“OK but this wkend u r my ride,” Maura replies. I shut off my phone and slip it back into my pocket. I’ve had enough rule breaking for one day, and when I do see Maura I am going to have to remind her to stop texting me. My phone bill is due any day and my parents are going to be pissed.
* * *
I am happy when second quarter ends in the middle of January. It means the end of art class, which is only a half-year elective. And without art class, I don’t have to see Paul at all, as long as I don’t look his way in the cafeteria. I was supposed to take psychology second semester, but I told my guidance counselor that I had realized that with my heavy load of AP classes, I should just take a study. She glanced at my sinking second quarter grades, raised an eyebrow, and agreed. Study hall, for the first time in my life. Of course, I won’t get much studying done, because Maura and I are going to be free the same period.
The Friday after the quarter ends, I go out with Maura to celebrate the unofficial end of all effort in school—colleges won’t be seeing our grades again until they’ve already accepted us. I get home just in time to make curfew, but then I am up half the night anyway, mostly wondering if I did enough to get into any of the colleges I applied to.
When I come downstairs Saturday morning, my parents are reading the newspaper in the living room. I grab a bowl of cereal and sit down at the bar in the kitchen. As soon as I do, my mother folds her section of the paper and comes to stand across from me.
“I’m not crazy about this new sleep schedule you’re on,” she says.
I don’t say anything. I just shovel another bite of cereal into my mouth.
“You’ve never been one to sleep half the day.”
“I’ve just been really tired,” I say, wiping milk from my chin.
“From all the homework you’ve been doing?” she asks.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I haven’t seen you crack a book since Thanksgiving.”
“I’m doing fine in school,” I say, getting up to put my bowl in the sink.
“Report cards come out this week, so we’ll see, won’t we?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We will.”
“Mrs. Morgan called this morning.”
I feel blood rushing to my face. My mother wouldn’t bother telling me her friend called if it didn’t somehow involve me and something I’ve done wrong.
“She’s worried about Maura,” my mother says, her tone softening. “That girl is giving her parents a world of grief.”
I don’t say anything. I’m waiting to see where this is going.
“Has she seemed okay to you?” she asks. “I told Mrs. Morgan I’d talk to you, see if you knew if anything was up.”
“She’s seemed fine to me. Same as ever.”
“She hasn’t been acting differently? Has she seemed depressed?”
I shake my head.
“Do you think she’s taking drugs?” my mother asks gravely.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I need to ask. It’s what mothers do.”
“I’d better go do my homework,” I say.
My mother regards me. “So you think Maura is totally fine, and there’s no particular reason you two were exchanging millions of text messages over Christmas break and racking up this ridiculous phone bill,” she says, tossing the pages of my phone bill onto the kitchen table.
I am defeated. I knew I’d have to face this down eventually.
“Hand over your phone,” she says, extending her arm toward me, palm up.
I place the phone in it. I wonder if my parents are savvy enough to know how to read my text messages. I don’t think they are, but I’m not certain. Why did I leave all those messages in the phone?
“Two weeks,” she says. “And then we’ll talk about whether or not you can have it back.”
I head back upstairs to pretend to do my homework.
* * *
Before two weeks are up, my parents realize it terrifies them to let me take the car without having a cell phone, so I get it back, but only when I have the car, and they called the phone company and disabled all text messaging. Still, I have the car a lot, so I have my phone a lot. They can try to revoke my freedoms, but every day I am getting one step closer to the end of high school—the end of their rules.
Thursday afternoons I am supposed to have calculus study group. The AP exam is looming ever closer. Missy got everyone on board for weekly study sessions back before Christmas. I need the help. The weeks are flying by so fast I can barely keep track of the date, and now it’s February. I am starting to wonder if I’ll even pass third quarter, let alone do well on the exam, but I blow off study group all the time anyway. Week after week, I let my mom think I am working hard on math, and she lets me take the car so I can stay late after school. Then, instead of studying, Maura and I go to Mel’s Diner or the mall. The minute the last bell rings, I dash to my car, which I park beside Maura’s at the back of the student lot, and follow her wherever she wants. The first time I followed Maura to the mall was the first time I ever drove above eighty miles per hour. I suspect Maura was pushing it, driving faster than normal, just to see if I would keep up. I clutched the wheel with a death grip, but I kept pace.
“Nice driving,” she said, as I stepped out of the car. “I expected you to be more of a grandma behind the wheel.”
On the last Thursday in February, Maura wants to get a new outfit for the weekend. Apparently she and Jason have big plans. I wonder what that means, since all they ever do is sit at Jason’s house, drinking, smoking pot, and making out. Sometimes they order pizza or Jason asks Maura to take him to the drive thru at McDonald’s.
“You know Jason’s life is just so different from mine,” Maura says, looking through racks of dresses at Forever 21. “When I suggested we go out this weekend, you know, on a real date, he was totally baffled. It’s not like he and his mom ever go out to a nice restaurant, and he’s never really had a girlfriend before.”
I wonder if Jason thinks of Maura as a girlfriend.
