by Sandi Ward
Donovan heads back into Delilah’s room and climbs up on her bed to sit beside her again with legs crossed. He buries his face in his hands and moans. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What’d she say?” Delilah asks, putting a hand lightly on his shoulder.
I think this is my chance. The kids are distracted.
I leap up onto the bed. Delilah glances at me, but Donovan starts talking and she turns her attention to him. I touch my nose to the journal. The soft leather smells mild and earthy. I think I can sink my teeth into it. But first, I have to get it off the bed.
I bat at it with my paw to see if it moves. It does.
I give it a harder push. The journal slides close to the edge of the bed. A tap, tap, tap—and it goes falling to the floor. I freeze, expecting a crash.
No.
No?
I walk up to the edge of the bed. The journal landed on a sweater! Perfect! The twins don’t notice a thing.
I jump down lickety-split and grab the journal with my teeth. It tastes a bit like salt and sweat. I tug it and off I go. I get it to the hallway, drop it, and stop to rest. I knock it off the top step with my paw. I bite it again and toss my head. Down three more stairs. Wow, who knew? Bonkety-bonk, I clamber down. I push it with my paw. This time, it really tumbles. Almost all the way down. I hoppity-hop and there we are. I snag it proudly in my teeth and get that journal all the way to the bottom of the stairs and across the wood floor and onto the fancy rug and—there! By Annika’s feet.
“What in the world . . . ?”
Lisa laughs. She’s sitting on the rug near the woodstove, with papers in front of her and a drink in her hand. “What the heck is Luna doing?”
“Oh!” Annika gasps. She reaches down with two hands and snatches it up. Eyes shining, she squeezes it with glee. “Look! Luna brought me Peter’s diary. I don’t believe it.”
Just then, Donovan and Delilah come running down the stairs. They practically crash into each other at the bottom. Donovan hurries over to stand in front of his mother.
He’s bewildered. “What just happened? Luna took that from me? She got it all the way downstairs?” Slowly, as he notices how close Annika is sitting to Sam on the couch, his face darkens.
I look up at him. Sorry, my boy. But your father wanted your mom to have that journal.
Danny gapes at me in admiration. “That’s amazing. I’ve never seen anything like that before.” He knocks back a full swallow of the whiskey in his glass. “I can’t believe that cat found the journal when you couldn’t.”
Donovan spins around. “What do you mean, you couldn’t? Mom, were you looking for the journal? Were you in my room?”
Delilah steps up next to her brother. “What the heck? Mom, were you hunting around in Donovan’s bedroom?”
“You didn’t look at my sketchbook, did y—?” Donovan stops himself midsentence.
“What?” Annika slumps. “Yes, I was looking in your room, and I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have gone through your stuff. But I asked you for that diary multiple times, Donovan. I gave you many chances to bring it to me yourself.”
Donovan throws a hand out toward his mother, and his voice breaks. “This is unbelievable. I’m not done reading that. You have no right to take that from me. It’s MINE just the same as it is YOURS. It belongs to ALL OF US.” He points at Sam. “And why is he here? Why is Sam still here?” Donovan takes in a deeper breath and his voice gets louder. “Isn’t it Sam’s fault Dad lost his leg? He was driving the car Dad was in on prom night, right?”
Annika leans forward to try to take his hand. “Sweetheart—”
Donovan yanks his hand away and takes a step back. “I know, I know, there was another kid who crashed into you guys, but Sam was driving, too. I don’t understand why you want him here. Would Dad want him here?” A tear rolls down his cheek, and Donovan wipes it away forcefully with the back of his hand. I can see he’s embarrassed; but more than that, he’s angry. “Why are you guys still friends? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Sam and Annika steal a glance at each other. And then Annika sits up straighter.
“Donovan, I need to talk to you.” Annika looks at Delilah. “You too.” She leans forward, holding the journal tight. “You need to know something.”
Sam looks wary, nervous about what Annika has to say. The kids brace themselves, perhaps prepared for what they assume is a scolding.
