Sean finally walks in. He’s changed—into a Bengals tee too. He makes his way over to the table as I cover my shy smile with another quick sip of my drink.
“Hey,” he greets me with a crooked grin, waving his hand over his T-shirt. “I’m not late for our school spirit meeting am I?”
“Nope. You’re just in time. Go Bengals.” I raise my hand and throw up the “Bengal Claw” sign. As soon as I do it, I internally cringe. The bengal claw? Pretty cool, Bree. I don’t tell Sean that even though I’ve been waiting less than a half hour, it feels like three. I smooth my hair and reapply my mega minty lip balm as he walks to the counter and returns with an iced coffee.
“So, looks like we both had big plans tonight, me playing guitar for twelve crumpled dollars and you hanging with your mom. That was your mom, right?”
“Yeah, well, when I said party animal, I wasn’t kidding. My mom was begging me to go, so, you know how it is. So, it’s cool you have a job playing music. Do you play there a lot?”
“A few times a month, on nights Ace or Mary and Jerry the married violinists aren’t available.”
I’m not sure if he’s kidding or not but I laugh anyway. Neither of us says anything for what feels like two minutes. He pulls my notes and a notebook out of his backpack.
“So do you think you could help me with the poetry stuff for Monday, maybe just help me get started?”
“Yeah, of course,” I answer.
We go over a few terms and different types of poetry, and then I help him construct some practice lines. We make up a poem about my fake cat. I don’t say anything about it being fake though. I use terms like wild ball of fur blazing through the air and snow white poof. It almost gets me wishing that I had someone like “Fluffy” to cuddle with at night. We work together to make some lines funny, some serious, some rhyming and some not. Once the poem starts to resemble an epic, we stop.
“Thanks for your help. I’m hoping to get my grade up this semester, I was a slacker at the beginning of the year with football going on.”
“No problem. Really.” As he slides his papers back into his bag, his leg brushes mine.
A bolt of lightning shoots up my thigh.
“Oh, sorry,” he says as I lean down and fumble with my own bag and notes so he can’t see how flushed I am.
While I’m wondering if this is the part where we say good-bye and I go home, get in bed and bask in my Sean moment, he asks, “So, do you want another coffee or something or do you have to be home for a 10:30 curfew?”
I laugh. “No, I can stay. My mom won’t put out an Amber Alert for another couple hours.”
He asks what kind of coffee I’m having and heads over to the counter.
This is crazy. I’m really hanging out with Sean Mills and he just went to buy me a drink. Or maybe he went to order it and I’m supposed to pay him back. I offer him a five-dollar bill when he returns with my latte.
He frowns. “Oh c’mon, it’s the least I can do since you let me borrow your notes and took time to help me out.”
“Well, thanks.”
There’s another awkward silence and while I try to think of something interesting or topical to fill it with, Sean asks what I was hoping he wouldn’t.
“Soooo, what’s the deal with you and Chip Ryan?”
FIVE
Telling Kallie about my parents on Saturday afternoon is unavoidable since I’m the one who invited her over. Aside from it being my first invite in over a year, it’s the dad-free redecorating of our house that ultimately gives it away. As we walk through the living room, Kallie notices that Dad’s burgundy La-Z-Boy chair is gone—the one we used to take turns spinning each other on in elementary school.
“What the …” Her eyes move over to the giant new painting of a poppy floating in a sea of blue. It’s practically yelling at us from above the fireplace where our family picture used to hang. Kallie’s eyes widen. “Bree?”
“Hang on, let’s just go upstairs,” I say.
Leading her up the stairs answers her questions easier than I can. Almost all the black-and-white framed photos that Kallie always stopped to comment on are gone. Now it’s mostly empty spaces on the wall; slightly darker gray squares outlining where they used to hang. Wedding pictures gone. Dad holding Mom with her fat round pregnancy stomach, gone. Dad in his uniform. Gone. The pictures left hanging are shots of Mom, me, and a few pictures of Aunt Jen and my grandparents.
