“Charlotte told me yesterday.”
“And you’re just telling me now?” I yell at Nick.
“Volume, please.” Nick jiggles his ear.
“Sorry,” I reply curtly, but I’m not sorry at all. This is vital information. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?” What are her parents thinking? Charlotte needs to be with me—I mean, us. She needs to be here, where her family and friends are, not in some strange country with people who don’t know her.
“Where’d you go the night Charlotte had her tumor out?” Nick asks in an abrupt change of subject.
Caught off guard, I stammer, “Uh, here. The gym.”
“Really? Cuz when we got the call that Charlotte was out of surgery, I came down here to the gym and then down to the common one on the sixth floor. You weren’t in either one.” Nick doesn’t look at me, but I know what I’d see in his eyes.
Disappointment.
Suddenly I feel angry at Dad for ratting me out. Surging to my feet, I start for the door. Nick stops me. “I saw Madeline yesterday in the lobby. She asked about you. Where you’ve been. How come she hasn’t seen you. I told her you were at the hospital with Charlotte. She asked me if that was where you’d taken off to in such a rush the other night.”
“Goddammit.” I lean my head against the glass door of the gym. “What’d you say to her?”
“I told her it wasn’t any of her fucking business where you went and what you did.”
We’re going to fund some kid’s entire college education at the rate we’re spitting out profanities.
“Did you really?” Dad has always taught us to be respectful to women, and I just can’t see Nick saying that. Even to Madeline.
Nick looks down at his feet and shakes his head. “No, but I wanted to. I just said that Charlotte was our number one priority now.”
“Did you say anything to Charlotte?” That’s the most important question. I hold my breath as he answers.
“No.”
The sheer relief at his response makes me weak. “Thanks.”
It’s inadequate but heartfelt. I push away from the door and gesture for Nick to follow me to the condo. He doesn’t get up, and worry is all over his face.
“I think AnnMarie knows, though, because after Charlotte told me I hung around outside the room when Mom came. They were talking about this new clinic in Switzerland, and AnnMarie said it’d be good to get Charlotte away from us for a while.”
“What’d Mom say?”
“I couldn’t hear. They moved away from the door.”
“Fuck,” I curse, and this time Nick doesn’t threaten to tell Mom. “So you think Aunt AnnMarie knows about Madeline and wants to move Charlotte away because of that?”
Nick spreads his hands. “Why else?”
I can think of a thousand reasons but instead of enumerating them, I run upstairs to Dad’s library and burst in. He’s on the phone and unhappy at the unannounced interruption. He gestures for me to sit down but then notices I’m in my workout clothes. Muting the phone, he barks at me, “Don’t sit on my leather chairs until you’ve showered.”
I stand because I’m not leaving to shower or eat or shit or anything until I find out what’s going on.
Dad doesn’t hurry through the phone call. Instead, he listens as the other person seems to talk without breaks, all the while eying me speculatively. I take the time, as he intends, to gather myself until I’m no longer ready burst out with some inappropriate profanity-laced diatribe. I firm my lips and give him a nod that I’m ready. He nods back and quickly wraps up the call.
“Summarize the details and email them to me by tomorrow morning. I’ll give you an answer in forty-eight hours.” He doesn’t wait for a response and hangs up. Leaning back in his chair, he folds his arms behind his head. “I didn’t say a word to your momma about your indiscretion with that girl downstairs, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
My mouth falls open in surprise at his ability to precisely peg my issue. “I, ah,” I stammer and wish I had showered so I could sit down. “Why’re they talking about taking Charlotte away then?” There’s a whiny quality to my question that makes us both wince.
Dad squints at the ceiling, tipping farther back in his chair and then lets it come forward with a bang. “I’m not entirely sure, son, but it isn’t that. Frankly, I’d think AnnMarie would be grateful your attentions are fixed on someone other than Charlotte. It’s been a contentious year for the two of you.”
