by Leslie Lehr
Inside the glass doors of the main corridor, the blue floor was waxed to a blinding gloss and there wasn’t a speck of trash in sight. In fact, there was no one in sight; only a trophy case, the bell schedule for short Fridays, and a sign-up for reality show auditions. As soon as Tyler signed in with the security guard in the front hall, a bell clanged as if he’d given the wrong answer on a quiz show. Michelle covered her left ear while classroom doors banged open and a multicolored stream of students flooded the hall.
A sea of sweatshirts and jeans, midriffs and miniskirts, surrounded them. Enormous boys bopped to exotic beats and shouted across the crowd in Spanish, Farsi, Vietnamese, and English. With four thousand students, somebody must know something about Nikki. It was strange to picture her shy little girl among these rowdy teenagers. They parted around Michelle as if she was a rock in a rushing stream. She squeezed her arm to her side, but no one even nudged her. She was a parent, invisible.
Tyler, however, was not.
“Hey, Mason, is that you?” A tall boy high-fived Tyler and dashed off, pausing to make some sort of hand signal from atop the stairs. Tyler understood the language. He understood the language of girls, too, purposely ignoring the cheerleaders giggling past, then glancing back to check them out. Just as quickly, the students vanished, leaving a trail of body odor and trashcans overflowing with notepaper.
They found the office for the dean in charge of the eight hundred students with last names from K to R, then squeezed past a dozen students making origami with hall passes as they waited in a line against the wall to see her. Michelle perused the colorful display of pamphlets warning about the evils of drugs. While Tyler studied a poster for the PTA silent auction featuring autographed electric guitars and Emmy-winning television scripts, she snatched a copy of each pamphlet.
When the door finally opened, the Dean’s red glasses peeked out. “Excuse me, do you have an appointment? These students have been waiting.”
“It’ll only take a minute—it’s an emergency,” Michelle said. She stepped quickly inside, beckoning for Tyler to follow. Dean Valentine sat down behind her massive desk. “Thank you,” Michelle said. “I’m Nicole Mason’s mother. She used to be a student here?”
Dean Valentine tucked a loose thread back into the sleeve of her peasant blouse. “And?”
Michelle glanced at Tyler, but he was studying his cuticles as if they held the mystery of the universe. She dropped the pamphlets in her lap and folded her good hand around her bad one, hiding her arm beneath the navy sweater. Why was she so nervous? Her children didn’t even attend this school anymore.
“I’d like a copy of her attendance records. M-A-S-O-N. She’d be in the current senior class. With the fall birthday, we should have held her back, but when it was time to decide about kindergarten she was excited and I was working full time, so…” Michelle caught herself rambling and shut up.
The Dean clicked the keyboard on her aging computer and read the screen. “Nicole Mason dropped out shortly after being suspended.”
“Wrong Nicole.”
“Mother is Michelle, father is Andrew, middle name Deveraux. We may have four thousand students, but we keep accurate records. Apparently she slammed the metal door of a PE locker in another girl’s face.” She printed out a copy.
Michelle looked back for moral support from Tyler, but now he was pretending to be invisible. Now she understood: this woman was scary. “Of course, but I don’t remember any locker accident.”
“I don’t believe in accidents, Mrs. Mason.”
Michelle nodded. Her mother used to say that.
“We have a zero tolerance policy for assault. That’s why we suspended Nicole.”
Michelle looked at Tyler for confirmation, but he just shrugged. “When did this happen?”
“November. The year before last. We sent a note home.”
“I was in the hospital.”
“Regardless, you’re lucky the Levines didn’t sue when their daughter required rhinoplasty. They asked only that we hold her place on the cheerleading squad.” She studied Nikki’s attendance report. “Nicole was readmitted the following week, but only attended class for a few days before going truant. After thirty days, we confiscated the contraband found in her gym locker.”
“Contraband?”
“As her legal guardian, it’s your property. May I see your ID?”
Michelle forced a smile. “Sorry, I…forgot my purse.”
The dean appraised Tyler. “Weren’t you in Little League with my son?”
