by Sheri Duff
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Alicia heats me up a plate of food. I came back because where else am I gonna go? Alicia and I don’t talk, but she does manage to keep my father out of the kitchen. I think about Gaby’s new rules. Stepmonsters Wendy and Stephanie don’t follow them. They could never follow them, they probably will never follow them. Alicia does, and she’s never seen the rules. Anyway, it’s my dad who can’t find balance. Balance. That’s a word my mom uses, not me.
“Thanks for the food.” I stand.
Alicia takes my plate and turns toward the sink. “For what it’s worth, men never think. If your dad really thought he was going to hurt you, he would have never said that. The truth is, he doesn’t trust Jack and you are his baby. His only goal is to keep the boy away from you at any cost. Jack is like the salt. We’re always trying to keep what we think is bad away from the ones we love the most.”
“Why doesn’t he trust Jack? And if Jack is so bad, why are they all buddy-buddy at practice?” My butt finds the chair.
“You need to talk to Jack about that.”
My teeth dig into my lip. Now there are secrets. And Alicia’s not going to tell me. Jack can’t be that bad. He was at their wedding. I haven’t been told he’s off-limits. She’s got to know that we’ve been hanging out, since she’s friends with his sister. Maybe she hasn’t shared that with my dad.
My eyebrows scrunch and I wait for Alicia to say something, anything.
“It’s not that bad, but it’s also not mine to share,” she says.
With that I head to my room. I lay my head on the soft pillow, and then send my mom another text.
I’m okay and I love you. BTW Alicia’s not that bad and Gaby and I made new rules. She has a boyfriend. With kids! Can’t wait till you get home. And I’m on to you…
My mother hasn’t called me much since she left. She doesn’t want to interfere. I know that she wants me to figure out things for myself. She believes that Alicia isn’t that bad (maybe she isn’t) and that by staying out of touch, my mom is allowing me to make my own judgments without her input. I know my mother. She’s not fooling me.
I wake to the following text.
Love you—your dad wasn’t so bad being married to. Look what we produced. Knowing how it would end, I would do it all over again so I would have you.
In other words, always remember “The Dance,” by Garth.
I want to stay home but I can’t miss my English test. Reeves said there would be no making it up, since tonight is the big homecoming game. I’m not going to that either. Jack and Sidney should receive awards for avoiding me. I never see them together. I can’t believe she’s not flaunting him. Now I’m going to be forced to suffer through a class where Sidney tells Lauren about her homecoming dress. I’m nauseated. I think I’ll slit my throat with…
I look into my backpack but find only an unsharpened pencil.
I can make it work.
“My date…” Sidney makes sure I hear every word she spits out with that high-pitched voice. She sounds like someone from those annoying kid shows. “…will die when he sees me. My mom dropped a couple hundred already, and I still need to get my hair and nails done.” Sidney fans her fingers.
“Yay, me!” I can’t resist mocking her.
When the bell rings, I stomp out of class. My friends stop me. We’re standing in the middle of hall like freshman do. We’re in the way of everyone. Natalie and Vianna beg me to go to homecoming with them. Natalie bumps into my right side and says, “Come on, it’ll be fun. Don’t be a wimp.”
Vianna nudges me on the left and wines, “We don’t want to go without you.”
“Okay,” I say in my best imitation of the freshman squeaky voice, excited and loud. “That sounds like so much fun. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this myself. Oh yes, please can I go? I would love to tag along with you and your dates. Maybe I can find a dress that would match all of your outfits.”
I pull them to the side. “Rule number nine: don’t try to force me to go to the dance when I don’t have a date and you do. I’m fine with rule number five. I support your night out with your very sweet boyfriends.” I look at Natalie, “Although you…”
She finishes my sentence: “Don’t deserve Tyler. I know.”
“Yes, you do,” I say while squeezing her hand.