Hope in a Jar

by Beth Harbison

  “Guess who asked me to be study partners today in geography,” she trilled later, as she and Allie trudged up the hill by the basketball courts on the way home. The grass had just been cut and little pieces were clinging to her feet and her Dr. Scholl’s.

  The air all around them smelled fresh and green.

  Allie looked interested. “Who?”

  Olivia metered her response, pausing just long enough to let Allie’s curiosity pique before announcing, “Noah Haller!”

  “Really?” The only giveaway that she was jealous at all was that she bit down on her lower lip for a moment before asking, “What did you say?”

  “I said yes, of course!” Olivia shook her head. “What do you think I said? No? Come on! The guy’s the perfect height for me!”

  “What?”

  As she’d said it, Olivia had realized she was going just a little too far. And why was height, of all things, the only thing that came to her in the way of compelling arguments? “I mean he’s not that short. Remember how we were talking about that the other day and you were saying how he was way too short for you?”

  Allie frowned. “Yes. Sort of. But you also said you weren’t interested in him.” She didn’t say and you know I am, but she might as well have for the way the fact of it seemed to echo around them now.

  “Anyway”—Olivia pretended not to be aware, as they trudged on, across the soccer field—“when we were standing together I noticed he’s like an inch taller than me. Which, I’m sorry, makes him way shorter than you.”

  “It only makes him a couple of inches shorter than me,” Allie countered, defensive about her height. She’d confided to Olivia once that it made her self-conscious in elementary school, though there were taller kids around now in junior high. “And you yourself said he’d grow.”

  Olivia shrugged. “It doesn’t matter because he’s got a crush on someone else.” If she’d known she was going to lie her way down the road to hell like this so soon, she would have made a nice, decorated handbasket in home ec instead of that stupid crumble-top coffee cake that tasted like soap.

  Allie stopped. “Who?”

  “Who what?” She was buying time. She hadn’t gone too far quite yet.

  “Who does he have a crush on?” Allie asked impatiently. “You know that’s what I’m asking. Is it you? Are you telling me he asked you out?”

  For a moment, looking into her friend’s eyes, she wanted to tell her the truth. No, it’s you! she’d say, and Allie would be over the moon.

  Then she’d start going out with Noah, and talking to him on the phone all night, and Olivia would be left out in the cold, no best friend, no boyfriend, just her mom’s old cat, Simon.

  Besides, Allie always got that kind of news. The boy always liked her, the puppy was always for her, she always got the A on her crumble-top coffee cake, even though it tasted as much like soap as Olivia’s did. Maybe even more.

  So, no, Olivia was not going to give Allie’s ego another big reward.

  “Vickie Freedman,” she heard herself say.

  If she’d been aiming to turn Allie off Noah for good, she’d made a direct hit. “Are you kidding? Yuck! I thought he was way smarter than that!”

  Olivia gave a half shrug, implying agreement. Inside, a small, burning guilt attached itself to her stomach, but she barely noticed it for the glee that was jumping around her chest shouting, Success!

  “How could he—how could anyone be stupid enough to fall for her act?” Allie was railing. “She’s such a fake!”

  “Peter Ford likes her.”

  “Peter Ford has the IQ of a gnat. Besides, she’s a cheerleader and he’s on the basketball team, so he sort of has to like her.”

  Olivia shrugged. She was going to be outmatched in this conversation. There was no way to make it seem okay for any normal person to like Vickie Freedman. “So what do you think about Brian Poska?”

  Allie looked at her as if she’d just asked what she thought about drowning puppies. “What about Brian Poska?”

  “Well, you used to like him, right?”

  “Sort of. In elementary school. Why?”

  “Because he’s cute.” Olivia forged forward, even though she could see the objection gathering in Allie’s expression like storm clouds. “And you said yourself you wanted a boyfriend, so why not go out with him?”

  “For one thing, he’s going out with Rena Dromerick.”

