Pretenders

by Lisi Harrison

  “So, it wasn’t you.”

  “I told you that.”

  We didn’t speak again for a while. I was thinking about life and how unfair it can be. Then A.J. said, “You think Mom and Dad will get divorced?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How are your grades?”

  “Crap,” I said.

  Nothing about that was funny but we smiled anyway.

  “Without your A’s and my job, how are we going to fix this?” he asked.

  We never talked openly about Beni’s or why we loved it so much. I convinced myself that A.J. liked going for the food. Because if A.J. went for the peace, like I did, then A.J. knew about the dysfunction. And if he knew about the dysfunction it had to be real. I couldn’t wave it away like a lone wisp of dandelion fluff. I’d have to admit that the fluff was part of something bigger. A beanstalk I didn’t want to see.

  “You went to stop the fighting too?”

  “No, the teppanyaki. That high-speed chopping never gets old,” he said. “Jeez, does everyone in this family think I’m a moron?”

  “Kind of,” I said.

  “Okay, genius, now what?”

  Midterms were coming out this Monday and I didn’t have a single A. I knew with a little effort—okay, a lot—I could get my grades up and we’d be back on track. But we didn’t have time for that; Mom was gone now.

  “How badly do you want this?” I asked.

  “Uh, I don’t want Mom and Dad to get divorced, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “So you’d do anything to save their marriage?”

  “’Course,” A.J. said.

  I paused to assess the desperation behind his eyes.

  “Anything?”

  “Yes!”

  “Teach me how to hack.”

  Whatever relationships you have attracted in your life at this moment, are precisely the ones you need in your life at this moment.

  —Deepak Chopra

  Wednesday, October 10, 2012

  The buttery aroma of béchamel sauce welcomed me home from school. I hadn’t even pulled my key out of the door when Mom shouted, “Lily, in the kitchen. Now!”

  I wondered if she busted the lock on my journal. If she had, Karb, Kalorie, and Kardio were the least of my concerns. She’d know about my Duffy obsession, that my savings is now an homage to Bryanboy, that I toss my Hebrew National salami because it has Dead Sea amounts of sodium. Most of all, she’d know how badly I long for normal. A longing that negates everything she’s ever taught me.

  Anyway, it was a false alarm. I was late for International Cuisine Night and she was koncerned (ha!).

  ICN is Mom’s way of filling my free time with activities I would never tell a Pub person—living or dead—about. Ever. The point is for me to translate a foreign recipe, cook it, serve it, and digest it. You can see why I wasn’t racing home.

  “Sorry, Mom, I had a style club meeting,” I said, peering into the bubbling saucepot. “What are you making?”

  “What you were supposed to be making,” she snipped. “Kosher Croque Tartiflette.”

  “Oy, how French.”

  She wiped her hands on a black dishcloth and tossed it on the island. “Lily, should I be concerned?”

  “About what?”

  “Look at you.”

  Concern would not be an uncommon reaction to the bike chain suspenders that held up my striped golf pants. But they were a small price to pay for Pub-ularity.

  “Bubbie Libby from next door stopped by,” she continued. “You were supposed to walk…”

  “It’s okay, they don’t have names.”

  “You didn’t even call her. That’s not like you. You’re more responsible than that.…” Her voice trailed off. “You used to be.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I haven’t seen a single grade since that A you got in Algebra.”

  “A-plus.”

  “Still.”

  “Mom, I’m fine. I promise. I was at school. That’s all.”

  “Not for long,” she mumbled.

  “Huh?”

  “Pardon me.”

  “Sorry. Pardon me?”

  “I was reminding you of our agreement. Straight A’s or you’re back at home.”

  The preheat alert beeped. She put in the Croque and let the oven door slam shut.

  “Mmmmm, what’s that smell? Très magnifique,” Dad said, home from work. He stuffed his commuter train newspapers in the recycle bin, kissed us hello, and asked again what smelled so good. We didn’t answer. Mom turned her back to me and sighed. I rolled my eyes.

