Every Other Weekend

by Abigail Johnson

  Of course Jeremy would have heard about that. Even the seniors paid attention to Erica Porter.

  Every guy I knew was half in love with her, and in my case, I’d been full gone on her ever since she’d beaten me in our fifth-grade spelling bee. Not that Jeremy was ribbing me because she was smart—I was betting it had more to do with how she looked in her cheerleader uniform, a sight that had rendered me speechless on more than one occasion.

  I tried to shut any conversation down as quickly as possible. “I ate with her because we’re working on an assignment together.” I left out the part where she’d called me to her table in front of the entire cafeteria and then launched herself into my arms when I agreed to be her partner.

  “Not what I heard.”

  I knew better than to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “What did you hear?”

  Jeremy played coy for exactly one mile. “You know she’s single now.”

  I’d heard that enticing rumor only that morning.

  “And she apparently broke up with her boyfriend because she’s interested in someone else.” Jeremy shook his head. “My baby brother and Erica Porter. And I thought she had taste.”

  I didn’t respond. Talking with Jeremy was challenging under any circumstances. Talking with him about girls was not a thrilling prospect. My relationship with Erica was purely academic at the moment, but as strongly as I tried to point out that fact to my burning-hot face, it kept flushing as red as ever.

  Was it possible that she was into me? We’d always been friendly, but today was the first time she’d hugged me, and the hug had been long enough for word to spread back to Jeremy.

  “So what does Erica think about your weekend girlfriend?”

  That snapped me out of my reverie real quick. Mom had been asking me about Jolene more and more lately, and since I’d made sure that I looked like myself in the subsequent photos Jolene and I had taken, she’d warmed up to seeing them and commenting on every detail quite freely, even when Jeremy was around.

  “Erica doesn’t know about Jolene, who is just a friend. Both of them are friends.”

  “Oh yeah? So you wouldn’t mind if I showed Erica that last picture of you with your ‘friend’?”

  He was talking about the one Jolene and I had taken right before Jeremy and I left for home last weekend. We’d been walking around the front of the building while Jeremy said goodbye to Dad upstairs, and we’d stopped under one of the boarded windows when Jolene had noticed a bird’s nest peeking out from one broken top corner.

  When she’d complained about not being able to see if there were any eggs, I’d bent down and offered to lift her up on my shoulders. It had felt like a harmless gesture until I stood and her chilled fingers wrapped under my chin. I don’t think she had any idea how close I came to dropping her when she made that little contented noise and pressed more of her hands against my warmth.

  There hadn’t been any eggs, but Jolene’s ever-present camera had been around her neck and she’d agreed to let a passing stranger hold it long enough to snap a pic of us, which she’d then sent to me. In the photo, Jolene was grinning and pointing at the empty bird’s nest and I was grinning and looking up at her.

  It was my favorite photo yet.

  And it definitely wasn’t something I should show another girl I liked.

  Jeremy kept trying to rile me up and get me to spill about Erica, but I kept my responses to a bare minimum until he finally gave up. It was strange how easy it was to shift my thoughts from Erica to Jolene with only a twinge of regret.

  Erica was the girl I’d dreamed about for years who had invited me over to her house next week to get an early start on our project.

  Jolene was the girl who teased and unsettled me more often than not but had willingly become my accomplice in my scheme to keep my mom happy. I’d been a sweaty, nervous mess with Erica that afternoon at lunch, but with Jolene, the more time we spent together, the easier it became.

  Even in Jeremy’s still-freezing car, I was looking forward to hanging out with Jolene on Dad’s next weekend almost more than the promise of one-on-one time with Erica. That was the strange part.

  THIRD WEEKEND

  October 23–25

  ADAM

  “Don’t move!” Jolene’s hand wrapped about my chin and turned it forward again. “You’re going to end up looking like Lloyd Christmas, and it’s not going to be my fault.” She moved in front of me and ran a comb through my hair several more times before snipping the ends with scissors.

