by Beck, Jamie
I exhale a cloud of smoke. “Why not?”
“Don’t need it.” Tomás flicks his wrists. “I’m high on life.”
He chuckles at his intentional cheesiness, but I can tell he means it, too.
“Never met a unicorn before,” I mumble.
“We hide our horns most of the time.” He looks up at the canopy of leaves rustling in the wind, pinpoints of light breaking through to stipple the ground. “Why do you use that stuff when you’re smart and possibly talented?”
I scowl. “A unicorn and a mom?”
He shrugs. “I just don’t get it, is all. Like, do what you want. I don’t really care. It just seems like a waste when you’ve got money and other options.”
“How do you know I’ve got money and options?” Jeez, talk about snap judgments.
“You’ve got your own car, don’t you? You’re smart . . .”
I scowl. “People are obsessed with my car.”
“I told you, gossip spreads faster than that vape smoke.” He crosses his ankles.
“Well, if you must know, this takes the edge off.” I raise the pen.
He nods. “Pressure from the ’rents?”
That, and other things, like how sometimes I want to disappear. To escape being the freaky smart girl that everyone secretly hopes to see fail. To not have to worry about whether I can live up to my potential. To become someone else for a while. When I’m buzzed, I don’t think about how often I don’t like myself and am scared that people will figure out that I don’t know what I’m doing. But I don’t want to tell Elmo all that, so I press the button and take another hit.
“Well, we should get back before next period starts.” He’s reaching for his backpack and I’m exhaling another puff of smoke when a middle-aged man with a receding hairline comes upon us suddenly.
A school faculty badge hangs from the end of his lanyard. “Okay, you two, let’s go see Principal Davies.”
I cough, covering my shock, and throw a look at Tomás. He just sighs. I’m waiting for him to blame me, but he doesn’t.
“Sure thing, Mr. Frey.” He hefts his backpack over one shoulder.
“I thought we were allowed off campus during lunch and frees,” I say, shoving my pen into my backpack, hoping Mr. Frey didn’t see it.
“You are, but this here is technically school property, and we have rules against vaping and drug use.” Mr. Frey gestures for us to follow him as he strides ahead by a few yards.
Damn. My mom might use this bust as an excuse to keep me from visiting my dad this weekend. I murmur to Tomás, “I thought you said this spot was cool.”
“And I told you I don’t come here. I didn’t know it’s monitored,” he mumbles back. “Someone probably saw the ‘new girl’ heading over and decided to have some fun.”
My face is hot. Someone in that cafeteria is laughing at me, but I refuse to cry. I raise my chin as we enter the building and head to the main office. Badass girls don’t stay targets for long.
My stomach hurts, though, because this could get me kicked off the soccer team. And my dad will be furious and embarrassed.
“We’ll have to administer drug tests.” Mr. Frey turns toward the principal’s office, but I stop him.
“Tomás didn’t vape. It was only me. He shouldn’t be in trouble or have to take a test.” I’m a lot of mixed-up things, but I’m not a jerk.
Tomás quirks one brow.
“Is that true?” Mr. Frey asks us both.
“Why would I lie?” I frown.
Tomás says, “I’ll take the drug test.”
Mr. Frey pauses, but Tomás’s willingness to take the test combined with my plea spares Tomás the humiliation and trouble with his parents.
“Go to class, Tomás.” Mr. Frey waves him off and then points to a chair in the reception area where I’m to wait. Mr. Frey and Principal Davies will now forever look at me as a loser. Maybe I am a loser hidden behind a pretty face and good grades. Most days it feels that way, anyhow.
It sucks to be stuck in this chair, surrounded by glass walls that every student passing by can see through. I stop wiggling my foot and slump deep into the seat, close my eyes, and let my head fall back. The pot isn’t helping to soothe the inferno raging inside. I dig a thumbnail into my arm so hard it’ll leave a bruise.
That pain oddly calms me, and I begin to relax.
