by Kate Brian
"Did you have someplace particular in mind?" her mother asked. Debbie knew from her tone that it was more of a warning than a question. Her mother might as well have said, "You better not have someplace particular in mind, because if you go anywhere other than Penn State and study science, it will be akin to ripping out your father's and my hearts and jumping up and down on them." Her mother was queen of the passive-aggressive.
"No, not really," Debbie said.
"Don't give me that look, Deborah. The Math and Science scholarship is a great opportunity, and Penn State is a very good school. Do you think we would have sent Ravi Junior there if it wasn't a very good school?"
Debbie rolled her eyes, sat down on the bed, and lifted her T-shirts into her lap to refold them. Her mother always folded them up the middle--like Debbie wanted to go to school with a big crease down her front.
"I know Mom, but say I do the Math and Science competition and say I win, then I have to go there and I have to major in science or math. It's kind of restricting. . . ."
She widened her dark eyes and looked up at her mother, begging her silently to get it. Debbie didn't want to sit in a basement all day and run equations surrounded by pasty-faced guys named Alvin.
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How could her mother look at the girl sitting in front of her in her handmade denim-and-silk skirt and lace- sleeve T-shirt and think, Yes, this girl is a lab rat. Let's fit her for some Bunsen burners. And all just to make her father happy.
How come no one ever seemed to think about what might make Debbie happy?
"All you have to do is take the test," her mother said. "See what happens."
"I'll think about it," Debbie told her. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand and stood. "I'm late. I'm going to study at Danielle's."
"Okay," her mother said as she walked to the door. "Say hi to Danielle and her parents for me."
"I will," Debbie said, but she knew she wouldn't. In fact, she couldn't, because Danielle did not exist. Debbie had made her up to cover her many trips to Danny's house--trips her parents would never approve of. Debbie always felt awful when her mother sent messages for imaginary Danielle's imaginary parents, but the awfulness usually passed pretty quickly. She grabbed her book bag for good measure and jogged out of the room.
"Where are you off to?" her father asked, intercepting her at the bottom of the stairs.
"Studying with a friend," Debbie said.
"I was hoping we could go over the topics for the competition."
Debbie stopped with her fingers curled on the doorknob and instantly tensed up. Couldn't her father think
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about anything else? And why was it that the second her dad mentioned it, she wanted to break something?
"Another time, Dad," she said. She pulled out a pot of strawberry lip balm and applied a shimmery coat to her lips. "I have plans."
She headed out the door before she could get a good look at the disappointment on his face.
"So," Kai said.
"So," Andres repeated.
She and Andres were supposed to be setting up the pullout couch for him in her dad's office, a task that would have been a lot easier if Kai could have found the will to move.
"You're . . . here," she said.
"Yes. That is true."
Kai snapped her fingers and punched one hand against the other over and over. "Why is that again?"
Andres cracked a smile that almost made Kai take a seat in her father's creaky old desk chair. How was it possible that after all this time, he could still affect her like that?
And why did he seem completely unfazed? Had he totally forgotten everything that had happened between them that summer two years ago? Their hours of languishing together in the hot Spanish sun, the midnight talks that had lasted until dawn, that one night they'd spent together camping alone in the desert. That one night when friendship and innocent kisses had led to ... ?
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Because if he hadn't spaced on all of that and he was still able to act this normal, then he was an even bigger jerk than she'd originally thought.
"I want to come to school here ... in the States," Andres told her, even though her parents had explained all this just moments ago. "I came to look at schools and maybe try out for the soccer teams."
"Yes, but why are you staying here}" Kai asked, pointing at the shag carpet with both hands.
"Your mother and my mother made an agreement," Andres said, taking the brown cushions off the couch and stacking them in the corner. "They are very old friends."
"I know our mothers are very old friends, but that doesn't explain why you have to stay with us," Kai said, taking a step back as he pulled out the bed. "We barely have enough room in this house for ourselves."
Andres lowered the bed until the legs dug into the shag carpet, then turned around and looked at her. With the small room made smaller by the presence of a queen-size mattress, the only space they had to stand in was about three feet square. Kai was staring right at that cleft in his chin. She picked up the sheets from the desk and held them to her chest.
"You are afraid to be so close to me," Andres said with a cocky smile. "That is why you protest so much."
She saw his hand reaching up and moving toward her face and suddenly she was practically burning with anticipation. But the second before his fingers touched her, she
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slammed the sheets into his chest and backed out the door.
"I'm not afraid of anything," Kai said, which was the truth--usually. Except right about then she was petrified. Ever since she'd found herself in Andres's presence again, it was like every single cell in her being was pulling her to him.
"You're not going to help?" Andres said, looking down at the pink-flowered sheets.
"You're a big boy. I think you can make your own bed," Kai replied, narrowing her eyes. She turned to go.
"Good night, bonita! " he called after her. Kai shook her head and slammed the door behind her.
Eva flicked the burner on under the pot of Campbell's tomato soup, then grabbed her Wesleyan catalog and settled back into one of the wooden kitchen chairs. It creaked and shifted under her weight, and Eva was careful not to lean back on the weak third rung. She pulled one foot up onto the seat, rested her chin on her knee, and flattened the catalog on the table. She'd been through it so many times, the spine had already given. It cracked welcomingly as she pressed her hands over the smooth pages.
