“Hey,” I blurted, my eyes flitting from the gold chain around his neck to the rumpled Patriots jersey to the Coke in his non-sling hand. I realized, suddenly, that however many punches Jarrod tried to throw outside the principal’s office, he’d had only one arm.
“Hiiii, Jarrod,” Kendall and Rae chorused together.
He squinted into the sunlight. “Welcome to LeFevre House of Corrections. We hope you will enjoy your stay.” The tone was spot on—sarcastic irony—but Jarrod wasn’t smiling.
“We heard you got suspended,” Rae said.
He raised the bottle to take a slug of soda then lowered it. “Two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Kendall cried.
“That’s nothing,” he said flatly, “compared to how long I’m grounded.”
I looked into Jarrod’s eyes, which for once looked neither cocky nor flirtatious; they looked bitter. And in that second, I almost felt sorry for him. I still hadn’t forgiven him for mauling me on the Merritt Parkway and letting everyone believe we hooked up, but somehow, in that moment, I couldn’t help feeling bad. Especially when his mother sauntered into the foyer wearing the tightest leather pants and the highest heels I’d ever seen.
“No visitors,” she said, patting Jarrod’s cheek with her manicured hand. Then, turning to us, “Sorry, girls. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Before anyone could respond, Taylor appeared at the top of the stairs. “Mom,” she said. “Come on.”
“No, no.” Mrs. LeFevre shook her head. “His Majesty’s orders … and you know what happens when you defy His Majesty—”
“He has a late meeting, remember?” Jarrod said, cutting her off. “He won’t be home until tonight.”
“Late meeting.” She snorted. “Right.”
“Dad doesn’t have to know,” Jarrod said. “Come on.” He placed his non-sling hand on his mother’s shoulder and steered her firmly away from us. “Let Tay talk to her friends. I’ll make us some tea.”
Tea? Kendall mouthed to Rae.
Omigod, Rae mouthed back, pretending to faint from ecstasy.
Heidi, at least, was staying focused. “How’re you holding up, Tay?”
“Okay,” Taylor said, not moving from the top of the stairs.
“Just so you know … Levitt is fired up.”
“Levitt is ripshit,” Kendall said. “You should have heard the assembly this morning. Those guys are so busted for what they did to you.”
Rae’s head bobbed. “So busted.”
“Kyle and Jason I get,” Kendall mused. “They’ve always been assholes. But that kid Owen? … I’ve never heard him say boo…. And isn’t Will Faller’s mom, like, a cop?”
“Assistant deputy sheriff,” Heidi corrected her.
“Whatever,” Kendall said. “It’s still ironical.”
Taylor said nothing. She just stood there, gripping the banister, looking pale.
“You guys?” I said softly. “Could you … give us a minute?”
Kendall looked at me. “What?” Then, “Ohhh. Right … Excuse me, ladies. Me and Rae and Heids are going to have some tea.”
Rae nodded. “We love tea.”
“Tea is the new coffee!”
Heidi huffed a sigh. “Whatever.”
When it was just the two of us, Taylor and I stood in silence—her at the top of the stairs, me at the bottom.
“So,” I said.
“So,” she said.
We were making eye contact, both nodding politely. It suddenly occurred to me that it was mid-afternoon and Taylor was still wearing pajamas—pale orange bottoms with rust-colored polka dots; rust-colored top with pale orange polka dots—and that they were not pajamas I recognized. This gave me an irrational pang. Taylor and I had been borrowing each other’s clothes since kindergarten. We’d always known each other’s wardrobes inside and out. So I had to ask, “New pj’s?”
“Pretty new,” Taylor said.
“I don’t remember seeing them,” I said.
“You haven’t.”
“Did your mom buy them for you?”
“No,” Taylor said. “I got them at the mall. With Heidi.”
I almost said something about seeing Heidi at the track, but then I changed my mind. She might not want me telling anyone. Instead, I nodded and said, “Nice. The orange looks good with your hair.”
