I nod, and she walks over to me. I can’t believe Amber Goodman is actually talking to me. She lifts up her sweatshirt and peels off a thin layer of plastic wrap to reveal a hand with an eye in the middle.
“It’s a hamsa,” she says. “It’s supposed to protect you from negative energies. The eye keeps away the evil eye. It looks gross now, but it should heal in, like, a week. Kinda stupid to get one now, because I can’t go to the beach or swim or anything, but it’ll heal soon.”
“Cool.”
“What are you doing at school?”
“Oh, I forgot my book for English and we have a project. What about you?”
“I get tutoring for math every Wednesday at this time, but I forgot about the stupid testing this week. My parents are monsters and make me go. I don’t really care about math. What’s the book?”
“The Outsiders.”
“I love that book!”
“You like to read?”
“Yes. Do you think I’m some idiot who has no interests or hobbies?”
“No, no. Not at all. I think you’re, like…”
“Like what? A slut? Crazy? Psycho?”
“The coolest girl in school. And you’re dating Milo Vance, so, like—”
“I’m not dating Milo Vance. He’s, like, my best friend. Sorry, I’ve just been getting a lot of shit lately from my girlfriends because I’m hanging out with him and his friends a lot. They just don’t understand that I get along better with guys. Girls cause so much drama, and I’m just over it.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of where I’m at now, too.”
“I actually heard you liked Milo, but I didn’t think it was true…”
“Where did you hear that?”
“From him. He said you guys talk a lot, but I didn’t think it was true, because you’re too smart for him. I love the kid, don’t get me wrong, but he’s…I don’t know how to say it without sounding terrible, but…you’re too good for him.”
I’m shocked when she says it: Amber Goodman telling me I’m too good for Milo Vance. I wonder if she’s only telling me that because she really likes him and doesn’t want me to interfere or if she really means it and I am better than him and need to move on. Maybe she just feels bad for me.
“I’m serious,” she says. “You’re smart, and that’s worth something. People think of you as the smart girl in your grade. You know how people see me? As a skank.”
“I just can’t imagine why girls wouldn’t like you. My friends think it’s cool if you hook up with someone.”
“They just think I flirt with all the guys and sleep with everyone. And it’s not true. I’ve never even had sex. God, don’t tell anyone that. It’s embarrassing, but it’s true. I just don’t get along with girls, because…well, my dad says because they’re jealous of me, but I don’t know, they’re just bitches.”
I try my best to keep back the tears. I’m reminded of calling Jensen a bitch at the party, when really I was just mad about the situation with Milo. None of this is really even worth getting upset over, but it hurts. It seems like even Amber has a hard time with it. I wonder if I should ask her for advice, but the tears start to fall before I can even speak.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I manage to say, and look down, away from her pretty face. “It’s just…hard.” I begin to cry.
“Sweetie, it’s okay!” She puts her arms around me and hugs me. I cry into her sweatshirt.
“Hey, what are you doing today?” Amber asks. “Do you wanna go to the mall and get coffee or something? I have my dad’s car. We can just chill out and relax.”
I really want to go and spend the day with Amber, but I remember my mom waiting outside telling me to hurry up.
“My mom drove me. She’s waiting for me, actually. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Go be with your mom. I wish my mom was still around. You’re lucky,” Amber says.
I think about how hard it must be not to have a mom. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I know Amber lives with her dad and her mom isn’t in the picture anymore. There’re rumors that she died, was murdered, left Amber’s dad because he cheated on her, etc. But it makes me think about what it would be like if my dad had to be the one to raise Brad and me, since our dad commutes. He didn’t want to risk trying to find work down south, since his paycheck was what kept our family alive. He explained to us that lots of dads commute to their jobs, but Brad had a hard time understanding this. I used to go with my mom every week, as often as I could, to the airport in West Palm Beach to pick up my dad when he returned for the weekend. I’d watch my parents kiss, and my dad would hug me, and I’d feel so special, like we were a happy little family. Brad said Dad was abandoning us, that he should be home to actually raise us, but I guess I just realized he was doing it to support us, so we could have nice things and go nice places. My mom was always the one to take us to our checkups and meetings, to Disney World and museums, to take care of us in that way, while my dad was solely responsible for putting money in the bank, loving us in that way, a different way. As I stand in front of Amber, I wonder what life would be like if it was the other way around, if I was in her shoes, our same red Converse.
“Thank you, Amber.”
“I know I probably seem like a bitch, but I have feelings—we all do. Us book nerds gotta stick together.” She smiles again.
“I hope your tattoo heals fast.”
“Thanks, babe. I just have to stop picking at it and let it be.”
I grab the book from my locker, and Amber walks out with me. My mom is waiting and gives me a look like, What took so long? Amber waves bye as I get into my car and she continues walking to the parking lot.
“Who was that?” my mom asks.
“Amber,” I say. “She’s nice.”
