I Am Me

by Kai Strand

  “This is ridiculous. You’d think I got busted for internet porn or something.”

  “Speaking of friends.” Her mom turns her glacial gaze my way. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to leave now, Lola. Cyn will be on restriction until further notice.”

  Every muscle in Cyn’s body tightens next to me. I’m afraid to look at her and break whatever control she might have on her anger. Hesitantly, I slide off the bed.

  “Mom, you’ve got to be kidding right now.”

  “I suspect it will be a long time before I kid again, Cynthia. Phone. Now.”

  I lean down and give Cyn a hug. I’m about to tell her to call if she needs anything, but she can’t. “I’ll see you at school.”

  As I walk out the door I hear her mom say, “About that…”

  Poor Cyn.

  Chapter 17

  “Have you ever been completely surprised to learn the truth behind someone’s circumstances?”

  Rod freezes, paintbrush held high overhead. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I have a friend who seems to have everything, you know? I’ve always known how far from the truth that is, but she’s got a rock solid façade. Or, she did until last weekend.”

  Rod’s rigid posture relaxes, and he resumes spreading paint along the fascia. “Wasn’t last week homecoming?”

  Tipping my head up, I stare at Rod in surprise. “Yeah, how did you know?”

  I see one side of his mouth quirk. “You weren’t here last week. Hank said something about hair and makeup and fingernails.”

  I continue to stare up at Rodney. His long frame at the top of a tall ladder makes my head spin in some reverse vertigo thing.

  He stops working again and shifts sideways on the ladder. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Oh.” If I shake my head, will the myriads of thoughts spinning through it dissipate into dust, or at least fall into a nice orderly pile that I can sort through later? “I’m…it’s just…” Shrug.

  Resting the brush in the paint tray, he somehow adopts a super casual pose on the ladder, perched precariously sideways, with his arms crossed over his chest. His tone is unexpected in its gentleness. “Is this “friend” really you?”

  “What? No!” I leap to my feet and his eyebrows arch, which for some reason makes me mad. “Rodney, why would you even think that?”

  His head cocks sideways in consideration. “Someone who seems to have everything. Someone you know well enough that you’re the only one to know she doesn’t.”

  I slam my hands on my hips, though really, I want to slug him. “It’s a friend of mine. I’ve known her forever.” A strange expression passes over his face and my anger wafts away on the chilly breeze. “Do you have any friends, Rodney?”

  He gives a strange one-shoulder shrug that he probably hopes appears dismissive but is actually an admission of truth. The question of what he did to earn community service—tons of hours of community service, apparently—flashes through my mind and for the first time I wonder if befriending him like I have was really so smart.

  A tinge of anger darkens his caramel colored eyes making me think of toffee.

  “We’ve moved a lot.”

  Oh. Not what I expected. Before I can reply, he continues.

  “Poor people do that, you know.”

  I open my mouth to voice my offense. His tone is so accusatory. But I see guilt and regret and embarrassment flash in his expression, so I slam my lips shut.

  Hank bellows, “Lunch,” and for the first time ever, I’m not glad for the break.

  Rod grabs the paint tray and climbs down the ladder. He looks relaxed, but he’s so focused on his task that I know he’s avoiding me. I can’t think of anything to say to ease the awkwardness. I feel like he owes me an apology, but I’m not exactly sure why, so I can’t even demand one to keep the conversation going. After I finish stacking my tools neatly in the shade, I flounce toward the tent like the spoiled brat he probably thinks I am. But I’m not. Am I?

  I’m surprised when he slides onto a seat next to me five minutes later. I look at him long enough to assess his apologetic composure, but then I’m eyeing my food like it’s an art display.

  “Lola, I’m sorry.”

  “What exactly are you sorry for, Rodney?”

  His eyes widen in panic and I can’t help but smile a little. He doesn’t really know either.

  “Uh, I offended you. I think.”

