by Alexa Martin
“Can we go to MOMA when we’re there?” I asked.
“We could look at some colleges,” Dad suggested.
“Sounds like a blast,” I muttered.
Dad poured himself another cup of coffee. “Any word on your SAT scores? You retook the test last month, right?”
I pretended to.
“Not yet. I mean, no word yet on my scores.”
“Have you picked a safety school?” James Henry asked.
“I’m considering my options.”
“Oh, hey—look at this.” Dad handed me a section of the paper. “There’s an article here about fuel cells. I thought maybe you could use it for debate.”
“Uh—I’m not…Thanks.” I pretended to glance over the article.
Hearing something in my voice, Mom glanced up from the essay she was grading. “How come you never have your friends over? I’d like to meet Amanda. And that guy you whisper about on the phone?”
“His name is Neal,” James Henry said, flipping a pancake into the air.
I shot him a look. “You need more chores if you have time to eavesdrop.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Dad asked.
I glared at my brother. “You have syrup on your chin. And no, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“I think it’s nice that Charlotte has made some friends,” Mom said absently, frowning over something one of her students had written.
That afternoon, on a whim, I biked over to Amanda’s. No one answered when I rang. The house was so big that the Mungers seldom heard their doorbell. The door was open so I let myself in. I guessed when you were as rich as they were, you didn’t have to care about theft. I found Amanda upstairs with Neal. They were sitting on the floor of her bedroom surrounded by corn chips, empty soda cans, and stacks and stacks of research. Apparently they weren’t wasting any time when it came to their partnership. “It’s the holidays,” I said. “You guys need to get a life.”
Amanda busted up laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
She took a deep breath, looked at Neal, and the two of them went into hysterics. “You had to be there,” she said.
Wrapping an afghan around my shoulders, feeling excluded but not wanting to show it, I wandered out on the balcony. Amanda’s not perfect, I reminded myself. She can be crass. She can be mean. But the flip side was that she was fun, unafraid, and never boring.
The ground was hard with frost. At least it wasn’t raining—yet. The sky, however, was starting to look ominous. The nearly bare branch of a maple tree brushed up against this side of the Mungers’ house. Had Amanda ever used this tree to sneak out? I reached out to touch a limb. If you climbed up on the railing of the balcony you could probably step out onto a branch. Once you got to the trunk it wouldn’t be too hard to shimmy down. You’d have to commit, though—you’d have to really believe you could make it. Any hesitation and you’d fall.
Though I’d been MIA for at least fifteen minutes, neither Neal nor Amanda came outside to check on me. When I finally went back inside, I sat down next to Neal and leaned my head against the bed.
“Tired?” he asked.
“I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” I said.
“Maybe you’re pregnant,” Amanda said without looking up.
Neal paled.
I’m not pregnant, I mouthed to him. I was on my period, as a matter of fact. Plus, we were always careful. I may have had a learning disability, but about some things I had some sense.
Closing my eyes, I allowed my mind to drift. Amanda’s and Neal’s voices blurred into an unintelligible murmur. I started thinking about the conversation I’d had with my dad. How furious would he be if he knew that I hadn’t looked at any college applications in over a month? Or if he found out that I was getting a C in both Math and Chemistry? (I was going to have to forge my mom’s signature on the next report card.)
Every now and then I’d catch a glimmer of a debate discussion Neal and Amanda were having: oil spills, electric cars, tidal energy, nuclear war. But I couldn’t hold on to the words long enough to comprehend their meaning, so I just let them wash over me without trying to understand. I was spiraling off into a galaxy far, far away.
Until I heard this:
“There’s that rave over Presidents’ Day weekend. We could do it then.”
I opened my eyes and blinked.
Neal and Amanda were sitting very close, their knees practically touching.
It’s nothing, I assured myself. They’re old friends.
“I’ll talk to my brother,” Neal said. “I know he can get us some.”
I cleared my throat. “Get what?”
Neal raised an eyebrow at me. “She’s back!”
Amanda wrinkled her nose. “We’re talking about Ecstasy. Are you in? Oh. Wait. You’re out of town on Presidents’ Day weekend. Too bad.”
Best friends don’t share everything.
Jingle bells. Batman smells. Robin laid an egg.…
Christmas came. I ate too much. Most of my presents were of the practical variety. A new calculator. A vocabulary workbook. A day planner. Cash.
Bah, humbug.
On the day before New Year’s Eve, Mom was downstairs in the kitchen trying to arrange take-out Thai food into something that resembled a home-cooked meal. Amanda and Neal were due to arrive any minute. Outside, I could hear James Henry practicing tricks on the new skateboard he’d gotten for Christmas. Milton was outside too, coaching him. Apparently, mushroom boy was also an expert skateboarder.
Dad was locked in his study, having some big-deal conversation with Meeghan. They were talking about a title change for the new book, he’d explained, though none of us had asked for an explanation.
I was getting dressed, which meant that I’d emptied half my closet into a heap on the bed. On the one hand, I wanted to look sexy. On the other hand, I didn’t want anyone to think I was trying to look sexy.
