by Anne Dayton
“I told you guys she wasn’t one of us.”
I can’t move. Maybe it isn’t really happening. Perhaps it’s all a bad dream. But when I look at Ana’s face, I know it is happening, that she did utter those words out loud. I look from her smug face to the back of Riley’s head, and I make a decision.
I walk over to Riley, grab her by the arm, and physically yank her back. Riley seems to be in shock but allows herself to be dragged back to our table. I give her a gentle push and make her sit across from Ana, next to Zoe, who is now picking at the table’s splintering wood.
I walk to the end of the table and put my hands flat on the top. For a second or two, my mind is totally blank. I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know if I even can. But then I look around this old broken table, I see all my dreams for the future, the only family I’ve known since my mom died, and I know that I have to do it. “I will not let this happen. You guys are being idiots.”
They both start talking over each other, pointing fingers, accusing one another. “Shut up!” I scream and they stare at me, mouths hanging open. “We’ve been falling apart, bickering, losing focus all year.” I stare down at the table and notice a few flecks of garnet paint, the same color as the school walls. How did it get here? How did I never notice it before? “It’s going to be the death of the Miracle Girls if we keep this up.”
My words echo off the walls of the empty courtyard.
“Okay, look.” My voice is just a whisper. “We love each other.” I gesture around the barren breezeways. “We’re not like the rest of the people at this miserable school. We have something that’s deeper than all of this. We may not like each other every day, we might all have faults that drive each other crazy, but we’re loyal. We stick together. That’s what it means to be a Miracle Girl. You put the other girls first and no one—,” I give Riley a knowing glance, “and nothing—,” I glare at Ana, “comes between us.”
I dust off my hands and take a deep breath, waiting for them to say something, to agree with me, to hug each other and say they’re sorry, but nothing happens.
“Fine.” I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. “Ruin it all, and then we’ll have no one.” Zoe rises like she’s going to stop me, but I ignore her. “You guys were all I had.”
38
She’s started counting down the days. With each square she crosses off the calendar in the kitchen, I get more panicked. I’m running out of time.
I’ve been brainstorming for weeks, but so far nothing has worked. She didn’t fall apart when I told her I wouldn’t wear the stupid green bridesmaid dress she settled on. She shrugged and said I was welcome to wear whatever I want.
She didn’t scream or cry when I told her I hated the invitations she picked out, and that there was nothing in the world they could do to make me address them for her. She smiled and said she was planning to hire a professional calligrapher anyway.
And she didn’t even react when I called the priest who’s marrying them and told him I opposed the marriage. He listened politely, and that was the last I ever heard of it. I don’t even know if he told her about the call, but I do know the wedding planning is proceeding whether I like it or not.
I look around my bedroom, hoping for inspiration. I have to think of something. There has to be some way to end this stupid thing. Emma’s no help. Ever since the save-the-date debacle, she’s sworn off helping me, and I actually suspect she might want this wedding to happen now.
Let’s see. I begin flipping through my drawers, looking for inspiration. When I come up blank, I wander out into the hallway and then to the kitchen. I could burn the house down. That might work. But that punishes me too.
I could run away. Surely they wouldn’t go through with it while they have a kid missing, but where would I go? They’d find me pretty quickly at any of my friends’ houses. And what would I live on? It’s not like I have any money saved up. Okay, scratch that.
I wander into the living room and see the lights on in the studio. So she’s home. I wonder where Emma is. And why didn’t Candace come into the house before going out to her room? I stare across the yard, hoping to see some movement in one of the windows, but I can’t see anything. What is she doing in there? I squint. I bet she’s looking through brochures for boarding schools for me to attend, old-school stepmom style.
I slide the big glass door open and walk across the yard before I know what I’m doing, keeping my body low so she won’t see me if she happens to glance out the window. She’s up to something evil, I’m sure of it. Why else would she have to be so secretive? I’m going to find out what she’s up to. Ana, who is the world’s best eavesdropper, would be so proud.