“Thanks,” Taylor said. “I got new highlights.”
“I know. I mean—I noticed.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Silence filled the stairs again. I realized there was too much distance between us to have this conversation.
“Look,” I said, taking a step forward. “I came here to talk to you. We really … need to.”
Taylor nodded. “I know.” She started walking down the stairs just as I started walking up.
I hesitated, then said, “Do you want to … where do you want to do this?”
She shrugged. “Here’s good.”
“Okay.”
We sat side by side in the middle of the stairs for what felt like a long time. Taylor fiddled with the buttons on her pajamas. I yanked on the cord of my sweatshirt, tightening the hood to the left, then to the right. Finally, we turned to look at each at the exact same time.
“I’m sorry,” we said simultaneously.
Then, “You go.”
Then, “Jinx!”
We both laughed, but only for a second.
“Do you think I’m a slut?” Taylor blurted.
“What?… No.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did…. Did you see the pictures?”
I nodded slowly.
“Of course you did,” Taylor said bitterly. “Everyone did.”
I shook my head. “It’s not your fault. What those guys did … It was so wrong. And the reason I came here—”
“No,” Taylor said, cutting me off. “I know you came here to apologize. I know you think I’m mad at you for turning me in to my dad, but I’m not—I mean I was, when I wrote you that note, but I’m not now…. I know you were just looking out for me … because that’s the kind of person you are, and I…” She hesitated and then the words came flying out. “I wanted to be mad at you when really I was mad at myself and I don’t deserve your friendship after what I did and I know I tried to justify it by saying I was helping Ryan make the team … and I was. … I mean, he really did get told to do it and he really didn’t want to ask you, but now … looking back … I don’t know what I was thinking…. I was drunk and Heidi came up with the idea, and it sounded … I don’t know….” Her voice trailed off.
“Since when do you listen to Heidi?”
“What?”
“Since when do you listen to Heidi? You never listen to Heidi. I don’t care how drunk you were that night. It doesn’t make sense.”
Taylor fell silent.
“I mean—I get what her motive was. She wanted you to herself. She wanted me to get burned. But you? … Ten years you’ve been my best friend. Ten years and you go and throw it all away—”
“You think I don’t know how long we’ve been friends?” Taylor snapped. “I know how long we’ve been friends.”
I stared at her.
“I just wanted to know, for ten minutes, what it felt like to be you … okay? … To have a guy look at me like that.”
At first, I was too stunned to speak. When I finally did, the words sounded caught in my throat. “How did it feel?”
Taylor didn’t answer.
“No, really,” I said. “I want to know. Was it as great as you imagined?”
She shook her head. “It was horrible. It was the worst night of my life.”
“Same.”
“Oh my God.” Taylor groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I am so sorry, Lexi. I am such a fuck-up.”
“You’re not a fuck-up.”
“No. I am. I’ve only gotten drunk two times in my life, and both times I acted like a crazy slut and ruined people’s lives.�
��
“Tay,” I said firmly. “You are not a crazy slut.”
She lowered her hands and grimaced. “Spoken by the girl who’s never done anything more than kiss.”
“Wait a minute—” I said slowly. “So you know I didn’t hook up with Jarrod?”
She nodded.
“How?”
“I asked him. He said he had nothing to do with those rumors. Someone must have seen you in his car.”
“Huh,” I said, processing this.
“So,” Taylor said a little sarcastically, “you’re still pure as the driven snow.”
“Right.” I took a deep breath. “Want to hear a funny story? … You might get mad, but I think you’ll appreciate it.”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
So I told her about my plan to seduce Rob at the dance. Right down to the part where I pictured his penis as a hotdog and ran away sniggering like a little kid.
Taylor stared at me. “Nuh-uh.”
“Yes.”
“That was your big revenge plot?”
“Sadly, it was.” I shrugged, feeling foolish all over again. “Are you mad?”
