by Jenny Han
Jack answers the door. When I see his black eye, I don’t even feel sorry for him. I just feel mad. I’d like to blacken his other eye.
“Here.” I shove the stack of papers at him, hard.
“Thanks.” He looks at me, and with his eyes he says it again, thanks.
Shaking my head, I say, “You know, you can’t keep getting into fights over stupid stuff.”
“Are you here to give me my homework or to nag me?”
“I’m just trying to help. You’re gonna get really behind if you keep this up, Jack.”
“That’s my problem.”
“It’s my problem too, when I’m the one tutoring you! Sometimes you act like an idiot!”
Redness is creeping up his neck, and he says, “I’m really not in the mood for this today, okay? I feel bad enough already, I don’t need you reminding me of what an idiot I am.” His voice breaks.
I look away. I wish I was still playing Horse in Mark’s driveway. “I said you act like an idiot, I didn’t say you were one.”
“My mom says that if I get into another fight, I’m gonna have to go and live with my dad.” Baby tears are forming in the corners of his eyes, and he scratches at them like they itch. I look away again. Never thought I’d see Jack Connelly cry. I want to say the right thing, but what is the right thing?
I say, “Shoulda thought of that before you went and got into another fight.”
Jack doesn’t say anything, and it’s so unlike him that I feel sorry, really sorry. I say, “Hey, let’s study for that quiz, okay?”
“I don’t really feel like it today,” he says, his hand on the door. “But thanks for bringing my work.”
“Aw, come on, Jack.”
He shakes his head and shuts the door. And I’m left standing there, feeling like a real crumb.
chapter 35
The call comes that night, and as usual, I’m the one to pick up the phone. I swear, you’d think I was the only one in the family with hands.
“Hello?”
“Is that you, Annemarie honey?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“It’s Mrs. Findley, sweetheart. Is your mother home?”
“My mother?”
“Yes, dear. Is she at home?”
“Uh.” What in the world could Mrs. Findley have to say to my mother? And furthermore, what would Mama say to Mrs. Findley? I am tempted to say no, Mrs. Findley, Mama’s left the state and has no plans of returning. Ever. “Yes, ma’am, just a moment.”
Phone in hand, I sprint to the living room where Mama’s lying down. “Phone for you, Mama.” Her eyes remain closed.
“It’s Mrs. Findley,” I hiss.
Mama holds her hand out for the phone, and she doesn’t open her eyes. “Hi, Helen,” she says. “What can I do for you? I’m fine, thank you. Mmmhmm. Oh, I see. Well, yes, Billy probably will be away on business. But I’m sure I can make it. I’m always happy to help. … Yes, you too, Helen.” Mama clicks the phone off.
“What’s going on?” I demand. “What did Mrs. Findley want?”
Mama opens her eyes and says, “I’m going to help chaperone your dance.”
WHAT? This time my heart really does stop beating.
She smiles tiredly. “There, aren’t you pleased? Your mama’s joinin’ in and doin’ mamalike things. Next thing you know, I’ll be headin’ up the PTA.”
“I’m not even going to that dance,” I say. “So thanks but no thanks.”
Her smile fades. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re going to the dance.”
“No, I’m not. Dances are stupid. I’m not going.”
Flatly she says, “You’re going, Annemarie.”
In my head I think, Not if I can help it. But I’m smart enough not to say it out loud.
chapter 36
At the lunch table Mairi asks me if my parents are getting divorced. She says her mother told her that my daddy was looking to get his own apartment in Atlanta.
I pretend not to hear her. I concentrate on eating my tuna fish sandwich, like it’s the most important thing in the world, but inside it feels like something in me is breaking. Then she says, louder, “Annemarie, is it true your parents are getting divorced?”
It’s like the cafeteria has gone silent, and all I hear is buzzing in my ears. In that moment, it’s just Mairi and me. There’s no one else at that table, just me and her. I feel like a skinny brown rabbit under Mairi’s paw, and there’s no way out.
Everyone stares at me. Even Elaine.
At times like these, you realize just how alone you are in this world.
