License to Spill

by Lisi Harrison

  After crashing I did, however, manage to wipe away all signs of snot, mascara, and chlorophyll from my face. Then I continued home.

  A police car was backing out of Duffy’s driveway as I rounded the corner and I couldn’t help wondering if maybe Blake had been right. What if something was wrong with Duffy? Something serious? What if he had every intention of meeting me but couldn’t? Like in An Affair to Remember when Terry is supposed to meet Nickie on the observation deck of the Empire State Building and is hit by a car. Nickie eventually gives up, never knowing that she is in the hospital.…

  I rolled up Duffy’s driveway all worried. He was standing on his porch. I smiled with relief and hurried toward him to make sure he was okay, but he ran inside and slammed the door.

  A slam-dump!

  I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. Did he really just do that? Because pretending someone doesn’t exist when they’re standing two feet away is a bold move. So bold that it had me thinking I was a ghost. Like my figurative feelings of invisibility had turned me invisible for real?

  Since I hadn’t done a single thing to elicit this kind of reaction I suspected something sinister was at play. Like maybe he was being held hostage. And somehow he notified the police but his captor caught on and forced him to get rid of the Boys in Blue. After which he was told to run back inside or he’d blow his whole family to bits, starting with the nameless dogs.…

  My heart started beating the way it does when I know the right answer on a test. I knew exactly what was going on. Duffy needed my help but didn’t want to put me in harm’s way.

  As I was contemplating my next move, an upstairs light flicked on, then off. He was trying to communicate. I threw a rock to let him know I was here for him.

  When he didn’t respond, I called, “I can help you! I can help you! I will!”

  That’s when Mom and Dad came running across the lawn, pulled me inside, and sent me to my room, which smells a lot like dog poo for some reason. Maybe because everything in my life has turned to—

  “Lily, answer your father,” Mom pressed. “What is going on with you? We’re starting to worry.”

  I couldn’t go into the whole thing so I said, “My plans got all messed up, that’s all. I was expecting Van Gogh’s The Starry Night and it turned into Munch’s The Scream. You’ve always taught me to manage my expectations and you were right. Lesson learned.”

  Mom smiled, proudly. Then I did too. She still isn’t sure what’s gotten into me lately and I still don’t have a clue why Duffy is ignoring me. But that moment proved that we both matter. And that’s all we really wanted to know.

  Oct. 13.

  So there I am, putting marmalade on my toast, when out of nowhere Mother drops the F-bomb.

  –A facial, I say. Why would I want a facial?

  –I can see the congestion in your pores from across the table. And that’s without my readers.

  I say it’s probably a rash or something. But I know it’s not. It’s my lies. They’re trying to get out.

  As soon as she leaves for tennis I put on my ski pants, a thermal, my Vampire Weekend tee, a wool sweater, and a hat.

  I set the timer in the sauna for twenty minutes and get in.

  After one minute I find it hard to breathe.

  After three minutes, my vision blurs.

  After five I slump over.

  My cheek lands on the metal hook of my old ski pass. It burns. I scream. I stumble toward the door handle.

  I step into the bathroom and guzzle the cool air.

  I yank off my clothes.

  My chest is purple. My left cheek has been branded with two red lines.

  I lean closer to the mirror to see if five minutes was enough to sweat out my lies.

  I’m so dizzy from the heat I fall down.

  Ms. Silver comes to me in a dream.

  She says journals are a safe place for unpopular thoughts and tells me to bury my lies in these pages.

  I ask if that will free up my pores.

  She says my pores and my brain.

  I say, okay then.

  Anything to keep Mother from dropping another F-bomb.

  LIE #1: My parents, Carla and Ed, were sent to jail on February 13, 2011 for bully beating.

  LIE #2: They are on death row.

  LIE #3: A social worker came and took me away the day they were arrested.

  LIE #4: I’ve been emancipated since I was 14.

  LIE #5: I live in the back room of Randy’s Exotic Pets.

  LIE #6: Randy lets me live there for free as long as I feed his pets at night.

  LIE #7: Randy meets with international pet dealers who carry guns.

