Under the Moon

by Deborah Kerbel

  “Could you just rewind, please? Are you talking about Todd Nelson?”

  Chocolate pudding and white plastic spoon. “Wake up, Lily. Of course I’m talking about Todd Nelson. Did you make out with any other Todds at this school?”

  I can tell by the edge in Emma’s voice that she’s getting impatient with me. Wow, quel grand switch! She pulls out the final item from the bag (orange soda) then begins flattening the paper out for recycling. Her next words come out big and rounded — like a row of giant gumballs: “Funny how you never told me what happened between you guys after I left you by the pool.”

  Emma leans a bit closer to hear my answer. Her brown eyes are practically begging for details. Oh my God, what is she thinking? “Nothing happened!” I say, a little louder maybe than necessary. “Absolutely nothing!”

  “Really?” She straightens back up. “Sorry, but based on the evidence, I have a hard time believing that,” she replies, peeling open the foil top of her pudding and licking it clean.

  “What evidence?”

  Emma smiles. “Oh, I don’t know. How ’bout the fact that he’s been wandering around looking like a funeral director since the weekend?”

  “What? Not because of me!”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I heard some guys teasing him about his big crush in gym today and they mentioned your name. It sounded like they couldn’t believe it either. No offence or anything.”

  You could have knocked me over with a sneeze. To my knowledge, no guy (or girl, for that matter) has ever had a fraction of an interest in me before. My thoughts skip back to that night by the pool. Todd’s beery, panting breath. His fumbly fingers on my bra. His slobbery mouth. I reach up to wipe the memory of his spit off my lips. “It was next to redundant. Just a kiss. Honestly.”

  “And then?”

  “And then nothing. We kissed. He wanted more, but I didn’t.” My stomach is heaving just talking about it. “And then I left before anything could, you know, go too far. I went straight home. End of story.”

  Emma scoops a spoonful of chocolate into her mouth. “Okay. That was sincere. Now I believe you.” Her red eyebrows arch halfway up her forehead. “But Todd’s pretty cute, you know.”

  “I know.”

  Another scoop. “And nice. And smart.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  She swirls her spoon around and around in the pudding. And then she starts nodding like it all makes so much sense.

  Infuriating. “What?”

  “Nothing. I just get it now.”

  “Get what?” Crap, why does it feel like we’re not even speaking the same language here?

  Emma sighs, like a parent dealing with a bratty kid. “What’s going on with Todd. I get the whole thing. It’s pretty obvious, actually.”

  Holy cow! I want to grab those ringlets and wrap them around her polka-dotted neck! “Could you just explain it to me, then?”

  “It’s just basic human nature, really. You’re the unattainable and Todd’s all worked up about it. People always want what they think they can’t have. Simple.”

  I’m the unattainable. I can feel my irritation start to fade. Okay, yeah, I like that.

  “I learned all about it on the Discovery Channel last summer,” she continues. “Every mammal on the planet is genetically programmed for the chase. Which, I’m guessing, is the exact reason why you left Todd high and dry at the party? Am I right?”

  Her eyebrows shoot up suggestively. Oh God, she’s talking about Ben. I can feel the straight line of my mouth slowly widening into a perfect circle of shock. How did she figure it out? Am I that transparent? My eyes do a quick sweep of the cafeteria, searching for him. He’s not there.

  Relief.

  I lean closer to Emma and lower my voice to whisper. “When we’re not in school — when we’re alone — he’s different. I swear, he’s actually nice.” My thoughts skip back to that night on the beach when he brought me an ice cream bar. And gave me his jacket to keep warm. And tried to stop me from going into Todd’s wild party. And his offer to help me find my sleep again. And fix up the cabin. “It’s not just that. He’s caring too.”

  Emma nods and offers me a baby carrot. “And, just to be clear, I’m assuming you’ve noticed how genetically blessed he is?”