“I might be if it weren’t so ridiculous.” Taylor smirked a little. “Or if you’d really done it.”
“I didn’t. I would never.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re making my point.”
We sat in silence for a minute—not quite as awkward as before. We stayed that way until I finally said, “I’m sorry about what happened at the dance. I wish I could have stopped it.”
Taylor stared at me. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yeah, well … I’m still sorry.”
“I’m sorry about Ryan,” she said, her voice cracking a little, “I’m sorrier than you will ever know.”
“Okay,” I said. “Are we done apologizing now?”
“I don’t know. Are you done hating me?”
“Yes … but if you ever do anything like that to me again—”
“I won’t,” she said quickly. She raised three fingers—the old Girl Scout salute. “Taylor LeFevre is never drinking again.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
I suddenly remembered what Ruthie called me during our last conversation, after I’d expressed my amazement that she, the anti-jock, was getting it on with Carter Benson, the über-jock. “My little extremist.” That’s what she said. “Always painting the world in black and white.” It was with affection, but still. Those words stuck with me.
“Never is a strong word,” I said.
“Well.” Taylor shrugged. “It applies.”
“Not even when you’re twenty-one?”
“Nope.”
“Not even champagne at your own wedding?”
“Well…” She smiled a little. “Maybe at my own wedding.”
I smiled, too. “Good.”
“Are you still going to be my maid of honor?”
“Do you still want me to?”
“Are you kidding?” Taylor started to choke up again. “You’re my best friend.”
There was so much more I wanted to say. I’ve missed you…. I kissed Theo…. Ruthie has a boyfriend…. But I couldn’t talk now because Taylor was hugging me so tight I could barely breathe. Hugging me and crying and laughing and telling me to take off that stupid hood, damn it, she wanted to see my face.
Peace Offerings
I SPENT EVERY afternoon of the next week at the boxing gym. This was partly to spend time with Theo and partly to channel the anger I was feeling on Taylor’s behalf. Kyle Humboldt, Jason Saccovitch, Owen Porte, and Will Faller had been suspended indefinitely. Their cell phones—which, according to the rumor mill, contained not only photos of Taylor but also text messages bragging about that night—had been turned over to the police. You would think this would mean something, but as soon as Taylor returned to school she’d been getting it from all angles. Dirty looks. Choice words muttered in the hallways and scrawled across her locker. It was mostly guys—football players or friends of football players—but there were girls doing it, too.
“And you know what her mom said?” I cried, throwing a hard jab. “When Taylor told her what’s been happening at school?”
“No, what?” Theo steadied the blue bag in front of me.
“‘Maybe you should have thought about that before you let those boys take your clothes off.’”
Theo shook his head. “Wow.”
“I mean”—jab—“what kind of mother says that to her daughter?” Cross.
I bounced up and down, thinking of my own mom, who would be in the kitchen right now, fixing an after-school snack and waiting for me and Ruthie to burst through the front door and tell her all about our day. I remember Taylor once teasing me, saying, “Your mother is like Barbie, Betty Crocker, and Mary Poppins rolled into one.” And then, dissing her own mom, “Mine’s never baked a cookie in her life.” At the time, I’d told Taylor how cool I thought Bree was—how I loved everything from her spiky red hair to her outrageous clothes to her every-day’s-a-party attitude.
“What about her dad?” Theo said.
“Her dad is so pissed”—jab—“that Jarrod got suspended”—cross—“he grounded both of them”—jab—“until the end of the school year.”—cross—“He wouldn’t even listen”—jab—“to their side of the story!”
I hesitated, then threw the hardest punch I could. “How can you not listen to your own kids?”
“Good question,” Theo muttered.
“There should be a license”—hook—“for parenting”—uppercut—“and you can’t be one”—hook—“if you don’t pass”—uppercut—“a test.”
“There should be.”
“I feel so bad for her…. What do I do?”
