“And you have to go because…let me see, he doesn’t know how to read street signs?” She’s not going to get off easy. Not today. “Or is it that he suffers from narcolepsy and he needs you to keep him awake? No, wait—”
“Abbey, don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“Why shouldn’t I, Kate? How long has it been since you came over for a horror movie marathon? Or went out for pizza slices with me?”
“It’s not me, it’s Derrick,” she pleads. “He just doesn’t want…”
“Want what?” I yell, just as two Gila cheerleaders walk by. They whisper something to each other and laugh.
Kate turns her back to them and whispers, “Abbey, don’t.”
But they aren’t the first girls to stare at me in a homophobic way. And I know they aren’t going to be the last. But, like Garrett did, I’m learning how to care less and less about them.
“Whatever, Kate. Just tell me what you came here to say.”
“Well, it’s just that…” She pulls at her zipper again. “Derrick, um…”
“Derrick doesn’t want you to hang out with me, does he?”
She doesn’t even try to make it better. She just keeps saying, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry, Kate? You’re not even going to tell me how stupid that is? It’s my freaking birthday.”
Then she shuts her mouth, which pretty much says it all.
I slam my locker shut. “I know I lied to you, Kate, but I never turned my back on you like this. And I only lied because I didn’t want to lose you as a friend. I don’t know what is so special about him, but I hope he’s best friend material because you just lost me.” I storm off so she won’t see me cry, and I leave her sitting there in the dark row of lockers I’ve become very familiar with.
*
After PE, I head to my hall locker to find it’s decorated with wrapping paper and ribbon just like I’ve seen on popular girls’ lockers, and it’s all I need to feel better about what happened with Kate. As I’m spinning in my combo, a confetti egg gets smashed on my head. “Happy birthday, Dear Abbey,” Garrett says, as tiny pieces of yellow, blue, and red paper pour down my face.
Before I can recover from the blow to my head, Stef grabs me. “One, two, three, four,” Stef counts as she slaps my butt.
“Garrett, help me,” I yell and finally get away from Stef around slap number ten.
“So, what do you think?” Stef asks, pointing to the decorations. “We got passes out of first period to do it, thanks to Tai.”
“It looks really cool. Thanks, you guys.”
“Yeah, well,”—Garrett rubs the confetti into my messed-up hair—“it’s not every day our little freshie turns fifteen.”
“Hey, this is new.” Stef says as she picks the A pendant off my chest and looks closely at it. “Pretty nice. Mom give it to you?”
It’s not that I forgot I had on my new necklace, but I did forget I’d have to come up with a good lie about it. Thankfully, Stef did the legwork for me. “Yeah, she gave it to me this morning.” Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Garrett roll her eyes. “So, we’re still going to the University Planetarium tomorrow night?” I ask. Although I’ve been there six or seven times with my dad, I didn’t tell them that when they called last night to tell me about our exciting plans.
Stef and Garrett exchange devious looks. “Among other things,” Stef says, rubbing her hands together like a mad scientist.
“Don’t, you’re scaring her,” Garrett says and hits Stef in the back of her head.
“I can take it, whatever it is,” I say, but I am sort of worried that they’ll make me get drunk or something, which I am not sure I will ever be ready to do.
“Speaking of parties,” Stef says, “did you guys have a party in guitar this morning?”
Oh crap, I think but say, “Sort of. There was a class contest.” Apparently, I can now lie without missing a beat.
“Really?” Stef asks. “That’s cool.”
Garrett looks at me, raises one eyebrow, half smiles, and then adds a slight shake of the head. I recognize this as her Girl, you are so close to getting caught in your web of lies look.
But I ignore Garrett and hope Stef will drop the subject when I turn and dig in my locker for my Spanish book.
“Was the prize a cake or something?” Stef asks. No such luck for Abbey.
“Kind of,” I say cryptically. “Why?”
“Oh, my mom and I saw Keeta leaving Josephine’s Bakery this morning. So I figured it was something like that.”
