Already Gone

by Bridget E. Baker

  Drew was right. Mom was a little unfair about the nature and benefit of pharma. If she wasn’t so mad at me, I’d ask her about her uncle, and try and find out what really happened. I actually wondered whether maybe she had a brother or someone who died that she didn’t want to talk about, so she made up this uncle story instead. Certainly my Nana wasn’t going to contradict her story from the nursing home. She could barely remember our names.

  Monday was another story. Mason was frustrating, so frustrating.

  "Lacy, I need to talk to you."

  "I don't want to talk to you Mason. Not now. Not later. Not ever."

  "Why not?"

  I scowled at him. "I think you can figure that one out, actually." I spun on one heel toward him. “But really it comes down to this. I’m sick of all the drama and the easiest way for me to get my life back to normal is to try and love my sister and cut out the unknown quantity.”

  "It's not like that," Mason said. "If you'd just give me two minutes, I could explain."

  "Explain why you kissed my sister in front of the whole swim team?" I asked. "You’re only sorry now because I saw you, and you don’t need to be. Because I know that I shouldn't be upset, because we were never together. I’m not an idiot. I know that I have no right to be mad, but I’m a girl. We have a carte blanche on being unreasonably upset. Or did you want to give me more details? Maybe you guys have picked out names for your children and you wanted some input? I don’t know, but either way, Mason, I don't care. I'm over it."

  He looked hurt, but he walked back to sit with Kim again and work on the hopelessly boring Extemporaneous files no one cared about. I still noticed him looking at me pretty often, but I tried to ignore it. I talked to Ms. Harris, now that she was back at work. I asked her if she could switch our plans from Lamar to Alief Kerr this weekend. She just handed me the phone. I pretended to be her, and surprisingly it worked. I even forged her name on a check from our school for the tournament fee. I wondered why I hadn't thought to do this years ago. My signature looked much better than hers, and I was a way better coach than she was, excepting the few sober days a year we got of actual instruction. I went back to my seat, feeling proud of myself.

  Right up until I saw my best friend's face. Drew was late and when she did show up, she pursed her lips and scowled at me. "You stole those pills."

  “So I take it your mom was mad?" I forced a grin to try and lighten her mood.

  "Don't pull that crap with me. You think you can just smile at me and I'll forgive you, but this was a big deal, Lacy. After years of lecturing me, and insisting you never even took a Tylenol, and then you stole from us. From my mom." She shook her head. “That’s messed up.”

  She was right. It was a big deal, and what I did was, well, it was inexcusable. I glance at the ground, embarrassed. "Was your mom really ticked off?"

  She shrugged. "At you? No."

  "What? Why not?"

  She sat down and mumbled so quietly, I could barely understand her. "I told her I gave them to you. I figured if she got mad at you, she'd never let us hang out again. I was furious, but not so dumb I’d give up my best friend forever. I told her I suggested it, which I kind of did, and she yelled. A lot. She did get over it eventually. She told me she could lose her license, and we could lose our house. Blah blah. It's fine. And I don’t see her that much so even though I’m grounded for a month, it’s not like she can really enforce it much. She did take my phone, though. And pulled the plug on Knight Fort. For the entire month."

  "Geez, I'm sorry Drew. I lost my phone, but Mom’s letting me go to Alief Kerr.”

  “Yeah, your mom called and bam, lost the phone first thing. But my mom, nerd that she is, said I can still go to the debate tournament this weekend too.”

  “Yeah, the second after Mom found them, her hand was out for my phone. I figured since the bottle only had a few pills, if I took it, your mom might think she’d lost the bottle."

  "That probably would’ve worked if your mom hadn’t called her. And, next time you’re going to steal something, maybe it would be better if you did notify me. Just so I’ll have time to come up with a better lie when I take the heat for you."

  Drew really was awesome. I didn’t tell her enough how lucky I was to have her in my life. “Thank you. Honestly.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and looked at the floor. “You’re like the only person I love who I can really talk to.”

