Harmless

by Dana Reinhardt

  She was changing right in front of me. I could see something different in her eyes. She wasn't the Emma I knew. She became this confident person, acting like all these strangers were her best friends, like she was the Queen of Quarters. She was laughing and throwing her head back and twirling her hair in her fingers, but not in her usual absentminded way. In-stead she was twirling it in this “hey, look at me and how gor-geous my hair is” kind of way. She took off her sweater and she was wearing a tight T-shirt I'd never seen before. And slowly, she was inching her way closer to Owen. By the time the game was over he had his arm around her, his left arm, the one with the string bracelet, and her hand was on his leg.

  I hadn't seen Emma with a guy since Michael Landau in seventh grade and that hardly counted. He was a total dork. I told her what I thought of him lots of times but she didn't seem to care. Going out is way different when you're in sev-enth grade than it is when you're in high school. In seventh grade you sometimes sit together at lunch or you sit out in the quad during free periods. You don't disappear into someone's bedroom and come back all flushed.

  Emma confessed to me, months after she wasn't with Michael anymore, that he had put his hand inside her bra a couple of times on the lawn behind the science center. But still. That was seventh grade. And that had been it. There wasn't anyone between Michael Landau with his hand in her bra and this moment with her hand on Owen's leg.

  Emma did have a huge crush on this friend of Silas's everyone called Ax. His real name was Tom Axelrod and he was a senior like Silas and he would hang around the house after basketball practice and tease Emma, and sometimes even grab her in a headlock and make her smell his sweaty armpits, and for some reason this only seemed to make Emma's crush even stronger. But Emma knew nothing would ever come of it. There was an understanding. He was a senior. She just turned fifteen. That doesn't happen at ODS. But here we were, sitting around with a bunch of people we didn't know, and there she was with this guy Owen's arm around her and her hand on his leg like it was the most natural thing in the world. Come to think of it, Owen even looked a little like Ax. He had short spiky hair and dark eyelashes and green eyes and thick muscu-lar arms that you never see on the boys in the freshman class. He was wearing an Orsonville High varsity letter jacket in blue and gold. ODS colors are maroon and gray.

  Sitting there with her hand on his leg, with his arm around her, she looked like someone we each someday wanted to be. I just didn't realize it would happen so quickly.

  It must have been around two in the morning. Chris and Becky never came back from wherever it was they went. Brian was out on the porch, smoking a cigarette. DJ said he was beat and he took Mariah by the hand and they went upstairs. I'll say this about DJ: he didn't seem to have nearly as much to say to Mariah as he did to his friends, and other than pinching her butt when she would get up to go to the kitchen for more beer or to the bathroom for a pee, he didn't really pay any attention to her. But now that it was time to go to bed, he had a firm grip on her hand.

  He told us where the extra blankets and pillows were. It was a small house and the only two bedrooms were occupied. That left a couch in the living room and another in the den.

  I went to the linen closet to get pillows and blankets for Emma and me, and when I came back she and Owen were lying next to each other on the couch. Her head was on his chest. She looked like maybe she was already asleep and he was gently stroking her hair. Her hand was still on his leg. I walked over and Owen took a pillow and a blanket from me and said thanks and he covered them up.

  “Emma?”

  “What?” she mumbled.

  “Where are you going to sleep?”

  “Right here.”

  “Should I …”

  “Just go, Anna.”

  “But …”

  “Good night.”

  Owen smiled at me. “Good night, Anna.” He did have a gorgeous smile.

  I backed slowly out of the room and retreated to the darkness of the empty den, until I woke up in the middle of the night and came back into the living room, where I saw what I know I saw.

  Emma

  I woke up in my clothes. I guess I put them back on in the middle of the night, but I couldn't be sure. Everything was a blur, a pounding, achy, uncomfortable blur. I remembered how bold I'd felt the night before and I didn't know where that person had gone. I felt tiny. My circle reduced to an insignificant dot. I was Alice in Wonderland. I'd gone and drunk the Drink Me bottle; now I was lost in a strange and lonely world and I couldn't quite find my way out of it.

