“I’m not auditioning this year,” I told Olivia.
She gasped. “Seriously?”
“I gotta go,” I said. “Break a leg!”
Tuesday, January 30
I do feel sick, knowing it’s all going ahead without me. I’m home alone. I can hear Snickers’s toenails clicking around in the kitchen and the heat thunking on. Meanwhile, the second batch of kids are auditioning now. Everyone’s singing, warming up, and listening to Mrs. Cordoza shout, “FIVE, six, seven, and—”
I probably made a huge mistake. What else is new?
Wednesday, January 31
Tris says his audition went really well. I asked him if he had any competition, and he said he didn’t want to sound arrogant, but not really. He’s so confident, he’s more worried about whether he’ll get peer-pressured into drinking at Noelle’s party than he is about callbacks. Word is out about the party now, and no one can stop talking about it. Tris is going (obviously). Elliott’s going. Hannah’s going. Grady says he won’t go unless I can, but of course I’m not going to let him martyr himself. It’s common knowledge that Reese and the other popular kids are going. Noelle is such a star at school this week, I almost feel shy about texting her, like I might be bothering her.
I have to trick Dad into letting me go somehow. I can’t miss this.
Thursday, February 1
As of tomorrow, I’m UNGROUNDED!
Friday, February 2
Dad poked his head into my room tonight and said, “Aren’t you going out? I thought you’d want to celebrate.”
I said, “Nah, I’m tired. Anyway, I want to get a head start on my homework.”
My cunning knows no bounds! He’ll assume his punishment changed me and I’ve become compliant. Why else would I choose to stay at home on the very day most kids would desperately want to go out: the Friday at the end of a month of house arrest? He won’t suspect a thing when I casually mention I’m sleeping over at Hannah’s tomorrow.
Saturday, February 3
DAMMIT. It’s 8 p.m. and I’m screwed. This morning I said, “Hey, Dad, Hannah invited me to sleep over tonight. Can I?”
He said, “Sure. Let me text Mrs. Egan to confirm she’ll be there.”
I tried to read his expression, but he was gazing into the bowl of eggs he was whisking.
“Are you serious?” I said. “It’s Hannah.”
“Purportedly,” he said. Then he looked up and smiled at me pleasantly.
“You know what, don’t even bother,” I said. “If you don’t trust me to hang out with my best friend, I’ll cancel on her.”
“So I shouldn’t text Hannah’s mom?” he said.
“No. I’ll just stay in my bedroom forever. Anyway, I doubt Hannah even told her I was coming. Not everyone’s parents act like the Stasi.”
Dad was boring holes into my eyes with his eyes. He knew exactly what I was up to. He’s an attorney. I can’t trick him with my fake anger and illogical preemptive hedges. Of course Hannah would never invite me over without getting her mother’s permission first. I know that. Dad knows that.
“Canceling your plans is probably a good idea,” he said.
I feel like an animal in some rinky-dink city zoo with cages the size of dressing rooms. It’s snowing again, and everyone important is at the party of the year, including my boyfriend and his ex-girlfriend, and I’m trapped inside listening to my father and Miss Murphy look at nursery decor on Pinterest and bicker flirtatiously about faux sheepskin rugs. I can’t stay here. I’ll lose my mind. I have to get out of this house.
Sunday, February 4
I jumped out the window to get to the party.
I had to! Or, OK, I wanted to. I wanted to go to the party so badly, it felt like a physical need. My dad was clearly going to stay up, blocking my path out the front door, until it was too late for me to leave. There was only one solution.
I went downstairs and announced I was going to bed. I acted sullen, like I was still furious at him for refusing to believe my lie but had resigned myself to another night in. Then I snuck my coat, keys, gloves, and hat out of the front hall closet, walked upstairs, and pretended to get ready for bed: brushed my teeth, flushed the toilet, went to my room, closed the door, and turned off all the lights. Twenty minutes later I left through my window. First I lowered myself onto the roof of the screen porch. That part was a snap. I’ve done it a million times. Yes, it was a little trickier than it is in the summer because of the snow, but I made it. I even managed to stretch onto my tiptoes and pull the window closed behind me. Then I had to drop down from the roof to the patio. Holding on to the gutter while letting the rest of my body dangle in the air was the scariest part. No, letting go was the scariest part. It wasn’t a big distance—maybe eight or nine feet—but still, I had to work up the courage to do it. Counting down from 10 didn’t work, and neither did silently screaming Jump, you baby! at myself. Finally my arms got too wobbly to keep holding on, and I had to let go. And it was fine! Mostly! I landed in a pile of snow, and I must have felt something, but the adrenaline zooming through my body masked it.
