“Mule is just a friend. That’s all,” Gabby said, looking Daphne straight in the eye. “If you think we’re going to become one of those annoying supercouples who finish each other’s sentences and use baby talk with each other, you’re going to be majorly disappointed.”
“You just won’t let yourself love him.”
Gabby let go of the spoon and it dropped against the pan with a loud clang. “Have you ever thought that maybe there’s no such thing?” she said. “Has it ever occurred to you that love is a big myth? Just some excuse people use to go crazy?”
Daphne stared at her. A sad-looking crease appeared on her brow, cracking her partially dried masque. “You’ve really never felt it, have you?” she said. “Maybe you can’t feel it. That’s got to be … really sucky.” She shook her head, pushed herself off the counter, and padded toward their room.
Gabby took a long, steadying breath. Then she picked up the spoon and lulled herself with some more stirring.
Daphne was wrong. Gabby had felt the hormonal maelstrom people called love—for Sonny. Those two days after kissing him, she’d been sure he was the One and had made up silly fantasies about him bringing her flowers, or asking her to prom, or even proposing marriage. But in the end, all that dreaming had just ended up hurting her. News of his death had left her completely debilitated. Since she hadn’t told anyone about her meet-up with him, no one knew what she was going through. Her dad called her sudden sullen nature “mood swings,” and her mom finally let her drop kickball, saying Gabby was just too busy and stressed. Even Mule gave her space, assuming it was a girl thing—a rare two-month-long bout of PMS.
After weeks of wandering about in a state of shock and countless nights of muffled crying into her pillow, Gabby eventually figured it out. She realized she was putting herself through all that misery, at least partly. She hardly knew the guy, so how could she mourn him? What she was really doing was grieving the loss of her imagined future with him.
It wasn’t even two years later when her dad packed up his Honda and announced that he and Mom were splitting up. That was all the evidence Gabby needed to know that “love” was a total sham, a chemical imbalance that makes its victims lose all rationality.
People want to believe it’s magical and special and meant to be forever, but those giddy feelings go away. Mainly because they were never really there to begin with.
Love, one way or another, always dies.
“Did you hear about Tracy Regent’s party?” Sheri Purnell asked as they sat in the school lobby selling prom tickets.
“What party?” Daphne asked. “When?”
“In a couple of weeks. Her parents are going to Dallas for some big getaway or whatever, so she’s having everyone over. To celebrate our winning season and all.”
“I didn’t get an invitation.”
“Don’t be stupid. No one does that anymore.”
Sheri was only a year older—actually, only ten months older—but because she was a junior and on the varsity cheer squad, she tended to treat Daphne as if she were still sucking on pacifiers. Sheri was also one of those girls who hardly ever smiled. She was quick with sneers and cutting remarks, and her cheers were like war cries. And yet she was probably Daphne’s best friend in their group. She wasn’t good with secrets and she ignored Daphne if the more powerful or popular girls came along to talk to her, but she did sit next to Daphne at lunch and often drove her home after practice.
Daphne didn’t kid herself that Sheri would ever give her a kidney, but at least she saved her from always having to walk places—and the humiliation of the school bus.
“Think you’ll go this time?” Sheri asked.
Daphne shrugged. “I don’t know.” The other kids always thought it was weird that she rarely went to parties and couldn’t stay out till all hours. She had no idea how they finagled it with their parents, but living with her mom was like having secret service guards around her.
“You should go. You could hook up with that new guy.”
“Luke,” Daphne said, annoyed that so many people still called him “that new guy.”
“Whatever. Anyway, you might want to show up and, you know, keep an eye on him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s just that …” Sheri paused and glanced around. “Lately Lynette’s really been flirting with him.”
“What?” Daphne grabbed a corner of the table. It seemed as if the entire world had suddenly tilted to the right.
“It’s probably nothing to worry about. I’m just telling you because you’re my friend and all.” Sheri was looking at her with an expression she probably intended to be sympathetic, but the way she was leaning forward, with her eyes all sparkling and superfocused, it seemed more … hungry.
