Adina stayed on the ground, slumped over, giggling.
“Come on,” said Fred, picking my purse and coat off the ground and dragging me toward the door. “We’re leaving.”
The first few minutes in the car neither of us really said much. Fred shifted around a bit—a little left, a little right—then came out with this: “I’m sorry."
“For what?” I rolled my window down a crack. He had the heat cranked high. I was suffocating. “She’s drunk, it’s okay.”
“She just—” A bolt of paranoia struck. How had I gotten here? Who was this guy? “She can be funny sometimes.” The car stopped. “She tries to make people feel bad?” He said it like a question. Then: “Are you completely freaked out?” We were moving again. Toward Grams’s house, a few yards off.
“I don’t know. No?” I wasn’t sure. Adina’s kiss hadn’t felt any different than Evie’s practice kisses: soft and inconsequential. But her highs and lows, her I’m-your-friend-wait-no-I’m-not shtick left me feeling way less stellar. “Thanks,” I added, undoing my seat belt. “For the lift.” We were home.
“Yeah. Thanks for being so cool about this.”
“That’s me,” I said, gripping the door handle. “Cool as a cuc.”
“A what?”
“Cucumber. It’s an expression.”
We watched each other for a bit. Fred had two small drops of something red—wine, maybe—splattered across the sleeve of his sweater. I had the shameful urge to touch my tongue to it.
“From, like, 1952?”
“Exactly.” I had no energy to muster a grin. “I’m so old school,” I said, and got out of the car.
30.
Morning was warm. High fifties and girls were in tank tops and light cardigans. I walked to class with my parka tucked under one arm and a hot tea in my other hand. I had my eyes peeled for Fred. I hadn’t seen him or Adina since the night before and it was already third block.
“Dyke,” sneezed some douchy football guy from my French section. I looked around to see what poor soul he was gay-bashing that day, then noticed a pile of brunettes in field hockey skirts gazing in my direction. I checked over my shoulder and saw Libby and Charlotte huddled against their lockers, watching me. They were sharing a tube of Pringles.
“Hi,” I said to Charlotte, sidestepping through the crowd. “What’s with the look?”
“What look?”
“Oh come on, you guys were staring.” I swung back around and noticed two guys from chem class giggling like toddlers. “Seriously? What is so goddamn funny?” Libby looked at the ground. Charlotte popped the top back on her chips. “Anyone?”
“No big deal.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh come on, it’s obviously not nothing.”
Charlotte licked her lips. “We heard.”
“What about?”
“You know. Last night.” She sniffed.
I felt dazed and disconnected. “What about last night?” What could they possibly know?
“You kissed Adina,” Charlotte said. “I thought you liked boys.”
I pulled back, startled. “I do.” They looked at me blankly. “I’m sorry, what exactly did you hear?”
They glanced at each other. “That you kissed Adina. That you, like, wanted to be with her, but she wasn’t into it.”
“Who did you hear that from?”
Libby snuck a thin lock of hair between her teeth and chewed.
“Adina.”
“She wouldn’t say that.”
“That’s exactly what she said.”
“You heard that from her?”
“I mean, I overheard her telling Glen Kelly.”
My head got cold. “You heard wrong.”
“I didn’t.”
Why would she say that? Why twist what’s true?
“Alex?”
I turned on tiptoe.
“It doesn’t matter to us. Whether you like girls or not. We don’t care.”
“Gee, Charlotte, thanks.” I walked on.
I waited for Adina outside her last class. I waited and watched while a crowd of kids sped by, pushing toward their lockers and cars.
“Adina.” She was only a few feet away. I reached out and grabbed her arm. “Hey.”
“Oh.” She kept walking. “I’m rushing, what’s up?”
“Well—” I was jogging alongside. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“So ask.”
“Can you stop moving, please?” I tugged on her sleeve. “For like, two seconds?”
“I’m late.”
“For what?”
“Piano.”
“Adina.”