I need to figure out how to deal with my mom. I could drive up to Jen’s. Her mom is cool and might help dial mine down a few notches. But if I embarrass my mom even more, she might not help keep me from getting kicked off the team. And I definitely need her to be the one to tell Dad about this. He’s going to explode.
Maybe we don’t need to tell him.
Or maybe, if he thinks I’m falling apart, he’ll come home to save me from myself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ANNE
“I knew your move was a mistake, Anne, but even I didn’t think things would run off the rails this quickly.” Richard’s sigh fills my car as Katy and I drive home from our meeting with Principal Davies. Already glum, I don’t need his “told you sos.” I’m nauseated by her drug use. If our move is the precipitating factor, it makes this my fault—at least indirectly. “A fucking drug test?”
“Swearing doesn’t help. Let’s discuss solutions.” I glance at our daughter, who is squeezed into the corner of the passenger seat with her temple pressed to the window, eyes unblinking, gaze focused elsewhere. My lungs hurt from holding in my alarm. “She’s been suspended three days. School policy.”
“It’s barely the second week of school,” he intones. I imagine him swiping a hand over his face. “This is not the kind of record I expect you to set, Katy.”
My stomach tightens when he employs shame. Co-parenting has always been a challenge, with me constantly compensating for his demands with acceptance and praise. Our divorce makes it even harder. “Sarcasm isn’t helpful, either.”
“What’s the deal with soccer?” His sharp voice cuts through the car like a knife blindly jabbing into space.
“According to the handbook, it can range from a suspension to being kicked off the team. Coach’s discretion. The surrounding circumstances and the kid’s attitude will be factors. When I Uber back to get Katy’s car, I’ll go to the field. He should be there at the practice.”
“Maybe I should talk to him.” Richard has wielded his chest-pounding effectively throughout his career.
I go cold at the thought. “I’d rather you let me appeal to the coach’s empathy.”
We endure a block-long silence. My guess is that he’s at his desk, squeezing the hell out of a stress ball while mouthing additional curse words at me. I’ve got choice words for him, too, but I gulp them down.
“Katy,” he finally says, “who’s this Tomás person you’ve gotten hooked up with?”
“Don’t blame him, Dad. He’s just a kid in my photography class.” Katy stares at the dashboard, her face a pale, stiff mask.
“Photography . . . another mistake.” Richard huffs.
Katy clenches her jaw.
“Sorry you hate everything I do,” she snaps before turning her face away from me. Not only doesn’t her bravado fool me, but it also makes my heart sore and unsteady.
“Don’t be dramatic. I’m your father. I’m allowed to have opinions about your education and hate the fact that you’re on drugs. How long have you been smoking pot?” Richard’s incredulous tone would be funny if this weren’t so serious.
He’s never attended a single parent meeting or public health discussion about teen life—mostly because his work hours conflicted with the lectures, but also because he thought Katy was somehow immune to it all. He’s pooh-poohed most of my concerns over the years, too—you’re making mountains out of molehills—so he knows little about the high rates of experimentation with alcohol and pot, especially among affluent, overstressed kids.
The strain of this conversation tautens my muscles.
“Since this summer, but
only when I’m stressed.” At the moment, the pot she smoked is keeping her pretty mellow in the face of her father’s outrage. She’s not arguing or crying, which is markedly different from how she deals with me. I can’t tell if she respects him more than she does me, or simply fears losing him if she crosses a line. My breath catches when I recognize having felt that way about him in recent years.
“Jesus, how did we get here?” Richard asks of no one in particular.
The timing of her foray into drugs says a lot, but I clamp my jaw shut. Now he’s probably turned toward the gigantic plate glass window behind his desk, staring out over the city, one hand grabbing his temple. Lauren’s name dances on the tip of my tongue, but I won’t put Katy in the middle of that fight if I can help it.
“Instead of looking backward, let’s figure out a consequence and talk about how to stop this from happening again.” I shoot a meaningful look at Katy, who then glances heavenward.
“Maybe you shouldn’t ask the coach to go easy,” Richard says. “Getting kicked off the team will teach her how fast drugs destroy lives.”
