Lipstick Apology

by Jennifer Jabaley

  I thought about my day. Meeting Owen was the first time in three months that I didn’t think about the accident or the m ystery apology. But then Trent told me that Owen was probably just insincere and going to break my heart. And Jolie didn’t disagree.

  And maybe they were right.

  Then again, what heart did I have left to be broken?

  chapter five

  EVERYTHING BECOMES MORE CHAOTIC, I jotted into my notebook before glancing back up at the blackboard.

  “It’s the second law of thermodynamics,” Mrs. Klein explained. “The universe becomes more disorderly. This law doesn’t come from complicated theory and equations; it comes from human experience. An ice cube melts in a warm room. Air in tires will blow out if the tire is punctured. Energy disperses from being localized to becoming more widely spread out. This is a powerful aid to help us understand why the world works as it does.”

  I sat, mesmerized by this concept. Maybe my life in Pennsylvania was too contained. Maybe my family was “too perfect” and this crazy law of thermodynamics forced an explosion into my natural course of events, propelling me into this world of chaos and uncertainty.

  “Is that okay?”

  I whipped around. “Huh?”

  Anthony was staring at me. “Do you want to be my lab p artner?” he repeated.

  “Oh, sure.” I followed him to the side lab bench. Mrs. Klein had covered the board with chemistry equations and calculations while I was daydreaming.

  “You do realize that you’ll be shackled to me for the rest of the semester.” He ran his fingers through his dark curly hair. He laughed at my blank face. “So this is how it’s going to be, huh? I’ll be the only one paying attention.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Brain fart.”

  He pushed over his notes. “Well, let me know when your mind is done breaking wind, because apparently a lab write-up is due every week,” Anthony said. “And then a final report with all our calculations and findings is due at the end of the semester. And we need to, like, pick a topic.” He twirled his number-two pencil in his hand, and I noticed the pencil had bite marks on it.

  The classroom door swung open, and everyone turned their attention to the front of the room. A new girl walked in. She handed a slip of paper to the teacher and adjusted her weight awkwardly from leg to leg.

  Mrs. Klein scanned the sheet and said to no one in particular, “Transfer student.” Mrs. Klein looked up and said, “Class, this is Carly Stroud. She transferred from a school in Connecticut.”

  I had been at Darlington for a couple weeks now and was starting to feel a little less like a fish out of water. It was now almost the end of September, and I wondered briefly why Carly had just transferred, a month into junior year.

  Carly looked innocent, doe-eyed, and hopeful as she yanked her too-tight green shirt down to cover her midriff better. I cringed. Even in my old school filled with imperfection, she wouldn’t stand much chance. She was clearly trying too hard, wearing a uniform that was probably several sizes too small. The worst things about this new girl standing in the front of the room, worse than being a little chubby, worse than her mousy brown hair and lack of makeup, were her huge plastic tortoise shell glasses with diamonds on the sides.

  There was no applause for Carly. No school-wide request for a “warm welcome.”

  The teacher continued, “Let’s see, you’ll need a partner.” As she scanned the room, Mrs. Klein’s eyes fell on a group of three, nestled in the corner.

  “Ethan,” Mrs. Klein said, “I’d like you to pair up with Carly.” Then she turned her eyes to the new girl. “Stay after class and I’ll bring you up to speed on the project.”

  I recognized Ethan as the beanpole basketball star from the lunchroom.

  As Mrs. Klein pointed her finger at Ethan, he collected his things slowly, reluctantly, and I saw him exchange an unmistakable expression with his buddies. He was not happy about this switch. With his books in his hand, Ethan dragged himself toward Carly, his basketball pendant bouncing on his chest with every long stride.

  I looked toward Carly. As she stood there, witnessing his lack of enthusiasm, she had to know she was unwanted. I willed her to look toward me so I could smile. But her head slumped down, fixated on her shoes.

  I shook my head and turned back to Anthony, who was already at work. Whoa. “I’ve got to be honest,” I said, watching him jot down notes. “Science has never been my strongest subject.”

