Outcast

by Susan Oloier

  I shook my head. Looking into his café-colored eyes, I wished I could.

  Grace bounced over toward us.

  “Hi.” It was all for Chad; I wasn’t there.

  He faintly smiled. Dimples again.

  “Have you met my friend, Grace?”

  “Hi.” He immediately returned his full attention to me, barely looking at her. The disappointment registered on Grace’s face.

  “Well, when will you be available?”

  I skirted around the subject, noticing Grace’s startled reaction.

  “I’ll let you know. See you at play practice, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Uh oh! Think of something fast.

  “Available for what?” Grace immediately probed.

  “Help with Geometry. He saw me studying in the theater. I told him I have an A in math.” I wove such intricate lies.

  “I don’t remember you studying.”

  “It was while you were doing Titania’s makeup.”

  “He likes you.”

  Time to change the subject.

  “I forgot to tell you. My aunt is taking me to Chicago over winter break.”

  “You’re so lucky,” she moped.

  I was pretty sure she was referring to Chad, not Chicago.

  Seven

  Autumn moved toward winter. I always appreciated the cooling temperatures and the climb toward the holidays because it meant the semester was rapidly drawing to a close.

  Rehearsing for the play remained treacherous as usual. Not only were Trina and I fighting over our love, Lysander, in the play, but we seemed to do the same in real life.

  Chad continued to ask me out. I avoided his advances even though I didn’t want to. In fact, I wanted to be close to him, to know what it was like to touch him, to hold his hand. I wanted to spend hours with him, doing homework together and gazing into each others’ eyes. But I couldn’t. It was important to make sure that Grace didn’t suspect anything. So I became an expert in the game of evasion.

  Chad cornered me in a recess of the theater. I tried to find an escape route like Matt Damon in The Bourne Identity. Perhaps a secret corridor would present itself or I could crawl inconspicuously up the curtains. Where was the getaway car when I needed it? No luck. I was now in the spotlight.

  “You’re avoiding me.”

  “I’m not.” Lying was becoming a pastime.

  “If you don’t want to go out with me, just say so. But I really want to go out with you.” He touched my arm and it became electrified. God, he was gorgeous. I glimpsed his umber eyes, which were so dreamy when he said the words. I measured the sincerity in them, the honesty spoken from his soft lips. I so wanted to touch them with my own. To say I do. It was hard not to throw myself at him or fall totally and completely head over heels in love with him. And I was sure he felt my heart hammering through my skin.

  He clung to the silence between my words.

  “I do, but…”

  “What?” His patient look screamed with unaffectedness.

  “But…” Seventh grade crept into my mind. Jerry Searfus, his hands crawling on my skin. Then Grace appearing in the locker room just when I needed her. Telling him to stop, not taking no for an answer. Finally, threatening him with those photos that Jake had—the ones she later showed me.

  Saying the words ripped me apart. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  In that moment, I really did want to go out with him. Who wouldn’t? Just looking at him made me sigh.

  His gaze washed over me like baptismal water, and I considered telling him that my mother wouldn’t let me date, but I didn’t want to sound completely naive. So I told him the truth. “Because Grace likes you.”

  “Who’s Grace?”

  “My friend.” He still seemed unsure. “The makeup artist?”

  “Oh.” Realization dawned. “Oh.” The tone of his voice moved from baritone to tenor.

  “Didn’t you tell her that I’m into you?”

  My heart did backflips. My cheeks flushed. He was into me. The word swoon actually held meaning for me.

  “Does that embarrass you?” His hand moved to meet my own. Cardiac arrest surely was on the horizon.

  “No.” My pulse quickened and my face continued to burn. “It’s just that she’d never forgive me.”

  “What’s to forgive?” he asked innocently.

  That hand on mine. It was so distracting. Every nerve ending sparked. I felt claustrophobic, and my breathing became stifled. I wanted to throw myself at him and be done with it. But I reined my feelings in.