He’s right, but of all the fallout from this event, she’s most upset about the possibility of losing her place on the team. If Richard and I had worked harder on our marriage, this might not have happened. Dammit, my skin is itchy all over, and guilt about the move makes me want to fix this for her. “If we were all under one roof and she was still at Prep, I’d agree. But in this case, I think the team is critical to her making friends and keeping active.”
Taking that dig at Richard might not be productive, but better I unleash my tension on him than on Katy.
I half expect Katy to suggest a consequence she finds palatable—a technique she often uses to control the fallout. She’s uncharacteristically quiet.
Richard clears his throat. “Then maybe the consequence is that she doesn’t come up here this weekend. Frankly, I’m too angry to have a pleasant visit, anyway.”
If I weren’t driving, I would’ve closed my eyes in utter disappointment. Katy’s mask of indifference slips long enough to reveal her flash of pain. I roll down the window, desperate for fresh air.
“Richard, you two need to stay connected now that you’re living apart.” Distancing himself will only make things worse for Katy, not better.
He sighs. “Let me talk to Lauren. She’ll be concerned about Katy’s influence on Zoe and Brody.”
I almost slam the brakes.
“You did not just say that.” I swallow a string of curse words. Since when do Zoe’s and Brody’s welfares rank above Katy’s? “Lauren had better not take that position unless you want me to start harping about her influence on Katy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Richard grinds out. If he were here, I might’ve thrown something at his head.
“That home-wrecker isn’t in a position to judge anyone.” My pulse is throbbing and my fingers ache as they tighten around the steering wheel. “Katy’s a confused teen who made a mistake. Nothing more.”
In my peripheral vision, I note Katy’s brows rise in a show of surprise. For most of her life, we’ve shielded her from our arguments. I’m not sorry about that, but I’m also not sorry for this. When someone threatens my kid, I come a little unglued.
“Anne,” Richard warns.
“Don’t ‘Anne’ me. I’ve been as civil as can be expected about everything, but if Lauren tries to come between you and your daughter, she’ll be very sorry.” I need a lozenge to soothe my raw throat.
“Settle down. Things are bad enough without empty threats.”
Empty? He really doesn’t know me at all if he thinks I’d let anyone displace my child. “Don’t tell me to settle down. We’re all in this situation because of you, so be a man and take some effing responsibility.”
Richard falls unexpectedly silent, and Katy is staring at me like my curly hair suddenly straightened. I roll my head to loosen my neck, but it feels damn good to get that off my chest. Unexpected momentum rises beneath me, as if I’m riding a cresting wave.
“I’m pulling into the garage. My thinking is that we institute random drug testing, and if we get positive results, Katy loses her phone and car indefinitely.”
Katy’s face currently resembles that of someone witnessing a murder. “Mom!”
I hold up a single finger. “You’re getting off pretty easy, so you should zip it.” Katy holds my gaze for two seconds before looking at her lap. I turn to the dashboard screen in my car, which still shows Richard’s name and number. “Richard, any thoughts?”
“If she tests positive, I’m selling the car.”
Katy makes a bitter face but wisely says nothing. His threat—while actually a punishment for me, too, as I’d be stuck playing chauffeur—is even better than mine, so I don’t argue.
“Fine. In the meantime, Katy will see you on Saturday as planned. What time will you be at home?”
“I have to check my calendar. Zoe has a soccer game . . .”
Richard has attended so few of Katy’s games I want to shout a truckload of obscenities, but that would only call attention to something that would further upset our daughter. Of course, her scowl tells me she’s sharing my thoughts anyway.
“Let us know soon. Goodbye.” I hit “End” before he says more. “You and I aren’t done with this conversation.”
Katy opens the car door and groans. “Why not? I heard the rules.”
I follow her into the house through the door to the kitchen, where we come across Dan and Joe, one of his crewmen.
Dan looks at us with surprise. “Is Katy sick?”
“You could say that.” I don’t like to lie, but also don’t want to humiliate my daughter in front of strangers. “Let me get her settled in her room. Excuse us.”
