“It’s fine, Dad. Hi.”
“How’s everything going up there?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s great. I really like the school. I was just calling because we—well, because we moved.”
“You moved? What happened?”
“Nothing happened. They were just selling Mom’s building, so we got a cheaper place out in Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn? Jesus, Maria, is it safe? What’s the neighborhood like?”
“It’s like a …” I figured I’d better not mention the strip club. “I dunno, it’s just a regular neighborhood. It’s near the, um, the BQE? We just moved in today. I wanted to call and give you the new phone number and address.”
“All right. Hang on.” There was silence on the line. “Let me find a pen.”
My dad and I got along a lot better when I was little. I was too young to understand why my mom left, but I was young enough to accept that this was how it was, just my dad and me. And for a long time, that was fine. We always did things together on the weekends, went camping or played catch or built things together in the garage. Little projects out of scrap wood, like jewelry boxes or doll beds. He had girlfriends from time to time. I never got close to any of them, but I never hated them or felt jealous, either. I kind of suspected that he never really got over my mom, because my dad’s a nice guy and not too bad looking, but none of the women he dated ever stuck around.
Over the last couple of years, though, things changed. I guess it always changes when you grow up and lose interest in doll beds and playing catch. But without a mom to be our go-between, we became more like roommates than family. He had always worked nights, waking up just after I got home from school and having his breakfast when I was having dinner. Coming home in time to have his dinner while I ate breakfast. But the house needed repairs, and we needed money. He’d always been weird about asking my grandmother for it, even though she’s loaded. So a few years ago, he started taking on extra shifts. I barely saw him during the week, and he spent the weekends fixing the foundation or putting on our new roof. We communicated via little notes, mostly from him. Asking me to do chores, leaving a blank check and a grocery list, pinning notes to work shirts so I’d mend the rips and tears.
I felt like a total slave, and I knew it was all going to come to a head sooner or later. At first, hanging out with Brian and the guys helped. I liked staying out half the night, sneaking out after Dad left. But it was a mistake in the end. I can see that now. I just don’t know why I couldn’t make my dad see it like I did. I knew he was there. I saw evidence of him in the piles of dirty laundry, the dishes in the sink. And I know he must’ve seen evidence of me, too. Evidence in the neat pyramids of folded socks left on his dresser, the stocked fridge, the neatly swept floors. But in the end, I don’t think he really saw me, any more than I saw him. Which is to say, we had pulled off this amazing feat: We both managed to become completely invisible.
5
“Hey, Beverly, it’s your lucky day.”
I looked up. Tyler was standing by my table in the cafeteria, him and his buddies.
“What do you want?” I looked up warily. I was minding my own business, reading one of my mom’s books. Faithfull, the one about Mick Jagger’s girlfriend, Marianne Faithfull. I was right at the part where she was kicking her drug habit and making Broken English, her big comeback album. My mom had just played it for me last night, and I still had the music in my head.
“We couldn’t help but notice you’re all alone here, so we brought you a friend. Beverly, meet Pus Bomb.” Tyler shoved this kid Eric Nussbaum toward me. I’d seen Eric around. He was a scrawny underclassman with Tourette’s Syndrome. Everyone made fun of the poor guy, even though he didn’t go around yelling obscenities, like people always joke about. He was just twitchy, and he stuttered a little. Tyler had him by the neck.
“Tyler, leave him alone.”
“No, no, Beverly. We were thinking about it, and we feel really bad that you haven’t made any friends here at Prince. So we racked our brains, and we came up with this brilliant idea. You and Pus Bomb, here. I think you’d make a lovely couple.”
“I don’t think my social life is any of your business,” I said.
“Oh, but look at the two of you together. Pus Bomb, have a seat next to Beverly.” Tyler shoved him, and Eric fell into the seat next to me. He tried to grab the table to steady himself as he fell, and his hand landed right in my Jell-O. The poor kid was shaking and twitching all over. I handed him a napkin.
