side to side and finally gave up her losing battle with gravity, pushed Leah away, and sat on the pavement. She leaned back against the truck’s sideboards and looked up at Leah with a determined gaze. “I’ll be fine in a minute,” she said, then started giggling again.
With the door open, the truck’s dome light was on and Danny’s face was clearly lit. Leah glared at him across the wide seat. He gazed calmly at her, placid and inscrutable, those dark eyes seeing through her, down into her soul. Whatever the pronounced effects of the marijuana on Brooke, he seemed unfazed.
How could you? Leah signed, emphasizing her point, and blame, by slapping the back of one hand against her other.
Danny didn’t sign but knew exactly what she meant. He responded without speaking, just shifting his eyes slightly and tilting his head—Brooke is Brooke; her choice.
Somehow Leah knew exactly what Danny was thinking, but how was that possible? Somehow she was exactly in tune with his every move and gesture, even when he wasn’t moving. She wondered what it would be like to sit on the truck seat beside him. Then she remembered Brooke, her sister collapsed at her feet on the asphalt.
Brooke was now raising the wide hem of her gown and waving it up and down like a sheet, exposing her bare legs all the way up to her panties then hiding them then exposing them. “Look, Leah. I’m doing the Deb Waltz!” she said from her seat, waving her gown and kicking up her feet.
Leah took a deep breath, then another. After the second she bent over, picked Brooke up under the armpits, and set her back on the truck seat. Before Brooke could fall back out into the parking lot, she slammed the door. She leaned in through the open window and, despite the new darkness, caught Danny’s eyes and held them. Don’t leave! she said with her hands and her eyes.
Danny gave a single short nod, his impassive expression never changing.
Leah then turned to Brooke and gave her a light kiss on the forehead.
Brooke said, “I’m not Danny!” and pushed her away.
Leah ignored the gesture, stood back from the truck’s open window, and locked the door in hopes of keeping Brooke where she was, and far from any other witnesses.
As she returned across the parking lot, her mind was racing. How was she going to keep this from Momma and Father? She was so preoccupied that she bumped into Judy Ingram as she bent to unlock her car door in the middle of the lot. Judy was a sweet girl in Brooke’s class who came from a blue-collar family that lived across town. Despite their different backgrounds—indeed, probably because of them—Brooke had befriended Judy and helped defend her against the snide remarks and abuse from some of the other preppy girls at school. She had neither the connections nor the money to attend the Ball as a participant, but Brooke had helped get her a place on the decorations committee so she could attend for free. Now she was headed off to her weekend job at the ice-cream parlor. “What’s the matter, Leah?”
Leah stared at her with uncharacteristic desperation, then suddenly calmed as she struck on a plan, a scheme that required Judy as a participant. She twice tried to sign her plan, but Judy failed to understand. Leah again grew desperate. Time was running out.
Judy raised one finger then leaned into the car and pulled out a sheet of paper—the Deb Ball program—that was blank on the back. She handed it and a pencil to Leah.
Leah set it on the hood of the car and quickly wrote—Tell anyone who asks that you drove me and Brooke home.
Judy looked at her with surprise. “You need a ride home?”
Leah shook her head, then wrote—Just tell them you did. Brooke will explain.
Judy was still confused but eventually nodded. “Say I drove you and Brooke home from the Ball.”
Leah nodded emphatically.
Judy said, “O.K. That’s easy.”
Leah gave her a big smile.
“Nothing else?” Judy asked.
Leah thought for a second then wrote—Tell them you had to stop twice for Brooke to throw up by the side of the road.
Now Judy’s eyes got big. “Oh!” she said.
Leah nodded and shaped her mouth into an O like Judy’s. Then she turned and rushed back into the hall through the service door.
The lights had dimmed in the dining area and brightened around the stage and dance floor in anticipation of the start of the Waltz. Leah was glad for this as she hoped it might help hide the lies she was about to spin. She was also relieved that the Waltz hadn’t yet started and that guests and waitresses were still moving about, finishing dessert. She was a couple strides from their table and taking a deep breath to calm her nerves when she detected the odor of marijuana mixed with the more potent cigarette smoke and the occasional cigar. For just a second she wondered if someone was smoking pot inside the hall. Then she realized the smell was coming off of her—her dress and hair and skin! She considered racing to the restroom to scrub the parts of her body that were scrubbable, but too late—Momma spotted her and raised her eyes in concern. She’d have to go on and hope Momma and Father couldn’t smell the strange odor amidst the other many odors in the hall, or if they did would not know what it was or where it came from.
