Mary blinked, trying to take it in. “I’m surprised. Are you sure?”
“We know what we know,” Chrissie said.
Alexis nodded. “We need to teach her a lesson.”
“I don’t—” Mary held up her hands. “Like how?”
“We were thinking. You know how she has that goldfish pond in her backyard?” Alexis said.
“Yeah, I think so,” Mary said. “Orange carp.”
“She loves those fish—it’s so stupid,” Chrissie said.
“What if we … did something to it?” Alexis wondered.
Mary sat in silence, deciding if they were serious. Did something? Chrissie looked at Mary, waiting.
“Wait, you want to kill some fish?” Mary asked.
Maybe it was the incredulous look on Mary’s face. Or the shock of hearing those words out loud, spoken in that tone, bouncing back at them. It sounded awful, unthinkable—despite the fact that, obviously, they had already thought about it. Alexis pulled both hands through her hair, “No, no! That’s a terrible idea. We’re totally not killing fish!”
Chrissie snorted, “Of course not, ha, ha!”
“Because that would be, like, serial killer–type behavior,” Mary said. “Jeffrey Dahmer stuff.”
“Who’s that?” Chrissie asked. “Is he in our grade?”
“Some guy who killed people and ate them,” Mary said. “He had issues. There’s a graphic novel and a movie.”
“Cool,” Chrissie said.
Mary blinked at that response. A slow blink, like one of those old dolls that clicked when you shut the eyes. Eyes open, shut, pause, open again. Performed with the dim hope that the world would be different when she opened her eyes.
“Oh yeah, we’d never,” Alexis said.
“But still,” Chrissie pointed out. “We’ve got to send a message. Because Chantel’s out of control. I mean, it’s just wrong. Alexis likes Hakeem. You don’t do that to a friend.”
Mary looked away, leaned away, wished she was far away. The girls may have sensed her doubt.
“Wait, are you on her side?” Chrissie asked.
“No, I mean, I love you guys,” Mary said. “I’m not as experienced with boy stuff as you. It’s confusing, I guess.”
“Not to me,” Alexis said.
“We could ask Griffin to help us?” Chrissie suggested, turning to Alexis.
“What?” Mary said, alarmed. “Forget it, he’d make everything so much worse.”
“Good,” Alexis said. “We know you’ll help us think of something, Mary. You’re so smart.”
“She’s obsessed with pigs,” Chrissie offered.
And that part, at least, was true. Mary wasn’t so sure about the rest. Chantel did have a thing for pigs. A montage of pig images—photos of pigs on farms, in addition to cartoon character pigs such as Porky, Miss Piggy, Peppa, Hamm, and Sir Oinks-A-Lot—covered one wall of Chantel’s bedroom. She had a huge, pink pig pillow complete with a curly tail. Chantel had pig plush toys, too. And, come to think of it, her all-time favorite book was Charlotte’s Web, featuring the greatest pig of all, Wilbur.
“She’s a pig!” Alexis said harshly.
“I think she thinks they’re cute,” Mary offered defensively.
“Well, if she’s going to send pictures to Hakeem, maybe we should send pictures of our own,” Chrissie said. “You are good at Photoshop, aren’t you, Mary?”
Mary couldn’t think of an answer.
Chrissie looked at Alexis, who said, “That’s okay. Never mind. We’ll handle it.”
24
[crystals]
Mary was happy when her mother knocked on her door with the offer to make blueberry pancakes.
“Do we have chocolate chips?” Mary asked, instantly perking up.
Ernesto wasn’t around that morning. A friend’s tree had fallen, knocking down a fence, and he went over first thing with his tools and pickup truck. “He loves that chainsaw more than me,” Mary’s mother said, still wrapped in a scarlet bathrobe, flipping pancakes while bacon sizzled in the iron griddle. Mary gulped down a glass of orange juice, slowly waking to the smells of Saturday morning.
“I was wondering if you’d like to go shopping today? Do you have free time?” Mrs. O’Malley asked. “I saw they came out with the back-to-school lists. Lord knows I’ve already purchased enough folders to last a lifetime. And you do need some new clothes. Growing too fast.”