  I thought about that. She’d told two people about being gay, and I was one of them. And I just completely tossed her into boiling water. I was a horrible friend.

  “I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” I said.

  “You don’t even need to. That’s what being a friend is. As long as you stop doing stupid crap. You’re going to stop doing dumb stuff soon, right? Cuz I can’t take a lot more.”

  I laughed then, and Drew laughed with me. Laughing felt good. Really good.

  The rest of the day sucked. Tests in every class, a paper to hand in, and a new paper due on Friday, but since we were leaving for the tournament, I had to turn it in on Thursday. Even though Drew and I studied through lunch, I wasn't sure how well I did on the Spanish test. I tried not to obsess, because at least it was all over. I figured I'd go home, watch an episode or two of television, and work on polishing up my new case. I'd have all night tomorrow to work on the changes I'd need to make it work as a counter plan. Then I'd have Wednesday to write my paper, and Thursday night to study for next week's physics and English tests. Other than the pain I felt every single time I saw Mason, and my discomfort in being mean to him, I was doing pretty good.

  Until I grabbed the mail that afternoon and saw a letter from Yale. I slid my fingers under the seal, slicing open my index finger. My hands shook, and I sucked on the bloody one. I gulped one big breath in, then another, and I yanked the letter out.

  Dear Applicant, it said, then blah blah, many worthy students applying, esteemed university with a long history, but limited space, blah blah, wish me the best.

  Yale rejected me.

  I dropped the letter on the ground and stumbled over to the sofa.

  I really wanted to work on my case, but I just couldn't. I shouldn't have been so upset. It wasn't like this was my first rejection letter. I'd gotten one from Brown, and another from Dartmouth. I'd also been accepted to Duke, Stanford and Princeton.

  None of them were Yale.

  Every time I looked at my case, or thought about debate at all, I felt like crying. I tried to watch some television, like I'd planned to do before I checked the mailbox, but I couldn't focus enough to understand what was going on. I pulled out C.S. Lewis instead and read The Screwtape Letters in a single sitting. It was so interesting, I almost forgot about Yale. Almost. I did feel pretty guilty the whole time. I wondered whether I might have a devil assigned to me, and if he or she was doing some kind of happy dance when I stole those pills. And when I called Hope dumb. And when I let my mom down. I hadn’t been getting much right lately.

  I heard Mom rummaging around in the kitchen and I knew I ought to go help her out, but I didn't want to tell her about my letter. Thankfully I’d had the insight to pick it up and bring it to my room. Plus, I knew she was mad at me. All I wanted to do was moan and groan and generally feel sorry for myself. I snuck next door to my mom's room and grabbed the home phone. I took it to my room and dialed Drew's home number from memory. I was glad she'd had the same phone number for ten years.

  "Hello?” Her voice sounded wary, like she was expecting a telemarketer. She obviously didn't have caller ID. Or maybe she didn’t recognize my home phone number anymore. We’d had cell phones since fifth grade. One of the joys of having single moms.

  "It's me," I said. "They think we can’t communicate without our phones. But look at us, going old school."

  "So, did you get your paper done?”

  "I haven’t even started, but I did read the book for it." I don’t know what to say exactly. I want to blurt it out. I didn’t get into Yale.
But I can’t quite make myself do it.

  "What did you pick?" Drew asked.

  We made small talk for another few minutes before she got tired of waiting for me to get to the point.

  "Why are you risking your mom's extreme wrath by calling me?"

  "I guess I wanted to complain to someone."

  "Well, you've called the right number. I have an honorary degree in complaints and general dissatisfaction. I'll be sure to let you know if any part of your whine is insufficiently entitled or unclear in any way."

  "I got another rejection letter today."

  She knew right away what school would bum me out this bad. Drew swore. "Oh man, those people at Yale are morons. I swear, Lacy. I wish I knew someone there to call and yell at them. My mom probably does, but I’m not sure she’s quite as in my corner right this moment as usual."

  "Eh, I'm just a little bummed, is all."

