“The same dream again?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Rachel has been having this really awful dream,” I explained to Carly. “She sees a girl that she thinks she knows, and the girl is smiling, so she walks up to her.”
“And then the closer I get,” Rachel continued, “the more familiar this girl’s face looks. And at first I’m really happy and excited to see her, I have this really kinda strong feeling of love, as if I know her from somewhere. But as I walk closer I start to think that maybe this girl is not as friendly as she looks, or that there’s something really bad about her. And then, when I’m standing right in front of her, I see that she’s actually me, that she’s got my face, and all of a sudden I know what that means. To see my own face like that. It means that I’m going to die, and I’m just so scared … and I try to turn away, to get away from this girl … but she smiles, a really horrible, evil smile. And I try to run and she starts laughing and laughing and, of course, I can’t get away. And then I wake up.” Rachel looked at Carly. “It’s really scary. I know it doesn’t sound that bad, but it’s terrifying. This girl, this me-girl, is like some kind of death messenger.”
“Erk, that sounds totally creepy.” Carly shuddered. “No wonder it freaks you out.”
“Why don’t you lie down in here for a while,” I suggest to Rachel. “Try and get back to sleep. You’ve got that big rehearsal tomorrow. You need to rest.”
Rachel got into my bed. I pulled the covers up over her and went back to sit next to Carly on the rug.
“So?” Carly nudged me. “Continue, please. What did Will do next?”
I shook my head. “No,” I whispered. “Wait till Rachel’s asleep.”
“I know what you’re talking about,” Rachel called from the bed. “I know you’re talking about boys and stuff. I heard you when I came in before. Don’t stop because of me. I don’t care. Honestly. I won’t even listen.”
Carly raised her eyebrows as if to say, See? No big deal.
“You promise?” I said. “Promise you won’t listen, Rach?”
“I can barely keep my eyes open,” she said. “I’ll be asleep before you even say two words. And I don’t want to know what you and Will do to each other, believe me. It’s gross.”
And so I told Carly what had happened between Will and me. I told her almost everything in a rushed and quiet voice so that Rachel couldn’t hear. At least, I told her about the physical stuff, but I left out what we’d said to each other. I didn’t tell her how we laughed with wonder and joy, how we whispered tender words and promised to love each other forever. The loving words we’d exchanged were sacred, and I kept them to myself.
The following day Carly and I met Rachel after her piano rehearsal. We’d recently started drinking coffee, and we liked nothing better than going to a café and sitting over a cappuccino for as long as we could—watching the other people, gossiping about our friends. It felt like a grown-up thing to do.
We took Rachel to the café with us that day, and she talked about how excited she was about her upcoming concert. The other musicians were fantastic, she said, and they all saw completely eye to eye about how to interpret the piece they were going to perform. I liked talking about music, and I knew the people Rachel was talking about so I was interested. But after a while I could see that Carly was getting bored; her eyes were drifting, and she started tapping her fingers impatiently.
“Carly,” I said. “Hello? Are we boring you to death?”
“Sorry.” Rachel’s cheeks flushed. “I’m going on and on about this, aren’t I? It’s just so exciting. Sorry. Let’s talk about something else.”
Carly dismissed Rachel’s apology with a shake of her head. “What time do you two have to be home?” she asked.
“No particular time for me.” I looked at Rachel. “But you have to get home and practice.”
Rachel glanced at her watch. “Yes. But there’s plenty of time.”
“You know Jake and Ross and those guys?” Carly looked at me, and I could tell by the way she smiled that she had a plan I wouldn’t want Rachel to be a part of.
“Yeah.” I knew them vaguely. They were from the boys’ school and were a grade ahead of Carly and me. They were in a band and were known for being both very wild and very popular.
“They’re having band practice this afternoon. At the old farmer’s shed. Well, I think it was going to be a band practice, but it’s turned into more of a party. Apparently, quite a few people are going to watch them play. You know, music, a few beers. It should be fun.”