“This is cute,” I say, holding up a plaid shirt dress.
“What, like for a farmer?” Maura says. “I’m thinking more along these lines.” She pulls out a black and silver tube that looked more like a small scarf than a dress. “I could wear a cute shrug and my knee-high boots,” she says.
“Right,” I say, trying to imagine sitting down in such a tiny scrap of fabric.
“So anyway,” she continues, “he has no idea, like, how to treat a woman.”
The word “woman” in this context actually makes me laugh, but Maura just ignores me.
“It’s occurred to me that the best course of action is to show him what a girl likes,” Maura says.
The comment sounds dirty, but I know she means that she wants him to take her out on dates and show her off. She wants him to be her boyfriend in public, not just her bed buddy in private. I think she’d be better off looking for someone who wants the same thing she does, because I’m pretty sure Jason likes their current arrangement just fine.
“I have reservations at Angelo’s and I thought after we could walk down to Café Paradiso for dessert. It’ll be really romantic.”
“You’ll be cold,” I say, eyeing the dress again.
Maura shakes her head. “Then he’ll have to keep me warm, won’t he?”
* * *
Friday afternoon, Missy catches up with me at the end of physics. I am trying to race out the door, but I’m not quite fast enough.
“Hey,” she says, sneaking up beside me, my short legs no match for her long ones. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” I say, keeping my head down, walking pointlessly fast.
“Let’s hang out. We can go see a movie,” she says.
I don’t answer.
“Lizzie,” she says, stepping in front of me so that I have to stop. She grabs my arm and moves to the side of the hall against the lockers, out of the way of people rushing or d
awdling to their next classes. “I’m so sorry that I’ve been so busy lately. I’ve left you a few messages, but I guess maybe your parents haven’t given your phone back yet?” I had told her weeks ago that I lost phone privileges, but I never bothered to tell her when I got it back.
She stands there, her big green eyes looking searchingly at me, apologizing for not seeing me, when all the while, I have been avoiding her. She probably really has been busy between indoor track, the insane amounts of work teachers are piling on us in an attempt to keep us from senior slide, and, of course, the love of her life—Paul. Maybe she really hasn’t noticed that I’ve been avoiding her. For a smart girl, she can be pretty dense.
“Yeah, I’ve been busy, too,” I say.
“I thought you were coming to study group this week for sure. I mean, we have a test Monday,” she says, biting her lip.
“I had to get the car home,” I lie.
“Oh.”
“I gotta go,” I say, stepping around her into the middle of the hallway, which is now mostly empty. I pause and look over at her. She has her lips pressed together in a look of confusion and disappointment. “Call me, though,” I add. She smiles and I head up the steps.
* * *
Saturday night I drive myself to Missy’s house. Right before I leave my house, I consider putting the charm bracelet on. I dig it out of my closet and look at it, then I shove it right back into the closet.
As it turns out, her parents have plans for the evening, which means Missy has to stay home to babysit. She promises it will be fun anyway. She has it all figured out. We’ll order wings from some pizza place, rent a couple of movies, and maybe bake cookies. She doesn’t suggest I sleep over.
We play with the baby for a while, but before too long, Lucas is yawning in that adorable baby way, and Missy picks him up and gets him ready for bed. I stay downstairs, waiting for the pizza delivery guy, nervous for the first time since we met to hang out alone with Missy.
The food arrives and we sit on the couch, hunched over the coffee table, eating and half watching Entertainment News. Though we sit only a few feet apart, it feels as if there’s a chasm between us. Missy makes small talk about the stories on TV, and that is as painful as the silence—even the night we met, we never needed any kind of small talk.
The moment I had been hoping to avoid comes after we eat. We go to the kitchen to load up the dishwasher. Missy puts the plates away and then starts taking out the ingredients for cookies. Cookies—like the wings we just scarfed down—are not a part of my diet as prescribed by Maura, but that isn’t the worst of it.
“You know, Lizzie,” she says, plopping the flour canister on the counter. “I’m worried about you.”
I can’t even bring myself to look at her.
“It’s just, you know,” she says, brushing a stray hair from her forehead, “I know you’ve been hanging around with Maura a lot, and—” She pauses, looking at me for a moment and then looking away. “I know you don’t care what Paul thinks, but he knows Maura pretty well.” So she and Paul have discussed this, have discussed me. I wonder where Paul is at the moment and why they aren’t spending Saturday night together. Maybe they plotted this heart-to-heart. Maybe Missy knew all along her parents weren’t going to be home, that we were just going to sit around her house, and that she’d be able to talk to me, privately, about things she knew I didn’t want to talk about. Then again, I remind myself, Paul doesn’t care about me at all.
“Maybe I’m wrong about Maura,” she says slowly. “I might have just gotten a bad first impression. But I don’t think so,” she says, talking more quickly now, “because Paul has known her for years, and he feels the same way.” She looks at me, waiting for some kind of response. I don’t have one.
“I know I haven’t had a lot of free time, and I haven’t been a great friend, but you don’t have to hang around people like her.”
