AIDS awareness.

Courtney elbowed me. “Is that Joey?” I nodded. She crinkled her eyebrows, examining him. “I mean, I guess he's okay-looking, but his Western business attire is so awkward. Plus, he looks like he's totally nervous.” I just shrugged.

After a minute or two, Joey stepped back, and Aaron took the microphone. “Everyone here should sign onto Resolution A–2, not A–1. Our resolution is going to be
so
much better than theirs. Besides, who would you rather have on your side, Uganda or South Africa? Uganda's all talk and no action.” Aaron flashed a winning smile. I felt my insides churning. Why was he doing this? Was he being deliberately mean to me? Joey shot me a sympathetic look as he walked back to his seat, but I looked away.

Once their speech was over, I shot my hand and my placard into the air, hoping to be called on as one of the country responses. After each speech, two countries were allowed to make comments. I waved my placard wildly in the air. I must have looked desperate. Courtney tugged at my sleeve. “Relax,” she told me. But I couldn't. I was called on to be the second comment, and, shaking, I made my way to the front of the room.

I wanted to win this, I really did. But I didn't want to have to play dirty. “I would like to invite you all, including South Africa, to join in signing Resolution A–1. I believe that a merger of the two resolutions would best
serve the interests of the United Nations and create a more forceful resolution.” And that was when I knocked down the podium. I widened my eyes in shock as the podium, microphone and all, toppled onto the ground. A high-pitched squeak reverberated through the room, causing people to clamp their hands over their ears. I just wanted to disappear. One of the committee chairs was shaking her head. There was no way I was going to win this now.

 

After dinner that night, the Whitbread and Stratfield teams mingled in the dining hall, discussing the day's events. I stood with Kim and Alissa, who were regaling me with tales of the notes they had received. Taylor was talking with Joey, and Courtney was chatting with Aaron.

“Is that Joey?” Alissa asked, gesturing her head toward him. “You know, the one who's talking with
her
?”

I nodded.

“Oh. He looks like kind of a geek. No offense.”

I nodded again. I didn't understand. Why did people—Aaron in particular—have to be such jerks? I caught Taylor's eye. She shot me a cold, almost nasty look.
Shit,
I thought.
I really screwed things up with her.

Later, Aaron snuck into my hotel room while Courtney was in Kim and Alissa's room. “Hey,” he said, closing the door quietly behind him. He was still wearing his button-down and khakis, but the shirt was wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top. He looked hot. This was the moment I had been waiting for, the moment when I would
show off my new lingerie. But it wasn't right. I crossed my arms over my chest, self-consciously. He climbed onto the bed and pressed his mouth against mine, but I gathered up my willpower and pushed him away.

“Why did you do that today, in committee? You humiliated me—my country—for no reason! We're allies, Aaron. In the real world, at least. And what's more, you're my boyfriend! You're supposed to be nice to me, not mean.” My voice was rising.

“Geez. Overreact much?” He seemed to think this was a joke because he then grabbed hold of my mouth once more. Once more, I pulled away. I had started standing up for myself, and I wasn't going to stop.

“And what you said to Taylor was wrong. You told her I agreed with you, but I don't.”

“Oh, so Miss Public Speaker didn't even have the guts to tell Taylor herself, huh? I guess that just goes to show how brave you are. Or maybe it's because you only like doing the
popular
thing?”

I shoved him away. This was getting nasty.

“Leave,” I said. “Just leave.”

 

“You guys are the perfect couple,” Courtney told me later, while we brushed our teeth in the bathroom. “It's just a rough patch.”

I shrugged. I wasn't so sure about that. Aaron had sent me a text message after he left, telling me that we needed to talk. I knew that could be code for only one thing.

Part of me wanted to break up with him, but most of me didn't. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to find another boyfriend, and I was afraid that the Trinity wouldn't like me as much without him.

I was getting into bed when the phone rang. “Hey,” Aaron said, his voice warm.

“Hey,” I replied, and suddenly it seemed like, maybe, everything would be okay.

“Tell me why I shouldn't break up with you. Why should I stay in a relationship with you? Tell me how important I am to you.”

“What?” Not what I was expecting. He wanted me to beg him to stay with me, to plead my case as to why I should remain his girlfriend?

“I, um, I have to go. I'll call you back.” I hung up the phone quickly. His question had startled me. What was I doing, allowing myself to be treated like this? Was it all for the sake of popularity? All so that I could call three coke-snorting, binge-drinking girls my friends? This couldn't possibly be worth it.

“What's going on?” Courtney asked me, as I shoved my feet into my flats and headed for the door.

“Nothing,” I said, fighting back tears. I didn't want to have this conversation in front of her. I didn't want to seem weak.

Closing the door behind me, I dialed Aaron's number. “I'm not going to list the reasons why you should stay with me, or go on and on about how important you are
to me. Because you know what? I don't need you, Aaron Winters. And if you can't make the decision whether or not to break up with me, then I will. We're over,” I said, all in one breath. I realized that my hands were shaking as I waited for Aaron's response.

“Okay. Um, so, I guess that's it.”