I flush. Ever since Charlotte turned fifteen, everyone seemed to start noticing her. And by everyone, I mean other guys. She doesn’t seem to care that she gets stared at constantly. When I suggested that maybe she should stop wearing yoga pants outside of the actual yoga studio, she didn’t talk to me for a week. “She’s hormonal,” I mutter finally.
At this Dad shouts with laughter. “She’s hormonal.” He pushes away from his desk and stands. Walking toward the door, he gestures for me to follow. “Son, you’ve got so many suppressed hormones, they are screwing with your head.”
I follow him into the kitchen where he pulls out the makings for sandwiches. Silently we make ourselves one, and Dad pours me a tall glass of milk. I don’t remember the last time we’ve talked, just the two of us. Some of the stress of the past couple of weeks just drains away as we sit down and talk about the Bears’ chances to win the Super Bowl this year—not good—and the Cubs’ chances of winning the pennant next year—even worse.
“How’s practice going?” he asks, eating half his sandwich in one bite.
I shrug. “I don’t love it. I know I should, but I’m bored half the time. It was more fun when I could play both offense and defense.” North Prep’s football team is mediocre at best, and during my sophomore year I got to play the tight end position and defensive back. My senior year, however, I’m playing solely the tight end position. Because our current quarterback sucks, I rarely get the ball thrown to me, and when it does come my way, it’s either too long or too short. Nick should be the starter. Everyone on the team knows he’s the best quarterback but Hudson Firth is a senior whereas Nick’s a sophomore so Firth starts even though Nick can throw rings around him.
“Team sports are a good experience for you, Nate,” Dad says. “Getting along with others is a chore but a necessary one. You can at least use the opportunity to understand the different dynamics of your teammates and how each one is motivated. Later on that skill will come in handy.”
After we polish off the sandwiches and milk, I help Dad clean up the kitchen. I’m not ready for our time to come to an end so I linger, spending more time than necessary cleaning off the center island.
“You think Charlotte is going to be okay?” That’s really the only question I need answered.
“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s going to be easy.”
“Because of hormones,” I joke.
Dad doesn’t laugh, though. The side of his mouth quirks up in a sad half smile. “It’s going to be everything, and I’m worried about you, hoss.”
“How so?” I don’t like this somber tone from him. Maybe chat time should be over. I throw the cloth I was using to clean the counter into the sink, showing that I’m ready to be done.
“Charlotte is going to go through several months of radiation. Maybe a year. She’s going to be sick for a long time—”
“And I’m going to take care of her,” I interrupt. Holding up my hand to forestall any other lectures, I tell Dad, “I got this.”
Dad just shakes head. “I love Charlotte like she’s my own, and I’m gut sick about her illness, just like you. But she’s got her family to take care of her. You and Nick need to be focused on finishing school, enjoying yourselves, and then planning for college.”
“Sounds like you are all for Charlotte being moved away.” I scowl at him.
“No, but I can tell you that Charlotte is going to want to be with a boy who sees her as more than someone to be taken care of. Around here, there’s going to be a lot of sympa
thy and a lot of people trying to do stuff for her.” Dad runs a hand over the top of his head and frowns. “Maybe Bo and AnnMarie are right in thinking Charlotte’d be better off where everyone doesn’t know her.”
I gape at him. ““You’re all wrong because Charlotte needs us. She needs me.”
6
Charlotte
I’m grateful that the school keeps the bathrooms so clean because I’ve spent far too much time in them during the last month I’ve been back. After a month in the hospital and then a month at home, they allowed me to come back to school so long as I could hold up. Not wanting to be at home for another day, I’ve been lying to my parents for the first time. If they knew I was in the bathroom sick every day, I’d be pulled out of school in a heartbeat.
I pull out a water bottle from my backpack and swish out my mouth. Reaching up, I close the lid of the toilet seat and rest on the edge, leaning against the stainless steel barrier. The cool metal of the bathroom stall is relieving. Just one more minute, I tell myself, and then I’ll go back to class.