I never spoke to Amber again in person, but I continued to see her in the hallways at school over the coming years. She always had a new boyfriend: the quarterback of the football team, the star pitcher of the baseball team, some older guy she met at a college party. When she graduated, she moved across the country, and I followed her life online. She went to school somewhere with seasons, and she enjoyed hiking in the snow and being in nature, the polar opposite of Florida. She fell in love with someone she thought she’d be with forever, but he broke her heart time and time again, until they split and she moved back to Florida. I saw her at the mall when we were both home for periods of time. We didn’t speak, but we nodded at each other. Two girls who’d had a rough go of it. She eventually met the real love of her life, and they got married and had a baby, all within the span of one year. I “like” the photos, but when I go to write a comment, I never know what to say. I want to thank her for being kind to me. I want to tell her she’s going to be okay even though she already is. Or maybe I still want her to tell me I’ll be okay, like she did for me that day at the lockers. I want her to know how much it meant to be seen.
I start reading The Outsiders on the drive back home, and by the end of the day I’m almost finished. I keep thinking about Amber, though, and I wonder if she went to the mall and walked around alone with a coffee. I imagine that she did, and that somewhere out there she’s having a nice time.
* * *
—
Kenzie calls me and invites me to a party in Coral Springs, which isn’t far from where she lives in Parkland. She says it’ll be the best party of spring break. I wasn’t aware there were any other parties over the break, but I guess I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t gone out at all. I ask her if any of the other girls are going, and she says all of them are either grounded or away.
“Gottlieb got grounded because her parents found a condom in her trash can, Tomassi is in Cancún until Sunday, Leigh is also grounded for taking her mom’s pills—again—and Jensen is in the Keys with her neighbors or something,�
�� Kenzie explains.
“What about Rosenberg?” I ask.
“Oh, I just didn’t want to invite her because she’s a little slut.”
This is ironic coming from Kenzie, but I press on anyway. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I know you guys are friends or whatever, but I heard she had sex with Chris Saul, like, just to get popular. That’s, like, not a reason you sleep with someone. I don’t even think she likes him. They have nothing in common.”
Kenzie usually hooks up with older guys, but maybe she does it because she really likes them. It’s just weird that she’s judging Rosenberg when she herself has done way worse. I also realize I’m a last-resort invite for the party, but it is a party, and I want to go.
“You in?”
“I just thought you didn’t like me, I mean, after what you said.”
“Oh, right. Well, I’m sorry I called you a bitch. I didn’t really care about the sleepover anyway.”
“Thank you,” I say, thinking it might be the best way to accept someone’s apology without adding to it and apologizing for something else in return.
“So. Do you want to go with me or not?”
* * *
—
My mom drops me off at Kenzie’s house. I haven’t slept at Kenzie’s house all year, mostly out of choice. She has a wild reputation, and I’d rather have sleepovers at my house, where there’s some kind of form and structure. Her parents are never home, and such is the case when I arrive early on Saturday night. My mom thinks we’re having a normal sleepover. She trusts me, and it’s starting to kill me inside. I almost want her to ground me or tell me what I’m doing is wrong so I can stay in my room forever. I’ve heard my parents say that my brother has social anxiety, and I’m starting to think I have it, too. I just have a hard time being around people, and I overthink things constantly. Sometimes even the lunchroom is too much to handle. But to be honest, eating alone in the library isn’t so bad.
Kenzie says I can borrow whatever I want to wear tonight, since nothing I brought is “appropriate,” which in this case actually means the opposite. I only brought jeans and plain shirts, but Kenzie picks out this pair of light blue Buffalo jeans that are too small on her and a gold V-neck shirt for me to wear. Everything is super tight, but it looks good. I’m wearing my favorite push-up bra, and it makes my boobs look huge. She wears dark jeans and a baby-blue top that shows off her cleavage, too. We both straighten our hair, and she asks me to do her makeup. I’m not really good at it, but she just wants me to pamper her. When I’m done, she says I didn’t use enough eyeliner, and I feel really bad until she simply puts on more and then says I did great.
Since neither of us drives, Kenzie’s boyfriend, Charles, is picking us up and taking us to the party.
“He’s so annoying,” Kenzie says, running the flat iron over her hair as I sit on her bed and watch.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want perfume? You can grab one from my dresser. Just don’t use the Juicy one—that’s what I’m wearing, and we can’t smell the same.”
“Okay.” I get up and walk to her dresser. There are at least twenty perfumes. The bottles are all different; one has a puff that sprays, one is in the shape of a girl’s body, one is a bouquet of flowers where the flowers lift up and apart to reveal the spritzer. It reminds me of my aunt Elena. She has more than a hundred perfumes in the guest bathroom of her house. Every time I’m there, I open a new one and try it out on my neck, like she taught me. I find the Juicy perfume, and it smells so good, just like Kenzie always smells. It makes me wonder why she even has any other ones.
“Fine, you can use that one. It’s the best anyway, I know.”
“Thanks.” I dab some on my neck. “Why is Charlie annoying?” I ask.
“Ugh. He just follows me around like a puppy dog. He always wants to hang out. For Valentine’s Day, he made me chocolate-covered strawberries.”
“That sounds sweet.”
“Sweet if I wanted to gain ten pounds. I think I’m going to break up with him, tonight maybe. Do you think I should?”
