Every Girl's Guide to Boys by Marla Miniano Read Free Book Online

to
him. After twenty years of marriage, my mom and dad still don’t run out of
things to tell each other at the dinner table. Usually, they’d ask me and
Justin first how our day was. I’d say something about school, and Justin would
give us a recap of a whole episode of SpongeBob SquarePants he had watched that
day, laughing over the funny parts himself before actually narrating what
happened to Patrick or Squidward or Plankton. And then my dad would turn to my
mom and ask, “How was your day, dear?” and my mom would tell him about one of
her students (you’ll know who her favorites are for the semester because she
talks about them more often), or about a novel she’s reading that she was
absolutely sure my dad would love. My dad would then tell her about a new
customer in the restaurant who promised to visit again, or about a regular one
who keeps coming back and bringing different sets of friends with him. My
parents do this every night at dinner, and although the stories tend to overlap
and repeat themselves, they never seem to get tired of hearing about the details
of each other’s day. I wonder how some couples can do that—be together
for an entire lifetime and not get bored with each other. I wonder how you keep
track of the bigger picture, your marriage, above the errands and deadlines and
all the little things that stress you out every day. I wonder if Nico and I
will end up like my mom and dad. They say children who were born to parents who
stay happy through the years will always choose love over hate, laughter over
anger, and forgiveness over resentment, no matter what. I wonder whether or not
I shall prove this true.
    Nico tells me, “Well,
you should probably go back to your Chemistry.”
    “Trigonometry,” I
correct him.
    “What?” he asks.
    “Trigonometry,” I say.
“I never said I was working on Chemistry.”
    “Well, you should
probably go back to your Trigonometry, then.”
    “Why did you think
that?”
    “Why did I think what?”
    “What made you think I
was working on Chemistry?”
    “Nothing.”
    “It can’t be nothing.”
    “I don’t know, I
thought I heard you say Chemistry.”
    “I never said Chemistry.”
    “Yes, Chrissy, we’ve
already established that.” I can almost see him gritting his teeth in
frustration, and the fact that he is getting frustrated with me is making me
feel frustrated, too. “Why is this such a big deal to you?”
    “It’s not a big deal,”
I lie. “Look, I just...”
    “I know, I know,” he
says. “You don’t have time for me right now. Go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
Bye.” He hangs up and I am left wondering why if I’m the one who has to go, I’m
still the one who ends up feeling abandoned. I am left wondering how Nico can
alternate back and forth between making me feel like I am special and beautiful
and worthy, and making me feel like...this.
    But I don’t have to
wonder why it was such a big deal to me: It bothers me because he hears Chemistry when I say Trigonometry , because he hears I don’t have
time for you right now when I say I have to do my homework ; and yet he doesn’t
hear I
think that’s an awful idea when I say That sounds like a great idea . It is a big deal
because he hears things I don’t say, but never when I need him to.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Rule number 6:
    Learn to listen.

 
    I wake up on a Sunday morning to the sound of all-out bawling coming
from the front yard. Oh no, did Justin fall off his bike again? I knew I should
have bought him those knee and elbow pads. Worried, I jump out of bed, take the
stairs two steps at a time, and run outside. Justin is sitting on the grass,
his face a scary shade of red, contorted into an expression that can only be
described as a hysterical sort of upset. He can barely breathe from all the
screaming, and he is clutching clumps of grass and dirt in his fists. His light
blue shorts are stained with mud, and his shirt is