Black Tuesday

by Susan Colebank

  Not that Jayne blamed them. Maria was a tough cookie. She didn’t take “no”—or “I screwed up”—for an answer.

  Crazy how going from watching TV all day to staying out for nine hours wiped a girl out.

  Jayne slipped out of her Nikes and headed to the kitchen. She was starving. And her Diet Pepsis and Meadow’s cupcakes weren’t cutting it so much.

  Ellie stood at the island, a wooden spoon in one hand, a glass mixing bowl in front of her. Her hair was tied out of her face with a ponytail holder that looked like a tiara.

  Figured.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “Out.” Jayne grabbed a yogurt and a bag of pretzels.

  It looked like Ellie was making the Thompkinses’ Secret Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe. It was made with sugar substitutes—even the chocolate chips—so Ellie wouldn’t go into diabetic shock.

  Twice a year, Ellie and Jayne would make it and get sick from the cookie dough.

  “I’m almost done.” Ellie didn’t look up. Her voice was strained, and Jayne was quite aware she was the cause of it. She didn’t give a crap, though. Too tired. “Wanna scoop?”

  Jayne knew this was an olive branch, but she didn’t want to take it. She wasn’t ready to take it. She was too tired to take it.

  “I think I just want to go to bed.” She walked out of the kitchen. She didn’t know what devil made her say over her shoulder: “You’re the only one around here who has time to scoop cookies.”

  Behind her, there was silence. Then, “At least I have a life, you frickin’ zombie!”

  But Jayne kept going. She didn’t have the energy to say what she was thinking: Not without that FIT scholarship, you don’t.

  This zombie had to go to bed. Ellie could fend for herself.

  One container of yogurt and a quarter bag of pretzels later, Jayne stared at her computer monitor.

  Tom was online. There he was, BasketTrack12. He thought he’d been so cool when he’d come up with a name that combined his two sports and his jersey number.

  Jayne stared at his message.

  BasketTrack12: Hey. You there?

  She clicked onto the instant messenger and made sure that Tom couldn’t see she was on. She inhaled a shuddery breath.

  She was officially hiding from Tom. Her best friend.

  Right now, she was too tired to be a friend. Much less someone’s best one.

  Before she clicked out of the messaging program, someone else popped up:

  IHeartBB: this is darian. can i please speak to jayne?

  Her heartbeat felt like it did when she’d just had a really long volley on the tennis court. She poised her fingertips over her keyboard. What to say, what to say . . .

  Britney4Ever: Dork. Hey. I’m here.

  She read over what she’d written. Erased “Dork” before she sent it. She didn’t know him that well. Not Tom well.

  IHeartBB: feel up to a movie?

  A movie? Like a date movie? Her heart sped up. Like the way it did when she drank a Red Bull before a tennis match.

  Play it cool, Jayne. Play it cool.

  Britney4Ever: Depends. Which one?

  IHeartBB: the one with the beekeeper bilionare. i hear its real funny. tonight sound good?

  Jayne ignored the spelling and grammar errors. Darian didn’t seem like the type who cared too much about that stuff.

  Britney4Ever: Too tired right now. Tomorrow maybe?

  Jayne hesitated for about five heartbeats before she finally sent the message. Was she saying yes to a date? The girl who’d never had time for a date because she had a test to study for/a paper to write/Harvard to prepare for?

  She waited for a reply. Five minutes later, still nothing.

  She went to the bathroom. Brushed her teeth.

  Ten minutes later, her gums were sore and she knew she couldn’t put off looking for Darian’s response any longer.

  IHeartBB: sorry. took out trash. mom pissed. yeah, saturday works. what time?

  Jayne was about to put down a time when she remembered.

  Tomorrow was her parents’ Fourth of July party. Food, friends, and stilted fun.

  Crap.

  Britney4Ever: I forgot. I have a family thing tomorrow. A Fourth of July thing. You can come if you want.

