“Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone . . .”
Someone in Hubbard House loved Joni Mitchell. They also loved playing her songs at a deafeningly loud volume. As she approached the dorm after her last class, Laura could hear the pliant, girlish voice and free-spirited acoustic guitar from almost fifty feet away.
This particular song always made her tense. She couldn’t help it. That chorus offended her.
It simply wasn’t true. Not in her case, at least.
The trip to Fort Saybrook had been amazing. They’d hiked, eaten sandwiches outside a white clapboard house built in 1767 and strolled through what in the summer were lilac gardens but were now just patches of dirt and moss. It hadn’t mattered, though. As long as she was with Caleb, a walking tour of Wal-Mart would seem beautiful.
They’d talked a lot that afternoon. Caleb had laughingly recounted his rocky elementary years: He’d almost failed nursery school for refusing to sit in the circle and then sent shock waves through kindergarten by telling his humorless teacher that he planned to be a giraffe when he grew up (“The whole cowboy thing just never appealed,” he’d explained). The stories fascinated Laura. She drank them down; they became a part of her.
The day had brought them closer. More than ever, the two were always together. Or they were planning to be together.
She loved her life right now. At this very moment. She loved it all—Fenwick and Caleb and, okay, even Mr. Stade. The only reason the history teacher made her nervous in the first place was because he posed a potential threat to her, to the whole happy order.
No, as far as Laura was concerned, Joni Mitchell had no idea what she was talking about. Laura knew her life was special, that she was lucky to have it. She didn’t need it to be ripped away from her to learn that.
Calm down, she reminded herself. That song’s not about you, remember? Isn’t it about pesticides? Just forget it.
Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she glanced up at the sky. Angry gray storm clouds floated overhead. She made a mental note to put an umbrella in her backpack. She was due to meet Caleb in front of the library and if it wasn’t pouring by then it would start soon after.
Laura squeezed past a long black limousine that was parked just outside the dorm, blocking the steps.
She frowned. Who parks like that? she thought, rushing inside as the first crack of thunder licked the sky.
The Pogues parked like that.
They were all there, waiting for her: her mother, Mr. and Mrs. Pogue, Jenna Palmer—even the headmaster himself, Mr. Faber. And Willa, sitting between her parents, with red and teary eyes.
Willa met her gaze. “Sorry,” she mouthed.
Laura shook her head. “It’s okay,” she mouthed back. And then, because it had been months and just the sight of her friend was enough to calm her shaking hands, she tacked on, “I really missed you.” Instinctively she went to hug her mom, but Mrs. Pogue cleared her throat and she stopped.
“I’m chairing a benefit with Ginger Watson,” she began, glowering at Willa like this was somehow her fault as well. “We went to lunch the other day in Darien—she drove because I haven’t quite gotten used to my new car. And when we returned to her house, imagine my surprise when I found my daughter under my car like some sort of low-level carjacker—”
“Um, Mom, that’s not exactly how carjackers work—”
Willa trailed off as five pairs of angry eyes bore down on her. She dropped her gaze to the floor and studied the rug.
The Pogues were friends with the Watsons. Why hadn’t it occurred to her—to either of them—that Willa’s parents might be friends with at least one of the families on the cleaning roster? They’d thought they were being so clever. It was amazing they had made it this far. What a stupid, stupid, stupid plan.
Slowly, Laura looked up at her mother’s pale, drained face.
She could feel the guilt everywhere now—her stomach, ears, toes.
Her mother turned her head away.
Mrs. Pogue opened up a brand-new lecture—and a fresh can of shock. She spoke of her own life at Willa’s age, as a well-behaved, refined young woman and a perfect size two.
“Look, this is all my fault, okay?” Willa said suddenly. Her voice was shaky at first, then stabilized. “I just couldn’t deal with another school, so just punish me, okay? I made Laura do it. I forced her—” She broke off, burying her face in her hands as she started to cry.
As the room fell silent, Laura drifted between two versions of herself. It would be so easy to let Willa take the fall. They would believe her. Willa would take all the blame and Laura’s life would just silently, painlessly slide back to normal.
Only it wouldn’t. She knew it wouldn’t. If she were to become that person, she’d never be able to look in the mirror again. Or at Willa. Maybe, just maybe, her friend would give her a pass, forgive her for what she’d done. But Laura would hate herself forever.
No more lies. You just lose yourself.
“It’s not true,” she heard herself say. “I wanted to switch. Just for a while. I wanted a vacation from my life, too.”
Reaching up to her face, Laura touched her cheeks. Hot, bright crimson. She knew it.
Laura Melon was back.
The headmaster cleared his throat. “Whatever your intentions, this is a very serious situation. Willa has missed almost an entire semester of school. And Laura, despite your strong performance at Fenwick, you’re not a matriculated student.” He gestured toward her mother. “From what we’re told, you’ve already received your high school diploma. After thoroughly discussing the matter, Ms. Palmer, the Pogues and I have all decided that the best course of action is for you to vacate the premises immediately,” he continued, in a calm, firm monotone. “And quietly.”
“We’ll see that your belongings are forwarded to the proper address,” Ms. Palmer added, in a tone of voice far too snooty for a grown woman wearing overalls.