  “I have no idea who that is.”

  “Duh. Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber, the first movie written and directed by the Farrelly brothers. Your life is frighteningly sheltered.” She lowered the scissors and frowned. “Actually, I think that’s their only film that Peter directed by himself.”

  I pulled back when she leaned in with the scissors again. “Wait, that was a possibility? I thought you were just going to trim it. That’s what you said when you got back from your soccer game.”

  She stepped on top of both of my feet then, pinning me to my chair when I would have jumped up to check the mirror. She also rested her palms on my knees, which probably had more to do with keeping me sitting than her full body weight on my feet.

  “You’re so jumpy. I’m very good at this. You’re going to look great as long as you stop moving every two seconds. Now, stay still.”

  I did. She moved to my side and kept cutting. I did wince a couple times, but she hissed at me through teeth that held a fine-tooth comb. “I have seen Dumb and Dumber, by the way. I just didn’t memorize the characters’ names.”

  “Why not? It’s good stuff—the first one, not the sequel.”

  The cold metal of the scissors brushed my ear and I froze, expecting my flesh to be cut. Instead of pain, the next sensation I felt caused me to place a death grip on the underside of my chair.

  Jolene blew on my neck.

  Then she did it again.

  “Voilà!” She removed the towel from around me and twisted it in a flourish like a matador. “You, my friend, are finished.”

  I kind of felt like I was as I lifted my hand to trail over my neck and the skin that was still tingling from her breath.

  She pressed a mirror into my hands. “What do you think?”

  “It looks good,” I said, glancing in the mirror and trying to steady my breathing.

  “You barely looked. Here.” She moved behind me and extended the mirror in front of us. She was pressed into my back this time, but it felt like that day when she’d held my phone and taken our first picture. Only not quite. Her hands were running through my hair, pulling it this way and that, trying to get my cowlick in the back to lie flat. She was asking me questions, commenting on how I no longer looked like a Wookiee in training. Our eyes met in the mirror, hers glinting with laughter, mine trying to drink in every inch of her face. Every inch of her.

  The first time I’d felt the impulse to kiss her, it had been little more than a reaction to being close to a pretty girl. This time, proximity played a role, but the reason was that the pretty girl was Jolene. I’d let her shave my head bald if she wanted to, as long as she stayed this close to me. Closer.

  But she didn’t. We snapped a pic for my mom, then she moved away and flopped onto her couch, her hair twisted and coiled around her head.

  “Why don’t you ever wear your hair loose?” What would she do if I kissed her? Would she laugh it off? Could I let her if she tried?

  “Says the boy with two inches of hair. How long does it take you to do your hair? Like a minute when you’re feeling fancy?”

  “Fancy?” I couldn’t help but smile at her word choice.

  “It takes an hour, minimum, to dry my hair. And it’s this whole ordeal with hairdryers and frizz serums and brushes and—” she made a sound of disgust “—my arms are exhausted just thinking about i
t.”

  “Why don’t you cut it?” The only time I’d seen her hair down was that night I’d found her sitting on my bed, and she’d looked so beautiful that I felt a little dizzy from the memory.

  “Because I’m vain and I can’t.”

  I laughed at her, because she said it like she was admitting to a crime.

  “It’s true.” She lifted her head from the couch to look at me. “You didn’t know that about me, but I’m unconscionably vain. Ever since I was little, people told me I had pretty hair, so I figured the more hair I had, the prettier I’d be. It’s ridiculous now. I mean, when I put on my jeans, I have to untuck my hair from the waistband. I know I should cut it, but it’s like a sickness. Every time someone compliments me on it, I let it grow another inch. I’ll be stepping on it before long.” Her head fell back.

  “It’s beautiful, your hair.”

  She groaned. “Not you, too. I’m going to end up with a cape. I really should cut it.”

  “But you’re not going to.”

  “Nope.”

  “Will you wear it down for me sometime?”