Everyone has been so helpful since I’ve been back, too helpful. I’ve gone from Charlotte Randolph to the sick girl. Someone is always around to carry my books and walk me from room to room. Nate is constantly holding my elbow as if he thinks I’ll fall if he lets go. My tongue is sore from biting back my frustration. I’m trying not to be ungrateful, but I’d like to just be Charlotte Randolph again. Sophomore, gymnast, student.
But every time I try to be normal, something happens to remind me that it’s all different. I have a hard time concentrating in class. Reading at night was once my favorite pastime, and now it is a chore. I’m behind everyone else, and I’ve completely forgotten some basic principles of algebra and geometry. But none of the teachers complain about my lack of progress. Instead, I get smiles of encouragement for just signing my name on the top of a pop quiz or a homework assignment.
It’s early yet, I know this, but I’m afraid if I don’t show regular progress that I’ll be shipped out away from my friends, away from Nate and Nick. I can’t have that happen, so I’m not telling anyone that I’m sick on a constant basis, that I can’t understand even the most basic principles during class, and that I feel like I’m only capable of doing fourth grade work at the moment.
I squeeze my eyes tight and concentrate on breathing. I’m not going to cry, I chant silently. I’m not going to cry.
The bathroom door slams open, and the chatter of several girls tells me I am not alone. I start to stand but the vomiting and the lack of nutrition makes me feel lightheaded, so I sit back down.
“You hosting the Halloween party this year, Claud?”
“Of course, what’s your costume?”
“Pepper Potts, and Ryan is going as Iron Man.”
The conversation gives me the clues to the group outside. It is Claudia Amsden, student body vice president and co-chair of the homecoming committee. Her dad is a plastic surgeon. The girl going as Pepper Potts would be Nina Franchetti. The Franchettis own a number of restaurants in the city. Claudia has a thing for Nate, but I don’t think that he’s given her a second thought. Not because Claudia isn’t gorgeous, but because she’s the same age as Nate. For some reason he’s never dated anyone at school, preferring older girls who go to other schools. He’s probably sleeping with some college student right now. The idea makes my sore stomach clench.
“Have you invited Charlotte Randolph yet?” asks Nina.
Nothing good comes from eavesdropping so I slowly rise to make it known I’m inside, but before I can get the door open, I hear Claudia respond. “Of course. How else are we getting the Jacksons to come? The problem is getting them to stay because Charlotte’s probably too sick to stay long.”
I sit back down. She’s not wrong. I doubt I could last for more than an hour at Claudia’s party or at anyone’s party. And if I have radiation that day, I’ll count it as a success that I can walk from the treatment room to the car, let alone go to any event.
“I don’t really understand why Nate and Nick won’t go to parties just because Charlotte can’t. Do you think she threw a tantrum and they feel sorry for her?” Nina asks.
Ugh. I hate that anyone feels sorry for me.
“Who knows,” Claudia responds. “It’s annoying, but what can you do? They’re not going to do anything without her.”
I don’t want to hear anything more. Opening the door, I smile at Nina’s shocked expression. “I don’t tell Nick or Nate what to do. They have minds of their own.”
Claudia purses her lips. Unlike Nina, Claudia is unfazed by my appearance. Maybe she knew I was there.
“Maybe so, but they are obviously not doing anything without you. At least when it comes to extracurricular activities.”
“Like you said, that’s annoying.” I steady myself against the door jam and walk slowly toward the exit. I am going to have to talk to those boys. The idea that they are not having fun because of me is infuriating. I don’t need anyone’s pity.
* * *
Nate is lounging against my locker after last period. His one foot is braced behind him against the metal while his other leg supports his weight. Claudia Amsden is sidled up next to him so close I doubt I could fit a piece of paper between the two.