It was freezing outside. Riding my bike to Noelle’s, I was concentrating on not getting run over by a drunk driver or skidding on the icy roads. When I finally made it, I paused for a second to look up at the stars and the lit-up windows of Noelle’s house. Then I put all my weight on my right foot to get off my bike, and a knife of pain shot up my leg. I hopped through the garage to the kitchen door, and almost as soon as I got inside, I saw Grady. I must have looked terrible: red nose from the cold, staticky hair from the hat, pale face from the pain. But Grady yelled “YEAAHHH!!!!!” when he saw me and came pushing through the crowd of kids to pick me up and spin me around.
I gasped when he set me down on my feet.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“I think I messed up my ankle.” I told him about sneaking out and riding over. As I talked, he led me out of the kitchen and to the front hall stairs. I leaned on him and hopped to get there. When I was sitting down, he pushed up the right ankle of my jeans—which was not easy, since obviously I was wearing my tightest pair of skinnies—pulled off my shoe and sock, and said, “Oh my God.”
It looked like there was a small pillow protruding from my pants, with five little toes sticking out of it like buttons.
“Holy cankle!” I said, and started laughing. It did hurt like hell, but it looked so funny, and I was so relieved to be sitting on a stair pressed against Grady in a warm house filled with people, none of whom had the power to lock me in my room or foist a sibling on me, that I hardly cared.
“I wonder if you broke it,” Grady said. He was not laughing. He was Googling. Sometimes when he’s frowning into his phone, efficiently finding useful information, I can see what he’ll be like as a dad: calm, sensible, helpful.
“You can kind of walk on it,” he muttered to himself. “Does it hurt more around the tissue, or over the ankle bone?”
“Is the ankle bone the knobby one on the side?” I said.
“I’m not sure. Obviously we’re not doctors,” he said.
“We’re NOT?”
He ignored me. “If it doesn’t feel better after two to four days of rest, ice, compression, and elevation, you need to get it checked out. Let’s find Noelle and ask her if there’s an ACE bandage anywhere. We also need an ice pack and some Advil.”
“You’re a sexy nurse,” I said.
“Wait, I changed my mind. I am a doctor.”
“Don’t be such a bad feminist. Men can be excellent nurses.”
“Since we’re pretending anyway, I might as well be a neurosurgeon.”
“Dr. Lawrence, are you attracted to girls with one foot shaped like an ottoman?” I gave him a flirty look.
“Seriously, let’s find Noelle. Aren’t you in pain?”
“Yes. I feel like I’m going to throw up, actually, it hurts so much. But let’s sit here for one more minute.”
I could tell he wanted to hurry
up and wrap my ankle, but he humored me and we sat side by side, looking around the foyer, which is open to the second floor. Most of the lights were turned off, but the giant chandelier was on. Kids drifted past underneath it, some talking loudly, some chasing each other, some looking shy or unsure. There went a senior field hockey player in tears. Here came a clump of guys arguing about who had stolen whose beer. A few people waved to me and Grady. Most ignored us, or didn’t notice us. Music boomed from the kitchen. It was nothing like the balls I’m always reading about in Jane Austen novels, but it was exactly like them too. I don’t think Jane would be shocked if she could see what we were up to.
Noelle came out of the kitchen holding a Solo cup and saw us. “Here you are!” she said. “Have you found Tris and Elliott yet? Hannah’s around too. They might be outside. I think snow pong is happening.”
I never wanted to go outside again. I felt sleepy. The throbbing in my ankle was almost pleasant. It took my mind off the fact that I’d snuck out of my house and possibly broken my ankle and was probably going to get grounded for the rest of my life.
