Cat Bennet, Queen of Nothing

by Mary Strand

  So he was a little old now. He was definitely wacked to shovel in this weather. But he was still sweet.

  “Mr. Fogarty?” My voice cracked as a blast of icy air shot down my throat. “You shouldn’t be outside in this cold, and it’s only an inch or two of snow.”

  He smiled, his bushy white eyebrows looking like accent marks on his weathered purple face. “You’re a good girl to watch out for me, but I wouldn’t want anyone to slip on the ice. This will be ice by morning.”

  Since the odds of anyone walking anywhere in this weather were basically zero—except for me, but I was provoked—I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to worry about ice. But I knew Mr. Fogarty. He’d shovel until he had a heart attack and his wrinkled old body froze to the driveway.

  “Tell you what. I’ll shovel for you.” Idiot, idiot, idiot. I tried smiling at Mr. Fogarty, but it made my teeth chatter. “You go inside, and I’ll do it, and you don’t have to worry about the ice.”

  Mr. Fogarty beamed at me. “Can I bring you a hot cocoa? With the colored marshmallows you always liked?”

  Did I look like I was eight? Apparently. “Sure. That’d be great.”

  Half an hour later, my numb hands fumbled with the key to the front door until it finally opened. Ahh. Warmth. I knew I should make use of this unheard-of alone time. But all I could do was collapse on the sofa, massage my frozen toes, and be grateful I was still alive.

  “Cat?” “Cat?”

  I woke up to a dark living room and three pairs of eyes glaring down at me. Mom, Dad, and Mary. From the footsteps I heard thundering down the stairs, Liz and Jane would probably be joining my little welcome party any second.

  “Cat, what are you doing?”

  I rubbed my eyes, but my mom’s pissed-off face didn’t go away. “Sleeping?”

  “You were supposed to be with Mary.”

  I glanced up at the sea of faces. Sure enough, Jane and Liz arrived just as Dad perched on the edge of the sofa, near my feet. Mary hovered next to Mom, looking both smug and terrified she’d be in trouble for losing me again.

  I finally looked at Mom. “No one said I had to let her lame-o band puncture my eardrums.” Mary flinched, but too bad. “I told her I had to go home and study, but she seemed to think her band was more important than school.”

  Maybe I should’ve stopped at the punctured eardrums.

  “My band isn’t lame.” Mary practically foamed at the mouth. “Besides, you weren’t there long enough to break a fingernail, let alone your eardrums.”

  Liz whipped my old iPod from behind her back and waved it in the air. I could’ve sworn I’d packed it in my duffle bag and left it in my closet, ready for a quick get-away.

  Uh-oh.

  “Anyone wanna hear how loud Cat’s iPod is set at?”

  “Liz, I don’t think—”

  I cut off Dad as I pushed off against the sofa cushions and launched myself at Liz. Sure, she could whomp me, and probably would, but this wasn’t her business.

  Weirdly, though, she just handed the iPod to me and didn’t say where she’d found it. I didn’t plan on bringing it up.

  Dad looked torn, as if he might actually be sympathetic about me ditching Mary’s band practice. Of course, he might also be thinking about chaining me up in the basement. He was hard to read that way.

  I decided not to wait for his verdict.

  “It’s not fair. I shouldn’t have to listen to Mary’s band, and I spent the coldest half hour of my life shoveling for Mr. Fogarty, and I took a freaking nap afterward. Big whoop. But no one ever takes my side.” Shaking with fury—and nervous at what Liz had over me—I stalked across the living room until Liz grabbed me.

  I turned slowly to face Dad, mortified that my lower lip was trembling. I pressed my fist to my mouth, but I doubted it made me look any better.

  “Cat, I’m not taking sides. I need someone to watch you, and Mary’s the best choice, but you apparently don’t appreciate loud rock music.” One corner of Dad’s mouth lifted slightly, as if he was trying not to laugh out loud. “But Mr. Fogarty? Really?”

  As everyone stared at me, totally not believing that I’d help a nice old guy like Mr. Fogarty, I clenched my teeth. Dad glanced around the room, frowning slightly.

  “I think your mother and I can talk to Cat without everyone else’s help. Girls?” Liz and Jane split instantly, Mary not so fast, but she left when Dad coughed. Loudly.

