Audrey did a circuit of the room and admired everyone’s pieces, the weird and wacky, the classically clean, and tried not to notice the people pausing at her station. Reading the letters, looking at the pictures. She wasn’t sure what she’d achieved with her photographs, if anything, but she liked them. At least I managed to put something up, she kept thinking. A few weeks ago she’d been unsure if she’d be able to keep this part of her life, and now here she was. Ms. Fitz hadn’t said anything about them yet, which was good, because it meant that Audrey hadn’t yet had to hear about her shortcomings. The longer she could put that off, the better.
Hovering around her display, she almost didn’t notice when Olivia came to stand by her elbow, slowly taking in each photograph. “These are awesome,” Olivia said. “I like mucho.”
“Thank you.” She paused, staring at the photo of herself. On the back of her right hand a thin, curving scar was visible, one that Audrey had completely stopped noticing over the years.
“I’m especially into this one.” Olivia reached out, and Audrey was sure she was going to point at Rose’s image, multiple versions of her laughing in the studio mirrors. But Olivia’s hand veered off toward Audrey’s self-portrait. “A picture of you! It’s a miracle.”
Audrey jabbed Olivia’s hip. “Shut up,” she said, and then she laughed self-consciously. “It doesn’t even look like me.”
“Are you kidding?” Olivia said. “Audrey, that’s you.”
Audrey folded her arms, sighing. “I know it’s me, I took the pictures, I developed them, I see them. But . . . I don’t look like myself. That’s not what I look like in real life.”
Olivia pointed at one in which Audrey stared off, fixated on some secret thing. “I know what you meant,” Olivia said. “That’s you. That is what you look like in real life.” She put her hands on Audrey’s shoulders and turned her so she couldn’t avoid looking right at it. “You just didn’t know it yet. And now you do.”
“Ms. Lee makes an astute point.”
Audrey jumped at the sound of Ms. Fitz’s voice, and the teacher smiled so the edges of her eyes crinkled, the cat-flick eyeliner disappearing from sight. “Sorry,” she said, sounding anything but. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Audrey unfolded her arms in the hope that it would make her look less wound up. “That’s all right,” she said. And then, without meaning to, she asked, “What do you think?”
“I think they’re excellent,” Ms. Fitz said without hesitation. “I think you’ve risen to the challenge and then some. You should be proud, Audrey.”
Excellent? Wait—did Ms. Fitz actually say she did well, then? Did she imagine that?
Audrey couldn’t contain it. “Really?” she said. “Seriously?”
Ms. Fitz laughed. “Yes, seriously. Audrey, don’t be so hard on yourself. That’s my job! And this time I’m telling you that you have really shown excellent growth. Not only have you told us a story here, but it’s your story. Personal. People can connect to that. It’s nice to know the artist behind the work.”
“I . . .” Audrey faltered. “Thank you.”
Ms. Fitz toyed with the thin silver chain around her neck, nodding along with everything Audrey said. “Don’t thank me,” she said. “You did this all yourself.” She turned to scan Audrey’s images, an intense focus on her face. “These images could tell a thousand different stories. That’s the best kind of art, where the viewer can see the same image over and over and read something new every time. Can you see that?”
Audrey looked at her life laid out there, her face staring out. Maybe they did say something, and maybe she really did look like that. She didn’t know how to reconcile those ideas with what was imprinted on her brain already. But she could try, at least.
“Yeah,” she said, tasting the sweetness of sugar glaze and strawberry on her lips. “I think I do see.”
FORTY-FIVE
Audrey pushed her bedroom door open with her toes, carrying the box of nail polish and pack of sour gummies and Marmalade in her arms. “I’m going to go full Basquiat on your nails.”
Rose followed her in, laughing. “Yeah, I don’t know what that means. I’m just going to assume it’s good and let you do your thing.”
“Philistine. Marmalade, go.” Audrey shook her arms so the cat would jump to the floor, then set the snacks and polish on her bed. “What do you want to listen to?”
“Hmm . . .” Rose set down the sodas she was carrying and threw herself onto Audrey’s bed. “Something with a beat. What’s that group Julian’s always going on about?”
