Ordinary Girl

by Pamela Gossiaux

  I sigh. “Well, then just don’t answer your phone. I’ll tell her we’re shutting them off for an hour or two.”

  Brit frowns. I can tell she doesn’t like this. She’s pretty much a stick-to-the-rules kind of girl. But she doesn’t argue with me either.

  Then the bell rings, and I stuff the last bite of sandwich in my mouth. I spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what to wear tonight.

  — — —

  I decide on a soft purple sweater and skinny jeans. I have some brown suede boots that I got last Christmas, and I add those to the mix. My long brown hair is freshly washed and dried, and I leave it down. It’s thick and one of my best assets. I’m happy with what I see in the mirror. Then I feed the cat and leave a note on the table for Mom. She is apparently at work today, so I leave before she gets home.

  I meet Cory at the cafe parking lot and climb into his car. I decided I’m not ready for him to pick me up at home. Especially since I’m lying to my mom.

  Tonight, he takes me to Carson’s for a shrimp dinner. He pays again. The food is delicious and we stay for two hours, talking about school and our dreams. He really misses his mom.

  This time he gives me a more lingering kiss in the car. I can feel it travel all the way down to my toes. I’m wondering what’s next. Will his hands travel some place? Will the next kiss be more intense? But then he pulls back.

  “Can I see you again?”

  “Um…” I’m still reeling from that kiss. “Sure!” I say.

  He leans towards me and we kiss some more.

  “I’m going home this weekend,” he says quietly in my ear. His hand is in my hair and I feel his warm fingers run through it. Then he pulls back a little. He’s looking into my eyes. “I’m leaving Friday, but I want to see you again. Tomorrow night I have a study group at college, but how about when I get back?

  “I’d like that,” I say. Then I open the door. “I had a great time tonight.”

  He smiles, his blue eyes twinkling in the light from the car dome.

  “Me too,” he says.

  I take that as my cue to leave. I shut the car door and climb into my own. Once again, I swoon all the way home.

  I decide to tell Brittney about Harvard.

  “Cory has a Harvard connection,” I say at lunch. Mom has packed my lunch again. Today it’s tuna fish and potato chips. She must have gone shopping last night. She was asleep by the time I got home.

  “A Harvard connection?” Brit says, munching on a carrot stick.

  “His dad’s college roommate, and current best friend, teaches in the medical school. Cory thinks he can get me in.”

  Brit sits up straighter. “Oh. My. Gosh!”

  “Yes.”

  “And you said…?”

  I sigh. “I haven’t said anything. I mean, that’s the problem. I don’t want him to think I’m interested in him just because of that.”

  Brittney laughs. “He looks like a Greek god and drives a Corvette and that’s what you’re worried he’ll think you’re after him for?”

  I eat a potato chip. She has a point.

  “So what do I say?”

  “You ask him to get you in!” Brit says. “Duh!”

  I think about it. I mean, why not? He’s going home this weekend, so I should mention it. That way he can go straight home and ask his dad.

  “Okay.”

  We see Kevin come in. He’s not hanging around with his usual friends. I wonder who the suspects are. Rumors are it was Jake and Tyler, but they’re both here today. Or is that how it works? The girl gets raped and has to stay home while the guilty parties get on with their lives?

  Brittney sees me looking at them.

  “People are saying Veronica was drunk,” she whispered to me.

  Aaron sits down next to Brit and kisses her. “Hey Babe.”

  “I see Kevin’s back,” she says.

  Aaron looks over and nods, then eats half his hamburger in one bite. Luckily he bought two.

  “I guess she was dressed sluttier than usual,” he says around his food.

  Brit frowns. “What do you mean?”

  “Just what she was wearing,” Aaron says around a mouthful of food. “The guys say she was asking for it.”

  “Whoa. Wait. Just. A. Minute.” Brit says. She crosses her arms. That’s a bad sign for Aaron. I almost feel sorry for him.

  “What?” Aaron looks seriously confused.

