by Alex Flinn
Meredith didn’t know what to say. Comforting people who’d screwed up wasn’t really in her wheelhouse. So she said, “That sucks,” again.
“It sucks that I’m a screw-up,” Britta agreed.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Meredith said.
“But I am. I am!” Britta’s voice was getting louder or, rather, higher. “I always do this. I don’t face up to things, and I just make everything worse.”
“Oh my goodness!” A voice came from the seat in front of them. “Am I going to have to listen to you whine about this Rick the whole way upstate?”
Meredith looked at Britta. Britta looked back at her. Meredith said, “Excuse me?”
The blond girl raised herself up to see over the seat. She was beautiful, with cheekbones like knives, and generally looked the way Meredith had always imagined Blanche Ingram, Jane’s gorgeous and upper-class rival in Jane Eyre, looked. “You were on the plane with me. And I thought, ‘The plane ride won’t be that long. It will be over soon.’ But now, here you are on the bus. People are trying to read, sleep, think. But instead of being able to do so, we are all being treated to your conversation. I have tried to ignore it, but I keep being drawn in. So I am asking you as politely as possible, could you please be a little quieter?”
That was as politely as possible? Meredith looked around to see if others were going to say something, but no eyes met hers. They probably also agreed that Britta was super loud.
This was so unfair. She, Meredith, was never loud. If anything, people told her to speak up more. Yet now, she was loud by association. Besides, Britta was just being friendly. Now that it was being challenged, she saw that.
Beside her, Britta sniffed. “I’m sorry. It was me, not Meredith. Meredith never talks. She’s, literally, like a mute.”
“I’m not literally a mute,” Meredith whispered.
The blond girl looked down like she couldn’t believe Meredith had spoken. Finally, she said, “Well, okay then,” and turned away.
Meredith didn’t say anything from that point on. She turned on her music and thought about being green. Then, she stared out the window. The traffic of the city, with its crowded bridges, soon gave way to road, so much road, all the same and hours more to go.
Finally, she must have fallen asleep.
She woke with Britta shaking her shoulder.
“What?” she said.
Britta held her finger to her lips and pointed out the window. It was a bridge, two bridges actually, side-by-side, steel bridges spanning a blue river. On each side were high mountains, tall pines, and so much green, green trees, green mountains, red with the setting sun, white with clouds that moved like living things.
Britta smiled.
Meredith smiled back.
They both gazed out the window, their breath synchronized with their wonder at it all, the mountains, the trees, the wildflowers, purple like silk, white like lace, covering the ground. They passed towns with names like Crescent, Burnt Hills, Glens Falls.
Finally, they reached their stop. Meredith started to gather her things, then stopped.
“Oh no,” Britta said.
The blond girl was also getting off the bus. Meredith touched Britta’s arm.
“I’m sure we’ll never see her again,” Meredith said. “There’s miles of wilderness here.”
“Still,” Britta said.
Both hung back, letting another person get between them and the blonde. Finally, they had to disembark.
“How are we supposed to find Spider?” Britta asked.
Meredith was starting to shrug when she saw a gangly brunette in black jeans and combat boots and an old lady in a flowing dress. The girl held a sign that said:
KATHERINE LYONS COVINGTON
MEREDITH DALY
BRITTA RODRIGUEZ
Meredith realized with a sinking stomach that only one other girl had gotten off the bus.
“Oh no,” she said.
But Britta was already tugging at Meredith’s arm. She started to run toward them.
The blonde reached them first. “Hello,” she said. “You must be Spider. I’m Kate. I’ve come to spend the month.”
5
Britta
FFS.
When Britta was little, she used to think that God was watching her, personally, following her like a drone, ready to punish her if she said something mean, stole someone’s pencil, or ate all the Oreos and blamed her brother.
Or lied to her mother.