“What?” She stopped. Her lips were pursed. “Quickly, okay? I have to go.”
“Did you . . . ?” is how I started. I didn’t want to have to say it. “What are you telling people?”
“About?” She feigned oblivion. “Can’t this wait?”
“Not really.”
“So? Spit it out.”
What was she? Friend? Foe? “Did you tell people about that kiss?”
Real quick: “No.”
“You didn’t? Because people are saying you did.”
Without pause: “I didn’t say shit.” Her cheeks were pink. “Clearly you said something. Or Fred.”
“Why would I say something?”
“Who knows? Maybe you’ve got some creepy crush on me and this is your way of expressing it.”
I flinched. “Hey. I’m not a liar.”
“Oh, and you think I am?” She smiled, and started off.
“Adina,” I called, wringing my hands, ready to cry.
“I’m late.” She flicked her wrist—one cruel little wave. “Gotta go.”
31.
I lay on a towel in Grams’s backyard; grass below, sky up high. I felt fine there. Crisp breeze. Late-day light. My own meditative retreat.
“You sleeping?”
Or not. It was Fred. I sat up. “You’re here?”
He kneeled down next to me. “Yeah, me.”
I made room on the towel. “Did you hear the news?”
“What news?”
“About me and Adina?”
He blinked.
“You didn’t hear?”
“What?”
“We kissed last night. You remember. I kissed her. I told her I liked girls and that I really wanted to be with her, but, you know, Adina, she’s straight, so I got shut down.” I picked at a cuticle. “It’s all over school.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? That’s all?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He looked weak, which enraged me. “What’s wrong with you?” No response. I took a breath, then came out with this: “Why does she hate me so much?”
“It’s not—she doesn’t hate you.”
“Why would she lie? I don’t even care, you know? I don’t care if people think I’m something I’m not. I have two real friends here—or, okay, one friend, I guess. You.” I hooked my hands underneath my knees. “Or, I dunno, are you even my friend?”
“Hey.” He touched my shoulder. “Of course I am.”
“So?”
He took a tiny breath, “This is about me,” he said, and picked a few blades of new grass. “She doesn’t like people.”
“Yeah, you say that a lot.”
“She gets jealous.”
“Of what?”
“Other girls.” He dug his nail into the dirt, tracing a deep, jagged line.
“She’s your sister.”
“Yeah, I know.” He shook his head. “You think we’re weird.”
“I just—I don’t get it. She controls your life.”
“She doesn’t.”
“She does. She doesn’t let you have friends.”
He put his hand near my hand. “Yeah, well, you freak her out.”
“Yeah? Why?” I was livid. “I’m a mouse. I’m a field mouse and she’s a fucking piranha.”
He laughed.
�
�Don’t laugh.” I whacked his arm.
He caught my hand and held it. “I’m sorry,” he said. His smile fell. “I like you. She knows I like you.” He laced his fingers through my fingers.
“You like me?” I asked.
Then I kissed him.
I pressed my lips to his lips, moving as close to him as I could possibly get. I rubbed my fingers against his blazer lapel and pulled him closer by a belt loop with my free hand. He kissed back, touching my shoulders, my hair, opening his mouth and pushing his tongue against my tongue. Sliding his pointer finger lightly past my ear, curling it around and down the front of my neck and stopping at the dip in the V of my sweater.
“Alex.” He pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, breathless and a little dizzy.
“I’m sorry,” he said, getting up on one knee.
“For what?”
“I should go.”
“Wait, why?”
He was standing now. I was still on the ground.
“I’m really sorry. It’s late.”
“It’s four thirty.” My eyes burned.
“Tomorrow,” he said, backing away real quick. “I’ll see you then?”
What had I done? Where was he going? “I—okay.”
He waved limply, then he was gone. I wiped my wet cheeks with dirty fingertips.
32.
I went to Dad’s. I didn’t call ahead, I just showed up. Quarter to nine, Thursday night. I wiggled my key in the back door lock, letting myself in. “Hello?”
