Stacey's Problem

by Ann M. Martin

  Now, here she was. Right in front of me.

  Laine seemed happy to see me, so I acted happy to see her.

  And, in a way, I was. She was part of my past.

  Laine wrapped me in a quick, tight hug. She smelled like jasmine, a fragrance she never used to wear. “How are you?” she asked, as if nothing had gone wrong between us.

  “Good. How are you?”

  “Awesome. I’m here with my friends.” She jerked her head back toward the spot she’d come from. I saw a bunch of kids around my age, some older. Boys and girls both. I didn’t know any of them, though. “What’s new?” she asked.

  I gave her the quick version of my recent life. When I told her about my fight with Claudia, she rolled her eyes. “I never liked her — too much with the art and not too bright.”

  Her remark didn’t surprise me. I knew Laine had particularly disliked Claudia from the start. She was jealous, I guess.

  “Oh, Claudia’s smart in her own way,” I said.

  “Yeah, but I’d have dumped her for a guy too.”

  I hated the way she made that sound. “It wasn’t like that at all,” I said. “It would probably take too long to explain, though. Anyhow, she and I are friends again and neither of us sees the guy we were fighting over.”

  “He was probably a jerk.”

  “No, he wasn’t. He was pretty nice. It just didn’t work out,” I said.

  Talking to Laine was even more uncomfortable than I had imagined it might be. Things didn’t flow smoothly at all. And Laine even looked tough, with heavy dark blue eyeliner ringing her eyes and black nail polish.

  “What’s been happening with you?” I asked.

  “Same old same old. King and I broke up, though. He was getting to be a real pain. School’s a drag, but the kids are fun. Want to join us?”

  “I can’t. I’m here with Dad and his girlfriend, Samantha.”

  Laine noticed Dad and Samantha for the first time. “Oh, hi, Mr. McGill. How are you?”

  “Fine, Laine. Nice to see you. How are your parents?”

  Laine shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I’ll tell them you said hi. Can Stacey come sit with us?”

  Dad seemed undecided. Taking a step behind Laine, so she couldn’t see me, I shook my head, signaling Dad to say no. Samantha smiled but quickly looked away so Laine wouldn’t notice.

  “If you don’t mind, Laine, we have some plans to make,” Dad fibbed. “I’m sure you girls can get together another time.”

  “Absolutely,” Laine agreed. “It’s been way too long, Stacey. Call me, okay? Do you still have my number?”

  “I have it,” I replied, which was true. It was still in my phone book.

  Laine hugged me again. “Don’t forget. Call me.”

  I nodded, even though I was pretty sure I would never call her.

  Laine waved as she rejoined her friends. I was relieved to see her go. I had known we were through being friends the last time I’d seen her. Now, though, it was as if we were from different planets.

  Still … she was Laine. Behind all that eyeliner and mascara were the same eyes that had lit up with laughter when I told her one of my corny jokes.

  A tide of memories flooded me.

  Getting soaked with artificial movie rain as Laine and I watched a film being made on a street downtown.

  The two of us climbing in the ductwork of my building to spy on neighbors — both of us unable to stop giggling.

  Crying in Laine’s bedroom because my parents were fighting again.

  Walking together on the beach the time she came on vacation with Mom and me.

  A few days ago, Claudia had presented me with a riddle. “What does everyone collect whether they want to or not?” I didn’t know. “Memories” was the answer.

  That’s when it hit me.

  The way I felt about Laine was probably the way Mom felt about Dad. She didn’t want to live her life with him anymore, but she had a bundle of good memories. Such as eating clams with Dad. And now that Dad was marrying Samantha, something in Mom’s life was over. There was no longer any possibility of turning back to it.

  How would I feel if Laine had told me she was moving to Australia and I’d never be able to see her again? Probably the way Mom was feeling now.

  I opened my bag to search for my phone, but the diner line suddenly surged forward and I had to move with it. We were seated pretty quickly after that. Somehow it didn’t seem right to sit at the table with Samantha and Dad while I called Mom to ask about her date.

  Still, I was dying to find out, and to tell her that I now understood how she felt.

  Finally, after brunch (which was awesome), I couldn’t stand it another second. I excused myself from the table and headed toward the ladies’ room. Instead of going in, I stood outside and phoned Mom.

  “It’s me,” I said when she answered. “How was it?”

  A pause. It made me nervous.

  “Not great.”

  “But not terrible?” I asked hopefully.

  Another pause.

  “Let’s just say I’m pretty sure Gabe and I won’t be having a second date.”

  “Why? What happened?” Had he upset her? Been rude? Thoughtless? “What did he do?”

  “He was fine. A perfect gentleman. We just could not keep up a conversation for more than five minutes. There was no connection between us. Basically, we sat there and stared at each other the whole evening.”

  “Did you dance, at least?” I asked.

  “He doesn’t dance.”

  “You went to a dinner dance with a guy who doesn’t dance? How awful.” I could picture her sitting there, looking beautiful, having the most boring, disappointing evening imaginable. “Was the food any good?”

  “Passable,” she answered dully.

  “Gosh, Mom, I’m sorry it was such a bummer. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Of course,” she replied. Only she didn’t sound okay.