“Sounds awesome,” I said.
“Band practice?” Rachel said. “How cool. I’d love to hear them. Can I come?”
“They’re seniors, Rach. They’ll be drinking and stuff. You’ll feel totally out of place.”
“Not if there’s good music, I won’t.”
“No. No way. Don’t be stupid. You have to go home and practice.”
“Oh, come on, Katie. Please. Can’t I just come and watch for a while and then go home? I know you think I’m just a baby, but I’m not. And I really need some fun. I’ll be practicing every minute of every day for the next few weeks. The music will inspire me. Please.”
“Inspire you?” I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. Amateur grunge rock? As if.”
“Please, Katie? Please? Just for an hour?”
“No.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Carly, looking irritated. “Just let her come. What does it matter? We don’t have time to sit here and argue about it.”
There was no real reason to keep saying no—we could go for an hour and get home before Mom and Dad, and Rachel would still have plenty of time to practice—I just didn’t want her tagging along. But I couldn’t say that without making Rachel cry, and if she cried now she’d ruin everything—I’d have to take her home, look after her, wipe her snotty nose. Despite what she said, she really could be a big baby at times.
“All right, then.” I kept my voice deliberately cold. “You can come. But don’t blame me if Mom and Dad have a shit fit.”
10
Aunt Vivien tries to hide it, but I can tell that she’s surprised when I say that I’m going away with Alice and Robbie for the weekend. She hugs me tight before she leaves for work.
“You enjoy yourself, young lady,” she says.
We’ve agreed to head to the beach, and we take my car, the new Honda, because it’s the fastest and the most comfortable. We leave on Friday morning. Both Alice and I should be at school, but the teachers are fairly lenient with seniors. They probably won’t even notice our absence. In any case, I’ve brought my copy of Hamlet and plan to reread it while lazing on the beach. Robbie has taken a rare weekend off from the restaurant. The three of us are excited and in good spirits and laugh and joke for most of the drive. When we arrive we go to the supermarket and stock up on supplies for the next few days. Alice fills the shopping cart with chocolate and candy, Robbie and I collect more practical things—eggs and milk and bread and toilet paper. We put our groceries into the trunk of the car and check our map, then head east on the little road that takes us toward the beach.
We’ve rented an old two-bedroom cottage. We found it listed on the Net, and though there were a couple of photos of the interior—the kitchen and the dining room—we’re not entirely certain what we’re going to find. So when we arrive and see a charming, whitewashed little house with a deck overlooking the beach, we are both delighted and relieved.
We rush inside and run through the house, laughing and shouting.
“This is perfect!”
“God. Look at that enormous old bathtub!”
“And look at the view. You can hear the ocean from every room. Wow! This is just gorgeous!”
“Oh, hey, come here and look at the bedrooms. Look at those beds.”
We put our swimsuits on and race down to the beach. We all run straight in to the water without bothering to test the temperature, and dive under the waves. The water is icy
, but I am far too happy, far too high on life and friendship and the knowledge that there are three entire days of fun ahead, to worry about the cold. Alice and Robbie splash each other and hug. Alice runs from him, laughing and stumbling. He catches her, but she pulls away and one strap of her swimsuit slips down over her shoulder and her breast is exposed. This makes her laugh some more, and she spins and squeals like an excited child, and pulls her other strap down so that both of her breasts are free. Then she cups them in her hands, lifts and squeezes so her nipples are pointed at Robbie.
“Bang, bang, you’re dead,” she says.
“Oh. Aaaaah.” Robbie clutches his chest and topples backward into the water.
Alice turns to face me, nipples pointed.
“No, no.” I laugh. “Please. Have mercy.”
I see movement in the corner of my eye and turn to see a middleaged man and woman. They are walking past, staring, their faces stony with disapproval and disgust.