That belief went a long way in shaping Britta’s personality. She was nice because she feared consequences. She knew God would strike her down for copying her neighbor’s paper, even if the teacher didn’t see. So she didn’t cheat, lie, didn’t even talk back. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Then, one day she realized that was dumb. God didn’t personally intercede in people’s lives. If he did, there’d be no poverty, no hunger, and only mean girls would have their period in white skinny jeans. From then on, she was nice because she was nice, not because she believed God would give her bacne if she wasn’t. She still believed in God, but not in his vengeance.
But lately, she’d had doubts.
Ever since she’d lied to her mother, things had gone wrong, horribly wrong.
Things like failing math when she had a C first semester.
Or like breaking three nails on the day of prom.
Or Maleficent herself being the third roommate.
Britta stared at the sign, the names, the blond girl who’d just introduced herself.
“You’re . . . the other roommate?”
The blonde turned to face her. Britta tried not to stare. She was taller than Britta and had one of those high-class Anglo faces that looked like it belonged on the cover of Town & Country, this society magazine her mother started reading when she met Rick (about the same time she started telling people they were “Spanish” instead of Cuban). Britta could almost picture this girl, Katherine, in one of those pictures of girls riding horses while wearing pearls. Even her name, Katherine Lyons Covington. Who had two last names?
The blonde’s nostrils flared. “Other roommate?”
“Surprise!” Britta said.
Awkward silence. And Meredith ditched her to get her suitcase.
Sometimes, it helped to pretend she was in a play, a comedy by someone like Oscar Wilde or Noël Coward. Those characters always knew the exact right thing to say.
Britta straightened her shoulders, smiled, tilted her head (vivaciously) to one side, and stuck out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Britta. From the bus?”
There was nothing the blonde could do but take her hand. “Kate.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Another line from a play. She shook the blonde’s icy hand. Then she turned to the other girl, who had on a T-shirt that said “I shoot people . . .” with a graphic of a movie camera. “And you must be Spider. I’m so excited about this!” She stood on tiptoes to kiss Spider on the cheek, which was the expected greeting in Miami. Not in New York, apparently, because Spider stepped back, shocked, then recovered. They air-kissed.
The older lady who was with her, on the other hand, folded Britta into her embrace. “Britta. I’ve heard so much about you! I’m Ruthie, Alicia’s grandmother.”
“It’s so nice to meet you.” Old ladies loved her!
“I heard you’re a theater aficionada.”
“I am,” Britta said. She loved old ladies! This was like having a vacation abuela!
“We should get our suitcases.” Britta started to walk away, then turned back to Kate. “Please. Come, and I’ll introduce you to Meredith. I’m sure we’ll all be good friends!”
Shit. This girl knew about Rick’s car. Why had she said that? Catholic guilt definitely had a point. But, because there was not much else to do in the face of Britta’s incredible acting ability, Kate went with her.
“Are you from Atlanta? Or were you just switching planes like we were? Me
and Meredith are from Miami.” Or was it Meredith and I? Britta just kept going on, filling the silence, though pausing after every sentence in case Kate decided to speak instead of acting like a snob. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“I’m from Atlanta,” Katherine said. “I mean, it’s a suburb near Atlanta.”
Britta waited to see if she would go on, but she didn’t, so Britta said, “Oh, that’s exciting. I’ve only been to Atlanta once. We went to the Coca-Cola museum.” Nothing from Katherine. They’d reached the bus. The driver was pulling out all the suitcases. “There’s Meredith! Meredith!” God, Meredith. Save me.
Meredith turned around. She saw Britta and Kate and drew in her breath. “Oh. Hi.”
“Meredith, this is Katherine. She’s staying at the house with us.”
“Hi.” Meredith shifted from foot to foot. “We met on the bus.”
Katherine smiled. “So nice to meet you, both of you. I’m Kate.”
“Kate’s from Atlanta,” Britta said.
“There’s mine.” The driver took out a ginormous Louis Vuitton suitcase. Kate grabbed it with a little grunt, like it was super heavy despite the wheels. Britta noticed the “Overweight” tag on it. Kate stumbled a bit. “Tennis elbow,” she said.
“Hey, I play tennis,” Britta said. “We should play together. Meredith bowls.”