  LIE #8: I hop the train to Manhattan to visit my parents in jail. (Is there even a jail in Manhattan? I should probably find out.)

  LIE #9: My parents had normal jobs. Mom was a health teacher. Dad was a pharmacist.

  LIE #10: I can sign my own permission slips and report cards.

  LIE #11: I stole a bike.

  LIE #12: I am being followed by an ex–navy SEAL named Crazy Pat who is seeking revenge for Pat Jr., the bully my parents beat.

  LIE #13: I told Audri that FemFresh pen came inside my journal bag.

  LIE #14: I said I thought FemFresh was an organic food company.

  LIE #15: I won a debate on the death penalty because I said my parents are on death row.

  LIE #16: I told Audri I know what it feels like to lose a family. I said I cry about it.

  LIE #17: I told Audri that Crazy Pat was at Octavia’s party.

  LIE #18: Everything I told Father last night was a lie. (Even my yawn. I wasn’t tired at all.)

  (LIE #19: My first initial is J.)

  October 13th

  I just paused SNL right in the middle of Christina Applegate’s opening monologue so I could journal. Because when I write I can’t scratch. If I can’t scratch, my arms won’t look like they’ve been beaten by a pack of Twizzlers.

  Ver? I miss middle school. Life was so rewarding62 back then. I was a role model, model citizen, and lead model in the Fashion for Felines fund-raiser at the pet rescue center. Now everything is so complicated and so so itchy. Everyone said Noble High would be hard but I didn’t think it would be hard for me. Just average people. Oh my god, what if I’m average?

  ITCHY!

  I know I shouldn’t think about it, but I can’t stop. I shouldn’t have left Lily on the roof of Noble last night. I should have hacked her grades like I promised. So what if she stole Blake from me. If I hacked her grades instead of holding a grudge, she wouldn’t be able to tell on me for hacking my own because she’d be guilty too.

  Now she’s sending snail-mail threats. Am I sure the letters are coming from her? No. But who else would write:

  I KNEW YOU WERE UP TO SOMETHING.

  NOW I HAVE PROOF.

  Who else knows?

  Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! So itchy so so so itchy so so soooooooo… I have to scratch…

  UGH!

  To live in uncertainty is to die scratching63.

  At least I found a way to get A.J. his job back at the BMW dealership. Correction, I confronted the girl who stole the car and let my brother take the blame. Turns out it was Sheridan Spencer, the boss’s daughter. I told that unethical Barbie she better make things right or I’d take her down.

  … Unless Lily takes me down first.

  I can’t let her. She can’t take Blake and my pride in the same month. I won’t let her. I’d sooner turn myself in.64

  Hmmm…

  I could blame my lapse in judgment on my unstable home life. Principal Alden would feel sorry for me and let me off with a warning. News of my hacking would go viral and soon I’d be fielding job offers from Microsoft and Apple. Of course I’d turn them down… at least until I was sure Mom and Dad’s marriage was back on track. Which of course it would be the moment they realized that their constant fighting drove me to hack in the first place.

  O my G. Problem solved. Forgive me Princ
ipal Alden for I have sinned…

  Now back to Christina.

  Monday

  I am sitting on a bench outside Abercrombie & Fitch waiting for Mandy to pick up her paycheck. I think she picked up an extra shift too because she’s been in there for twenty-five minutes.

  A little girl just threw a handful of pennies in the water fountain and didn’t make a wish.

  Feeling = What a waste.

  If I had a handful of pennies I’d ask the fountain to make my life stop sucking.

  I just checked my backpack for change. I don’t have a single coin.

  Feeling = Even my backpack is in the red.

  Anyway, things are so bad I need more than a few wishes. I need miracle. All because the guys on the team saw me running on Old Bell Road Friday night. Running, when I was supposed to be home with a sore leg. I hoped everything would blow over by today but it just blew harder. The entire practice was one big joke. And I was the punch line.

  Why did Duffy spend all day in the bathroom? HE HAS THE RUNS.

  Who is Duffy’s favorite rapper? RUN-D.M.C.

  What’s Duffy’s favorite country? I-RAN.

