Effortless With You

by Lizzy Charles

  He doesn’t even care about this afternoon. No remorse.

  I click away. Marissa’s taught me to stand on my tiptoes to get a downward angle so she doesn’t end up with a double chin. Whenever Marissa winks, I push the button. She leans in, whispering something in his ear. He pulls back gently, laughing. Another wink and I shoot as she turns her body, making it look like Justin is cornering her into the bar. She leans in again briefly for the photo. I have to hand it to Marissa; she’s good.

  Marissa looks back at me. “So, are you done yet? We’re having a real conversation here.”

  “Yup. Thanks for helping me out.”

  She waves me off in response. Further proof of my loser status. I cringe. Marissa can be a bit clueless how she treats me sometimes. Once she gets her mind set, she’ll always play the game to come out on top. I should expect it by now. I know she doesn’t mean to make me feel like dirt. But I can handle it. It’s way better than being called a dumpster slut. Marissa’s easy to handle compared to my past.

  Marissa’s enormous camera stretches my purse. Disappearing into the crowd, I’m relieved yet oddly unsatisfied with my encounter with Justin. I have more to say to him.

  No, I have more to yell at him.

  The intensity of my emotions surprises and scares me. I’m usually able to keep my thoughts from turning into words, screening them from the real world. No one breeches this wall except Mom and, occasionally, Dad. Proof Justin’s an invasive nightmare.

  Everyone else bows at his feet. I just want to stomp on them.

  As I push my way through the crowd, ironically, I become more aware I’m alone. I can’t remember the last time I walked around a party without Marissa at my side. Free, I look around, deciding what to do.

  Too bad I don’t want to do anything at all.

  Scanning the crowd, I spot Zach playing volleyball in the pool. That eliminates that activity. There is a bench slightly off the dance floor. I can pull off sitting there, a dance break.

  I pull out the camera, viewing the shots. Marissa’s practice posing sessions have really paid off. It looks like Justin is hitting on Marissa. One shot even looks like Justin was leaning in for a kiss, pinning Marissa against the bar.

  She is an evil genius.

  I scan through, deleting a few of the unflattering jaw shots of Marissa. One photo stops me. Marissa stares at Justin, her hand on his shoulder and another playing with her hair. Justin doesn’t notice her, his green eyes focus on the camera. Were they pleading? I delete it. Weird camera angle.

  “How’d they turn out?” I jerk. That voice has become too familiar.

  “Really, come back for more?” I gaze up, determined to face him.

  Justin smiles. How can this be fun for him? My pulse quickens. I want to punch him.

  He sits next to me, snatching Marissa’s camera out of my hand and scrolling through the photos. I watch his thumb, ready to pounce if it nears the delete button. Marissa would kill me.

  “Wow. These are pretty incriminating. Awesome job.” He hands the camera back.

  I shrug. “Thanks.”

  “Does she realize there’s no chance?”

  “That may only encourage her.” No point in trying to cover for Marissa. She’d say the same thing.

  “That’s what I thought.” He leans back, putting his arms behind his head. His biceps flex and I look away. I don’t need my hormones taking over.

  “What?” he asks.

  “You tell me.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Listen. I’m sorry. You were right. I was a jerk.” Momentarily, I’m dazed. His apology doesn’t seem real. I lift my eyebrow; there has to be more.

  I’m right.

  “But I’m not sorry about Zach.” He turns to me. “Speaking of which …” Justin nods toward the crowd. Zach is walking toward us.

  “Yo, Zach. How’d that game of disc turn out?”

  “Tater got schooled!” Zach sits down between us, soaking wet. The side of my dress absorbs the water off his body. He puts his arm around me. My stomach makes a little flip.

  He still likes me?

  Zach turns to me. “Sorry again about dinner tonight. Work got busy and I lost a bet to Tater. I was so pissed that I completely blanked.” He nudges me and flashes his corner smile. “They say I’ve got a tendency to get overheated.”

  I’ve heard that. Last season he threw all the lacrosse sticks across the field after they lost to Jefferson Academy.

  “So,” Zach gives my shoulder a squeeze, “I calmed down with a game of disc.”