“Yeah, but I heard he quit for surf team.” Dean Valentine nodded. Tyler stood up. “I’m gonna hit the john,” he said and escaped.
The dean looked back at Michelle. “We generally don’t hold confiscated goods beyond the school year, so you can sign a release for it. However, if Nicole wishes to re-enroll, you’ll need to petition the district.” She circled Michelle and went out to the main office, leaving the door ajar.
Michelle tried to read the attendance slip upside down while she waited, but the ringing phones and shouting teenagers outside the door made her nervous. She scanned Dean Valentine’s degree certificates and autographed celebrity photos until an Abba ringtone drew her attention to the patchwork purse on the shelf behind the desk. Beside it was a photo of three towheaded boys with surfboards and a mug identical to Michelle’s that read, World’s Best Mom.
Dean Valentine returned and opened the clasp of the bulging envelope while Michelle scrawled the X that passed as her left-handed signature. She peered inside, then pulled out a baggie and opened it, spilling several dusty white pills onto the desk. Then she pumped antiseptic cleaner from the desk dispenser and washed her hands.
Michelle put her hand on her heart to steady herself, then picked up one of the pills, hoping it was only Midol. Stamped on the side was a word she couldn’t read. She could, however, squint enough to decipher the first letter: V. The white tablets were familiar now. They were Vicodin, the painkillers Drew used to take for his back. “She probably brought this for the girl who got hurt. Misguided, of course, but well intentioned.”
“Mrs. Mason, are you familiar with our antidrug policy?”
“‘Just say no?’”
Dean Valentine opened Nikki’s folder and held up a card with Michelle’s old signature. It wasn’t as elegant as her mother’s, but it was better than an X.
“Perhaps you’d remember it better had you read it before signing.”
Michelle waved the antidrug pamphlets. “I read everything, Dean Valentine, which is how I know Vicodin is not a gateway drug.”
“No, but it is illegal without a prescription. Students who require medication during school hours must have a physician’s note on file.”
Tyler slipped back in. “Yes, I recall the red tape for Tyler’s asthma inhaler. But I’ll bet you still don’t have a registered nurse here every day.”
“Our parent volunteers are fully capable. How you parent your children at home is none of my concern, but when it affects my students, it is. Perhaps you would benefit from our seminar series on Practical Parenting for Teens.”
Michelle slapped the pamphlets on the desk but kept her voice under control. “Maybe if you spent more money on the students, and less on seminars, you wouldn’t be so paranoid.”
“I don’t control the budget, Mrs. Mason.”
“You don’t control much of anything, do you? You get your kicks from terrorizing kids. The last time my daughter got in trouble, it was for reading a poetry book during biology lab. How dare you enforce such bullshit?”
Tyler gasped.
“I beg your pardon.” Dean Valentine stood up.
“Nikki is a good girl!”
“Every child is at risk.” A commotion rose in the hall, then there was a knock on the door and Dean Valentine hurried out.
Michelle hesitated. Zero tolerance? She had zero tolerance for being in this office another moment. But she wanted Nikki’s report. She heard the dean shouting in the ha
llway and decided not to wait. She handed the bulky envelope to Tyler, then snatched the attendance sheet. Michelle led Tyler down the hall past students craning their necks to see a fight, then race-walked down the corridor.
Tyler caught up as she slowed by the security guard at the entrance. “Did you just steal that?” he whispered.
“Shhh,” Michelle said as he held the front door open. A few steps into the windy courtyard, the attendance report slipped from her hand, paragliding across the pavement to the curb where the Volvo was parked. Tyler shoved the fat envelope beneath Michelle’s arm and chased after the paper.
When she reached the car and looked around, Tyler was ten yards behind her, chatting with a group of athletes in varsity warm-ups. The bell clanged, and the jocks ran to the gymnasium entrance, leaving him with two pompom girls in pleated skirts.
Michelle waved for him to hurry, but he was lapping up the attention of the older girls holding their long hair back from the wind. If he were a puppy, his tail would be wagging.