  "Want to sneak out and come smoke a joint with me?"

  I was pretty sure she was kidding. "Very funny."

  "I know a guy," she said. "Jack. Remember?"

  “I guess I can’t even tell you how stupid that sounds?”

  “Nope,” Drew said. “Your high horse is now imprisoned in the stables. Hypocrites don’t ride.”

  I snorted into the phone. “Cute.”

  “I try. But seriously Lacy, I know everything seems crappy lately, but things will look up soon. I can feel it.”

  I smiled as I hung up, because I had no idea how wrong she was.

  I went into the kitchen and ate dinner with Mom. As bad as things were with Hope, I kind of wished she was there as a buffer. I didn't want to endure a meal with Mom alone, seeing as how she was still mad at me. But I figured the more friendly I acted, the shorter my sentence was likely to be.

  "Good meatloaf, Mom."

  "I bought it," she said. "Boston Market. I was too upset to think about cooking."

  I glanced around. She had disposed of all the evidence. The food was all on plates, as though she had made it. I wondered if she’d ever bought food and passed it off as something she made before now.

  “What’s wrong with you? Just depressed about being grounded?” she asked.

  My mom knew how much I wanted to go to Yale. I hadn't said anything because I really didn't want to talk about it, but telling her I got rejected should be good for at least a little pity. Maybe even enough to get my phone back.

  "No, it’s more than just being justifiably grounded. I got a letter today."

  "Oh?" she asked.

  "Yeah," I said. "From Yale."

  I didn't say anything else. My mom got it. She stood up and walked around the table, and then she pulled me up into a hug.

  "I'm sorry, honey, so sorry. I know how much you wanted to get in there."

  I tried to act nonchalant, like it was no big deal, but I could feel my eyes filling with tears. "It's fine." The tears spilled over, and suddenly my attempt at pity became a real meltdown. My mom pulled me down onto her lap, even though I'm way too big to be sitting on her like a baby. I may be eighteen years old, but it still helped to have her stroke my hair and tell me everything was going to be alright.

  "I know the past week has been hard. I know as the year wraps up, you feel like you have too much to do, and not enough time. I understand that feeling, believe me, as a single mom, I really do. But it's important you know that you can never resort to chemicals when things are hard. There’s a reason your body acts tired. It’s because you need sleep." She turned my face so we were eye to eye. "It stinks you didn’t get in to Yale, but there are other schools that are just as good. You can’t let the pressure you put on yourself take over. I have to be able to trust you. Do you understand?"

  I nodded.

  "I can't handle it, Angelica. I just can't. Do you hear me?"

  "I do, Mom. I promise."

  "I believe you. Don’t make me a fool. I can’t handle losing you, okay?”

  Losing me because I took some speed? I suppressed an eye roll. Obviously she wasn’t going to get over her thing in a day, so I leaned forward and hugged her, then pulled back and sat in my own chair. "Mom, you're acting crazy. I took one pill so I could study and write a paper. I'm not about to die. I swear. Everything is fine, and I’ve got it under control."

  "I am choosing to trust you," she said. "I'll give you your phone back on Friday morning, mostly because I don't want you at a tournament with no way to reach me, but I'm willing to ease up on the grounding next week, if you convince me I have nothing to worry about."

  "You don't," I said. "I swear."

  I went back to my room and wrote my paper on The Screwtape Letters. I had a few insights of my own on how it would feel to encourage the worst in someone. I'd completely botched everything up with Hope. I brainstormed ways to get things back on track, like writing her an apology on a poster using candy bars, buying her a vat of ice-cream and eating it with her, holding hands and singing Kum-Ba-Ya and braiding each other’s hair, but all of those would require us to communicate and I still had no idea what to say. The serenity I found seemed to have shattered into a million pieces when I saw she and Mason went right ahead, knowing it would upset me.

  When she came home late that night, I ran out of my room. I figured I could talk to her while she ate, but she breezed past the kitchen and headed straight up the stairs. I grabbed her arm just before she ducked into her room.

