I feel like I walked into the twilight zone. This is not my house. Joni Mitchell plays from a small CD player in the living room. The smell of Pine Sol is so strong, it makes my nose itch. Has someone been cleaning? I continue to walk, apprehensive of my surroundings. Everett and I go missing for a few days and my mother cleans? Unlikely. Perhaps the landlord finally made good on his promise and evicted us. Maybe I am walking in on the new tenants. I follow the sound of someone singing along to “All I Want.” I find my mother in the kitchen, the floor littered in brown paper bags. She stands at the open fridge. I see a gallon of milk along with other items. Is that butter? “Mom… what is going on?”
She spins around at the sound of my voice. “Baby Doll, you’re home. I was beginning to think you done run out on me like your daddy did.” She puts her cigarette out in the sink. So she went shopping?
“Isn’t this wonderful?” she spreads her arms out, beaming. “Ronnie gave me money. He told me to go down to the Piggly Wiggly and fill up the fridge. He loves this stuff,” she holds up a package of sausage. Warning bells are going off in my head.
“Why did he do that?” I start picking up the paper bags off the floor.
“Why? Because he loves me. That’s why,” she snaps. Her face softens when she sees me flinch. “He loves me, baby doll, and he loves you kids. He wants to be a part of our life. Be a family.” She tucks a piece of stray hair behind my ear.
“Mom, he doesn’t even know us.”
She frowns, dropping her hand. “Well, he wants to know you. Maybe if you stayed home instead of whoring around with whichever boy who can get you to spread your legs.” I flinch, her words are like slaps to my face, leaving my already raw skin exposed and stinging. It is so easy to be what everyone thinks than to try to fight it. My shoulders slump. “Now you be home tonight. I am going to cook us a real nice dinner.” She lights up another cigarette.
***
I sit on the bench across from Everett’s school, waiting for him to be released. The bell rings and children spill from the building. I stand, glancing over the top of their heads looking for the blond-covered head of his. Everett is holding the hand of his new teacher. She sees me and blows her thick bangs off the top of her brow. She leads Everett over to me.
“Hey, Bud,” I scoop him up into a hug. “Thanks.” I turn to leave.
“Miss Starr, your mother never contacted me. Did you give her my message?” She twirls her finger nervously between a strand of pearls.
“Yeah I did. She is really busy. I will remind her.” I try to leave, but her hand reaches out and grips my arm.
“Is everything okay?” She looks at me trying to see something more. “Are you okay? If you need any help…”
I snatch my arm away. “I am fine.” I stalk off. Mrs. Nosey watches us walk away, worry lines etched into her face. Let her call the State, I think. I don’t care anymore. I am anything but fine. I feel like I am dying inside, but I’m not about to tell her.
My mother had made a dinner of sausage, undercooked rice, and a can of peas. She has never cooked us dinner before, let alone sat at a table and shared a meal with us. Hell, I don’t even remember a night when my momma was sober enough to stay awake long enough to eat a full meal. “What’s wrong? You don’t like your mother’s cooking?”
Ronnie takes a sip off of his beer. I glare up at him, but his smile doesn’t waver. I stir the rice on my plate. Everett sits next to my mother, his fingers frantically tapping against the table as he rocks back and forth.
“I lost my appetite.” I push my plate away. My mother wants me to sit here and pretend that this is okay. Everett and I were gone for three days and not once did she ask, or worry about us. If Third went missing for a day, Mrs. Cruz would have this town plastered in missing persons flyers. This is so fucked up.
“You know you’re a real pretty little thing,” he reaches over the table and lifts up a piece of my hair in his fingers. “Just like your momma.” My mother beams up at him, oblivious of the sick twisted meaning behind his words. I push up from the table.
“Barbie,” my mother gasps. “Sit down now. We are having a dinner.” I hate her for her ignorance. I hate her for never being a mother, for not taking care of me, of Everett. I hate her, for letting random men into our life, for spending all her money on drugs or drinking it away. I hate her.