All of a sudden I noticed flashing lights bouncing off the mirror above my dresser. Glancing out my window, I saw that Amanda had arrived…with a police car in tow. James Henry skated past them a couple of times. Milton stared blatantly.
I fired off a text to Neal. What gives?
Neal: Speeding ticket. Who are those kids on the skateboards?
Me: I have no idea. Stay clear of them.
I settled on a pair of ripped jeans and a black shirt that emphasized my new thinness. When the doorbell rang, I hurried to get there before anyone else. Who knew what my parents might say if I left them unsupervised?
“I’m above the law,” Amanda shrieked, bounding into our house like it was her own. Neal, James Henry, and Milton followed her in.
“You must be Amanda,” Mom exclaimed, cocking her head slightly as if trying to understand Amanda’s hair. She’d just re-dyed it to a shade of pink that was as neon as an Open sign.
“You missed quite a show,” Neal said. He had, I noted with a mixture of pleasure and revulsion, brought along a copy of my dad’s book. “Amanda told that cop she had a bladder infection and was about to wet her pants. The dude actually bought it. Pretty girls get away with so much.”
Milton raised an eyebrow at me. Pretty girls?
I rolled my eyes. Neal is just stating the obvious.
I was pleased to see that Neal had traded his usual jeans/ T-shirt ensemble for a blue oxford shirt and khakis. My dad—when he emerged from the study—was obviously impressed with his Ivy League appearance. “Call me Julian,” he said, pumping Neal’s hand.
I was the only one who saw my mom frown. She’d worked hard for her doctorate and wanted everyone to call her Dr. Locke, probably her children included. Recovering quickly, she gave Neal a warm smile. “I’m Margot.” She gestured at the cheese, crackers, and nuts she’d set out on the coffee table. “Help yourself to anything.”
I willed James Henry not to say anything about Neal being my boyfriend, though I wanted the whole world to know what we were—myself included. Thankfully, my brother w
as wrapped up in some conversation with Amanda. She was telling him all about this famous skateboarder she’d once dated.
“You look familiar,” Neal said to Milton. “Do you play lacrosse for Barclay?”
“I used to,” Milton said, taking a seat on the couch. “I quit.”
“Did I hear someone say something about Barclay?” Amanda asked, drifting over to us.
“Guilty,” Milton said. “I go there.”
“Do I know you?” she asked, tilting her chin to one side.
“It would seem that you don’t,” Milton said dryly.
“I went to Barclay for a while,” Amanda said, adjusting her bra strap. “But the teachers stifled my creativity, and I had to get out of there.”
“That’s interesting,” Milton said, peeling the shell off a peanut. “A lot of artists and writers have gone to Barclay.”
“Omigod!” Amanda snapped her fingers. “Now I remember. You’re the guy who started the mushroom-hunting club.”
“I’m its seventh member,” James Henry proudly.
“Milton’s my brother’s mentor at Barclay,” I muttered. “He lives nearby.”
Neal gave Milton this you’ve-got-to-be-shitting-me look. “Mushrooms?”
“We have a Web site if you’re interested,” Milton said, oblivious to the fact that he was being mocked. “There’s a link to it on Barclay’s home page.”
“Let me get this straight,” Neal began. “You quit lacrosse for mushrooms?”
“No.” Milton gave him a hard stare. “I quit lacrosse because I’m not very good at lacrosse, and it wasn’t much fun after a while.”
Amanda looked amused. “And mushrooms are fun?”
“Yes. They are. They’re also important.” Milton picked up a National Geographic from the coffee table and began thumbing through it, obviously trying to end this conversation.
Mom walked over and cleared her throat. “Whenever you’re ready, we can move into the dining room. Dinner is served.”
I was grateful for the interruption. Things were getting weirdly tense.
James Henry dimmed the lights and turned on the stereo. A tango started playing a second later. After we started eating, Amanda was the first to speak. “This is delicious, Mrs. Locke. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”
“My recipes are top secret,” Mom said.
I shot her a look. Really.
“I’m good with secrets,” Amanda said. “I have to be. My dad has a very high level of security clearance.”
“Is your dad a secret agent man?” Milton asked.
Amanda narrowed her eyes. “My dad works for the CDC. I’d tell you more, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Don’t tell me, then.”
For some reason, Milton’s dry rebuff made me smile to myself. “Amanda wants to be a spy someday,” I said, to fill the awkward pause.
“You’d probably have to change your hair,” James Henry said. “To blend.”
“Ha.” Neal looked at Amanda with amusement. “Call me crazy, but you’re not the kind of girl who’s ever going to blend.”
“Crazy,” Amanda said, helping herself to another spring roll. “But I’ll take the compliment.”
Milton gave me another funny look. I shook my head. No doubt he was thinking that I’d somehow hoodwinked Neal and Amanda into being my friends. Maybe I had. So what? Now I just had to figure out how to keep them.
Neal, who was sitting across the table from me, turned to my dad. “I loved your book. I couldn’t put it down.”
I could feel his leg jouncing under the table. Being around my dad was making him fidgety. I understood. Hooking my foot with his, I smiled reassuringly. Milton wiggled his eyebrows at me in a mocking way. Shit. I’d hooked the wrong foot.
