“Don’t mess up your hand,” Janet says. “I’m not driving your ass to the emergency room at one a.m. Who is it?”
“No one you know.” I wish I could tell them everything, like I normally do.
“I know lots of people,” Janet says.
“Trust me,” I say as I sink to the cold concrete. My heart ices over from Madison’s Facebook polar vortex. “You don’t know her.”
I want to call Madison and find out if it was just the angle of the camera phone. Find out that they were just talking. That this is my imagination getting the best of me.
“You want to talk about it?” Monica asks.
I can’t call Madison. Not until we’ve packed up all of gear into Janet’s mom’s minivan and driven the forty minutes back to her house. Not until I’m away from the noise of the crowds and back home. Not until I can be calm about it. “Not yet.”
“Well, when you do, I’m all ears,” she says cupping her right ear. The line of hoop earrings that run down her lobe glint in the overhead light.
“We need to blast some Ani on the way back,” I say.
Janet finishes disassembling the drum set. “Old Ani or new Ani?”
“Old. The angrier the better.”
For the first time all night Janet smiles. “I’ve got the perfect song.”
Madison doesn’t answer when I call her later that night. At three a.m. her phone goes directly to voicemail. I send a text instead.
WTF? Call me.
I’m too upset to sleep. At eight I try her again.
That was a joke, right?
I check my email but not Facebook. I don’t want to look at that photo ever again. Aside from an offer for Viagra, my inbox is empty.
For the first time in months I clean my room while I wait for her to respond. At noon there’s still no answer. I rearrange my music in chronological order before rearranging it back alphabetically.
By four o’clock I’m in full blown panic mode. I text her again
WTF is going on?
Mom orders a pizza from Stacia’s for dinner. Under normal circumstances I would eat half of it, but tonight I can barely choke down one roasted garlic and mushroom slice.
“Are you sick?” she asks, feeling my forehead with the back of her palm. “You don’t feel warm.”
“Something like that,” I say dropping my plate into the sink.
At ten I finally log into Facebook. I can’t not look anymore. I have no messages. I open Madison’s profile page and study it like I have a million times since she officially “friended me.” Her cover photo is still that of an orange sunset. She has the same profile picture of her senior portrait as before. Her hair is bright against the black dress.
Madison’s relationship status still says “in a relationship.” She hasn’t changed it since she broke up with Miles and started fake-dating Tyler and for-real dating me. Everything looks the way it did yesterday afternoon except for the album she’s been tagged in. “Bitchin’ Beach Party 2016.” Now there’s not just one photo but six different shots of her kissing Miles.
I read the comments. Apparently no one remembers how to spell. Each one makes me more and more nauseous.
Allison: So happy 4 u 2!
Lexie: OMG! U r meant 2 b 2gether
Jessica: WTF? Is this a joke? What happened to Tyler?
At least Jessica’s on my side and she doesn’t even know it. I click on the “like” button for Jessica’s comment. Fuck that shit. I don’t like this one bit. I immediately “unlike” it and that small act is the most satisfying part of my day.
I scroll through the rest of the party pictures, looking for clues. There’s a shot of Maura sitting on a keg and drinking out of a red cup. There’s another shot of Maura doing a keg stand and one of her with Steven. There a couple of photos of assholes puking in the sand and one of Dylan drinking a beer. The last shot in the album is the only one that makes me feel better. It’s a picture of Miles being led away in handcuffs.
If Miles was arrested, maybe Madison was too. I text her one more time.
What happened? Pls tell me u r not in jail.
My phone doesn’t vibrate. The police probably confiscated her phone at the jail and she had to use her one phone call to call her lawyer or her parents. She’s probably grounded.
I’m still thinking about this when a new text pops up on my screen. Scott.
Holy party foul, Batman. Did you see it? That shit is cray cray.
Yep.
Can’t believe that d-bag got arrested. Heard they got four other guys.
They actually arrest for underage drinking?
Yeah if you’ve got pot on you, and you try and fight a cop. Scott must be binge-watching Law & Order again.
They arrest any girls?
I don’t think so.
I breathe a tiny sigh of relief at his words. Maybe Madison isn’t in jail. I type without thinking.
Then why hasn’t she called?
A wave of nausea rolls over me. I wish she was in jail. That would explain why she’s not responding. She can’t really be back with Miles, can she?
What? Scott types.
Oh shit. I think I just outed Madison to Scott.
Nothing. I respond. Meant to send that to Janet.
NBD. I can’t wait until tomorrow! SCANDAL!!!
I don’t bother replying. I’ve got nothing to say. I don’t want to tomorrow to come. I’m afraid of what we’ll find out. If she’s back with him, I don’t know what I’ll do.
I grab my Les Paul. It only takes two chords before a new song starts to percolate in my head. I have something to say after all.
BY THE END of sixth period on Monday it is evident that I’ve been ghosted. My girlfriend (was she ever really even my girlfriend?) hasn’t sent me so much as a text. I should have cut school today just like Madison did. It wasn’t like I learned anything. Except that Madison and Miles are back together after he professed his love to her in front of a bonfire. And that Maura got so wasted at the party that she puked all over Steven. And that Miles was arrested for being drunk and belligerent when the cops showed up to break up the party. I would have been better off catching a matinee of Arbor Day and eating peanut butter fro-yo.