  It was getting so bad I wanted to tell Hud and Coops the truth about the Trendemic fashion show. Being hated by my team and my two best friends felt like being deaf and blind at the same time. But I couldn’t. They’d ask why I had to go to a fashion show in the first place and I’d have to tell them about the money I owe Anton which would make me have to tell them about Dad being in the red and Dad made me promise not to tell anyone, especially Hud because his father’s real estate company is the competition. So I had to just take it.

  My only shot at winning them back was to go off during the scrimmage and make them realize that even if they didn’t like me, they needed me.

  So when Coach Bammer blew his whistle I charged the ball like the Pamplona bull that chased Bubbie Libby and Grandpa Stu through Spain on their honeymoon.

  I scored when Ryan elbowed me in the rib.

  I scored when Steve rubbed his pit sweat on my cheek.

  I scored when Logan sneezed, “RUN, old McDonald.”

  Then I scored eight more times. Did they stop busting on me? No. They cracked jokes during stretches and showers too. But no one said they wanted me off the team.

  Feeling = It worked.

  Then Coach stopped me on my way out.

  COACH BAMMER: Duffy?

  ME: Yeah.

  COACH BAMMER: Great playing today.

  ME: Thanks.

  COACH BAMMER: Better than great. Miraculous.

  ME: Aw, cool.

  COACH BAMMER: What did you eat today?

  ME: Huh?

  COACH BAMMER: Must be some new Super Food on the market.

  I thought he was joking or something so I tried to laugh.

  COACH BAMMER: No, for real. In twenty-seven years of coaching I’ve never seen an ankle heal so fast.

  Feeling = Uh-oh.

  If Coops was there he would have said, “Ankle heal? Make up your mind, Coach. Is it the ankle or the heel?” But everyone was long gone.

  COACH BAMMER: So tell me, how did you do it?

  ME: Ice, heat, ice, heat… you know.

  COACH BAMMER: With all that heat you’ll be great at your new position on the Flames.

  ME: New position?

  COACH BAMMER: Congratulations, Mr. Duffy. You’re our new bench warmer.

  Feeling = No. Please, please, please, no. I can’t sit. I have to play. You can’t do this to me. Please don’t do this to me!

  ME: But—

  COACH BAMMER: This is a team sport and you abandoned your team by faking an injury

  ME: But we’re playing the Meadowlarks on Friday. You need me.

  COACH BAMMER: I need dedication and reliability, that’s what I need.

  ME: I am those things, I swear! Let me play, Coach, please! It won’t happen again, I promise.

  COACH BAMMER: You’re suspended, Duffy. I expect to see you on that bench, on time, for every game and practice or you’re off Varsity.

  ME: For how long?

  COACH BAMMER: Until that cold bench is good and warm.

  Feeling = I’m done.

  Then right when I was leaving the gym something cool happened—

  TIME OUT! I just saw Blake go into J. Crew. That means Lily could be around. Going to hide.

  10.15.12

  INT. THE HONEY BUN—LATE AFTERNOON.

  SHERIDAN sits solo at a table for two as pedestrians scuttle past the bakery’s rain-streaked window. She makes peace with the weather and the fact that she’s sitting alone in public. Her extra-large Peanut Butter Frozen Hot Chocolate with Whip is too sweet for salty thoughts.

  One could argue that drinking this extra-large Peanut Butter Frozen Hot Chocolate with Whip is pointless because I am already full of delight. But it’s more of a celebration libation than a mindless indulgence. Because yes, Virginia, I had a glorious day.

  I channeled Drew Barrymore because I needed a serious take two on my social status and she’s had more comebacks than a boomerang. My biggest challenge was committing to a look. Drew does hippie, rocker, glam, pregnant, and frump equally well. Then I began to wonder why Drew has had so many successful comebacks. Rather, why her and not Britney or Lindsay?

  It came to me after a sip of whip and a moment of brain freeze. Drew is free, easy, and open to change. She doesn’t dwell on the dark days of yesteryear. She lives for the sunny possibilities of tomorrow. That’s how I want to be. So I chose hippie Drew.

  Hair: air-dried in twists for a beachy wave; a lone braid, left side.