She signed to Momma that Brooke was sick in the restroom.
Momma started to rise to help.
Leah stopped her with a single hand adamantly outstretched like a traffic cop, then indicated that Brooke was O.K. but embarrassed. Someone else would take them home.
“Who?” Momma asked.
She signed Judy Ingram by her round face and ice-cream dipper (early in the summer, Leah had asked Momma if she could get a job at the ice cream parlor with Judy, and received a quick and firm “No” without discussion).
By then Momma had passed the information about Brooke to Father, who had trouble reading Leah’s signing in the dimly lit public space. He said, “Then we should take her home.” He set his napkin on the table and stood.
Leah looked at Momma with desperation, her hands limp at her sides. Either Momma would get the message from her eyes, or she wouldn’t. No signing would help now.
Momma stared at Leah for several seconds then raised her hand and took hold of Father’s near wrist. “Leah says Brooke’s O.K., just not feeling well. Leah will take care of it.”
Leah turned to Father. He seemed uncertain. She looked back at Momma.
“Dear, we should stay for the awards. I hear Ted Jenkins daughter is in line for Most Congenial.” Ted Jenkins was Father’s boss, and a stickler for social protocols. He was the biggest reason behind their parents’ insistence Brooke participate in the Deb Ball. Then Momma added the coup de grace—“And maybe we can take a turn or two around the dance floor after the awards.” They both loved ballroom dancing—it was how they had met, at a formal back in college.
Father looked from Momma to Leah. “You’re sure Brooke’s O.K.?”
Leah nodded and crossed her heart.
Even in the dim light, Father got that sign. He nodded and sat back down.
Leah signed to Momma—Enjoy the rest of the Ball. I’ll take good care of Brooke.
Momma nodded around a wry grin that said all that needed to be said without words—I don’t know what Brooke has gotten into, but I’m sure you’ll make it right.
Leah smiled thanks, for her leniency and her confidence. She then turned toward the door. The whole time she’d been standing beside the table, she’d avoided looking at Matt. But as she turned she couldn’t help glancing at him. In that fraction of a second, he gave her a smug shake of his head, a snicker, and a wink. She expected the first two gestures but not the last—one more favor Brooke would have to find the means of returning.
By the time she climbed into the truck beside Brooke, most of the acrid smell had dissipated, replaced now by the sour scent of hops and beer breath. Leah fired a glance at Danny. A hard and admonishing glare had become her default look for him, which in fact was O.K. by her as it helped hide, or so she hoped, what he seemed able to see inside her.
He shrugged, sardonic and unflappable as ev
er, and gestured that the beer helped bring Brooke down from the marijuana.
Evidence of that was clear from Brooke’s snoring. Her head lolled against Danny’s shoulder. Her mouth was open and a bit of drool ran across her unmade-up chin. Leah shook her head, disgusted by the behavior of both the truck’s occupants. Just get us home she signed before slamming the door and turning her eyes directly ahead, where they remained for the duration of the fifteen minute drive as she sat straight-backed and rigid on the truck’s lofty perch, riding shotgun with the damp and fecund summer night rushing past her face, caressing her blond hair.
Brooke was staring down on her when she opened her eyes in new morning light. “How was the Waltz?”
Leah managed a nod—it was good. Then she added—Chloe Bennington was the best. Chloe Bennington was a long-term snotty nemesis of Brooke’s. Leah signed her name with batting eyes and a big-toothed smile.
“Should’ve guessed,” Brooke said. She waited for her sister to finish waking then asked, “How bad did I mess up?”
Leah let her sweat for a long pause before answering. Not too bad.
“Am I grounded forever?”
Leah shook her head. Momma and Father don’t know.
Brooke was confused. How was that possible?
Leah pointed to the pink plastic dishpan on the nightstand, their standard issue “vomit bucket” dating back to early childhood. She’d pulled it out from under the bathroom sink to enforce the ruse. I told them you were