Scott and I are headed to my car when my phone finally vibrates. I pull it out of my pocket expecting it to be Madison saying something like I’m sorry. Or It’s not what you think. Or even I can explain.
Nope.
Instead it is a text from my wireless provider telling me that $55 has been deducted from the credit card on file to pay my bill. “This is such fuckery,” I say opening the car door and chucking it into the backseat.
“What’s going on?” Scott asks.
“I’m just tired of all of this high school bullshit.”
“Tell me about it.” He slides into the passenger seat. “At least you get to graduate soon.”
I don’t follow him. I scan the parking lot at all of my classmates laughing and joking with each other, completely oblivious to my anguish. I want to rewind the clock to last Saturday afternoon when Madison and I spent hours kissing on my couch while my mom was out. When she kept whispering “Besame mucho,” and it took all of my resolve to not rip off her pants.
“Earth to Avery,” Scott calls. I sit down next to him and close the car door but I don’t start the engine. “Why do you look like someone stabbed you in the heart and killed your dog?”
Because it feels like someone stabbed me in the heart. “You know I would never own a dog.” Across the lot, Trey and Jessica climb into his car. He leans over and kisses her and I sound my horn. They jump apart, confused. “Get a room,” I yell even though they can’t hear me.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I know you’re not riding the crimson wave because that was last week and you’re not blasting Tacocat.”
I close my eyes and lean my head against the headrest. “I’m just so tired.”
Scott squeezes my hand. “Do you want to talk about whatever has you
so riled up?”
“Yes. No. It’s just a combination of everything but mostly I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, let alone what I want to do.”
He is quiet for a moment. “You know that you can tell me anything. You don’t have to be all James Bond about it.”
I sigh. “I know.” I open my eyes and blink back my tears. “Maybe once I sort this shit out.”
He scrolls through his phone. “So Plan A: We go see Arbor Day at 3:15. There’s scientific proof that Jennifer Lawrence can cure anything with that smile.”
“What’s Plan B?”
“We go back to my house and put on some Katy Perry and act out music videos in front of the bathroom mirror like it’s 2012.”
I snort. “Your mom still hasn’t recovered from us lighting sparklers in the bathroom.”
“I wasn’t the one who burned a hole in her favorite towel.”
“Well, I wasn’t the one who hoarded the sparklers to use for nefarious purposes.” I start the car. Taylor Swift’s “Blank Space,” blasts from the speakers. Neither one of us turns it down.
Scott raises one eyebrow. “Plan A it is.”
THREE HOURS LATER my car is idling in Madison’s driveway. I drove here as soon as I dropped Scott off after the movie. I need answers. Jennifer Lawrence didn’t wait for Bradley Cooper to explain his shit. No, she drove over to his house with a Japanese maple sapling and put him in his place until he came groveling back to her.
I don’t have a Japanese maple sapling but I do have our Spanish homework.
After a deep breath I walk to her front door. The hedges along her front walk are tall and perfectly even.
A woman answers. She is the splitting image of Madison only twenty years older. “Hello,” she says. She holds a glass of red wine between delicate, manicured fingers.
“Um, hi,” I say, unprepared to deal with parents.
“How can I help you?” she asks. There is a purplish tinge to her lips.
“I’m here to see Madison.” I swallow. “I mean, is Madison home?”
“Are you a friend of hers?”
“Yes,” I say tentatively. “I’m Avery. Avery Jennings.”
She frowns then takes a sip of wine. “I can never keep track of all of Maddie’s friends.”
“I’m in her Spanish class.”
“Oh,” she says. “You must be the one she’s tutoring.” Madison’s mom swirls the wine in her glass.
“Right.” It’s not a total lie. I’m barely passing right now, which is a slight improvement. I shift from one foot to the other. “I can’t remember Madison ever missing school. I brought over some Spanish homework in case she was sick or something. So she didn’t get behind.” The words fumble out of my mouth like I’m the one drinking. “Is she sick? Is she home?”
She drains the rest of her glass and studies it. “No, she’s not. She’s at USF on a campus tour and doing another practice with their soccer team.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “The University of Georgia also offered her a spot.”
All of the air leaves my body as I ask, “Does she want to take it?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maddie hasn’t been too talkative.” She waves her hand. “So many changes, you know. Her grandmother passing. College decisions. Breaking up with Miles. Brad says she’s dating some new boy.” She arches an eyebrow. “Do you know who she has been sneaking around with?”
“No.” The lie travels up my neck and turns my face the same color as the residual wine left in her glass. “It was nice meeting you,” I say no longer feeling like Jennifer Lawrence. As I leave Madison’s mom grabs my arm, her hand ice on my bare skin.
“Would you like to wait for her?”
“Inside?” I ask.
“Where else would you wait?” she says, smiling wanly.
“How long do you think she’ll be?”
“Not long,” she says looking at her wrist. She isn’t wearing a watch. “It’s almost time for dinner.”
