by Mary Strand
Tess hadn’t stopped by my locker after school like she normally did, and I didn’t see her in the parking lot, so I punched her digits into my cell phone as soon as I reached the Jeep. She answered on the first ring.
“Hey, Tess. We never got to talk today.”
“Oh, sorry, Cat. I’m on my way—” I could swear I heard giggling and voices in the background. “I mean, I told my mom I’d go right home after school.”
“That’s cool.” More like unbelievable, since Tess’s mom was always traveling or shopping or both. And never with Tess. “I could come over. I’ve got the Jeep.”
“Oh, wow, I wish you could, but I’m kinda busy.” More giggles, and there were definitely other kids with Tess. Maybe even guys. “I have a lot of homework.”
I frowned. “But Tess—”
“I’ve gotta go, Cat. Talk to you later?”
Stunned, I drove aimlessly around Woodbury, trying not to think about Tess or Amber or anyone else, and finally pulled up in front of our tired-looking, gray two-story Colonial house. Snow covered the yard, but I pictured the rows and rows of wacko-colored tulips that would appear in late April, thanks to Mom’s manic burst of planting last fall. Dad had finally pried the trowel and spade out of her curled-up fingers and hid the industrial-size bag of tulip bulbs, then helped her into bed. She stayed there for forty-eight hours.
I glanced up at the peeling paint on our house and wished Dad would let Mom loose with a few cans of paint and a roller. As I sat in the Jeep, staring at the house, I sighed. Everyone was gone. Jane and Liz had moved into an apartment in Minneapolis after Christmas, and I missed them more than I thought I would. Not that they ever hung out with me, but I missed being able to think they might hang out with me. Some day.
Finally, I turned off the Jeep and made the short but frigid trek across the snow-covered lawn to the front door. I opened it to the sound of silence. Mom and Dad must still be at work, and Mary playing kissy-face with Josh. Leaving me by myself.
I should be happy about it. I could hang out and relax, no real homework, no one to bug me. But I just felt cold. Alone.
And more lost than I wanted to think about.
I walked through the living room and headed for the kitchen, wishing someone made happy pills that emulated Mom in one of her manic phases. Actually, they did, but they didn’t sell them to teenagers.
Oh, wait.
I slid a quick, furtive glance out the living-room window. No cars except the Jeep. I half-jogged back to the kitchen and opened the door into the garage. No cars.
Biting my lip, I tiptoed to the cabinet above the sink, where Dad kept the liquor. He’d locked it up until Lydia left for Wisconsin Dells last summer, but apparently he thought no one else would partake. Ha. I opened the cabinet door. Rum and scotch and gin and more. Dad hardly drank, except when Mom went off her meds for too long, so I didn’t know why he kept the stuff.
Definitely not for me.
Actually, I hated the taste of it. Even at parties, I imbibed as little as I could get away with. Without Lydia here to notice and call me a baby, I usually grabbed a Diet Coke instead of a beer or shots or whatever.
But I’d felt lost ever since Lydia left, and not just because she was gone. My friends had changed, and today they’d made it crystal clear that they were done with me. By why? Should I ask Tess? Would she give me a straight answer?
I reached for a glass, then put it back. Mom and Dad knew I always drank Diet Coke out of a can, so they’d wonder if they saw a dirty glass in the sink. I suddenly found myself thinking like a criminal—or like Lydia, who always worked through all the scenarios before taking a step in the wrong direction.
Skipping the glass, I grabbed a can of Diet Coke from the fridge and popped the top. One long swizzle later, the can had room to spare for some extracurricular liquids. Like, say, rum. The bottle was mostly full, so no one would miss it, and I’d be happier if I drank it. I hoped.
I unscrewed the top and poured rum into my Diet Coke until liquid sloshed onto the top of the can. Perfect.
It slid down with only a slight burn, a pinch of my lips. Not as refreshing as straight Diet Coke, but happiness was eluding me, and rum offered the only cure in sight.
I kept swigging it down and pouring more in, finally opening another can of Diet Coke when the rum got too overwhelming. I felt a little loopy, a little fuzzy around the edges, maybe even a teensy bit happy. Maybe.