“Hey, do you have an ACE bandage, by any chance?” Grady said. He stood up to talk to Noelle. I was leaning against the stair rails, resting my head, when I saw Reese through the living room door. She didn’t see me. She was looking down at her phone and smiling. The lights were low in there, and her bright screen turned her face pale blue. Then she looked up and we locked eyes.
“Noelle,” I said, “do you mind if I lie down for a minute? I feel weird.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “Use my room. Sneak up there, though. My mom’s relaxed about stuff, but she’ll decapitate me if anyone has sex on her bed. And once the first couple goes up . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence, but I got it. Luke Powers had a party last year that basically turned into an orgy, or so everyone says.
“We’ll hurry,” I said. Grady was standing on the step below me. I climbed onto his back without asking.
“I guess I’m giving her a ride,” Grady said.
“No one’s looking. Go! Go!” Noelle said. Grady went.
It was dark in Noelle’s room. “She said the stuff is in her mom’s bathroom,” Grady said. “I’ll be right back.”
I lowered myself onto Noelle’s bed. Had I ever been happier? Maybe the first time Grady and I kissed, but this was a close second. I was out of my house and my school for the first time in a month. My boyfriend was fussing over me. My best friends were downstairs in the snow—I thought maybe I could hear them laughing if I listened carefully. Neither of my parents knew where I was. If only I could untether Noelle’s house and yard from Earth and send them spinning through space, so that I never had to face my family again.
“Jackpot!” Grady said, and came into the room holding the gear.
I really didn’t think we were going to have sex. In fact, I specifically decided we shouldn’t, since (a) my injury was giving me bizarre space-thoughts and (b) we were on Noelle’s bed. But Grady was so gentle, wrapping the bandage around my ankle and clipping it, then handing me two Advil and a Dixie cup full of water. And we’d only had sex once in the past month. And I don’t know, he lay down next to me and brushed my hair out of my face and the next thing I knew I’d taken my shirt off and climbed on top of him.
“Doesn’t it hurt your foot?” Grady said.
“Not if I lean over like this,” I said.
It was a long one, and a quiet one. Toward the end my eyes were closed, I remember that, because I also remember that when Grady stopped moving, I opened them to see what was wrong and saw that he wasn’t looking at me but was staring over my shoulder with a shocked expression on his face. I turned, and there, in the doorway, was Reese.
I couldn’t really make out her face, because she was backlit. She didn’t say anything. For a while (a minute? It felt like forever) she stood there, not moving, looking at us. I grabbed my shirt and tried to cover my boobs, but I stayed on top of Grady. I didn’t want to scramble away like a cockroach. She wanted to catch us? She’d caught us.
Finally she left. After we’d heard her run down the stairs, Grady got up and shut the door.
“Hoo boy,” he said, collapsing next to me on the bed.
“I’m gonna have to transfer,” I said.
I was hungry, and worried, and I could feel my pulse through my whole body, even in my scalp, but somehow I still fell asleep and didn’t wake up until 5 a.m. Actually, that’s not true: I woke up a few hours later and realized I was spending the whole night with Grady for the first time, and I was so happy, so, so happy, even though I knew trouble was coming from all directions, and I put my arms around his waist and went back to sleep.
Monday, February 5
On the plus side, Dad didn’t catch me! Grady and I went downstairs as soon as we woke up. There were sleeping kids everywhere—on the couches, on the floors. Grady said he could leave his bike at Noelle’s and give me a ride home on my own handlebars, but the crying field hockey player from the night before was heading out too, and when she saw me limping and wincing, she offered to throw both of our bikes in her Subaru and give us rides. Her name is Ashlynn and she just got dumped by this guy from Springfield she doesn’t even like, which she told us all about on the way home. Ashlynn is an angel.
I snuck in, thinking that at any minute Dad would jump out from behind a doorway and tell me I’m never allowed to leave my room again, but the house was quiet, and I tiptoed upstairs and climbed into my own bed like I’d never left it. I was so excited to have gotten away with my caper, I thought I’d never be able to sleep, but of course I passed out instantly and didn’t wake up until 11, when I went downstairs and told my father I’d slipped getting out of the shower and hurt my foot somehow, which he was so concerned about, I almost felt guilty.