“I know you guys have heard the story about how your father lost his leg in a car crash.” She clears her throat, rearranging her thoughts. “I know your father told you that everyone was drunk on prom night except for him. Sam, your aunt Lisa, and I were all drinking that night. Your father was sober, and he was the only one who got seriously injured. Those facts are all true. But there’s one part of the story . . .” She sighs, pressing the heel of her hand against her brow, but presses on. “Look. There’s something you need to know. And I want to be the one to tell you, before you read about it in the journal.”
My whiskers twitch. We wait. And listen.
“Sam wasn’t driving the car.”
Danny’s head turns. He squints at his younger brother, confused. “What? Sam wasn’t driving?” He puts his whiskey down on a side table and walks over to the couch to stand next to Delilah. “But the police report . . . and my dad said . . . wait—Then who was driving?”
And suddenly—I know who.
After the Prom, 1987
ANNIKA
I tell them the story. I gloss over some of the details, things the kids don’t need to know. But I remember every minute of it.
When we finally arrive at Ellie’s after-prom party, I peer through the car window and I’m relieved to see there are still plenty of kids hanging around. They’re in the yard, on the front steps, and packed into the front room of the house. One girl leans out the window to talk to someone, and half of her beer sloshes onto a holly bush below. Is it possible no one has missed us?
Sam tries three times to parallel park the car at the curb and still can’t get it right.
“I don’t think you can fit here.” I glance at the Mercedes behind us. If Sam gets this wrong and bumps that car, it’s going to be expensive, and I know he can’t afford to pay for the damages.
At the same time, I trust him. I have no idea why. I don’t know if he’s such a great driver or not. But he’s good at a lot of other things—math and football and, of course, kissing.
Clearly, my brain has turned to mush.
“If we don’t park here, we’ll have to go way down to the next block and walk a mile. And you’re wearing high heels.” He shakes his head. “Just give me a minute. I can do it.” The way he says this, with a sigh, reminds me that he’s used to his family ribbing him and assuming he can’t do things right. As the youngest of five kids, he’s told me that’s just how it is, and I know his dad is critical of him. I press my lips together and vow not to say another word.
He manages to get the car situated after a few more tries. When he turns the car engine off, it’s quiet and I realize how exhausted I am. Sam just sits there for a moment, and when he looks over at me, it hits me all over again that I’m sitting in Sam Parsons’s car with him. With Sam. All dressed up. In his mom’s car. My brain starts to backfire.
I suddenly wonder if I really know him as well as I think I do. He’s a popular boy, and he wasn’t my date for the prom. He looks troubled, as if something terrible has happened and he doesn’t know how to address it, which reflects exactly how I feel. What now?
As everything he said to me comes flooding back into my mind, I feel my face start to flush.
You look gorgeous. No, I don’t.
I’ve always loved you. No, you haven’t.
I want you. No, you don’t.
I automatically negated everything he said the minute it came out of his mouth. I deleted it. Discounted it. Why did I do that?
I start to panic. Completely panic.
I wonder, did he just say t
hose things in the heat of the moment, and are they meaningless now? Did he only say them because he thought that’s what a man is supposed to say in that situation? Were they things he said just to get me to go along, and I’ve been a gullible fool? We don’t hang out in the same cliques, so will we really keep seeing each other over the summer? Is there anything even left to talk about?
I convince myself that whatever was between us tonight is probably over, that the novelty of prom temporarily got the better of us. It’s easy for me to jump to the worst possible conclusion, especially when I’ve had Lisa drilling it into my head for months that Sam would never be really interested in me. I tell myself: Don’t set yourself up for disappointment. Don’t be dumb. You have faults, but being dumb isn’t one of them.
I adjust my dress under my bare legs. I’m starting to realize how stiff my fancy shoes are, because my toes are sore.
“Annika.” Sam waits for me to say something, his features finally softening into a kind and inviting gaze, but I can’t smile back.