Eva stared down at her favorite photograph of the campus, the one depicting three students walking across a brick path, the trees glowing in brilliant shades of orange and yellow and red.
Why are you doing this to yourself! Eva thought, sighing. She knew there was no way she was ever going to
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Wesleyan University. If she went to college at all, it was going to be Ardsmore Community--a school she could walk to from home--a school that put up hot pink registration flyers on the lampposts outside her building every fall and spring. A school where all the burnouts and druggies and other low-income kids from Ardsmore High were going to go, if they went anywhere.
But she couldn't help herself. As the soup bubbled on the stove and the pipes in the ceiling began their nightly clang fest, Eva let herself go. She let herself imagine what it would be like to live on that beautiful campus and go to classes in those ancient, airy buildings, to sit on the lush green lawn, discussing writing and poetry with other students who understood themes and rhythms and depth. She saw herself at Wesleyan.
Maybe, just maybe ... If she could win that scholarship somehow--beat out all those other people by some miracle--then it could actually happen. She could get out of here. She could have the life she'd always wanted for herself.
After all, Riley Marx had spoken to her that afternoon. Apparently anything could happen.
Eva heard the jangle of her mother's keys at the apartment door and jumped out of her chair. She shoved the catalog into the nearest cabinet and started to butter the brea
d for the grilled cheese sandwiches.
"Hey, sweetie." Her mother pulled off her old gray trench and piled it onto the chair Eva had vacated along
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with her pocketbook and keys. "Sorry I'm late. The car wouldn't start again."
"No problem," Eva said. Her mother placed her hands on her shoulders and kissed the back of her head.
Then she watched from the corner of her eye as her mother walked right over to Eva's cabinet for a glass. When she opened the door, the catalog fell out and fluttered to the floor. Of course, Eva thought. The one night she doesn't sit right down and put her feet up.
"What's this?" Eva's mother asked, bending to pick up the colorful book. Her brow creased as she looked at Eva. "Wesleyan? Did you order this?"
"Yeah," Eva said, her face burning red.
"Eva, we could never afford this," her mother said, dropping the catalog on the counter in a little puddle of tomato soup that Eva hadn't had a chance to wipe up. As her mom shoved her glass under the faucet, Eva picked up her catalog and toweled it dry.
"I know, but there's this new scholarship--"
"People like us don't win scholarships," Eva's mother said bitterly. Eva snapped her mouth shut and turned back to the stove.
Just because you didn't go to college doesn't mean I can't. . . , Eva thought. But she could never say it. She knew her mom hadn't gone to school because her dad had gone first, saying only one of them could go at a time while the other worked. And then he'd graduated, and Eva had been born, and he had disappeared. It was something they never talked about.
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"I just don't want you to get your hopes up, honey," her mother said, softening her tone as she lowered herself into a chair. "You need to face reality. Dreams are well and good, but they don't put food on the table, they don't heat the house on a cold night, and they don't pay for doctors' appointments."
"I know," Eva said. "Forget I said anything."
Her mother gave her a sympathetic look, then leaned her head back and groaned, twisting her neck from side to side.
"You wouldn't believe the day I had," she said, leaning her cheek into her hand. Her brown hair hung in clumps from its bun as she began her nightly rundown about her job at Urgent Care--a twenty-four-hour emergency medical center where she worked as the receptionist. She told Eva about the addicts that came in every day, the kids who needed stitches, and the evil woman at one of the insurance companies who always talked down to her like she was some kind of moron.
Eva didn't begrudge her mother her half hour of venting. After all, her mom spent at least twelve hours a day getting abused. Eva always listened and offered the responses her mother was looking for. . . .
"Jerk!"
"Unbelievable!"
"That sucks!"
Her mother was all the family she had, and that was what family did for each other--supported each other--listened.
Yep. This is enough reality for me, she thought as she slid a sandwich from a spatula onto her mother's plate. More than enough.
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Chapter 6
Danny yanked Debbie's shirt off over her head, then grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him. Debbie gasped. If there was one great thing about fooling around with Danny Brown, it was that he was very self-assured. Not like those guys who were so afraid to go in for the kiss, they bumped noses with you awkwardly before finally mauling you with their tongue. No. Danny definitely knew what he was doing. No wonder Liana Hull was still so tweaked that he'd broken up with her. They fell back on his bed together and Danny moved in on top of her. She was kissing his neck when she felt his hand sliding toward the zipper on her skirt.
"Danny... no," she said firmly, pushing his fingers away.
"Come on, Deb," he said in her ear. "I've got condoms."
"Goody for you. Maybe you can make some water balloons or something. Because I'm still not going to do
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it with you." Debbie kissed him on the shoulder. "How many times are we going to go through this?"
"All right, fine. But one of these days I'm going to break you down," Danny said, nuzzling her neck.
In your dreams, she thought. "God, you're so hot," Danny whispered. In the dark his voice and his touch sent even greater waves of pleasure through her.