“No, I will not sit down. I will not pretend that you all of sudden are a mother. I am not going to sit while your boyfriend hits on me.” I grab Everett’s hand, yanking him harder than I intend to. I storm out of the kitchen, pulling Everett behind me.
I hear Ronnie consoling my mother. “It’s alright, she has spunk. Nothing that can’t be tamed.” I hate my mother for pretending to be concerned.
I make frozen pot pies for us at Mrs. Sophie, and curl up on the couch feeling drained by these past few days.
***
The bench creaks under Third’s weight. The bleacher is our new spot to eat lunch. I cannot bring myself to enter the lunch room since Dylan and I broke up. I could not see him sitting there at her table, smiling, laughing, like we didn’t share anything between us. He moved on so quickly it makes me wonder if I meant anything to him at all. I wear an old bulky sweater even though summer is right around the corner and it is a sweltering ninety degrees out. I just feel so cold .It feels like I will never be warm again. I pick at my sandwich, pulling off small chunks of bread. Mrs. Cruz has packed me a lunch every day since staying with them.
“How is your mom?” I throw my crust of the peanut butter and jelly in the woods for a little squirrel.
“Great, she wants you and Everett to come over for dinner this weekend.” I try to give him a smile, but it is small and forced. Poor Third. I am horrible company; I don’t want to be around myself. He has dutifully stayed by my side. He now keeps an arsenal of tissues at the ready. Most of my tears have dried, leaving a heavy weight sitting on my chest. I can never get enough air into my lungs to fill them. I feel terrible for my involvement in destroying Third and Dylan’s friendship.
“Dylan, he just needs some time. He will come around,” Third used to say to me during one of my many breakdowns. He would pat my back through a heavy dose of hiccups and snotty wet tears. I know he misses him as much as I do, but we both know the truth now. Dylan is gone to the both of us, and for good reason. He can no longer trust me. He never really did.
I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to hold myself together. “I wanted him so bad. I knew he wouldn’t fit into my life. We are so different,” I blurt out. I pause, a lump burning in my throat. “I just wanted him.” We have not spoken of Dylan in days.
Third has heard this all before. This time is different. He sits quietly; with no reassurance to give. “You know my home life is pretty screwed up. I couldn’t go home when I was sick. I couldn’t have Everett around my mom. I never know if she will be sober enough… if he will get hurt when she is around him.” I swallow back the fear that I have been living with for so long. I should feel lightened by unloading some of my burden. I have been hiding from the world. It only makes me feel weak and vulnerable. I continue to purge my darkest most humiliating secrets. Third sits, his mouth gaping open at parts, before he shuts it again. I tell Third how we sleep over at Mrs. Sophie and about Ronnie and the incident with him in the storage room. I keep going until he knows everything I have been hiding. “…I just wanted to keep that part of my life separate from Dylan. I was so happy with him it was like those parts of my life were a bad dream. I just wanted to be normal. Have a boy like me for me, not because he thought I would sleep with him.” I laugh, “You know all those rumors about me…well, the funny thing is… I am a virgin.” I laugh again, but there is nothing funny about it. Third closes his mouth once again. He looks like he wants to bolt and I don’t blame him. I want to run from me too.
“You know what…” He takes a deep breath. “Fuck him. Yeah, fuck him.”
Now I look at Third, mouth agape. <
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“Really Bee, if he can’t see who you are, you don’t need him in your life. He is kind of a tool anyway,” he says.
I laugh, “He is not a tool.” He is perfect.
“Well, he is acting like one,” he smiles and I smile with him.
A week later Third’s speeches turn into uplifting ones. This morning he tells me, “We are not going to sit around moping over that Tool.” Tool is Dylan’s new designated nickname from Third. I have to admit it is easier to say than his name. I am trying to practice what Third is preaching to me. Telling me I am not one of those girls who throws everything away because some boy made her heart skip a beat. With Third by my side, it is getting easier to be around the living again. I even try to pay attention in class and not just stare in dazed confusion at nothing. I even mange to make it through our presentation on The Little Mermaid without bursting out in tears.