  Man, why is it suddenly so warm in here? “Yeah, of course. I’m not blind, you know.” I take the carrot from Emma and crunch down loudly. It tastes like cold cardboard, but I keep chewing. “But there’s more to it than just that. I … I think he’s in trouble. He comes off as this big, unsolvable mystery. And it’s like there’s something he needs and he’s angry he doesn’t have it and he’s aching to get it. But he doesn’t even know what it is.” Forcing down the icky mouthful of carrot, I drop my face into my hands so nobody else can see the burning that’s growing in my cheeks. “God, did that make any kind of sense?”

  “Yup.”

  I look up from my hands. I can’t explain how, but the freckles on Emma’s face are suddenly all adding up to an answer — like the final picture in a connect-the-dots puzzle.

  “You think I should go talk to him and tell him how I feel, right?”

  She nods and hands me another carrot. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for. You know where to find him.”

  “I’m supposed to see him on Sunday.” “Why wait? I mean, why don’t you go to McCool’s tonight?” “Tonight?” My pulse races just thinking about it. She’s right — I need to talk to him. Alone. And not on the phone this time. But how am I going to get past General MacArthur and her army of security devices? I shake my head. “Can’t do it. My mother banned me from going out at night anymore. She even put locks on my room and everything.”

  I wait for her to finish crushing another baby carrot with her teeth. “Well, I know an easy enough way around that,” she finally says.

  My jaw drops open. An easy way around Operation Teen Lockdown? “What?”

  With a devilish grin, Emma flings an arm around my shoulder and pulls my angles into her curves. “Lily MacArthur, you’re about to go on your first sleepover.”

  SEVENTEEN

  The General turned out to be easy as pie to convince. For Pete’s sake, she even helped me pack my overnight bag (all except for one highly confidential item). A sleepover at an honest-to-goodness friend’s house? Forget about the fact that she’d grounded me; she’s been praying for this day since I was born and there was no way in hell she was going to let me miss it. Believe you me. I mean, here I was on the verge of turning sixteen, finally doing something she considered “normal.” I could practically hear her victory thoughts as she dropped me off at Emma’s house. Hallelujah! Crack open the champagne! Her lifelong fantasy of having a halfway-human daughter was finally coming true! I’m just shocked she didn’t bring her video camera to record the moment for all eternity.

  Sheesh.

  What did I tell you about parents and normalcy? I wouldn’t be surprised if Mom goes and calls up all her friends to brag about my sleepover as soon as she gets home.

  Anyway, it’s just after nine o’clock when I get to the Swartzes’ house. As soon as Mom is gone and my sneakers are off, Emma takes my hand and drags me upstairs to her bedroom. Her hair is divided into two red squirrely pigtails and she’s wearing a pair of pink flannel unicorn pyjamas. Very fuzzy and girly and fun. Suddenly, I’m so nervous I think I might vomit. Green chunks all over her pink bunny slippers. The mental image of it brings a smile to my face. Unfortunately, Emma takes that as a sign of encouragement and starts dragging me faster.

  “Wait a minute,” I yelp. “You’re not going to make me watch High School Musical, are you?”

  She shakes her head so hard, her curly pigtails slap against her face. “Unh-unh. I have something else in mind.”

  She pushes open the door to her bedroom with an exaggerated Ta-da! I hold my breath and peek inside, certain on some instinctive level that I’m going to abhor what’s in there. Turns out I’m right. Her room is like something out o
f a corny teen movie. The four-poster canopy bed is the first thing I see. It stands out like a massive monument to Pepto-Bismol in its pink, frothy glory. A collection of pop music posters papers the walls from floor to ceiling. There’s a small bookcase under the window crammed with books. The ones I can see from the doorway have shiny, bright covers and smiling teenagers.

  I guess it could have been worse. I mean, at least she’s gotten rid of the Barbies.

  “We have a lot to do and not much time to do it in, so I think we should get started right away,” Emma says, pointing to a chipped orange stool beside the doorway.

  “Hunh? Get started with what?”