“The Pharcyde?” Audrey leaned over her computer, scrolling through songs. “I got you.”
Rose brandished a twisty straw, the pink plastic bent into a flamingo shape. “One day I’m going to learn about all the stuff you tell me I’m bad for not knowing. All these artists and whatever. Only because I’m getting real tired of that smug look you give me every time you go off about texture or Impressionism or Basquale.”
“Basquiat,” Audrey said, sinking to the floor and crossing her legs. “Fine. But you know that means I’m going to do the same thing to you, and then you won’t be able to roll your eyes when I forget the difference between third and fifth position, or what the fuck a shuffle ball change is.”
“Don’t you disrespect the fine art of tapping, Audrey Anne,” Rose said. “The ghost of Ruby Keeler will haunt you in your nightmares.”
“Ooh, I’m so scared,” Audrey said teasingly. “What’s she going to do, time step me to death?”
Rose tossed her head back laughing. “You don’t even know what a time step is!”
“Not untrue.” Audrey pulled the box of polish to the floor and began searching through the half-empty bottles: so many reds she’d lost count, purple glitter that stained like a bitch, a gold-flecked black her mom had given her last Christmas that was way too expensive for nail paint. “Come, sit. Watch me work my magic.”
Rose did as she was told, mirroring Audrey’s position on the floor. She spread her hands flat on the lid of the box, and Audrey set to work with a base coat. Rose never had the raggedy edges and chipped polish that Audrey sported, keeping her nails long and neatly pointed instead. Audrey’s focus narrowed to Rose’s nails, each one a tiny blank canvas waiting to be adorned. She applied an off-white color with slow, even strokes, occasionally kicking Rose’s ankle when she kept moving to the music; when that was almost dry, she picked out an olive green and dipped one of her tiniest paintbrushes into the bottle “If you could live anywhere in the world,” Audrey said, “where would you go?”
Rose’s hands twitched, and Audrey steadied them with her own. “Do I have to work? Is this the kind of fantasy world where I have infinite funds and nothing tying me down?”
Audrey drew a sharp line across Rose’s middle fingernail. “Yes,” she said. “Whatever you want.”
“Okay. I think . . . some island, somewhere, where it’s crazy hot all the time and the water’s that clear, clear green. I want a little house right on the beach, so close there’s always sand everywhere, and I can wake up in the mornings and be in the water within thirty seconds.” Rose paused. “Then again, I would love to live in Italy, too. Where my family is from—Cordovado. Always cooking and walking through the groves and sleeping under the sun. What about you?”
Audrey unscrewed the nail polish remover and tipped a small amount into the lid. “I want to live somewhere I can see the stars at night,” she said, and she dipped her brush into the remover, swirling it around so the color dispersed in ribbons. “But then I want to be in a city as well. Somewhere with tons of galleries and theaters and actual culture, but where I can drive a couple of hours and be in the middle of nowhere.”
“That would be nice,” Rose said. Her hands twitched again. “So, guess what I’m doing on Christmas Eve?”
“Going to midnight mass?” Audrey said.
“Yeah, right.” Rose laughed. “My parents haven’t stepped foot in a church since their w
edding. No—I’m going to have dinner at Olivia’s house. With her mom. And some cousins or something, I don’t know. But! I’m doing it.”
Audrey snapped her head up, jerking her brush-holding hand up in the air so she wouldn’t paint Rose’s skin. “Shut up. Rose! Oh, I’m so proud of you. You are going to kill it. Watch—mothers everywhere will soon love you.”
“All right, don’t make me throw up.” Rose stuck out her tongue. “It’s going to be fine. Olivia’s going to give me notes on her mom’s entire life so I can study up and plan out exactly what I’m going to talk about.”
Audrey raised her eyebrows. “For real?”
“No, of course not, that would be weird!” Rose laughed again. “But she did promise that she would lead the conversation if I get really awkward and, y’know, me. So. I think it’ll be okay.”
Audrey set down the brush and put her hands together. “Are you nervous?”
