“Lucky? This isn’t lucky. This is sucky.”
“It’s not like you didn’t know it was coming. You should feel happy. You’re an actual woman now. You’re not a kid anymore.”
“I’d rather be a kid any day.”
“Don’t be so ungrateful. It’s a milestone, a mark of womanhood.” For the first time ever, I see envy in Elaine’s eyes, and that’s when I realize that I have something she doesn’t.
“Well, I don’t want it. You take it. I’ll be glad if it never comes back. I just want things to be like the way they were.”
Impatiently she snaps, “Things can’t stay the same forever, Annemarie. People change; they grow up. That’s the way it’s supposed to happen.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to change; I want to stay the same. Forever.” And I mean it too.
Elaine makes a face. “Sometimes I don’t get you at all.”
Sometimes I don’t get me either.
chapter 25
I think Elaine’s breaking up with me.
After my last class I went to meet Elaine at her locker the way I usually do, but Hugh was already there. They were laughing and carrying on, but when they saw me, they hushed up like they were members of some secret club.
I said, “Hey, y’all.” I stood there, shifting my book bag from one shoulder to the other.
Hugh nodded at me, and Elaine said, “Hey, Annemarie. I’m not riding the bus today. Hugh’s going to walk me home.”
“Oh. Okay, then. Call me later.”
Elaine nodded and threw me a quick, excited smile. Then they walked down the hallway together and I watched them go.
Sitting on the bus alone, I can’t help but wonder if this is the beginning of the end for Elaine and me. It took me my whole life to find a best friend like Elaine. What would my life be like without her? She’s already picking Hugh over me. If she doesn’t call tonight, I’ll know that we really are in trouble.
Instead of going straight home, I stop by Mark’s house. For old times sake. He wasn’t on the bus, and I know he didn’t have to stay after school for practice, so I figure he must’ve left early. A dentist appointment, maybe.
For maybe the first time ever, I ring the doorbell. I’m not sure why. For some reason it doesn’t feel right to just walk in anymore.
Mrs. Findley answers the door. She looks surprised to see me, but happy, too. Wiping her hands on a towel, she says, “Annemarie! Sweetheart, I’ve missed you. Mark’s not home, but you come on in and chat with me.”
My hand on the screen door, I falter. “Mark’s not home?”
“No, dear, I dropped off him and some of his friends at the arcade after school.”
“Oh,” I say. I take a step back. “Who? Kyle and Jack?”
“Well, Kyle, but not Jack. Mairi and Hadley, too,” she says. “I was wondering why you didn’t go, Annemarie. We hardly ever see you anymore.”
Mairi and Hadley? Since when do they go to the arcade with boys? They hate the arcade; they think it’s boring. They don’t even know how to play Skee-Ball. I know it couldn’t have been a double date or anything. I bet they invited themselves along so they could drool over Kyle playing that free throw basketball game. What a couple of idiots.
Later that night Elaine calls me.
“I think Hugh’s going to ask me out, Annemarie.”
“Ask you out where?” I’m being obtuse on purpose. Obtuse means thick-headed or slow. It’s one of Celia’s SAT words.
“You know what I mean.”
“Well, what are you going to say?”
“I’m going to say yes, duh!”
Picking my nails, I say, “I thought you weren’t completely sure how you felt about him.”
“When did I ever say that?”
“I don’t know, but you did.”
“Well, I’m sure now. I like him.”
“All right, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Sure. Whatever.
chapter 26
I always wonder how people get together. How does it happen? Exactly what is said, or decided on? I wish I knew.
Mairi and Kyle are officially a couple now. I guess that afternoon at the arcade was their first step toward becoming boyfriend-girlfriend. They must have figured out that it was their destiny to be together, the prettiest girl and the prettiest guy. Everyone knows that that’s what’s supposed to happen. They owe it to the rest of us. Good-looking people are supposed to be together, like Barbie and Ken. It’s, like, a law.