I reach the studio and crouch down under the window facing the house. I take a deep breath. If she sees me, I’ll just admit I was spying on her. It can only help my case at this point. Slowly, I push myself up so I can barely see over the edge of the windowsill. I look in and gasp.
Candace is standing in the middle of the room, wearing a long white dress. She’s staring at herself in the mirror, tears in her eyes, mesmerized by her own reflection.
I can’t suppress a laugh, so I duck out of sight as it escapes my lips, but when I work up the courage to peek back inside, it appears she hasn’t heard me. She’s still swaying in front of the mirror, holding the top in place with one hand.
She’s actually wearing her wedding dress! In her room! How lame can you be?! I stifle another laugh as I watch her. She’s probably imagining herself walking down the aisle, everyone staring at her and twittering about how beautiful she looks. Pathetic.
But it is kind of a pretty dress, I have to admit. It’s very simple—strapless, A-line, white. It’s not at all what I would have imagined her picking out. I expected something more Beauty Queen, with lots of pouffy layers and beads and rhinestones and stuff. This is kind of nice, actually.
I push myself up a little bit to get a better look. She runs her hand down the smooth front of the dress and grabs the skirt, swishing it forward and back.
If I’m honest, it looks good on her. She’s so fit, and it accentuates her toned arms without being too revealing.
She turns a little so she can see herself from the side. She hasn’t zipped the dress all the way up the back. That must be why she’s holding the front. I guess she probably needs someone to help her with that part.
I bite my lip and study her face. There’s something different about it. Lately she’s been so stressed that’s she’s looked kind of pale and drawn, but now . . . her cheeks are a little pink, but that’s not really it. It’s more that she looks, well . . . I guess it’s that she looks really happy.
She’s standing there in her wedding dress, alone, two full months before the wedding, admiring her own reflection. She’s clearly lost in a daydream, imagining herself on her wedding day, and she looks happier than I’ve ever seen her.
I duck back down and turn away, toward the house. I shake my head, but the image is seared into my eyeballs.
She’s a grown woman who’s been married before. She has a teenage daughter, for Pete’s sake. But she’s crying tears of joy over her stupid wedding dress.
I wish I hadn’t seen it.
I sit there under the window, staring at the house for a long time, trying to figure out how much this changes things.
39
People always think of California as being eternally sunny and warm. In movies it’s lined with palm trees and wide beaches of sparkling sand, but there aren’t a lot of palm trees in Half Moon Bay, the sand is brown and rocky, and it’s cool and wet almost every day, like Seattle. Even in late March, when you’d think it would finally start to get a little warmer around here, I’m still wearing a sweatshirt.
I rub my hands together and think of tropical shores as I wait out front for Riley’s mom to pick me up. Riley got her license a few weeks ago, but she can’t drive me without an adult in the car, and since my car decided to stall on me on the way home from
school two days ago, I’m carless and powerless. I could technically hang out inside my house, but Emma’s in there twirling around in her bridesmaid dress, and I can’t stand to watch it any more.
Tonight promises to be torturous. Riley’s youth group is having a special event, and unfortunately for us all, this is also Ana’s youth group. Three Car Garage is playing a concert, so Ana will definitely be there, and Riley has to go because her mom signed her up to help with the snack bar. Ana and Riley still aren’t talking, and with Zoe pulling away more than ever, I’m not even really sure why I’m here. It’s too late for us. I’ve started to accept it. But when Riley called to beg me to come with her, I didn’t have the guts to say no. The two of us can still be friends, even if the Miracle Girls are done.
At long last, Riley’s turquoise minivan turns down my street. Well, her mom’s minivan, I guess. The huge color photo of Mrs. McGee’s face is pasted on the door, smiling for the whole town to see. I walk down the driveway to hop in but stop short when I see someone sitting in the backseat.
“Hey.” Zoe waves as I open the door. Suddenly I’m glad she got suckered into going to church too.
