“Unless we have a time machine,” I said.
“That’s right,” she said. “But I’m guessing you don’t.”
I scuffed the toe of my shoe against the chair. “Right.”
“So, let’s talk about the next couple of months and the coming year. What do they hold for you, ideally?”
“I’d like to graduate,” I said. “I’d like to go to my grad ceremony. I know there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell of being prom queen now, but, I’d like to at least go to my prom.”
She nodded. “Okay. Good. Anyone in particular you’d like to go to the prom with?”
I shook my head, shrugging miserably.
“You don’t have a—”
“No.”
“Okay,” she said. “That’s okay.”
“Everyone probably already has their date,” I said.
“Your prom’s in June?”
I nodded.
“That’s still months away, Abby. Lots of time.”
“Yeah, but I can’t even go if I don’t graduate. Plus, I don’t want to go looking like this.” I pointed to my face.
“There’s a good chance the spots on your face will be cleared up by then. They’re already looking better.”
“Really?”
“I can’t promise anything, but, like I said, there’s a good chance.”
I squeezed my eyes shut tight. “That would be awesome.”
“And when do you expect to find out if you’re going to graduate?”
“Not until June.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “And you’ve been keeping up with your studies? Doing your homework and all of your assignments?”
“I’ve been trying,” I said.
“Good. So let’s suppose you do graduate, then what?”
“I’d been hoping to go to USC in Los Angeles to study acting, but I can’t go unless I get a full scholarship. It’s a cheerleading scholarship, so it’s contingent on me staying on the squad, and the coach writing me a letter of recommendation.”
“I see,” Dr. Rodriguez said.
“Except it looks like that’s not going to happen anymore because, well, obviously I can’t do stunts or really too much physically demanding activity right now. Maybe not ever again…”
“And have you talked to your coach about this?”
“Not yet. That’s why I’m going back to Texas this weekend. To talk to her in person.”
“That’s good, Abby,” Dr. Rodriguez said. “That shows real initiative.”
“Thanks.”
“But here’s my question: if you do get the cheerleading scholarship to USC, won’t you be expected to be a cheerleader for them?”
“I guess so, yeah.”
“And if you can’t cheer for them, will you be able to keep attending the university?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“I see. So even if you do graduate, even if you do get the scholarship, you might not be able to keep studying at USC if you can’t cheer.”
I nodded. “Basically, I’m screwed. Whatever happens, I’m screwed. That’s the bottom line.”
“Not necessarily,” she said. “We just need to come up with a plan B.”
“THERE IS NO PLAN B!”
Dr. Rodriguez sat back in her chair, startled.
“This has been the plan for as long as I can remember and there’s nothing else I want to do and there’s nowhere else I want to go!”
She held up her hands. “Okay.”
“I don’t even like cheerleading! I just did it so I could get the stupid scholarship!” I laughed. “I’m such an idiot. All those hours of practice, the cheer camps, entire weekends…wasted. And for what?”
“I’m sure it wasn’t all a waste, Abby.”
“It will be if I can’t get into USC.” Tears blurred my vision.
Dr. Rodriguez drummed her fingertips against the desk. “I think we should speak to someone at the university to confirm. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they won’t require you to be on the squad there.”
“I really hope you’re wrong.” My voice was tiny and far away. The present sucked balls, and the future wasn’t looking any better.
The next day, Dr. Rodriguez helped me figure out who at USC could answer my question. She let me use the phone in her office and gave me some privacy. After waiting on hold for what felt like an hour, I finally got through to the right person. It turned out that if you get the scholarship, they expect you to cheer for them, just like Rodriguez had said. But all I could do was cling to the hope that I would somehow, some way be able to do it—in some capacity—but first I had to actually get the scholarship.
Scott and I went for a walk that night and I told him I was going home for a visit on the weekend.
“Lucky,” he said. “They don’t let us leave.”
“You went on that field trip.”
“Not the same.”
“How much longer are you here for?”
“Two more weeks,” he said, kicking a rock. “Then home to face the music.”
“Hey,” I said. “It could be worse. You could have leprosy.”
We laughed. “Well, when you put it that way…”
We walked through a grove of old, mossy oaks, their knotted limbs reached up to the sky like tentacles. An owl hooted above us, and Scott closed his hand around mine. I was so surprised, I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing, just stared straight ahead, hoping he couldn’t see the crimson blush creep over my face.
“Is this okay?” he said.
“Yep,” I said.
“Okay. Good.”
I smiled, looking at him from the corner of my eye.
“I like hanging out with you,” he said.
“Me too.”
“I can’t hang out with any of my old friends when I get back home,” he said.
“Why not?”
“For some of them, it’s part of their probation that they can’t hang out with me.”
“Oh.”
He ground his jaw. “They all have criminal records. Two of them have court dates coming up.”
“That’s rough,” I said.
“I wish you lived in Oklahoma City. Then at least I’d have one friend.”