Alice follows my gaze and sees them. I watch her expression change from one of laughing amusement to one of anger. Suddenly she turns so that she is facing the couple directly. She reaches behind herself and tugs at the string of her bikini top so that it swings loose in her hand; then she puts her hand on her bikini bottoms and pulls them down, steps out of them, and straightens up. She looks at the couple, naked and defiant, and smiles a cold, challenging smile.
The man and woman rush away, red-faced, muttering and shaking their heads.
Alice watches them go, then tips back her head and laughs.
We feast that night on take-out hamburgers and fries. The fries are crunchy, the burgers juicy, and the three of us stuff ourselves. When we’ve finished, we spread out on the sofas and talk lazily about nothing much at all.
“God, I hate people like that,” Alice says out of the blue.
“Like what?”
“Like those narrow-minded small-town hicks we saw at the beach today.”
“Narrow-minded? Really? You’ve got them totally figured out?” Robbie looks at her curiously. “After seeing them for a total of five seconds?”
“Small lives, bad haircuts, and horrible clothes. Fat and ugly to boot. The kind of people that vote for right-wing politicians and hate gays. The kind of people who say things like, She’s a nice girl, even if she’s black. I wouldn’t say I’d go as far as asking her to dinner, though.”
I laugh at Alice’s wicked satire, assuming that she’s joking. But Robbie doesn’t laugh. He looks at Alice and shakes his head. “You can be such a bitch sometimes.”
“That may be true, but I’m right about them.” She points at him. “You’re just too nice for your own good.”
“I’m not nice. You’re unfair. You just—”
Alice yawns loudly, interrupting, and stretches her arms up over her head. “Maybe I am unfair. But who cares? The whole world’s unfair, Robbie. And believe me, I know those kind of people. I know their type. They’re exactly like my parents. Sad. Bitter. Ugly. Always so nosy about what everyone else is doing because their own pathetic lives are so boring. I can see it in their eyes. I can smell the stench of them from a hundred feet away.” She stands and stretches again, flashing her tanned midriff and her belly ring as her T-shirt lifts. “Anyway, this conversation is getting boring. We’ve had it too many times before, and we’ll just have to agree to disagree. I’m suddenly very, very tired.” She blows us both a kiss and walks from the room.
Robbie and I smile at each other, listen to Alice mutter to herself as she undresses, hear the squeak of the bed as she climbs in.
“Don’t get up to anything naughty without me,” she calls from the room. “Nighty-night, children. Be good.”
“Night, Alice.”
“Do you want to go and sit outside? On the deck?” Robbie suggests to me, after a while.
“Sure.”
I can tell by the expression on his face as he arranges our chairs and by the way he waits for me to sit before he speaks that there is something on his mind.
“I want to ask you a question,” he says.
“Okay.”
He sighs. “I hate asking this type of thing. And I understand if you don’t want to answer. Feel free to tell me to drop dead.”
“Okay.” I laugh. “Drop dead.”
“At least let me ask the question first.”
“Sorry. Ask away.”
He looks back at the house before he speaks again. “Does Alice ever confide in you? About me? You know, tell you how she feels?”
“No, not really.”
“Not really?” Robbie looks at me expectantly, as if hoping I’ll elaborate.
But the truth is that when we’re alone together, Alice very rarely mentions Robbie. Of course, if we have plans to do something together she mentions him, but she has never really talked about her feelings for him. I asked her once if she loved him, if she considered him her boyfriend, but she just laughed dismissively, shook her head, and said that she wasn’t girlfriend material. And although it’s obvious that Robbie doesn’t feel so casually about Alice—he’s quite clearly head over heels in love with her—I’d always assumed they had some kind of understanding.
But Robbie wouldn’t be asking me these questions if he knew exactly where he stood. Clearly he’s hoping for more from his relationship with Alice than she’s willing to give. I have a sudden urge to tell him to protect himself, to steel his heart, to look for another girlfriend if he wants something serious. But I don’t. I can’t. I really don’t know what Alice thinks of her relationship with Robbie—perhaps she does love him but is reluctant to admit it, perhaps she’s just afraid of being hurt—and I don’t have the right to give advice or make warnings when I’m just as much in the dark as he is.