“Let’s go in. Lisa is probably wondering where I am.” That’s an understatement. I grab the door handle and hop out of the car as fast as I can.
I can hear Sam’s driver’s side door open behind me, but I ignore it. My legs move faster as I stride toward the party over someone’s lawn, my heels sinking into the grass.
“Annika,” Sam calls after me, but I don’t turn around.
“Come on,” I beg him. “It’s late. We’re missing everything. Let’s go in.”
The noise alone lets me know the party is still raging. Kids are talking; there’s music playing; someone shrieks in the backyard. Because windows are open, the din spills out into the neighborhood. Spring is finally here, and the pungent scent of newly mown grass overwhelms me as I walk over a small but nicely manicured front lawn. We’re downtown, so the homes here are close to each other, and I wonder how long until someone calls the cops. If I’m going to spend any time at this party at all, I have the feeling I’d better get inside.
But as I walk up the front path, I realize my first mistake. Many girls have changed clothes already into leggings and sweatshirts. I’m still wearing my dress. I had other clothes with me, but they were in Mark’s car. For a moment, I wonder if Sam had the presence of mind to take off his tuxedo pants and throw them in the back of his car and pull on some jeans, even if he would have had to do it quickly in the street. I hope he did. But I also hope he didn’t.
I look back. He’s coming up the walk behind me, and he’s still dressed up. He smiles, assuming that I’m waiting for him. Oh. My heart skips a beat. I’m really nervous.
He breezes right up to me and takes my hand to help me up the stairs and into the house. I teeter on my high heels but make it in.
We walk into the living room, Sam still holding my hand, which feels strange all of a sudden. Although his hand is warm and comfortable, I have to fight the impulse to pull my hand out of his. He says hi to a few kids, but then turns to me, standing close.
“Let’s get a drink.”
I follow him to a table where there are bottles and chips set out. I watch as Sam pours us cranberry juice and adds vodka. He takes a long drink. I find it just sweet enough to gulp down. Then I pour myself a refill and drink that, too.
“Maybe I should find my friends,” I suggest. It’s suddenly hard for me to make eye contact with him. I feel like everyone in the room is watching and judging us, wondering what we’ve been up to. A quick scan of the room tells me that I’m right; people have noticed that we’re together and we’ve been missing for a few hours, eyes lingering on us for a beat too long. But then they go right back to talking quietly in groups. It’s possible I’m making more of this than I should. Who cares if Sam and I left for a while? I know what they’re all thinking, but . . . does it really matter now?
When I turn back to Sam, he looks happy. He gazes at me as if I’m the only person in the room.
“What are you smiling about?” I ask him. When he doesn’t answer, I continue. “Are you drunk?”
“No,” he answers. But his free hand goes to my waist and he pulls me in for a light kiss. He’s gentle and slow about it, and I melt all over again. I can’t believe he’s kissing me in front of our classmates, and my anxiety finally starts to melt away.
I guess it’s the afterglow of everything we’ve been through tonight, but I feel warmth settling in my chest, and a magnetic pull moving me toward him. I reach over and grab his elbow, feeling the slippery synthetic material of the tux under my fingers, and kiss him back. His mouth is soft, and I melt under the pressure of his hand on my hip. I wish I could wrap myself up with him for the rest of the night, right on until sunrise, and it’s a surprise to me to realize that’s all I want to do. What in the world have I been so worried about? I don’t care anymore who sees us. I’m okay with kissing Sam in front of the whole world, because my heart has expanded by one hundred times. He is sweet, lovely, wonderful. There’s no one else on the planet who matters right now. I feel loved, and I’m totally content.
Until I hear my name being called from across the room.
“Annika.”