  “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  “Don’t rush,” she said. “How’s your weekend going?”

  “Okay.” It wasn’t the right time to rave about the Versace show; the movie Dad, Samantha, and I had seen the night before; or the great brunch this morning. “I ran into Laine Cummings,” I added. “It was weird seeing her.”

  “Hmmm. I know how that can be.”

  “Mom, I love you,” I said. “I’ll be there soon. ’Bye.”

  “Okay. Again, don’t rush on my account. ’Bye.”

  I was going to rush on her account. She needed me. I should have stayed home this weekend. But I hadn’t, so now I needed to get back as fast as possible.

  Hurrying back to the table, I saw Dad paying the check. “There’s a concert in the park this afternoon,” he said when he saw me. “I thought we could head over there and — ”

  “Do you mind if I just go home?” I asked.

  “I guess not. What’s the big hurry?”

  “Mom,” I explained. I almost launched into the story of her disastrous date, but I stopped myself. It seemed disloyal to talk to Dad and Samantha about the private conversation between Mom and me.

  “She doesn’t feel well,” I said instead. This was almost true. Mom had certainly felt better than she was feeling today, even if she wasn’t actually sick. “She told me not to rush home, but I didn’t like the way she sounded,” I added. I didn’t want them to think Mom had asked me to come home to take care of her.

  Dad and Samantha exchanged a look. I couldn’t tell what it meant — probably that they suspected there was more to the story than I was telling.

  “I’ll drive you,” Samantha offered.

  Dad and I looked at her in surprise. She’d never offered to drive me anywhere before. I didn’t even know she had a car.

  “But the concert,” Dad objected. “It was your idea to — ”

  “I only thought Stacey would like it,” Samantha cut in. “If she’s not going to be here I don’t mind if I miss it. It’s such a gorgeous day, I wouldn’
t mind getting out of the city.”

  “I’ll come too, then,” Dad said.

  Samantha held up her hand. “There’s no need, Ed. I know you have work to catch up on.”

  “True,” Dad agreed.

  I smiled to myself. Dad always had work to catch up on. Samantha had already learned the perfect way to distract him.

  She put her napkin on the table and patted my hand. “This way we’ll spend some time together, and your mom won’t have to pick you up at the station, since she’s not feeling well.”

  “That would be great,” I said. The train takes about a half hour longer than a car ride. “Dad, is it okay if I just leave the rest of my stuff at your place?”

  “Of course.”

  We left the diner, and Samantha and I took a cab to the garage where her car is parked. Soon we were heading out of the city. Samantha pushed a button and the sunroof slid back, letting in sunlight and a cool breeze.

  “This will be nice. We’ll have some time to talk,” she said. “Just you and me.”

  “That was cool the way you convinced Dad to stay home,” I commented.

  Samantha laughed. “You can always convince a workaholic to work. It’s pretty easy.”

  “Do you mind that he works so much?” I asked.

  “No, not at all. I’m a bit of a workaholic myself.”

  It occurred to me that I didn’t know what Samantha did for a living. She rarely spoke about it, so I assumed it wasn’t a very important part of her life. “What do you do?” I asked.

  “Fashion photography,” she said.

  Wow! That was so cool. So that was why she was so interested in the Versace exhibit. “I’ve never heard you mention it. If I were doing something that awesome I’d be talking about it every second.”

  Samantha smiled. “When I’m not working, I try to put work out of my mind. If I think about it all the time, then I’m working twenty-four hours a day. And I don’t think that’s healthy. Your father and I have talked about it and he’s trying not to make work his life too.”

  “He’s much better than he used to be,” I told her. “Nothing Mom did could make him change.”

  “Maybe he listens to me because we’re so much alike. Or maybe now he wants to change, since he knows that his work habits cost him his marriage.”

  What she said was probably true. But I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Why couldn’t he have realized these things before they cost him his marriage?

  I changed the subject. “Do you travel a lot?” I asked.

  “All the time. I’m headed for Alaska next week.”

  “Cool! I’ve always wanted to see Alaska.”

  “Cool is the point,” said Samantha. “It’s hard to believe, but we’re shooting fall fashion already and we wanted a background that still looks wintry. We’ll travel by cruise ship and I’ll shoot from the deck, with the snowy mountains in the background.”

  “What a great career. How did you get into it?” I asked.

  “I was a model for a while,” she said. “But as I got older, I was less in demand, so I turned to something I also knew pretty well by then, photography.”

  I had a million questions about the fashion industry. “You can come on a shoot with me sometime,” Samantha offered when we were close to Stamford.

  “That would be great!” I said, barely able to believe it might be true. “I would adore that!”

  “Good. When I come back from Alaska, I’ll work on setting it up.”

  I pointed out the Stoneybrook exit then and Samantha turned off the highway. In minutes I was in familiar surroundings again — and it felt all wrong to be in the car with Samantha.

  It was like being with my mother, only I was with the wrong mother. I squirmed in my seat.

  Then I pointed out my school and my friends’ houses, hoping Samantha wouldn’t pick up on my anxiety. She had driven me all this way. And I didn’t know what to do with her now.