“I didn’t pack a bowling ball,” Meredith said.
“I might have one in here . . . somewhere,” Kate said, gesturing at the huge suitcase.
At first, Britta thought she was serious. Then Kate laughed. It sounded like a wind chime.
“Oh! Ha!” Britta said. Scary Girl was trying to be funny. Points for Scary Girl!
Kate grabbed a matching Louis Vuitton bag. “Oh, this one’s mine too.”
It was also overweight. Britta hoped they had an SUV. Or maybe a U-Haul. “Do you need help with that? Because of your elbow?”
“Oh, no, um. I mean, I guess I overpacked.”
“Be prepared.”
“That’s me, prepared for anything.” Princess Kate pulled the bag over. “I’ll bring this one to the car. Can you watch that one? Please?”
“Sure!” Britta stood closer to Kate’s mountain of a suitcase. She noticed Kate checked her phone, then put it back into her purse, frowning. Finally, Britta’s own red bag came out. As she stood there, waiting for Kate to return, the driver took out a Louis Vuitton carry-on. Not. Possible. It must be someone else’s. Surely many people had thousand-dollar French suitcases out here in the boonies.
“This yours?” the driver asked.
God. “Not mine, but . . .” She looked around. Kate was hoisting the first bag into the back of a green Subaru SUV, where it was taking up half the trunk space. “Maybe it’s hers?”
The driver looked over at Kate. “Yeah, she had three.” He smiled fakely.
Jeez. Britta grabbed the carry-on from the impatient driver.
“Let me help you with those.” Ruthie went for the big one.
Britta took her own bag and left the carry-on for Ruthie. It wasn’t that heavy. “So you were in theater?”
“I was in Camelot on Broadway, just the chorus, but I understudied Nimue.”
“Really? Wow.”
“Yes.” Ruthie sighed. “Unfortunately, that witch never got sick.”
Britta laughed. “Still. Great history.”
“I know. My big break was when I was cast in Hair off-Broadway.”
They approached the SUV, where there was still a little bit of space carved out. “You’re not talking about Hair already, are you?” Spider said. “Please don’t tell them about—”
“It was a very poignant and respectful nude scene,” Ruthie said. “It was about the Vietnam War.”
“. . . the nude scene,” Spider said. “Don’t talk about the nude scene.”
Britta felt her hand rise to her mouth. “You were naked? Onstage?” Her mother would die if she did that. Well, disown her, then die.
“Unfortunately, no. That was when I got pregnant with Alicia’s aunt, so I had to quit.”
“I’m sure Aunt Laura loves hearing about the tragedy of her birth,” Spider said.
Spider and Kate hoisted Kate’s mega-suitcase into the trunk. Spider gestured for Britta to stow her second bag. There was a spot for it, assuming no one wanted to use the rearview.
“It was a tragedy,” Ruthie said. “I could have been part of theater history.”
“Yeah.” Spider stepped back, rubbing her shoulder.
“It’s still . . . wow,” Britta said, taking Kate’s carry-on from Ruthie. “Do you have any clippings or albums or anything like that?”
“I just might have a few lying around,” Ruthie said. “I’ll show you.”
Britta looked from the trunk to the carry-on. “There’s no way that’s fitting. I can hold mine in my lap. I hope it’s not far.”
It was far. Almost an hour, and Britta ended up with her carry-on in her lap and Kate’s carry-on at her knees. She hoped Kate realized the sacrifice she was making, which more than made up for talking too loudly on the bus. Kate sat in front. Because of course she did.
“I am so sorry,” Kate said. “You are so, so sweet to sit in back. My legs are so long.”
“No big deal,” Britta said. “This is going to be fun.”
“It will be,” Ruthie agreed. “I have photos of me playing a stripper, in summer stock.”
“Ruthie!” Spider said, laughing.
“I wasn’t nude in that one,” Ruthie said. “Though I could have carried it off.”