  Dad patted the space next to him on the sofa, but I stayed where I was. I glanced at Mom, who just stood there, silent, her arms folded. I thought of all the times she’d brushed off Lydia’s scrapes with a “girls will be girls” that always sent Dad’s eyebrows into his hairline. For me? Nope.

  Sighing, I brushed a trace of dampness off my cheek. Not that I was crying. I was not crying.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Mary, er, tells us that you had to see one of your teachers after school. Your art teacher?”

  I glared past Dad at Mary, who was peeking at us from the corner of the kitchen. “Same old. Mary squeals, and you automatically believe her.”

  When Mom started shaking a finger at me, Dad stopped her. “Connie, I think Cat has a point.” Getting up from the sofa, he tiptoed to the corner near the kitchen, and a startled gasp flew out of Mary. Score one for Dad.

  “Howard, I’m concerned that . . .”

  Blah blah blah. Mom never bothers to tell me her concerns, even when they’re about me. I blinked, but I refused to let any more tears escape. It wasn’t worth it.

  Dad rejoined us. “I’m sorry, Cat. We—”

  “Sorry?” Mom sputtered. “Cat isn’t doing a thing we ask of her. You’re always taking the girls’ side.”

  Dad lifted an eyebrow.

  “Well, you are. I don’t want Cat to—”

  “—end up where Lydia did?” Dad tilted his head in Mom’s direction.

  “She shouldn’t have ended up there! You told me she was attending an elite boarding school.” Mom started breathing hard, and her arms were a windmill of emotion.

  Dad leaned back against the sofa, looking totally relaxed. It must be the yoga. Maybe I should try it.

  “This isn’t the time, Connie. I think perhaps we haven’t been paying the right sort of attention to Cat.” He waved off Mom before she could object. “Not that I suggest we coddle her the way that, er, Lydia has sometimes been coddled. I suggest we treat her more like Jane, Liz, and Mary.”

  If Mom’s face got any more purple, she’d look like Mr. Fogarty. “But they do everything I ask of them.”

  “Oh? Like Mary’s piano lessons? Or her guitar?”

  “She got that guitar because of you!”

  Ignoring her, Dad turned to me. “Could you tell us about your art teacher?”

  I shrugged. “Tall, demanding, and a bit of a slob.”

  Dad’s lips twitched. “Sounds like an art teacher. But why did you see him?”

  “He, uh, saw a drawing I did of him in class.”

  “See?” Mom propped her hands on her hips. “It’s one thing after another with Cat.”

  “Cat was telling us why she was talking to her teacher, dear.” Dad probably figured Mr. Reiman had busted me, too, but he was trying to be fair. I had to give him props for that.

  Trying to ignore the tension radiating out of Mom, I focused on Dad’s face. “He likes my portraits.”

  Dad’s eyebrows knit together. “You drew a picture of your teacher, and he liked it? Was everyone drawing him?”

  I stared at a coffee stain on the rug. “Just me.”

  “See? Her teacher had to speak to her about it after school. If he liked her drawing him in class, and I’m sure he didn’t, he would’ve just told her so.”

  “Connie.”

  My gaze darted between Mom and Dad. Dad’s lips pressed together, and I could tell he was pissed at Mom, but it could swing to me in the space of a heartbeat.

  When he finally turned back to me, he was smiling, but it looked forced. “What else did you
r teacher say?”

  “He wants me to enter my portraits in the all-school art show.” My eyes fixated on the coffee stain, which had been on the rug for two years. If not five. “He thinks I have talent.”

  Dead silence. They didn’t believe it. I didn’t really believe it, either, and I’d been right there in the Drawing room with Mr. Reiman, thinking every moment he was about to nail me with detention.

  Dad cleared his throat. “I’m sure you do have talent. That’s no surprise, is it, Connie?”

  “Why—” Mom looked like she swallowed her tongue before she finally offered me an awkward smile. “Lord knows you’ve been doodling since you were a toddler.”

  I was probably drooling at that age, but whatever. Mom had never understood my drawing, and no one else in the family was into it. Doodling. To my family, that’s all it was.

  “So. You’re going to enter the all-school art show. Excellent.” Dad gave my shins a pat, then stood up. Like he’d solved all the problems of the world—or at least mine—and could go back to his newspaper or cigar or yoga mat.