I know the voice before my eyes find her. Lisa gapes at me, mouth slightly open, pink lipstick from earlier in the night settled into a deep stain. Her heavy eye makeup is smudged, and she’s in bare feet. An extra-large T-shirt hangs loosely from her shoulders, and she’s let her hair down from its high knot so it falls over her shoulders. I have no idea what to say, but instinctively take a step away from Sam. He keeps one hand on my waist, and I can feel him tuck his thumb under my satin belt, as if to ensure that I won’t get away. Cool air rushes in between us where just a moment ago there was warmth.
Did she see us together? She must have.
Sam understands as well as anyone that Lisa has issues. But I’m not sure he can see everything she’s feeling in her face as well as I do—confusion, hurt, betrayal. All of it, in a flash. And then, upon realizing Sam is watching her, Lisa replaces it with a smooth mask of indifference.
“Where have you LOVEBIRDS been?” She moves toward me in a rush and slaps my bare arm with one hand. Her palm smacks me so hard it aches. Her other hand holds a cup full of amber beer. “I’ve been freaking out. You’ve been gone forever.” She sneers at Sam. “And, Sam. You’re my date, remember?”
“We weren’t gone forever,” I blurt out to take her focus off of Sam. “Just . . . just a while. We went for a walk on the beach.” I gesture toward Sam, but one look at him tells me he’s not going to be any help at all.
“Yeah, a romantic walk on the beach,” he echoes, never questioning why I’m lying to my sister’s face. He blinks slowly and doesn’t say anything else.
Fantastic. He’s useless.
“I’m sorry, Lisa. Sam and I needed to talk.”
“Talk.” Lisa puts her hand on her hip and studies the two of us. “Talk? Really? About what?”
“Fate. The universe.” Sam answers her before I can think of what to say. “Our future together forever in California.”
“Shut up, Sam,” I say, putting my hand right up on his mouth and lightly pushing his face away. I turn back to Lisa. “Please ignore him. He’s in a very weird mood.”
She looks stricken. It’s only a moment too late that I realize I’ve touched Sam’s face in front of Lisa. I’ve just put my hand on his kissy mouth. It’s completely obvious what we were doing in his car, right? Oh, God. And he mentioned our future in California—but I never said I wanted to go there. Ugh. I watch Lisa’s face turn pink and get the sensation of something dropping low in my stomach.
“Ow. What?” Sam protests, acting hurt. But the twinkle in his eye lets me know he’s amused. “Annika, I love you. Why are you pushing me away?”
And that’s it. Those are the words that set Lisa off.
Her eyes flash with anger. She stumbles to one side, and I realize how drunk she is. With a quick glance down at her hand, she seems to make up her mind. She takes her full glass
of beer and throws it at me, the cold liquid hitting my torso and splashing up onto my face and hair. I’m instantly drenched. The plastic cup rattles onto the floor.
Sam gives a sharp laugh. “What was that for?” He looks at Lisa, wide-eyed, and then back to me. “What just happened?”
I’m glad he’s still in a good mood. Nothing seems to be throwing him off tonight. Lisa doesn’t answer. She stalks away.
I shake my head and beads of beer go flying, wet strands of my hair whipping and hitting my face. “I think she’s mad we disappeared.”
“Clearly.”
“No . . . it’s more than that. It’s because I left with you. You were her prom date. It’s like adding insult to injury.”
“Yes, but . . . we were all just going as friends, right?”
I search his face. He doesn’t get it. Maybe Sam doesn’t know how lonely she’s been and how desperate she’s been to get popular, a goal at which she’s failed. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t know. “Yeah, of course. But she didn’t expect to be stuck at a party without me. I sent her here by herself, and now she’s drunk. She doesn’t know Mark that well, and probably didn’t know who to hang out with. I feel horrible.”
Horrible doesn’t even begin to explain how I feel. Not only did I abandon her, I left the prom with Sam, the type of boy she’s been trying to impress with no luck, and he’s one of her only friends. I am the worst sister on the planet.
I feel dizzy.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I have to go find Lisa and bring her home.”
“And you should probably get changed before you come back to the party,” Sam adds. “I’ll give you guys a ride.”