“Look, guys.” Tyler nudged his two buddies. “I’m having a vision. I can see it all now—prom king and queen! Here they are!” He held his hands up like a movie director framing a shot.
“All right, that’s enough,” I muttered. “Can I please finish my—”
“Hey, everybody!” Tyler yelled across the whole cafeteria. “I nominate Pus Bomb and Beverly for prom king and—”
“Goddam it, that’s enough!” I stood up and yelled, not realizing how loud I was or what I’d said. I’d slammed my tray down on the table, too, and now there was Jell-O and mashed potatoes splattered all over—on the table, on Eric’s sleeve, on Mom’s book. The whole cafeteria got quiet. One of the teachers was walking over to us, stern and serious.
“Okay, don’t get all excited.” Tyler laughed, holding up his hands. “It’s just a joke, Bev.”
“What’s going on over here?” The teacher put his hands on his hips. I didn’t know who he was.
“Nothing, Mr. Asher. We were just joking around.” Tyler slouched, his hands in his pockets. “I guess Maria took it kind of seriously. Sorry, sir.”
“Tyler, you boys go back to your seats.” Mr. Asher turned to me and Eric. Tyler and his friends slunk off.
“You’re new, correct?” The teacher was talking to me like I was the troublemaker.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“We don’t appreciate those kind of vulgar outbursts here at Prince. This isn’t public school, miss. Please behave yourself in the future.”
I was too stunned to say anything. This guy Asher was pretty much taking Tyler’s side. He gave me a serious staredown, then turned and went back to his seat. I wiped Jell-O off Mom’s book with a napkin, keeping my head down so that Eric wouldn’t see that I was about to cry.
“Sorry,” he said softly.
“It’s not your fault,” I told him. “Does it get any better around here?”
“I’m af-afraid not,” Eric whispered. He got up and went back to his table. I tucked the book under my arm and took my tray back to the tray station. I walked out of the cafeteria, and for the second time in two weeks, I got my jacket and backpack out of my locker and walked out the front door without telling anyone where I was going. Because I didn’t really know, myself.
I felt like walking for a while, even though I didn’t know where. I put Supergirl Mixtape #8 in my Walkman, one of the ones with all the pissed-off-sounding PJ Harvey songs on it, and decided I’d just walk around until I didn’t feel like screaming and throwing things anymore.
The only problem was, the Upper East Side wasn’t a very angry place to walk around. It wasn’t like downtown, with all the punks and bums and music and sidewalks full of bootlegs and books. It was cleaner and quieter. I mostly saw old people and delivery boys, moms with strollers, and dressed-up women walking their equally well-dressed tiny poodles and dachshunds. The stores were all nice boutiques, fancy places with fancy clothes and expensive sunglasses and purses, instead of used records and vintage shoes and Tibetan knickknacks. It didn’t really matter, though. I was glad to be walking around in the gray October chill instead of sitting in class at Prince, taking abuse from that idiot Tyler and his friends.
I stopped at a Don’t Walk sign when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I must’ve jumped a mile. I figured it was somebody from Prince, or else I was getting mugged. But when I turned around, I saw the woman from the apartment that day. My mother’s landlord. Her boss. Nina. I took off my headphones.
“Maria? Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “I called your name, but you didn’t hear me. I’m Nina. We met at your mother’s apartment.”
“Yeah. Yes, ma’am. I remember.”
“I trust you’re not truant.”
“What?”
“Skipping school.”
“Oh. Oh, no, we had a sub. And my last period’s study hall, anyway, so …” I trailed off, shocked at how quickly I’d come up with a lie. “I’m just—” I looked up, suddenly realizing that I wasn’t sure where I was, or how to get to my train stop on Lexington. “I’m just taking a walk,” I said finally.
“As long as you’re in the neighborhood, can I interest you in a cup of tea?”
“Tea?” I was all out of lies. I felt like Nina was the enemy, but I couldn’t think of a good reason not to go with her.