“Thanks,” Dad said to Neal. “Lily at Dusk has been a surprising hit with people your age.”
Neal set his copy on the table. “Would you mind signing this for me?”
“Not at all.” Dad dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Charlotte tells me you’re headed for Stanford. That’s impressive. Do you know what you want to study?”
“Dad!” I interrupted. “That’s kind of a personal question.”
Amanda came to my dad’s defense. “He’s just trying to think about what to say when he signs the book. Right, Julian?”
He smiled at her. “Exactly.”
Was it my imagination, or had Mom just narrowed her eyes at Amanda?
Neal shrugged sheepishly. “Actually—I want to be a writer. I’ll probably major in journalism. I’ve written a couple of stories for Shady Grove’s literary magazine. I’m the editor.”
“It takes a long time to make a living as a writer,” Dad said gravely. “And journalism’s a tough business these days. Are you prepared to grit it out for years?”
“My parents have some really good connections at the New York Times.”
“Knowing the right people makes all the difference,” Amanda said.
Dad beamed at Amanda. She was speaking his language. “That’s one of the cardinal rules of life.”
Mom cleared her throat. “Amanda—what are your plans before you become a spy?”
Neal answered for her. “Amanda’s a double legacy at Harvard.”
“It’s true,” she said. “But I’m thinking of taking a year off when I graduate.”
“Really?” Mom took a sip of her wine. “What would you do for that time?”
“Don’t tell us if you’re going to have to kill us,” Milton joked.
“I’m not sure,” Amanda said. “I might try to do an internship at the White House. I’m very interested in politics. Or—I might backpack across Europe. I want to see the world before I commit to a career.”
“I lived in Austria the summer before I started graduate school,” Dad said, “with some buddies from college. We had a blast.” He smiled to himself and shook his head, as if remembering some particularly hilarious debauchery.
Mom stood up and began clearing the table.
“I’m not finished!” James Henry protested when she grabbed his plate.
“Can I give you a hand?” Milton asked, rising from his seat.
After dinner, we moved into the den for coffee, ice cream, and fortune cookies. James Henry put on an old episode of The Simpsons. “Are we really watching this?” Amanda whispered to me.
Overhearing, Milton said, “The Simpsons is genius.”
“It’s not bad for a cartoon,” Neal remarked amicably.
Amanda bit into her cookie, glanced at her fortune, and laughed.
“Let’s hear it, Girl Wonder,” Neal said.
She smirked. “‘What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is mine.’”
Milton nodded sagely. “That about sums it up.”
Amanda ignored him. “What does yours say?” she asked Neal.
“‘Now is the time to go ahead and pursue that love interest.’”
“You can’t argue with the ancient Chinese!” Amanda exclaimed triumphantly.
“No,” Neal said, studying her in an odd way. “I guess you can’t.”
Milton made this you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me face. I scowled at him. Seriously—what was the guy’s problem tonight?
“‘A golden egg of opportunity falls into your lap this month,’” James Henry read.
My mom sighed. “I sure hope it doesn’t break. Egg stains are a royal pain.” She broke open her cookie and frowned. “There’s nothing in mine!”
“‘You look pretty,’” Dad said.
My mom seemed at once taken aback and pleased. “Why thank you.”
“It’s my fortune,” Dad corrected her. “Not that you don’t look pretty.”
“You’re beautiful, Mom,” James Henry said loyally.
“And Julian does look pretty,” Amanda joked.
Though Mom smiled at this, the corners of her mouth were tight.
“Read us yours, Milton,” my brother said.
“‘Help! I’m being held prisoner
in a Chinese bakery!’”
Everyone laughed, but somehow this got James Henry talking about a project he was working on for social studies about Communism and torture—which was a total mood killer.
Amanda leaned back and stretched. “Neal—I hate to be a party pooper, but we should leave soon if we’re going to get any work done tonight. We’ve got a big tournament coming up the first weekend in January,” she explained to my parents. “In Southern California.”
“Charlotte didn’t mention anything—” Mom began.
Before I could stop her, Amanda said, “It’s just for policy debate.”
I bit into my fortune cookie to buy myself time. It got really quiet, and I grew aware of how loudly I was chewing. “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’ve switched to dramatic interpretation.”
“Our coach was the one who suggested it,” Amanda chimed.
“Charlotte’s very talented,” Neal—reading the situation—rushed to say. “Her writing is great.”
Milton looked at me. “What kind of stuff do you write?”
“She wrote a hilarious essay for her debate application,” Neal said.
I gave him a grateful smile.
“It was pretty good,” Amanda agreed. Then she grabbed her purse. “Neal—we really do have to go.”
Ever so slightly, Milton shook his head.
At the front door, Dad handed Neal his business card. “If you want to show me any of your writing, I’d be happy to take a look. It sounds like you’re taking the right steps to get ahead.”
“Thank you.”
It was a grizzly evening. The trees lashed madly in the wind. Clouds billowed like jellyfish. Chilled, I wrapped my arms around my body.