“We could talk on the phone,” I said.
“Yeah…I’m not very good on the phone. It’s so…phony.”
I laughed. “Maybe we could visit each other,” I said. “Do you have a car?”
“No. But I could steal one.”
“Really?”
“No!”
I laughed. “Right. Yeah. Don’t do that. You wouldn’t want to end up in…”
“A place like this?”
“Exactly.”
He shrugged, gave me the side-eye. “It has its perks.”
“Besides,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be all reformed after this program?”
He smirked. “I guess we’ll find out in two weeks.”
We didn’t say anything for a while, just walked along, holding hands, and it was really, really nice.
“Are you going to your prom?” I asked.
“Oh hell no. I hate that shit.”
“Oh.”
“Why? Are you going to yours?”
I shrugged. “Probably not. I doubt anyone will ask me.”
“Couldn’t you go with a friend or something?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
I sighed. “My friends…turned out to be not such good friends,” I said.
“I hear that,” said Scott.
“When I needed them most, they stopped talking to me. Pretended I didn’t exist.”
“Do you want me to beat them up?” Scott asked.
I laughed. “Kind of.”
“Give me their addresses. It shall be done.”
“No.”
“You sure? It’s no problem.”
“Yeah.” I laughed. “It’s okay.”
“We could pull a Carrie at your prom. Dump pig’s
blood all over everyone.”
“It wasn’t Carrie who did that. It was the mean kids who did it to her.”
“Oh yeah. Carrie burnt it all down.”
“Right.”
“Well, we could do that too.”
“I don’t really feel like getting charged with arson.”
“It’s no big deal,” he said. “Until you’re eighteen, nothing sticks anyways.”
“Scott?”
“Yeah, Tex?”
“How come you hate prom?”
“Because it’s stupid! Everyone spends way too much money on clothes they’ll never wear again, they drink too much, make fools of themselves, and make poor choices like driving drunk and having sex without a condom. Proms are just disasters waiting to happen. Plus all that king and queen bullshit. What is that? Oh, you’re so popular and gorgeous so I’m going to vote for you so that you can wear a stupid plastic crown on your already too-big head? Come on.”
“But…You only get one prom. Aren’t you afraid you might regret not going?”
“Not a chance. I’ve been to one. It was one too many.”
“Oh,” I said. I scratched the back of my neck, letting go of his hand.
“This girl I knew was in twelfth grade last year. She took me as her prom date. It was embarrassing. She made me wear this hideous baby-blue tux, hang out with all her annoying friends—”
“I see.”
“Look, it was a really fucked-up night, okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
“I don’t like to talk about it.”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“But I want to tell you. I feel like I should tell you.”
“Okay.”
He sighed. “She ended up getting really smashed that night. I mean, super drunk.”
I nodded.
“There were these guys at the party…They’re not my friends. I knew them, a few of them, but they weren’t my friends.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “They got her upstairs. I saw her going up there with them. I mean, she was still talking and walking and everything. She said she was okay.” He shrugged. “So I didn’t do anything. I didn’t stop her or anything. Just went back to playing beer pong like a total asshole.”
I bit my lip.
“So. Anyways. Long story short. Whatever happened upstairs got her so messed up that she killed herself two weeks later.”
“Holy shit.” My hand flew over my mouth. “I’m so sorry, Scott. That’s…that’s terrible.”
“Worst part is?” He pointed to his chest. “I could have stopped it.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said.
“But it kind of is though. Or close enough.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Everyone knew I was her prom date. That she was basically my responsibility that night. And did I ever fuck that up royally. After she died, people treated me like a total…”
“Leper?”
He let out a short laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“I’m really sorry, Scott.”
He rubbed his hand over his face. “It is what it is. Maybe part of the reason I hate prom so much.”
We were quiet for a moment.
“Look, I don’t know why I told you that. I wasn’t going to tell you. It just kind of…came out. Please don’t hate me, Abby.”
“I don’t hate you,” I said.
“You don’t? You should. I’m a total fuck-head.”
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Yeah. You probably don’t.”
I laughed. “I think maybe the last five years of my life were a mistake. Maybe my whole life. Definitely all of high school.”
He smiled a tiny bit. “Thank you.” He took my hand again and squeezed it gently in his.
The moon was a silver teardrop shining down on us. We headed back to my apartment then, and I thought about how there are so many things that can go wrong in a life, so many things that are unfair, that are awful. And the older you get, the more sad things there are.
I gave Scott a long hug good night. We didn’t say anything, just held on tight like we were trying to keep each other from breaking apart.
