“Well,” Amber finally said. “I suppose that’s true.”
I smiled sweetly at her. Lori and Sarah smiled, too, looking relieved that the moment of tension had passed. Conversation continued without me saying much. Maybe it was stupid, but I felt like I’d won something. A tiny victory.
The feeling didn’t last long. I was still there, after all. Gillian had invited me to a movie with her that afternoon and I should’ve said yes. Instead, I was wasting a perfectly good Saturday having idiotic conversations and gearing up to spend who knows how many hours scouring craft shops to find just the right color ribbon for Amber’s bridal shower favors.
And then I heard Amber say something to Sarah that sounded like your new apartment.
“Wait, what?” I interrupted.
Amber was applying pink gloss to her lips. She blotted with a napkin. “I was telling Sarah that I found the cutest chandelier that would be perfect for the foyer in her new apartment.”
I looked at Sarah, who seemed to be shrinking in her chair. “What new apartment?” I asked.
“Oh.” Amber blinked innocently. “You didn’t know?”
Sarah bit her lip, barely meeting my gaze. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you. Derek asked me to move in with him. I’m always staying over and we were both paying rent and it really didn’t make sense…”
Her voice trailed off, then picked back up again, going on about how Derek’s place was closer to her job and to campus. I heard myself telling her not to worry about it, that it was okay, even though it wasn’t. I couldn’t pay rent at Stonebury Heights on my own. I’d either have to move or find another roommate, and given my choices in this town, I might as well have started packing.
Well, at least I had something to worry about besides Jack. I couldn’t dwell on it for long anyway. Boys had crashed our coffee party.
Adam and Kurt and Mike squeezed into chairs between the four of us. Of course, Adam chose to drag a chair between Amber and me. He smelled like cigarettes. The fact that this was the closest I’d been to a guy since Owen was enough to make me incredibly depressed.
Adam’s thick fingers grabbed the MuchMusic Magazine, wrinkling Jack’s face on the cover. “I already figured out who he’s singing about.”
Lori’s jaw dropped. “You did? Who is it?”
Adam looked at her, then me. He leaned into me, bumping his shoulder to mine. “It’s a song about unrequited love, right?” I couldn’t help but be impressed by his proper usage of a four-syllable word. “It’s obviously about me! Remember how he’d come up to the Coke machine, ‘I just want to buy a soda,’” Adam said in a high-pitched voice like he’d done at my homecoming party, I guess in case anyone missed it the first time. “Yeah right. That kid had a thing for me, I swear.”
“Ew,” Lori said, but laughed along with everyone else.
Adam looked at me like he wanted us to laugh together and I reached for my bag. “I’m not feeling well. I think I better go home.”
“But the favors,” Amber said, offended.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
Adam put a sweaty hand on my back. “Need a ride?”
“I’m going to walk. It’s a head thing—I think I need some fresh air. I’ll see you guys later.”
I pushed through the crowd and out onto the sidewalk. Tourists were everywhere, carrying take-out containers and stopping to peer in shop windows. They were all tan and happy. They probably waited all year for their one week here.
“Hey, wait for me!”
I stopped and let Sarah catch up. She slung her bag over her shoulder and touched my arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I walked quickly to the end of the block, waving at a car that stopped and let me cross the street. “My head started to hurt all of a sudden.”
“Hey, slow down, I think I just pulled a hammie.”
“Sorry.”
We regrouped and walked through the park at a normal speed. “Listen, I know why you’re mad.”
I stopped and looked at her.
“I’m really sorry about the whole moving out thing. I wanted to tell you myself.”
“Oh. It’s okay. I understand.”
“I’ll keep paying rent until you can find a roommate.”
She sounded desperate, scared that I was angry, when really, the only person I was mad at was myself. For being in this situation, for pretending to like people I didn’t, for pretending to be someone I wasn’t.
“I’m really sorry about the way you found out,” Sarah said. “I think she thought you already knew.”
That made me laugh a little. “Really? That’s what you think?”
“Natalie! Come on. The two of you have always had this weird vibe between you, but she’s really trying. She was so excited when I told her you were coming back to town, you know. She was never sure why you guys didn’t keep in touch.”
We’d reached the entrance to Stonebury Heights, where pink hydrangeas bloomed everywhere. Maybe if I concentrated on the beauty of the flowers, all the other crap in my life would fall away.
“Look, I know the two of you are friends. But Amber and I…we don’t really get each other. I guess I thought—hoped—that when I came back, it would be me and you, you know, hanging out.”
That made her jaw drop. “But we always said the four of us would stick together, right? Didn’t we?”
I didn’t know how I was supposed to answer her. She’d always had this romanticized view of our group, like we were characters in the books we used to read about babysitters and traveling pants. Like we had some sort of unbreakable bond. I’d wanted to believe in it, too, back in high school, because without the three of them, I felt like I was nothing. Now I knew that wasn’t true.
Sarah was upset, her eyes welling up. “I don’t understand,” she said. “You’re not acting like yourself anymore.”