Laura didn’t bother to respond. She was sure Jenna Palmer had realized that everything in the room—from her clothing to her laptop—had all belonged to the Pogues. There would be no need for her to even leave a forwarding address.
Laura heard her mother thank the Pogues for being so understanding.
And then there was nothing left to say.
Laura turned to leave when she suddenly felt herself being swept into a bear hug.
“You’ve definitely been spending a lot of time with Angie,” Laura whispered.
“You know it, Professor,” Willa whispered back before rejoining her scowling parents.
34
Keep yourself quiet and composed under all circumstances.
—Manners, Etiquette and Deportment
John Young, 1883
Here she was. Again. In the wood-paneled study, waiting for yet another rendition of the “what it means to be a Pogue” lecture.
What a shocker.
At least this time around the circumstances were different. It was strange, but Willa was actually feeling a bit optimistic. It was all relative, of course, but the other reprimands had been triggered by terrible exams and an overall poor school performance. This time, well—you can’t have a GPA at a place you never attended in the first place.
So how bad could it be? Her parents didn’t have all that much material to work with.
Willa pictured their cold, disapproving faces.
On second thought, her parents had always proven themselves to be surprisingly resourceful.
She shuddered.
The study door creaked open, causing her to sit up a little straighter.
It was Emory. He walked a few steps into the room, then seemed to notice Willa for the first time.
“Excuse me,” he said. He stood rigid, his face sour. He looked like he’d just sat in something completely disgusting. He cleared his throat. “I had thought the room was empty. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Willa remembered her first morning at the Mortimers’
. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Thank you for asking, though.”
Emory froze, clearly unsure of where to place the sudden display of courtesy.
The study door snapped open and her parents marched in.
“Water, Emory,” her mother snapped. “Still, not sparkling.”
Emory turned. His eyes met Willa’s. “Thank you,” he said. And then he was gone.
“Appalling,” her mother began. “Simply appalling.” The drive home had been completely silent. Now the floodgates opened.
Her father cleared his throat. “You’ve lost an entire semester and, after this last stunt, have postponed graduation even further,” he announced, staring down at her. “But what’s even more troubling than your deplorable behavior is the fact that you have absolutely no goals or interests.”
As her father’s speech proceeded, Willa drew on her usual strategy: She held her body straight and alert while her mind reached for its thick, foggy slipcover. She had planned to tune in at the very end of the speech with some perfectly timed vow to do better. It was the way these wood-paneled discussions always unfolded.
But then she heard them. Those words: “you have absolutely no goals or interests.”
A year ago, she would have let it go. Six months ago, even. Because back then it was true.
Not now. Now was a different story entirely.
“But you’re wrong,” she said, cutting her father off. “I do have interests. I—I’m sorry I interrupted you, but see, that’s why I was under Mom’s car in the first place. Weren’t you even wondering about that?”
“I’m not sure I follow you.” Her father was looking at her mother, his eyebrows raised.
Willa sighed. “Cars, Dad. Automobiles?”
Her parents stared at her with blank, hollow expressions.
Willa sighed. “Listen,” she said, speaking slowly and enunciating every word. “I like cars. I like everything about them. I’ve been following NASCAR’s Chase for the Championship and I’ve gotten kind of into it. I’m learning all about cars, too—race cars and regular ones. I replaced a transmission the other day—well, this other girl and I did it together.” She took a deep breath, her eyes shining with excitement. “I really think—I mean, I have a lot to learn—but I think I could work the racing circuit one day. You know, on a pit crew. The thing is, well, I think I’m really good at this.”
Willa paused and stared up at her parents. To say they looked shocked was an understatement.
Slowly, Willa felt her spirit deflate. I should’ve known better. Why even try?
“The thing is,” her mother started, “I think you’ve forgotten once again who you are. As a Pogue you have a responsibility . . .”
But Willa was no longer listening. Instead, her thoughts had turned to Angie. Angie had said they were family and, in a weird way, they had been. Willa’s former roommate had supported and encouraged her in a way that her own parents never had. Maybe it simply wasn’t their way, but at the moment, that didn’t seem like much of an excuse.
And just like that, something inside her snapped. An engine roared. Tires squealed. Spark plugs fired.
I’ve done my time, she decided.
“You know what?” Willa said, standing. “I hate being a Pogue. Why do you think I even switched places with Laura in the first place? I was happier scrubbing bathrooms and floors—as someone else—than I ever was being a Pogue.” She turned to her mother. “Whatever happened with the ballet? Did you stop dancing because you married a Pogue?”
Her mother gaped at her. “I’m sure I don’t . . .,” she started, then seemed to lose her place midthought.
“Willa, sit down!” her father yelled. “Your behavior is atrocious.”
Willa ignored him. Her mother’s eyes had taken on a deep, far-off cast. “Because if that’s why you stopped,” Willa pressed, “I mean, if you really loved it—that’s kind of pathetic, right? ’Cause I think, well, maybe all of our dead relatives would forgive you.” Fat, salty tears rolled down her cheeks and into her mouth. “And even if they didn’t, who really cares anyway? They’re dead.”