When I got back to my room I started getting ready for bed, but I couldn’t get Carrie Nelson out of my mind. I lay awake half the night thinking about her. She was in twelfth grade and pregnant with Jude Mailer’s baby. What was she going to do? What were they going to do? I had assumed Carrie and Jude would be smart enough to use protection. But then, I hadn’t with Chad. That could’ve been me right now, pregnant. God. I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done. Luckily, that was one thing I didn’t have to worry about. My life may have been completely screwed up, but my period was as regular as ever. Would I trade places with Carrie right now if I could? So she could have Hansen’s disease and I could be pregnant with Jude’s baby? I don’t know. I realized that Carrie wouldn’t be able to be on the cheer team this year either. It would be too risky; if she fell, the baby…But instead of feeling smug about that, I just felt bad for her. I knew Carrie loved cheerleading. Probably more than me, Marla and Liz combined, and now she wouldn’t get to cheer in her senior year. For a good long while after Jude dumped me, I hated Carrie. I mean, really hated her, wished bad things for her, scowled at her in the halls, called her awful names behind her back, all that. But now that I was at Carville, everything felt different. I didn’t hate her at all. Or wish anything bad for her. I felt sorry for her and I wished there was something I could do to help her. Maybe she and Jude would get married. Doubtful, but it could happen. I hoped that whatever happened, it would be the best-case scenario. For both of them. There was no great option, of course, but I hoped that whatever decision Carrie and Jude made, they wouldn’t hate each other for it, wouldn’t regret it for the rest of their lives.
Scott and I hung out the next day too. During his free period we went to the old canteen, which had been turned into a games room. There was a pool table, shuffle board and a bunch of ancient board games stacked along the walls.
He picked up a pool cue and surveyed the table. “Looks like this pool table has been here since the dinosaurs roamed the Earth.”
The green felt was all chewed up and the legs were scratched and gouged.
“Are you trying to find excuses before we start?” I said.
“Rack ’em up,” he said.
So I did.
We were tied two–two and then we had the rubber match. The last game was really close, but Scott ended up sinking the eight ball when he still had the six on the table.
“Nooooo!” he yelled and mimed flinging his cue against the wall.
“Victory is mine!” I held my cue in both hands and raised it over my head, turned a little circle.
“I bow to you, goddess of billiards.” He got down on one knee and lowered his head.
“As you must,” I said.
“Give me another chance tomorrow?” he said as he stood up, brushing the dust off his pants.
“If you’re good,” I said.
“I’m not good,” he said. “But I’m lucky.” He grinned at me.
“We’ll see about that.”
It was fun, being with him. For a short while, I could even forget where I was, and why I was there. But as soon as we stepped outside, the spell was broken.
Lester and Grace kept chickens and a Tom turkey behind their cottage and the turkey had gotten out. They were both chasing after him, their arms outstretched, stumbling around blindly. The bird seemed to know they couldn’t see him and would move just out of reach as they approached. Scott and I turned to each other. His mouth turned up at the corner and then we both burst out laughing.
“Don’t just stand there guffawing!” Lester yelled at us. “Help us get him back!”
When you get up close to a turkey, they’re actually kind of scary looking. Their skin is all bumpy and red. And they’re bigger than you’d think. They look kind of demonic. A turkey could probably r
eally hurt you if it wanted to. Scott and I approached cautiously.
“What do you want us to do?” Scott called.
“Catch the darned thing before an alligator gets to it!” Grace said.
Scott lunged for the turkey and it flapped away. I laughed. He lunged for it again and it hopped out of reach. I laughed harder. He turned to me. “Don’t laugh! It’s hard!” He tried a third time and still the turkey got away. “How do you catch him?” he called to Lester.
“Grab his tail feathers!” Lester called.
“Get him by the legs!” Grace said.
He tried for a while longer while I covered my mouth with both hands so he couldn’t see me laughing. Finally, Scott got a hold of the turkey’s legs and was able to hold him.
“Oh good!” Grace said. “He’s got him.”
“How did you know that?” I asked her.
“The sound,” she said, pointing to her ear.
“What do you want me to do with him?” Scott said.
“Put him back behind the fence,” said Lester.
Scott heaved the turkey over the fence and it flapped to the ground, squawking.
“Thank you, son,” Lester said.
“Great job!” said Grace, chuckling.
“You’re welcome,” Scott said, wiping his brow. He turned to me, smiled. “Shall we?” he said.
I giggled and took his arm. We started back toward my apartment.
“That was amazing,” I said.
“Oh, yeah? You liked that?”
“You must be the best turkey catcher in all of Oklahoma,” I said. “Maybe the best in the Midwest.”
“I reckon it wasn’t too bad for my first time.”
“That was your first time? No! I don’t believe it. You’re a natural!”
“Hey now,” he said. “I didn’t see you going after that bird.”
“How could I have? I didn’t want to steal your thunder. Especially after beating you so badly at pool.”
“It was kind of fun, actually.”
“Maybe he’ll get out again tomorrow and you can do it all over again.”
“Here’s to hoping.”
I laughed.
“What are you doing now?” he said as we stood in front of the steps to my apartment.
I checked the time on my phone, stifled a yawn. “I should probably take a nap,” I said. “All that turkey catching and pool winning really took it out of me.”
Confessions of a Teenage Leper Page 14