The grind of the garage door opener made me jump. I glanced at the counter, where my hand gripped a rum bottle that was now less than half full. How did that happen?
My hand trembled as I screwed the cap back on, but I got the bottle back up on the shelf and dumped the rest of the Diet Coke down the drain, then blasted water in the sink to rinse away the evidence. By the time I heard the back door open and Dad’s voice calling out, my butt was upstairs, safe in my bedroom.
I had to hide. After a frantic moment spent scanning my room through blurry eyes, I plunked down on my closet floor in the half where Lydia used to toss her clothes, pulled the closet door shut after me, and curled up in a ball.
One yawn later, I fell asleep.
I woke up in pitch-black darkness. I ached everywhere, my mouth tasted like a sewer, and I reeked in the worst way. No wonder Drew wasn’t interested.
Against my better judgment, I sniffed what turned out to be a nasty sock that Lydia should’ve either washed or burned before she left town.
Then I sniffed barf.
What a moron. I’d puked all over myself. Dad and Mom had probably called the cops by now to report me missing, and I’d be better off missing or even dead if Dad found out I raided his liquor stash and drained half a bottle of rum.
I tried to straighten to a sitting position, but I smacked my head against a tower of Lydia’s shoes and my hands flew to my throbbing skull. Another whiff of barf made me feel like puking all over again. Ugh. What a mess.
I also hadn’t exactly reached my hoped-for happy place, at least not after the first ten minutes of gulping down that vile rum and Diet Coke. So what was the point?
The door to my room banged open, and light shone through the cracks in the closet door.
“She’s not—” Dad’s voice broke off when I reached out for balance and slammed into more of Lydia’s shoes. I was gonna kill Lydia next time I saw her.
Unless Dad killed me first.
The closet door swung open, and I screeched and fell sideways into the room. I covered my eyes against the glare of the ceiling light and the even harsher glare zinging at me from Dad’s pinched face.
“There you are.” Hands on his hips, he shook his head. “Do you realize I’ve spent two hours looking for you? Aren’t you a bit old for hide and seek?”
He didn’t look even remotely glad to see me, and that was before his lips curled when he spotted the globs of barf on my shirt and pants. I looked down, too. It actually looked worse than it smelled, if that was even possible.
Dad frowned. “You’re sick? But why would you sit in your closet? Why didn’t you—”
He broke off suddenly, taking a step closer and a big sniff. Bad idea on any number of levels.
“You’ve been drinking.” He sucked in a deep breath, something I couldn’t do right now without puking again, and slowly blew it out. I figured he was counting to himself, seeking a Zen moment or patience or whatever. Maybe he’d get to ten before he killed me. “Here? Alone?”
I bit my lip and tried not to cry, knowing Lydia wouldn’t cry in this situation in a million years. Which was probably why she was now residing in Montana.
“Cat? I asked you a question.”
A few questions, actually, but the answers to any of them would only make me look even more pathetic, so I just stared at the floor.
Dad cleared his throat. “Go take a shower. Unless you’re too drunk to stand up.”
I glanced at Dad and saw his outstretched hand, ready to help his prodigal daughter to her feet.
I
pushed myself up all by myself and brushed past Dad on my way to the bathroom.
He followed me. “We’re not done talking about this, young lady. I want an explanation and an apology, and then we’ll talk about appropriate punishment. I’m disappointed, Cat. You may think you’re—”
I slammed the bathroom door on his face.
Chapter 2
“No, Kitty, I have at last learned to be cautious, and you will feel the effects of it.”
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume III, Chapter Six
A night’s sleep didn’t offer much relief, either from the aftereffects of the rum—I am so not touching rum again as long as I live!—or Dad’s temper. You’d think a yoga master would take a more Zen-like attitude toward a momentary lapse, but no. He yelled at me every moment I wasn’t in the shower or in bed, and probably even when I was.
As Mary drove us to school, I slouched in the passenger seat of the Jeep. Peeking at her through half-closed lids, I saw her white knuckles gripping the steering wheel and a grim slash for her mouth. When Dad busted me, he basically busted Mary. Since I couldn’t be trusted by myself, Mary had to babysit me on the way to and from school, which brought a major halt to her meandering drives home with Josh.