  She sat up and folded her legs. “You’re not blushing at all. How are you doing that?”

  She was just noticing? When we’d first started hanging out, I would constantly turn red around her. She had only to look at me, and I’d feel my face flush. But recently, I’d stopped. At first I’d thought it was because of all the time I was spending with Erica, as if the double exposure to two beautiful girls was burning me out or something, but Erica had never once affected me the way Jolene had even that first night. Jolene still said the same stuff she always had, but I’d stopped feeling embarrassed. I felt something else lately. And it didn’t make me turn red.

  I felt guilty for how close Erica and I were getting.

  “Maybe you’ve lost your touch.” I joined her on the couch.

  “Well, that sucks.”

  “For you maybe. I wasn’t a big fan.”

  “But you won’t be as cute if you’re just plain all the time.”

  I glanced at her. “You still think I’m cute.”

  A sigh from her. “Yeah, I guess I do. But you’ll still blush sometimes, won’t you? For me? If I’m going to go through the laborious process of doing my hair, you have to turn a little red. Just the ears, hmm?”

  Her eyes were wide and her eyebrows rose. Her lips were ever so slightly parted and bright red from the Atomic Fireball she’d been sucking while she cut my hair. I could lean forward right then and kiss her. I could do it. She’d taste like cinnamon.

  I didn’t need to hear her squeal of delight to know I’d turned bright red.

  I didn’t kiss her.

  We watched Dumb and Dumber in her room, sitting against the foot of her bed, and she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder.

  Jolene

  When Shelly dropped me back at Mom’s on Sunday evening, I was surprised to see two cars in the driveway. Mrs. Cho didn’t drive, and Mom let her come only while I was at school and Mom was out, so I knew one of them wasn’t hers.

  Mom pulled open the door the second I reached for the handle. She looked...good. I wished I could say normal, but normal for my mom is a far cry from good. She was barefoot and wearing jeans with a cozy-looking white sweater that had slipped slightly off one shoulder. Best of all, her eyes were clear and bright. Sober bright.

  Her gaze hardened as she watched Shelly back down the driveway, but she soon turned her attention to me and smiled. Not a manic, brittle smile, and not a calculating one either. She gave me the kind of smile that meant happiness, pure and simple.

  My blood cooled and I felt an instinct to turn and run after Shelly’s car.

  Before that instinct reached my feet, Mom ushered me inside with a soft hand on my back. She asked me how my weekend had been, if I’d done anything fun or watched any good movies. She didn’t mention Shelly or ask about my dad.

  Knots started to tie and cinch in my gut.

  She was acting like...before. When things weren’t great but were so far from awful that comparison made them seem that way.

  And then we rounded the corner into the formal living room I was rarely allowed in, and I understood why.

  Mom gestured to the man standing by the white grand piano that had never been played. “Jo, this is my friend Tom.” She set her hands on my shoulders and gave them a little squeeze. “Tom, this is my daughter, Jolene.”

  Tom wasn’t a bad-looking guy; he was older than the gym rat I’d been expecting, probably late forties. He didn’t have a paunch and still had all his hair, but his teeth were too white and I could see his fake tan on the palms of his hands. His polo shirt revealed short, veiny T. rex arms that looked wildly out of proportion for the rest of his body, which clearly meant he skipped too many leg days.

  “The famous Jolene.” He strode toward me with his hand extended, and I just looked at him until Mom dug her thumbs into my shoulders. I shook Tom’s hand and he grinned, first at me, then Mom. “I know you said she was sixteen, but in my head I was expecting a little girl.” His gaze returned to mine. “Sorry, fifteen. Your birthday is on January 26, right?” He winked at me and added in a faux whisper, “I’m an Aquarius, too.”

  His attempt to establish an instant bond was so aggressive that I wanted to back away. Everything about this guy felt like an assault, from his overpowering musky cologne to his too-loud voice that was still echoing off the vaulted ceilings.

