by LK Thompson
The Pelham High Diaries: Eleanor
By L. K. Thompson
8/1
I’m optimistic by nature. Mom says it’s because the day I was born, the sun burned bright in the Pelham sky after one of the town’s nastiest blizzards. And Dad says Mom’s explanation is absurdity at its’ best. When complimented on my rosy outlook by a teacher, stranger, or the odd checkout cashier, Mom doesn’t shy from offering her magical version of my glimmering birth story, Do you remember that storm? No? Well, it was awful! No power for three days straight! A snow plow had to take us to the hospital—do you believe that?! And Eleanor was born just as the clouds parted and sunshine peeked through. Nearly blinded me in the delivery room! She was sun-kissed from the minute she was born. It’s that reason alone, she’s the way she is. She lights up every room she walks into!
As I’ve grown, this explanation has become increasingly embarrassing to digest, for both myself and Dad, who blatantly disagrees. To him, I’m a happy person because I’ve always been categorically good looking—even as a baby. No matter what the instance, he’ll insist, “Trust me, when you go through life like us, Elle, there’s nothin’ that can bring you down unless you let it. Any award I was up for, I won. On the Pelham High football field or off. Any girl I wanted, I dated. In PHS or any surrounding school for that matter. And any job I interviewed for, I got. People want to connect with good-looking people. It isn’t fair, but it’s a fact. All I can say is, enjoy it. Folks’ll try to snatch it from you, but that’s just jealousy and jealousy is ugly. Like I said—we’re not ugly people.”
I kinda cringe at his simplistic rationalization because I know plenty of pretty people with a bad attitude. Take Taryn for instance. On paper, she’s got it made. Beauty, money, and popularity. Yet, she’s one of the most depressing people I know. And she’s my best friend! Plus, if Dad could get any job he interviewed for, why’d he end up at Crestwood Barnes Accounting in Maplewood? We aren’t exactly rolling in dough over here.
What Dad doesn’t grasp is that his youthful aura has faded along with his ability to lift an object off the ground without grunting. I’m not saying he’s aged horribly, but Dad’s old six pack abs have long been replaced by a rotund, pushed out, hardened beer belly and his year long tan only further accentuates the deep lines etched in his forehead from too many years standing post as a Pelham lifeguard without bothering to apply sun-block. I doubt he’d win any sort of award nowadays, but his confidence remains.
Maybe after a certain age, being oblivious is the same thing as optimism?
Personally, I prefer to think of my positive outlook as a real asset based on my ability to see things fairly and clearly rather than whether or not I’m having a good hair day. It’s something I’ve worked on for years. While Taryn glared off predatory hallway lemmings, Morgan’s gaze would remain steely and Harlow’s head would duck low. I always made sure to smile to set myself apart.
I can get stuck in the weeds like everyone else from time to time, and yes I find certain rumors utterly thrilling, but hey—I’m a work in progress. Even if Babble—our online PHS gossip app excites me to no end, my brain doesn’t dwell on the bad. It’s a rock skipping across a lake—touching down for a moment to check in and then moving right along.
Maybe my optimism can be my superpower. With friends like mine, it certainly couldn’t hurt.
8/5
I’ve been begging Everly for some prime closet real estate for months and after negotiating terms, she finally agreed! It makes the most sense anyway, since she piles ratty old stuffed animals on the entire left side of her closet and I’m forced to use an old toy chest for my jeans and leggings. The final sale came down to a plate of cheese fries (with double cheese) and a root beer float (with two scoops of vanilla ice cream) from The Boardwalk Diner. Oh, and no take out. We had to go together.
Mom was using the van to run errands (and I don’t technically have my license) so we rode our bikes most of the way, before parking at the end of the boardwalk and walking a quarter mile to the diner. The air was unbearable—thick and muggy, like maneuvering through an old man’s mouth with sweat that poured down my spine while Ev’s hair frizzed into a giant poofball that she needed to tie back into a bun. The crowd on the boardwalk fit the temperature—old and foul. Roaming eyes paired with long stares. More than one man called out to me, which I normally wouldn’t mind, but felt gross in Ev’s ten-year-old presence. I actually thought about shooing the attention away with a dirty look, but didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I’ve been treated this way for years.