  “Looks like everything is under control in here.” He poured a glass of red wine and hurried off. “Call me when it’s ready.”

  Dad is a senior editor at the New York Times. He is the most intelligent person I have ever met. He manages a department of smart journalists because he’s even smarter than they are. But the guy is seriously challenged when it comes to girl fights.

  After he left, Mom said, “I’m not kidding, Lily. I will pull you out of that school tomorrow if I have to.”

  When I was three, I put a dry cleaning bag over my face and tried to breathe because my mom said not to. I wasn’t getting any air so I breathed harder. That made it worse. My lungs became bricks and my face turned blue. Leaving Noble and going back to Homie would feel more stifling.

  “Am I clear?”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  UGH!

  “Yes, I understand.”

  I understood that I couldn’t leave Blake, Vanessa, or Duffy. I wasn’t exactly mentally stimulated by the girls in style club, but I had fun looking through celebrity magazines and debating who wore it best. The point is, I am learning to function in society. To live among my peers. To connect. Of the plethora of things Mom taught me, she never taught that. She refused.

  While the Croque cooked, I thought about my bungee-ing grades (A+, B+, B, A-, B, A, C). Correction. Okay, that’s a lie. I should have. Instead, I stared at the side of Duffy’s house and wondered why he left school with Sheridan yesterday. What they talked about. Why we never walked home together. If he got the Evite to Octavia’s girl-ask-boy party Friday night. If it was his first house party too. What he would wear. What he thought I should wear. If Octavia’s parents were going to be there. If not, what he would tell his parents. What he thought I should tell mine. What he would say if I asked him to be my date.

  I had to know. Then I’d focus on my bungee-ing grades.

  “Mom, how long until dinner?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “I’m going to apologize to Bubbie Libby,” I said. “Be right back.”

  When Duffy’s sister Mandy opened the door, the dogs made a break straight for my house.

  “Not today, girls,” I called. “Come back!”

  They ignored me so I chased after them. “It would be so much easier if they had names!”

  “What do you think of Violet and Seraphina?” Mandy asked as I dumped them back in the foyer.

  “Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner’s daughters?”

  She hugged me. Mandy Duffy of the 3Ms hugged me. “Ha! I can’t believe you got that. No one here knows what I’m talking about.”

  I wanted to skate down the street shouting: I got it! I was right! Move over French, Spanish, and Hebrew! I speak the international language of pop culture now! Thank you, Noble! Thank you, style club! Thank you, Us Weekly! Thank you alllllll!

  “Duff! There’s a hottie here to see you!” Mandy called, accepting me as one of her own.

  I should have corrected her. I should have told her I was there to see Bubbie Libby. But I didn’t. Because I wasn’t.

  Duffy came charging down the stairs and all I could think was, Uh-oh. And then, What am I doing? A girl like me can’t ask a guy like this to a Pub party. Bad idea, Lily! Go ask someone your own size.
You’re not tall enough for this roller coaster. Ask Blake.…

  “Oh,” Duffy said, disappointed. “Hey, Lily.”

  “Expecting someone else?”

  He opened his mouth to answer but I cut him off. “What are you doing Friday night?”

  “O-kayyy,” Mandy said, backing away from an imaginary gun.

  “Sorry,” I said, blushing. And then, “Hey, your ankle is better.”

  “Oh, uh, not really, I, uh, I let it breathe at night. The doctor says to keep it wrapped for another few days, though, so…”

  “Oh.”

  “Actually,” he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Really, why?”

  “You’re in style club, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How many girls are in that?”

  “Fifteen?” I said. It came out sounding more like a question.

  “Cool.” He stuffed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. Was he nervous too? “Uh… you think you’d… all be into going to a—”

  “Want to go to Octavia’s party?” I blurted. Flattering as his nervousness was, I couldn’t stand to watch him suffer.