“I don’t know,” Theo said. “Maybe you should just be glad you don’t have her parents.”
It was this sentiment that sent me straight to the kitchen after Theo dropped me off, fully expecting to find my mother waiting for me.
Only she wasn’t.
Nothing was waiting for me. No after-school snacks, no pitcher of ice water. No Post-it Note stuck to the counter, explaining that she’d run out for milk.
It was 5:30, and the table wasn’t even set. My mother always set the table for dinner. Four places, every time. Regardless of whether my dad would be home to eat with us, regardless of my field hockey games or Ruthie’s band rehearsals.
“Mom?” I called out. “I’m home!”
When there was no answer, I walked through the house looking for her, my mind starting to spin. She left. She left her rotten, ungrateful daughter to run off and be someone else’s mother. And on the way, she crashed the car…. But when I pushed open the door to my parents’ room, there she was, sitting on the bed, surrounded by photo albums.
“What are you doing?” I asked, overcome with relief, but it came out like annoyance.
“Looking at old photographs,” she said in a voice I didn’t recognize. Her nose sounded stuffed. Her eyes, I realized, were rimmed with red. There was a box of tissues on the pillow beside her—a few crumpled ones on the floor.
“Why?” I said, eyeing the albums, which my mother had spent a lifetime assembling. Documenting every moment of our lives in color-code. Green for Ruthie. Purple for me. Blue for family. Red for holidays. “You know you can do all this on the computer,” I said. “It’s way easier.”
“I like albums,” she said.
She lifted the one on her lap and placed it, still open, on the bed beside her. My eyes darted to the pictures. Me at the age of seven or eight, wearing some fancy white dress and a veil, mugging for the camera.
“What’s that?” I said.
My mother smiled. “Your first communion.”
“I had a first communion?”
“You did.”
I shook my head. “I don’t remember that.”
“You don’t?” She looked surprised.
“No. I remember going to church when
I was little, but … Did Ruthie have a first communion?”
My mother smiled. “Ruthie refused to put on the dress. She said white was a sign of—I’ll never forget this—patriarchal oppression.”
“Yeah, well, she might be changing her tune,” I muttered, thinking that at the rate Ruthie and Carter Benson were going, they’d be dropping out of high school to get married and raise their love child.
“What’s that?” My mother raised her eyebrows.
“Talk to Ruthie,” I told her. “Anyway, I thought first communion was for Catholics.”
“It is.”
“But Dad’s Jewish and you’re … what? Congregational?”
She nodded. “I attend a Congregational church now, but that’s not how I grew up.” She went on to explain that her mother, my grandmother Julia, had been Catholic, and that her father, my grandfather James, had been Baptist. “I was raised with both faiths and I wanted you and Ruth to grow up the same way … understanding where you came from … and knowing that someday you could make your own decision. Just like I did.”
I knew I should say something deep and meaningful—about faith, or about my mother’s parents, who died before I was born and who I’d only seen in pictures—but I couldn’t think of anything. Except for the Landry McCoy story, I’d never heard my mom say this much about herself in one sitting.
“God,” she murmured, glancing down at the album. “You were so beautiful. So, so beautiful.”
I stared at her, feeling a surge of shock and anger. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I could barely choke out the words. “Thanks a lot.”
“What?” My mother looked up, startled.
“You’re up here crying because I’m not that girl anymore. That beautiful girl in the white dress with the perfect face that you lost and you can’t ever have back. Ever. Because she no longer exists!”
“You’re wrong.”
“I see the tissues, Mother. I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not stupid,” she said quietly. “I have been crying, but it’s not for the reason you think. I’ve been crying for the girl who used to jump out of bed in the morning and come running in here.” My mother patted the space beside her. “That’s what I want back…. Ruth always needed her space, her independence, even as a little girl. But you—you were my koala baby.” She shrugged, giving me a sad smile. “I guess I just miss being your mom.”
My Life in Black and White Page 21