Danny moved down her neck and started kissing her shoulders and chest, giving Debbie a perfect view of the digital clock on the dresser at the foot of his bed. The red numbers read 9:55.
"Damn! I gotta go!" she said, sitting up straight and knocking Danny right off her.
"Seriously?" he asked, his breath ragged and loud in the darkness. "Now?"
"I'm supposed to be home by ten," Debbie said, groping around for her T-shirt.
She felt the weight of the bed shift as Danny got up and crossed the room. The overhead light flicked on and Debbie found the light blue cotton shirt balled up at her feet. She grabbed it and yanked it on.
"Sorry I have to run," she said, shoving her foot into her boot.
"Whatever," Danny said. "I promised my dad I'd work on my Penn State application tonight anyway." He pulled a form over to him and opened to the first page, scratching at the back of his blond crew cut.
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"You're applying there?" Debbie asked as she twisted her skirt around.
"Yeah. It's my first choice," Danny said. "Plus I might be able to walk onto the soccer team."
Debbie glimpsed a fat blue Penn State catalog on the corner of his desk and leaned over him to pick it up. It couldn't hurt to look through the thing, right? See what other majors they did have--just in case. As much as she didn't like to think about it, FIT was by no means a sure thing. It might not even be a possibility, what with the stiff competition for the Treemont scholarship. Maybe Penn State could still be her backup plan. As her mother had said, it would make her father happy, and even though she changed her mind every five minutes as to whether or not that was important, she might as well consider the possibility.
"Mind if I borrow this?" Debbie asked, flipping through the pages.
"Knock yourself out," Danny said with a shrug.
"Thanks." Debbie shoved the thick book into her bag. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Later."
Debbie rushed down the stairs and out to the car. If she made all the lights, she would only be five minutes late. When it came to Debbie Patel's parents, it was all about keeping them just happy enough and just enough in the dark.
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Eric leaned Mandy back against the arm of the couch as he kissed her, shifting until he was lying next to her with one leg hooked around hers. He slipped his hand up under her sweater, tickling her skin. Mandy tried to concentrate on him. On his lips and his hands and his gentle touch, but she kept feeling herself going rigid. Her fingers were flat on the couch instead of clutching his shoulders or pulling his shirt out from his jeans so she could touch his back. She couldn't stop thinking about that argument she'd overheard her parents having. And if there was one thing that could kill her libido dead, it was her parents' faces looming across her mind's eye while Eric's hands were cupping her breasts.
Ew.
Eric slid his lips along her jaw and down to her neck and Mandy sat up. Eric fell half off the couch in surprise.
"Hey, baby. What's wrong?" He pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear and looked at her with concern.
"Nothing," Mandy said as she pulled her French notebook onto her lap. "I just. . . I'm kind of distracted."
"A big French test tomorrow or something?" Eric asked. He pushed himself up next to her on the couch and looked down at her notes.
"Not tomorrow," she said. "It's Friday, but this chapter is impossible. So I guess I kind of want to work on it."
"Oh. Okay," Eric said. He cleared his throat and smiled. "I'll just work on this, then." He grabbed his copy of Hamlet before settling back into the couch.
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Mandy leaned in next to him and stared at her French book. The truth was,
she knew the French chapter inside out and backward, but she just couldn't stop thinking about everything she had overheard. Was it possible? Could her father have done what they said he'd done? And if so, what did that mean for her family?
"Hey, listen," Eric said suddenly. He turned toward her. "Did you think any more about your birthday?"
"Um, not really."
"Oh, okay," he said, forcing a smile. Mandy took a deep breath. She had planned to tell him today--tell him that she was ready and willing. But she hadn't said it before gym. She hadn't said it before practice. Now was the perfect time, yet something was still stopping her. She just wanted their first time to be perfect. And with everything else that was going on right now . . . she just felt like nothing could feel perfect. Not with this IRS thing looming and her parents fighting and the fact that she was going to have to find another way to pay for Princeton. It was just too much.
Well, there is one easy out, she thought. The perfect temporary excuse.
Mandy looked at Eric. God, he was so beautiful. And she wanted him so much. She hated that she needed an out.
"What?" Eric noticed her staring. "What's up?"
"Well, it's just. You know that scholarship? That Treemont thing?"
"Yeah. What about it?"
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"I'm going to apply for it."
"Why?" Eric asked, sliding backward on the couch for a better look at her face.
"I don't know, I just figured--"
"It's not like you need it."
"I know," Mandy said, looking away. Why did everyone feel the need to point that out? "But it's . . . it's open to everyone, so I thought I would try for it."
"Okay," Eric said slowly. "But I'm not sure I understand. What does that have to do with your birthday?"
"Well . . . apparently the Treemont woman only wanted the scholarship to be awarded to a virgin."
"Yeah, I heard something about that. But how are they going to know whether you are or not?" Eric asked.
"I don't know, but we've been together so long . . . ," Mandy said. "People probably assume we've already done it."
"And oh, how wrong they are," Eric said.
"Eric," Mandy pleaded.
"Sorry." He tossed his book aside and turned to face her fully. "It's just, if they already think we have, then you're screwed anyway, so we might as well just do it, right?"