  “—fashion show Friday night?”

  “Fashion show?”

  He snickered. He couldn’t believe it either. “Yeah.”

  “What about Octavia’s party?”

  “This is gonna be slick. And since your club is all about style, I figured—”

  “Okay. What time will you be picking me up?” I laughed because we live next door and I know he doesn’t drive.

  “I have to go early. Can we meet there?”

  “Sure.”

  “Cool. Oh, and bring Blake if you want. You know, cuz he might be into it.”

  What he probably wanted to say was, “I know Blake is gay and won’t be a threat so if it makes you more comfortable to have him tag along, go for it.” But he was being discreet and I appreciated that. So I winked to let him know we were on the same page. I must have been radiating extreme love-heat because Duffy’s cheeks got red.

  “Oh, uh, hold on.…”

  He ran upstairs and returned with a stack of flyers. “These will get everyone in.”

  I took them and ran home. I would have run around the planet if dinner wasn’t ready. I had that much joy to burn. I couldn’t wait to tell Blake everything. Except the part about how he was invited. Because I, Lily Bader-Huffman-Duffy, am tall enough for this roller coaster. And I’m ready to ride it alone.…

  Then I’ll study.

  October 10th

  Forgive me, Journal, for I have sinned.

  Instead of asking “What’s the problem?” ask “What’s the creative opportunity?”

  —Deepak Chopra

  October 11th

  Blake had a dentist appointment during lunch so Lily and I sat alone. She was asked to join the style club table and I am always fielding random invites, but she wanted to talk so I gave her my full attention.51

  She opened by asking if I was okay. Apparently I looked tired and had been acting “jumpy.” I scratched my arms and said I was fine. Then she pointed at my tray.52 I told her I was on a juice cleanse and asked what the big news was. She said she has a date with Andrew Duffy.

  I was relieved. Then shocked.

  “Duffy?”

  She smiled a huge smile. “Friday night.”

  “Really?”

  She whipped her salami sandwich in the trash and said, “Why is that so hard to believe?”

  “I just never pictured you two together. You’re like…”

  “What?”

  “Different. Like oil and water. I can’t picture you mixing.”

  “Who is the water?” she asked.

  “You, of course. You’re much smarter than him.”

  “It’s smarter than he,” she said.

  I would have chucked a french fry at her if I had one. So I threw the napkin instead. She apologized for sounding like her mom.

  “Being smart isn’t everything, you know.”

  “You’re only saying that because you’re going to get straight A’s on your midterm report.”

  “What midterm?”

  “The one that comes out Monday.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  I told her I was. This freaked her out. Then Principal Alden walked into the cafeteria.

  He stood at the door and looked around. I became unequivocally itchy. Did he know?

  He looked right at me and did that two-finger wave that says Hey you, yeah, you, look over here! I pointed at my speeding heart. He nodded, Yeah, you. I stood while Lily was talking. I didn’t care. I wanted to go peacefully. I didn’t want a scene. But it was too late. He started making his way toward me. Everyone was staring.

  My hands began shaking. Lily asked what was happening. My mouth was too dry to answer.

  Principal Alden grabbed my elbow and guided me toward an empty corner.

  “What’s going on?”

  He took off his glasses and looked right at me. “Vanessa, it’s about your transcripts.…”

  And there it was. The life-flashing-before-you moment I assumed was just for soap opera characters. My parents’ faces began flip-booking into different expressions of disappointment. Not much of a life, I know. But that’s really what I saw.

  “I reviewed your transcripts from middle school,” Principal Alden said. “They were outstanding. You got straight A’s on your midterm report.…”

  “Uh-huh…”

  “Well, Vanessa, you strike me as a smart girl. One who makes good choices…”53

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So tell me…”

  Ohnogodpleasenogodpleaseno…

  “How did your brother turn out so… different?”

  “Huh?”