  Ouch! Rena had pale blond hair down past her waist, bright blue eyes, a pert little nose, and she was one of those girls who was clearly destined to be a high school cheerleader and date the cutest guy on the football team.

  No one in their right mind would want to try to steal a boyfriend from Rena Dromerick. They’d just look like an idiot for even trying.

  “I didn’t know.”

  Allie snorted. “You would if you’d seen them sucking face outside by the music hall after lunch.” She pulled a face. “It was really disgusting. I mean, I’m not a prude or anything, but I don’t need to see those two slobbering all over each other and tongues flying and all. George Michael, yes. Brian Poska, no.”

  Olivia could picture it, thanks to Allie’s vivid description.

  She was glad she hadn’t had to witness it.

  “Who else is there, then?”

  Allie considered this for a long moment, wiping the sweat from her brow before walking on and saying, “There’s always Peter Ford. He dumps a girl every week.”

  “So that would be something to look forward to. Besides, he’s gross.”

  “I know.” Allie sighed. “You know what we need?”

  “What?”

  “We need new images.”

  “Really?” Olivia was intrigued.

  “Yeah. Summer’s practically here. I think we should get really really tan, grow our hair long, maybe put in some highlights like Rena Dromerick’s hair.”

  “Your hair would look like Rena’s,” Olivia said. “Mine would look like Cruella De Vil’s.”

  “Never mind that. If we put Sun-In on you, your hair will lighten up until it’s almost blond but it will be natural. No black roots.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Trust me.” Allie gave a confident, if sweaty, nod. “By next fall, we’ll be completely different people.”

  “I’m going to the Barbizon School of Modeling,” Vickie said to her friends, loud enough for Allie to hear. She was doing it on purpose, and Allie knew it, because way back when they used to play together, Allie had confessed that she wanted to go to the Barbizon School of Modeling because the girl who played Cissy on Family Affair was on the commercials for it so it must be good.

  “Are you going to be a model?” Stephanie Lowenstein asked excitedly.

  There was no way Vickie could be a model—or just look like one, as the commercial went. For one thing she was too short.

  “Well, I guess so,” Vickie said, comfortable enough to be coy. “See, they’ve been writing to me and asking me to come for a while.”

  “I got one of those things in the mail, too,” Allie said, as she walked past. “All you need is money.”

  “Then it’s too bad you don’t have that, isn’t it?” Vickie snapped.

  Her friends laughed.

  “But even if you did,” Vickie went on, “there’s no way they’d take you. You’ve got terrible skin.”

  Allie felt heat flush over her. Lately her skin had been bad. Ever since she’d gotten her stupid period. She should have known she couldn’t give any guff to Vickie without having it come back at her a hundred times worse.

  Vickie stopped and focused on Allie. She may as well have been shining a spotlight on her. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

  “I’m just trying to think of a reason I’d want to go to the kind of modeling school that would take you.” Lame. It was better than nothing but it was lame.

  Vickie kept a mean gaze on her for a moment, then gave a single nod. “You are such a loser, Allison. I don’t even have a
nything to say to you. You’re just jealous, as usual.”

  “I don’t blame her,” Stephanie said, aligning herself with Vickie physically, shoulder to shoulder. “If I had zits like that, I’d be jealous of you, too. I’d be jealous of almost everyone.”

  They walked off together, laughing at that and then laughing at something else. They seemed to make a point of laughing the whole way down the hall.

  Meanwhile, Allie was stuck in place, like the humiliation had melted her right into the floor.

  She should never have tried to cross Vickie, especially not in front of people. This was an embarrassment she’d never forget.

  Six

  Calgon, take me away!

  —ad for Calgon Bath Salts

  The reunion was being held across two conference rooms at the Shoreham Hotel on Calvert Street in D.C. The prom had been here, too, which seemed ironic. That marked the only other time in Allie’s life that she’d been here, so even though the hotel had been updated and changed along the way, the place felt disconcertingly familiar.

  Regardless, she walked in with the same sense of how do I look? and who else will be here? that she had back then.