Mairi and Kyle aren’t the only ones. Elaine and Hugh are a couple too. He walks her home from school, and I miss sitting with her on the bus. But the worst part is the way she thinks I don’t understand her anymore. She’ll get this faraway look in her eyes and say, “Sometimes I really miss Hugh.” And I’ll say, “But you just saw him at school.” And then she’ll say, “Oh, you couldn’t understand, Annemarie.” What is it I can’t understand exactly?
And I haven’t just lost her to Hugh. Now that Mairi and Kyle are a couple, the four of them probably do coupley things together. I bet they go to the movies on Saturday nights, and afterward they go to Mr. Boneci’s diner. They probably share banana splits and feed them to each other like a bunch of monkeys. Elaine’s not even allowed to date yet, so she tells her parents she’s with me.
Celia has a boyfriend too. His name is Eli Parker, but everyone calls him Park. He’s tall with shaggy brown hair, and his jeans are always dirty. I bet he never washes his jeans. He’s the lead singer in a band called Rapid Dominance. Every day, it’s Park this and Park that. “Park’s got a gig at a bar in Patan County.” “Park wrote me a song called ‘Celia, How I’d Love to Feel Ya’.” “Park wants me to go cross-country with the band this summer.” Park makes me want to puke. He’s always hanging around, like the weird smell in our basement. Where did it come from, and how can we get rid of it?
And it’s not just Park or Eli or whatever his name is. All of this love crap makes me want to puke. Things were so much easier when it was just me and Celia and me and Elaine. Come to think of it, things were easier when it was just me and Mark, too. But the old me and Mark, without any of the love stuff. Life was simpler. Life was riding bikes and kickball and cherry Popsicles. There was none of this boyfriend-girlfriend business to mess everything up.
But then sometimes I can’t help but wish I was a part of something too, a half of a whole. Elaine thinks I don’t understand, but the truth is, a little part of me does. A little part of me does want someone to hold hands with and talk to on the phone late at night. But it’s just a little part of me. The rest of me isn’t ready. I don’t know if I even want to be ready.
When I get home from school, Celia and Park are sitting at the kitchen table eating oranges. He’s got his feet on the table, and he’s throwing sections into her mouth.
Celia says, “Hey, Shug. Have an orange.”
“Hey, kid,” Park says. “Think fast.” He throws a piece of orange my way, and it lands on my shoe.
“No thanks.” Who does he think he is, offering me my own oranges in my own house?
Park shrugs, picks up the orange, and pops it into his mouth. “Waste not, want not.”
“You’re so gross,” Celia says fondly. She scrunches her nose up at him, and he leans forward and kisses it. Then she giggles. I am so sick of hearing her giggle like that. I never knew my sister was one of Those Girls, those girls who giggle over every little thing.
“You’re both gross,” I say, taking an orange and walking up to my room.
After Park leaves, Celia comes up to my room and plops down on my bed. She flicks my wrist and says, “You wanna go to the movies tonight?”
I look up from my social studies book, surprised. This is awfully generous of her, seeing as how she’s been spending every spare minute with Park. She never has time for me anymore, but I’ll take what I can get. “I guess so,” I say. We can share a box of Milk Duds and a large popcorn, extra butter, and we can thro
w it at people who talk during the movie, the way we always do.
“Good,” she says, standing up. “I’ll tell Park to pick us up at eight.”
I deflate like an old birthday balloon. “Park’s coming too?”
“Well, yeah.” Celia looks mystified, like duh, of course he’s coming too.
“Oh. Well, maybe you two should just go by yourselves then.” I turn back to my social studies homework.
“What? Why? Don’t you like him, Annemarie?” Celia sits back down again.
“He’s all right.”
“Park is more than all right, Shug. Oh, Annemarie, he’s the best. He’s wonderful. You’ve just got to give him a chance, and then you’ll see.” She falls back onto the bed, and her hair fans out on my pillow. “I really want you to like him. It was his idea that we all go out tonight, you know.”
“It was?”
“Yeah. He wants to get to know you. I think I love him, Annemarie, I really do. I think this is real.”
I stare at her. This was the first she’d talked of love. “How do you know?”