  “So you’re saying that because of what Veronica wore, she deserved to get raped,” Brit says. She has stopped eating and is staring at Aaron.

  Dennis sits down with us. He heard the tail end of the conversation. He just shakes his head at Aaron.

  Aaron still looks confused but has sense enough to know he’s in trouble. He stops talking.

  “Dude,” Dennis says. “Think about what you said.”

  Aaron looks at Brit and then ducks his head. “What I meant to say, was…”

  “Yes?” Brit is still giving him the evil eye. Aaron squirms. Even though I realize the seriousness of what he just mistakenly said, I can’t hold back a smile. Brit has him wrapped around her little finger.

  “I meant to say how beautiful you are today,” Aaron says, and kisses her on the nose. “And that all women should be treated with respect. Even if they’re naked. Especially if they’re naked.”

  Brit elbows him in the ribs, and he coughs. But I laugh. Aaron is a teddy bear and he’d never, ever hurt anybody. Brit knows that, too, because she goes back to eating her lunch. Aaron just speaks before he thinks.

  I think about what he said though. Every time a woman gets raped, it seems people want to blame her. It’s either what she wore, that she was flirting too much, or that she was drunk; any reason they can think of. Like she deserved it. As if being too beautiful or failing to make wise decisions causes rape to happen. What causes it is are the men who do it.

  “Aaron,” Brit’s voice brings me back to the discussion. “I’m making some posters for Student Council on ‘Yes Means Yes’,” she says to him. “You’re going to help me hang them up around the school.”

  “Of course,” he says. Because he’ll be in trouble if he doesn’t.

  The rest of the day is uneventful. I keep checking my emails but so far nothing from Michigan. I guess in this case, no news can be good news.

  Mom is home when I get there. She looks better than I’ve seen her in weeks. She’s humming and mixing up a cake from a box.

  “What’s this for?” I say, sticking my finger in the batter and licking it.

  “I thought we should celebrate,” Mom says. “I’m feeling much better, and this will be the first dinner we’ve had together in over a week.”

  It’s chocolate cake. I see a can of chocolate frosting next to it. Mom knows the way to my heart.

  I head into the living room to catch up on homework while she cooks. She puts the cake in the oven and I hear her chopping vegetables for a stir-fry. Gracie tries to lay on my textbooks, which makes it difficult to work.

  I’m behind on homework because of my dating. I remove the cat, open my calculus book and sigh. It’s going to be a long night. I kind of want to tell Mom about Cory, but I know she’d freak if she finds out he’s college age. Maybe I don’t have to mention that. I can just tell her I met a guy.

  I’m buried deep in equations when Mom calls me for dinner. It smells wonderful. We sit at our little table, across from each other, and dig in. It’s chicken with a bottled sweet and sour sauce over it all, and it’s awesome. Mom uses convenience foods, but she can make them tasty.

  “So how is school going?” she asks.

  “Fine.”

  “Any more news about colleges?”

  “Nope.”

  I spear a piece of chicken and look closely at Mom. Her eyes are a bit glazed. My stomach does a flip-flop. Oh no. Not again. I’m afraid to ask but I need to know.

  “Are you on something?”

  “What?” Mom brushes a lock of hair away from her eyes an
d refuses to meet my gaze. “No! Of course not. You know I don’t do that anymore.”

  Mom had a problem with some drugs a year ago. That’s how she lost her nursing job.

  I nod. “Of course.”

  But something isn’t sitting right with me. She’s awfully perky, but in a fake sort of way. I won’t bring up Cory tonight.

  After dinner she puts frosting on the cake. I cut myself a big slice of cake and pour a glass of milk to wash it down.

  “I’ll clean up,” she says. “You go and do homework.”

  I return to the living room with my cake, but I feel unsettled. A text pops in from Cory. I’m up to my eyeballs in homework! There’s a little emoji of rolling eyes.

  I laugh and reply: Me too! Then I stack my calc book on top of my English Lit book and text him a photo. I was about to Snap it but it occurs to me that I don’t follow him on anything. I never even asked his last name.

