by Amy Clipston
I bit my lower lap and fought the urge to run over to the garage to see if he’d torn down the engine yet. I knew the whole idea was crazy. Most guys didn’t understand why I’d rather work on cars than get my nails done or go shopping, and I didn’t expect Zander to understand me either. Besides, he might not want a girl’s help. My abilities could threaten his masculinity or something.
I flopped onto the bed and concentrated on my homework until I heard Logan bellow my name from the bottom of the stairs.
I helped my aunt serve the meal of lasagna, breadsticks, and salad, and then took my seat next to Logan at the table. Logan once again uttered the prayer and then we dug in. I picked at my salad, while Logan gave one-word answers to his mother’s cross-examination about his day.
The back door opened and slammed with a bang, and Whitney appeared carrying her backpack with her cell phone pressed to her ear. Perhaps one of those handsfree ear jobs would be more convenient for her.
“Okay,” she said. “Love ya. Bye!” She dropped her bag on the floor and placed her phone on the counter. “Hey, everyone!” She bounced over to the table and sat beside me. “Oh, lasagna! Yum.” She lowered her head and closed her eyes, apparently praying. She then began to fill her plate.
“How was your day, dear?” Darlene asked.
“Great!” Whitney’s brown eyes sparkled with excitement. “Oh my gosh, Mom. We had such a good meeting. The girls have great ideas for Spirit Week.”
“How were your classes?” Chuck asked, in between bites of lasagna.
“Fabulous.” Whitney flipped her ponytail back behind her shoulder and then cut up her lasagna with the side of her fork.
“Do you have any homework?” Darlene asked.
Whitney nodded. “Yeah, I do.” She forked her lasagna again and moaned. “This is awesome, Mom.”
“Thank you.” Darlene looked at me. “So, are you girls in any of the same classes?”
“Homeroom, gym, and lunch,” I said, swiping a breadstick. Whitney glanced at me. “That reminds me. I didn’t see you at lunch.”
“I was sitting in the back with a friend.” I bit into the breadstick.
“Who?” Whitney asked.
“Chelsea.”
“Chelsea Morris?”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod, hoping that was Chelsea’s last name. I couldn’t admit I had no idea what my new friend’s last name was.
“She’s nice.”
“Yes, she is.”
“You know you can sit with me, right?” Whitney’s eyes studied mine. “My friends will like you.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”
“So aren’t you in any other classes together?” Darlene asked.
“No,” Whitney said, cutting up another bite with her fork.
“I’m surprised,” Darlene said. “I was hoping you’d be in more classes together, so you could study together.”
“I’m in the ‘average’ classes, not the honor and AP classes like Whitney.” My comment was laced with more resentment than I’d planned.
My father frowned, and I studied my plate. The conversation turned to Whitney’s busy schedule of practices and meetings, and I finished my dinner while avoiding my father’s stare.
After helping with the dishes, I retreated to my room and sat on the window seat. I split my time between homework and staring out the window at Zander, who was busy under the hood of the Dodge next door. Even though I realized I was obsessing, I wondered if he had any homework tonight. Did he bother to complete his assignments or was he one of those wonder kids who got straight As and a perfect SAT score without even cracking open a book?
A soft knock drew my attention to the door.
“Come in,” I said, drawing my legs up under myself and placing my history book on the bench beside me.
The door opened with a squeak, and my dad stepped in. By the frown on his face, I knew he wanted to discuss something serious. I bit back a sigh as he lowered himself onto the end of my bed, facing me.
“Hi,” I said, hoping to sound at ease.
“So, Emily,” he began, placing his right ankle on his left knee. “How did your day really go today?”
“Fine.” I shrugged. “I already told you that.”
His brown eyes studied mine. “Are you sure?”
I fingered my mom’s cross. “Dad, I don’t know what you want me to say. My life has been turned upside down, and I had to start over today in a brand-new school. If you want me to, I’ll tell you that I’ve never been happier in my life, but it would be a lie. Starting over is a drag.” I surprised myself by quoting Chelsea. “But I made a friend today and that made the day a little better. I’ll be okay, but you can’t expect me to be all happiness and smiles on my very first day. You have to give me time.”
“I know that it’s hard and I don’t expect you to do cartwheels.” He paused, gathering his words. “But you need to stop making little sarcastic comments like you did tonight at supper. We’re lucky Darlene and Chuck took us in.”
I turned toward the window and took in the sight of Zander standing in the driveway with a cell phone pressed to his ear. I absently wondered if he was talking to a girl on the other end of the line. And if so, why did I care? And why couldn’t I stop thinking about him?
I looked back at my dad. His disappointed expression both angered and embarrassed me at the same time. “I didn’t make a sarcastic remark. I simply stated the truth: Whitney’s in all honors and AP classes, and I’m in the average classes, which is why we’re only in homeroom, gym, and lunch together. I don’t see how that can be considered sarcastic.”
He looked unconvinced, and I knew he’d seen right through me.