  “Not a wiz kid, huh?” Anthony asked. “So what’s your specialty, then?”

  “Well, I don’t know, maybe English. I like to read. You actually like chemistry? Or are you just showing off?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He raised his eyebrow at me. “Actually, I do. I like that there’s only one answer, and if you do the calculations and follow the instructions, you will eventually find what you’re looking for.” He thought for a second. “Really, it’s a lot like baking.”

  “And you bake?” I asked, surprised.

  “Yeah. I guess I’ve just always been around it. My mom owns a bakery,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “Yup, CornerShop Bakery. Just around the corner! And by corner I mean it’s nine stops from here on the F line.”

  “And you help her out?”

  “All the time,” he said as he lined the test tubes into a row, and pointed for me to hand him a cup and a club-shaped thing.

  “What do you mean, all the time?” I handed him the items.

  “I do the morning shift,” Anthony said. “Mortar and pestle,” he said, holding up the cup and club, then laughed at my face. “They’re for grinding.”

  “Oh.” I scooped some of the white compound into the cup. Anthony started to crush it with the club.

  “Anyway, I go in before school and prepare the breakfast stuff—pastries, bread.” He smiled and his teeth looked white against his slightly olive skin. “I do a great croissant.”

  Mrs. Klein walked by, glancing over our shoulders. Anthony looked up and said, “Forty-seven.”

  “Excellent.” Mrs. Klein nodded and walked on. Apparently he had worked some equation while simultaneously grinding our compound, organizing the glassware, and recalling his morning bakery inventory.

  “You go in before school?” I asked, shocked.

  “Right,” he said. “I get there about five.”

  “Five?” I half screamed. “A.M.?”

  He laughed. “I only stay until quarter to seven,” he said. He scooped up the white material and gingerly added it to a test tube. Then he took a label, wrote our names on it, and stuck it to the test tube. “Have you ever had a job?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Oh,” he said, “because most of the people at this school have never had a job.”

  “Hmm,” I said, thinking how everyone back home did something to earn extra cash, even if it was shoveling snow. “Well, when I was fourteen, I got a job vacuuming at a nursing home.” I smiled, shaking my head. “It was a riot because every day when I’d get up to the eighth floor, the Alzheimer’s ward, there was this man, Mr. Wilson, and he thought I was his dead wife, Lucy. Well, apparently there was a past incident with another woman. When he saw me, he would grab my elbow and scream, ‘Forgive me, Lucy. Oh, PLEASE forgive me.’”

  Suddenly, I froze. Please forgive me. Those were my mother’s final words. Was it a common dying plea? I wondered how many people spent their lives harboring feelings of guilt until in their final moments, it expelled out of them like a ruptured balloon?

  “Earth to Emily,” Anthony said, waving a Sharpie at me. “Another brain fart?”

  I tried to smile as the bell rang.

  We gathered our things and filed out the door. I walked slowly in hopes of talking with the new girl, Carly, but her conversation with Mrs. Klein seemed to go on forever.

  So I just walked on alone.

  A FEW DAYS LATER AT LUNCHI set my salad down beside Lindsey and Andi, who had become my lunchtime regulars. I coul
dn’t believe my luck. Not only to escape the whole lunchroom debacle, but to be instantly catapulted to the highest tier of social standings. I couldn’t stop analyzing the situation—two new students in one week. Somehow I wound up sitting with Darlington royalty and Carly was stuck by herself, eating in the corner with a romance novel. Why? And was Anthony really eating in the library?

  Here’s the truth: I was never this popular at my old school. I wasn’t like a geek or a loser or anything, but I never wore the homecoming crown either. Georgia and I used to say we were just on the fringes of top-rank popularity. I was lucky because my varsity tennis doubles partner, Lacey, was a total elite and sometimes she’d invite me to parties. Though once, freshman year, when I went to a Halloween party at Lacey’s house, this guy Jordan from my Spanish class asked me what school I went to. But maybe he didn’t recognize me because of my costume.