“Yeah, well. She flirts with anyone,” Daphne said, dismissing the comment with a wave of her hand. Not that it made her feel better. Lynette did practically anything with anyone.
“You’re right.” Sheri’s watchful gaze lingered on Daphne. “I just thought you should know.”
Daphne busied herself counting the money in the cash box. This could have looked weird, considering they hadn’t sold a ticket since the last time they’d counted it, but if Sheri thought so, she didn’t say anything. She simply pulled out her phone and started drafting her eighty-seventh text of the morning. Daphne took a quick peek and saw that she’d typed “THIS IS SO BORING!!!” to someone.
Sheri was right. It was boring. They’d been there for almost an hour and they’d only sold two tickets to a band nerd Daphne recognized from her biology class. It was that in-between time during the lead-up to prom. The supercouples had already snagged their tickets, coordinated their outfits, ordered matching flowers, and planned their other activities for the evening. And it was too early for those last-minute types. But it was still depressing to think that Jerry What’s-His-Name, the sousaphone player, already had a date and she didn’t.
Why was Luke taking so long? Surely a guy who read Brontë could see and comprehend all the Day-Glo prom posters around the school. And with Daphne manning the booth today it would be extra easy—he could get his date and tickets at the same time! That was why she’d volunteered in the first place.
She’d only spotted him once that morning, riding in a wave of jock guys, standing out in his impeccable dark jeans and crisp white polo. But he didn’t even see her. And now Sheri had gotten her all confused with her gossiping.
No way would a guy like Luke be into Lynette. She would never sip a soda at the pharmacy with him or take in the view from the Chandler Creek Bridge or discuss epic English romance novels. She’d laugh at a lucky penny, and bowling was not her type of indoor sport.
And yet … Daphne couldn’t help wondering: was Lynette the reason why Luke hadn’t asked her to prom yet?
“Mom?” Daphne sprang up from the couch the second she saw her mother walk through the door. “Can I go to a party at Tracy’s in a couple of weeks?”
She wiggled impatiently as her mother closed the door, set down her briefcase, took off her cardigan with the snag in the sleeve, and hung it on the accordion rack. Eventually she dropped into the armchair and sank down until her legs were straight out in front of her, her arms hanging over the sides. “What party? What’s it for?” she asked, seemingly to the ceiling.
“It’s just a party. Just for fun,” Daphne said, then started chomping on her index fingernail. She knew it was a long shot, but she had to try her best to go to that party, if for no other reason than to make sure Luke didn’t get cornered by Lynette.
“I suppose so,” her mom said. But just as Daphne’s heart started to leap up, she added, “Of course I’ll need to talk to her parents and make sure you’ll be supervised.”
“What?” Daphne whined. That jittery, out-of-control feeling came back. How could she make her mom understand the importance of going to this party? She loved that Luke was old-fashioned, but she really wished her mother weren’t. No one else’s pa
rents monitored their social life the way Daphne’s mom did hers.
“Her parents won’t even be there,” Gabby said, striding into the room from the hallway. “I heard they’re going out of town. That’s probably the real reason Tracy’s having a party.”
Their mom leveled a look at Daphne that accused her of something sneaky. “In that case, the answer is no.”
“But why? You don’t get it! I have to go!” Daphne was so jumpy and stressed, she felt as if she might rupture something important. Like her spleen—whatever that was.
Her mom shook her head. “Not if there aren’t any adults around,” she said, to the ceiling again.
Daphne rounded on Gabby. “Why’d you have to butt in anyway? You’re always trying to mess things up for me!”
“What?” Gabby looked innocent. “She would have found out eventually.”
“God, I hate you!” Daphne hissed at Gabby. Why did she have to be stuck with such a know-it-all for a sister? A normal older sister would have figured out a way to help Daphne go to the party. She’d have volunteered to drive her there and even lent her a cool outfit. Instead, Daphne had to get some tattletale police-officer sibling who didn’t even have cool clothes, let alone offer her any.