  Costume: loose white tee, worn denim jacket, ruffled brown skirt (long), wood accessories.

  Makeup: mascara, dash of cheek glitter, cherry ChapStick.

  Attitude: glow, flow, put on a show.

  Objectives: threefold.

  Make Dad rehire Vanessa’s brother, A.J.

  Coexist with Octavia since I can’t afford to ship her and Logan to Vietnam.

  Convince Duffy that Logan is not my boyfriend.

  I didn’t have a plan but, being Drew, I was comfortable with that. She has been through enough to know that solutions present themselves when the time is right. And that time came during Wicked rehearsals.

  O’course I, being Octavia’s understudy, was in wings. But I wasn’t bitter because I was Drew. Instead, I watched and waited for the universe to guide me. And guide me she did while Mr. Kimball was teaching Audri and Octavia the blocking for “Popular.”

  You start singing “Popular, I know about popular” while facing the mirror. Then, you turn away from your reflection and face Elphaba. (Mr. Kimball.)

  What about the right side of the house? (Octavia.)

  What about them? (Mr. Kimball.)

  How will they see me?

  They’ll see you. What they won’t see is your reflection but they’ll get the idea that you’re full of yourself. Anyway, you rise after the first line so—

  It seems weird to cut off half the audience. Even if it is for a second. (Octavia looked at Audri for backup.) Right?

  Audri shrugged her shoulders.

  Octavia, I appreciate your position on this but it’s more important to convey Glinda’s inflated sense of self-importance than—(Mr. Kimball.)

  Stephen Schwartz conveyed that already, dontcha think? (Octavia.)

  Mr. Kimball was just as impressed as I was that Octavia knew who wrote the lyrics because he sighed and said, Fine, forget the mirror. Sing to Elphaba from the beginning.

  Octavia rolled her neck like a boxer who just stepped out of the ring and said, Better.

  I shot an invisible heat ray at Audri until she looked at me.

  My wide eyes asked: Did Octavia really just challenge the director and win?

  Audri’s curled-in lips and barely detectable nod answered: Yes!

  Octavia’s cocked head and half smile announced: I won again.

  I was about to walk on stage and smack the smug off Octavia�
��s face when Drew intervened.

  Don’t smack her smug, stroke her ego. (Drew.)

  Huh? (Me.)

  Octavia is an egomaniac.

  So?

  So? Help her help you.

  How? (Me, desperate.)

  That, my dear, is for you to decide. (Drew, channeling Glinda the Good Witch.)

  Then, just like Glinda, Drew was gone.

  END SCENE.

  CUT TO:

  INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE THEATER—LATE AFTERNOON.

  SHERIDAN waits outside the bathroom for AUDRI so they can walk home together. OCTAVIA sees this as a chance to taunt SHERIDAN and swoops in. This time SHERIDAN is prepared.

  You’re not still bummed are you? (Octavia.)

  About what? (Me. Seriously wondering where this is going.)

  The whole Logan thing.

  What “Logan thing”? (Me making air quotes.)

  Octavia raised her blond brows the way Mom does when I make unhealthy food choices. Like, Really? You’re gonna go there?

  He pretended to like you so he could drive your dad’s car but he really likes me. (Octavia, all smuggy.) I’d be bummed if someone used me like that so I was just checking to make sure you’re okay.

  Drew came back and whispered in my ear. Fake her out, Sheridan. Set her up. Play off her ego. Do it!

  Even though I knew Logan used me, I took Drew’s advice and switched the script.

  You think Logan used me for my dad’s car? (Me, acting.)

  Octavia fake-pouted. I do. I’m so sorry.

  I put my hand on her bony shoulder and fake pouted back, Actually, he was using you so the Flames would have a place to party after the game. (Thank you, improv lessons.)

  High-lare! (Octavia.) You seriously believe that?

  Yes, (no) and I can prove it.

  How?

  Ask Logan if he wants to take another ride in the M3 GTR and watch him say no. (Me, setting her up.)

  What’ll that prove?

  That he went on that ride to be with me, not the car.

  What if he says yes? (Octavia.)