  Mom released me and went to stand by Tom. “I’ve been so excited for you two to meet. Tom and I have been spending a lot of time together.”

  Tom slung an arm around her and pulled her into his side. “I’ve been keeping your mom company while you’re at your dad’s, trying to distract her from how much she misses you. Though to be honest, I never completely succeed on that front. You’ve left big shoes to fill, Jolene Timber.”

  Mom and Tom turned equally expectant expressions toward me, and the knots in my stomach, though they’d stopped clenching, roiled restlessly.

  It all felt so...fake. Rehearsed even. I looked at my mom and the easy, carefree costume she wore, and my gut cinched tight once more before I forced it to loosen.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. “I need to go unpack.” I lifted my tiny weekend bag and then headed up the stairs.

  My mother must have been going for an Oscar that night, because she leaned away from Tom’s side and said, “Oh, do you want any help, sweetie?”

  As far as movies go, it wasn’t bad, much better than the alien invasion we’d recently acted out. But I wasn’t stupid. It was scripted, a scene that was written to lead to the next, and the next, crafted to manipulate the audience into feeling a specific way. For example, I knew I was supposed to be charmed by the obvious affection on display between my poor, lonely mother and the affable, if slightly corny, Tom. I was supposed to be disarmed and maybe even feel a little wistful.

  My eyes weren’t supposed to sting, and my stomach wasn’t supposed to be churning. I blinked my eyes dry before turning fully to face her—them. “Thanks, Mom, but I’ve got it. I’m going to head to bed early. It was a long weekend, and my game yesterday wiped me out.”

  Predictably, they both stiffened. I’d gone off script.

  Mom took another step away from Tom. “But you just got home, and I haven’t seen you in days.”

  She could have come to my soccer game yesterday. She liked to claim that she couldn’t bear to watch me get hurt, because, as the goalie, I often had to throw myself in front of other players. I got kicked a lot, had had a concussion once, and I did get banged up on a regular basis, but that was not why she stayed away.

  She stayed away because there was nothing in it for her.

  Unlike the farce playing out before me.

  Tom rested a restraining hand on Mom’s shoulder and gave her a look before returning his atten
tion to me.

  “Of course. These weekends must be a lot for you. I want you to know that I understand, maybe better than your mom, what it’s like. My parents divorced when I was about your age, and well, it’s the kids who suffer the most. For what it’s worth, based on everything your mom has told me and now getting to meet you myself, I think you’re doing really well.”

  I tried to keep the disdain from my face, and I must have done at least a passing job, because he smiled.

  “I’m hoping we can spend some time together soon. I think your mom is really special, and I have a feeling that the three of us are going to become great friends.”

  Another wave of his cologne assaulted my senses, and it was all I could do not to wrinkle my nose. I spared a thought to wonder how my mom was breathing standing that close to him. Great friends. Really. I couldn’t tell if he was that stupid or was hoping that I was, so I decided to test him.

  “Wow, Tom. That’s...that’s quite a statement.”

  His chest swelled as if I’d complimented him. “Well, we get what we give, and I’m a giver. How about you?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said dryly. “Giving is the best.” And just when I was ready to write him off as an idiot, he met my gaze head-on and his voice lost its chummy tone.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, Jolene, I really am, because, well, I think you could be giving a bit more.” He made a show of drawing Mom back to his side. “You’re tired, so we won’t go into it tonight, but I think with that attitude and a little know-how from me—” he tapped his temple “—we’re going to be very happy.”

  Mom’s adoring gaze, pointed at Tom, was the last thing I saw before I disappeared into my room.

  * * *

  Sitting on my bed later that night after my stomach finally settled, I stared at the application for the film program. I basically had the whole thing memorized: the film program was in LA and ran the entire summer. If I got accepted, I’d be on the opposite side of the country from my parents for three months, not to mention getting to spend time on major studio lots not just watching films get made but being a part of making them.