“I like the RealMobile.” I hop into the back and scramble onto the seat, then slide the heavy side door shut.
“Hello Christine.” Riley’s mom smiles, but Riley turns to face us and grimaces.
I guess in real estate world, it’s perfectly normal to plaster your image and phone number on every available surface to attract potential clients, but in high school, driving a minivan with your mom’s real estate ad is about the most humiliating thing you can do. Still, Riley seems to be holding up well. It probably has something to do with the fact that she and Tom are back together again and blissfully happy. Woo.
We drive along in silence for a few minutes until Riley clears her throat. She glances at her mom, but she’s rocking out to some Christian contemporary music and doesn’t seem to be paying attention. “So I don’t know if I should spread this around or not, but I heard something about Ms. Moore, and I need to tell somebody.” Her voice echoes in the silent minivan. Zoe brightens, but I look down at my hands. I’m not sure I want to hear whatever it is Riley has to say.
“Riley, it’s not nice to spread rumors.” Mrs. McGee’s eyes stay focused on the road, but her voice carries over the music.
“It’s not a rumor, Mom.” Riley pulls at her seatbelt and tries to get a better angle. “I heard two teachers talking about it after practice the other day.”
“What happened?” Zoe looks hopeful.
“You know how she’s always butting into people’s lives and stuff?” Riley meets my eye in the rearview mirror. “Apparently she lost it and yelled at a parent of one of her students, and now the parent is suing the school board.” Riley nods solemnly, but my stomach drops. “That’s why she’s been out—because she’s on suspension until they figure it all out.”
My mind flashes to the scene in the grocery store. It can’t be.
“Oh wow. That’s crazy. Who?” Zoe asks as Mrs. McGee turns left onto Highway 1. I hold my breath.
“Don’t know.” Riley shrugs. “I couldn’t hear.”
“Is she going to get fired?” Zoe asks quietly.
Riley shakes her head. “I’ve told you all I know. But I wonder what she said. Wouldn’t you love to see her in action?” Riley puts up her dukes and punches the air, eliciting a cry from Zoe to keep her hands on the wheel. I bite my lip.
Ms. Moore must deal with other troubled students too.
She butts into everyone’s life.
I can’t be the only one whose parents she insulted.
He wouldn’t do that to me.
“She is a little bossy,” Zoe says.
“Look,” I say loudly. “You don’t know anything about her. She’s . . . she’s not bossy. She’s just concerned.”
My dad needed to hear what she said to him. Ms. Moore was the only person brave enough to do it.
Zoe’s eyes widen. I’ve never snapped at her before, and I don’t know what made me do it now, except that everything is all upside down and it’s making me a little crazy. I’m hardly stable on a normal day.
“I . . . I know her.”
“We know her too,” Riley says.
“Yeah, but . . .” Zoe is watching me carefully. “Look, I go to weekly counseling sessions with her so I probably know her a little better. That’s all.”
“Oh,” Zoe says, the hurt apparent in her voice. “I . . . I always thought you went to see Mrs. Canning.”
I hold my head in my hands. Why do I do this stuff to them? I never mean to keep secrets, but I have a hard time sharing, and if you don’t tell your friends about something when it first happens, then as time elapses it becomes a secret, even if you didn’t mean for it to be. “She’s . . .” I take a deep breath. “She’s been there for me.”
I want to say more, to explain everything to them about how she’s the only adult who seems to care about me and that’s important for some reason, about how she knows my thoughts before I even think them, about how she yelled at my dad and now he’s really trying. . . . But I can’t.
***
It’s quite possibly the first time I’ve ever been excited to pull into the church parking lot. No one has breathed even a peep since my confession about Ms. Moore. Zoe and Riley don’t seem to be mad, but they’re processing what I’ve told them, and I can’t stop thinking about my dad. He wouldn’t try to get Ms. Moore fired, would he? But who else would have that kind of pull with the school board? Plus, he’s been so weird lately that he might do just about anything.