One day in class, the Goth girl who thought that our romance was epic flops down next to me. You think that I would at least be invited into their clique. I guess I don’t even fit in with them. So I ignore their presence like they ignore me. “So that really sucks that the nerd broke up with you,” she begins. Her voice has a raspy quality to it.
“Yeah, it does,” I answer honestly.
She taps her pen on the desk. “My boyfriend and I broke up not that long ago.”
Is she trying to bond with me over our break-up? Well, she can forget about that. I am not about to write poetry, listening to pissed off punk-girl indie music, and pout about the world being a dark, unfair place.
“I don’t believe the rumors about you.” She pulls on one of her spiky layers, separating it into a soft cascade of black.
“Which one? The one where I blew the whole entire football team? Or that I screwed his best friend?” Anger drips off me. No one ever gave two craps about me before. So what gives this girl the right to suddenly try to strike up a conversation with me?
“Oh, the one about the football team I believe.” Her black lips spread into a smirk. My anger suddenly evaporates, and I laugh. It is the first time I have laughed out loud in weeks. It feels so good, soothing the ever-present ache I have.
“Roxie,” she offers.
“Barbie,” I.
“Yeah, I know, we have been in the same classes since middle school.” I have seen her around, but I have no clue as to who she is. Before Dylan and Third, my life consisted of keeping to myself. The occasional make- out session with some random guy. Girls just tended to steer clear of me. I never wanted or needed a girlfriend. Girls had a tendency to be cruel to each other, and talk behind their friends’ back. If that was what having a girlfriend all was about, I didn’t need or want one.
“So this guy that broke up with you?” I probe as we walk down the hall. Roxie keeps up the conversation through Algebra. She made me laugh again with her cracks about Gregor, who did not appreciate that I was laughing during his lecture on Fibonacci’s spiral. Boring. I am sure he was one of Dylan’s idols.
“I broke up with him. Complete douche. He only wanted one thing from me,” she winks.
I nod in understanding. I am all too aware what boys want.
“And I was finally like I can’t do this anymore. I mean I literally couldn’t do it anymore,” she winks. Gross. “So what happened with you and Nerd Boy?”
I don’t know if I am ready to open up to her.
“Trust issues,” she answers for me as if she could read my thoughts. Too close for comfort.
“Look, I am not looking for a friend to braid our hair together and talk boys with. I just need some new people to sit with at lunch… and maybe cheat off in Math.” She says.
“Good luck cheating off me,” she smiles again. “Yeah, I was one of those stupid girls. I let Justin become my whole world, lost my friends, and forgot who I was… yada, yada… boo hoo,” she continues. Maybe having a girlfriend might not be so bad.
I bite at my lip. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with?” I hesitate.
“My own kind? The other Goths? No. We have nothing in common. The way I see it, you and me, sister, are kindred spirits.” She smiles. Her teeth are bright white under her black lips.
I doubt that. But, Hell, I am not about to judge someone for not fitting in. “Okay, but we sit outside on the bleachers during lunch,” I try. “And on Wednesdays, we wear pink,” I cock my eyebrows at her.
“Mean Girls.”
I shrug, with no clue what she is talking about.
“Glen Coco?”
Now I am really lost. “Who?”
Her mouth falls open. “Holy bat shit, Robin! Please. Tell me you are kidding right now. You’ve never seen Mean Girls?”
I shake my head, with no recognition.
“For the love of witty girl banter! You are coming over this weekend so I can introduce you to the most epic movie of the millennium!” She loops her arms in mine. I have heard that before. The ache stings at the memories of the time Dylan tried to get me to watch Star Wars at his house and we spent the night kissing instead. I touch my lips. They no longer spark. Roxie doesn’t notice and continues to pull me through the halls, chattering a mile a minute.