“Yes…exactly. There was a guitar chord quiz contest and the award was some cookies from Josephine’s, and”—I’m not sure if the lie can carry me this far, but I say it anyway—“I won.”
“So, where’s your prize?” Garrett unzips my backpack and starts to dig through it. “Come on, Abs, why you holding out on us? Hey, what’s this?” She holds up a card Keeta gave me at the end of class, one I was told to open tonight before bed.
“Nothing!” I grab it from her. “It’s just from Kate,” I say more calmly. “She told me to open it tonight at dinner. It’s probably a gift certificate to some slutty clothing store at the mall. You know how she is.”
“That’s weird,” Stef says. “Why didn’t she just bring it with her tonight?”
“I don’t know. She’s complicated,” I practically yell.
“Okay, whatever you say, Abbey,” Stef says.
The bell rings, but this time I’m happy to hear it. “Come on guys, we gotta jet,” I say and slam my locker shut.
All through Spanish I wonder how much time I have before my snowy mountain of lies melts, revealing the truth underneath. And I wonder if Keeta and Stef started off like me and Keeta. Is this how she seduces all her girlfriends? Am I just another one of Keeta’s basketball scores? How can I keep on lying to Stef like this? There are only a few more days to go until Stef leaves, but I’m about to crack. That’s when I realize what a hypocrite I am. I mean, I’m a backstabber and a liar. God, I’m worse than Kate.
Chapter Nineteen
“Two for dinner,” my mom says to the hostess of the Golden Buddha, our favorite special occasion restaurant.
“Right this way.”
My mom links her arm in mine as we walk through the restaurant to a booth in the corner. “I’m sorry Kate had to go to her dad’s house tonight, honey. But at least she gave you a really thoughtful gift.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I reach up and play with the pendant that my mom thinks is from Kate and that Stef and (maybe) Garrett think my mom gave me. This necklace is feeling more like Pandora’s Box than a birthday present.
We get settled at our table and are handed menus and poured tea. My mom looks like she wants to talk about something serious, so I read through the long list of dishes even though I already know I want the spicy garlic chicken and a Coke.
“Abbey Road? You seem so quiet these days. Everything okay?”
I hold the menu up a little higher so she can’t see my eyes turn glassy. “Yeah, it’s just been a long week. You know, big game last night and all that.”
I know she’s not quite satisfied with my answer by the way she says, “Hmm,” but then she says, “Okay,” and looks at her menu even though she knows what she’s going to order, too.
Enter uncomfortable silence.
Our waiter arrives and asks if we’re ready to order.
My mom and I both say yes a little too enthusiastically.
Once we’re alone again, my mom attempts to dissolve the unfamiliar tension between us. “Time for presents,” she says and digs in her purse. She unloads its contents on the table and, like Mary Poppins’s carpetbag, out comes the oddest collection of items: paintbrushes, a visor, four cabinet-door handles, three tins of mints, and finally my birthday present. She puts a small package in front of me. “I hope it fits.”
It’s not very big so it’s most likely not clothing. I’m sincerely stumped. “You hope it fits?” I ask and
inspect the present a little closer.
“Open it!” she says like she knows I’ll love it, but I still have my doubts. Not that I’m a brat about presents, but my mom doesn’t usually get me anything more expensive or elaborate than school supplies, books, or a Beatles CD.
I pick at the tape and carefully remove the present from its leopard-print paper. I’m blown away. “No freaking way, Mom!”
“I got one, too. I thought it’d be good to have for work.” I look at her and she’s smiling ear to ear. “Do you like it?” she asks, as if I might not.
I tear open the box and remove the cell phone carefully. I admire it from every angle because it’s a work of art. Instead of buying a cheap plastic cover from one of those mall kiosks, she painted my initials on the back in really cool lettering and even added a basketball on the back with my number painted in the middle. No one else in the world will have one like it. “I love it, Mom. Oh my God, thanks!” I climb out of my side of the booth and hug her. “It’s perfect.”