“You just do.” She props her head up on one elbow, and says, “I love him so much it hurts sometimes.”
“It hurts?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Her face is soft and dreamy and full of secrets, and I know why Eli Parker loves my sister.
“Well, how do you know it’s not just puppy love?” I say meanly. Something in me wants to squash those stars in her eyes.
“It’s not.” She looks dreamier than ever.
“Do you think he loves you, too?” I already know the answer. Of course he loves her. I’d seen the way he looked at her, the same way every boy looked at her, including my boy. My Mark.
She thinks this over. And slowly Celia nods. “Yeah, I think he does. And I don’t know if it’d really matter if he didn’t.”
“Are you crazy? Of course it matters! I couldn’t love somebody who didn’t love me back a trillion times more.” A lie. Hadn’t I been loving Mark all this time and hadn’t he been not loving me back?
“You’ll understand one day, loving somebody so much you just want to be near them ’cause they make you feel so good.” Celia sits up and hugs her knees to her chest. She looks about six years old. “He makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.”
“He loves you, Celia.”
She looks so pleased, I feel like Cruella DeVille for trying to steal that look in her eyes. “You really think so?”
“Yeah.” Of this, I am certain. Who could know my sister and not love her?
chapter 27
In the middle of the night I wake up to hear Mama and Daddy fighting. I try to fall back to sleep, but it’s useless. I get up instead. I make my way through the darkness, and it’s Mama’s voice that guides me. When I get to the stairs, I stop and rest my head against the wall. It sounds like the same old fight.
“I work, Gracie, that’s what I do.”
“Work, work, work. That’s all you ever do, right, Billy?”
“Darlin’, one of us has to.”
“And just what do you think I do?”
“You turn the TV off and on at a nursing home.”
“Damn you! Who do you think keeps this family together while you’re gone workin’?”
“To be honest, I don’t really see you overtaxin’ yourself. You let both of those girls run wild while you lay around like the Queen of friggin’ Sheba. Lord only knows where Celia spends her nights, and Annemarie never even leaves the house.”
This stings. I didn’t think anyone had noticed the way I was always at home. I can’t help it if everyone I know has taken up arms in the sexual revolution. You’d think he’d be relieved, grateful even.
Mama laughs bitterly. “Oh, please. It’s a little late for you to be taking an interest in the girls. Pardon me, Billy, it’s a little late for you to be taking an interest in our girls. Other girls, you’ve got interest aplenty. Why, you’ve got interest just shootin’ right out of you—”
“I’m not having this conversation with you, Gracie.”
“Oh yes, you are,” Mama hisses. Her voice drops low, and I can’t hear what she says next.
Then he says, “Frankly, I’m surprised you even noticed.” His voice is so cold I don’t recognize it as my daddy’s. “I’m surprised you were sober enough to notice anything at all.”
The sound of Mama’s hand across Daddy’s cheek slices through the air. It’s loud enough to make me jump.
“Don’t do that again, Gracie.” The quiet warning in his voice silences the whole house. So does the door he slams. I hear the car start, drive away. And then all I hear is Mama crying. My shoulders feel tight, and I just want to go back to sleep.
It wasn’t fair of Daddy to say that about Mama never being sober. Plenty of people drink. That doesn’t make them alcoholics. If that were true, Clementon would just be one big AA meeting. And it’s not like she drinks all the time. There’ll be times when she won’t drink anything for days. Mama will go to work and then she’ll come home, and sometimes she’ll even make supper. Or she’ll go out with Gail, or help me with my homework. I don’t really need her help anymore, but it’s nice to work together on something. It’s nice to have her help me. To sit with her in the dining room and have her hair fall across my cheek and breathe in her perfume. It’s like she’s a real mom.
And then Daddy will call and ruin everything. He’ll say he’s not coming home that weekend, or he will come home and they’ll fight the way they always do. Then she’ll drink. Sometimes it’s like there’s this well of sadness inside her, and she has to drink to fill it up. And then sometimes it’s like there’s a monster inside of her, and drinking’s the only thing that will calm it down. And sometimes she drinks just because.