Free time was something that Mary had in excess these days. Alexis and Chrissie were both trying out for cheerleading—they’d make it, easy—and, besides, Mary still wasn’t completely over the icky feeling she got the last time they were together. She’d seen photos on Instagram last night of a six-girl sleepover–slash–birthday party at Tamara Agee’s. It didn’t make Mary jealous—honestly, the party didn’t look like all that much fun, except for the cupcakes, and she wasn’t that tight with Tamara, so it was all understandable—but it still left Mary feeling detached.
A floating-alone-in-the-clouds feeling.
The chocolate chip pancakes with warm maple syrup helped.
As far as the plot against Chantel, Mary decided to do nothing. She wouldn’t participate. She’d stand by and let whatever happened, happen. Which was probably nothing, she told herself. Chantel would be fine. It was nice to think so.
Mary’s mom had this habit that when she drove, she put on a big show about putting away her phone. You know, modeling positive behaviors! But if it dinged, she always reached for it. “I’m just glancing,” she’d say, aware of Mary’s disapproval. “I’d never send a text.”
“I’ve seen you do it,” Mary said.
“At red lights, stop signs, maybe,” her mother said.
It dinged and Mary said, “Want me to read it?”
“No, no, that’s fine,” Mrs. O’Malley insisted. She grabbed the phone and held it in her right hand for the rest of the trip, as if she were protecting it from desperadoes.
Mary found the mall a humorous place. She liked eating in the food court (an unexplainable weakness for Arby’s) and watching the people. She still remembered watching an entire family—mother, father, and three children—all in matching L.L.Bean jackets. The bubbly kind. Same color, same everything. Even better, they were each eating Auntie Anne’s pretzels. People were weird, and there was nothing like the mall to drive that message home.
“Hold on, I have to take this,” Mrs. O’Malley said, indicating the phone. She walked to a less trafficked area and leaned against the wall, her back to Mary. Ten minutes later, she was back—and Mary was annoyed.
“I thought you wanted to do this,” Mary said. “It was your plan.”
“I know, but—Mary, you have no idea.”
“It’s Jonny, right?”
Mrs. O’Malley’s lips tightened. She studied the ceiling lights and nodded. “There’s a problem with the deposit check, among other things. It’s not your concern. Come on. Show me those boots you’ve been talking about.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Mary asked.
An anguished look crossed her mother’s face—it happened fast, then it was over, and she was back to normal again—but Mary knew what she had seen. The worry and strain. The inability to give a good answer.
So they sat there at the mall and talked about it as people came and went, carrying shopping bags and guzzling gigantic neon smoothies. “I don’t know if he’s going to be okay,” Mary’s mother admitted. “We’re doing everything we can to help him.”
Mary locked eyes with her mother. “Like kicking him out of the house?”
“Oh, Mary,” Mrs. O’Malley said, placing a hand on her daughter’s back. “I wish I had all the answers. It’s been so hard for everyone, including your brother. You get mad at me for staring at the phone. And you’re right. I’m trying—I am trying, Mary—to be better. But every time it vibrates, my heart stops. I think it’s going to be bad news, terrible news.” She looked down at her lap, her chest heaving.
“Should he g
o somewhere?” Mary said. “One of those rehab places?”
“He has to want to,” her mother said. “Really want to. I believe that it can’t be forced on him. Jonny has to have a voice in these big decisions, or else it won’t work. And right now, as crazy as this sounds, he thinks he’s doing okay.”
“He’s not,” Mary said.
“He thinks he can manage it. He says he wants to quit on his own, maybe later. Those for-profit rehab facilities”—she shook her head—“I don’t know. They aren’t for everyone. I’ve set him up with a therapist. But now he’s got to go and put in the effort. That’s an important step. He’s agreed to consider taking medication that will help him feel better, avoid what he calls the Black Fog, maybe not have the same strong urges.”
“What kind of medicine?” Mary asked.
“Mary, listen to me,” Mrs. O’Malley said. “Your brother has a substance use problem. Those drugs he’s been taking rewire the brain. He’s been using all kinds of things—alcohol, pills, cocaine, I’m not sure what else—for a few years now. He was doing it in our home, down the hall from your bedroom. I can’t have that. I can’t.”