  A second after she sent it, she wished she could take it back and edit her words. With lightning speed, she typed out:

  Britney4Ever: Or not. Come here, I mean. I can do the movie next weekend. My treat.

  She hit SEND. Darian was going to think she was blowing him off. Knowing her luck, he’d give up trying to ask her out. Like that Norwegian foreign exchange student, Petter. Tall, dark, handsome, with dimples in all the right spots. She’d been a freshman, he’d been a junior. He’d asked her to go to a hockey game; she had said yes.

  Then she’d realized she’d double-booked him with a debate and she’d asked for a rain check.

  He’d never asked her out again.

  A ding sounded.

  IHeartBB: girls dont treat guys. and im good with families. what time should I bring my world famous three bean dip?

  19

  CANNONBALL!!”

  Jayne watched Tom fling himself for what must’ve been the twentieth time from the top of the Thompkinses’ man-made waterfall. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to give himself diarrhea. Again.

  Like he’d done at Jayne’s fifth-grade birthday party.

  Jayne walked over to one of the long rented tables crammed with fried chicken, potato salad, and every kind of potato chip known to humankind. She snagged a Diet Pepsi from an ice-filled tin tied with red-white-and-blue crepe paper. The tablecloth, a vinyl version of the American flag, was already splattered with salsa.

  It was eight o’clock, and the sunlight was almost gone. The Thompkinses’ annual Fourth of July bash was officially in full swing.

  The only thing that was making this a less-than-perfect night was the person who was still missing. Darian.

  “Cannonball!”

  Jayne rolled her eyes and walked toward the house.

  Tom was going to be one sorry dude if he didn’t cut off the cannonballs soon.

  Inside, the kitchen clock said 8:05. She checked the answering machine. Nope, no blinking message light.

  She ran up the stairs and turned on her computer. Nope, no e-mail message.

  Breathe, Jayne. Relax. It’s not like Darian’s helping you finish a class project that’s due in an hour.

  She sat in the dark room, hearing the strains of some girl rock song and random laughter from one of the dozens of guests outside. The average person would’ve been stoked to go back to the party. Or put on a bathing suit to go swimming.

  Jayne stayed put. For one, Miss Challen, her guidance counselor, was out there.

  Yeah, that Challen, propped up on a chaise longue. She’d been there all night, cradling the same margarita and laughing a little too hard and long with some guy.

  Proof that being older and single wasn’t a pretty thing.

  She hadn’t tried to talk to Jayne at all. Then again, Jayne kept making sure to keep the length of the pool between them.

  She started to turn on the TV when the doorbell rang. Jayne walked to the window and peered down, but the porch roof kept her from seeing who it was.

  Butterflies began fluttering in her stomach. Jayne tried to walk as slowly as she could back downstairs. She ended up skipping to the door.

  Opening it, she saw Diane, her mom’s assistant.

  “Hey, Di—”

  She didn’t get the rest of the words out. The person behind Diane, a smug smile on her face, made talking really difficult.

  It was Lori. Lori Parnell.

  The Wicked Witch of the West.

  “What do you mean she’s Diane’s stepdaughter?”

  “Young lady, keep your voice down.”

  Jayne had cornered her mom by the stone grill outside. They were behind a bougainvillea bush that hid them.

  And their argu
ment.

  “Fine.” In a lower voice that was just as pissed, Jayne overly enunciated her next question: “What is she do-ing here?”

  “Don’t take that tone, little girl.” Her mother crossed her arms, her silicone boobs showing even more cleavage in the black bikini. “I didn’t know that Lori was Diane’s stepdaughter. God, Diane just got remarried a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t know the name of the guy or his history.”

  Which made sense, actually. Gen wasn’t big into details. Especially if they had nothing to do with her.

  “Hey, stranger.”

  Jayne turned to see Darian walking up behind her, his Hawaiian swim trunks showing off muscular calves and his open button-down showing off a six-pack.