  “Well, I’m sorry too. For being offended. I don’t even know why I was.” I sigh. “I don’t know if it’s because you seem to see me as some privileged bitch, or if it’s because I know what my friend has been through and…” I hope my eyes convey my apology. “I can’t really talk about that though. Too personal.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.” Rod pulls a sandwich out of the bag and stares at it. His lack of expression fascinates me. I wonder if it’s a defense against showing his true emotions. Then I wonder what those are. What did you do that was so bad, Rodney? “Besides, I would never accuse you of being a bitch.”

  It takes me a full thirty seconds to replay our conversation and realize he was making a joke. “Oh, but I’m privileged?”

  He cocks his head sideways and all but rolls his eyes.

  “Enlighten me. What exactly makes you think that?”

  “You really have to ask?” He seems genuinely confused.

  “Yes! I’ve only seen you here. Oh, except that one time at your school. So how would you have a clue what my life is like?”

  His snarky grin fades and he sits back in his chair, seriously contemplating my question. My stomach squirms with nerves. When he talks, his voice is low, raspy with thought.

  “First is the car. Expensive import. Convertible. Personalized license plate, so I know it’s yours, not a parent’s. Second is the wardrobe. The clothes you wear to volunteer in are better than my everyday clothes. Actually, I wear those here, too, but having run into you at my school, I know you have a completely different, very upscale wardrobe as well. You can afford to be in speech club, which at our school is like all the pay-to-play sports, therefore out of reach for me. When you talk about your life, you mention places that are completely off limits to me and pastimes that I can only imagine. Example: that time you parasailed in Maui.”

  I’m having a hard time holding my gaze steady but refuse to feel guilty for my life. My reddening skin is probably a giveaway though.

  “But mostly, it’s a confidence that people with means have that you exude. Knowing that if something doesn’t work out, you can somehow pay to have it fixed.”

  The image of Cyn insisting I call her dad flares in my mind and my mouth drops open.

  “Lola, face it. You have everything. Or at least everything you want right now. Until you find something else you want, and then you’ll get that too.”

  I’m feeling affronted again, but not as strongly as before because I’m staring at the threadbare collar of his t-shirt and hearing him say, Actually, I wear those here, too, again and again. I know nothing of his circumstances. Nothing of the situation that brought him here. Before I can stop myself, I ask.

  “What did you do, Rodney?”

  His expression closes down, but not in anger. I’m convinced it’s his defense against showing his true emotions and suddenly I want to rail against him until he breaks down and opens up to me.

  “I’m not a threat to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  I blink. “No. God, I didn’t think that at all.”

  “Looks like I hit a nerve and you hit back. Your confidence is exuding again, Lola.” He stands, gathering his trash with jerky movements. “And it’s Rod. Just Rod.”

  I close my eyes, so I don’t have to watch him storm away. He has so much pride and an almost reluctant leadership quality, and I know my question just assaulted both. Like I stood in front of him and fired a shotgun, splattering his armor with hundreds of tiny pellets.

  After lunch, I’m equal parts relieved and mad
that Rodney—Rod—has gotten himself reassigned to the Walden house. I think of all the things I’d like to say in defense of his accusations that I have everything. But in the end, I know that it’s all bluster. I do have everything. I’ve always known it. That’s why I volunteer. I’m thankful to have everything and hope to help by giving some of myself away.

  At the end of the day, I clean up the supplies Rod had stashed near mine before lunch and wish I could rewind and start the day all over again.

  Chapter 18

  “Hey, ice cream after school?” Jay leans against my car, one foot crossed in front of the other, arms crossed over his chest, like he’s been waiting there for a while.

  I look around as if someone will tell me exactly how long. “What are you doing out here?”

  “If I didn’t know better I’d think you’ve been avoiding me.”

  I rummage through my book bag, even though I don’t need anything out of it. “Why would you think that?