I grimace, slightly disgusted with myself for caring. My illness has made me weak physically and mentally. Before getting sick I wouldn’t have given Claudia a second thought. She would just be one more girl who liked to kiss up to Nate in hopes that he might ask her out, which hadn’t ever happened to my knowledge. Nate and Nick didn’t do girlfriends. I teased them once that they were saving themselves for marriage but dropped the subject after the two exchanged looks I couldn’t interpret. Nick muttered something like, “Don’t need to,” but he clammed up after Nate punched him in the shoulder.
Nick was probably alluding to the fact that they just messed around with girls and didn’t want the hassle of a relationship, but I pretended ignorance. All three of us got along better that way. God forbid I bring up any three letter words to them like boy or sex. The last time I tried, they’d both turned pale. Well, Nick turned pale and Nate got red in the face and gave me a long lecture about how none of the guys at North Prep were worth my time of day and how I had to wait until someone special came along like our moms had waited for our dads.
I yelled at him that he was being sexist because I highly doubted that either of our parents waited.
We may have continued arguing but Nick, the peacekeeper, made a joke about how we were both so full of air we could float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. After that, none of us talked about girls or guys with each other again.
But that day in the hospital. . . the air between Nate and me had crackled, and for a hot, exciting minute, I thought he was going to kiss me. Since then, though, he’s not made any move toward me. Wishful thinking on my part, I guess.
As I get closer, I can see Nate’s expression and it is not a pleased one. Whatever Claudia is saying isn’t something that Nate wants to hear. Perversely this makes me happy, and I want to give myself a mental head slap for being such a jealous twit over nothing.
Nate sees me and pushes away from the lockers and Claudia. I’m not moving fast enough apparently because he hurries down the hallway to grab my arm. Claudia gives me the same pitying look that she pinned on me in the bathroom. The one that says, Poor Charlotte, can’t even muddle down the hallway by herself.
I jerk my arm away from Nate, which causes me to stumble. “Hey, I got you,” Nate says and pulls me to his side. I’m awash in both frustration and happiness. Frustration that he thinks I need help and that he may be right, and happiness because I’m tucked against his side.
I wonder if radiation has totally screwed with my brain and I will no longer be able to think rational thoughts again. Resigned, I allow Nate to lead me down the hall. “Thanks, Claud,” he says as we pass her. He has one arm angled across my back with his hand curled at my waist. This is the embrace t
hat girlfriends and boyfriends enjoy, and for a tiny illicit moment I allow myself to think of what it might be like to be Nate’s girl.
My fantasy is interrupted when he stops at the girls’ and boys’ locker rooms. “I don’t need to go to the bathroom,” I hiss, mortified.
“I know.” He looks both ways and then pulls the door of the boys’ locker room open. “Incoming,” he yells. “Cover up.”
There’s a rustling of activity and metal clanging against metal as I surmise that guys are dressing or, as Nate ordered, covering up. “What are you doing?” I gape at him.
He gives me a quick smile but it dies almost as quickly as it appeared. “Claud told me you were puking up a storm today.”
“That little—” I don’t finish my statement. Instead I am turning to the door to chase Claudia down and give her a piece of my mind, but Nate’s hands take hold of my shoulders.
“Look, I know why you’re trying to hide this. You think if our parents know that you’ll be yanked out of school and put in some special treatment program, maybe in Switzerland.”
My mouth drops open. “Have you heard something?” I ask. Fear makes my heart race. I wasn’t aware that Nate knew of my mom’s desire to take me out of Chicago, out of the country.
“Only that it’s an option, and we all want to make sure it’s an option that doesn’t become necessary.” Nate stops talking and leans toward the interior of the room. The clanging noises have stopped. “All good?” he calls.
“Yup.” It sounds like there is more than one guy in here. I’m so embarrassed.
“Nate, I can’t be in here.” I’m feeling queasy, and it’s not due to my condition. Perhaps other girls would love to be in the boys’ locker room, but for me it’s kind of stinky and I don’t want to see a bunch of my classmates’ underwear or worse. I’d never be able to look them in the eye again.
The Charlotte Chronicles Page 3