This time around she didn’t wait for a reaction. Voices floated around her but it was too late for that now. Willa stood and pushed through the door without looking back, leaving her parents in the wood-paneled study alone with her words.
35
It’s so hard to say good-bye.
—Febreze
When the headmaster had told Laura to vacate the premises immediately, he hadn’t been joking.
As soon as she and her mother left her dorm room, two campus security guards met them in the hall and escorted them to the station wagon.
Not that the act was particularly menacing. The guards’ combined age probably teetered somewhere around one hundred and sixty. But Laura got the point. Anyway, it didn’t matter. She was in no mood to hang around. And she doubted her mother would be interested in a campus tour.
It had stopped raining and as she walked, Laura kept her eyes glued to the slick, wet pavement. If she couldn’t be a part of Fenwick anymore, maybe she could forget it had ever existed in the first place.
“Willa!”
The voice that echoed across the quad caused Laura to freeze midstep.
“Willa!”
Her heart twisted in her chest. That voice didn’t belong to her anymore. Even so, she couldn’t seem to move.
“Miss, we really should be moving along,” said the older of the two security guards. His tone was gentle.
Laura looked up. Caleb was less than fifty feet away from her. He was looking at her, at the security guards and at her mother. She could see his mind trying to wrap around the situation.
“Willa?”
And then Caleb froze. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was looking past her and his face had paled.
Laura turned her head slightly, even though she already knew what—or who—was there.
Willa Pogue and her parents. The real deal.
Laura ran to the car.
“Mom,” she said, her voice catching in her throat, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to cut your trip short. I’m sorry about everything. I honestly never meant to hurt anyone. Neither of us did.”
“I know,” her mother said softly, her eyes moist. “But I just . . . I feel like I don’t know you, Laura. I feel like the Laura I raised wouldn’t do something like this.” She shook her head as her hands gripped the steering wheel. “Sure, I know maybe the work we do isn’t glamorous, but I thought you were proud of our life. I know I was always so proud of you.”
Laura stared at her feet. “I guess I just wanted to see what someone else’s life was like for a while. Sort of escape. It didn’t seem all that complicated at the time.”
“Dreams are important. Why do you think I play the Lotto and spend so much time entering sweepstakes?” Laura’s mother turned to her, her face serious. “But there’s a big difference between playing the lottery and stealing the award money. Don’t you see that? And I know you didn’t mean to—I know you and Willa made a deal—it certainly wasn’t malicious or anything. But whether you intended to or not, you did steal.”
Months ago, Laura had called Willa a spoiled brat. But she was spoiled too. Selfish and spoiled. She’d let everyone down. Her mother. Caleb. Mr. Stade. None of them had deserved this.
When they got home, Laura raised herself out of the car and followed her mother inside. She trudged through the apartment as if in a trance and headed straight to her room. She wanted—no she needed—her bed. Now. She was too depressed to do anything else. Her head was throbbing.
“Hey, Professor! Come on in!” Angie boomed as she swept her into a hug. “I did a little cleaning ’cause your mom said she’d probably bring you back with her.” Angie dropped her onto the ground with one arm and waved her into the room with the other. “I’d been sleeping in her room for months, but now that she’s back, I guess you and me, we’re officially roommates, huh?”
Laura
looked around, surprised to find that Angie had been incredibly respectful of her space. Her half of the room was exactly as she’d left it, while only Angie’s side was wallpapered with pictures of Yellow Thunder and various types of above- and belowground swimming pools.
Laura sank down onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I guess you heard about all the trouble Willa and I got into,” she said. She wondered if Angie was planning on rescinding her nickname. After today, it seemed sort of unlikely that anyone would think she was smart.
Angie nodded. “I heard,” she said, lying back on her own bed. “You know, I got to tell you, I figured out that girl wasn’t you awhile back.”
“Wait. What?” Laura jerked up and swung her legs around. “Did Willa tell you?”
Angie laughed. “Take it easy, Professor. Nothing like that.”
“Then what? How did you know?”
“You guys are real look-alikes, that’s for sure.” Angie gazed fondly at a picture of Yellow Thunder. “Only, that girl was like a class A mechanic. You should have seen her.” She smiled at the memory. “And the only time I showed you Yellow Thunder, no offense, well—you were all thumbs.”
Laura closed her mouth, which she hadn’t realized was hanging open. “I don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. Why wasn’t Angie strangling her? Why wasn’t she looking at her like she was a criminal? “You were living with a stranger for months. Weren’t you mad? Didn’t you want to say something?”
Angie shrugged. “Nope. It’s not really my style to nose around,” she said. “Like I said before, I like her. I like you, too. Either way, I had a cool roommate.” She looked at Laura. “And you know, when your mom told me the whole story I got it right away. I could see why you switched, you know? I can’t blame you guys for that.”
“Why not?” Laura said. Of all the exchanges she’d had today, this was by far the most baffling.
Angie shrugged like the answer was written on Laura’s headboard. “Everyone wishes they were someone else once in a while.”
Laura stared at her. Angie, she realized, was much more of a “professor” than she was. “Angie,” she said, “would you have done what Willa and I did?”
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