  So I couldn’t exactly wrap my head around why in the course of one week I’d been launched into Darlington’s high-society lunch crowd. Sure, my once-dishwater blond hair now sparkled with golden honey streaks. And Trent taught me how to scrunch my hair to give it soft waves. My eyes, once a bland navy blue, now with an application of Jolie’s Brandywine shadow, looked the color of a clear sky at dusk. And my mandatory hunter green polo and khakis blended so I didn’t have to worry if I was in outdated jeans. But I really didn’t think I was that far off the mark previously. My only conclusion was that for some reason my story—my brief national newscast and the mystery surrounding it—had something to do with everyone’s eagerness to befriend me.

  Andi waved hi to me as I sat down. Oh, well. It was better than eating lunch in the corner with a romance novel.

  “Honestly,” Lindsey said to Andi, “why would they want to leave New York at Christmastime?” Lindsey turned to me, her chocolate eyes dark and sad. “My stupid parents are making me go to Aspen for Christmas,” she said, tucking her brown hair behind her ears.

  “But Christmas is over two months away,” I said, pouring dressing over my salad. Ugh. I didn’t want to think about what the holidays would be like this year. I was so used to Mom turning our house into a Yuletide extravaganza and Jolie didn’t even own a tablecloth.

  Lindsey waved a celery stalk in the air. “My mother is just too lazy to put up the decorations. That’s what this trip is really about.” Her voice was filled with disgust.

  Andi looked at her in surprise. “Can’t you just hire s omeone to decorate? That’s what we do every year.” She dipped her fork into the salad dressing and smelled it. “I don’t think this is low-fat ranch. Look at it. It’s too creamy.”

  “You hire someone to decorate?” I asked. “Doesn’t that take away all the fun?”

  They looked at me like I was an adorable puppy who’d just walked in off the street.

  “Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. My mom and I decorated the whole house and Dad was always on hot chocolate duty.”

  “Oh,” Andi interrupted, eyes wide, “Did he spike the cocoa? Last year when I was shooting for American Eagle’s winter sweater line, Aidan brought me hot chocolate and it was totally spiked.”

  “No,” I said surprised, “it’s just hot chocolate. But Mom served it in reindeer mugs. And every year we laughed at all the ornaments I made when I was young.”

  “You have homemade ornaments?” Andi asked with genuine shock.

  I was debating whether to attempt an explanation of the egg carton variety ornaments from kindergarten when Lindsey spoke.

  “That is so nice. I mean, your parents actually want to spend time with you.” Lindsey seemed wistful.

  They did, I thought, and reached up to touch the strand of pearls around my neck.

  “I cannot believe how selfish I’m being,” Lindsey said. “This will be your first holiday without your parents, and I’m complaining about a trip. I am so sorry.” She put her arm around me. “We need to make a vow that we’ll make this a really special Christmas for Emily.”

  “Definitely,” Andi said, “It’ll be an American Girl special. All wholesome and cheery.” She gave a megawatt smile and shrugged one shoulder. Now that I thought about it, she did look vaguely familiar.

  Lindsey rolled her eyes. Then she turned to me and said, “Well, at least now I can tell my parents that I can’t go to Aspen because I have to stay and help a friend through a crisis.”

  To hear Lindsey announce our friendship took me a little by surprise. I was happy, of course, but deep inside at the sound of the word friend, I ached for Georgia. She understood homemade ornaments and knew that hot chocolate was only topped with marshmallows. With Lindsey and Andi, somehow I felt like a younger sibling tagging along, innocent and clueless.

  Lindsey and Andi were talking more about holiday plans when I spotted the other new girl, Carly, enter the cafeteria. She held a tray table in front of herself like a shield. I wanted to flag her over, ask her to sit with us and rescue her like I was rescued on my first day. But I didn’t think I had earned that authority yet.

  As I watched her find an empty table in the corner, I caught a glimpse of Owen and a few of the guys walking toward our table. My heart started to race.

  “Hey,” Owen said, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled. “Next weekend. My house. Team and Squad.”

  “Awesome,” Andi said flirtatiously, twirling her blond hair around her finger.