“I’ve only known her for three months, Robbie,” I remind him.
“But you two have become pretty close, you spend so much time together,” he answers. “You must have some idea what she thinks. Even if she doesn’t come right out and say it.”
“But she hasn’t said anything, honest. And so no, I don’t know any more than you do.” I look at him, puzzled. “Anyway, didn’t you say that Alice was bad for you? You compared her to some kind of unhealthy addiction. I thought you were”—I hesitate, trying to think of the right word—“um, I don’t know, in this with your eyes wide open?”
“More like my heart wide open, I think.” He smiles sadly. “Sometimes I can be rational about it and be happy just to take whatever she’s willing to give. Sometimes I can concentrate on all the bad stuff about our relationship and convince myself that anything serious with Alice would only make me miserable. But the reality is that I want more.” He sighs. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have interrogated you like that. It’s really boring when people try and talk about their relationships with a third person, isn’t it? I hate it when people do it to me.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not bored. Not at all. I just don’t have any answers.”
“Maybe I should go and see one of those people who can tell you the future. What are they called?”
“A psychic?”
“That’s it. A psychic.”
“Why don’t you just ask Alice? Talk to her seriously. Ask her what she wants.”
“I’ve tried. I ask her what she feels, what she wants, all the time. She’s an absolute master at avoiding questions—haven’t you noticed that about her? I tell her I love her and she laughs and changes the subject. If I get too serious, she gets annoyed and tells me to be quiet.”
“Maybe you need to be more forceful?” I smile and put my hand on his knee and squeeze affectionately. “Ask her if she wants to marry you and have your babies and live happily ever after,” I joke.
“I would marry her, that’s the sad part. The truth is that I’d marry her and get her pregnant and have six beautiful kids and buy a house and get a stupid, boring job and support them all forever. I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d love to.” He sighs again. “I love her. There’s just no one else like Alice,
is there? She’s beautiful, funny, smart … and she’s got so much passion for life. So much enthusiasm. She can make the most boring thing in the world seem like fun. She can turn an ordinary day into a party. Everyone else seems just, so, well, lifeless and empty in comparison.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Shit. Sorry! I don’t mean you.”
“That’s okay. I’m only kidding.” I laugh. “It sure sounds like you’ve got it bad, though.”
“Yep. Pathetically, ridiculously in love. With a girl who’s scared of commitment.”
I wonder if he’s right. I’d always assumed that when someone said they were afraid of commitment it was really just a convenient way of getting out of an unwanted relationship. A way of dumping someone gently, without destroying the ego of the poor soul being dumped. It’s me, not you, I just can’t commit is certainly a less bitter pill to swallow than Hey, I just don’t like you enough to hang around. See ya later. But he may be right about Alice—there’s definitely something about her, something secret and closed, and despite all her apparent warmth and openness, this part of her remains hidden, untouchable.
“Did she say that?” I ask.
Robbie is staring out toward the beach, deep in thought.
“Robbie?”
“Sorry?” he says. “Did she say what?”
“Did Alice actually tell you that she’s afraid of commitment? Or is that just what you think?”
“She didn’t say it. God.” He laughs. “Imagine Alice saying something like that. No. She didn’t say it, but it’s pretty obvious, and it would make sense, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how you can tell these things.”
“I mean because of her mother and stuff,” he says. “Her real mother. All that rejection. She’s bound to be wary of love.”
“Her real mother? What do you mean?”
“Oh.” He stares at me. “She hasn’t told you?”
“No. She hasn’t told me anything. What? Is she adopted or something?”
“Yeah. Shit! I probably shouldn’t say any more. I should wait and let her tell you herself.”