In her peripheral vision, Bee sees a blur of moving color. It’s Lewis, legs ramrod straight, falling like a tree to the floor. He topples in slow motion. He doesn’t even bring his hands up to protect his face. He lands and bounces two times and is still.
Marley leaps to her feet, her hand covering her mouth in shock.
Mr. Nunez and Mrs. March run over. Lewis moans and turns his head to the side. His mouth pools with blood—he’s lost some teeth. An egg-size bump has already risen on his cheekbone, his eye quickly purpling.
Lots of kids whip out their phones and start filming.
“Put those phones away,” shouts Mrs. March.
“What happened?” Mr. Nunez interrogates Marley.
“He just—fell,” Marley stammers.
Mr. Nunez shakes his head. Then he bends over and says softly into Lewis’s ear, “You’re gonna be fine, kid.”
* * *
Bee brings Marley to the bathroom. She’s trembling, clearly shaken up, and nobody seems to care.
“Are you okay?”
Marley shakes her head no.
“Nunez’s an asshole.”
Marley looks at her with a blank face.
“You’re worried about Lewis?”
“Yeah.”
“He really likes you,” says Bee.
Marley starts to cry.
MARLEY
“Gemma and I are going out to dinner on Saturday night to a new, hip Korean restaurant!” Her mother announces this news like she’s won some prize.
“That’s nice,” says Marley.
Her mother’s lip curls up in irritation. Marley should have used a more effusive adjective. Fabulous? Incredible? Astonishing?
“What’s the name of the restaurant?” she asks.
Her mother pours herself a glass of wine, then inventories Marley with squinty eyes. Marley sucks her stomach in, pulls her shoulders back. She’s gained back the seven pounds she lost. A look of contempt flashes across her mother’s face.
And we’re off, thinks Marley.
For a few weeks after she came home from her father’s, her mother was sweet. Showered her in compliments. Took her out for BBQ, for Chinese, for pho (which her mother continues to call foe even though Marley’s told her over and over again it’s fuh, rhymes with duh). She was trying to make up for dropping her off at the bus station, if you can call what she did dropping; actually, it was more like abandonment.
“Let’s go shopping tonight,” says her mother.
A sneer on her mother’s face. Marley’s exhausted; she’s not in the mood.
“It’s not a good night, I have a lot of homework.”
“Your jeans are too tight.”
“They’re supposed to be tight, they’re skinny jeans.”
“You have no business wearing skinny jeans.” Her mother eyeballs her crotch. “I can see your labia.”
That is not true. Marley lives in fear of camel toe. Every morning she examines herself carefully in the full-length mirror to ensure her jeans aren’t creeping up.
“It’s already six,” Marley says.
“Neiman’s is open until nine.”
Neiman Marcus. That store is the worst. They rarely carry larger sizes. Her mother will try and squeeze her into a ten and will become enraged when the ten doesn’t fit.
“No.”
“No?” Her mother’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.
“No, I’m not going. I look fine. I have more than enough clothes. No.”
This is the first time in her life Marley has refused her mother. The air in the room crackles, it sizzles, but Marley is resolute. What can her mother do? Ground her? She never goes anywhere.
Marley grabs her backpack. “I’m going upstairs to do my homework. There’s leftover chicken in the fridge for dinner.”
Her mother’s lips move but she makes no sound.
* * *
After Marley finishes her geometry she takes a look at Bee’s Insta.
Cam has taken a pic of himself waxing his surfboard on the beach and spliced it with a pic of Bee on the beach. Bee looks amazing in her bikini. Her flat, muscled stomach. Her thigh gap. Even though she’s seen this photo of Bee before, envy pierces Marley, a quick jagged thrust.
Cam has Photoshopped the photos perfectly. It looks like they’re together. The caption is #mine.
They are now Insta Official and the congratulations are pouring in.
OMG SO CUTE!
So happy for you guyysss
He’s so fine!
JEALOUS!!!
Marley shuts off her phone. She’s so far away from ever being Insta Official. From ever being publicly claimed.
GEMMA
“I’ve missed you,” says Simon.
“I’ve missed you, too. Sorry, I had to put in some Ruth time. But I think we’re good now. I can take a little break. Shameless or Ray Donovan?”
Gemma waves the remote at him. It’s Saturday night. They’re camped out on the couch. Bee is off at a party and Tom is hanging with his posse.
“You say that like Ruth is an obligation. Something you have to knock off your to-do list.”
“No, I love her, she’s just sort of high-maintenance. And she’s lonely. We’re all she has. She doesn’t make friends easily. It’s just—”
“She’s done so much for you,” Simon finishes her sentence. “Listen, Gem, I think we should have a serious talk about Ruth. There’s something I want to tell you.”
Gemma sits up and faces him. “She’s jealous of you, you know that, don’t you?”
He pauses and then nods.
“Okay, so what did she say to you?” She feels her face heating up. “Oh, God, shit, no, forget it. Don’t tell me, I can’t bear it. Something cruel, I’m sure. I’m so sorry.”
