Page 22 of Tainted Love

Chapter 10

“I Can Dream About You”

Sascha - Age 14, 1984

The end of eighth grade is fast approaching, and I’m filled with anticipation for what lies ahead in high school. Like at the end of elementary school, I’m ready to move on to the next chapter.

So much of this past year has been spent trying to unravel the mystery that is Michael Tazman. I want so badly to understand him and the changes that have shaped his life over the years. I haven’t bothered to attempt to approach him again. Instead, I watch him from afar like some crazy stalker. I haven’t learned much. Beyond his unwavering love for hockey, his tendency to act as the class clown, and his witty remarks that often mirror my own, I have yet to get to know him. The pieces of his puzzle are scattered before me, waiting to be pieced together, and it drives me crazy.

I despise the fact that I have transformed into this girl. You know the one—she puts on a mask of indifference, even annoyance, when in the presence of someone who makes her heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings. That’s me when I’m around Michael. It’s infuriating and, at times, downright mortifying. My pale complexion does nothing to hide the tell-tale flush of my cheeks whenever he’s near or when those piercing aqua eyes lock onto mine.

It’s not as if he acknowledges me in any significant way, a casual smile here and there, accompanied by a brief glance. Once, he waved at me, and I was ecstatic, only to be crushed seconds later when I realized he was waving at a girl behind me. The humiliation was devastating, making me want to curl up and disappear forever.

It’s as if all those moments we shared together never happened. I still find it strange that my mind holds such vivid and distinct memories of him. They’re like fleeting dreams accompanied by strong emotions. Like how he used to playfully tease me about how I ate Oreos, our laughter echoing across the playground. But these memories also bring a bittersweet sadness, knowing that the boy I shared them with now stands only feet away from me yet is unreachable.

Did he have a friend like Lydia, who influenced his values and beliefs? Has he experienced first love, felt the rush of a first kiss? And what about his broken family? Have they found peace? These thoughts swirl in my mind, and I long for answers to fill in the gaps of this stranger before me.

My initial curiosity has grown into a consuming obsession. Sarah, who is somewhat related to Corey, knows only a fraction of my thoughts and feelings, and I keep the rest locked away.

Darius understands me better. He’s facing his own struggles this year. He’s always been open about who he is, and as we’ve gotten older, people have started to notice how he stands out from the crowd. Not only does he have to navigate being a mixed-race person but also being gay in a society that’s not often accepting of such things. Kids can be cruel, and Darius has learned to surround himself with a small group of accepting friends this year.

He and I share another secret since he also harbors an unrequited love for someone. While I long for a connection with my former best friend, Darius has developed feelings for a boy named Owen. Owen is quite the enigma—a loner who prefers the company of his sketchbook or a good book over socializing. Despite his quiet nature, I can see why Darius is drawn to him. With his tousled dark hair, deep brown eyes, and full pouty lips, Owen resembles some sort of mysterious artist or poet. He’s undeniably attractive.

Owen hasn’t shown interest in either girls or boys. So, for now, Darius watches him from afar. It’s comforting to have another stalker friend.

I stare at my brown sack lunch, the bland sandwich and bruised fruit doing nothing to spur my appetite. Suddenly, a loud thud interrupts my thoughts and my friend Emily plops down beside me. Despite her small size, her arrival resembles that of a herd of Clydesdales.

“Kevin asked for my phone number!” she practically screeches, her excitement causing her voice to reach deafening levels. She grabs a Pringle from her lunch and shoves it into her mouth before continuing, “Can you believe it?”

I sigh, feeling slightly irritated by Emily’s loud energy. “But I thought you liked Scott?” I question, trying not to sound too bitter.

“I mean, I did like him. Not like-like him, though. Not like I like Kevin.” Her hands flit around in animated gestures as she speaks, her face lighting up with each word. She is boy-crazy, always caught up in the latest crush or infatuation. Ever since we reached middle school, it’s like a switch has been flipped, and she’s gone bonkers for boys. The phrase “crazy as a soup sandwich” comes to mind as I try to keep up with her rapid train of thought.

All week long, I’ve heard nothing but how Scott is “the cutest boy in eighth grade.” But now that Kevin has asked for her number, Scott is old news.

“I can’t believe you don’t like anyone,” she exclaims before popping another chip into her mouth.

I scan the crowded cafeteria, my eyes finally landing on the group of hockey players. They always catch my attention, even though I try not to look. I can sense Landry’s eyes on me, but I refuse to make eye contact. He’s given up trying to get me to hang out with them after that awkward encounter in PE class. I’m sure he’s curious about our history, but he hasn’t pushed or prodded like most people would.

Emily excitedly pipes up again, breaking through my thoughts. “We should totally go to Dee Dee’s birthday party this weekend!” she exclaims, her eyes shining with excitement.

The thought of attending a party with the popular kids makes me cringe. It’s as appealing as sticking shards of glass under my fingernails. But I know Emily means well and wants us to have a good time.

“Come on, Sascha,” she urges, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “We should do something wild and spontaneous before the year ends.”

I pause, setting my apple down and raising an eyebrow at her. “I have plenty of fun in my life,” I reply. “I read, play my flute, listen to new albums, watch movies…”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Yeah, because hanging out with your parents is soooooo thrilling,” she mockingly mimics.

I shrug nonchalantly, peeling off the top of the yogurt I have no intention of eating. “I’ve never been one to chase after being ‘cool,’” I say honestly, waving my plastic spoon in her direction for emphasis.

“But I can’t go alone!”

“We weren’t even invited.”

Her pout deepens as she argues, “Dee Dee said it’s open to everyone who wants to come.”

Just as I’m about to decline the open invitation, Darius joins us at the lunch table with his school lunch. My nose crinkles at the sight of the unidentifiable spaghetti surprise on his tray.