  He leans in, kissing me on the cheek. “Forgive me?” My heart flutters as my emotions swing on a pendulum. His story could totally be legit, and he fessed up to blanking. The way his hand is wrapped around my waist just feels right. I’m not ready to let that go over a messed up date.

  “Yeah, of course. No big deal.” I shrug, wanting to appear like the cool, relaxed, girlfriend.

  Justin throws up his hands behind Zach, defeated.

  Zach looks back at him. “What, man?” his voice darkens.

  “Nothing, really.” Justin stands up, wisely removing himself. “I just remembered I promised Jennifer I’d dance tonight.” He nods toward the dance floor where Jennifer stands eyeing him. “I might as well get it over with.” He looks down at me. “See ya later.”

  Zach shrugs in response. I have the sense they weren’t as close as they’d acted on the phone. Zach and I sit next to one another for a moment in silence. My mind races, trying to find something to ask him. “So, how’s the pool?” is all I manage.

  He looks at me blankly before a huge smile spreads across his face. He effortlessly leans over and sweeps me off the bench. “You’re about to find out.”

  Faking a scream, I kick off my heels before Zach throws me in the water. Thankfully, it’s warm. A thundering splash booms next to me. I swim to the surface and a large arm pulls me into a hug. It feels nice to be held so close. Zach looks down at me, his brown eyes filled with excitement. That look always makes me smile. He turns away from me briefly and whistles to Tater and Pete, his teammates. Both nod and storm the dance floor where they grab their girlfriends and obediently toss them in, too.

  I instantly bond with the other girlfriends. Without words we turn on our guys, creating a wall of splashes with our feet. Zach breaks through the water wall, pulling me toward him. He kisses me before he yells, “Water fight.”

  Zach and I team up and attack Tater and his girlfriend. The force Zach makes with slamming his arm into the water is overwhelming. Giant waves slosh up in my face. I can’t open my eyes. Water shoots up my nose and down my throat. It burns. Choking, I swim to the side.

  The night’s cooler air makes me shiver. Zach doesn’t seem to be losing interest in the fight at all. The brunette swims up to the steps. “This can go on forever. I guarantee you,” she says before climbing out. She’s dated Tater for over a year, so I assume she knows what she’s talking about. I follow her. The hair on my arms stands straight up. I wring as much water out of my dress as I can. Goosebumps pattern my skin.

  I walk back to the bench and pick up my heels and purse. I sit down, pulling out my phone. Eleven forty-eight. Crap. Eleven missed calls. Double crap.

  I jolt up, scanning the crowd, hoping Marissa will stand out in her yellow top. My eyes catch a flash of yellow, but it isn’t Marissa’s dress. My heart stops.

  It’s Mom’s yellow gardening hat.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  This isn’t happening. Not here. No.

  Mom stands in the middle of the dance floor dressed in floral pajamas with that stupid floppy hat to cover her bedhead. Our eyes meet and the air thickens. She stomps across the floor. The look she gives me pierces my skin. I shoot up, walking the other direction. Maybe she’ll follow before everyone notices?

  “LUCINDA ZWINDLER. STOP NOW.”

  Crap. It really is happening. Everyone stares.

  Bracing myself, I turn around. The space around Mom clears. She hasn’t even bother
ed to put on a bra. I swallow a mouthful of spit that I’d made, an unconscious attempt at drowning myself.

  “What do you think you’re doing here? Didn’t we tell you that you were grounded? C’s, Lucinda, C’s!” She grabs my arm. “ANSWER ME!” Her face trembles.

  I don’t want to be like her. I try to stay calm. In control. I take a slow breath before responding. “It’s only a C, Mom. Relax. I came for a few hours. I was just grabbing my stuff to head home.” Marissa pops through the crowd; I nod to her. “We were just leaving.”

  “You.” Mom points at Marissa. “This was your idea.”

  Everyone turns, their attention on Marissa. “Oh, no, Mrs. Zwindler. I tried to talk Lucy out of it. I swear.”

  Mom lets out a harsh laugh. “No. This is right up your alley, conniving and disrespectful. Totally MARISSA.” Mom hits her high-octave notes.