“If feeling like I’m going to pee myself every time I think about it means I’m nervous, then yes,” Rose said.
“Nerves are good,” Audrey said. “They mean you care. And hey—see what happens when you ask people for help?” Audrey held up her hands as Rose rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying! Saying that I was super-right and you should always listen to me.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Rose shook her head, setting her tawny hair swinging. “You know what, though? I am trying. To talk more about, like, my feelings.”
“Like, awesome,” Audrey teased.
“Shut up.” Rose smiled. “I feel like it’s easier with Olivia. It’s like she knows when I’m not saying something, and she’ll call me on it. And before, usually I would just avoid it. But now I think about what you said, and then I try to say whatever it is.”
Audrey tipped her head to the side. “And?”
“And it feels good,” Rose said. “Everything feels better now. Like . . . I can breathe.”
Audrey broke into a smile, too, nodding eagerly. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I felt like, too. After the clinic. It’s good, right?”
Rose grinned at her. “I fucking love you, Audrey Spencer. Do you know that?”
“Oh, darling,” Audrey said, and she pressed her hand to her heart. “You’re such a romantic.”
Rose laughed, the sound uncontrolled and so wild it sent Audrey into peals, too.
She finished painting Rose’s nails with her lungs sore from laughing, and when the music changed to Pharrell, Audrey let Rose drag her up off the floor and dance so hard that the floorboards creaked under their bouncing feet. And when Audrey caught the look on Rose’s face, she felt like she would do anything for this girl. Because yeah, maybe the things people said about Rose were sometimes right: that she was mean, that she was a bitch. Audrey wouldn’t deny it—but she wouldn’t have it any other way, either. That part of Rose, and the quiet, unsure part of her—Audrey saw it all. Audrey saw, and Audrey knew, and Audrey loved that girl.
FORTY-SIX
Audrey listened to the phone ring on, and on, and on. “Come on,” she muttered. “Pick up.”
The line finally clicked. “Hey!”
“Jen,” Audrey said. “This is urgent.”
“What?” Jen sounded immediately concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Audrey stared into her torn-apart closet and let out a wail. “I have nothing to wear!”
School was finally over, the last shrill bell releasing them until after New Year’s, and on the last day every year they went out for a celebration dinner. It was always the girls, and then whoever else they could convince to tag along: Julian and Cooper this year; Izzy, Jasmin, and Dasha; and a couple of girls they sometimes hung out with at parties.
But Audrey couldn’t leave until she actually got changed out of her sloppy jeans-and-sweatshirt combo. “Help me, Jen,” she pleaded. “O wise one, I need your guidance.”
Jen laughed. “Jesus, for a second there I thought there was an actual problem! Okay, hold on—I’ll be over in ten.”
By the time Jen got there, Audrey had started on her makeup instead. Jen picked through Audrey’s clothes while Audrey painted on her favorite plum lipstick and smoothed serum into her curls. When she was done, she put on the outfit Jen had picked out: black jeans that were a little too tight but made her ass look great, and the shirt that she’d bought with Rose and forgotten all about. The ivory color made the gold flecks in her lipstick shimmer, and the jewels on the collar clicked against her hoop earrings. “Jen, you are a goddess.”
Jen checked her own outfit in the mirror—short green dress, amazingly shiny silver flats—and blew a kiss at her reflection. “Aren’t I, though?”
They drove to pick up Julian and then to their favorite Mexican place, the one that had the best guacamole and queso. Audrey ate—really ate, for the first time in months, until her too-tight jeans cut uncomfortably into her stomach. After sugar-drenched churros they piled out of the restaurant and into cars, heading for Cooper’s house, where what felt like the entire rest of their class joined them. The kitchen was stocked with booze—none for Audrey, playing designated driver for the night—and Julian and Izzy dj’ed, the music turned up high enough to entice Rose to dance (admittedly, not hard to do). Audrey watched Julian, headphones on, doing whatever it was on Cooper’s laptop that made the music skip and bounce, turning one song into another while Izzy bent over his shoulder, pointing at the screen. It was weird how close Julian had come to losing this. But he hadn’t—He still has the band, and me, and we still have everything waiting for us, Audrey thought, and she smiled.