The band is warming up when we walk into the youth room while Ana runs around like a chicken with her head cut off, helping the guys get set up and bringing them bottles of water. She waves at me and Zoe and gives Riley a curt nod. Zoe runs off to help her, and Riley grimaces at me. “Here goes nothing,” she says and disappears into the kitchen.
I’m left alone. I walk over to examine the Three Car Garage merchandise for sale on a small table by the door. They have T-shirts in every color and a stack of CDs. Jamie, a junior who sometimes sings with the band, is manning the table. I give her an absent wave and pick up a glossy CD case. It has a black-and-white photo of Ana’s house, complete with an enormous three-car garage, on the front. I’ve never really gotten the band’s name.
I flip over the CD and examine the picture of the band on the back. They’re all standing on a stretch of deserted beach, staring vacantly into the distance, trying to look like they’re not posing. Dave is wearing his typical board shorts and necktie while Tyler looks like he wore an entire Abercrombie store to the shoot. There’s no denying that he’s the best-looking one of the bunch. I squint at the image of the drummer, Tommy Chu. I’ve never really paid much attention to him, but he’s actually kind of cute. I scan the room and see him sitting on one of the ratty youth group couches, twirling his drumsticks and talking with some girl. Typical.
“Do you want to buy one? It’s only ten dollars,” Jamie says, smiling at me. “And it’s really good.”
“No thanks.” I smile and put it back on the table. I can’t exactly tell her I already have one from my Tyler phase last year, so I just walk away. She shrugs and starts refolding the stack of T-shirts on the table.
I walk over to Ana and Zoe, who are talking to some people I don’t know, and try to blend into the wall. Tyler catches my eye and nods. My stomach warms, and I smile back and then pretend to be very engrossed in the girls’ conversation. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him. It’s just that I know from experience I get flustered and awkward and don’t know what to say. He watches me for a moment, then goes back to plugging in cords for the big show.
Thankfully, it’s not too long before the lights dim and the band takes the “stage,” which is really a piece of plywood about six inches off the ground. The crowd—there really is a crowd—moves to the middle of the room, now cleared of chairs, and begins to clap while the guys make a show
of tuning their instruments. They drink in the cheers; then Tommy smacks his drumsticks together and they launch into one of their upbeat songs. Across the room, Ana begins to dance a little and Zoe claps. All around me, people are moving and dancing and laughing, but I stand at the back of the room, still.
I feel like I’m not really here. It sounds stupid, I know, because where else would I be? But it feels like my body is totally disconnected from my mind. I can see that I’m here, that I’m in the middle of this crowd of people, all of whom appear to be having the time of their lives, but I’m really a million miles away. I’m not really a part of all this.
I’m in the paper goods aisle of a grocery store, hoping my dad will give the right answer.
I’m in the deserted school, breaking into an empty art classroom.
I’m sitting on the edge of a diving board, staring into a deep pool, watching patches of sunlight move across the surface of the water.
I’m sitting in a beaten-up hot tub, wishing there was more out there in the empty night sky.
I’m watching Candace twirl in a white dress, feeling all hope disappear.
I’m by the side of a wet road, staring at a wreck of twisted metal, praying that God will send someone to save my mother before it’s too late. The weak gray sunlight reflects off the broken glass at my feet.
I take a step toward the door, edging my way out of the crowd. No one seems to notice as I slip past the pulsing bodies. It’s already too warm in here, with all the people moving around, and I gasp as I finally step out into the cool evening air.
Even after the door of the youth room closes behind me, the music pulses out into the night. I walk into the empty courtyard in the center of the church. I don’t really know where I’m headed; I just know I have to get away from there.
I don’t need a grand miraculous sign, God. I don’t need a flash of lightning or disembodied voice or a chorus of angels or anything. I just need something. Anything. Please. Some way to believe that we’re not really in this alone.