“But what about him?” Mary asked. She felt upset. Mary looked away, blinked, determined not to shed tears.
Her mother touched Mary’s bare leg. Her hand felt as light and welcome as a ladybug. “I’ve been reading. Talking to friends, experts. I’m trying to take better care of myself so I can take better care of the people I love.”
Mary nodded, wiped her face.
“I tell Jonny that he’s throwing his life away,” she said, “but these past years, I’ve been doing the exact same thing. I’ve been worried sick every day, not paying enough attention to you. And I’ve learned that I can’t control if drugs are going to destroy his life. But I promise you, Mary, they will not destroy ours.”
They sat on that bench as if they were alone on a mountaintop. Just the two of them, locked in a long embrace. Mrs. O’Malley got up, walked away, returned with a big box of malted milk balls. And when they felt better, they shopped. “Retail therapy,” Mary’s mother called it. Mary did pretty well: two skirts, some tops, and the coolest boots in town. Not cheap, either.
Mrs. O’Malley paused before a crystal store, staring at the display window. The store was filled with healing stones and crystals, incense and essential oils, little Buddha figurines and spiritual books—it was that kind of place. A recording of songbirds played on the store speaker system. Mrs. O’Malley browsed inside for a while, and Mary didn’t even complain about the musty incense smell that lingered in the air and probably stunk up her clothes. But on the way out, Mary said, “Mom, I think it’s great if that stuff helps you. I won’t judge. Just one thing. Please don’t become one of those people who buys rocks at the mall for twenty-five dollars, okay?”
Mrs. O’Malley stopped in her tracks and laughed out loud. “I’m sorry, Mary, but no promises!”
“Some of the crystals are kind of pretty,” Mary admitted.
Together they walked hand in hand toward whatever came next.
25
[school]
Mary noticed the new boy, Eric, in home base on the first day of school. This was a positive development. Home base was a free period, monitored by reasonably cool, bald-shaven Mr. Scofield, who pretty much let everybody do what they wanted so long as they weren’t disruptive. Once the school year kicked into gear, most kids used home base to catch up on sleep or homework or phone time. But on the first day of school, it was mostly lively chatter and lots of hugs. That was a thing that drove Mary a little nuts: all the hugging. It felt false, an empty show without substance.
Mary was chatting with the girls in the back, swapping schedules and stories about their summers, when she looked over and there he was. Eric sat by himself, head down, pretending to be absorbed in a paperback. Mary could see that his eyes roved around, slyly checking out the new faces. She couldn’t blame him. It had to be hard to be the new kid in a big, loud school like BCMS.
Behind him and two rows over, she caught sight of David Hallenback. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was ever able to run a full mile. Kind of doubted it. Oh well. Not every thought that pops into your head is the kindest. You have to sort through them, discard the worst, Mary figured. Hallenback was a loner, unpopular and still basically a little boy. Seventh grade was curious that way. A mish-mash between elementary and high school. Some kids rocketed past puberty—became boys with muscles and girls with curves—while many others hadn’t made the leap yet. David was still one of them.
Mary saw that Hallenback was staring with an intense expression of contempt. Eyes blazing, brow furrowed. She followed his gaze and recognized the target of his anger: it was Eric, the new boy.
But why?
Hallenback’s hostility gave Mary a brief, uneasy feeling. The moment passed, Mary glanced away, and he was again just another curly-haired kid without a clue. Even so, Mary felt a chill, convinced she had glimpsed something awful and damaged beneath the surface. His gentle public mask had fallen away. There was anger beneath it all.
After attendance, Mary boldly slid into an empty seat beside Eric. With a tilt of her head, Mary indicated Hallenback and confided, “I wouldn’t talk to that kid if I was you.”
Eric looked at her—wearing jeans and a light-colored shirt that showed off her tan—and his eyes widened in recognition. “You were with those guys that day.” He glanced back at Hallenback. “And that’s the kid you were following, right?”
Mary stretched, raising her arms to the ceiling. On the court, Eric had told Griff that he didn’t see anyone. Now he just confirmed that it wasn’t true. He’d seen Hallenback after all. Eric wasn’t a practiced liar. A good quality, she decided.