Inside, Ev and I inhaled the cool air. There was an air conditioner hoisted above the entryway and we raised our sticky arms upwards to dry off under the vent before being seated. As I lowered my arm, Ev pinched it immediately. I screamed, “Ouch, Ev! What’s your problem?” She pulled at me and whispered, “Shh. C’mon, let’s sit over here.”
I followed her gaze to a group of girls against the far wall in back and scoffed at her request, “Oh please, because of them? They’re ten! And you’re with me—you’re cooler, older sister!”
Ev didn’t budge, “Elle. I’m ten. And you’re wearing a belly button shirt. Please!”
Was my little sister dissing my wardrobe? I was aghast. “Uh, in case you haven’t noticed, midriff shirts are in, Ev. Those freaks will probably go out and buy one tonight.”
Ev looked worn out by my resistance, “I’m tired from riding and just wanna sit. I thought this was supposed to be fun. You want my closet, don’t you?”
This was true. I caved, “Okay, fine.” Everly climbed into the booth first, “Thanks.”
“Not a fan of theirs, huh?”
She shrugged, “They’re nice, I guess. Not that they know I exist.”
I looked at the girls. They were awkward and gangly with two prettier girls sitting between the rest. Probably friends since Kindergarten. To anyone peering in, they didn’t appear special in any way—little kids with braces, but their closeness ensured a sense a security that the rest of the grade would die for. That’s just the way popularity works.
I reassured, Ev, “They will.”
“No. I dance too much,” She answered matter of factly, “Plus, they’ve been friends since they were born. It’s fine. I’m okay with it.”
I placed our order and thought about how I could get those girls to love Ev as much as I do. Was it my job as a big sister to force that on everyone? It kinda feels like it. And it’s not like it’s her fault that you can’t have a time consuming hobby if you want to be popular. Those girls probably spend all their time obsessing over obtaining silky hair, shaving their legs, boys, and rumors.
A loud sneeze broke my attention and I jumped from my seat to notice Vicki Bozzi jammed between the sneezer and the wall. Her cheeks were pink as if they’d been pinched and she stared down at her half eaten chicken sandwich, paralyzed with what looked like embarrassment or maybe fear. Had her brother sneezed on her food? I lifted my hand to offer a friendly wave hello, but her gaze never lifted.
Taryn’s always been very vocal about Vicki. Just another “loser lemming” that “smells like a litter box”. But, Vicki’s never bothered me and given Ev’s recent remarks, I wasn’t about to treat anyone like a loser. Last year, Vicki and I were paired up to be writing partners and she never got frustrated with my low level of participation. I didn’t smell the cat pee thing either.
An obligatory hello would put my mind at ease, but Vicki was going to painful lengths to avoid my eye contact—not an easy feat with the way our tables were positioned. I finally got my opportunity when she stood to leave. I called out directly, “Vicki! Hey!”
Her face cringed as she shuffled over, an inmate shackled to good
manners. Vicki greeted me, her voice flat, “Hey Eleanor, how’s it going?”
I smiled victoriously, “Not bad, Vicki. Thanks for asking!”
Silence.
I continued, “This is my little sister, Everly.”
Vicki politely offered a weak nod and I nudged Ev into saying hello. I decided to keep the small talk rolling, “How’re things in your neck of the woods? Having a good summer?”
Her expression calmed, “It’s been okay. Just a lotta family stuff—vacations, working at my Dad’s office. Nothing special.” She looked around to place her parents before continuing, “Your hair looks like it grew a foot—I wish mine would. I’m gonna go back to school looking exactly the same.”
She was right. Vicki’s hair was always the same length. Always. “So, why don’t you grow it out?” I asked.
She sighed dramatically, “My mom makes me get a haircut every six weeks on the dot by her friend Donna. It’s unavoidable. I think she has appointments set up from now until my twenty-first birthday.”
I laughed, “Don’t worry. I’ve got one next week. There goes all my hard work!”