There must have been a way for me to explain that there had always been two versions of me. The version of myself I let my friends see and the person I was inside. The person I was trying to be now. That I hadn’t meant to be this way—that it had just happened.
The problem was I wasn’t sure the person I was had anything in common with her best friend anymore.
…
If I wasn’t Sarah’s best friend anymore, who was I? It seemed like I was asking myself this question all the time since I’d moved back home. Only now it wasn’t only me asking, though. It was Jack, too. In “Wanting,” the song I kept listening to on repeat, he sang: “Wanting you/is like wanting a ghost/as soon as you get close/you slip through my fingers again/and I don’t know/if you know/if you’re real.”
The thing was, I’d always felt most like myself when I was with him, whether he knew it or not. Maybe he never knew. I’d never told him. Back then, I hadn’t completely realized how rare that feeling was. If I had, maybe I would’ve tried harder to hold on to it.
Chapter Five
Five Years Earlier
In the dark, streetlights
Me watching you, watching out the window
For someone you know to pass by
—Jack Moreland, “Ride Home”
The bus was late, and it was pouring rain, and I didn’t have an umbrella. Of course. By the time I made it to Nona’s, my socks were soaked and I was nearly ten minutes late. I thought I was in trouble for sure. But Darcy smiled, taking my shoulders and pointing me toward the front of the café. “Do you see this?”
“Sure. It’s your café.”
She laughed. She had a surprisingly feminine laugh. “Do you see how busy it is already?”
It did seem busier than normal. Even the table by the drink cooler, always the last to be snagged, was occupied.
“It’s all Dirt Soup,” she said. “Everyone’s talking about them. I’ve already gotten calls from people wanting to know if they’re playing tonight. Those boys are special. Make sure you bring them extra brownies, okay?”
“Sure.”
The past week at schoo
l had been so strange. I’d had actual conversations with Jack and Reid and Travis now, but in the hallways, it was like nothing had changed. In physics, Reid and I did not say hello to each other. I was studying in the library during my free period Wednesday morning and Travis was there, reading a comic book at the table next to me, and he never looked in my direction. I saw Jack only once all week, in the cafeteria on Friday afternoon. I was standing in line for grilled cheese—the only day that buying lunch was acceptable—and he was a couple of people ahead of me, buying a bag of chips. After he paid and turned to go to his table, he saw me.
Neither of us said a word.
I tried to seem casual as I watched him. I’d never noticed where he sat before. A small table toward the back. Reid and Travis were there, along with a couple other boys I only knew as the class slackers. There were three girls, and one sat next to Jack—an incredibly skinny girl, her blond hair dipped in pink at the ends. When Jack sat down, he reached into her lunch bag, took an apple, and bit into it. She pretended to be mad, play-pushed his shoulder, and smiled the whole time.
There was more to the weird way I felt around him, which was the fact that I’d been unable to get his songs out of my head. Not just that, but the way they made me feel, as if he’d seen inside my dreams or something.
I was starting to sound like some sort of groupie.
I told myself to forget about it as I brought tea and a platter of extra brownies into the break room and set it on the table. The band was playing cards, and Jack had a black and white composition notebook open beside him, muttering out loud. “Oh! The Pixies, obviously—‘Winterlong.’” He scribbled into the notebook.
“What are you writing?”
He put his pen to his lips and didn’t say anything. Reid lifted a card from the pile and stared at it. He sighed heavily, turning cards over in his hands, looking lost. “I hate this freaking game.” He finally discarded one, then looked at me. “He’s making a list of the best B-sides for his next mix.”
“Oh. Why?” I’d always thought B-sides were the crap that didn’t make the album. Plus, a mix? People still made mixes?
Jack was too engrossed in his list to answer.
“Because he’s obsessed with B-sides and rarities,” Reid said.
I nodded as if that made sense to me, which it didn’t. “Okay. So. Why?”
“Because he has obsessive compulsive disorder,” Travis said. “Your turn, dude.”
“Because,” Jack said finally, “it’s the only way to really know a band.” He closed his notebook, picked up a card, and it was Reid’s turn again.
“What are you guys playing?”
“Gin rummy.” Travis took off his baseball hat and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Why, do you want to take my spot?” Reid asked, nearly pushing himself out of his seat.
“Oh, no, I don’t know anything about cards—”
“It’s fine,” Jack said, smirking. “Neither does he.”
Reid didn’t bother defending himself. He got up and gestured for me to sit.
“Oh. Well. I should probably get back out there…but I guess I could finish out this hand.”
Travis gave me a quick rundown of the rules, and I picked up Reid’s cards. They were awful. None of the same suit, no possibility of a straight. All he had with any potential were two sevens. We went around the circle a couple of times until Jack started to smile. He laid out his hand and Travis groaned. Twos of diamonds, spades, and hearts, and, all of diamonds, King, Queen, Jack, and ten.
“You guys are making me rich.” He collected his pot: a couple of nickels, a quarter encrusted with what looked like gum, and about twelve guitar picks.
“Sorry,” I said to Reid.
“It’s all right. Sad thing is I’m better at this than poker.”