Then I answered all the texts.
Tris: Everyone good?
Elliott: Home safe Mom asked me if I had fun at Grady’s
Grady: My mom asked me the same re Elliott’s
Hannah: I feel so guilty but my parents don’t suspect anything
They really believe I slept at Chloe’s
Tris: Don’t feel guilty
It’s a rite of passage
Hannah: But I had two beers, too
Tris: Oh Hannah
Elliott: I had five vodka tonics and threw up in Noelle’s bushes, so there
Hannah: I still feel guilty
Tris: Grady where’s Chloe why is she not texting
Grady: That girl Ashlynn drove us home
Not sure if Chloe got caught, fingers crossed she didn’t
Elliott: Did you hear Ashlynn’s BF dumped her
She was a hot mess last night
Tris: I’ve seen pictures of him on Insta he’s a babe
Elliott: Grrrr
Tris: Not as hot as you obviously
Hannah: Poor Ashlynn
Chloe: Sorry just woke up
I’m fine. Glad everyone else is too. Elliott are you feeling OK?
Elliott: Fine but starving and my voice is really growly. I like it
* * *
Noelle: Where are you
Hello
Are you alive
Chloe: Sorry just seeing these
Yes fine
So sorry I slept in your bed
Noelle: No prob I slept in my moms
More space anyway
Chloe: I have to tell you something
It’s gross
Noelle: What that you and Grady had sex in my bed?
The sheets are already in the laundry lol
Don’t worry about it
Worry about Reese
I’ve never seen her like this
Chloe: She told you?
Is she freaking out?
Noelle: No worse
Super quiet and intense
Be careful
Chloe: Careful how??
Noelle: I don’t know I’m just warning you
Chloe: GREAT
Tuesda
y, February 6
It started as soon as I got to school yesterday. Freshman year all over again, that month after I’d gotten caught cheating with Mac and the whole school knew. People whispering while staring at me, people giggling and turning away as I passed by, people muttering, “Shhhh. Here she comes.” Quick glances. Long, interested looks. Elbows to friends’ ribs to alert them that I was coming down the hall. From Noelle’s squad, narrowed eyes and disgusted expressions. From Noelle, serenity and calmness and unawareness of my existence, like she has nothing to do with what’s happening to me. It’s quiet on social media so far. We’ll see how long that lasts.
Wednesday, February 7
If I can get through this part, I’ll be OK. It feels like I have to drop out of school, but I don’t. I just have to keep myself from crying until I get home or, if I can’t wait that long, until I’m in the girls’ bathroom.
Thursday, February 8
All this interest in me, all this furtive gossiping, just because I had sex at a party? It’s possible, but it seems over the top. What if Reese is embellishing? What if she’s claiming that we were doing something disgusting or weird? If my friends know what she’s been saying about me, they won’t tell me. Noelle says she’s “staying out of it.” I have to hear the worst, but even the people who like me won’t help.
Friday, February 9
Someone posted a picture of my head photoshopped onto a porn star’s naked torso. #chloeho is back as a hashtag. It still pulls up results from freshman year. I can’t stand this. It’s all I can think about. My ankle is basically healed—I don’t care. Grady sent me a massive bouquet of flowers for Carnation Day—I couldn’t enjoy it. Nothing cheers me up.
Saturday, February 10
Not that it matters, but Miss Murphy cast the show a week ago. Tris is Gomez Addams. Olivia is Wednesday. Izzy, the girl who stole the lead from me last year, is playing a mom—I forget the character’s name. Not a big part, anyway. Some freshman is Morticia. That freshman is having the best month of her life. I was her two years ago, so I know. She probably thinks she’s found her calling and she’ll be a happy musical theater geek for the rest of her life. Little does she know she might turn into me: a bitter, jaded junior who doesn’t even remember to write down casting updates, much less bother to audition for the show.
Notes from a Former Virgin Page 14