Simon sighs and shakes his head. “I’m a big boy. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Gemma takes his hand, entwines her fingers with his. “Okay, I’m devoting the rest of February to you, beginning right now.”
Simon opens his eyes wide in pretend shock. “You’re just going to leave Ruth to her own devices?”
Gemma scowls. “She doesn’t own me. It’s time to put myself first, to be a little selfish. Things are finally stable. Bee’s great. She’s never been happier, she actually said that to me the other day. And things are picking up at Study Right. And then, there’s us,” she says. “We’re good, too, right?”
Simon pulls Gemma onto his lap. “We are so good,” he whispers.
* * *
Gemma pulls away from Ruth slowly. She doesn’t want to hurt her. She wants to gradually acclimate Ruth to this new altitude. Move her down in elevation from the summit of family to the base camp of good friends.
And so she doesn’t respond as quickly to Ruth’s texts. She waits an hour. Then two. Then she stretches her response time to half a day. She eases Ruth gently into it and it seems to work.
Ruth doesn’t get mad. She doesn’t call Gemma out. Her text tone is perfectly pleasant, whether two or six hours have passed before Gemma answers her. She hearts Gemma. She triple !!!’s. And quadruple xxxx’s.
And by late February, Gemma thinks she’s free.
RUTH
When Gemma stops responding quickly to her texts, Ruth doesn’t notice. She’s flying pretty high. Stuffed to the gills with GT—Gemma Time. She feels drunk. Her friendship tank not only full but topped off. They meet for coffee, for dinner, for food truck lunches, for museum Sundays. This is her just reward, why she’s put in all the years with Gemma. Propped her up, straightened her out, provided for her, protected her, cherished her like nobody has ever cherished her before.
Which is why it takes her a week or two to realize Gemma is slowly but steadfastly making a break. Hoping, perhaps, Ruth won’t notice, if she creeps off quietly enough.
Desperate to reel her back in, Ruth sends Zillow links for properties in Point Reyes, Bolinas, Kentfield, and San Francisco. She tags each link with #GoldenGirls.
> Gemma doesn’t respond to those texts at all.
And one evening, as she’s driving home, she catches sight of Gemma and Simon, arms linked, waiting in line at the Piedmont Theater.
BEE
February 28
Hi we didn’t talk yesterday what’s going on lol
Busy.
Uh doing what?
Family stuff.
Everything ok?
It’s fine.
Lmao you actually LIKE hanging out with your family?
February 29
I hope you don’t think I was making fun of you lol
Were you?
No!!
That’s good I guess.
Are you mad at me?
Why would I be mad at you? Should I be? Did you do something?
No!
PU calling me. Gotta go.
PU?
Idk what this is
March 1
Why aren’t you answering my dms?
I went away with my parents for the weekend.
Where?
Temecula.
Temecula doesn’t have wifi?
Left my phone at home.
Haha seriously?
Yes seriously.
Lol
You overdo it with the lols. Makes you sound pathetic. Like you’re apologizing all the time.
March 5
Cam?
March 7
Did I do something? Please tell me
March 8
I can’t believe you’re ghosting me
March 9
Are you ghosting me?
March 11
Omg why are you being so mean??
Did you hook up with somebody?
March 12
I miss you
* * *
Bee feels like she’s suffocating. She can’t get enough air into her lungs. She shuffles from the bathroom to the bedroom.
“Bee, supper in ten!” her mother calls from downstairs.
The smell of boiled carrots makes her want to barf. How is she going to hide her misery from her mother? She looks in the mirror and forces a smile. No way is her mother going to buy that. She’s going to have to play sick. That won’t be hard. Her eyes are slits. She hasn’t slept in nights. Every minute of every day has been spent waiting for Cam to DM her back. And every minute of every day that he doesn’t, she disappears a little more.
What has she done to deserve this? Why has he turned on her? This is the worst thing about it; she has no idea. He won’t tell her so she has to invent things. Maybe she grossed him out. In her last selfie, she had a whitehead on her upper lip. It was tiny so she didn’t realize it was there, but if you blew up the photo, there it was in all its pussed-out glory. Maybe Cam saw it and got so disgusted that he couldn’t even bring himself to DM her back.
No, that was ridiculous. He was kind. Sweet-natured. Sensitive. People don’t just change personalities overnight.
How could this have happened? And what will everybody think when they find out he dumped her?
The SLUTZ will be buzzing. To her face they’ll be sympathetic and tell her he wasn’t worth it. He’s an asshole. He was just toying with her, just leading her on. Which will make her feel even worse for being such a sucker. She should have known. Why would a boy like that ever be interested in her?
Her ribs ache. Is she having a heart attack?
“Bee!” Her mother’s footsteps on the stairs.
Bee jumps into bed and pulls the covers up. She doesn’t have to fake a groan. It’s real.
“I’ve been calling you.” Her mother stands in the doorway, a look of concern on her face, and Bee begins to sob.
Her mother rushes to the bed. “What’s wrong!”
“I don’t feel good,” she cries.
Her mother puts the back of her hand to Bee’s forehead. “You’re hot. You have a fever.”