  “What is it?” he asked. His fingers rubbed my own like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we’d been doing this for ages.

  I wanted to tell him what Grace had done for me, but I couldn’t. No one else knew. It was our secret. Even thinking about it made me feel dirty and disgusting all over again. Chad would look at me differently.

  “Maybe if you talked to her,” he suggested.

  I shook my head. “Would you consider going out with her?” I asked. But even as I said it, the thought sickened me. I mean, what was I doing? I wanted him for me. Not for Grace.

  “I’m not into her, I’m into you.”

  I reluctantly withdrew my hand from his and brushed my hair back nervously. I finally asked, “Why do you want to go out with me anyway? I would’ve thought someone like you would prefer to date someone like…Trina.” I even hated the sound of her name.

  The skin between his eyes pinched together as he tried to understand. Wrinkles creased his forehead.

  “Why wouldn’t I want to go out with you?” His eyes danced over me, making me feel wanted and beautiful.

  I blushed. He made me want to yell out, I’m just kidding. The whole thing is a joke! But I knew I couldn’t betray Grace in that way. Because I owed her. Maybe I always would.

  “We can still be friends, right?” I asked even though I knew we couldn’t.

  “Yeah.” He only said it as a courtesy. The dimples disappeared into a sullen face, and Chad returned to the stage as Lysander. His performance seemed fueled with an intensity that I hadn’t seen before. And I watched, mourning the loss of what could have been.

  Thanksgiving Day. A celebration of all the things we have to be thankful for, a day to spend quality time with family members. At least in the fairy tale version.

  My mother’s parents came into town from Orlando. I was exiled from my bedroom because they were too cheap to stay in a hotel. Since I was the youngest, I was forced to sleep on the living room sofa while they enjoyed the comfort of my childhood bed.

  “Go away,” a groggy voice called when I knocked on the door.

  “Mom says you need to get up and help with Thanksgiving.” I waited for an angry comeback. Instead, the door opened, and Becca drooped in her pajamas and makeup-free face.

  “She’s not going to make us do this again, is she?”

  I nodded. This was the only time Becca and I shared camaraderie.

  We crawled down the stairs and took orders from the big boss. I peeled potatoes. Becca made banana bread. We occasionally looked at one another, rolling our eyes. It felt like old times because we actually got along with each other. Our dad was nowhere to be found. Our mother told us she sent him out on a number of errands. He was definitely taking his time, possibly taking in a movie.

  Grandpa Hitchcock meandered into the kitchen dressed in slacks, a pressed shirt, and a tie.

  “You slept in this morning, Dad,” my mother said cheerily.

  “No, no. We’ve been up since four-thirty. We didn’t want to disturb anyone.”

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “She should be down shortly.”

  My mother served coffee and sat down with my grandfather. Since my work was done, I thought I would get ready for the day.

  I felt like an intruder going into my own bedroom. I opened the door and stepped inside. My grandmother reclined on my bed, watching the Macys Thanksgiving Day par
ade. Rollers and a net covered her head, but aside from that she had absolutely no clothes on at all. I mean, nothing. I was so shocked that I was unable to move. When she saw me, she pulled my comforter and sheets, the ones I used since I was a little girl, over her nude flesh.

  “I thought your grandfather locked the door.”

  I shadowed my eyes, spun out the door, and shut it behind me. It must be this way when you stumble upon a crime scene, maybe even worse. I ran to Becca.

  “You’re not going to believe this.” I grabbed hold of her and rushed her unwillingly into her room. I closed the door to her bedroom and secured the bathroom entrance on her side.

  “I just saw Grandma naked.”

  “What? Like in the shower?”

  “No.” I squeezed the words out, horrified by them. “Lounging on my bed.”

  “Naked?”

  I nodded my head.

  “You’re lying.” Becca dropped down onto her bed.

  “No, I’m not. It was so disgusting, Becca. It hurt my eyes. I mean, what was she doing on my bed without any clothes on?”