  I threw up in DJ's parents' bathroom, twice, but that didn't help much. I couldn't purge the night away. I looked in the mirror. Curiouser and curiouser. I decided to take a shower and try to wash away the absent look on my face and the smell of sick. That didn't quite do it, so I put on some of DJ's mom's lotion and a squirt of her perfume.

  We all went out to a diner for breakfast. I ordered scram-bled eggs but after one bite I knew I'd made a mistake. I pushed them around on my plate and drank my water instead. I sat at one end of the table with Anna and Mariah. DJ and his friends were at the other end, talking and laughing and eating a seemingly endless supply of pancakes. We just sat there quietly, Anna, Mariah and me, as if we were alone, as if we had no interest in what was going on at the other end of the table.

  Outside the diner, Owen waved goodbye to me, but he didn't come any closer than the length of a lime-green station wagon.

  DJ dropped us off at the same spot by the river where he'd picked us up the night before. He told Mariah he'd call her soon and then he sped off.

  We sat down on some rocks.

  “So, girls, how'd it go last night?” Mariah asked.

  “It was really fun,” I lied. It was a pathetic attempt at a lie, but I couldn't seem to muster up any of my newly honed lying skills.

  “It was really fun? Come on, Emma. You're not getting off so easily. Tell us everything. What's up with you and Owen? Oh my God, he is so ridiculously hot.”

  “Nothing really. We made out for a while. I don't really remember. The whole night is kind of a black hole.”

  Anna was staring at me with her eyes narrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “You know, Anna. A black hole. A void. A vacuum. I drank too much, obviously. Give me a break. My head is about to explode. Do I still smell like beer?”

  I leaned into Anna so my shoulder was under her nose.

  “No. You smell like some nasty-ass cheap perfume,” she said. I'm not quite sure why, but it made me feel good to see her smile just a little bit.

  “And that's it?” asked Mariah.

  “That's it.” It's over. That's all, folks.

  Mariah turned her attention to Anna. “What about you and Brian?”

  “Gross! God no. He slept on the floor. I was already on the couch. I didn't even know he'd come into the room until he woke me up with his crazy snoring. I had to put two pillows over my head.”

  I could see Anna was telling the truth. Anna always told the truth.

  I was eager to get home. Back to my house. My bedroom. My family. I was tired. And despite my shower, I felt filthy. I took out my cell phone and looked at it. No calls.

  We started walking home. Mariah turned off to go toward her house and Anna and I had about another six blocks before we parted ways.

  “So are you into him?”

  “Owen?”

  “Duh.”

  “I don't know, Anna. Whatever. It was just a fun night.” Her smile disappeared. She looked kind of wounded. I felt bad, but on the other hand, she couldn't expect that just because we'd been friends since third grade I had to tell her absolutely everything. I was tired and I needed to be alone.

  “I came into the living room, Emma. I saw you.”

  “Shut up, Anna. You have no idea what you're talking about.”

  I felt off balance, like I was trying to stand still on a moon bounce while everyone jumped wildly around me. I took in a deep breath. In through
the nose. Out through the mouth. I picked a point in the distance to focus on, like they tell you to do when you have motion sickness. A blue door. A blue door to a gray house. A blue door to a gray house, which opens into rooms I don't know, filled with things I've never seen.

  My balance returned. I steadied myself, and then I turned and walked away from Anna, heading home, leaving her on the sidewalk looking like the confused little girl she, in so many ways, still was.

  My house was empty, but there was a note on the kitchen counter from Mom saying she wanted us all to go to the En-glish department potluck for dinner. The note said: Silas, honey, why don't you invite Bronwyn?

  I wondered what would happen if I invited Owen.

  Was Owen my boyfriend now? Did sharing an itchy floral couch with him mean he was my boyfriend? It was so much simpler in the grammatical days of Michael Landau. I—like— you. Subject, verb, direct object. All right there in the open, nothing left to figure out.