The ear-splitting squeal of brakes filled the air. Michelle looked up to see a school bus, as long and yellow as caution tape, lumbering toward her. A bus just like the one that had pulled up there on Nikki’s birthday.
The bus driver honked the horn for Michelle to move the car, but Nikki refused to get out. She complained that her teeth were sore after having her braces removed, but it was more than that. Tyler kicked the front seat in frustration, late for school. Students shouted from the bus windows, and Nikki shoved her birthday cupcakes to the floor. When Michelle pleaded, Nikki stumbled out to the pavement. She melted onto the sidewalk, her tears streaking red rivers down her pale cheeks, her new purple sneakers glued to the cement. The bus lumbered past.
Michelle called for backup. By some miracle, Drew answered his cell. “Let her go home and eat cupcakes, for chrissakes,” he said. “Everyone needs a mental health day now and then.”
Michelle leaned back against the car, waiting for Tyler to finish chatting with the girls. She tried to picture Nikki in one of those pleated skirts. If she had kept up with dance, or done some other activities, maybe she would have felt more like she belonged. Instead Nikki spent her weekends at home, reading poetry and switching between kid shows on the Disney Channel and cult films like Donnie Darko. At the time, Michelle was proud that her daughter was unique. She hadn’t minded that Nikki was younger than the other kids in her class. It just meant she got to hold on to her little girl a bit longer. But no wonder Nikki didn’t want to go to school on her sweet sixteen—there wasn’t much to celebrate.
“Mom!” Tyler called.
“Ready to go?” Michelle asked, then looked back where the girls posed, all shiny and pert, as the athletes from a rival school hopped off the bus behind them.
Tyler stepped closer. “Mom, this is Kelsey and Ashlyn.”
Michelle hid her arm beneath her sweater and smiled. “Hello. Do you girls know Tyler’s sister?”
Their mascara-draped eyes darted at each other. “Give me a minute,” Tyler told them. He guided Michelle back toward the Volvo.
“Wait, honey, I need to ask if they’ve heard anything. Maybe they were friends.”
Tyler stopped at the curb. “Mom, Ashlyn’s the one who had to get a nose job. Nikki shut the locker in her face. For real.”
Michelle looked back. Sure enough, Ashlyn’s nose was perfect. “She probably didn’t know Ashlyn was standing there. It was a misunderstanding between friends.”
“Mom to Earth? Nikki didn’t have any friends.” He spread his fingers into an L. “She was a loser. If I was her age, I wouldn’t have hung with her, either.”
Michelle felt a shooting pain, but this time it was in her heart. “How can you say that about your own sister?”
“Ty, are you coming?” Kelsey called.
He offered Michelle the report. “I’ll get a ride home, okay?”
“No, Tyler, I need to talk to you.”
“You want me to like it here, right?”
“I can’t drive myself.”
“Please, Mom, you used to drive one-handed all the time, before talking on the phone was against the law.”
“That’s beside the point. Why didn’t you tell me any of this about Nikki?”
Tyler’s face was red with frustration. “Because I wasn’t supposed to upset you, duh!”
The girls called out one last time. “Ty, we have to go. See you later?”
Tyler waved at them in defeat, then opened the passenger door for Michelle. Once she was seated, he dropped the report in her lap and kicked the door shut.
8
Tyler was seething as he sped away from the school. Michelle struggled to buckle the seat belt with her left hand, wishing he would slow down, but she bit her lip to avoid playing the mom card again. The shock of going from no mother to a bossy one was reflected by the speedometer, going from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds. Still, all she needed was another accident.
Michelle’s stomach dropped. For a blessed few minutes, she had forgotten about the boy who’d died in her car. The thought made her shiver. A police car approached and Tyler slowed, causing the old key chain, a beaded row of their names, to click as it swung back and forth. Nikki had made it for her mother in another lifetime: Before. This was After. Their lives were officially split into two.