  “He was sent to my office again today. I left word with your parents but I was wondering if you could give me some insight. Is everything okay at home?”

  I wanted to hug this Starbucks-scented man. I cried with relief instead.

  “I knew it,” he said, cupping my shoulder. “When you’re around kids as long as I’ve been, you see the signs. Things are not okay. You tried to tell me that the other day and I shut you out. I’m sorry for that, Vanessa. But I am all ears now. Talk to me, Vanessa. It’s safe. Would you like to go to my office?”

  Tears of joy Niagara-ed down my cheeks. He had no clue what I did!

  “It’s my parents,” I sniffled, suddenly grateful for their dysfunction. “They’re kind of separated and it’s been hard on us.”

  “How are you managing to stay so focused? I mean, straight A’s?”

  “School is my escape,” I said, “and escaping is A.J.’s.”54

  He nodded like he was right there with me.

  “Sir?” I said, batting my Bambi lashes. “Our dad is great… but…”

  “Go on…”

  “… But the separation has been hard on him too and he’s kind of lost… in his own world, you know?”

  He nodded. “I do.”

  “A.J. could really use a father figure right now. Go easy on him, if you can.”

  “Understood.” He winked. “Oh, and Vanessa?”

  “Yes?”

  “Keep up the great work.”

  I smiled humbly.55

  I flashed Lily a ginormous thumbs-up as I glided back to our table.

  “What was that all about?”

  “A.J.’s messing up again.”

  She sighed. “I know the feeling.”

  She was picking her cuticles so, in spite of my desire to ask if Blake had a date for Octavia’s party, I thought it best to focus on her. “What’s wrong?”

  She burst into tears. “I’m done.”

  “Ohmygod Lil, do you have a disease?”

  This made her laugh so hard snot bubbled from her nose. She grabbed my napkin and blew. “I have to leave Noble.”

  “What? No! Why?”<
br />
  I was just starting to trust Lily. Without her I’d feel lonely and alone.56

  “I’m only allowed to be here if my grades stay as high as they were when I was a Homie. The second they fall I’m out. And they fell, big-time.”

  “Why did you agree to that?”

  “I had no choice. It was the only way my mom would let me come.” She started crying again. “And now midterms will be out and… what am I going to do?”

  “Come,” I said, grabbing her unsightly fake raccoon-pelt bag and leading her to the bathroom.

  “My life is over.”

  “Shhhh, it’s okay. It’s not over.”

  “It is!”

  “It’s not!”

  “It is!”

  “It’s NOT!”

  “Vanessa, it is. Why do you keep saying it’s not when it is?”

  Everyone in the hall was staring at us.

  “Be. Cause,” I insisted.

  “Because whyyyy?”

  “Because I have a solution.”

  “What kind of solution?”

  “A good one.”

  When we got to the bathroom I told her.

  The less you open your heart to others, the more your heart suffers.

  —Deepak Chopra

  Thursday, October 11, 2012

  The barter system was used to exchange goods and services before the invention of money. It can be traced as far back as 6000 BC. There are roughly 192 different types of currency in circulation today, and yet the barter system can still be useful.

  I will go light on the specifics for reasons I cannot disclose. Vanessa and I had a total heart-to-heart. I told her about my scholastic dilemma and she offered a solution (that’s code for the thing I cannot disclose). I would never agree to something like that if my entire future didn’t depend on it. But it does. So I did. I will say this: all parties benefited from the transaction. With one possible exception: Blake.

  I offered to repay her in any way I possibly could.

  She told me there was this one thing.…

  Turns out she had asked Blake to Octavia’s party and he wouldn’t commit. Her only request was for me to make him say yes. I told her I wasn’t sure I could do that. She told me her “solution” was bigger than what she was asking from me. In barter-speak, I was getting a much better deal.

  So I skated to Blake’s house after school to settle an old debt.

  “Remember what you said on September fifth?” I asked.