  I couldn’t invite her inside when I got home. That was all Mom needed.

  “Want to see some more of Stoneybrook?” I asked.

  “Sure. I’ve heard so much about it. I’m very curious.”

  I guided her to the Stoneybrook Museum, the civic center, the library, and the community center. “You travel back and forth between two very different worlds,” she commented.

  I nodded. “I hope you don’t mind, but I really should get home,” I said. “You know … with Mom not feeling well and all.”

  “Absolutely. You’ll have to guide me there, though.” I gave her directions and soon we pulled up in front of my house.

  “Thanks so much,” I said, getting out of the car.

  “You’re welcome. I hope your mother feels better.” With a smile and a wave, she took off.

  I watched her drive down the street. She was so nice, and she was perfect for my father. Now that she was heading back to the city, I could feel good about her again.

  And I did.

  “Stacey, you don’t have to cheer me up, really,” Mom insisted. We were sitting in the living room late that afternoon and I was trying, desperately, to keep up a lively conversation.

  “I wasn’t trying to cheer you up,” I fibbed. “I just thought you’d want to hear about a chimp who liked to dress in a tuxedo and attend weddings. When I saw it on TV I laughed so hard I could hardly stand it.”

  “You probably had to see it to get the full impact.”

  “Maybe.”

  Earlier, when I’d come home, I’d asked Mom if she wanted to talk about her date, but she said she’d rather just forget it. She claimed she was tired from being out late, but one look at her face told me she was depressed.

  I sighed. The chimp story was the last funny thing I could think of. What else could I do to lift her spirits?

  “Mallory called this morning,” Mom said, suddenly remembering. “Why don’t you try cheering her up? She sounded sort of sad.”

  “I wasn’t trying to cheer you up!” I said again as I went to the phone and punched in Mallory’s number.

  “Hi, it’s Stacey. What’s up?” I said when Mallory answered.

  “Are you doing anything today?” she asked.

  I looked at Mom. She’d begun doing the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle. That might take up most of the afternoon, and she didn’t exactly seem to be craving my company.

  “I guess not,” I replied. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Want to come over?”

  “Okay.”

  I hung up and told Mom I was going to the Pikes’ house. “Have fun,” she said, barely looking up from her puzzle.

  I cut through our yards to Mallory’s. She was waiting on the back steps. “Hi,” she said. “I don’t even want my brothers and sisters to know you’re here. They might want your attention and I don’t feel like dealing with them right now.”

  “That bad?”

  “They’re just driving me crazy,” she said. I followed her to the picnic table in the backyard. “Everything still feels so strange around here. I wish I were back at Riverbend.”

  “Really? You’re not glad to be home in Stoneybrook, even a little?”

  “I’m happy to see everybody, but I don’t feel like I fit in anymore. Nothing’s the way it was.”

  “I think I know what you mean,” I said, taking a seat beside her. “This morning I saw Laine, my old friend.”

  “I remember her.”

  “She’s changed, and so much time has passed. I didn’t know what to say to her. It was totally awkward.”

  “Believe me, I understand!” Mallory said. “That’s exactly how I feel. It’s just the same.”

  I thought about it a moment. Was it the same?

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, Laine and I had a fight the last time I saw her. But today she acted as if everything were fine between us — when it wasn’t. You’re still friends with everyone here, though. We’ve been e-mailing
back and forth all this time.”

  Mallory threw her arms up in frustration. “Then why do I feel so distant from everyone?”

  “You’re too impatient,” I told her. “Once school is out everyone will have more free time. We’re all looking forward to spending the summer with you, Mal. You know how crazy spring gets. There are exams and recitals and all kinds of end-of-term things. It’s probably the worst possible time to come back from school.”

  “You think?”

  “Definitely. If you came back home in July everyone would be all over you.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.” Mallory slumped down on the picnic bench so that her head rested on her hands. “But it’s not just that everyone else seems different, it’s that I feel different too. So much happened to me at Riverbend. I’ve changed a lot this year. But I don’t know how to explain it. My friends and family are treating me as if I were the person who left — and I’m not that person any longer.”

  “What kinds of things happened?” I asked.

  “Well, take the Internet Club, for example,” she began. “A lot of the girls at Riverbend didn’t know how to use the Internet. So I went to the computer teacher and asked her if we could get together one night a week in the computer room so she could show us how to get onto different Web sites, do research, and stuff like that.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “Yeah, it was. And since I already knew more than most of the girls, I wound up assisting the teacher and being voted president of the club.”

  “Hey, that’s great!”

  “Me, Mallory Pike. The president of something!”

  I thought how down on herself Mallory had felt before she left for Riverbend. She’d had a couple of unpleasant experiences at school and some kids were making fun of her. Riverbend had obviously been exactly what she needed to build her self-esteem.

  “That’s really cool,” I said.

  “I know. But I can’t seem to share it with people here,” she complained.

  “You’re sharing it with me.”

  Slowly, a smile spread across her face. “That’s true, isn’t it? I did just share it with you. But no one else will be interested. Or they’ll just think I’m bragging.”

  “Your friends will want to hear all about it.”