  “I know you’ve been…uh, busy,” Jay says, pushing to a stand and shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “You know, with Cyn. I thought maybe a couple hour reprieve might be in order.”

  My temper flares. Did he think I was Cyn’s babysitter? Did he think she was suddenly a burden to me? That tenuous strand of thought that told me to be nice to Jay, to avoid the possibility of hurting him if he was nursing a crush, snaps. “No, Jay, there is no need for a reprieve. First of all, Cyn is my best friend, not my ward. I spend as much time with her as I’m allowed because I care. Second, you waiting for me out here at my car feels a lot like you’re stalking me. Friends don’t do that. And that’s what we are. Or were. If your feelings have changed, maybe we should skip the newspaper article altogether.”

  Jay’s expression is a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Guilt blooms inside me, but I quickly squash it. Meeting me in the parking lot and bringing the situation with Cyn into it is divisive. What a jerk.

  “Maybe we should.” Jay stalks away.

  My insides shake like a mass of gelatin as I watch him storm across the parking lot. I quiver with anger, at him as well as at myself for being afraid to stand up to him in the first place. I let it go on too long. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I lock the doors, even though I don’t actually expect Jay to run back and pull me out of my car or anything. I just feel so vulnerable.

  But I did it. I finally told him how I feel. I’m sorry I was mean. Yet what a relief it is to know there’s no longer any question. I wish I had Rod’s phone number, so I could text him. Tell him I finally took his advice and he was right.

  That stops me short. The residual panic and anger sours into sadness. Rod hasn’t been back to the construction site since the day we argued, nearly three weeks ago. Though part of me thinks it’s cowardly of him, the bigger part of me misses him. The work isn’t as fun or fulfilling without him there.

  My phone vibrates, bringing me back to reality. A text from Rome. A picture of a cardboard box filled with nachos with the caption College diet. I smile, snap a picture of my car keys, still clutched in my hand and send it with the caption. Thanks for the lunchtime inspiration.

  I start my car, turning the heater up full blast and hit the unlock button when I see Cyn sprinting toward me. She slides into the passenger seat, a blast of cold air filling the car.

  “Took forever to escape Wentlen’s eagle eyed attention,” she says, holding her hands in front of the heater vents.

  I look over my shoulder and quickly back out of my parking spot, suddenly nervous we’ll see the teacher running after her. “You’d think he’s getting a supplemental income from your mom. He watches you so closely.”

  “Hell, she hired a live-in au pair to watch her eighteen-year-old daughter, I wouldn’t put it past her to have paid off the LP staff.”

  “Yes, because we all know what a bad influence I am. We might be buying drugs and nachos.”

  “Yum on the nachos, Lola. Inspired choice.” Cyn flips the visor down to check her makeup in the mirror, but then slaps it back in place almost immediately.

  I’ve noticed her mirror avoidance tactics more and more in the last few weeks. It’s like the darker the shadows grow under her eyes, the more she avoids looking at her reflection. Instead of asking her why, I smile and tell her where my nacho inspiration came from.

  “Are you going to see Rome this weekend?”

  “No. But I’m going to surprise him next week.”

  Cyn raises an eyebrow at me and I give her a smile before turning into the drive thru at the Mexican restaurant.

  “That speech competition? It’s at his school.”

  “No way!” Cyn sits up straight. “Are you wearing that killer outfit again?”

  “Of course.”

  “You guys are kind of serious, huh? Well, if not now, you will be after he sees you in that sexy get up.”

  I wait until after I order our nachos before answering her. “I don’t know if we’re serious or not. I feel like I know him really well because we text each other all the time. You know? But I don’t see him that often. It’s sort of strange.”

  After we pull onto the road to head back to school, Cyn asks, “Does he make you hot?”

  “Ew, that’s sounds so gross.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Priss,” Cyn says. “Does he ring your bells?”

  I snort at the proper tone she affects to use the old fashioned phrase. “Well, yeah. I mean he’s Rome Bennett.”