I chew slowly, then finally say, “No. No, that’s not true.” My voice sounds quivery and weak, and I hate it. I hate everyone at this table. “They’re crazy about each other. They’re completely in love. Tell your mother to mind her own damn business.”
Mairi’s mouth falls open. “My mother says that your mother’s a drunk, and that’s why your father’s leaving,” she blurts out.
“Shut up. Shut your fat mouth. She’s not your real mother anyway; your real mother didn’t even want you.”
Hadley gasps, and I almost gasp too. I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth. Mairi’s gaping like a dying fish; her mouth opens and closes but nothing comes out. Her blue eyes look shiny, like she might actually cry. There, I’ve done it now. I’ve committed social suicide. I’m done for.
Shaking, I stand up and crumble my lunch bag into a tight ball. And then I walk away. I think I may have given up my seat at the lunch table for good.
Later that night, Elaine calls me.
“Mairi was way out of line,” she says.
I don’t say a word.
“We all thought so. After you left I told her she shouldn’t have said it.”
Silence from my end.
“I’m sorry, Annemarie. I should’ve said something right away; I was just so surprised. I mean, you never mentioned anything. …” Her voice trails off.
“That’s because it’s not true. Mairi Stevenson is a damn liar, and so is her mother.” My voice breaks. “Everybody knows that Mrs. Stevenson’s a liar.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I really am. Please don’t be upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“But … Annemarie, it was kind of harsh to bring up Mairi being adopted. You know she’s sensitive about that.”
“You knew too?”
“Yeah, she told me a few months ago.”
I swallow. “Well, if everybody already knew, I don’t see what the big deal was.”
“Everybody didn’t already know.” She pauses. “Annemarie, she cried in the bathroom the whole lunch period.”
I didn’t know that. How could I have known that? The only time I ever saw Mairi cry was when Sherilyn accidentally broke one of her porcelain dolls.
“You sure she was really crying? She’s a good actress, you know.”
“Annemarie!”
“What? I’m just sayin’.”
“She was really upset. Maybe you should talk to her.”
“Got nothing to say.”
At lunch the next day part of me wants to walk right on by their table, like I don’t even see them. But I don’t; the thought of sitting alone at lunch is more than I can bear. I wish I could be that brave. Instead, I sit down at the table and take every item out of my brown paper bag. Tuna fish sandwich again, bag of pretzels, two chocolate chip cookies, and a juice box. I stare down at my lunch, saying nothing.
Elaine says, “How was the math quiz, Annemarie?”
“Pretty hard.” I look around the table, and everyone is silent. Mairi won’t even look at me, and Hadley’s glaring in my general direction.
The rest of the lunch period, the only person who talks to me is Elaine. Two tables over, Sherilyn sits with Carol Motts and Dana Toto. Their heads are bent close together, and they’re giggling. Carol and Dana aren’t cool. Carol’s strict Southern Baptist, and she i
sn’t allowed to wear pants, so she wears culottes instead. Culottes aren’t cool. The boys call Dana “Toto,” and they bark at her when she walks down the hallway. Not cool either. But at this moment I’d give anything to be sitting over there with them, giggling with our heads touching.
Sherilyn looks up and sees me watching her. I smile. She gives me a half smile and then returns to their conversation. I wish she’d have gestured for me to come over, and I wish that I’d have been able to do it. But I wouldn’t have, and I guess she knows it.
As we’re leaving the cafeteria, Hadley grabs my arm. “We haven’t forgotten about what you did yesterday, Annemarie,” she hisses.
I say nothing.
“You owe Mairi a huge apology.” Her brown eyes narrow. “Are you even sorry?”
“Yes.” Not that it’s any of your business.
“Then tell her.”
“Well, is she sorry for what she said to me?”
“What she said to you wasn’t nearly as mean as what you said to her. Anyway, she was just asking you a question. You didn’t have to bite her freakin’ head off.” She rolls her eyes. “Look, if you want to keep hanging out with us, you better apologize to Mairi.”
Satisfied, she releases my arm and walks away.