“So you lied, huh? I knew it.”
“I didn’t want any drama,” Eric replied.
Mary studied him closely. Eric was soft-spoken, almost shy. Maybe it was left over from the awkwardness of their initial meeting out on the court. Or just first-day jitters. He seemed nice, though, with bright blue eyes, and confident in a quiet way.
Eric asked, “Did he do something wrong?”
Mary leaned closer and advised, “Just steer clear.”
Eric cast another furtive glance at Hallenback. “Considering the way he looks at me, that’s not going to be a problem. I don’t think he likes me.”
No, Mary thought, he definitely doesn’t. And it puzzled her. Why would Hallenback have an issue with the new kid? Eric didn’t do anything to him. Except, maybe … he was a witness to Hallenback’s humiliation. Covered in ketchup. Maybe seeing Eric brought back all that embarrassment.
Mary, too, felt a similar regret surrounding that day. Eric associated her with that afternoon on the basketball court. Mary and Griff’s crew. She wasn’t proud of that connection. They talked a little more. Eric told her he didn’t own a cell phone, which was different. That’s not how things normally worked in this town. Maybe he was one of those kids from a “progressive” home, where there’s no TV, everyone’s a vegan, and the father wears a beard like a wizard.
“I’ll see you around,” Mary said, not wanting to linger any longer. Already eyes from the back of the room were upon them. But before stepping away she felt compelled to say, “Just so you know, I wasn’t part of it that day on the basketball court.”
Eric raised his eyebrows. “Seemed like you were.”
“I don’t hang out with them anymore,” Mary said. It was important that he knew that. “I’m not like that.”
Eric nodded, not meeting her eyes. If he believed her, Mary couldn’t tell.
Lunch was the next hurdle of the day, marking a clear hierarchy of the social order. Everyone staking out groups and tables, people and places. Mary had successfully avoided Chantel for the remainder of the summer. They texted a bit, in short bursts, but Mary made excuses whenever getting together came up. Chantel had soccer and AAU basketball and strict parents, so the cooling of their friendship wasn’t that dra
matic. At least, Mary didn’t think so, until they almost literally bumped into each other in the cafeteria. Mary turned and Chantel stopped short, almost spilling a lunch tray on Mary’s shirt. “Oh, hey!” Mary said in surprise.
“Hi,” Chantel answered. There was no warmth in her insincere smile.
They looked at each other awkwardly, close enough to touch and yet a million miles away. Chantel saw something over Mary’s shoulder, lifted her chin in greeting. “Save me a seat,” she called out.
Mary looked back and saw a few sporty girls gathering at a long table. Everyone busy staking a claim to their place in the pecking order. “Here we are, seventh grade,” Mary said. “We made it.”
“Um-hmmm,” Chantel replied. “I’m gonna—”
“Sure, sure,” Mary said, stepping aside to let Chantel pass.
And that was it. No one had to say a word of explanation. It was all understood. Mary hadn’t done anything wrong. Not a single thing. She wasn’t obligated to be friends with Chantel. People changed friend groups all the time. Why did it feel so uncomfortable? Mary took a seat next to Alexis, across from Tamara and Chrissie. Everyone was full of hugs and compliments. Mary’s boots were a huge hit, even though it was technically too soon in the season to wear them. Tamara made a little joke about it.
“Did I see you talking with her?” Chrissie wanted to know.
“With who?”
“You know,” Chrissie said. “Your friend.”
Mary looked back over her shoulder. Chantel was looking the other way, telling a story with expressive hand gestures. “She’s not,” Mary answered flatly, wondering if it might actually be true.
Off by himself, Eric sat with the soggy company of a meatball sub and a bag of chips. Rookie mistake. Never, ever order the meatball sub. Griff walked over, standing by Eric’s elbow like a shadow. They talked briefly. Griffin smiled, titled his head, turned to walk away. Eric stood and followed. He took a place at Griff’s table, along with Cody, Droopy, Hakeem, Marshall, Sinjay, Will, and Pat. Mary’s heart went cold. There was always someone willing to follow Griffin Connelly. Too bad Eric was one of those guys.
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