  He sends a smiley back. And he adds a heart.

  I text a heart back to him and then open my Lit book.

  After a while, Mom appears in the doorway. “I’m going to go take a shower,” she says.

  I wait until I hear the water running, and then I hurry into her bedroom. The bathroom door is closed and I can hear her in the shower, singing. I open her nightstand drawer and look under the carefully folded handkerchiefs. I mean, who uses handkerchiefs anymore? And there it is. An unmarked bottle of pills. I open them. Little white ones. These are the same ones she was using last year. She lost her nursing job then, but I’m sure she still has connections. I count them. There are nineteen.

  Should I confront her? Should I tell Brit’s mom? Or call our social worker?

  I put them back where I found them and close the drawer. This is too much for me to deal with. I don’t really have any proof she’s taking them. Maybe she’s just doing better. Maybe she’s on an upswing.

  But I don’t really believe that.

  Do I?

  Cory texts again. Some medical humor: A patient tells his doctor “I get heartburn every time I eat birthday cake.” The doctor replies: “Next time take off the candles first.”

  I laugh out loud and send him a smiley.

  Mom is still singing in the shower. Softly. It’s “Hey Jude” by the Beatles.

  I think of what Brit said about Harvard, and I dial Cory’s number before I lose my nerve.

  He answers immediately. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I say. “Can you talk?”

  “Yeah. Give me a minute.”

  There’s some silence, and then his voice is back. “That’s better. I was in the library studying with some guys from class, but now I’m out in the hallway. What’s up?”

  “Um…I was wondering…”

  I stop. I don’t want him to think this is the only reason I’m interested in him.

  “Heather?” he says. “You can talk to me about anything, you know.”

  The way he says that makes me feel like he’s really sincere. Like he wants to know me better and will like me no matter what. I take a deep breath. “I was wondering…when you go see your dad this weekend, can you ask him to talk to his friend about getting me into Harvard?”

  I close my eyes and wait.

  But Cory laughs. “Of course! I was planning on it!”

  I open my eyes. “You were?”

  “Yes!” he says. “I mean, why not? It’s your dream, and it’s obvious you’re a hard worker. Maybe he can do something. Don’t get your hopes up, but you never know.”

  “Thanks, Cory. This means a lot to me.”

  “I should get back to studying,” he says.

  “Okay.”

  “Heather?”

  Mom turns off the water in the shower.

  “What?” I say quietly into the phone.

  “I’ll miss you this weekend.”

  “I’ll miss you too.”

  We hang up, and I hurry back to the living room. I feel a little hope stirring inside me about Harvard. I go into the kitchen to get a second piece of cake. It’s delicious. I decide to enjoy my time with Mom tonight. I’ll worry about her drug habit tomorrow.

  Cory heads back to New York on Friday, while I suffer through a boring day at school. By Saturday I am really missing him. I thought maybe he would text me, but I guess he’s busy with family stuff.

  I work most of the day at the café on Saturday. We’re super busy. There’s a craft show at the church next door, and people keep filing in afterwards with bags of hand-painted items. They sit in groups of friends and talk, and order lattes or lunches.

  By Saturday evening, I’m exhausted. Mom is working late so I heat up yesterday’s leftovers for us and have it ready by 7 p.m. when she gets home. She’s wearing her uniform for Mark’s Grocery, where she clerks.

  “My feet are killing me,” she says, taking her coat off and sitting down at the table. “Thanks so much for cooking!” Her eyes have that glazed look again.

  After dinner she goes and props her feet up while I do the dishes. I’m debating on if I should ask her about the pills in her drawer. I decide not to.

  When I go out into the living room, she’s dozing in the chair. I sneak into her bedroom and quietly open her dresser drawer. I count the pills. There are sixteen today.

  I put them back, not caring that I left them on top of the handkerchiefs instead of underneath.

  “Heather?” Mom calls from the living room.

  I wander back in. She’s sitting up now, her feet off of the ottoman. “Do you want to play a game? I found Scrabble in the basement yesterday.”