As Kallie closes my door behind her, she says, “I guess you’ve got something to tell me?” She leans against the door as I sit on the edge of my bed.
I don’t want to say it because the words seem smaller than the stupid feeling I have building in my chest.
“Your dad moved out?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“Are they getting a divorce?”
“Uh-huh. I mean, yes, they already did. It was final a few months ago.”
Kallie folds her arms across her chest. “Shit, B. Why didn’t you say anything? When did he move out?”
“This summer.”
Kallie sits down, her eyes brimming with tears, and hugs me.
I push the loud ball of everything in my gut far down but my shoulders quake with one sob that I turn into a cough. I squeeze her for a few seconds more, then pull away.
“That’s like a million months ago,” Kallie says. “Why didn’t you tell me? It’s kind of a big deal. Not a big shock, but still a big deal. Remember the last time I was over? That was forever ago, and it was like a cage match.”
“Yes, I remember.” It was last year when Kallie and I walked into the kitchen after school only to have to walk right back out when we heard my parents fighting from all the way upstairs. Mom was screaming something about Dad’s priorities, then we heard a crash against the wall and Dad yelled for her to stop breaking shit. We didn’t wait around to hear the rest. That’s when Kallie’s house became the only place to hang out at.
“You should’ve told me. That’s really huge, Bree.”
“I didn’t want to talk about it and now that it’s been so long it’s not really a big deal anymore, okay?”
“Okay, I guess. I’m just mad you didn’t—”
“Mad I didn’t give you all the details about hanging out with Sean last night? I didn’t even tell you yet that he asked about Chip.”
“Okay. Fine, we’ll change the subject.” She wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Wow. Asking about your ex? That’s big. What’d you say?” Kallie asks, hopping off the bed onto my yellow beanbag chair.
“I told him we were dating like, forever ago, and that some guys just can’t take ‘get off my ass’ for an answer.”
This inspires Kallie to launch into a story about her and Todd’s first date, and I sigh a breath of relief. I nod my head, happy to finally spill about the whole Sean thing—and maybe get some advice. I’m also happy to ditch the subject of my parents’ divorce.
Although I feel lighter having it off my chest with her, I can still sense it hovering over me. I push the feeling aside again and just decide to roll with the relief that the secret’s out.
“But boys can be crazy like that. Are you going to see him again or what? Wait, more importantly, how can we speed this up so he can ask you to Prom?”
“What? Oh, um, Prom Shmom. I’m probably not even going. Chip actually had the nerve to ask me in a voicemail last week if we could go as friends.”
“God, Bree, you might have to go with Chip if you don’t get to work. You can’t not go. This is our Senior Prom. Even Maisey Morgan is going now. I can ask Todd if any of his friends need a date. I’m sure we could find someone to take you.”
“Gee, thanks, but as much fun as it sounds to be a charity case for one of Todd’s friends, I’ll pass.” I roll my eyes so hard that it hurts my head.
Kallie’s lips tighten into a tiny scowl. “Don’t take this the wrong way but what if you started being a little more friendly and social at school? Or maybe if you just chill out a little
—”
“Really, Kal? I talk to more than enough people at school. It’s not like I’m walking around the hallways like a loser getting string cheese and paper thrown at me.”
“Don’t get so defensive, that’s not what I’m saying. I meant extending yourself even further.” She stretches her arm toward the window. “Outside of school especially. You should be hanging out with us on weekends. You need to go out of your way to be nicer, and a lot more approachable.”
“I’m not sure how telling you my parents got divorced and how I hung out with Sean turned into a lecture on how to make friends and influence people. It’s not the trade-off I was looking for.”
“I was just trying to tell you why no one’s asked you yet.”
“So, what you’re saying is that no one’s asked me because I don’t have enough friends. Maybe if I start smiling more and stealing boyfriends, I could have a date and maybe even a few friends that call me on a regular basis?”