She’s made herself sick.
“I’ll get some Advil. Are you hungry? I can make you toast. Slice a banana.”
Toast and bananas. Bee’s sick foods for as long as she can remember. She wishes she were a kid again, when pretty much everything could be fixed with a Pokémon Band-Aid or another viewing of Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.
“Don’t leave,” she says to her mother.
Her mother’s face crumples in sympathy. “Oh, honey. I’ll be back in a second. I’ll bring my laptop. We can watch Netflix. Let’s just hang out. It’s been a while.”
Bee starts crying again.
“It’s fine, Bee. You’re fine,” says her mother. “You’re just overly emotional because you have a fever. Okay?”
“Okay,” Bee agrees.
MARLEY
Are you ok? Please lmk!
This is the fifth text Marley has sent Bee and the fifth text Bee’s ignored. Bee’s not in school today, and it’s a good thing because if she were she’d be torn apart by the jackals that call (called) Bee their friend. Everybody’s talking about her and Cam.
BEE
Two days later, Bee returns to school. She feels tons better, almost normal. Her mother insisted she take a complete break from her phone. A social media Sabbath, she called it. No Snap, no Insta, no TikTok. She detoxed and immersed herself in real life. Pulled out her touchstones. A photo of her father pushing her on a swing. Her beloved childhood books. Little House in the Big Woods. Amelia Bedelia.
And then she went about turning her heartbreak into anger. He’s just an asshole boy. It’s his loss. He doesn’t deserve me. I’m too good for him.
She walks into geometry with her head held high. She’s ready to see the gang and tell them what happened. To be commiserated with. To be loved. She is Queen Bee after all.
“Hey,” she says to Coco, raising her hand for a fist bump. Coco wrenches her body away from Bee, an icy look on her face.
“It was just the flu, I’m not contagious anymore,” says Bee.
“You bitch,” snarls Shanice. “How can you just walk in here like that? All high and mighty. Who the ef do you think you are?”
“Oh, we know who she thinks she is. Everything revolves around me,” Coco squeaks in a high voice.
* * *
“I need to be excused,” Bee says to Mr. Kepler.
“We’re having a pop quiz.”
“Please, it’s an emergency,” she begs.
Mr. Kepler sighs. “Fine. Be quick.”
* * *
Bee races to the bathroom, turns on her phone, and checks Insta. Cam posted twice yesterday. The first pic is a screenshot of their DMs dated January 3.
You’re so lucky you’re homeschooled. School is such shit my friends are such shit
Really?
Yes really lol. You think I’m lying?
The second screenshot is of their DMs dated January 30.
So what’s new with you?
Nothing
Don’t say nothing. Don’t clam up. What are you doing tonight?
Hanging with the girls
Sounds like fun
It isn’t. It’s boring as shit. We always do the same thing. Watch Netflix. Talk about who’s hooking up. It’s all just surface stuff. My friends are so shallow. They’re not capable of having deep conversations. They don’t ask me questions like you do. Everybody just takes turns talking at each other. I can’t wait to get out of high school
Guess I’m not missing anything
You’re not missing a thing believe me. These girls they’d stab me in the back in a minute. I think they secretly wish something bad would happen to me. They’re so jealous. What’s that word that means you get happy from other people’s misery. Begins with an S idk
But why would they want you to suffer?
Cuz I’m popular
How popular?
Queen B popular. Everything revolves around me. They’re so insecure. They don’t do anything without my permission. Well maybe not my permission, but without running it by me first
Bee looks up from her phone in horror.
GEMMA
Gemma’s unpacking groceries when Bee gets home. She left Maria in charge of the office and took the afternoon off to catch up on some errands. The dry cleaner. An oil change. She even treated herself to a hair appointment; usually she does her roots herself.
Bee’s in such a hurry she doesn’t even say hello. She bolts up the stairs.
“How was school?” Gemma yells.
Bee’s bedroom door slams shut.
She’s probably swamped after having been out for two days. The pressure is ridiculous—a normal night is two to three hours of homework.
Gemma preps the salad. Washes the lettuce. Peels the cucumbers. Macerates shallots in red wine vinegar. She loves the word macerate. She bemoans the fact there are so few opportunities to use it.
BEE
She claws at her neck, trying to wiggle her fingers under the noose she’d fashioned out of her jump rope. Is this what drowning feels like? She never would have chosen drowning—walking into a river like Virginia Woolf, stones in your pockets. She googled it: hanging was supposed to be quick and relatively painless. Except it isn’t. She hadn’t accounted for her panic.
The noose cinches tighter and her hands drop down to her sides, as stupid as logs. Her high arches, her bare feet, her toes pointed like a dancer.
She’ll miss the smell of popcorn. The pepperminty fragrance of eucalyptus after it rains. She tries to remember what the color green looks like but is stumped.
There’s a loud snapping noise. After that she drifts away, lost to the current. Sinking to a depth so far below the surface, no light can pierce.
Perhaps she is drowning after all.
Did I Say You Could Go Page 20