  "Where were you?" I asked.

  "Are you the youngest member of the FBI, now? What do you care?"

  "I care about you," I said. "I'm sorry if I haven't acted like it much lately."

  "You haven't."

  "Well, I am now. How was your day?" I let go of her arm, and followed her to the entry to her room. I was not expecting her to slam the door in my face.

  I thought about banging on it, but I knew Mom would come out to see what was going on, and I figured there was always tomorrow.

  Now I know that's not always true.

  Tuesday went about like Monday, and Wednesday went about like Tuesday. Mom kept reiterating the importance of not doing drugs. All she needed was a shirt and she could audition to be the new D.A.R.E. dog. Hope kept ignoring me, and she kept coming in later and later. I expected my mom to do something about it, but she was spending a lot of time in her room, too. Usually having three women in the house is kind of nice. We don’t fight over what movie to watch, there aren’t any stinky socks around, and everything stays pretty clean. That week, there was a little too much estrogen.

  Mom called in sick on Wednesday, but I don’t even think she had a headache. As far as I could tell, she did it just to mope around. You’d have thought she’d been rejected by Yale, not me.

  On Thursday, when I still wouldn't talk to him, Mason gave me a letter. I held it in my hand for a moment, curious what he might have to tell me, but then I tossed it in the trash. I was done with the drama. Done with the disappointment, just done. I hadn't been able to bring myself to work on my plan, or my negative counter plan at all. I guess, now that I didn't have a shot at Yale, I didn't care much. I should’ve changed tournaments again to increase my odds of going to state, but a part of me just didn’t care about any of it. State or not, why did it matter? It’s not like Drew and I really had a chance at winning the whole thing, so it was just another wasted weekend.

  When our home phone rang Thursday afternoon, I almost didn't answer. It’s usually only telemarketers calling, wanting to extend a warranty that ran out on my car about 35 years ago. I thought maybe it was Drew though, so I picked it up. "Hello?"

  "Miss Shelton?"

  "Yes, this is Lacy Shelton."

  "My name is Harold Zane. I'm a friend of Anders Langston. He told me you would be expecting my call."

  “Oh, I figured you’d call my cell phone.”

  “I did try that,” he said, “but you never returned my calls. Your coach, a Miss Harris I believe, gave me this phone number.”

  Bless her, Ms. Harris had broken the school polic
y, but I might kiss that drunk old crazy right on her over-lipsticked mouth, I was so happy.

  Until I remembered Yale had already rejected me. "Uh, yes," I said. "I'm happy to hear from you, but it's my understanding that you're the recruiter for the Yale debate team. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, that’s correct. Mr. Langston told me you’re one of the finest policy debaters he's ever seen. That means a lot coming from him, and with the way our team did last year, well I'll just say I can't face Harvard again until we find some new talent."

  I sighed. "I feel like I should tell you this, before you waste your time coming out, sir. The thing is, I got a letter from Yale on Monday. It seems they decided that while I have very fine test scores and an impeccable GPA, I’m not quite what Yale is looking for at this time."

  "Ah, yes," he said, "Yale receives many fine applicants and it simply cannot accept them all."

  "Uh, right, that’s what the letter said."

  He laughed. "Those idiots at the admissions office don't know their knee from their elbow. The good news is that I have a lot of leeway there. If you have somewhat decent grades, the letter you’ve gotten doesn’t matter. I should verify though, you do have decent grades?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm in line to be the Valedictorian in a few months."

  "Excellent. And your SATs?"

  "Fifteen hundred and twenty."

  "As I said, one phone call from me will get that mess cleared up. But here's the important part. If you're interested in coming out to debate for Yale this Fall, show me what you’ve got tomorrow. I'll be the portly gentleman with the plaid pants. Can't miss me here in Texas."

  "I look forward to it," I said.

  I stayed up all night Thursday working on my case and negative modifications so I'd be ready. It felt like I had a second chance at this one little thing in my life, and I wasn't going to blow it. I was working on pure adrenaline, but I felt good.