  If it was true, if itchy floral couch = boyfriend, then why didn't he say one word to me all morning? Not even goodbye?

  Would he call me? Did I care if he called me? How could I not care if he called me after all that had happened between us?

  Sleep. What I really needed was sleep.

  Mom woke me up when she came home. She was sitting on the edge of my bed and for a minute I thought she knew everything. I thought she knew about the big lie and all the beer and what had happened on the floral couch with Owen, whose last name I didn't even know.

  “Hi, honey. Did you guys stay up too late last night?”

  “Uh, yeah. I guess we did.”

  “Well, why don't you get up and take a shower and get ready for the potluck. I made a turkey meat loaf.” She gave my butt a smack.

  Our shower has never had much pressure and the water doesn't get hot enough. That's what happens when you live in an old creaky house. Our apartment building in the city must have had at least two hundred showers in it and still there was always scalding-hot water and tons of pressure. That's what I needed right then more than anything. Water that could burn my skin with enough pressure to knock me off my feet.

  The phone rang as I was getting dressed. Mariah.

  “So I talked to DJ and he said that Owen wants to see you again.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I think he's totally into you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Emma, I'm sure. We were talking about maybe all going to DJ's again Friday after school. His mom's going out of town and his dad's on the night shift. He'll be home at midnight, so we can't sleep over. We can just say we're going to a movie or something. What do you think?”

  I wasn't sure what to think. I should have been thrilled. Owen wanted to see me. Mariah said he was “totally into” me. Owen liked me. Subject, verb, direct object. But why didn't it seem so simple?

  Lying to my parents was proving to be remarkably easy. I thought of that commercial with that guy who screams, “At these prices, you can't afford not to shop at Eddie's!” So I guess I figured, when it's this easy to lie, I can't afford not to.

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “Cool. It'll be great. Probably just you and Owen and me and DJ.”

  “Listen, Mariah. I have to go to this stupid potluck thing at the college with my family. …”

  “Say no more. I understand.”

  She hung up.

  I sat there for a minute listening to the dial tone—its low, lonely, hollow sound—like a child robot, not knowing how to feel.

  Mariah

  When I got home, Mom asked me how the field trip was. She was sitting at the table, sorting through a stack of glossy brochures.

  “You know Sturbridge Village. It never changes. What's all this stuff?”

  She pushed her hair back from her beautiful face and let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Oh, Carl thinks we should take a trip this summer and I'm trying to find something appropriate for kids.”

  “I'm easy. I'll go pretty much anywhere as long as I can sleep late and order room service,” I said, but I was thinking about what it would feel like to be away from DJ and I was hoping we were talking about a short trip here.

  “I mean something appropriate for little kids. I know you're easy, Pumpkin. You've always been a dream.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. She held up one of the brochures. “I'm thinking maybe a Disney cruise. How does that sound?”

  “That sounds odious.” How I loved that word. “Really, Mom, maybe that would have sounded good, like, seven years ago or something, but do we all have to be stuck out at sea with Mickey and company, twenty-four seven, just to keep little Jessica happy?”

  “Mariah.”

  That was Mom's way of saying “enough.” Or a kinder, gen-tler version of “shut up.” And I didn't really blame her for the way she said my name or for giving me that look. I wasn't being fair. I don't hold anything against Jessica. She's only six and she lost her mother and I'm happy for her that she has Mom now. She loves Mom. How could she not? And obviously Mom loves her too or else she wouldn't be contemplating a Disney cruise.

  “Whatever, Mom,” I said, and started to leave the room.

  “Did you remember the souvenir? For Jess?”

  Oh. Right. So I told her this story about how someone must have ripped off that twenty because after I'd picked out this mini butter churner, I looked in my wallet and it was empty. She shook her head like “what a shame.” I told her not to tell Carl because I was sure he'd go all apoplectic and call his friends on the board and demand some kind of investigation or something and that would be embarrassing for me. Mom nodded like she understood and she stroked my hair, and gave my hand another squeeze, and promised she'd keep quiet.