6
Spider
INT. CHARMING CABIN — EVENING
Spider and Ruthie enter the house, now joined by KATE, 17, blond Disney princess who packed for a tour of Europe, MEREDITH, 17, a studious redhead, the only reasonable one in the bunch, and THAT BRITTA, 16, and every bit as perkily awful as Spider had envisioned. To call this part the “Call to Adventure” might be a bit of an exaggeration.
“WHY DON’T YOU take the downstairs room, Katherine?” Ruthie said. “You shouldn’t have to lug those heavy suitcases upstairs.”
Ruthie probably hadn’t done that on purpose. Oh, who was Spider kidding? Of course she had.
“I can help you lug that up,” Spider said, even though her shoulder still hurt from picking it up earlier.
“It’s Kate, and don’t be silly,” Kate said, turning in to the peach-and-white bedroom near the door. “Your grandmother’s right. This will be easier.”
“It’s no big deal,” Spider said.
But she knew she was defeated when Ruthie grasped Britta’s elbow and said, “And you, my rising star, will take the room by mine. We can stay up all night and giggle like schoolgirls.”
Ruthie was definitely messing with her. She always thought Spider should be more outgoing, more like Britta. At least Britta would be across the hall, not in the room that shared a wall. Spider wouldn’t put it past her to have brought tap shoes.
Later, when they were all settled, Spider lay in bed, watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind on her laptop. It was one of her favorites, about a couple who erase one another from their memories. She’d found it on a list, “15 Essential Films Every Aspiring Screenwriter Should Watch.” She’d watched those fifteen movies so often she’d memorized them. Like the part she was watching right now, where Mary, the character played by Kirsten Dunst, says, “Adults . . . they’re like this messy tangle of anger and phobias and sadness . . . hopelessness.” She said the line with her. It was so true. She realized she missed Emily’s loud yoga. From Ruthie’s room, she heard the clack of tiles on a table, a sound she remembered from when they all used to play board games together. Now Ruthie was playing with Britta. They hadn’t invited her. But why would they, when she was being such a jerk?
There was a knock on the door.
“Yeah?” Spider pulled the quilt over her laptop.
Britta opened the door. “Hey, we’re playing this game, Rummikub. Your grandm
other said you’re really good.” Spider saw Britta notice the movie. Fortunately, she didn’t comment.
“Oh.” They probably didn’t really want her. “That’s okay. I’m tired.”
Britta shrugged. “Another time, then.” She shut the door. A moment later, Spider heard them gathering tiles. She couldn’t sleep now. Maybe she should join them after all. No, better to go outside.
She didn’t turn on the porch light. She knew the way in the cool, silent night. At first, it always seemed dark, but the farther out she walked, the more stars appeared until the sky went from being a scattering of diamonds to an Oscar nominee’s sequined dress. Then, she could see clearly, each tree, each fence post. She stared up at the round, endless sky, hearing the chirp of crickets, the singing of frogs down at the lake, and maybe the deep whisper-breathing of birds she couldn’t see.
No people, though. Sometimes there were lights. Or conversation, carrying up, up from the lake. But tonight was gloriously quiet. Spider made her way across the grass to the lounge chairs. They were called Adirondack chairs because they were popular up here, half-reclining wooden chairs with generous arms. She started to sink down into one.
“Oh!”
At the shriek, she jumped up. “What? Who’s there?”
“It’s me!” a voice said, not Britta’s or Kate’s southern accent. Meredith.
“God, I’m . . . I didn’t realize anyone was out here!” How embarrassing.
Meredith laughed, though her breathing still sounded surprised. “I guess I should have turned on the porch light. I left it off because of what you said about city light bleed.”
“Me too.” She settled into a different chair, carefully this time.
Meredith said, “It’s beautiful here.”
“Yes,” Spider said, hoping Meredith would stop talking.
She did, not even to question the origin of the noises that, again, became evident, like a night bird’s faraway shriek. Sounds carried for miles here. Spider leaned her head back and gazed at the sky. After a few minutes of looking, what seemed like clouds were revealed as stars, continuous white like a puddle of spilled milk, the Milky Way.