Michelle sighed and dumped the contents of the school envelope on her lap as they drove though the suburbs. There was a moldy stick of Teen Spirit Deodorant, a pair of cotton, turtle-print panties from Target, and a crumpled black T-shirt that Michelle didn’t recognize. The attendance report would have to wait until her hands stopped shaking.
A motorcycle cop waved them toward a detour past a street packed with white equipment trucks. After recognizing the camera truck and rented star trailers, Michelle searched for familiar faces among the film crew. She wished they were breaking for lunch, but the only ones visible were busy holding up shiny boards and aiming overhead mikes. She pointed toward a man with a walkie-talkie. “That looks like Aziz, the AD from Budweiser. I should call him.”
Tyler drove another block before he finally burst. “Dad’s not coming back!”
Michelle looked at him. “I wasn’t going to call for your father’s sake. But it does prove there are jobs here.” She waited, but Tyler said no more. “What are you not telling me?”
Tyler focused on steering through the busy intersection.
“Come on,” Michelle said. “You knew Nikki had been in trouble, I could tell. I felt like an idiot in there.”
“You have an excuse,” he said.
“Maybe, but you don’t.” Michelle picked up the turtle-print panties that Nikki used to love. “Remember the meltdown she had on her birthday?”
“How could I forget? I could have been class treasurer if she hadn’t pitched a fit and made me late for elections. She didn’t want to go to PE or something.”
Michelle looked at the panties and realized that, at sixteen, Ashlyn and Kelsey were probably wearing lacy thongs. “I’ll bet that’s what the locker fuss was about. Nikki wouldn’t hurt anyone—she was too shy. Those girls must have teased her about the panties until she couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Whatever.” Tyler replied. He turned the radio on to a hip-hop station.
“How about something with a melody?”
He switched to a classic rock station, but Michelle’s head still hurt. She unlatched the glove box filled with fast-food napkins, hospital parking stubs, and a bent pair of readers. “No Tylenol?”
“Dad took it. Want water? You used to make us drink it for headaches.”
“I didn’t want you to get in the habit of using drugs.”
Tyler snorted. “All your classic rock is stoner music: Clapton, Jagger—” The Beatles tune on the radio segued into the Doors. “My English lit teacher said the Doors got their name from the Aldous Huxley book Doors of Perception. He and Poe and Blake—all those dudes were total druggies.”
“Yo
ur school curriculum is impressive,” Michelle said.
“Seriously, Mom. You ever see Jim Morrison live?”
She swatted him. “I’m not that old, Tyler! But my friend, Becca, won a Morrison film scholarship at UCLA. He wasn’t much of a filmmaker, evidently, but he was quite the poet.”
“Like Noah. Must be why he was so obsessed with the dude.”
“Noah Butler? The one who was…your pitching coach?”
“Sucks, huh? He was a cool guy,” Tyler said. He pulled the visor down to block the sun and braked to avoid rear-ending a UPS truck. A BMW honked past.
“Hands on the wheel,” Michelle reminded him.
The song on the radio echoed: “hands on the wheel.” They smiled at the coincidence, then Michelle listened more closely. The percussion was off. “Wait—that’s not the Doors.”
She reached for the volume, just as Tyler reached to change the channel. He banged into Michelle, throwing her off balance. “Fuck me,” he said.
“Tyler!” Michelle glanced at him. The DJ was announcing a Roadhouse concert at the Wiltern. Michelle recognized the name but couldn’t place it.
The DJ continued, “Took their name from the Doors’ song, ‘Road House Blues,’ about driving to the nightclub in Topanga Canyon called the Cellar, where Neil Young used to—”
Tyler turned it down. “Idiot. Everyone knows it was called the Corral.”
Michelle didn’t, nor did she care. But that would explain why she recognized the name of the band—that song was a classic. And the burned-out ruins of the club were still there. Michelle used to notice them every time she drove through the Canyon. Then it hit her. “Roadhouse was Noah Butler’s band, wasn’t it?”
“Still is. I mean, they still play without him.” He shrugged. “I just wanted a chance to pitch, that’s all. Or I wouldn’t have begged you to help.”