  He almost made her forget who was here.

  Almost.

  “Hello there.” Gen’s voice was no-nonsense. “I’m Gen Thompkins, Jayne’s mom. You’re . . . ?”

  “Darian, Mrs. Thompkins.”

  “And you know Jayne from . . .” Gen, the consummate interviewer, led with another open-ended question.

  “The Outreach program, ma’am. Building up my college résumé, just like Jayne here.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Gen’s tone was distracted. She lifted her hand to wave at someone. “If you’ll excuse me, Damon, my producer just got here and I need to speak to him about a few story ideas. Excuse me, will you?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Your mom is Gen Thompkins?”

  Jayne raised her eyebrows. “What does it matter?”

  They stood staring at each other in silence for a few moments, Jayne unsure how to take Darian knowing who her mom was.

  “Feel like taking a dip?” He tilted his head toward the pool, a smile emerging on his lips.

  Jayne turned, taking in the scene. From the “Marco” and “Polo!” she heard, she could guess what was going on. In the dark, it was hard to make out who was out there.

  She could, however, make out Ellie in the Jacuzzi, holding court with a group of her mall buddies.

  Ellie’s eyes were fixed on them.

  “I don’t have my swimsuit on.”

  “No worries.” Before she knew it, strong arms slid under her knees and behind her shoulder blades.

  “Aaahh!” Jayne clasped her arms around his neck, afraid that her head was about to connect with the concrete. “Darian! Put me down!”

  “What’s that you say?” Jayne opened her eyes to find herself a few inches from his face. He was smiling, two dimples creasing the sides of his cheeks. “You want me to put you down?”

  She felt a smile pulling at her lips. She nodded. “Yes, please.”

  He shrugged, and her body went up and down with the effort. Gorgeous and strong. “Alrighty, then.”

  Before she knew what he was doing, he stepped up to the edge of the pool and jumped in—with her still in his arms. About a second before he did it, Jayne realized what he was about to do and took a breath. Which was the only reason she didn’t drown when the water came up over her head.

  When her head broke the surface, she heard Darian laughing before she saw him.

  “You’re such a jerk!” Her laughter took the edge off the words.

  “Yeah?” He splashed her. She splashed him back in reflex.

  “Yeah.”

  “I got you in here, didn’t I?” He gave her a slow smile. “And I got you to smile, right?”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Tom treading water a few yards away, his mouth in a tight line.

  “Hey,” she said, turning to Tom. But then she stopped. Lori had her arms reaching out to grab Tom around the shoulders.

  “Gotcha!”

  A white-hot poker seemed to jam through Jayne’s heart and stomach. Before she could catch a breath, someone called her name.

  Loudly.

  Angrily.

  Jayne looked around to see bright orange toenails in turquoise slides. Tilting her head back, she saw her mother’s angry face.

  In a stage whisper, her mother spat out, “Get out of that pool right this minute, young lady.”

  Even with all her senses still reeling from Darian, Tom, and Lori, she knew her mom wasn’t mad about her being in the pool with her clothes on.

  The day of reckoning had come.

  20

  JAYNE BARELY HAD TIME to wrap a beach towel around her torso before Gen Thompkins took her elbow. She hissed low enough so only Jayne could hear her words. “C’s? You got C’s? Not that the B’s were any better, but C’s? What were you thinking?”

  Jayne had known this day was coming. She just wished it wasn’t today, in front of Darian and Lori and a crowd. She kept her head down. Not wanting to see pity or, in Lori’s case, glee.

  Her mom led her through the backyard and through the double doors off the patio. Into her dad’s study.

  Out of everyone’s earshot.

  Once the door closed behind them, Jayne said calmly, “I just couldn’t think straight last quarter, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know. What I do know is—”

  Her dad came in through the French doors, an open oxford shirt over his swimsuit.