  Except back then, she’d been pretty confident that she looked good in her Jessica McClintock dress, she smelled good because she’d borrowed her mother’s White Shoulders, and she had felt pretty good with Ben Paroby by her side, whereas this time she was unsure that the Liz Claiborne Elisabeth dress she was wearing did anything to mask her extra weight, the walk had probably made her smell more like sweat than Clinique’s ironically named Happy, and she had no one with her to hide behind if it didn’t.

  Fortunately, the lighting was low, and pretty flattering. Years before, the prom committee had hung lots of tacky decorations and blown up photos of the more popular kids and those who had gotten senior superlatives, like Most Likely to Succeed, Best Looking, Class Clown, and so on. Thank God the reunion committee had resisted the urge to rehang the same pictures so that people could make unfortunate comparisons.

  And, looking around the room, Allie could see that she wasn’t the only one who looked different from how they had in high school. An hour or so of light mingling just proved it. Peter Ford, one of the first people she saw, had a considerable paunch now, whereas Bucky Kincaid, always the fat kid, K–12, was svelte and handsome. Alex Hartner was as pillowcase blond and gorgeous as ever, like she’d been frozen in time, so that was one more person to feel crappy in comparison to. Thank goodness Marlene Newman’s curves had expanded in all directions, but Allie already knew that because she seemed to run into Marlene everywhere.

  “Oh, my gosh, fancy meeting you here!” Marlene gushed, sloshing red wine over the lip of an overfull glass.

  That looked pretty good right now.

  “Marlene, hi.” For once, Allie was glad to see Marlene because it meant she wouldn’t have to stand on her own looking awkward. “Yeah, imagine running into you here, of all places.”

  “So are you having fun?” It was clear that Marlene was as happy as if she’d just been named Reunion Queen.

  “It’s great,” Allie said limply. Then, trying to perk it up, she added, “I can’t believe how many people showed up.”

  “I know! Where’s your boyfriend? I saw you were bringing a guest on the Web site. Is it that guy I saw you with at the airport in Florida?”

  That’s right, the airport in Florida. Kevin and Allie had gone on an impromptu trip to Disney World after clicking on an Internet advertisement for it late one night after too many beers. They’d arranged a 7 A.M. flight out of Orlando and, in an airport that had felt practically empty, they had run into Marlene and her sister, who were there for some Tupperware convention or something.

  “Yes, he was going to come but actually . . .” Actually she didn’t owe Marlene or anyone else an explanation. “He wasn’t up to it.”

  Marlene rolled her eyes. “My husband, Louis, tried to tell me he wasn’t up to it, either, but I told him he’d better get up for it, or he wouldn’t need to get up for anything else for a while, if you catch my drift.”

  “Caught.” Thrown back. Ew.

  “Speak of the devil.”

  A gray-haired and gray-bearded man hurried up to them, looking, honest to God, so much like Walter Huston in The Devil and Daniel Webster that it gave Allie a start.

  Then the three of them stood there for a moment, the wheels of thought almost audible as everyone tried to think of something to say besides, Jeez, you look like Walter Huston.

  “Oh! Oh, I’ll be damned!” Marlene exclaimed suddenly, startling both Allie and Louis, who exchanged looks and, for just a fraction of a second, understanding. “Look who it is. Olivia Pelham. Wow, she looks amazing!”

  Allie looked in what felt like slow motion. Sure enough, it was Olivia, though she was surprised Marlene had pegged her that quickly. No longer the thin, gangly colt she’d been in high school, Olivia was, even from this distance, a knockout. From her glossy auburn chin-length bob, right down to her burgundy leather peep-toe stilettos, she was perfect.

  In high school, Allie had been the pretty one and Olivia had been the smart one. Allie could live with that particular imbalance because she knew perfectly well she was smart and she’d rather be perceived as the good thing people could see than the good thing people had to figure out.