  Mom frowned at him. “But what about her punishment?”

  Dad glanced back at the sofa as if debating whether to sit down again. “I’ve started to think we went a little far. Cat is sixteen, nearly seventeen. She can’t spend her life being watched by her sisters.”

  “She has to earn our trust. We can’t just hand it to her.”

  “No, we saw how well that worked with Lydia.” Dad held up a hand when Mom started to sputter. “I think we need to give Cat another chance. If the other girls are always watching her, we can’t expect her to show us what she’s made of.”

  Mom opened her mouth, then looked from Dad to me and back again, and shut it.

  Dad smiled. “I’m glad we agree. Now, Cat—”

  Hope like I hadn’t felt in weeks—and maybe not since Lydia left for Wisconsin Dells last summer—bubbled up inside me. I tried to tamp it down while I awaited Dad’s verdict. He could be pretty unpredictable.

  “We talked about you getting a job, but you might instead want to join the school’s art club, if one meets after school.”

  “I’m pretty sure it does.” I didn’t have a clue, but art club had to be easier than finding a job, didn’t it?

  “Fine. You have until the end of this week to either join the art club or find some other after-school activity, or else find a job.”

  “Dad? It’s already Wednesday.”

  “That gives you two more days. Three, counting Saturday, and I’ll give you that, too. Without Mary on your heels, I suspect you can manage it.”

  Freedom tasted sweet, but I had a feeling it could go sour in a hurry. Like, in three days. But I had three days.

  “I’ll do it.”

  I stayed after school on Thursday. When I didn’t see anyone I knew, I finally headed to the Drawing room, which was dark but miraculously unlocked.

  Sketching, especially from memory, wasn’t going to solve my problems with Dad unless I somehow qualified as a one-girl art club, but I grabbed my sketchpad and a drawing pencil out of my backpack and went to work. An hour later, I glanced up at the clock, then looked back down at my sketchpad in a daze. I’d spent all that time drawing pictures of Tess, Amber, Drew, and my other ex-friends, and I almost didn’t recognize them. Maybe I’d never recognized them.

  Friday morning I sleepwalked through English class, where Ms. Mickel didn’t pick on me for once. I kept thinking about my portraits, my friends, my life. Or lack thereof. I jerked when the bell rang, and someone tapped me on the arm. Jeremy. Ready to make fun of me.

  As I pulled my books and notebook and pens together into a clumsy heap, I shook my head. “Sorry, but I’ve gotta get to my next class. I don’t have time for—”

  Jeremy stood up with me, grabbing one of my pens when it almost rolled onto the floor.

  I sighed. “Thanks.”

  “Sure. Hey, you know there’s this dance tonight?”

  Suppressing a groan, I nodded. The school dance. The one no one had invited me to, not even my girlfriends. Now Jeremy was going to tell me his band was playing at it, which meant Mary would be there, too. While I stayed home. Bleah.

  “So I was wondering if—”

  I started shuffling out of the room with everyone else. Jeremy stayed with me.

  “If you wanted to go with—”

  Out of nowhere, Tess grabbed my arm and pushed Jeremy aside, even though he’s way bigger than her, even for a lanky guy. She smiled at him, that phony smile I’d seen too often on her face lately. “Sorry, but I have to talk to Cat. Right now.”

  I frowned at her even as I realized that Jeremy had been about to ask me to the dance. With him! Had Tess cut him off to save me?

  No way. Only a friend would’ve done that.

  As she tugged me all the way out of the room, I didn’t dare look back at Jeremy. Would he nail me in U.S. History anyway? Or had Tess said enough to scare him off?

  When we reached my locker, I broke free of her. “What’s going on? You suddenly have to talk, but you haven’t spoken to me in ages? Even when Amber was a total jerk at the Mall of America and you didn’t say anything?”

  She glanced around as if she was afraid someone would catch us together. Which basically proved my point. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Like, so bad. You have no idea what it’s like with Amber and Chelsea.”

  I crossed my arms. No matter what, Tess should’ve stuck up for me. “I get the picture. She’s in and I’m out. Whatever.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Yeah? Then what’s it like?”