  Don’t laugh! My introversion, you understand, has left me pathetically unaware of the traditional slumber party transformative ritual. A moment later, it all becomes clear when I notice what’s sitting directly in front of the chipped orange stool: a small table set with makeup cases, small, candy-coloured nail-polish bottles, an array of beaded jewellery, a bottle of Justin Bieber perfume, and a purple brush with a matching comb. Tweezers, curlers, and various other unidentifiable instruments of torture have been ominously laid out beside an electrical outlet. The realization of what Emma’s plotting falls over me like a giant spider web. She takes a step toward me, a can of hairspray clutched in her hand.

  Final Net.

  How apropos.

  I take a step back. “Maybe this sleepover thing isn’t such a good idea.”

  But she grabs my arm before I can bolt. “Come on, Lily! Makeovers are what sleepovers are all about!”

  “No!” I try to pull my arm away, but she’s stronger than she looks. “Let me go!”

  “Aren’t you even the least bit curious to see how good you could look?”

  “No!”

  “Would you stop acting so stubborn?”

  “No!”

  She stomps her bunny-slippered foot on the floor and gestures at me with the can of Final Net. “Well, you’re not going to go spill your heart out to Ben Matthews looking like that, are you?”

  Ben. Just the sound of his name makes my heart leap up into my throat. I look down at myself. Track pants and the holey tie-dyed Grateful Dead T-shirt I’ve been wearing since yesterday. I lean my head down and take a sniff. My entire body sags with defeat.

  “Okay, no. I guess not.” Giving up, I let my muscles relax into spaghetti noodles as Emma pushes me down onto the stool. Her freckles are practically dancing with happiness.

  “You’re going to love it, I promise!”

  “I highly doubt that, but fine. Just a little bit.”

  And so I do it. I close my eyes and let Emma Swartz have her way with me. For the next hour, she powders and polishes and plucks and plastic attacks me. I let her do it without any more complaining — I guess it feels like, in a way, I’m making up for ruining her Barbies all those years ago.

  Karma’s une salope.

  When she’s done, I open my eyes, look into the mirror, and scream.

  Emma’s freckles sag with disappointment. “You don’t like it?”

  “No! I look hideous!” I lean closer to examine the monster in the mirror. There isn’t even a trace of my former self behind all the colour and gloss and pouf she’s poured over me.

  “But you look like a movie star,” Emma whines.

  “I don’t want to look like a movie star. I want to look like me!”

  “Don’t be that way, Lily.”

  “Get it off, now!”

  I make her take it all off and do it again, with a decimal point’s worth of stuff this time. She grumbles and groans to let me know she doesn’t approve. But she does it anyway.

  Just as she’s finishing up, Mrs. Swartz pops her head in the doorway. She has short brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a perfectly spherical body. She’s actually quite the geometric marvel — for the life of me, I can’t tell where her bosom ends and her stomach begins. She’s so full of curve, she manages to make Emma look angular. Not an easy feat, believe you me.

  “Goodnight, girls, I’m heading to bed,” she says with a wide, half-circle smile. “Your makeup looks lovely, Lily. Very natural.” I see her glance down at her watch. “But you’re not planning on going out at this hour, are you?”

  I freeze on my stool. Does she know I’m planning on going out to meet Ben? Will she lock us in Emma’s room for the night? Or even worse, call my house and tell the General? Yikes. But lucky for me, Cool Emma isn’t fazed in the slightest. She just twirls the comb around her fingers like a mini-baton and laughs.

  “No, of course not. We’re just playing around with the makeup.”

  Très nonchalant.

  Mrs. Swartz stifles a yawn. “Okay, well, have fun. Don’t stay up too late.”

  The second the door closes, I breathe a sigh of relief. Emma points the comb at my body and wrinkles her nose like a pug dog.

  “Okay … now, for your wardrobe.”

  Before I can officially protest, she strides over to her closet and comes out holding up an armful of clothes. “I borrowed a few things from my sister’s room before you got here. She’s small and scrawny like you, so I’m guessing these will be close to your size.”

  Next thing I know, she’s dressing me up in one of her little sister’s pairs of skinny jeans and a baby blue T-shirt with the words “Clearly Misunderstood” printed across the front.

  Oxymoronic. Okay, I can handle that. I pull on the clothes and plunk myself back down on the stool.

  “Fine, I’m dressed. What now?”