Eventually they ended up in the dining room, playing dumb drinking games with a deck of cards María had found. María leaned on Rose’s shoulder, sloshing beer out of the bottle and slurring her words as she said, “I love you guys. No, don’t laugh at me; why are you laughing at me? I love you guys so, so, so much. You’re like my best friends ever. Sisters! I don’t have a sister but I always wanted one but this way it’s like I have four of them! Jen, what are you laughing at? Rose?”
Rose patted María’s flushed cheek. “Nothing, sweetie. Definitely not you.” She swirled her finger at the side of her head and mouthed to the others: gone.
“Oh, don’t laugh!” Audrey said, even though uncharacteristically sloppy María was amusing. “I think that’s sweet.” She swirled the soda in her plastic cup and watched it bubble up. “I don’t have a sister, either, so you can be my sister, Ree. And you, Jen, and Liv, and of course Rose.”
Rose nodded, pouring another measure of rum into her red cup. “Okay, it’s a deal. Even though I already have a sister, I could always use more. Especially if she’s the nice kind of sister who lets me borrow her clothes.”
Olivia put her chin in her hands. “I like the idea that you can choose your family,” she said. “Imagine if you could do it for real. Like, go to the store and pick out a new mom when the one you have starts getting on your nerves.”
“Oh my God!” Jen started giggling uncontrollably. “I would so do that. My dad keeps bugging me about college, and I’m, like, stop already. I’d love to pick out a dad who doesn’t give a shit about all that and wants to watch football with me all the time.”
“You are ridiculous,” Audrey said. “Since when do you like football?” She caught the lime-green straw in her cup between her teeth as she considered Olivia’s idea, applied it to her own life: the girl Mandy—Amanda Darby—standing in the freezer aisle, women suspended in motion behind the glass. She pictured Amanda squinting at the labels on each woman—family history of heart disease; qualified yoga instructor; former Marine—and nodding when she got to the one that said actress and serial cat owner. “Yep.” She imagined Amanda saying to some clerk waiting with an oversize cart, “This one’ll do.”
“But don’t you think that already happens?” Rose asked, pulling Audrey out of her fantasy.
Jen raised her eyebrows. “What, don’t I hang out with my dad? No! If I did, I wouldn’t want to go get a new one at the store!”
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“No,” Rose said, waving her hands in the air. “Don’t you think we kind of already do choose our family? Because, all joking aside, I do think of you as family—you’re always there for me, and when we fight”—here she looked at Audrey—“it’s never a real fight. We’re always there for each other, when we don’t have to be.”
True, Audrey thought. Imagine what life would be without her funny, flawed, wild girls—God, it didn’t bear thinking about.
She thought about Olivia, this girl who’d come into her life and clicked with her so quickly, who’d turned out to be the person Rose might be falling in love with. She thought about María, whose book smarts sometimes outweighed her common sense but who never failed to make her laugh, about Jen and how hard she was trying to be true to herself. And she thought about Rose and the person she was trying to become, the heartache she held so close. She really was proud of Rose, how much she was pushing against her own boundaries to change. It made Audrey want to change, too, to be better. And together they could do that—Audrey was sure of it.
Rose leaned into Olivia, her eyes gleaming with the glassiness of being tipsy, if not flat-out drunk. Actually, Audrey knew she had to be drunk, because this lovey-dovey, sweet stuff was not Rose’s usual repertoire. But honestly, Audrey liked it when this side of Rose slipped out from behind her tough-as-nails front. This was the Rose she knew.
“Some people never find friends like us,” Rose was saying now. “So I think we’re lucky. But that’s not to say I don’t want my real family, too. Even though we fight and fuck up and are generally a fucking mess . . . well, they’re still my blood.” She caught Audrey’s eye again and pointed excitedly. “And look! You actually did choose your family! Or your family chose you, or . . .”
“Yeah, I think we get what you’re trying to say.” Olivia laughed. “Any other words of wisdom you’d like to leave us with?”
You Don’t Know Me but I Know You Page 24