  Marissa forces a sob, grabbing the guy’s arm next to her and putting her head against his chest. I doubt she even knows his name. People swarm around her, touching her back. I sigh. Marissa is the center of attention; she’ll be just fine.

  Mom’s breathing is heavy, her face swollen and out of proportion. Boiling point. Her grip tightens. Pain.

  “Mom. Let go.” I look down at my arm. “Please, Mom. Let’s just go home.”

  She follows my gaze and her fingers quickly uncurl. Her red handprint remains, blazing around my bicep. Whoa. She’s never done that before. I search her face. Her mouth is slightly open, her eyes wet.

  “Excuse me,” she says as she passes me and pushes the gate open. I stand alone for a few moments, trying to collect myself before following her. I hear a girl mutter that I should never go home. Others just shake their heads and whisper.

  But I follow her. I have to know if she is alright.

  I find Mom sitting in the driver’s seat of her green Toyota Avalon. Her head is down on the steering wheel. I don’t know what to say. Yes, I snuck out. Did that warrant being embarrassed and hurt in front of everyone? No. Maybe a nasty voicemail message or, at worse, just showing up and quietly telling me it was time to go.

  Her social illiteracy will be the death of me.

  The car purrs to life. Good, she hasn’t shut down. We’ve avoided a total collapse. I can’t deal with that tonight. I never want to deal with that again.

  My first memory is of Mom. I wandered into our living room and picked up her bowl of dried noodles off the floor. I was probably three years old. She stared, dead eyes, as I approached her at her permanent station on the couch. I handed it to her and she patted my head before looking back up at the ceiling.

  “Lucy, baby. Mommy’s resting. Let’s play outside,” Dad said as his hand covered mine, leading me away from Mom.

  Mom was always resting.

  ***

  I awake to the inevitable tap on my door. “Lucinda,” Dad says sternly. “It’s time to talk. Downstairs in five.” I groan, rolling over and looking at the clock. Seven twenty-six a.m. Can’t this wait until at least nine? “Now.” Dad answers my thoughts. Apparently not.

  I grab my favorite pair of sweats and brush my teeth first. I’m at least going to be comfortable. Mom waits at the bottom of the stairs, her steaming cup of coffee in hand. I refuse to look her in the eye. She turns, walking into the living room. I follow.

  I’ve grown to hate our living room. Being there belittles me; it’s like my time-out spot, the place I go to receive my punishments. I’d sit in the blue checkered chair while my parents had the honor of dealing the final blow—usually not being able to go out with Marissa that night, a temporary grounding situation, or, so far the worst, having my car privileges revoked after skipping class to hang out at a college cafe. That was a mistake, definitely not worth the latte.

  I haven’t driven for two months.

  I plop down on the chair, pulling my feet up under me. Mom hates it when we have feet on the living-room furniture. Her eyebrow twitches. She doesn’t say anything. If nothing else, I at least have this small victory.

  Mom takes a deep breath. I brace. “Lucinda Jane,” she says. I flinch. I hate my middle name—it’s boring. “We’ve never been so disappointed in you.”

  This is no new news to me. I want to say Great, so now I’m your biggest disappointment in life, but I stop myself, remembering my revelation before falling asleep. I’m not going to give them the advantage of knowing my thoughts. I’m going to be in control. Instead of talking, I meet Mom’s eyes with a steady, serious gaze. She doesn’t flinch. Excellent. I rock at staring contests.

  Dad crosses between us, cutting off our eye contact. “Lucy, we have given you opportunities to redeem yourself.” Really? Being grounded nearly every other day hardly seems like an opportunity.

  “You no longer have our trust. It will be a long road to regain it,” Mom adds, already pacing back and forth. My silence is creeping her out. Dad doesn’t seem to notice. He probably thinks I care about what they have to say. But I have Mom moving. This may work after all.

  “Your mother and I stayed up all night discussing what we should do with you …” he trails off, taking a deep breath before dealing the blow. He looks to Mom.

  Mom walks up to me, putting her hand on the wingbacks of my chair. “We’re monitoring your phone. Everywhere you go, we’ll know.”

  “What?” I jump up from the chair. “That’s a total invasion of my privacy.” Forget the silent approach. They may as well have shackled my wrists.