He was on the couch, TV blaring, an arm draped around slutty Caroline. “Al?”
I dropped my bag and Chicken came running. She jumped, pawing my shoulders and chest.
“Al.”
Caroline leaped to her feet, adjusting the straps on her tank top. She was braless. “Alex.”
I felt nauseated. Sick seeing them together, so cozy. “It’s me,” I said, hovering by the door with the dog. “I should’ve called, sorry.”
“What’re you doing here?” Dad asked, muting the TV and getting up. “You’ve got school tomorrow, yeah?” He walked toward the back entryway where I stood.
“Yeah, I just—needed to get away for a bit.”
He leaned in for a kiss and I stepped sideways, pushing past him toward the den. “What’s all this?” Stacks of brown boxes with liquor logos lined the walls along the hall. “You going somewhere?”
Caroline stood nervously by the coat rack covering her boobs with her forearms. “We weren’t expecting you.”
“We?” I said, beelining for a stack and peeling back a box lid. “Is this my leftover stuff? Why are you moving it?”
“It’s not yours, babe.”
I spun on both heels, thrown. “Well whose is it?” Dad slipped an arm around Caroline’s waist. “Oh.” My throat knotted. “Oh, it’s yours?” My voice broke. “What, you’re, like, living here now?”
Neither said yes. Dad skipped yes and went straight to: “We were going to tell you.”
We again. “When?”
“I’ve only been here a couple of weeks.”
“Weeks?” I looked at Dad. “You’re not even divorced yet. Is that legal?” Back to Caroline. “How old are you, anyways?”
“Alex.”
I dashed passed them, grabbing my bag. “I’m going upstairs,” I said, too tired to drive back to Grams’s. “I’ll leave first thing, okay?”
“Al, you can stay as long as you like.” Then again, “Al.”
“What?” I considered blurting it, telling Caroline about the porch incident between Dad and Mom, the kissing. “It’s fine,” I said, resisting. It seemed like a shitty move—outing Dad to his baby girlfriend. Besides, at this point I had zero hope for parental reconciliation. “I’m going upstairs,” I said, my mind jumping to Fred. “I’ll be out of your hair by morning.” I pounded the steps, leaving Caroline and Dad in the dust.
I slept in, got up at eleven, and went downstairs in my socks and T-shirt. Caroline was on the floor unpacking books and broken CDs.
“Don’t you work?” I asked, breezing past her toward the kitchen.
“Funny.”
“I’m not kidding,” I said, grabbing the kettle off the stove and filling it with tap water. “Aren’t you a secretary or something?”
“Or something,” she said softly. So soft I could barely hear. Then: “I’m between jobs.”
“Oh.” I switched on the gas and shuffled forward.
“Don’t you have school?” she asked, not looking up. She was inspecting the spine of a paperback.
“I’m not going,” I said, resting against the doorframe, watching her. Wondering what she saw in Dad. What he saw in her—that was clear.
“You want food?”
“I’m leaving.”
“When? Your dad’ll be back by one.”
“I’ll be gone,” I said, following the call of the kettle.
“You should stay.”
“That’s okay.”
“I mean you’re here, it’s the weekend. What’s one more day?”
I filled my cup with steaming water. “Three’s a crowd. . . .” I mumbled, dropping a green tea bag into my mug. Three. Three used to feel right. Me, Mom, Dad—the perfect unit. Now three felt lopsided and odd. Me, Evie, Ben. Me, Adina, Fred. Someone was always, always getting pushed to the side. “Why?” I asked Caroline. “Why do you want me to stay?”
She glanced up. Her eyes, pretty and blank and blue. “You make your dad happy.”
I thought about Mom, home alone in pieces. Dad had Caroline. Mom had me, and I was here.
“Stay for lunch at least?”
I needed to leave. “Can’t. Besides, I can afford to skip a meal,” I muttered, shuffling past and back upstairs. “I’m fat enough as is,” I said, slamming my bedroom door shut.
33.