I follow her inside. Everything is pristine and white like in one of the magazines my mom gets every month but never reads. It smells like roasted chicken and lemons, things my dad used to cook.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asks. “There’s some seltzer on the bar cart.” She gestures to a small table across the room but my attention is drawn to the photos on the walls under a giant gold cross. There is one of Madison’s mom in a Prom Queen sash holding a bouquet of red roses. Next to it is Brad’s professional prom photo. He’s decked out in a black tux and a black crown. The Shea’s are serious about Prom.
“Thanks, but I’m good,” I say. Madison’s mom sits on a white couch before pouring herself another glass of wine from the half-empty bottle on the coffee table. I take a seat in the chair across from her as the opening notes to “Call Me,” come on. “I love Blondie,” I say pointing to a speaker in the ceiling corner.
“So do I,” she says, a slow dreamy smile spreading across her face as she sways in time to the music “I saw Debbie in concert when I was your age.” She sings along to the song. Madison did not inherit her tone deafness from her mom.
“You have a great voice,” I say.
“Thank you. Once upon a time I sang in a band.” She takes another drink. “Tell me about yourself, Avery.”
We talk about Detonate the Gazelle, though I leave out the lesbian part and how they want to relocate. I tell her about my mom and her flower shop. Like Madison she’s easy to talk to.
“What about your father?” she asks.
“He died,” I say at the same time a man I assume to be Madison’s father walks in. He looks like an older, grayer version of Brad.
“Ben,” she says. “We have company. This is Avery, one of Maddie’s friends. She’s in a band!”
Madison walks into the living room and stops dead in her tracks when she sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“Avery brought your Spanish homework,” her mom says. She raises her newly poured glass to toast me and it threatens to spill all over the white carpet.
Ben walks over and takes the glass from her and downs half of it before handing it back. “Careful, Hon.”
“Why?” Madison’s voice barely registers above a hiss. “Why would you do that?”
I stand up. I take a couple of papers from my messenger bag and place them on the glass coffee table. “I thought you were out sick. There’s a not-so-secret pop quiz in class tomorrow. I thought you’d want to be prepared.” I move toward the door. “It was nice talking to you,” I tell her mom.
“You don’t have to go,” she says. “You could stay for dinner. We haven’t had any of Maddie’s friends over for dinner in months. Not since Olivia moved away. Did you know her?”
“Not well,” I say shaking my head. “Thank you for the offer. I should get going.” The roasting chicken smells incredible and my stomach growls. It’s moments like this that make me really miss my dad. I would love to have a home cooked meal but their dining room table is set for three. Madison has made it clear that she doesn’t want me here. Tears prick the back of my eyes and I blink them away. “I’ll see myself out. I think I know the way.”
Madison is hot on my heels as I leave. Once the front door closes behind us she says, “You can’t just come here like that.”
I stop and turn around. “Why not? I can’t do something nice like bring your homework?”
“It’s not that,” she says, biting her lip.
“Because you’re afraid your parents will realize that I’m a lesbian and assume you’re one, too?”
“No,” she says, but the lie is written all over her face. “Mixing you guys would be like mixing oil and Diet Coke. They’re very conservative. It wouldn’t be fun.”
“For your or them?” I ask. “Your mom seemed okay with me.”
“My mom is drunk.”
I turn back and head to my car.
“You’re leaving?” Madison asks
“Isn’t that what you want?” I turn around a
nd walk backward. Madison walks toward me. We are dancing a tango without even touching. “You keep giving me all of these mixed signals. You don’t want me to talk to your parents but you don’t want me to go. You break up with Miles and then make out with him at a party. Make up your damn mind. You’re no better than Olivia on Scandal.” Clearly I’ve been watching too much TV with my mom and Scott.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about any of it.” I gesture to the distance between us. “This is not happening.”
“But—” Madison says.
“But what?” I interrupt.
In three long steps Madison closes the distance between us. She crushes me against the side of the house next to where the tall hedge starts and kisses me like we did that night in alley. It lasts all of five seconds before she pulls away leaving me hot with lust. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you back.”
“Or call,” I say.
“Or call,” she says and kisses me again.
The stucco wall is hard against my back. I want her so bad it breaks me, but I’m the one to break away this time. “Are you or are you not back with Miles?”
“Not,” she says scrunching her face. There is a piece of hedge in her hair. “Now that I’m with you I can see just how repulsive he actually is.”
“What was that kiss at the party?”
“That was all Miles, not me.”
“All of those photos suggest otherwise.”
“He totally pounced on me. He was wasted.” Madison shakes her head. “I don’t want to be with him. I want to be with you.”
“Then you should have texted or called or sent a carrier pigeon. I was freaking out. I don’t freak out.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m an idiot. I’ll make it up to you.” She leans in to kiss me again.
I push her away and step away from the hedge. “Kissing me in your driveway does not make things better.”
“Anyone could see us,” she challenges me. “I’m taking baby steps.”
I sigh. “I can’t be with you and have to worry about you kissing ex-boyfriends and what it might mean when you don’t take my calls.”
“It won’t happen again. I won’t go to parties. You can trust me.”
Secret Heart Page 10