The Upside of Unrequited

by Becky Albertalli

I’M ON THE TOILET AT the 9:30 Club, and I’m wondering how mermaids pee. This isn’t random. There’s a mermaid Barbie attached to the door of the bathroom here.

“I’m Molly.” “Like the drug,” says Bangs. Like the drug. Like I’m a person you would associate with drugs.

I wish I were the kind of person who knows how to fill a silence. I’m not.

I never really know the protocol for this kind of situation. It’s like when you’re in line at a store, and a grandma starts telling you all about her grandchildren or her arthritis, and you smile and nod along. But then it’s your turn to check out, so you’re just like okay, well, good-bye forever.

“Look. I know your crush face.” “I don’t have a crush face!” Holy shit. Do I have a crush face? Does the entire world know every time I think a guy is cute?

Cassie’s soapbox: the fact that I’ve had twenty-six crushes and exactly zero kisses.

If I like a guy, I’m supposed to tell him. Maybe in Cassie’s world, you can do that and have it end in making out. But I’m not so sure it works that way for fat girls.

I don’t entirely understand how anyone gets a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. It just seems like the most impossible odds. You have to have a crush on the exact right person at the exact right moment. And they have to like you back. A perfect alignment of feelings and circumstances. It’s almost unfathomable that it happens as often as it does.

There’s a couple making out against a SmarTrip machine. Which is definitely not how you’re supposed to use SmarTrip machines. I look away quickly.

Certain nights have this kind of electricity. Certain nights carry you to a different place from where you started.

I’ve been on Zoloft for four years. I used to get panic attacks in the middle school cafeteria. Long story.

We are definitely the kind of Jews who eat bacon.

Honestly, it’s not the first time Patty has thrown down the word scrotum in reference to a meal.

Once she spent an entire drive to the mall explaining to Cassie and me that the so-called “doggie lipstick” was really the dog’s penis coming out of the shaft.

Cassie’s love of bacon is well documented and notorious.

“You can’t vag-block someone in a frozen yogurt shop. A frozen yogurt shop vag-blocks itself.”

SO, THIS IS PROBABLY MY own fault for being a smartass, but I’m actually a little nervous about starting work. Even though this isn’t a brain surgery residency. I’m very glad this isn’t a brain surgery residency.

Chapter start

“Hmm, so I guess we probably went over most of this stuff at the interview. You remember how to use the register?” I nod, even though I definitely don’t remember how to use the register.

And right beside me, there’s a display of ceramic mugs shaped like whales. Of course Bissel sells ceramic mugs shaped like whales. Of course those exist.

Classic adult logic. Reid and I are vaguely the same age, so of course we’re basically soul mates.

Sorry, but this guy is literally choosing to advertise Lord of the Rings on his body. I don’t think there’s going to be a whole lot of common ground.

I wish there were a secret signal you could use to communicate: HELLO. I AM OFFICIALLY COOL WITH SILENCE.

And there’s this sweetness to his mouth. I always notice people’s mouths.

But there’s this thing I feel when I meet another Jewish person in the wild. It’s like a secret invisible high five.

So far, I’ve learned that he really likes Cadbury Mini Eggs. When I asked if this was relevant in June, he said Cadbury Mini Eggs are always relevant. Apparently he buys them in bulk after Easter and hoards them. Honestly, I respect that.

Mina tilts her cup toward me, and of course she’s one of those fundamentally confused people who mixes gummies with chocolate.

“I mean, yes, she’s fucking adorable. Yes, I want to make out with her.” Cassie groans into her pillow. “Oh my gosh. You have a crush. This is a real crush.” “Whatever,” she says.

She’s about to tell me she had sex with Nick. “I had sex with Nick,” she says, her voice hushed.

Here’s what I would never, ever admit out loud: a part of me always thought it was some kind of a secret compliment when someone got called a slut. It meant you were having sex. Which meant people wanted to have sex with you.

If Abby were physically present right now, she’d be feeling the wrath of my side-eye. She would so be feeling it.

Crush number twenty-five: Quinn of Test Prep. I never exchanged actual words with him, but I’m 80 percent sure that was his first name. Once, we shared a potentially significant moment of eye contact after finishing a math practice test.

I shrug, and even though she can’t see me, it’s like she can sense it through the cellular radio waves.

It’s funny, because you always think the hard part is meeting someone the first time. It’s not. It’s the second time, because you’ve already used up all the obvious topics of conversation.

“I love not doing work,” I assure him. And it’s true. Not doing much work is my favorite thing. And my other favorite things include: being around a lot of mason jars, rearranging table displays, and teasing geeky boys about their fondness for historical queens.

Molly Peskin-Suso: crushing on the memory of eighth-grade boys. Am I the biggest creeper in the universe? (Check yes or hell yes.)

if I had to describe the feeling of a crush, I’d say this: you just finished running a mile, and you have to throw up, and you’re starving, but no food seems appealing, and your brain becomes fog, and you also have to pee. It’s this close to intolerable. But I like it.

I think Evan’s an acquired taste, but without the part where I actually acquire the taste.

Do boys require hairless vaginas? Is this a known thing?

I’m pretty sure I could drive a boat through my boobs, they’re so far apart. I guess it’s just this feeling that my body is secretly all wrong.

Becky Albertalli is so good at describing teenage girl angst.

I have this sudden memory of middle school. There was this table of boys in the cafeteria who would yell boi-oi-oing when hot girls walked by. Except when I walked by, they made a womp womp womp sound, like a boner going limp.

If it is a glance about me, I will die. We are amused by the sad chubby girl who is clearly enchanted by our hipster beauty. Seriously, I will die.

So maybe Max is one of those guys who only wants to befriend girls he thinks are hot (see also: guys who wear fedoras) (see also: guys who say “NO FATTIEZ”).

She and Cassie are probably making out right now. Literally right now. And because I’m not a shitty person, I’m 100 percent thrilled.

AND NOW CASSIE’S BEING MYSTERIOUS, and it’s really fucking weird.

Transition Chap start

I’m seventeen, and I just want to know what it feels like to kiss someone. I don’t think I’m unlovable. But I keep wondering: what is my glitch?

So, maybe I should let my heart break, just to prove that my heart can take it. Or at the very least, I need to stop being so fucking careful.

I may know a little too much about this. I may be a little more familiar with wedding blogs than your average single seventeen-year-old girl.

Seriously, I want to know: is there anyone who wouldn’t eat a tub of chocolate frosting like yogurt?

“Quick challenge. Ten points to whoever finds the grossest flavor of frosting in the next minute, starting . . . now.”

“Um. Yeah. If you give me your number.” I feel my cheeks grow warm. I hope he doesn’t think I’m Asking For His Number. I don’t think I’m Asking For His Number. I’m just asking for his number.