I spent the remainder of my weekend home with Mom, watching her smile wanly while wondering whether it was worth it to confess what I knew about Dad and Caroline. Fred hadn’t called once. Not even to ask why I’d missed school Friday. Clearly I’d wrecked everything. I’d taken a perfectly good friendship and made it all creepy and weird. If I’d been Evie, that kiss would have led to something sexy and momentous. But I was babyish and unappealing. Fine, I thought, alone in bed Sunday night. You don’t want me? Lesson learned.
Monday, I ate lunch alone on the field hockey field. Baby carrots and warm Diet Coke. Then, feeling hollow and nauseated, I walked to class. I passed the twins on my way. Fred’s eyes flicked in my direction, and my legs shook. Adina moved past without the teensiest glance.
* * *
At home, I sat with Mom on the couch downstairs. She lay on her side, her feet in my lap, laughing at some shitty rerun on channel four. Do I tell her? Keep quiet? The last thing I wanted was her feeling hopeless and miserable again—already she’d been knocked sideways and down.
“You want soda?” I patted her ankles then stood.
“Hmm?”
“I’m getting a Coke. You want something?”
She sat up, curling her knees to her chest. “Thanks for the foot rub, babe.”
“Yeah.”
“Grab me a water?”
I moved to the kitchen, the TV lighting my way. I pulled a Coke and a water bottle off the fridge door, then mustered the nerve to say, “Mommy?” I would come clean about Caroline’s move. She’d hear it from me, not Dad—perhaps that would soften the blow?
“Babe?” A muffled ding ding ding. “Babe, your phone.” I ran back to the den, dropped the drinks on the sofa, and grabbed my cell off the coffee table. One new text. From Fred. My heart sped up.
“Who is it?”
“Charlotte Kincaid.” An easy lie. Why burden her with shitty drama?
I’m sorry, it said. Can I see you?
I hit reply, then tapped nervously at my keypad. Sorry. With Mom, I wrote.
Seconds later: I’ll come to you. Please?
I glanced at my mother. Sipping her wate
r, clutching a pillow, she looked so small, like a girl. “I want candy,” I said, circling the couch. “You want anything from the liquor store?”
“You’re going out?”
“I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
She looked down at my hands, still clutching the phone.
“Be back soon, okay?” The Dad news could wait. I bent down and kissed her forehead. “You want chocolate?”
“Always.”
I grabbed my coat, keys, and lunged for the door.
We met at the 7-Eleven. We sat in the parking lot, in the front seat of my car, not talking. Until: “You’re furious.”
“No.” I spoke quickly. “I’m really not.”
He smelled sweet and smoky, like cigarettes and suckers.
“You hate me.”
“I don’t, no, why would you say that? I’m embarrassed,” I said, wiping my nose, looking down. “You embarrassed me.”
“How?”
“How?” I let out a small laugh. “You really have to ask?”
We were touching. Two palms. Fingers entwined. “The other day—I didn’t mean to freak out.”
I shrugged.
“Audrey Glick?” he said. “She made that girl miserable.”
“Adina?”
He nodded.
“What happened with her?”
“Nothing happened. She’s at Sacred Heart in Brooksville, alive and wearing a kilt.” He faced me. He let go of my hand and twisted my wrist toward the ceiling. “She’s not a bad person, Alex.” He said this softly, tracing a blue vein on my arm up up up. “She thinks she’s protecting me.” His finger lingered at my inner elbow.
“From who?” I got a chill.
“I dunno. You?” He laughed a little. “Absurd, right? The other day—” He stopped. “I just didn’t want—” Another pause. “She’s a little crazy, okay? Let me talk to her first?”
“First?”
“Let me tell her how I feel?”
Something rattled around in my chest. “How do you feel?” I asked, wondering what this was—a confession? Declaration? Did he love me want me need me?
“I feel great,” he said, leaning back against the windowpane, looking bright. “Right now I just feel—totally great.”
Her and Me and You Page 7