“Emily Claire,” he began. “I know when you’re trying to pull the wool over my eyes, and it won’t work. I was the king of sarcasm when I was your age. Just watch your attitude, that’s all I ask. I understand that this is hard for you, but your aunt and uncle are doing all that they can for us. They’re not even charging us rent, which is above and beyond anything I could’ve ever asked for.”
A glimmer of hope twinkled within me. “If they’re not charging us rent, then that means we can save our money and move out soon, right?”
He shook his head. “It’s not that easy. I’m knee-deep in debt from all of your mom’s treatments and hospital stays, and that means my credit is pretty much shot. I’d have to find a landlord who would make an exception. It may be awhile.”
“Like a few months?” I bit my lip, hoping for good news.
He sighed and touched my knee. “It may be longer than that, but you need to look at the bright side.” He gestured around the room. “You have a gorgeous room and a pool.” He nodded toward the window. “We’ll never have a place this nice.”
“Never give up on your dreams, Dad,” I whispered. “That’s what Mom always said.”
He gave me a sad smile. “You’re right, Baby Doll. She did say that.”
The sputter and hiss of an air compressor drew our eyes to Zander’s garage.
My dad stood to get a better view of the action in the garage and snorted. “That boy is trying like the devil to get that car running, isn’t he?” He smiled at me. “You should go show him how it’s done.”
“Me?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so. He’d probably fall on the floor laughing if I told him I could help him.”
My dad looked confused. “Why would you say that? Tyler was happy when you got his Nova running.”
“Please don’t say that name,” I grumbled.
“That breakup was Tyler’s loss, not yours.”
I frowned.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he studied me again, and his expression made me want to crawl under the bed. “Why are you playing the part of the loner all of a sudden?”
“What do you mean?” I grasped the cross tightly in my fingers. “I made a friend today.”
“You seem shyer than you used to be.” He touched my arm. “I guess the change happened after
…”
He let the thought trail off, but I knew what he was trying to say, and he was right. I had become more of an introvert after we lost Mom.
I glanced back toward Zander’s garage to avoid his concerned stare.
He stood and stretched. “This isn’t getting my résumé done. I better get back on it so I can start printing copies. I went by the store and picked up some overpriced professional paper, like that will help me find a job.”
“It just might.” I pulled my history book back into my lap. “Think positive.”
The air compressor hummed, and an air tool whizzed like an imaginary voice beckoning me to the garage. I missed working on cars and wished I had the guts to run over there, introduce myself, and get under the hood of the car.
But I knew what was really holding me back, and it wasn’t my apprehension of what he would think of my abilities with a car. Even from here his eyes were dazzling.
“I think you should go help that poor kid,” my dad said with a grin as if reading my thoughts. “I bet you could teach him a thing or two.”
Looking out the window, I shook my head. “Who knows? He may have a thing or two to teach me.”
chapter four
During the rest of the week, I fell into a routine. I drove to school with Whitney and Kristin every morning, pretending to do my homework while they analyzed what their friends had worn and said the day before. Then I rushed off to homeroom alone while they chatted with their friends in the parking lot.
Chelsea and I met in the hallway after homeroom and walked to English together. After English, we sauntered to the gym and were partners for badminton practice. We met at the cafeteria and ate, chatting and laughing through lunch. I shared little tidbits about my personal life, but even though I liked Chelsea a lot and trusted her, there were some things I preferred to keep to myself.
Chelsea and I were on opposite sides of the school at the end of the day, so I often didn’t see her before I left. And since Whitney had an after-school event each day, I continued to ride the bus home, ignoring the freshmen Casanovas and spitball battles.
But on Friday afternoon, I crossed the parking lot and spotted Whitney leaning against her car with her phone attached to her ear, as usual. I gave a wave as I approached, and she disconnected from her conversation.
“Hey,” she said, all business. “I’ve got an honor society meeting.”
“I figured you were busy.” I nodded toward the line of buses. “I’ll see you at the house.”
“You can take my car, you know,” she called after me.
I faced her, walking backward. “It’s okay. I like the atmosphere on the bus.”
She shook her head and shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
As I stepped past the green Jeep and crossed in front of an old silver Nissan Sentra wagon, Chelsea approached, waving.
“Hey,” she said. “Did you forget something?”
I pointed toward the line of buses. “Uh, I’m bussing it today. My ride has a late meeting.”
She gestured toward the Nissan. “Hop in. I have to run an errand for my mom in town, so I can drop you off on the way.”
I shook my head as my mind raced. One of the things I’d kept from Chelsea was the fact my dad and I lived with the Richards due to our financial situation. I didn’t want her to know the truth — at least not yet. “It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind the bus.”
She grimaced. “Please. I remember those days, and they weren’t fun. Get in.”
I hesitated, and she pulled out her keys. Across the parking lot I spotted Zander, flanked by two guys I recognized from his lunch table, moving through the crowd toward the sea of student-owned vehicles. I didn’t want Zander to see me clambering onto bus 176.
I climbed into the passenger seat while Chelsea slipped behind the wheel.