I really like being around Roxie. She helps me almost forget about Dylan. He had no problem forgetting me. They even walked down the hall today holding hands. Katie’s head was leaning against his shoulder. He didn’t even look at me when they walked past. I could have been anybody. There was never a time he made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. I remember his words to me. He wanted to do right by me. Well, apparently he forgot. I watch them walk away, too stunned, too hurt to even move.
Roxie walks up, Third in tow. “He is a gargantuan butt douche,” Roxie says.
“What is a butt douche?” Third laughs.
“You, my very confused friend, don’t want to know,” she winks at him. She turns to me. “I know we said that boy talk is off limits, but you are so much prettier than her.” We watch them stroll down the hall. “What can he possibly see in little Miss Stick up the butt is beyond me?”
I roll my eyes, taking my backpack out of my locker.
“So are we on for tonight?” Roxie has been seriously trying to form a friendly bond with me.
“I can’t. I have to take care of my little brother.” I reply while putting my text books in my bag. I am back to focusing on what’s important.
“So bring the midget with you! He can play with my little brother Bilbo.”
Third raises his eyebrows. “Your brother is named Bilbo?”
She glares at him. “You’re the one to talk, Bartholomew Norbert the Third.”
His mouth drops wide open. I grip the locker to support myself while I laugh. “How did you know my real name?” he pales.
“Google.”
“Google?”
“Yes, Google, as in the World Wide Web.” She rolls her eyes. “You don’t think I am going to hang out with you without a background check. You might be some psycho gang member,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone.
Third shakes his head in disbelief. “I am not the one who looks like she ate death for breakfast,” he banters back.
“Whatever, Mr. Alabama State fair hot dog champion eater.”
His mouth drops again. I laugh as we leave listening to them banter back and forth.
Third parks the van outside one of the largest houses on the block. “Holy bat shit Robin!” Third uses one of Roxie’s phrases. Roxie lives on the wealthy side of town in a gated community. We had to practically give blood to be let in by the security guard. We walk up and ring a door bell, which plays a song instead of just a ding.
Third’s eyebrows shoot up. “I was not expecting this. I had more Addams Family envisioned in my head,” he says. Everett fiddles with the button on my shirt.
“Oh, great! You’re here,” Roxie pulls open the door, and pulls us in. She looks out of place in the vast white foyer that we now stand in. Her long black hai
r and all-black attire seem out of place against the bright white, crisp feeling inside the house.
“Are we going to get arrested? We are not breaking and entering,” Third eye balls the marble statue in the middle of the foyer.
Roxie frowns, “No you’re not. This is my house.” She points to a portrait above the landing. Two women pose with a blond girl with the same brown eyes as Roxie’s.
“Great we are going to jail because the queen of death sacrificed that little girl. Now we are the suspects in a murder” Third dramatically throws his hands into the air.
Roxie sticks out her tongue. “Well, no one invited you anyway; she leads us through the massive house.
“Hey, you did. Didn’t you get the memo? We are a package deal. Wherever she goes, I go.”
I roll my eyes and shrug my shoulders. It has been that way lately.
“Well, come on. Let’s go get this movie started. I hope you like popcorn? I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I made a couple of different kinds. Oh and here is Bilbo.” A little white fuzz ball comes scampering in, sliding across the floor.
“Your little brother is a dog?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Yes,” she picks up the little fur ball who is going mad trying to lick her.
“This is really twisted,” Third says. “The dog is your brother?”
She looks down at her black sock- covered feet. “I really wanted you to come and hang.”
I feel sorry for her. Her sarcastic witty self is gone. I roll my eyes, “Come on. Let’s get this epic movie marathon going.”
A smile spreads across her face. “I also picked up some candy.” Good, because I really need some sugar right about now.
Roxie didn’t buy some candy. She bought the entire candy isle at the grocery store, and has popped about a million different types of popcorn. We set Everett up with a Snickers bar and some art supplies next to the Legos. Bilbo takes up next to him, hoping that Everett will drop a few Skittles.