If she hadn’t drilled me a lecture about the perils of drinking, I might even feel sorry for her.
I slouched even lower when we pulled into the school parking lot and cruised past Drew, who was getting out of his car. With Chelsea?
Chelsea, the new girl? Chelsea, who stuffed her bras? Chelsea, who was now smirking as she gave me a snotty little finger wave?
I couldn’t help staring at them, the way you stare at a train wreck—except this time I was the one who got slammed. Chelsea ran a bare hand through her bleach-blond lawnmower-cut hair, oblivious to the below-zero wind chill, and Drew had his arm around her waist. His wildly ruffled hair looked jet black in the hazy morning light, and the piece of dry toast I’d choked down for breakfast threatened to come back up. I couldn’t slouch any lower in my seat to avoid seeing them without my butt hitting the floor. I unbuckled my seatbelt and did it anyway.
Mary slammed on the brakes, and I slammed against the glove compartment. “Cat? What are you doing?”
My putrid life flashed before my eyes, like in a horror movie, but I didn’t say a word. Finally, Mary started driving again. She cruised slowly past Drew and Chelsea.
“Is it that guy? The one practically groping that girl?”
“Don’t look at them!” My knees were wedged up against some painfully hard object, and my butt hurt, but I considered camping out on the floor of the Jeep for the rest of my life. “I mean, uh, no idea who you’re talking about.”
Mary didn’t say anything. When I finally peeked at her, she was staring at me, one eyebrow quirked annoyingly.
“Keep driving. Or park. Whatever.” Not that it mattered at this point. Drew and Chelsea had to be busting a gut and, if I ever set foot in school again, so would everyone else.
Mary finally pulled into a parking place, turned off the engine, and opened her door. “Aren’t you coming?”
“In a sec. You go on ahead.”
The door slammed shut, but Mary hadn’t left. Unfortunately. “I thought you’d gotten over it. Not wanting to be seen in public with me.”
“I just, um, dropped something on the floor.”
“Yeah. Your whole body. Are you stuck? Do you need help getting out?”
“No!” I was wedged pretty badly, my legs must already be atrophying, and the fire department might need to use the Jaws of Life to pry me out of here, but we were talking hours from now. I might die by then. A girl could hope.
“Listen, Dad said I had to keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t care what Dad said. Do you see any alcohol in this Jeep?” Even the word “alcohol” tasted nasty on my tongue. “I’m not going to get in trouble. I’m just—”
“I know. Avoiding some kids or avoiding me or whatever. Cat, you don’t need to do this.”
“Spare me the lectures, okay? This isn’t about you, and you’re not gonna get in trouble with Dad. I swear. I just need some time to myself.”
“School starts in ten minutes.”
“Fine. I’ve got ten minutes.” Plus the rest of the day, if I didn’t go into school. I hurt like hell, Drew and Chelsea would be all over each other, and Ms. Mickel probably couldn’t wait to torture me about The Book. Again.
Mary got out, finally, after one long last look at me. Minutes crawled by as more cars pulled in and horns honked and the constant chatter of kids streamed through the closed windows of the Jeep. My knees hurt so bad, I might never walk again. I touched one knee and winced.
Was avoiding Drew worth all this? Was anything?
Nothing I could think of. Hoping everyone was inside school by now, I unfolded myself from the floor of the Jeep with a few more jolts of pain. Just as the passenger door of the Jeep creaked open, the final bell rang. Great. Maybe I should skip today. I bit my lip, wondering.
Nope. I was in enough trouble with Dad. I hobbled toward the school door as fast as my crushed knees let me.
The hallways were deserted except for a couple at the far end, making out near an open locker. Drew and Chelsea.
Perfect.
I veered left toward English class, my backpack slung over my shoulder. I was late, and I didn’t have time to dump my backpack at my locker, and Ms. Mickel would probably bust me for at least one of those offenses, but Drew and Chelsea were making out within ten feet of my locker. Compared to seeing them up close, I’d take Ms. Mickel any day.