“Tea sounds nice.”
Nina lifted the teabag delicately out of her cup and set it on the plain white saucer. Almost everything in the restaurant was white. The walls were decorated with slender silver bud vases, sprigs of willow branching against the plaster.
“I feel I should apologize to you,” Nina said.
“Apologize to me? For what?”
“The apartment over Citygirls—it’s not the most scenic locale. When my husband died, I swore I would sell that place. But as it turns out, of all his real-estate investments, Citygirls is the most profitable. Embarrassing, but profitable.” Nina smiled as she sipped her tea. “At any rate, it’s only temporary. I’m working on finding Victoria a more suitable apartment. A girl your age should have a room of her own, don’t you think?”
“I guess,” I replied. I didn’t mind the futon that much.
“So, how do you like Prince Academy?” Nina asked.
“It’s all right.” I gulped my tea. It tasted sharp. Tart. Green ginger lotus blossom. Nina’s recommendation. I could feel her watching me. “I mean, it could be worse.”
“That’s hardly a ringing endorsement,” she commented.
“Sorry. I know it’s your husband’s school and all.” I paused, wondering how a guy who went to Prince Academy ended up owning a strip club. I almost smiled, imagining Tyler’s future career. “But it sucks at Prince. The kids are stuck-up jerks and the teachers are just as bad.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. Prince has a reputation for being rather stuffy, but it was the only school of its caliber that we could get you into on such short notice, and without taking entrance exams. It didn’t hurt that my husband left Prince Academy a sizable donation in his will.” Nina gave a tightlipped smile. “I hope you won’t let it get in the way of our friendship.”
“Our—wait a sec. You got me into Prince?”
“Your grandmother and I did, yes.”
“Okay, I’m confused. How is it that you’re friends with my grandmother and my mom at the same time? They hate each other.”
“Don’t they!” Nina laughed. “I am only an acquaintance of your grandmother’s. We’ve actually never met in person. I am your mother’s patron. Rather, I was your mother’s patron, when she was still a practicing artist.”
“She’s still practicing,” I said quickly, in my mother’s defense.
“She is?”
“Yeah. I mean …” I swallowed, not sure where I was going with this. “She’s always drawing. Little sketches. She draws all the time.”
“Sketches.” Nina sighed. “When I first saw your mother’s work—completely by accident, by the way—she lived in a building my husband was buying—I didn’t know much about art. But I knew right away, this young woman is a talent. I bought two of her pieces myself that very day, and I persuaded a friend of mine to buy another. But then she just … stopped working. And one can’t promote an artist who doesn’t make any art.”
“I guess not,” I said. “Why did she stop? Because of my dad?”
“No, although she did seem to hit a creative wall when your father moved you all to the South. I think she was overwhelmed. Fish out of water. That was when I got to know your grandmother. She seems like a lovely woman.”
“She’s all right.”
“Your mother came up with this grand plan to study art at Pratt. Your grandmother offered to pay—she’s a big believer in education, as you know. She thought it would help your mother grow up a little, learn some discipline. I became involved simply because I owned paintings that your mother wanted to submit in her portfolio. The next thing I knew, I was helping her enroll, finding her an apartment. Or, rather, I was finding your grandmother the apartment, since it was, after all, her name on the check.”
“So this must be déjà vu all over again,” I murmured.
“Something like that.” Nina laughed. “I maintained a friendship with Victoria—I feel responsible for her, in a way. After she dropped out of school, your grandmother withdrew her support. I persuaded your mother to return to South Carolina—I even bought her a train ticket. But that didn’t last. Do you remember any of that, or were you too young?”
“No, I—I wasn’t too young,” I said. “I remember.”
“When she came back to New York, I helped her move to the apartment on Rivington Street, and I tried to look after her. Keep her out of trouble. We all thought she would … get it out of her system, somehow. Your grandmother and I. We tried to arrange for you to visit your mother on an earlier occasion—I believe you were thirteen?”
