Scarlett Character Analysis

She looks to me to back her up, and I wonder if my existence is a problem for her friendship with Agnes. Scar and I always sat alone at lunch. We weren’t really interested in talking to anyone else. To be honest, I’m not sure how I’d feel if she had invited some new girl to sit with us. Dri not only invited me, but did so excitedly.

Will I, one day, be able to sleep with a guy and not feel horribly awkward and tortured and not wonder what it all means? I assume so. But right now, the thought of that sort of exposure seems unimaginable, and mostly, if I’m totally honest, nothing short of terrifying.

I will tell her about the mess I’ve made of things, how my new life feels on the verge of unraveling, and she will tell me how to fix it. [...]

And she’ll remind me that everything that is new always feels tenuous, that a lot of this, maybe even most of this, is in my head.

In T minus four hours, I will be home again. Even though my mom won’t be there, at least, finally, I will be someplace I recognize.

For a moment, I switch things around: think about what it would have been like if Scar had been the one who took off and I’d been the one left behind. What it would have been like to start all over with the people we have known forever. All of those people we had already chosen, for one reason or another, not to be friends with. Until now, it has never once occurred to me that my leaving happened to anyone but me.

I turn off my phone. Run up the stairs to the small bathroom. Throw up my DeLucci’s pizza and six cans of beer and don’t even feel the tiniest bit of nostalgic relief when I see Scar’s map of the world shower curtain or even the Cat in the Hat soap dispenser that has been there for as long as I can remember.

And as stupid as it is, I admit I think about SN that way too. Not Caleb, not the real-life version of SN, but the one on my screen. The one who is always there for me.

He’s not real, of course. We’re all better versions of ourselves when we get that extra time to craft the perfect message. The SN I know and obsess about can’t translate into real life. He’s a virtual soul mate, not a real one. I do realize that.

“I think he’s Liam.”

“No way,” I say.

“It explains why he would dump Gem for you.”

I smile at Scar but not because any part of me hopes SN is Liam. [...]

“You’ve been listening,” I say, and feel so grateful she’s still my friend, that she will be, hopefully forever.

She looks to me to back her up, and I wonder if my existence is a problem for her friendship with Agnes. Scar and I always sat alone at lunch. We weren’t really interested in talking to anyone else. To be honest, I’m not sure how I’d feel if she had invited some new girl to sit with us. Dri not only invited me, but did so excitedly.

Will I, one day, be able to sleep with a guy and not feel horribly awkward and tortured and not wonder what it all means? I assume so. But right now, the thought of that sort of exposure seems unimaginable, and mostly, if I’m totally honest, nothing short of terrifying.

I will tell her about the mess I’ve made of things, how my new life feels on the verge of unraveling, and she will tell me how to fix it. [...]

And she’ll remind me that everything that is new always feels tenuous, that a lot of this, maybe even most of this, is in my head.

In T minus four hours, I will be home again. Even though my mom won’t be there, at least, finally, I will be someplace I recognize.

For a moment, I switch things around: think about what it would have been like if Scar had been the one who took off and I’d been the one left behind. What it would have been like to start all over with the people we have known forever. All of those people we had already chosen, for one reason or another, not to be friends with. Until now, it has never once occurred to me that my leaving happened to anyone but me.

I turn off my phone. Run up the stairs to the small bathroom. Throw up my DeLucci’s pizza and six cans of beer and don’t even feel the tiniest bit of nostalgic relief when I see Scar’s map of the world shower curtain or even the Cat in the Hat soap dispenser that has been there for as long as I can remember.

And as stupid as it is, I admit I think about SN that way too. Not Caleb, not the real-life version of SN, but the one on my screen. The one who is always there for me.

He’s not real, of course. We’re all better versions of ourselves when we get that extra time to craft the perfect message. The SN I know and obsess about can’t translate into real life. He’s a virtual soul mate, not a real one. I do realize that.

“I think he’s Liam.”

“No way,” I say.

“It explains why he would dump Gem for you.”

I smile at Scar but not because any part of me hopes SN is Liam. [...]

“You’ve been listening,” I say, and feel so grateful she’s still my friend, that she will be, hopefully forever.