“Girls, stop. Please.” Mom was sitting up now, resting her forehead in her hands. “There are some things I need to talk to you about right now. Important things.”
Daphne and Gabby traded anxious looks. They recognized that defeated tone. It was the same one their mom had used when she and Dad had announced their divorce.
“What is it?” Gabby asked, rushing to sit on the end of the couch closest to Mom.
Daphne stayed put, frozen with worry and still reeling from her defeat.
“I have some bad news,” Mom said, lifting her head enough to rest her chin on her hands. “We’ve looked all over Barton and there’s no place we can move. And Mr. Tibbets has already rented out the house for next month. With only a week left, we’re basically out of time.”
“So where are we supposed to go?” Gabby asked.
“I found an apartment we can afford. But … it’s in Sagebrush.”
“Sagebrush!” Something seemed to crumple inside Daphne. Perhaps her spleen. “But it’s so far away! Does that mean …?” She couldn’t finish. It was too horrible.
Her mom nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m so sorry, truly I am, but we’ll have to move you girls to a different school.”
“No.” Daphne staggered backward a step.
Her mom had on that pained, guarded look, as if she were bracing herself for something awful. “I’m afraid there’s no other way.”
“But … but … I’m getting a job! And we can sell stuff! We can’t move away! We just can’t!”
“Honey, the time for a job has passed. There was a message yesterday from the diner. They hired someone else.”
“Then I’ll get some other job! I can’t leave, Mom! Don’t do this to me! Please!” In her panic, she looked over at Gabby, pleading with her eyes for her sister to do something—anything—to help her.
Gabby’s features twisted into an unreadable expression. Pain? Fear? Frustration? It was too fleeting to tell. A split second later her face was as blank as usual. “Whatever,” she said with a shrug. “Sagebrush can’t be as bad as Barton.”
Daphne could feel a scream building inside her, and tears were jetting up behind her eyes. This isn’t happening, she told herself. This isn’t supposed to happen. Not now—not when she’d finally found Luke, her happily-ever-after.
Eventually the invisible clamps released her throat. “You guys are ruining my life!” she shouted. “And you don’t even care!”
There was no reaction. Her mom was still slumped awkwardly in the armchair, looking as if someone had carelessly tossed her there. And Gabby wouldn’t even meet her gaze.
It was proof—proof that no one understood her. No one really cared about her. Except Luke. And now they were taking her away from him.
With a cry of defeat, she turned and ran for her room.
Gabby sat at the kitchen table, trying to finish up a report on King Lear, but every time she stared down at her paper the words disappeared. In their place materialized her mother’s tight expression as she announced the move.
Sagebrush? Gabby turned the thought over and over in her mind, breaking it in like a new pair of leather shoes. She didn’t even want to call Mule yet. Not until she’d fully absorbed the information and figured out how it felt.
So far, Gabby had decided she was okay with the news. It wasn’t the greatest of developments, but it could be worse. Besides, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She might as well accept it and help Mom.
Daphne was in their room, throwing a Richter-scale-seven hissy fit. Mom had trudged toward the back of the house, complaining that she could feel a headache coming on. Meanwhile, Gabby tried to ignore the sounds of banging and sobbing and her mom rummaging through the medicine cabinet in order to do her homework—or at least stare at it.
So of course someone would knock on the door.
“I’ll get it!” she shouted. She knew no one else would come running; she just wanted to let them know she was being inconvenienced.
Gabby opened the door, and there, leaning against the frame, was Prentiss Applewhite.
What the …? Gabby could not have been more surprised if the ghost of Abe Lincoln were standing on their porch wearing Daphne’s tacky prom dress.
“Hi,” he said. Just like that. No awkwardness at all. One clear, resonant syllable, as if he were making a proclamation. Then he seemed to do a double take, and he squinted slightly. “Well, what do you know? It’s movie girl. What are you doing here?”