Kallie frowns. “What the hell, Bree? Are you seriously saying that? I didn’t steal anyone’s boyfriend.”
“I’m just saying that—”
“No,” she says. “I heard you. And now I get why you’ve been such a crappy friend lately.”
“Me?” I fold my arms across my chest. “That’s hilarious. Where have you been? Where have you been this whole year while I’ve been avoiding my shit-head ex-boyfriend who punched a freakin’ car window because I ruined his plans to screw me on the Fourth—the day I found out about my parents?”
Her eyes widen, like an owl’s. “I’m not a mind-reader! How the hell am I supposed to know what’s going on if you never say anything? What kind of best friend are you? You can’t expect to make or keep friends if you always have them at arm’s length.” She grabs her gray hoodie off my floor and huffs out the door. The edges of my Adam Levine poster flap as my door slams. Her voice rings out from the hallway. “And you sure as hell won’t get a Prom date that way either.”
As her black boots stomp down the stairs, I yell, “Well I guess if I used your methods on keeping guys around, I could have twenty dates lined up.”
The anger I’ve been shoving into the little corner of my gut shoves me right back. Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. Nope. Not doing it. Not worth it. I hate crying. Last time was in December after Mom made a point of getting rid of every last “her and Dad” item in the house. He came by after Christmas to get the things Mom said were a day away from being Craigslisted. He did it while I was at school and left a card with a sparkly purple Christmas tree on the front. Inside was a stack of twenty-dollar bills. He’d written:
“Just in case you didn’t get everything on your list.
Con amor, Dad”
I wished I had the guts to send the card and money back. I’d have crossed out what he wrote and written my own message:
“Sure wish I could buy a live-in dad for $200.
Your biological daughter, Bree Hughes”
But I didn’t. I spent the money on a bunch of downloaded music and new purple sneakers.
SIX
Monday inches by like I figured it would. Kallie and I pass each other in the halls and take turns getting things out of our locker without a word. She breathes all heavy and dragon-like through her nose at the locker. The tension is so thick I’m practically peeling through billowy layers of it just to get my Bio book and an extra pencil.
Fifth period Biology drags as I stress about Norderick’s class. Is it going to be the same or different with Sean? Is Kallie going to keep ignoring me and will she make it obvious with more heavy nose breathing and teeth sucking?
My teacher rambles about plants reproducing as I try to come up with different ways to hang out with Sean again. Maybe I could offer to help him with the next assignment or ask if he needs help with the next assignment. Or I could use my “fake it ’til you make it” attitude and just ask him out. Just as I’m running through potential conversation starters, Mrs. Young gets buzzed on her intercom.
“Mrs. Young, please send Bree Hughes down to the office.”
Everyone’s bodies and eyes shift my way as my stomach and head spin with anxiety. I sling my bag over my shoulder, shove my book and notebook under my armpit, and speed walk my way out the door.
It’s a long walk to the office as potential reasons for an office visit multiply. I’m not good with surprises. Kallie might’ve gone to the counselor about our fight, wanting to do that peer mediation thing. Or more likely, they’re checking in again to see how I’m doing with my parents’ divorce. Hopefully it’s not an issue with any of my grades or graduation.
The hallway with classes in session feels library-esque, lonely, cool, and stark. My footsteps on the floor echo against the quiet walls. I’m barely one foot into the office as Maisey Morgan pushes past me. Our shoulders brush and we turn and make eye contact, then look away. Her eyes are red and puffy behind her glasses. If she was in the office for the same reason as me, it can’t be good.
I give the secretary my name and she says to go back to Ms. Selinski’s office. My stomach spins like a tilt-a-whirl.
Ms. Selinski waves me in with a smile. “Hi Bree. Have a seat.”
After I shift my butt around on the hard plastic chair, I do my best to take a deep breath without looking like a freak. My breaths are super short and I’m sure she can physically see the tightness I’m feeling in my chest and shoulders.