  “Good looks and popularity don’t always translate into chemistry though.”

  “There’s plenty of that.”

  Then I pause remembering that strange feeling I got at homecoming, like he was being possessive. I’ve felt it a couple times since, like he thinks I belong to him. It’s subtle things like a turn of phrase or a look or a response to a joke. But it raises the hair on the back of my neck every time.

  “Too bad he’s a three hour car drive away, huh?”

  I laugh. “That’s probably a good thing. My plan is to get through this school year before worrying about any sort of serious relationship.”

  “Being physical doesn’t make it serious.”

  “It does to me.” I might not agree with Cyn’s choices, but I also think they are hers to make and try hard not to judge her for them. I can see by her eye roll that I’m not receiving the same consideration. I laugh again. “You can think I’m a prude or whatever you want. It’s my decision to make.”

  We pull into the parking lot to find Mr. Wentlen scanning the cars.

  “Duck!” I cry, but it’s too late, Wentlen has already spotted Cyn. His eyes narrow and his hands end up on his waist. I fully expect him to stamp his foot in a fit of temper.

  Cyn sighs and gathers her purse and nachos. “Well, looks like I’ll be enjoying these in detention.”

  “Sorry,” I turn the car off and we both take a moment to stare at the angry man staring back at us.

  When he steps off the curb, Cyn huffs and swings the car door open. “Talk to you later.”

  “Yeah.” I watch her approach the teacher looking uncharacteristically beaten, with slouched shoulders and dragging feet. Wentlen is obviously lecturing her as they head to the administration building. I sling my purse strap over my shoulder, push my door open, and balance my nachos in my left hand, but wait until they disappear through the door before I swing out of the car. I wish I could help her. Her life has been so restricted since the dance. It’s like watching a bloom fade after it’s been picked.

  That image conjures memories of the choker and then the dance. I can’t think of that beautiful choker without getting sad too. There’s never been an appropriate time to share photos with Cyn either. The only other person in my life that knows about the choker and how special it was to me, besides Rome who gave it to me, is Edna. A wave of loneliness crashes over me, but I shake my head as if shaking the water free and push the feeling away.

  In the cafeteria, I scan the faces to find a group to join. The first face I see is
Jay. He’s sitting with the group of kids I’d most likely join, but his glare reminds me of our altercation and sends a shiver down my spine. He’s obviously really mad. Sadness wells up inside me at the loss of a lifetime friendship, but it’s accompanied by annoyance at his ridiculous reaction. I want to tell him to get over it—and himself—but I know that wouldn’t help matters, so I just continue to scan faces and feel relief when I see several of the students from speech sitting together and head in their direction. I can use the upcoming competition as an excuse to join them.

  Darnell arches an eyebrow as he watches me approach. I tilt my head toward the empty seat next to him. He nods, a sly smile forming on his face.

  “Lola, you’re just here to rub it in that you’ve got a comp on Thursday.”

  My stomach drops. I forgot that no one else from the team qualified for the bonus competition in his or her own category. I imagine explaining that Cyn’s off campus privileges have been revoked and how she was just busted skipping out for nachos and why I’d rather not sit with my regular group because a boy I’ve known forever might have turned into a creepy stalker. I decide it’s easiest just to go along with what Darnell suggested. “If a girl can’t use her bragging rights, what’s the purpose of winning?”

  The conversation does focus on my upcoming competition, but only for about five minutes. Then it transitions to the next competition our team is in, which is unusual in that it has an overall theme of humanity. Those who have started to prepare their speeches talk about how they’ve managed to work the theme in with the hopes that they aren’t being predictable in content. We give Darnell and Jance a hard time since they are both debaters and a targeted subject such as this isn’t as challenging for them. Even though I joined the group late into the lunch period, I’m still surprised at how soon the bell rings.

  “Thanks for letting me hang,” I say to Darnell as we clean up our stuff.