After school I ride my bike over to Mairi’s house. As I walk up her paved driveway, my heart hammers in my chest like a little brass drum. What if she slams the door in my face? What if Hadley’s with her? I can’t face the both of them.
I ring the ivory doorbell, and a minute later she opens the door. Just Mairi, holding a piece of peanut butter toast in one hand. I thought she’d stopped eating carbs.
“What do you want?”
She’s not going to make this easy. “I came over here to say I’m sorry.”
Her lips are clamped shut. I go on, “I shouldn’t have said what I said. It was none of my business.”
She nods, and quickly I add, “But you shouldn’t have said what you did about my parents.”
Mairi shoves the rest of the peanut butter toast into her mouth. She takes her time swallowing. She doesn’t look at me when she says, “I know.”
chapter 37
The dance is all anyone can talk about. At the lunch table Mairi announces that her dad offered to rent them a stretch limo, but she declined of course, because “limos are so tacky.”
After school at Jack’s house, we’re working on vocabulary lists when he bursts out, “What’s the big deal about this stupid dance? I mean, who cares? People act like it’s the prom or something. Not that prom’s such a big deal either.”
I am amazed, because for once, Jack Connelly and I are in complete agreement. “I know. It’s because they have nothing better to get all worked up about. At lunch today, Mairi was talking about limos.”
Jack snorts. “Mairi Stevenson is braindead. I don’t know why Kyle likes her.”
“Duh. ’Cause she’s pretty.”
He shrugs dismissively. “Yeah, she’s all right.”
“Oh, come on. Every guy at school wants to be with Mairi.”
He shrugs again. “Not every guy. Mairi’s good-looking, but her personality’s kinda foul. She’s overrated.” I try to hide my smile. “Hadley, too. I mean, her body’s all right, but she has a horsey face. I don’t know why Mark asked her to the dance.”
My smile disappears. I feel like he just socked me in the stomach, hard. “Mark asked Hadley? Hadley Smith?”
“How many Hadleys do you know?”
“Why would he do that?” I can hear a loud buzzing in my ears, and my chest feels so tight. How could this have happened? I knew they’d been hanging out, but this … this was more than I could take. Mark Findley has been mine my whole life, and all of a sudden Hadley decides she wants him? How can that be right?
“That’s what I’m sayin’. …” Jack peers at me. “What, do you like Mark?”
“No … I was just wondering. …”
He’s grinning slowly. “Because if you do, I’d be happy to set you two up—”
“Are you deaf? I said I don’t like him!” I snap, flipping through my language arts textbook. My face feels hot. I know that I have to get out of this room fast. “Look, are we done here?”
“I guess so,” he says. “So are you gonna go to the dance?”
“No. Are you?”
“No way.”
As I bicycle home, it starts to rain, cold, almost-snow kind of rain, and I’m glad. I can blame my wet cheeks on the rain.
Every morning, I dread going to school, because it’s just another day of not being asked. Every morning, someone new has a date. “Have you heard? Junie just asked Pete, and he said yes.” “Colbert’s taking Regina.” I paste a knowing look on my face and pretend I already know all about it. And then, “Who’re you going with, Annemarie?” Airily I say, “Oh, I doubt I’m even going. Dances are so lame. I probably won’t even be in town.”
There’s only one person I’d want to go to this dance with, and it looks like it’s too late. He’s asked Hadley Smith of all people. And if I even go to the dance, which I’m not, I’ll be stuck with Mama.
chapter 38
Mama insists on taking me shopping for my dress. I kept telling her I wasn’t going, but she wouldn’t listen. I finally caved in, and I was hoping she’d slip me a fifty and let me go with Celia, but something’s come over her, and she wants to be a part of my big night. I’d planned on buying a dress from the sales rack and spending the rest on books. Not that I’m even going.
Saturday morning she drives me over to Bodewell’s Department Store. I begged Celia to come with us, but as usual, she’s too busy for her only sister. She and Park went to see some garage band in Patan County.