“Well, it’s not that fancy, but it’s better than nothing, right?”
I slip it in my back pocket, but then take it out pretending I’m getting a call. “Oh hey, I’m going to have to call you back. I’m having dinner with the best mom ever,” I say to no one.
“Now don’t go all crazy. You only get two hundred minutes a month, so if you run out, you run out. And, sorry, no web stuff. Okay, kiddo?”
“Got it.” Now I’m the one smiling ear to ear because I’m thinking about how I can call Keeta whenever I want. Too bad she doesn’t have one, too.
“Who are you going to call first?” Mom asks, like a mind reader.
“Kate, of course,” I say, pretending we’re still friends. “She’ll totally freak out.”
*
It’s six on Saturday night and I’m getting ready for my Birthday Extravaganza, which includes going out to dinner, looking at stars at the U of A’s planetarium, and something else that they won’t tell me about.
My cell phone rings and I jump at the obnoxious ringtone I selected. “Hello, Abbey Brooks’s cell phone. Abbey Brooks speaking.”
“You’re such a nerd,” Stef says. “You almost ready?”
I sit on my bed, loving how it feels to be gabbing on my cell like a real teenager. “Almost, punk nugget. When you guys coming over?”
“Like seven. Cool?” Stef asks.
“Yeah. Cool.”
“I’m gonna stop by Keeta’s before walking over to G’s house. I haven’t been able to get ahold of her today, so whatever. Wish me luck.”
I grab a lock of my hair and start twirling. Any day now, she’ll be gone, I think to myself like the selfish bitch that I am. “Okay, well, have fun. See you soon.”
After we hang up, I stand in front of my mirror and try to braid my hair. It looks pretty bad, so I do it again. But it still looks like I just survived a tornado, so I give up and find my mom.
“Everything all set for tonight, honey?” she asks as she weaves my hair into a perfect french braid.
“Yep. Are you sure you don’t mind driving us around?”
“Of course not. Just call me from your cell phone when you’re ready to come home.” She taps my shoulder for the hair band, wraps it around the end of my braid, and then kisses my head like she always does when she’s finished. “There you go.”
I look in the mirror and admire her work. It looks perfect, but my mom’s niceness makes me feel ugly inside. I fake a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
When I walk back into the living room a few minutes later to wait for Stef and Garrett, my mom’s at her easel, working on another large painting. This one’s commissioned by the Tucson Public Library. I peek over her shoulder and look for the mini version of me. Once in a while, when she can get away with it, she sneaks in a girl who looks just like me. “There I am,” I say and point to a girl sitting on a bench in the front of the library. I’m reading one of my favorite books, Alice in Wonderland.
“Yep, there you are.” She rinses off her paintbrush and dries it on a cloth diaper that I once wore.
She usually paints me to look like I’m five or six, maybe that’s when I looked the cutest, but this time in the painting I’m much taller and I’m wearing checkered Converse. Maybe she’s finally accepting that I’m growing up. I sigh because I wish I could be that perfect little girl on her canvas, the one who likes reading and hanging out at the library, not making out with girls in instrument rooms. But maybe I’m making too big a deal out of this whole thing. Maybe she won’t even care. Maybe it’s time to say something true for once.
I open my mouth and wait for my confession to escape, but the only words that surface are, “Looks cool, Mom.”
*
At around seven fifteen, Garrett calls me. “Dude, is Stef there?”
“She hasn’t come by your place yet?” I look out the window of my front door to see if Stef’s walking down the street. “That’s weird,” I say when I see her sitting on the curb in front of my neighbor’s house. “She’s outside. Call you right back.”
Out of sheer insanity or boredom, my mom decided to hang about a thousand bells on the front door to “get in the spirit of the holidays” even though it’s only mid-November, so it sounds like Santa Claus’s arrival as I open and shut it. Stef looks up at the commotion, but when she sees it’s me, she stands up and starts to walk down the street away from my house.
“Stef, wait!” I run after her and grab her arm to keep her from fleeing. “What’s wrong? Why didn’t you go to G’s?”