  Mom leans in. Shivers run up my back. “You don’t deserve privacy,” she whispers.

  “It’s a basic human right.”

  “Not when you’re sixteen. Your business is our business.”

  “Like you would even understand my business.” That was pretty lame, but it was the best I had. She won’t get the last word.

  Dad interjects, “Lucy, I called this morning and it’s already set up.” He takes out his phone and pulls up a family-locator application. I see my name next to a purple dot. The location says “Home.”

  My brain works at warp speed to try to beat this. I can just hide my phone wherever I say I’ll be and then go elsewhere. Easy solution. I can still “hang out at the pool” when I’m really on a date with Zach. But wait, I won’t be able to go on a date with Zach. There is no way I can get out of the house anyway. I’m surely grounded. My parents are so stupid. I lift my eyebrow, “Why waste money doing that when I’m going to be stuck here anyway?”

  “That’s actually something else we talked about,” Dad replies. Mom sits down on the couch, her lips tight. She’s obviously not a big fan of what Dad is going to say. “You’re not grounded. That punishment clearly hasn’t been working for you.”

  What? Seriously? Sweet!

  Dad reaches over and holds Mom’s hand. “We figure it only encourages you more.”

  We. I roll my eyes. Yeah right.

  “Keep in mind that we’ll be checking in on your location whenever we want.”

  “Oh, that’s right. How can I forget? You don’t have a real job.”

  I’m surprised when it’s Dad, not Mom, who pounces. “Don’t say that. You know what your mother’s gardening blog means for this family. It’s providing your college education.” His words sting.

  “Lucy, please stop being a snot,” Mom says.

  “Immature much, Mom?”

  “Okay. Okay.” Dad stops us before we can get going again. “Just let us know who you will be with and where you will be.”

  “Fine.” I stand up to leave. This conversation is over.

  “Sit back down. There’s more we think you’ll enjoy.” The way the words smoothly roll off of Mom’s tongue makes my skin crawl. I slam my body back down onto the chair, hoping it breaks a spring.

  Mom takes the lead. “Now, just because you aren’t grounded doesn’t mean you’ll spend all your time at the pool with Marissa.”

  My heart sinks and my jaw drops with it. No pool? What’s the point of summer if I can’t be at the pool? I glare at Mom. She really
is evil.

  “Your father spoke with a business associate this morning about you. We got you a job.”

  “What?”

  “Honey, we decided that since you want to make your own decisions and desire the independence of an adult, you wouldn’t mind going to work at all,” Mom says all too sweetly.

  Dad rises. “I completely agree with your mother. In an ideal world, yes, you would have this as your last summer off. But you’ve shown us you want more responsibility so we’re giving it to you.”

  I can’t believe it. My entire summer at the pool with Marissa just disappeared. Mom and Dad would know my hours. How can I sneak away to go on dates with Zach? He’d actually have to come here to pick me up. How mortifying.

  “Don’t you want to know what you’re doing?” Mom asks.

  “Yes, why thank you. I would love that, Mom.”

  “Painting.”

  I think of an art class. I’m kind of decent with art. Would I be assisting in a preschool?

  “The outside of houses,” she adds.

  A memory of our old house being painted flashes through my mind. Middle-aged men sweating high up on ladders or scaffolding while hauling huge gallons of paint back and forth. Ten-hour days. No way.

  “Are you kidding? Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Only if you don’t follow the rules,” she says.

  Dad remains silent, sitting on the couch.

  “Dad? Really? What if I fall? How am I supposed to carry those paint buckets?”

  He takes a deep breath before rubbing his chin. He obviously isn’t comfortable with this proposal. There’s no way he helped come up with this. “Well,” he sighs. “You’ll just have to be careful and creative. They aren’t as heavy as they look.”

  “Why couldn’t you have just gotten me a job at the public library?” I start to cry. I can’t believe this. Not only is my summer ruined with a job, it just happens to be a super dangerous and physically impossible one. I stand up to leave. They don’t try to stop me.

  “Mom, Dad. What if I get hurt?” I picture a ladder being swept away under my feet and falling three stories to my death.