Gabby frowned. “I live here. What are you doing here?” She still couldn’t fathom why Prentiss Applewhite would be standing at their front door.
“I … um …” He tilted his head, and his smile faltered slightly. “Are you Liz?” he asked.
Prentiss Applewhite was on her porch asking for her mom?
“No,” she answered. “She’s busy.”
He waited a couple of seconds and then said. “Busy? So … I can’t speak with her?”
“Afraid not,” she replied.
“Okay, uh … then can I speak with you?”
“About what?” Gabby asked, folding her arms across her chest.
By now Prentiss’s toothy grin had disappeared. His absurdly rugged jaw hung open, making him look stupid, as if he couldn’t comprehend why she wasn’t melting in his presence.
That was another reason to hate Prentiss. Good-looking guys knew they were good-looking. They strutted around acting as if they were superior beings who deserved to have other, lesser creatures—especially women—obey their every command. And Prentiss was probably the grand pooh-bah of them all. Even if Gabby hadn’t known he was a spoiled sleazebag with no remorse for the pain he caused others, she still would have mistrusted him on sight.
Thank god Daphne was too busy bawling to answer the door. The girl would have been crawling into his arms at that point.
He cocked his head and shifted his weight onto his other foot. “So you really aren’t expecting me? Um … I’m Prentiss?” he said, as if he weren’t sure of his own identity.
“Prentiss!” Her mom’s voice sounded behind her. “Oh, my lord, is it already that late? Come in! Gabby, sweetheart, let the boy in.”
It was Gabby’s turn to look confused. Why in hell would her mom be inviting Prentiss over?
She stepped sideways and yanked the door wide. “Mom? What’s going on?” she asked.
“Honey, it’s all right. Prentiss’s mom is buying some stuff I posted on Craigslist.”
Gabby was dismayed to see her mother smoothing her hair and discreetly checking her reflection in the nearby mirror for Prentiss’s sake.
Prentiss, meanwhile, stood awkwardly in the corner of the living room. His smile was back, but it was tighter, more forced-looking. Gabby wondered if he’d ever b
een inside a poor person’s home before. She was suddenly hyperaware of their grizzled carpet, the mildewy smell that permeated the place, and the old Jetta with the hail dings in the driveway. Her jaw clenched and her lips pursed into her tilde mouth. How dare he judge them.
“Please, have a seat,” her mother said, gesturing to the sofa with the ripped armrest and saggy middle cushion. “I’ll just be a second while I go get the things.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Prentiss nodded in her direction and settled into the corner of the couch, next to the good armrest and close to Gabby. His eyes kept passing over her, as if he was checking to see where she was without overtly staring.
“Here we are!” her mom sang out as she breezed back into the room. Her hands were cupped together and held aloft. As soon as she reached the coffee table she set the contents down in front of Prentiss.
Gabby sucked in her breath. “Grandma’s jewelry?” she asked, her voice screechy.
Mom’s smile washed away, just like Prentiss’s had a moment earlier, and her features drooped guiltily. “Honey, don’t overreact.”
“But those were Grandma’s. They’re heirlooms. Our family history!”
Her mother gave Prentiss an uncomfortable glance. “Gabby, honey, you know what the situation is. It’s not like I want to sell them. But we have to move and—”
“I’ll get another job!” Gabby could see Prentiss backing into the couch, his eyes as wide as the knit coasters on the table in front of him. She knew they were embarrassing themselves in front of town royalty, but she didn’t care. Those items were the most precious things they owned—the only precious things they owned. It wasn’t right that they should go to the richest family in the county, no matter how desperate things might seem. Besides, they’d belonged to Grandma. They held memories. If Prentiss didn’t even value his cousin’s life, how could he value the Rivera family’s treasures?
“Be reasonable, honey. There’s no way you can take on more work than you already have,” her mom said.
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