“You’re late, Cat, and you know you can’t bring a backpack into class. School rules.” Ms. Mickel turned back to scribble on the board, but I had no idea what to do. If I left my backpack in the hallway outside of class, it’d be gone by the end of class. If I went to my locker, I’d have to see Drew and Chelsea up close and be even more late.
Ms. Mickel sighed. “Drop your backpack next to my desk, please, but first take out your notebook. And, of course, your favorite book.”
I heard Jeremy snickering as I dug into my backpack for The Book and my notebook and a pen that still had ink in it. Just as I dropped my backpack on the floor, Drew sauntered into class. Ms. Mickel didn’t say anything to him.
Drew brushed past me, and I jumped when his hand touched my waist for the briefest second. Jeremy snickered some more. Chelsea walked in then, too, and again no word from Ms. Mickel.
Pissed, I marched to my desk, eyes straight ahead, paying no attention to Drew or Chelsea or that jerk Jeremy and his obnoxious snickers.
But I was gonna make them pay. All three of them.
As I trudged into the cafeteria after third-period History of Really Boring Dead Guys, I could still hear Chelsea’s screeching laughter in English class. If Lydia were here, she would’ve crushed Chelsea for making fun of me. And for stealing Drew. And maybe even for her bleach-blond hair.
But she wasn’t here.
I bit my lip as a tear threatened, but then I saw Drew and Chelsea at a separate table, eating off each other’s trays. No way would I cry in front of them. Head high, I strutted over to the table Lydia and I had eaten at since the first day of freshman year, which felt like a lifetime ago. But . . . our table was full.
My table was full. Full of the kids Lydia and I always hung with, plus that stupid Jeremy and a few other guys, but they hadn’t saved a chair for me. I grabbed a chair from a nearby table and dragged it over, then plunked down at the end of the table and opened the lunch Mom packed this morning while she kept telling me how my “escapade” yesterday wouldn’t go unpunished. Peeking inside the bag, I groaned. A peanut butter and pickle sandwich on a dried-out hot dog bun.
I oughta call Child Protection Services.
Amber caught my eye and kinda half-smiled, and I relaxed, but a moment later I caught her looking at Tess—my best friend other than Lydia—and both of them smirked.
Oh. My. God.
I glanced down at my vile chunk of puke on a hot dog bun and felt sick to my stomach. Shaking my head, I shoved it back in my bag, rummaged around, and pulled out the only other thing inside. Holy crap. A Twinkie. I’m sixteen, almost seventeen, and my mom does this to me. If my stupid lunch bag were any bigger, I’d yank it over my head and try to suffocate myself.
Despite the horror of Mom’s putrid lunch, my stomach rumbled. I couldn’t handle more than one slice of dry toast this morning, but by now I was starving. If I got up to go through the cafeteria line, though, I’d have to walk past Drew and Chelsea, and my so-called friends would probably sell my chair to anyone with a dime.
Sighing, I got up anyway.
“You’re leaving? Already?” Tess jumped up from her seat, right in the middle of talking to Amber, and grabbed my arm. She glued herself to my side, just like old times, as I headed to the vending machine for a bag of Cheetos.
While I waited for her to say something, I inserted coins in the slot, punched D4, and grabbed my bag of artificial-cheese-laced comfort food out of the bin at the bottom.
I glanced at Tess, but I couldn’t imagine her buying any of the crap in the vending machine. Her goal in life, ever since she met my sister Jane when we were in eighth grade, was to be as perfect as Jane, right down to her matching blond bob. I thought her natural auburn hair looked better on her and that perfection was overrated, but Tess was definitely a Jane wannabe. “Are you getting something, too?”
Tess glanced down at my bag of Cheetos and shrugged. “I just wanted to talk. I hardly see you now except in one class, and I don’t even get to sit by you.”
“No, you sit by Chelsea.” Tess had been one of my best friends for four years. Was that the Tess I was talking to? The one I could talk to about everything? “And you guys seem pretty tight. Like, already.”
Tess looked stunned. If she was faking it, she should try out for the next school play. “Are you crazy?”