  Now, undeniably, Olivia was the pretty one and Allie . . . ? Well, Allie was the fat one. Or the dumpy one. Or the unsuccessful one.

  And the drunk one, if she had to stay here much longer.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?” Marlene was actually poking Allie in the back. “You two were inseparable in high school.”

  “We haven’t—” Allie stopped. She had to break this bad habit of telling people more than they needed to know. She didn’t need to explain the breakdown of her friendship with Olivia to Marlene any more than she needed to explain her breakup with Kevin to her.

  All she needed to do was politely excuse herself and go to the ladies’ rooms, where she could feel weird in private. “I think I will,” she said to Marlene. “Louis, it was great to meet you. Marlene, I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” Someplace odd, undoubtedly. Like Cirque du Soleil or something.

  Allie made a beeline for the lobby. The heck with Noah, she’d talk to him later. She just wanted to go home and spend what was left of the evening with Ben, Jerry, and the complete third season of The Gilmore Girls.

  The idea was so appealing that she didn’t pay enough attention to her surroundings, so when someone said, “And there’s Allie Denty now! What a coincidence!” she was caught off guard.

  She looked up to see a very large woman gesturing toward her. Claire something. What was her last name? She looked exactly the same as she had in high school. And next to her, making them look like a cartoon of Laurel and Hardy, was Olivia.

  “We were just talking about you!” Claire said. “And here you are! Your ears must be burning.”

  “What were you saying?” Allie asked, with a little less levity in her voice than she’d been aiming for.

  “That you were here,” Claire answered simply. “And so is Olivia. You two were inseparable in high school. Allie, doesn’t Olivia look wonderful?”

  Allie and Olivia locked gazes.

  And for one moment, time spun crazily. Olivia’s eyes were the same, though they were more artfully enhanced than they had ever been in junior high or high school, and something deep in them was so painfully familiar to Allie that she caught her breath.

  Claire excused herself, probably to go point David out to Goliath, and Allie and Olivia were left alone.

  “Hi, Allie,” Olivia said stiffly. She sounded like a grown-up now, no surprise there, but again there was a note of familiarity.

  “Hey,” Allie said, sounding a bit too bubbly. “It’s great to see you. How’ve you been?” It was such a small question to ask after such a big gap of time and emotional distance.

  “Good. And you?”

  “Real
ly good.” She hadn’t meant for it to sound like oneupmanship but it did. Especially when she added, to fill the silence, “Just great, actually.”

  The silence pulled at the seconds like taffy, stretching into long, awkward gaps.

  “So what do you do these days?” Olivia asked, all confident, willowy, and casual.

  “I’m between jobs.” Technically true. She just didn’t add that, with her temp work, she was almost always between jobs. “What about you? What do you do?”

  “I work for What Now magazine.”

  “You do? How interesting! What do you do there?” She’d almost said, You never liked English or writing very much, but then she would have been one of the very people she’d just been thinking of disdainfully. To remember that Olivia had hated English class implied an active involvement with the past that Allie didn’t want to cop to.

  “I’m the senior beauty editor.” Olivia gave a quick smile. It was only slightly reminiscent of the smile Allie remembered. Her mouth shape was basically the same, but her teeth had been straightened and polished to a very white sheen. Not crazy one-hour burn-your-enamel white, but natural-looking, perfectly shaped white.

  “Wow. That is impressive.”

  “Thanks, Allie.”

  Had it not been for the crowd around them, they could have heard crickets.

  “So . . .” Whenever she was nervous, Allie had the annoying tendency to blather on through otherwise awkward silences. Had she kept her damn mouth shut, maybe Olivia would have moved on to someone chattier and Allie could have hit the bar, hard. Instead she was left to try to make conversation, to paraphrase Air Supply, out of nothing at all. “How’s your mom?” I guess she and Mr. O’Brien didn’t get back together.

  “She’s doing great,” Olivia said, with a hair too much enthusiasm. Her perfect white teeth seemed to clench over her words. “In fact, she’s at my place right now.”