“You did?”
“Your grandmother called me, out of the blue. She said you were quite insistent about wanting to spend time with your mother, and why not? What girl doesn’t need her mother at that age? Unfortunately, Victoria was going through one of her more erratic phases. Your grandmother and I discussed bringing you here anyway, almost as a—” Nina paused, thinking.
“Your grandmother had this idea that if you could see your mother behaving irresponsibly, you would realize how lucky you were to live under your father’s roof. But I dissuaded her. Thirteen is simply too young to be left alone in a strange city with a mother who was prone to disappearing for weeks at a time.”
“You were—” I had a hard time getting my mind around this. How was it that this woman I had never met was making decisions about my life? “Where did she go?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where did she—” I cleared my throat. “Where did my mom go, when she disappeared all the time?”
“That’s for you and your mother to discuss. At any rate, when you had your … incident, your grandmother called me and asked if I would act as liaison again. When we discussed your mother, we thought it was a better time—maybe the best time—for the two of you—” Nina was interrupted by an electronic chirp. She reached into her purse to silence her beeper, frowning into its glowing digital display.
“Maria, I apologize. Would you excuse me?”
“Sure.” I drank the rest of my tea in one gulp. How could I have never known any of this? No wonder my grandmother was so upset with my mom—she thought she was paying for her to go back to school, but she was really just helping her leave my dad. And why now? Why would Nina and my grandmother agree that it was okay for me to come live with my mom, only to have Nina sell the apartment building out from under her? And who was Nina to decide anything about me and my mom, anyway?
“I’m terribly sorry, but there’s a slight emergency and I’m going to have to go.” Nina was rushing now, taking money out of her purse and handing it to me. “Please, stay and enjoy your tea. Order anything else you like. It was lovely to see you again. I’m sorry that you’re having a hard time at Prince, but it’ll pass. You’re a very bright girl.” Nina shook my hand. “And I’m glad you got over your … difficulties. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“Thanks,” I said as she left. My difficulties. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I looked down at the money she’d given me. A twenty-dollar bill. I paid for the two cups of tea and pocketed the rest.
Dory burst into the spare bedroom at
my grandmother’s without even knocking.
“Is it true?” She was out of breath. She must’ve run all the way. I was lying on the bed, listening to my grandmother and my father and the psychiatrist and Dory’s parents and the phone ringing through the wall. I sat up slowly.
“I thought you were in school,” I said. My voice felt ancient. Rusted out from lack of use.
“I was! Maria!” Dory was on the verge of tears. “They said you tried to kill yourself!”
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I told her. “My father overreacted.”
“He overreacted? I think I’d overreact, too, if I walked in on my kid slitting her wrists—”
“I wasn’t slitting my wrists.”
“Show me,” Dory demanded.
“Show you what?”
“Your arms. Show me you weren’t trying to kill yourself.”
“Leave me alone.” I lay back down. Dory grabbed my hands and jerked me up. She shoved my sleeves to my elbows.
“Jesus Christ.” She inhaled, sucking air through her teeth. “Maria. What have you done?”
“Nothing.” I tried to pull away from Dory’s grip.
“That’s a fucking gory idea of nothing.”
I looked down at my arms. I guess seeing the whole thing like that, all of a sudden, it did look pretty shocking. All those ordered little lines, cut in neat rows all up and down my forearms. The first ones had already faded to smooth white scars. But the more recent ones, the ones near my wrists, the ones my dad freaked out over, those were still fresh. Still angry red and bright pink. I saw them like Dory might. Like they were on someone else’s skin. Gaping and vulnerable, violent and worrisome as a baby’s screaming mouth.
“Why on earth would you do this to yourself?” Dory asked.
“I don’t know.” I remembered the adrenaline rush that came with each of those neat little lines. The rush that was gone now. What was it that I was trying to feel?
“All this over some stupid guy—”
“It’s not just about him.”
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