“So what,” I say, “I’m supposed to go through life with one and only one friend, and when she’s too busy, I’m supposed to sit home alone?”
“No! It’s not like that. Of course I want you to have other friends. I just think,” she pauses again, picking her words, “you could do better.”
“Do you think we could skip the cookies?” I say. “I’m not hungry.”
“What? Oh!” Missy looks at the butter, flour, chocolate chips she set out. “Sure, yeah.” She puts things away.
“Do you remember at the battle of the bands, when Paul was the one who came forward to claim Maura from the drunken mess she’d created?” I say.
“Sure.”
“If he disliked her so much, why did he do that?”
“Because that’s Paul,” Missy says. “Because he’s too nice to just stand by.” Her voice has taken on a defensive edge.
“Right,” I say, thinking about just how nice Paul can be when he wants something.
“Look,” Missy says, “Paul knows her and understands her. It’s not like he hates her, or anything, but, it’s just, he thinks she’s, you know, unstable.”
“Well, she’s been really nice to me.”
“Good. I’m glad. I mean, if she’s being a good friend to you, then I’m glad.”
I trace circles on the countertop with my finger, waiting to see if she has more to say or if we are done with this miserable conversation.
“Pretty in Pink?” Missy says, putting the butter back in the fridge, and heading back to the living room.
“Who’s in that?” I ask, trying to remember if I’ve seen it before.
“Oh my God,” Missy says. “Tell me you’ve seen it! Molly Ringwald! All the brat-pack movies are my mom’s faves.”
“Oh.”
We are only a few minutes into the movie when my phone starts buzzing. I grab it off the coffee table and look at the screen. Maura. She is supposed to be on her big date. I glance at Missy.
“Be right back,” I say, flipping open my phone and scooting out into the front room. “What’s up?” I ask quietly.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Missy’s.”
“I need you,” Maura says. Her voice is high and shaky.
“Aren’t you with Jason?”
“Yeah, but…” she breaks off and I hear her gulp down a sob. “My car…”
“What happened?”
“Jason was driving,” she says, hiccupping, “and he went too fast around a curve.”
“Are you okay?” I say, trying to stay calm, wondering why she’s talking to me and not, say, the police or her parents.
“I’m okay, but he blew a tire,” she says sniffling. “He hit the curb.”
“How fast was he going?” And whatever possessed you to let him drive your car, I wonder.
“I don’t know,” she moans. “What should I do?”
“Don’t you have a spare?”
“Yeah,” she says, blowing her nose.
“So, tell him to change it.”
“He doesn’t know how.” She starts crying again.
In my experience, there are few things tough guys like Jason like more than fixing cars, so I am pretty surprised he doesn’t know how to change a tire. My father insisted I learn—it was one of the few lessons he gave me to prepare me for getting my license. I’m not sure I can actually change a tire on the side of a road, but I have done it in the driveway, with my dad’s help. “Call AAA,” I say.
“Should I?”
“You have it, right?” I say.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, where are you?”
She tells me the address. It isn’t far from Missy’s house.
“Can you please just come here?” she asks, pathetically.
“Gimme a few minutes,” I say, hanging up the phone.
I turn around to see Missy standing in the doorway. “Everything ok?” she asks.
“It’s, uh,” I stall, trying to think of a good lie. “It’s my dad. He had a little accident.”
“Is he ok?” she asks, looking u
nconvinced.
“Yeah,” I say, moving past her into the family room to get my shoes and sweater. “But the car,” I say my voice trailing off. “My mom needs me to come home.”
“Of course,” Missy says. She picks up my bag from the floor and hands it to me and we walk out to the hall, where she gets my coat from the closet. I look at her as I turn to close the door behind me. Her eyes are brimming with tears. My lie is an invisible wall between us. We both know it’s there and we know now that any effort to break through it is futile. “Call me,” she says. I just nod and turn around.
Chapter 17
They had pulled the car into the dirt at the side of the road along a stand of trees. Maura is inside the car, which is running. She’d freeze waiting outside. Jason sits on the front bumper smoking a cigarette.
Maura gets out of the car and the smell of alcohol hits me the minute she throws her skinny arms around my neck.
“Are you drunk?” I ask, pulling away from her, wondering why I had defended her not an hour ago to Missy.
“They totally just served us without even blinking,” Maura says. Instead of sounding sorry, she seems pleased that she passed for twenty-one.
“Both of you?” I ask.
“We just split a bottle of wine,” she says. “It’s not like we’re drunk.”
Maybe Jason can handle a couple of glasses of wine with dinner, but Maura—I know how little she’s been eating, because I know how little I’ve been eating. It suddenly makes sense why she let Jason drive the car in the first place.
“So you know how to change this bitch?” Jason says, dropping his cigarette stub and coming around the side of the car.
I look down at the ground. It has been warm the past few days and so instead of a hard, frozen shoulder, Maura’s car is sitting in mud. My jeans are relatively new and spotlessly clean. I do not want to change the tire, and even if I wanted to, how would I explain my filthy clothing to my mother? “I can walk you through it,” I say, looking him in the eye.
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