“I mean…”
“It’s nice to have a boyfriend, but I should be dating around, seeing what else is out there.”
“I guess…”
“Although, Charlie is popular and gets invited to all the parties. But his friend Pierce Stein is such a hottie. It’s so hard!”
The house phone rings, and the guard at the gate tells Kenzie that Charlie is here. She says, “Let him in,” and I tell her I’m going to use the bathroom before we leave. I don’t even have to pee. I just want to look at myself in the mirror and remember what it’s like to be with a cool girl for the night, a girl who has all the options and choices in the world and doesn’t even care. Kenzie will probably always be like this, I think. She’ll always have everything. Kenzie ended up getting into the most popular sorority in college, becoming a real-estate agent, and marrying the “perfect” guy. Her smile never seems real to me, though—like maybe it’s just about checking off all the boxes for her. There’s a light in her eyes that’s missing. My therapist might call something like this a projection of self, but something about her life just feels fake to me, like it’s all an illusion of happiness.
“You can borrow shoes, too!” Kenzie screams. Her feet are two sizes bigger than mine, so I wear a pair of her mom’s booties, only a half size too big.
We get into Charlie’s car, and he kisses Kenzie on the lips. She’s in the passenger seat, and I sit in the back, behind Charlie.
“Hey, babe,” Charlie says, staring at Kenzie. “You look hot.”
“Thanks,” Kenzie says, pulling down the vanity mirror to reapply her lip gloss, which is dark red and makes her lips look swollen. “Let’s go, we’re already late.”
I look out the window, and the sun is setting. I watch the colors fade into one another and remember doing this when I was little. I loved watching the world go by without my having to do anything. I could just exist.
“What’s going on with you and Jensen?” Kenzie asks, breaking the silence in the car.
“Nothing. I mean, I haven’t talked to her. I don’t know, I guess.” Which is true.
“Last time I talked to her, she said you were a bitch at Chris Saul’s party but that she doesn’t hate you or anything.”
“I was a bitch? She was! She—” I stop myself and remember that they’re still friends and whatever I say to Kenzie will be relayed to Jensen. “I don’t hate her, either. I miss her, actually. I just needed a break, I guess.”
“It’s good to take breaks from friends. Me and you took a break for a while, and now look at us!” I wasn’t aware that Kenzie and I took a “break” from being friends, but I guess it’s true. I had been choosing not to hang out with her because of her reputation, but she’s really not so bad. She seems pretty understanding, actually. Maybe I was wrong. “You guys are best friends, though. It’ll work itself out.”
“Do you think I should make up with her?”
“Ha! She asked me the same thing.”
* * *
—
Another party. Another kitchen table full of red cups and alcohol. A year ago I was still going to Boomers! to drive go-karts and climb the rock wall. It seems stupid to want those things again, simple things, kid things. I look at Kenzie, in her outfit with her hair and makeup, and wonder if this is what the rest of my high school life will be like, trying to get popular, trying to impress people. It feels like I have to try so hard now. I wish we could just be kids again, arm in arm at the fair, running, free.
Outside, kids are sitting around a circular table, packing weed into a hookah, calling greens, which means they go first, picking the order for how they will partake. Kenzie makes her way to the kitchen table and pours us two vodka-cranberry drinks. These have become my favorite, because they’re
easy to drink and taste like juice. Charlie goes to talk with some other older kids. Kenzie’s told me before that he doesn’t smoke and he hates when she does it, so she can’t do it around him. She says it’s cool if I want to, and I just tell her I’m good, no thanks, it’s okay. It’s mostly sophomores and juniors at the party, mostly guys from the swim team like Charlie, tall, skinny, lanky boys who like to party. Charlie has short blond hair and brown eyes and a six-pack. The swimmers are all in great shape. I see them practicing sometimes in the morning if I’m early enough when I pass the pool, walking to the 300 Building for English. I can’t tell if they see me, because they’re wearing goggles, but I stare anyway, in hopes they will stare back. There’s something hot about swimmers: the way they glide through the water with ease, the way they breathe hard and fast, their bodies firm and muscular.
Kenzie disappears, which often happens, and I stand at the kitchen table and drink until I need a refill.
“What are ya so dressed up for?” Matthew Jarvis, a sophomore on the swim team, asks me. I suddenly feel stupid all dressed up, since most people are wearing shorts and T-shirts. Matthew wears a gray T-shirt with a flannel over it and cargo shorts. His calves are super toned, and his hair is curly and blond. He has green eyes. He’s cute, but messy, but still cute.
“Kenzie dressed me,” I say.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s great, but you little girls always come so fancy to these parties. We’re just chillin’, ya know?”
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now.”
“You could just take off your clothes.”
I’m not sure if he’s serious, but I begin to wonder what would happen if I just stripped in the middle of the party. Would anyone even notice, or care? Would it cause a scene, like in the movies, where all the other kids join in and we go streaking or skinny-dipping and hilarity ensues?
“I’m just kiddin’, darlin’,” he says. “Whatcha drinkin’?”
The Brittanys Page 16