Mama strolls around Bodewell’s like she’s Mrs. George T. Bodewell herself, and I trail after her. For someone who’s usually so thrifty, she seems to care an awful lot about this dress. Money is no object, she declares.
She picks up a red dress with a heart-shaped neckline and black velvet polka dots. No way do I have what it takes to fill out that dress. “Forget it, Mama,” I say. “You can just put that back, because there’s no way I’m even trying it on.”
“It’s cute, Shug. We’ll set it aside as a maybe.” She throws the dress over her arm.
“Mama, I said no. … What about this one?” I point to a navy tank dress made of rayon. It’s on sale. … Maybe she’ll buy me some books with the leftover money.
“That looks cheap. It’s too plain.”
“I like it.”
She ignores me and continues wandering around the store. I go to the dressing rooms, sit down cross-legged on the floor, and open up my bruised copy of Tuck Everlasting. I’m on the third chapter when Mama reappears with an armload of dresses. On top is a pale pink dress with spaghetti straps and bows. It looks like a frilly cupcake. It’s the kind of dress Celia would have worn to her seventh-grade dance.
“Go try these on.” She thrusts the pile of dresses at me, and I can already feel my skin getting itchy.
“Those don’t look right.”
Mama exhales loudly. “If you don’t like what I picked out, why aren’t you helping me?”
“I already told you I don’t want to go.”
“Do you know how much I would’ve loved it if my mama took me shopping for a new dress? Do you?”
“That’s you,” I say. I’m gripping my book so hard my hand is sweating.
She clenches her teeth. “There’s just no pleasing you these days. You never used to give me any trouble. You left that to your sister. Now look at you, Miss Mary Mary Quite Contrary.”
“I’m not being contrary! I told you I didn’t want to go! You’re the one who won’t listen! You never listen!” This comes out louder than I intended.
Mama stares at me like she’s never seen me before. “Fine,” she says tightly. “We’re going home.”
I sigh. “Just forget it. I’ll try them on.”
“No, give them to me.” She takes the d
resses and throws them on top of the clothing rack in a big heap. “We’re leaving.”
She doesn’t say a word to me the whole way home. After dinner that night, Mama calls Mrs. Findley and tells her something’s come up at work, that she won’t be able to chaperone the dance. I feel guilty, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved, too.
chapter 39
Mama doesn’t speak to me all weekend. Oh, she speaks to me, but not really. She says turn the TV down and have you done your homework yet and pass the pepper. But that’s it. She doesn’t bring up the dance once. I know she’s waiting for me to apologize, to tell her I want her to buy me a dress and that I really do want to go to the dance.
The worst part is, I do sort of want to go to the dance. A little. The more people talk about it, the more I want to go. I don’t want to be left out. I don’t want to be the only seventh-grade girl who doesn’t go to the dance, well, the only one other than Carol Motts, whose parents are superstrict and won’t let her go to any kind of dance. I want to wear a pretty dress and I don’t want to be “just Annemarie.” I want to be special.
But now it’s too late. Some mean, sharp little part of me can’t let Mama have this. It means too much to her, and I don’t want her to take any bit of pleasure in it. I want this to be all mine, and if it can’t be, well, then I guess I won’t be going. Not that anyone would care. Elaine’s going with Hugh; Mark’s going with Hadley. Who will notice if I’m not there?
On Sunday night, the three of us—Celia, Mama, and me—are sitting in the living room. This is a miracle in and of itself, because Celia’s nights are reserved for Park. But tonight she is home, painting her nails candy apple red and watching TV. Mama’s sitting in an armchair reading the newspaper, and I’m sprawled out on the couch feeling as low as I’ve ever felt.
At the commercial break, Celia says, “Sit up, Annemarie, and I’ll do your nails for the dance tomorrow night.”
Hope surges through me. Right now, if Mama were to say, “Oh, Annemarie, just do us all a favor and go,” I could sigh and say, “Fine, I’ll go already.” I peek at Mama, who doesn’t look up from her paper. She turns the page, and it feels like an eternity before she speaks. “Annemarie’s not going to the dance,” Mama says. “She thinks dances are stupid.”