  “It’ll be great,” Owen said, smiling right at me. “I can’t wait to see you there.” His green eyes fixed on mine, sending lightning bolts down my spine.

  I chickened out and looked away. I had no idea what they were talking about and felt too self-conscious to ask, but thankfully Lindsey rescued me.

  “Team and Squad is a Darlington ritual. Every year there’s a huge party the week before homecoming, and all the guys wear football uniforms and all the girls wear cheerleading outfits,” Lindsey said. “It started years ago, and just the actual football players and cheerleaders would dress up. But then one year, a couple of people showed up dressed in random uniforms—not even Darlington colors. I think it actually was a joke, but it started this whole big tradition where everyone gets dressed up, and each year the costumes get more crazy.”

  “It’s always the biggest party of the year,” Andi said. She turned to Aidan and smiled. “Last year,” Andi continued, “Aidan’s dad called in a favor and hooked me up with a vintage Dallas Cowboys cheerleader uniform.”

  All the guys nodded and smiled.

  “You looked hot,” Aidan said. “Are you going to wear that again?”

  “I don’t double dip.” Andi flung her blond hair over her shoulder. “I think Lindsey and I are going to prowl some costume shops.”

  “And Emily, you can come too,” Lindsey added.

  “Thanks,” I said, then dared to look up at Owen. Say something! Think of something! Anything!

  He smiled.

  “So,” I said pointing at Owen’s varsity jacket, “are you a football player?”

  Owen looked down at his green and gold jacket. “No, actually, this is for swimming. Our meets are on Wednesdays,” he said, leaning down toward me. “You should come watch us.”

  I was quite certain the temperature inside the lunchroom jumped twenty degrees because suddenly, I was a sweaty mess. I wanted to scream: When? Where? What time?

  “So the party’s at my house,” Owen continued. “Can’t wait to see what you wear. Extra credit if you bring pom-poms.” He gave a devilish grin.

  Then all the guys turned and walked away.

  My heart pounded. Extra credit for pom-poms? I didn’t even know what that meant.

  “Oh my God.” Andi’s blue eyes popped. “Owen is totally into you.”

  “No,” I said, my face flaming. “You think?”

  “I’ll ask Aidan if Owen has mentioned you,” Andi suggested.

  “Oh, no, don’t do that,” I said. Don’t be that obvious.

  Lindsey smiled. “You so want to know if he likes you.” “No
, no, really,” I protested, looking down.

  Andi contemplated this for a minute. “Wait,” she said, pointing at me with her nail file. “Do you have a boyfriend in Pennsylvania?”

  “I never thought of that!” Lindsey said. “You could be totally in love.”

  I panicked. How could I tell these girls that aside from a few double dates to the bowling alley and one short-lived relationship in the ninth grade, I was totally inexperienced? Then it occurred to me that they didn’t have to know my exact history. My mind raced and the words just sort of fell out of my mouth. “Well, in love?” I hesitated. “Not exactly . . .”

  “What do you mean not exactly?” Lindsey whispered, and inched closer.

  “There was this guy, Steve McCaffity . . .” I started.

  They held their breath.

  “We were pretty into each other.” The words just sounded good.

  They nodded, unblinking and eager.

  “But then it was over,” I said, waving my hand casually.

  “What happened?” Andi asked. “Did he cheat? Was he a jerk? Did you catch him with a friend?”

  “No,” I said, concocting a story. “He, um, Steve was just really busy.” I spiraled away from a little white lie to the full-blown pathological kind. “He was the varsity quarterback, and I just felt like I was always second best to football.”

  I could see their growing admiration, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint if it was because he was a popular athlete or that I had the courage to demand my importance.

  “Wow,” Lindsey said. “A breakup and losing your parents. You poor thing.”

  “So,” Andi said, “was he there for you—after the accident—even though you broke up with him?”

  “Well,” I said, gazing out the patio doors toward the school terrace. “It wasn’t exactly an easy breakup. He didn’t take it well.” This was getting ridiculous.

  Lindsey and Andi looked intrigued.

  “So,” Andi said, smiling in her natural flirtatious way. “A girl with a past.”