  “Wake up, Noelle. She and Grandpa probably just had sex.”

  “Sex? Old people don’t have sex.”

  “Of course they do. And they did it in your bed.” She laughed hysterically.

  “That’s gross.” I pushed back the image of my own grandparents engaged in that. On my bed.

  “At least they’re staying in your room and not mine.” Becca continued to amuse herself by torturing me. I didn’t know how I was going to manage to sleep there again. It would take witchcraft to cleanse my sheets and comforter. Likely, I’d have to burn them.

  The morning was the smooth part of the holiday. We sat down to Thanksgiving dinner, the tension among my grandmother and me thicker than the fat floating to the top of the gravy boat. There was a great deal of pointless chit-chat: college game scores, Christmas shopping left to do, the boring details about the receptionist who makes personal calls throughout the day at the hairdresser’s office. Yawn.

  I choked down the pieces of dry turkey meat. It kicked its claws into my esophagus, refusing to plunge into the recesses of my stomach. I followed the shot of poultry with a Pepsi chaser.

  I caught my Grandma Hitchcock looking at me. She quickly averted her eyes. If she were younger, she would have blushed. Everyone else gobbled forkfuls of food. In the midst of our not-so-pleasant holiday dinner, the doorbell rang. My mother looked at us all in turn.

  “You expecting anyone?” she asked the table in general.

  We shrugged, waiting for her to get up and answer the door. The bell sounded again. My dad laid his fork down, stood, and moved to the door.

  “Forgot to invite your favorite sister-in-law to Thanksgiving dinner?” The voice was clear. It was Aunt P. Everyone stopped eating.

  My grandmother turned to my mother. “You didn’t invite her, did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  Aunt P paraded into the dining area. A shawl fell from her shoulders. She appeared drunk. Personally, I was glad to see her. We needed someone to liven up the mortuary of our home.

  “Mother, Father, how are you?”

  Both eyed her suspiciously, not answering.

  “Aren’t you going to pull up a chair for me, big sis?”

  My mother appeared livid, but forced her anger down with a bite of mashed potatoes. She made no effort to accommodate my aunt, so I stood.

  “I’ll get it.”

  “At least someone has some manners around here.” She scanned the dining room table. “Becca, you look lovely as always.”

  “Thanks.” Becca smiled, enamored by all that Aunt P signified.

  “What are you doing here, Penelope?” It was my grandmother.

  “This is a family occasion. I’m family.”

  I set a kitchen chair down. Aunt P winked at me as she took it and pulled up a seat.

  “What are you having? Turkey, mashed potatoes, corn? How creative!”

  “I’m sorry we don’t have any caviar or cooked snails,” my grandfather chimed in. His voice shook with a nervousness that was interwoven with anger. Because of the tremble in his hand, the potatoes and corn see-sawed on his fork.

  “How are you, Penelope?” my mother said with manufactured courtesy.

  “Just peachy, Joyce.” Her tone burst with mockery.

  “I don’t want any trouble here,” my dad said, cautiously forking up his food.

  “There won’t be any trouble, Jack. A little birdie told me my parents were in town. I just wanted to come by and say hello. I know you meant to invite me over, Joyce.” She locked eyes with my mother. “It must have just slipped your mind.”

  I had leaked the information to Aunt P during our last luncheon. She’d seemed disinterested at the time. I didn’t really think she cared.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that little birdie of yours,” my mother glared at me. “She needs to stay in school or she’ll never learn to leave the nest, if you catch my drift.”

  “No matter how much you mask your orders in flowery language, I always catch your drift,” Aunt P retorted. “The real reason I came over—”

  “I was wondering when you’d get to that,” my grandfather interrupted.

  “The real reason I came over was to let you know that I’m going to Chicago over the Christmas season.”

  My mother seethed with jealousy. “Good for you.” She had never been to Chicago.

  “I want to take your daughter with me,” Aunt P continued.

  Becca perked up, a smile consuming her face.