Her smile is small but polite as she clicks a few keys on her computer. “Your grades have gone up a little bit since last semester. Does it feel like a little time has helped make things here and at home a bit easier?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“How are you feeling about things at home now?”
I say “Good,” and wait to see if a one-word answer is going to fly.
“Good to hear,” she says. “It seems like you’re doing well enough in your classes, so you should be proud of yourself. Keeping on top of school after a major family transition is never easy. Just remember if you ever need to talk about it or anything else, I’m right here in the corner office.” She gives me a wink and I wonder if this is all she has to say.
She says “Hmmmm” and leans in. “So, Miss Hughes, how would you feel about being on Prom Court?”
“Really? Are you serious? There’s already a court and I’m not …” Maisey’s face flashes in my head. “I don’t get it, why?”
“One of the nominees has declined and I won’t get into the specifics but we need another person to step in.”
A string of guilt ties itself into a harsh knot in my gut. I try to untie it by remembering that I’m not one of the kids who raised my hand to nominate her.
I twist my mouth and crinkle my nose. “Well, um, so, why’s my name here? I don’t think I really had any votes.”
Ms. Selinski shakes her head, “Bree, you had a few nominations, you’re a good kid, people like you, so don’t overthink it. Consider it an honor. You’ve earned it and you know what, you deserve it.”
“Thank you. So, um, okay.”
She slides a maroon sheet of paper across her desk that reads PROM COURT SCHEDULE & GUIDELINES. Then she hands me a late pass for Mr. Norderick’s class.
As I walk down the hall, there’s the slightest bounce in my step and I’m barely bothered that I’m a Prom Queen nominee by default. I’ll have more time with Sean and more reasons to talk to him. Kallie’s going to freak when she hears. She’ll be so excited that—
Shit. My buzz is immediately killed by the sinking feeling I get as I remember our fight. Kallie probably thinks I’m skipping class just to avoid confrontation. I dip into the bathroom to give my brain a rest before heading back to class.
Stepping up to the sinks, I’m hit with a pang of disappointment. Class has already started but someone else is in here. Her red stringy hair droops down into her face. Maisey.
I make my way to the mirror next to hers and the same yellow slip from Ms. S.’s office sits on the corner of the sink,
weighted by her glasses. Something nudges my brain to say something. I almost feel obligated. Like I should apologize. And I know it’s horrible but I’m hoping like a maniac that no one comes in and sees me talking to her. I let my yellow slip fall from my fingers and do a quick sweep to see that no one’s in any of the stalls before I pluck it from the floor. No feet. Clear.
“So, I uh, guess we’re both taking advantage of these late slips, huh?” I wave it back into the pocket of my bag.
Maisey squints at the faucets. She’s extra vulnerable without her glasses. Like a scared rabbit. Her eyes are swollen like they’ve been outlined in soft pink highlighter. “Yep. Guess so.”
“Sooo,” my voice shakes. “I know I don’t really know you that well or anything but I just wanted to say sorry about the whole Prom thing. I’m not—I mean, well, it’s not like I … I didn’t nominate you or anything but I still feel like I should say something.”
“Don’t bother. It looks like you’re all set.” She nods at my PROM GUIDE paper. “You’re on Prom Court now and you can do it with dignity. Tell all your friends and go home and tell your mom and dad the news.” Her eyes get that shiny glossed over look as she clenches a wad of tissues in her fist.
“I’m not happy it happened like this and I’m not even—”
“Sure you’re not.” She exhales a short breathy laugh and swipes the tissue under her eyes. “Because no one would ever want to be Prom Queen, right? Yeah sure, it’s nothing to be happy about. But really, you try to enjoy yourself. Just remember all the people you think you’re not stepping on along the way.”
“That’s not true, I’m not even like that.”
Liars and Losers Like Us Page 4