  “What I do know,” her mom continued, ignoring him, “is you’re going to work so hard to make this up you’re going to be wondering what a good night’s sleep feels like.”

  “What’s this about, Gen?” Her dad came over to stand next to Jayne. “Angie Challen said I should come in here.”

  Angie Challen. What a twit. Jayne closed her eyes briefly, trying to forget about all the emotions already coursing through her.

  She had a battle to prepare for.

  “Your daughter here earned a 2.3 GPA last quarter.” Gen crossed her arms, her head shaking from side to side as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

  “I was wondering why we’d gotten Ellie’s report card and not yours.” He put an arm around Jayne’s shoulders. “How’re you holding up, kid?”

  “Oh, suck it up, Sean.” Gen crossed her arms, her gold bangles clanking together. “Jayne needs some tough love, not your touchy-feely crap.”

  Sean looked straight at his wife, keeping his arm around Jayne’s shoulders. “Grades aren’t love, Gen.”

  “I know grades aren’t love, but caring about her future is.” She pointed at Jayne. “How’s she going to get into a good school with a 2.3?”

  “That was only one quarter. Jaynie already had over a 4.0. Angie says she still has over a 4.0. So what if it’s not a 4.25?”

  “So what?” Gen sneered. “If she wanted to go to a state school”—she said the words like they were dirty and distasteful—“a 4.0 would get her in, no problem.”

  Sean squeezed Jayne tighter. “What’s so wrong with a state school, Gen?”

  Gen gestured around with her outspread hands. “Look around. We could’ve been living in New York, me at a cable station, you at Columbia, if we’d gotten an Ivy League education.”

  “I think we have a pretty damn good life.” He squeezed Jayne closer to him. “And we’re not hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, either.”

  Jayne’s mom looked like she was about to launch herself at her husband of seventeen years and claw his eyes out. Jayne let herself sink deeper into her dad’s side.

  Gen took a deep breath and leaned forward, her hands on her hips. She seemed to be scrutinizing her toenail polish. “We have guests right now, so we’ll be picking this conversation up later, young lady. Figure out how to get those grades up.” She looked at Jayne. “Maybe you can retake the quarter.”

  Jayne didn’t say anything.

  After she’d gotten her report card, she’d looked up the student handbook online. Only D’s or worse could be retaken.

  Her mom avoided eye contact as she breezed through the French doors, the fringe of her sarong whipping angrily behind her.

  If hate and loathing had a smell, Gen Thompkins would’ve been equal parts rotten egg and skunk.

  “How’re you holding up,
Jaynie?”

  She pulled away from her dad and pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes. She shrugged. Did it matter how she was doing?

  Her dad pulled her hands away from her face and kissed her forehead. “Now don’t go gouging your eyes out. Your mom will cool down and get her senses back. Why don’t you get back out to the party?”

  He turned her around to face the doors. “Looks like your friend out there’s lonely.”

  “Tom?” She took a deep breath and adjusted the straps of her tank top. Tom would know how to calm her down.

  He’d seen enough of Gen’s tantrums to become an expert at picking up the pieces.

  “No, that other young man. The one who likes picking you up.”

  Oh yeah. That young man.

  Instead of going back to the pool, Jayne went out the door that led to the downstairs bathroom. She had to check to see if her face showed anything.

  Like the fact that she’d just been chewed out by a woman who skinned puppy dogs to make fur coats.

  As Jayne stepped into the hallway, she collided into a wide, tan chest.

  “You okay?”

  She looked up to see the brown eyes that were beginning to get imprinted on her mind.

  “Yeah. Just some family drama.” She tried to crack a smile, but it was still too soon after the fight. “Sorry about that.”

  “Hey, I understand.” She felt Darian’s hand go underneath her chin. Gentle pressure forced her to meet his eyes again. “But you’re okay?”

  She felt her pulse thrumming in her throat. He really was too good-looking. And nice.

  Too good to be true, a tiny voice singsonged in the back of her head.