  “Becca’s not going to Chicago with you.”

  “I’m not inviting Rebecca.”

  My sister wilted in her seat.

  “I’m inviting Noelle.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You have some nerve coming into Joyce’s house, on a holiday no less, and asking to whisk her impressionable daughter away to a city of sin.” As if seeing my grandmother nude didn’t leave a worse impression than the Windy City would.

  “What if Noelle promised to stay in school for the rest of the year and get straight As?” P’s eyes pealed my mother like a banana.

  “She’s already expected to do that.”

  I saw the scheming on my aunt’s face. “What if she promises to go to church every Sunday?”

  Church every Sunday? My aunt was selling me out. A trip to Chicago wasn’t worth a lifetime of Sunday mass.

  “What kind of manipulative game are you playing, Penelope?” my grandmother asked.

  However, my aunt found a point of negotiation because my mother raised her hand, gently silencing my grandmother.

  “What do you plan to do in Chicago?”

  “Sightsee, go to plays. I’ll even take her to Sunday mass in the city.”

  My aunt was a bigger liar than I was. My grandmother knew it because she let out an enormous chortle.

  “She’ll be back before her birthday,” my aunt added for good measure.

  “I suppose you want to go?” My mother turned her attention to me.

  I simply nodded.

  “All right.” My mother heaved a huge sigh, then turned her focus toward me.

  “You’re letting her go?” Rebecca asked in a whine. “You can’t be serious.”

  My mother silenced Becca with a look, then rounded on me. “When you get back,” she said, “it’s church every Sunday. No exceptions.”

  “Every Sunday?” I finally found the nerve to speak.

  “Every Sunday until you no longer live under my roof.”

  “That’s two and a half years.”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  I knew Chicago with Aunt P would be different than with any other person. The smile in her eyes told me it would be well worth the price.

  “All right.”

  “Since you don’t know what it’s like to raise a child of your own, I suggest you take extra care with mine.”

  “No need to get personal,
Joyce.”

  My grandparents shook their heads, clearly disappointed in my mother for negotiating with my aunt. They quietly finished their meals then headed upstairs. They probably planned a sex romp in my bed.

  As I rinsed the soap bubbles off the plate, I pushed those thoughts down the drain. I let other things surface instead like I’m not into her, I’m into you. I fell into my imagination, pretending the wash of water over my hands was Chad’s fingers stroking my own again.

  “You’re wasting water,” Becca snapped, slapping the faucet off. With the appearance of Aunt P and the exclusive invitation to Chicago, the short-lived camaraderie between Becca and me dissipated. Our relationship returned to its normal state, filled with silence and animosity. I washed the dishes, and she dried them. No more childhood playfulness passed between us.

  “You have no right barging in here and upsetting Mom and Dad like that.” It was my mother’s voice laying into my aunt at the front door.

  “Relax, Joyce. You’re always so uptight.”

  I turned off the water and paused in the middle of rinsing a salad bowl.

  Becca turned it back on. Through the splash of water, I listened to the tidbits of conversation wafting from the foyer.

  “I can see where it would be difficult to confuse being uptight with having morals, Penelope.”

  “Joyce, loosen up. Life is too short.”

  “What do you know about life except how to destroy it?”

  “I’ll take that as my cue to leave.”

  The door closed as quickly as it opened, and P was gone.

  I was going to Chicago!

  I saw Chad. He saw me. All he gave me were solemn smiles, obligatory hellos. Then he basically avoided me. I didn’t blame him for being mad. But blowing Chad off bothered me more than I realized. I tried to deny that I was into him, so I concentrated on studying and on someone else: Jake. He would prove to be the aspirin that dissolved the pain—the heartache—I felt from abandoning Chad.

  “How does Jake like college?” It was a stupid question, but I didn’t care. The least Grace could do was humor me, considering I had sacrificed something good to save her feelings.

  “Fine. Why?”

  “Just wondering. I haven’t heard you talk about him.”