I laughed. “Hey, I wanted to ask, how did you get a hundred on Kessler’s quiz last week?”
He shrugged. The tip of his nose and ears turned pink, and he looked down at his feet. “I don’t know, I paid attention in class, I guess.”
“Seriously? I studied for like forty-eight hours straight and only got an eighty-seven.”
“Only,” Jack said. He came over and stood next to me as he took his guitar out of its case. “He doesn’t need to study. Photographic memory.”
“Really?”
Reid shrugged again, obviously uncomfortable. Jack walked away, tuning the guitar. “I don’t know,” Reid said. “I guess that stuff just comes sort of easy to me.”
“I’m jealous. I wish it came easy to me.” I wished something did. I got good grades, but it was only because of how much effort I put into it. Even the things I liked to do—art and photography—seemed like work. And now that I’d seen Darcy’s photography, I figured I might as well give up.
Reid mumbled something and walked, red-faced, over to where Travis was drinking his tea. I was going to leave—Darcy really was going to fire me now—but something stopped me when I saw Jack. “What about you?” I asked him. “Have you always been able to play and sing so well?”
He looked surprised for a second. “I’ve been doing it forever. My dad taught me.”
“He sings, too?”
“Yeah. He was in a band for a while in the nineties, before he met my mom. I grew up on that stuff. I’m kind of obsessed with the nineties.” He shrugged. “Like I would’ve fit in better then. Like they’re my people.”
So that explained the flannel and all the T-shirts he wore with names of bands I’d never heard of.
“My dad’s actually a much better singer than I am.”
“Really? I thought you were…I thought you were really good.”
“You’ve never heard him. He’s got a much bigger range. Some of the high notes I can’t do very well.” He seemed very matter-of-fact about it. I wasn’t used to people who so willingly discussed their weaknesses.
“What kind of music do you listen to?” he asked me.
I stood there like an idiot while he waited for an answer. Well, let’s see. I didn’t grow up in a music-filled house, unlike him, unless the theme music of Jeopardy!, my mom’s favorite show, counted. What kind of music did I like? Whatever was on Sunny 101.5, which was probably the last station he’d ever listen to. I tried to think of something cool—what was cool? I had no idea—and ended up spitting out, “Um…the Beatles?” I even turned up the last word, like a question.
He nodded. “Cool.”
“Really? Are the Beatles still cool?”
“Sure.” He put a pic between his lips as he situated his guitar over his shoulder, and my legs felt a little weak. “But I like everything, as long as it’s good. Buddy Holly all the way to The Shins. The Beatles included.” He smiled. “Plus, there’s Dirt Soup. I’m not saying they’re as good as the Beatles…”
I laughed. “But close, right?”
“Hey, you’ve got to start somewhere.” His fingers worked the strings of his guitar as he walked away.
After the show, some people lingered for autographs. No one in our class acknowledged Jack’s existence, yet here he was, signing autographs in his little kid scrawl. People waited in a line to receive theirs. Teenagers, men my father’s age, even a couple of soccer-mom types, all acting like they were meeting a famous musician. I watched from behind the counter as it all played out. If I’d ever told my friends, they wouldn’t have believed it.
“You can go home,” Darcy said, startling me. She chuckled when I jumped. “The crowd dies down once the show is over.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I mean, I’m scheduled till close.”
She eyed me over the cash register. “And here I thought a girl like you would have a life outside this place. Don’t you want to hang out with your friends?”
I shrugged. “I hang out with them every day at school.” And that’s enough.
Just today in art, I watched as Adam stole all of Fiona Locke’s colored pencils and laughed uncontrollably as she walked around the room, searching everywhere,
while he had them in his lap.
Darcy shrugged, too, and threw a rag in my direction. “In that case, clean out the break room, would you?”
I passed by Jack, who was actually signing napkins, and pushed the break room doors open. Travis and Reid were breaking down the equipment, curling cables around their wrists and stuffing them into bags. The pastry tray had been diminished into a couple of anthills of crumbs, and tea circles stained the top of the card table. “Why aren’t you two out there?” I asked while scrubbing.
“They’re not here for us,” Reid said.
“Last I checked, you were part of the band.”
“We’re not stupid.” Travis shrugged. “We know our roles. We’re good with it.”
I didn’t say anything. It didn’t seem fair, but if they were good with it, who was I to say anything? It was a pecking order, like anything else, and that I could understand.
In the closet, beside Jack’s empty guitar case, was the black bag I’d seen him carry. I glanced behind me. Travis and Reid were carrying the equipment out of the room. Once they were gone, I peered at the bag again. I knew I had no business going through his things, but the impulse was overwhelming. I inched closer to see a book peeking out of the back pocket. It wasn’t technically snooping—the book was right there. All I did was tip it the slightest bit so I could see the title.
The sudden noise of the door bursting open made me jump. I pushed the bag back and stood up, my brain scrambling for an excuse. But it was only Travis and Reid, coming for the rest of their equipment.
Darcy found me a little while later, organizing the closet. “You’re still here?”
The Mean Girl Apologies Page 6