  Funny. I'd lied to my mother, stolen her money, spent the night with my boyfriend, and managed to get her to feel sorry for me. I was a genius.

  Everything was falling into place. If it worked out with Owen and Emma then I could see a lot more of DJ. Maybe the four of us could go out to a movie or go to a real restaurant or even take a drive to Albany to see some band perform at the Arena. I wondered if Ludacris ever made it to Albany.

  And maybe, just maybe, if Mom and Carl saw that someone like Emma, who gets straight As, whose brother is going to Columbia next year, and whose parents are professors of literature, was going out with Owen from Orsonville High, then they wouldn't mind that I was going out with DJ. His prom was in a few weeks. I was hoping he could come pick me up at my house instead of down by the river.

  I still didn't know why Carl would even care who I went out with, but he did. He talked a lot about our image in the community and how everything I did reflected on him. He was always in my business about how I wore too much makeup or my skirt was too short or my attitude was too sassy. That's the word he used: sassy. What a dick. I guess he just wanted me to set some kind of virginal example for his little angel-princess Jessica. He wanted me to be the Disney version of the perfect older sister.

  It was Saturday night and I had nothing to do. Mom and Carl were taking Jessica to a kids' movie, and not like I felt like spending two hours watching a talking armadillo, but they didn't even ask if I wanted to come along. I called DJ. I thought maybe he could come over for a quick visit and then disappear before they returned, but he just let his voice mail pick up even though I called him three times in a row and sent him two instant messages.

  Emma was at a potluck with her parents and Silas. There was no one else I could call, so I called Anna. She invited me over for dinner and even though that sounded like a lame thing to do, eating dinner with Anna and her parents on a Saturday night, I didn't exactly have any other options.

  I left the house without a coat and realized halfway through my walk to Anna's that this was a mistake. By the time her dad opened the door my teeth were chattering.

  He put his arm around me and said, “Mariah. It's so nice to meet you. We've heard so much about you.”

  He was sho
rt and stocky, with a big warm smile and tufts of hair visible over the neck of his T-shirt. His hug felt sort of cozy. He was the opposite of Carl. He was a teddy bear. Carl's more like a G.I. Joe.

  He told me to call him Wally and then he yelled up the stairs for Anna, who came racing down them like the house was on fire.

  Her mom came out of the kitchen and wiped her hands on her apron. She was short too, a couple of inches shorter than me, with big boobs, but not the good kind of big boobs. They were the kind of big boobs that looked like a shelf sticking out from her chest: something she could rest her arms on, or maybe a book or a mug of coffee. She had long straight hair that was braided into a rope down her back, too many freckles and big brown eyes. My mom's a former model. Anna's can make a mean lasagna. I ate three helpings.

  I wouldn't have ever believed it, but halfway through din-ner I found myself envying Anna. She has this perfect little family of just her and her mom and dad and a warm little house and an old wooden dinner table with lots of scratches in it. Ours gets polished probably three times a week and I can see Carl's reflection in it whenever we're eating together. Be-lieve me, one view of Carl is more than anyone should have to stomach, especially while you're eating.

  This could have been my life if my mom had married my real father. Just the three of us. Laughing and talking with our mouths full of lasagna. But I guess for her to have married my real father she would have had to know him in the first place, and she didn't. He was some guy at a party. Or maybe a guy she met while she was on a shoot. She wasn't really sure. It never mattered much to me because I had Mom and I had her all to myself.

  Then Carl came along.

  “So, Mariah, what do your folks do?” asked Anna's mom, whose name I learned was Carolyn.

  “My mom mostly takes care of my little stepsister, Jessica. And she, you know, takes yoga and she volunteers and stuff like that.”

  “And your father?”

  “You mean my stepfather? I have no idea. Something at CompuCorp.”

  “He's vice president in charge of sales and new-product development,” said Wally. Then he saw my confused expression and added, “Carl Dalrymple. I work under him.”