“I’d never cut my hair if it looked like yours. It’s perfect.”
We were doing so well. But with that comment, I shifted in my seat. It was, uncomfortable. I could feel my eager-to-please attitude slipping away, “Your hair’s great, Vicki. And your tan’s on point. All the PHS boys will be swooning.”
“Boys and me? That’s doubtful. You're lucky you can date whoever you want. I’m lucky if a guy will partner up with me in a class for a team project. Slim chances on that, though.”
Was she always this depressed? I remained upbeat. “Aw, don’t be like that! I was born with a sixth toe and look at me—been dating Jake for six months!”
At this, Everly’s root beer sprang from her nose and mouth like Niagara Falls. It went everywhere. Vicki stood there, confused and wondering if I was messing with her and I assured her I’m not because well, I have the teeny tiny scar on my foot to prove it. I explained,“I mean, the bonus toe is gone now, but can you imagine my mom’s face in the hospital? Nobody was looking perfect that day.”
Everly couldn’t breathe. Giggling so hard she’d begun to wheeze with her eyes closed, tears streaming down her face. Her nostrils flared rapidly and I couldn’t help but chuckle too. Turning my attention back to Vicki, I announced, “Anyway! That’s the way the cookie crumbles. I’ll see you around!”
Vicki offered a genuine smile that tells me I’ve broken her. She liked me. “Okay, see you around Eleanor.”
After she was gone, Ev wiped tears from her eyes and asked, “How’d you learn to be so funny, Elle? I bet everyone wants to be you. She definitely did.”
One thing I don’t explain to her is that the cardinal rule of high school is this: looks will be deceiving.
8/6
Out of breath and coated in sweat. I ran straight for the shower to wash off a walk around the lake I didn’t want to take. A walk without a moments rest. With a destination of Quench Juice Bar that I was completely indifferent to (but Taryn never cares to ask me what I want) all while partaking in a conversation hovering slightly above doomsday for two hours straight. I’m exhausted from the sport of it all.
But, there’s no use complaining. I had to go. I do a lot of things I don’t want to do, funny enough. These are the dues I pay to to maintain a friendship with Taryn Casey.
Being in Taryn’s company is much more work than being with Harlow or Morgan because my brain doesn’t jump up and down like hers. I’m happy with the ability to drift away on a cloud at the first sign of bitchy-ness. To Taryn, everything’s unfair and everyone sucks and hearing about it saps me dry. Maintaining positive feedback for a friend that dwells in the muck is especially difficult because she demands responses and laughter. When I’m with Taryn, I must remain engaged until I can run free!
Am I making her sound bad? I don’t mean to. I just wish that for once she’d appreciate starting anew. Last year’s embarrassing fight with Harlow was horrific and she, for one, should be rejoicing it’s over. Can’t she see how grateful we should be for second chances?
In her mind, I already know her answer. It’s because of her that we’re friends with Harlow again. It’s because of her that the foursome is back together again. Nobody else apologized to Harlow, just her. She’s partially right, too, but I don’t buy it. She’ll do anything to be contradictory. That’s why she apologized. Now that they’re friends, she’s mad all over again. Up and down, that’s how she is.
To Taryn, I did my best to prop her words up with mine, without offending her point of view, all while knowing that if I stopped, she’d slip right back down into her dreary thoughts. I grabbed her arms and declared the obvious, “We’re officially upperclassman, Taryn! No more freshman or sophomore drama!”
Like a train running out of steam, I nudged one last reminder her way, “We really grew over the past year, ya know? This year, I’m done being a bitch. If I wanna be prom or even Homecoming queen, I gotta start now. I’m gonna be Mrs. Positivity.”
Taryn snorted, “Mrs? Since when are you married?”
I was really trying to reel her in—convince her to be happy and excited. Warn her that I’m not entertaining another drama-filled rollercoaster ride of a year. Even if she wanted it, I wouldn’t partake. I said, “The past two years had their fun times, but when I think about it, I don’t think we were happy. We were just struggling to make our place known in PHS and now that we’ve secured a coveted rank, I think it’s okay to just be, nice. I can barely think about our fight with Harlow last year. Nobody came outta that looking good. Well, except maybe Harlow. We were horrible.”