“Feel better,” he says to Katy.
“Thanks,” she mumbles as I steer her out of the kitchen.
Dan already thinks I’m difficult. When word of this gets out, he’ll also think I’m a lousy mother. This is not at all how I foresaw our entry into this new community—the picky single mom and her pothead daughter. I wish he and Joe would leave so I could have some privacy while I try to solve this problem.
When we get to Katy’s room, she flings her backpack onto her desk and then face-plants onto her bed.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, staring at the back of her head as guilt erodes the lining of my stomach. “I’ll ask your coach to go easy—which isn’t the best parenting move—but only because the team will help you make new friends and stay healthy, not because of your transcript.”
She cranes her neck to look at me, her expression riddled with mockery. “Duh. If you cared about my future, you wouldn’t have pulled me out of Prep.”
“Katy.” I blow out a long breath. Yes, that school’s admissions placements are stellar, but a student like her should be able to get into fine schools from anywhere. “Tell me why you’ve turned to drugs when there’re one thousand better ways to deal with unhappiness or boredom.”
She rolls onto her back and scoots to sit up against the headboard, grabbing her childhood lovey—a stuffed mouse she named Timmy. “Pot isn’t a big deal. Everyone gets high—even some parents. The Hendricks and Capristos do all the time. It’s legal in a bunch of states and probably will be here, too, someday, so it’s no worse than beer.”
I hide my shock about her friends’ parents. If she thinks I’m that out of touch, she won’t trust my advice. It occurs to me that during pregnancy, parents should be required to take crash courses as teachers, doctors, and shrinks. Chef and chauffeur classes would also help.
“Is that how you really feel?” Because I’m pretty sure pot is just an easy way to avoid dealing with what’s really bothering her.
She stares at her feet without answering.
She’s only just started this habit. Still, the other things that can happen when teens drink and do drugs—accidents, sexual assaults, arrests—thread through my thoughts. The list of possibilities is as frighte
ning as it is endless.
“This started after your dad moved out.” I close my eyes against the memory of her tears on that day. “Did you think getting high would change the facts?”
Again she says nothing.
“Oh, Katy.” I sigh, helplessly. “Pot is legal in a few states, but it isn’t legal for recreational use here in Maryland. Neither is alcohol for people under twenty-one. You’re only sixteen. Your brain is still forming and doesn’t have all the myelin coating to fend off some of the damage and addictive qualities. Plus they’re finding links between teen pot use and later psychosis. The chances of you having a drinking or drug problem is much higher when you start so young than if you put it off until even nineteen or twenty.” This is what years of volunteering for everything related to children teaches you. My eyes sting, aware that my plea falls on deaf ears. “Please, Katy. Don’t waste all your potential.”
She throws her head back on that word, then pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on them. “Do you think Lauren will try to keep me away from Dad?”
“I hope not.” Having made a vow not to lie to my daughter, I can’t, in good conscience, say no. “But if she does, I’ll fight her.”
“How? She’s with him every day and we’re not. He’s going to Zoe’s soccer game even though he rarely came to mine.” Her eyes tear up.
I rub her knee, resentment toward Richard flaming like a blowtorch. Fanning that anger won’t help Katy, so I swallow it. Some days I can’t believe my stomach hasn’t exploded from all the shit I’ve shoved in there. “I know that hurts. But he was younger and building his practice when you were little.”
She scowls as if I’ve criticized her. “There you go again defending him.”
“I’m not defending him. I’m reassuring you that he isn’t more interested in Zoe’s game than he was in yours. It’s not his nature to bend for long. In another year he’ll be no different than he was with us. But he loves you more than he’ll ever like Lauren’s children. It’ll take time for us all to figure out a new dynamic, but we will. I promise.”
“You never make promises you can’t keep, so don’t start now.” She’s still pouting, but I’m heartened that at least she trusts me to be good for my word. That’s something, and I need a win—no matter how small—on a day like today. Her stomach growls. “I’m starving.”