When I was little, it wasn’t so bad. Or maybe it was and I just didn’t notice. It didn’t occur to me to wonder why she woke Celia and me up in the middle of the night to make strawberry sundaes. Or why we were the only kids I knew who didn’t have a bedtime. Or why we were allowed to eat whatever we wanted whenever we wanted. I could have sour cream and onion chips for dinner and Mama wouldn’t bat an eyelash.
That’s probably why I like vegetables so much. The other kids used to be so jealous when I’d pull a bag of chips and a box of cookies out of my lunchbox, but what I wouldn’t do for a Ziploc bag of cut celery or baby carrots. I used to trade Mark my chips for his fruit. Most times it was sliced apples or a banana, but on lucky days there was a kiwi or a tangerine.
When you’re little, lots of things slip past you. Not anymore. I’m old enough to know that not everybody’s mama drinks and not everybody’s daddy is never home. Some daddys are home for dinner every night, like Mr. Findley. Not my daddy, though.
They haven’t had a fight this bad in a while. I wonder if I should go down and comfort her. The thing is, I’m sick of it. I’m sick of the fighting and the crying and the drinking, and I wish I didn’t have to be a part of any of it. But I am.
When I walk into the kitchen, Mama’s standing by the sink wiping her eyes with a paper towel.
I say, “Is everything okay?”
She looks plenty sober now. Her eyeliner is smudged, and her face is red, but she’s still the most beautiful woman I know. Painting a bright smile on her face, she says, “’Course, Shug. Daddy and I just had a little fight. Go on to bed; everything’s fine now.”
“You sure?” Pretending to believe her is easier than not.
“’Course I’m sure. Git on now; scoot.”
I walk back up the stairs, but instead of returning to my room, I go to Celia’s instead. She’s asleep in her bed, and I push her over and crawl in.
My feet are cold, so I warm them up on the backs of her legs. “Annemarie,” she growls.
“Hmm?”
“Get your feet off of me before I cut them off.”
“Sheesh. Sor-ee.” She’s falling back to sleep again, and I whisper, “Celia …”
Silence. “Celia …”
“What?”
“Do you think Mama and Daddy are gonna get divorced?”
“No.”
“Do you think they should?”
“Go to sleep, Shug.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Well, I am. So shut up or get out.”
I shut up.
chapter 28
Daddy called this morning. I picked up the phone as usual. He told me he wasn’t coming home today the way he was supposed to. Something came up at work, something real important. With Daddy, it’s always something “real important.” I asked him if he wanted to talk to Mama; he said no, he’d call back later. I used to be disappointed when he didn’t come home. Now I’m not even surprised. I’m even a little relieved. But what does surprise me is the way Mama still gets upset. You’d think she’d be used to it. But every time he does it, her face crumples for a second, like she’s breaking into little pieces. Pretty soon there’ll be nothing left of her.
This afternoon Jack left a note in my locker. It said, “Can’t tutor at my house today, I’ll be at your house at 7:30.” It’s just like him to change things up on me like that with no notice. Luckily Mama’s working tonight, and Celia’s hardly ever around anyway, so we’ll have the house to ourselves.
As soon as I get home from school, I start cleaning up the house like a madwoman. I wash the dishes that have piled up, I put away coats in the closet, I wipe down the counter, I even dust the TV. I don’t know that the TV has ever been dusted.
For dinner I fix myself two boiled hot dogs and cold baked beans. With ketchup. Plus root beer. It’s a feast fit for a king.
After I eat, I set up a workstation in the dining room. I lay out paper and mechanical pencils, and at 7:30 on the dot, the doorbell rings.
I run over to the front door, and it’s Jack. On time. I can tell that he’s just had a shower because his hair’s still wet. His hair looks so dark it’s almost black. He just stands there, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Hey.”
“Uh, hey, come on in.”
Leading him through the kitchen, it hits me how weird it is to have a boy that’s not Mark in my house. It’s like on those standardized tests you take at school—which of these things does not belong? Jack Connelly, that’s what.