  “Now we wait for my dad to go to sleep. Then we sneak you out.”

  Her work done for the night, Emma flops onto her bed and cuddles up with a squishy-looking pink heart pillow.

  “So what are you going to do about Todd? It’s not cool to leave him hanging like a lovesick puppy, you know.”

  My stomach feels like it’s just dropped down an elevator shaft. “I’ll think of something. But not now — tomorrow, after I talk to Ben.”

  Emma tilts her head and studies my face. “You look nervous. Have you figured out what you’re going to say?”

  Shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just wing it.” After a small pause, I add, “Or maybe I’ll borrow a line or two from this.” With a grin, I reach for my overnight bag and pull out my one highly confidential item: my dog-eared copy of Summer of Love. Emma’s eyes widen the second she spots the half-naked bodies of Jason and Amy cavorting on the cover.

  “Oh my God! Where did you get that?”

  “It’s one of Aunt Su’s romance novels. I found it in her cabin. I’m not finished it yet, but so far there’s lots of juicy stuff.” I open it up and start flipping to the end of the first chapter. “I marked all of the best scenes to show you. But this one’s my favourite so far.” I open my mouth to start reading about what Jason and Amy do at the end of their first date. But before I know what’s happening, Emma is sprinting across the room and grabbing the book out of my hands.

  “Holy crap! I can’t believe you got a copy of this! Dad won’t let me read these books ’til I’m sixteen!” She skips through the pages on high speed, as if the book is about to dissolve any second.

  “Hey, be careful,” I warn, reaching to take it back. “That’s practically an antique, you know.”

  But that’s when Emma pauses and pulls the book closer to her face. Her thin red eyebrows come together like a pinch.

  “Look, I think your aunt put one of her little drawings in this one too.”

  “What?”

  She holds up the book for me to see, spread open to show the inside back cover. I lean closer and peer at the page. There’s a cartoon drawn in purple ink of two shadowy figures standing and holding hands on top of a mountain peak. The sky above them is filled with tiny flowers.

  Lilies.

  Suddenly, it feels like there’s a cool breeze blowing over my insides. “Let me see that,” I say, grabbing the book back from Emma. My eyes scrape over the page as my heart cartwheels against my ribcage.

&nb
sp; It’s definitely a note from Aunt Su — dated almost exactly a month ago. The day of her suicide.

  “It’s a note for me,” I whisper. And then I start to read in my head.

  Lily-girl,

  I know if you’ve found this note, it means you’re reading my books. And if you’re reading my books, it means you’re not mad at me anymore for what I’ve done. And if you’re not mad at me anymore, then maybe you’ll be open to hearing one last piece of advice — believe me when I say it’s the most important piece of advice I’ll ever offer you. Now that I’ve reached the end of this life, I can honestly say that my only regret is how much I disconnected myself from the world. To be a writer, I chose a life of solitude when I was young and pushed almost everyone (with the wonderful exception of you and one or two dear friends) away from me so I could have the freedom to follow my dreams. Looking back, I know I would have had a fuller life if I’d filled it more with people instead of silence and space. Lily-girl, I know your way is to push others away, just like mine was. And of course, you should follow your writing dreams. But at the same time, be sure to find a place for family, friends, and love. When you get to the end of the road, it’s the only thing that matters.

  Your ever adoring Aunt.

  Suddenly, I feel Emma’s hand land on my shoulder. “So, what does it say?” Her voice is soft with concern. I cough to clear away the nest of prickles that has sprouted inside my throat.

  “It’s something Aunt Su wrote before she died. She’s just … she’s just telling me how much she loves me.” I angle my body away so she won’t see the tears. Her hand squeezes my shoulder gently.

  “Are you okay, Lily?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine … thanks.” I take a second to wipe at my eyes and shove the book back into my bag. “But it’s late — I should probably get going soon if I want to see Ben …”

  Emma releases my shoulder just long enough to check her watch. “It’s almost midnight. I’m sure my dad will be going to bed any time now. He likes to stay up late reading. Shouldn’t be too much longer. You’re not getting tired, are you?”