She turns to face me. The street light illuminates her bloodshot eyes.
I’m very familiar with the look of a recent cry, so I change my tone. “Are you okay?”
Instead of crying on my shoulder like before, she yanks her arm out of my grasp and glares at me. “I should have figured it out. It’s always the ones you trust the most that end up stabbing you in the back. You’re such a cliché.”
“Stef,” is all I can say.
“God, Abbey. You know, I actually feel responsible? I should have left you alone about trying out for basketball. Maybe then you wouldn’t have become such a two-faced whore.”
“Stef, it’s not like that. I…”
She backs up and the distance between us forces her to yell even louder. “Let me guess, Abbey. Keeta read you poetry and played her stupid guitar for you. She told you, ‘I’ve never met anyone like you before.’”
I feel an invisible punch hit me hard in my gut.
“Oh my God.” She smacks her forehead with her hand. “That present! That was from her, not your mom. And the box from Josephine’s…that was for your birthday, too. God, you really had me fooled, Abbey.”
“Stef, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” I really am sorry, but I know sorry isn’t going to get me out of this one. Mostly, though, I just want her to stop yelling so my mom won’t hear us. “Can we talk somewhere else?”
“Why? So you can lie to my face some more?”
“Please?”
She finally lowers her voice. “Abbey, good luck with this messed up life you’re stupid enough to take on. I hope your mom is able to accept it. I hope you find a happy ending. But I’ll tell you one thing, it’s not going to be with Keeta. Everyone tried to warn me about her, but I never listened, and she’s going to screw with your head and heart so much you’ll wish you were dead just like me. Don’t think you’re that special, Amara.”
Stef saying my secret name feels like spit in my face and there’s nothing I can say to make it better. But I don’t want to make it worse, so I just stand there and take it.
She steps toward me and I brace myself for my first real punch in the face.
“I should totally kick your ass.”
At least this is something we both agree on.
“But you know what? Being with Keeta is punishment enough.”
With that, it’s over. She storms down the street as her words linger and try to penetrate my hard head. Logically, I have
no reason to doubt what she said and every reason to believe she probably knows Keeta better than me. But I’m getting used to having what I want, and what I want more than anything is Keeta all to myself. Maybe Keeta treated Stef badly, but that doesn’t mean she’ll do the same to me.
I head back to my house and try to come up with a way to explain the blowout I just had with Stef in case my mom heard us.
As I walk down the driveway, I see the worst possible scenario: my mom standing at the kitchen sink. Even though a thin pane of glass is all that separates us, she feels a million miles away. It’s like the wall I’ve been working so hard to put up between us has become too large to leap over, too solid to yell through, and too strong to break down.
The jingle bells announce my return as I step into the house and get ready for my next battle.
“Everything okay, Abbey?”
“Um, yeah.” I grab my braid and start to paint my cheek with its soft tip. “Well, sort of.”
“She seemed pretty upset.”
“Yeah, she was,” I say, letting out a little sun-ray of truth to counteract the snowstorm of lies.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” She wipes her hands on the dish towel and pulls out a chair for me at the table.
I sit down because I can’t think of a reason fast enough for why I shouldn’t.
After ten painful seconds of silence, I say, “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“You didn’t mean for what to happen, honey? Who’s Keeta?”
“Keeta?” I ask, buying time.
“I heard her say something about someone named Keeta.”
I look down at the placemat and play with its edges. “Well, see, Stef and Keeta were really good friends. Like, best friends, then Keeta and I started to be friends, and I guess she got sort of jealous. I guess Keeta”—it’s beyond weird to say her name in front of my mom—“started hanging out with me more, since we have guitar together and stuff, and Stef started to feel left out, so Keeta and I kept some stuff we did from Stef, but I guess tonight Keeta told Stef about how we lied to her and, so, yeah, Stef was pretty mad at me.” I grab my braid again but drop it to avoid looking suspicious.
Freshman Year Page 18