  She took a deep breath. “Amber has gone psycho about the whole Chelsea thing. You know how her dad makes her hang out with Chelsea.”

  “Did her dad also make you guys hook Chelsea up with Drew?” I rolled my eyes. “I heard, Tess. I heard Chelsea thank Amber for you guys hooking her up with Drew.”

  Tess just stared at me, her mouth wide open.

  I started walking down the hall. “Save it for someone who cares, okay?”

  “Cat, wait.” She grabbed my arm, jerking me to a stop. “Sorry. For a second there, I didn’t know what you were talking about. I didn’t hook her up with Drew. Amber and I introduced her to a bunch of kids on her first day of school. Like you.”

  I remembered. I’d never seen Amber be so nice to a new kid in her life.

  Tess shrugged. “I guess we introduced her to Drew, too. Like, introduced her. That’s all.”

  I tried to remember exactly what Chelsea said to Amber in the locker room that day, but she might’ve just been thanking her for introducing her to Drew.

  Whatever. “You still haven’t been talking to me. Or calling. And you totally blew me off at the Mall of America.”

  Tess shrugged. “I am so sorry about that. I’ve hated this whole Chelsea/Drew/Amber thing lately, and I decided I had to fix it.” She grinned, looking more like the old Tess than I’d seen in at least a week. “I started by getting you away from Jeremy before he could ask you to the dance. As if!”

  No kidding! “But—”

  “You don’t like him, right?” She peered into my eyes, then shook her head. “I didn’t think so.”

  She was right, but for some reason I found it annoying. “He doesn’t even dance. He told me.”

  Tess laughed out loud just as the warning bell rang. “I’m sure he likes to slow dance. If you know what I mean.”

  I stared at her as she broke into giggles. “Not happening. But—” Did I dare ask? “What are you doing tonight? Are you going to the dance?”

  Tess shook her head. “It’s my parents’ anniversary, and—shock of shocks—they actually want to celebrate it with me.”

  I blinked. Tess’s parents never did stuff with Tess. Like, not ever. “Seriously?”

  The final bell rang, and we both took off in opposite directions. Tess called over her shoulder as she ran. “Yes! But we’ll do something soon. Promise!”

  I wasn�
�t sure I could count on it, but I told myself it was a promise. And a fresh start. I hoped.

  I practically skipped into Drawing class on Friday, flying high after lunch with Tess, even though Amber, Chelsea, and Drew ate at another table. Jeremy avoided our table, too, after I spent all of U.S. History class chatting up Ben, my cute senior crush who unfortunately already had a date for the dance. Not that I asked him. I swear!

  “Boy, are you in a good mood. Going to the dance?”

  As the question popped out of Megan’s mouth, a cloud skidded across my sunny day. The dance.

  I shrugged. “No. Are you?”

  She shook her head. Maybe art geeks didn’t go to dances.

  Art geeks. Art club.

  “Hey, I meant to ask you.” I glanced at Mr. Reiman standing at the door, but the final bell hadn’t rung yet. “Is there an art club here? I was thinking about joining.”

  Megan nodded. “It meets on Tuesdays. You can—”

  She broke off, and I turned to catch Bethany shaking her head furiously. Weird, but I ignored Bethany. Even if I joined the art club, it met just one day a week. I knew Megan hung out after school in her research room in the media center, but I didn’t see Ms. Kieran approving a room like that for me.

  I trudged home late after school, watching my frozen breath billow from my mouth. Our landline rang just as I turned the key in the lock, and I tried to tamp down a flutter of hope. I mean, anyone calling me would try my cell phone. Still, my frozen hands fumbled with the key, and I shoved hard against the front door, then ran inside to pick up.

  Too late. I punched the Caller ID button, but it said “Unavailable.” Like everyone else in my life.

  I headed upstairs, dumped my backpack on the floor, then decided to grab my iPod. Had Liz put it back in my duffle? Why had she been digging through in my duffle, anyway? She was annoying but not the sneaky type. She also hadn’t squealed to Mom and Dad.

  I went to the closet, plunked down on the floor, and started rummaging through my duffle. Lydia’s old Uggs, where I’d stuffed a wad of cash. A pair of jeans, a hoodie, and a few socks and undies. A bag of licorice and my iPod.

  “I thought you stopped hanging out in closets.”