I dropped my bag at my feet and fastened my seat belt. Glancing around the car, I spotted gray cloth interior and a cassette deck. I was certain it was a mid-1980s model, maybe even an 1987 XE, based on the body style. I remembered a tech at my dad’s shop fixing a faded red one that had been rear-ended last year, and he said they were great project cars … Suddenly I realized Chelsea was looking over at me.
“I appreciate the ride,” I said.
“It’s no biggie,” she said, turning the ignition and bringing the old car to life. “Like I said, I’ve got to go to the pharmacy for my mom, so I’ll drive right by your neighborhood.”
She made small talk about the weekend, and I stared out the window, wondering how I was going to explain the tremendous house. I wanted to tell her everything, but saying that my father and I were destitute and sponging off our relatives was humiliating. I directed her through the neighborhood, and she pointed out the houses she liked.
Chelsea whistled as she steered into the driveway. “Nice place,” she said.
I unbuckled my belt while she parked near the back door.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, grabbing my bag from the floor. “Have a great weekend.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
The Jeep roared up the driveway next door, and Zander blasted his horn before parking in front of the garage.
“Zander Stewart lives next door?” Chelsea asked.
I nodded. Wrenching the door open, I climbed out. “I’ll see you Monday.”
The back door opened and slammed, and Darlene came down the deck stairs to the driveway. Great. “Hi, Emily!” she called. “Where’s Whitney?”
“She had to stay for an honor society meeting,” I explained, closing the car door.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked, approaching the car.
Chelsea climbed from the car and extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Chelsea Morris.”
Darlene shook her hand. “I’m Darlene Richards. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too, Mrs. Richards.” Chelsea looked between us, obviously trying to figure out what I was doing at the Richards’ house.
“What grade are you in, dear?” Darlene asked.
“I’m a junior, like Emily.” Chelsea glanced around the yard. “This is a beautiful house.”
“Thank you,” Darlene said with a smile. “We like it. So you’re in Whitney’s grade too.”
Chelsea nodded. “You’re Whitney’s mother?”
“That’s right, dear.” Darlene gave me a sideways glance, as if asking why I hadn’t explained this critical piece of information.
“Mom?” Logan asked, popping his head out the back door. “Dad’s on the phone.”
“Be right there, sweetheart,” she called to him and then turned her attention back to us. “Would you like to stay and have a snack, Chelsea?”
“Oh, no, thank you. I have to run an errand for my mother,” Chelsea said. “My brothers are sick, and I have to go to the pharmacy.”
“Oh goodness,” Darlene said, looking concerned. “I hope they feel better. Well, I better run back inside. It was nice meeting you.” She started up the path and then turned around once more. “Oh, Emily. Whitney’s having a pool party Saturday night. You can invite your friend to join you. The more, the merrier!” She then rushed back into the house.
I swallowed a groan. I didn’t want to go to Whitney’s party and inviting Chelsea stuck me between a rock and a hard place. I turned to Chelsea. “I wasn’t planning on going to the party Saturday night. I have plans with my dad.”
“Oh.” Chelsea frowned. “So, this is Whitney Richards’ house.”
“Yeah,” I said, my cheeks heating.
Looking confused, Chelsea hugged her arms to her chest.
I cleared my throat. “My dad and I are living here until we can get our own place.”
“That’s cool.” Chelsea gave a sad smile, opening the driver’s side door again. “I guess I better run. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Thanks again for the ride,” I said.
“You’re welcome.” She fastened her seat belt and started the car. “You have my number. Feel free to
call me.”
“Okay.” I stood in the driveway and watched her drive off, wondering if she was hurt to find out the truth about where I lived, and how I hid it from her.
I was still pondering Chelsea’s expression Saturday night while I sat up in my room and stared down at her phone number, written on the small piece of paper she’d given me at lunch Friday.
Screeches and splashes sounded outside, and I sank onto the window seat and opened the window. The strong aroma of chlorine wafted up from below, where several girls clad in string bikinis lounged around the pool, chatting and giggling with tanned and athletic guys in swim trunks. Whitney sat dangling her feet in the water while Chad pulled her close and kissed her.
I fingered Chelsea’s number and glanced toward the cordless phone at the other end of the room. I knew I should call her, apologize for not being up front with her, and invite her to the pool party. But the truth was that the idea of parading in a bathing suit in front of Whitney and her friends scared me to death.
Conflicted, I opened up my journal and began to write:
Saturday, August 27
Dear Mom,
I need you more than ever right now. I’ve really made a mess of things since I came here. I’m afraid I’ve really hurt my new friend, and I need to find the strength to reach out to her and apologize. You always told me to tell the truth, but sometimes the truth is just too painful. I know it’s not Dad’s fault that we’re in this mess, but it’s difficult to admit it to other people without being embarrassed.
This had gotten me thinking of everything you taught me about being a Christian. You always told me that you would pray whenever you felt scared and alone. I might try to pray again tonight. But it seems like every time I try, I don’t know what to say. I’m not good at talking to God. I feel like I have spiritual laryngitis when I try to open up to him. It’s like since you’ve left us, I’ve lost part of myself. I don’t remember how to reach out to others and give myself. I find myself clamming up and hiding who I really am.