“Yeah.” There was an awkward silence, and then, I added, “I have to go.” I hung up the phone.

“What happened?” Courtney asked when I reentered the room.

“Aaron and I just broke up.” I leaned against the door. Saying it out loud made it real, and it hurt.

Eyes wide, she said, “So, are you going to change your Facebook relationship status?”

I almost laughed. I figured that would be better than crying. Instead I just nodded, reached for my laptop, and clicked the button to edit my profile. Within one minute, I went from
IN A RELATIONSHIP
to
SINGLE
. And every one of the couple hundred people I was “friends” with on Facebook would soon know it.

A
few minutes after I broke up with Aaron on the phone, there was a knock at my hotel room door. Warily, I opened it. Joey stood before me wearing his button-down shirt and boxers.

“Sorry,” he said, catching me looking at his bare legs. “I forgot to put on pants, but I wanted to tell you right away, before you heard from someone else or…” He trailed off, the adrenaline draining from his voice.

“What?” I said, scanning his face. “What's going on?”

“It's Aaron,” he said, his voice now quiet. I realized that he might have been in the room for Aaron's half of the breakup conversation. That made me feel embarrassed, and worse, vulnerable. At the mention of Aaron's name,
my heart rate picked up. “He just posted this note on Facebook. About you and your relationship with him. I tried to convince him not to do it, it's just disrespectful and obnoxious and totally immature!” Joey stamped his bare foot against the carpeted floor, indignant. He nodded toward Courtney's laptop, which lay open on my bed. “You should probably see it for yourself.”

I didn't know what the note said, but I could guess that it wasn't full of nice memories and compliments. “Thanks,” I said to Joey, “for standing up to Aaron. You didn't have to. I mean, I wouldn't want you to deal with shit as a result of this.”

Joey shrugged. “So maybe I'll be less popular at school for a week or so. What does that matter, really? When it comes down to it, you just have to do what you think is right.”

I wondered how it was possible that Joey could really not care about popularity. I hated having to buy into the vanity and superficiality of the social ladder, but I did it anyway. And why did I do it, again?

I logged onto Facebook and began to look for the note. Here's the great thing about Facebook: It's very easy to stay up-to-date with what your Facebook “friends” are doing. Here's the not-so-great thing about Facebook: It's very easy to stay up-to-date with what your Facebook “friends” are doing. Right on Aaron's profile page, the same page that would appear for every one of Aaron's six hundred friends, was the first paragraph of his note. My adrenaline pumping, I clicked on it.

Aaron had written two full pages detailing our relationship and our breakup. At the beginning, he pronounced that our relationship had been mostly physical—that there really wasn't that much emotion in it. He didn't love me, he said; he wasn't even that attracted to me. At the bottom, he had included a photo of the two of us. I was smiling at the camera, and he was smiling at me, his arms wrapped around my waist.

His words stung me. I had trusted him. I had trusted that he wouldn't hurt me. And now, here he was telling several hundred people—many of them people I knew—that he hadn't really liked me that much after all. I felt cheap, and I felt used. Drawing back from the computer screen, I remembered that Courtney and Joey were still in the room. I wasn't going to cry. Not in front of them, at least. Joey and Courtney were standing together, talking. “That was a good speech you made today,” Joey said to Courtney.

“Thanks,” Courtney said, looking away, searching for a way out of the conversation.

Joey could tell that Courtney wasn't interested in talking with him, and he shifted uncomfortably. “I'm sorry, Becky,” he said to me.

“No, it's fine,” I said. “I'm fine.”

But I wasn't. I wasn't fine at all.

 

The rest of the conference was a blur. I didn't get much sleep. I was on autopilot, deflecting attacks from Aaron
(he'd passed a note that read,
Blonde Uganda is a bitch. Don't sponsor her resolution. Resist!
), trying to ignore the fact that the Trinity were more concerned with my popularity status than my dignity (Alissa had told me to not stand up to Aaron because he was a popular guy and it wouldn't be good to make him my enemy), and trying to kick some MUN ass.

In my final speech, I stressed the importance of diplomacy. I wish I could've delivered the speech directly to Aaron, but he turned away every time I looked in his general direction.

“Fellow delegates,” I said in conclusion, “we are brought here today as diplomats. We must represent the ideals of our countries, but more important than that, we must work together. A diplomat is tactful and handles situations so that there is little or no ill will. If we don't all work together, then nothing can be accomplished. In the international community, the voice of one holds little strength compared to the voices of many. Let us join together as the voices of many. Let us be the voices that make a difference. Thank you.”

There was silence for a moment, and then applause erupted. My face flushed, I stepped down from the podium.

 

Sitting in a large auditorium at the closing ceremonies, I was nervous. Nervous, first and foremost, that Aaron would win. He sat two rows in front of me, and, as the
winners from each committee were announced, I watched the back of his head. Finally, the secretary general of the conference took the podium to announce the winner of the gavel—the highest award. The gavel went to only one delegate.

The secretary general announced: “Becky Miller.”

I shook with adrenaline as I edged my way out of the row I was sitting in and walked up the aisle. As I passed Aaron's row, I shot him a triumphant look.

But that triumph didn't last long.