Taryn recoiled a bit finally, so I dug in for the finale, “Not to make you feel bad or anything, but I’m relieved it’s over. Harlow’s back in the group, Jake’s biceps have doubled since June and you get your license this week! Morgan even started wearing tinted mascara. This is what life is all about!”
Taryn sighed loudly, “You really think PHS won’t suck for once? Because I saw Millie Sailling the other day at the beach and she was quite the raging bitch.”
“Well, everyone knows Millie sucks. You’d be pissed too, if you had a mustache.” She cracked a smile as I playfully put my arm around her, “The rest of our class is cool enough. Focus on the positive! I ran into Vicki Bozzi at The Boardwalk Diner with my sister and she said my hair looked good.”
Taryn snorted as if I’d just proved her point, “Of course she did! That’s what lemmings do!”
“I’ll admit, she looked pretty confused when I brought up my sixth toe, but alls well that ends well.”
“Elle! You didn’t?!” Taryn was laughing within seconds.
“Of course I did! It’s comedy gold! And I was in the presence of a ten year old. Ev needed the laugh more than I did.”
“Only you, Elle.” Taryn’s smile warmed and I nudged her, reiterating my point, “It’s gonna be a good year, Taryn. If you let it, it’ll be our best one yet. Okay?”
“Okay.”
We parted ways and I texted Jake immediately, feverishly typing my desperate plea to hang. I didn’t want to be available to the girls. I’d done my time for the day and just couldn’t do any more. After so many years, I need space. Soon, I’ll be on my bike and at his house. The safest place I know of.
8/8
Shit. Sometimes, I forget things.
Taryn’s enraged. “What do you mean, you forgot?! I was just about to leave!”
“Sorry! Seriously, I thought it was tomorrow. You know how Jake is. He comes up with these last minute plans and I can’t say no!” It’s an excuse, but I’m a good liar. “Plus, did you see how hot he’s gotten this last month alone? Can’t have him running around town without me!”
Taryn deflates and gives in—a total pushover for me using the boyfriend card, “Oh fine. Have fun at the beach. But you better not ditch out tomorrow!”
“Never. I swear!”
She’s no longer angry, “Guess I hoped you’d leave Planet Eleanor for one day, like you know, my birthday. But whatever. See you tomorrow.”
I’d totally forgotten. Truth is—I didn’t have important plans at all, I just couldn’t imagine spending another afternoon with Taryn under her ever-present storm cloud. A new school year is supposed to be filled with hope and sunshine, not incessant bitching. Plus, birthday’s aren’t my thing. Years back, my Dad started buying my mom flowers for just about every occasion and I learned that for most people, flowers will do. So, now it’s my thing too.
Taryn means well. It’s just that, she and Morgan don’t tire of grumbling. Ever! They don’t even try to be happy, it seems. So, with every last ounce of energy I have, I’ve created some distance between us, which is basically like saying I’ve had to create a billion dollars. Distance doesn’t come easy in a group like ours—four distinct personalities, tightly bound with an iron-clad pact of loyalty.
The four of us forever. Us against the world. Sisters for life.
Forever.
And yet, my reputation lends itself to escaping the easiest. I’m an airhead, on my own planet. A boy crazy girl with nothing on her brain but the boy I’m currently dating.
What they don’t know is—I think about stuff. I keep track of their emotional tides and quiet jabs. I follow what they write in secret on the Babble app, without blowing their cover. And I also quietly wonder if our pact still holds any truth after what we did to Harlow last year. I wonder why Harlow forgave us and if I could ever do the same.
Last year, when Taryn got mad, I listened. If she told me to jump, I soared. I don’t blame anyone because blind trust is a dangerous drug nobody warns you about and you can’t understand it until you’re in the passenger seat of a car hurling eggs at your ex-best friends house, while her parents stare blankly at you from the bay window in their living room.
Thankfully now, I have Jake. Boys like him offer me safety. And for that, I give them everything.