  I look at my mom and remember how she used to be. Before.

  “No,” I say. “I have a lot of homework to do.”

  Without waiting for her to answer, I retreat to my room and close the door.

  I sit on my bed. The green comforter reminds me of a forest. I wish I could get lost in it.

  I decide to text Cory.

  How is your trip going?

  Awesome! He texts back. Will tell you about it on Monday. GTG. Dad doesn’t like phones at the table. ;-)

  That sounds so sweet and homey. I text back Okay. C U later!

  Then I text Brit and make plans to go over to her house tomorrow.

  Brittney’s family attends church. It’s some Baptist church on the edge of town. I’ve been with her to youth group a few times, but my parents and I were never really church attenders. I prefer to sleep in.

  So I go over after lunch.

  Brittney has the perfect family. Her mom stays home and is available to drive Brittney and her brother around to all of their events. Her dad is an accountant, and he’s super nice. He plays the guitar. When I get there, I hear him in the back room, strumming away on it. He’s playing some folksy tune from the seventies that I recognize but don’t know the name of.

  “Have you had lunch?” Brit’s mom asks me.

  “Yes,” I say. It was a microwave burrito. Not the best thing I’ve eaten all week.

  Brittney and I are leafing through the latest sales catalogue from the store where Brit works. “I love this dress,” Brit says, pointing at a lilac sheath. “Maybe I’ll get it for prom. Do you think Aaron would like it?”

  It’s really pretty. And modest enough that her mom would probably allow it.

  “I like it,” I say, truthfully.

  “How’s your mom doing?” Brittney’s mom asks me. She sets a bowl of baby carrots down in front of me and a small bowl of ranch dressing.

  “She’s doing really great,” I lie. I dip a carrot in the dressing and take a bite. I smile up at Mrs. Roberts for maximum benefit. She smiles back.

  Last year when Mom had to go into rehab for her drug habit, I moved in with the Roberts for two weeks. I thought it would be like a big sleepover with my best friend, but instead it felt weird. Like they were all watching me to be sure I was okay. And there’s only one shower in their house, and we all had to volley for shower time and stuff. They were super nice to me, but I just wanted to be in my
own home.

  “She made this awesome dinner Thursday night and we still have some chocolate cake left over,” I add.

  Mrs. Roberts nods. “That’s wonderful. I’m really glad to hear it.”

  If I tell the truth, she’ll call the social worker and we’ll start the whole thing over again. But Mom probably needs help. I feel a pang of guilt in my gut and decide to ignore it.

  “Do you want to watch a movie?” Brit asks.

  We find a chick-flick on Netflix. When it’s over, we head into Brittney’s bedroom to study for a while. She asks some questions about Cory and I answer what I can.

  “You have it bad,” she teases.

  I think she’s right. I think I’m falling in love.

  Monday morning during quiet work time in Chem, I get the email from the University of Michigan. “We regret to inform you….”

  I close my email app without reading the rest. I feel tears prick my eyes and I fight them back. Brit, who is sitting next to me, notices.

  “What?” she mouths.

  I hand her my phone and let her read the email.

  “Oh, Heather,” she says, and looks like she’s about to cry for me.

  But I don’t want her pity. I don’t want anybody’s pity. That was my last chance. I take my phone back and head up to Mr. Mitchell’s desk to ask for a bathroom pass.

  In the girls’ bathroom, I close the door and let the tears come. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sob silently? But I do. And I blow my nose so much I use half the toilet paper role.

  When I try to flush it down, the toilet clogs.

  Great.

  Instead of going back to class, I head to the guidance counselor.

  “Heather!” she says cheerily. Mrs. Neilson is a morning person. But then she sees my face. “Uh-oh.”

  I plop ungracefully down in her chair. Her quote-of-the-day calendar reads “If you can dream it, you can do it.”

  “Michigan hates me,” I said.

  She folds her hands together and looks at me across her desk. “You didn’t get in?”

  I shake my head, feeling the tears threaten again. “Now what?”