by Susan Oloier
I had straight As again in all of my classes, I made the honor roll, and I was ready to embark on eleven weeks of probation from Saint Sebastian High. Nothing could destroy my good mood.
On the bus ride home, Grace was unusually quiet.
“I’m so glad school is almost over. I cannot wait until summer vacation.” I had a hard time strapping down my enthusiasm for the end of the year.
“Henry asked me to The Spring Fling,” Grace blurted.
Silence explained.
“That’s great.” Without wanting to, I sounded disappointed.
“I knew you’d be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad,” I said.
“You want to go with him, don’t you?”
I felt like the two of us were involved in separate conversations. How did she possibly gather that I wanted to go to The Spring Fling with Henry?
“No! Of course not.”
“Of course not? Do you suddenly have a problem with Henry?”
“I don’t suddenly have a problem with him. I’ve always had a problem with him. And so did you.”
“He’s not as bad as I thought, Noelle. He’s really funny and nice.”
I’d give him the nice part, but I certainly didn’t consider him to be funny. Irritating, annoying, and aggravating—those were words I would use to describe him. Definitely not funny. But I didn’t want to argue with her. Grace had come a long way. If she could see Henry for all that he was, maybe she could see Trina for all that she was, too.
“You’re right. I’m not being fair.” My words called a truce. “So I guess you’re going to The Spring Fling.”
Grace beamed. “Now we need to get you a date.”
“Oh no. I’m not going.”
“Come on, Noelle. We have to go together.”
“After what happened at the Homecoming dance, I don’t think so.”
“It’ll be different this time. I swear.”
“No one’ll go with me.” I thought of Chad, the only person who would have gone had things worked out differently.
“We’ll find someone. I promise.”
I hoped she would forget.
Becca had a new boyfriend—Kevin. So she was going to the dance, too. She and my mother fought endlessly about the dress she would wear. Becca found a lime green strapless number in a Victoria’s Secret catalogue.
“I will not have my daughter wearing underwear for a dress. You’ll look like a prostitute.”
“A prostitute would be lucky if she could wear a dress like that.”
“And if you wear a dress like that, you’ll be lucky if you get to go outside the house.”
My mother picked out a long-sleeve, conservative dress from the women’s section of a department store that someone would wear to a dance if she were—say—sixty.
“No way!” Becca protested. “This isn’t The Beverly Hillbillies.”
“You are not wearing one of those trampy handkerchiefs that designers today call dresses.”
“Handkerchiefs? Really mother?”
“It’s this one or nothing.”
“We’ll see about that,” Becca muttered under her breath. “Too bad you’re not going,” Becca stabbed, “then mom would have someone willing to wear her hideous dress.” Clearly, she was still resentful about Chicago.
Lunch hour. Since Henry asked Grace to go to the dance, they sat side by side, whispering to each other.
It seemed like a good day to ditch the second half of school, but then I realized I couldn’t call P. I was still mad at her.
“Henry and I were talking,” Grace finally included me. “We have an idea.”
They looked at each other.
“Henry has a friend.”
I knew where this was headed. “I’m not going to the dance.”
“He’s pretty nice.” Henry pulled out all the stops in creating an attractive picture. “But he’s not as good looking as I am.” Henry’s face hovered inches from his plate as he shoveled food into his mouth. I waited for him to laugh like he just delivered the punch line to a joke, but he was completely serious. “Of course, he’ll have to get permission from his parents first.”
“Why? Is he Episcopalian or something?”
“No, he’s in seventh grade.”
I looked from Grace to Henry then Henry to Grace. Neither smiled. Apparently, that wasn’t a punch line either.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“About having a friend?” Henry seemed puzzled.
“No, about the seventh-grade part.”
“No, he’s really in seventh grade.” The food continued to make its way into Henry’s mouth.
I turned to Grace who shrugged. Then she nodded.
Henry must have noticed the disturbed look that had formed on my face because he continued. “If it’s any consolation, he’s older than the rest of his classmates. He was held back a year due to some trouble with aptitude tests.”
Great! My best friend and her new boyfriend want to fix me up with a seventh grader who should be in the eighth grade, but is too behind to pass the standardized test. Furthermore, his own best friend wavers on the fact that he’s nice, and he’s not as good looking as the ugliest guy at our school. What? Did I have loser written all over my face?
“I’ll pass.”
“It’s the aptitude thing, isn’t it?” Henry casually asked.
“I’ve got it!” Grace declared. “I’ll talk to Jake.”
My heart suddenly raced. I tried to remain as casual as possible as I pictured myself going to the dance with Jake.
“No worries,” Grace assured me.
“You won’t get another chance with my friend, Bob.”
I ignored Henry.
“I don’t want this to be about pity,” I announced to Grace.
“It won’t be.”
Finals. I studied, but my concentration was broken by the idea of going to the dance with Jake, a hot college guy. Side benefit: it would likely make Chad jealous. Without any scheming, Aunt P’s plan would play out.
We browsed through Hollister and Forever 21. In Charlotte Russe, Grace spied a revealing black sequined dress. It had spaghetti straps and hung no lower than mid-thigh. When she stepped out of the dressing room, she looked terrible, wraithlike. Her cleavage was nowhere to be found. She bought it.
“We need to find a dress for you now. How about the red one in Macy’s?”
I found a simple red dress that fit perfectly. Broad straps, tea-length. It didn’t scream whore. I wanted it.
“I don’t even have a date,” I said, fishing for information. Had Jake agreed to go with me to the dance or not?
“Yes you do. No worries, so buy the dress.”
“Jake agreed to go?”
“Jake?” She seemed surprised by the mention of his name. “He has a girlfriend. Mike’s taking you.”
“Who’s Mike?”
Grace cocked her head, rolled her eyes, and twisted spirals of hair around her finger. “Jake’s friend, the one who likes you.” She gave me a loving shove. “You’re going to the dance with a college guy. Aren’t you excited?”
I absolutely wasn’t. As far as I was concerned, she could have him. I didn’t want to go with Mike. I wanted to go with Jake. But more than anything, I really wanted to be there with Chad.
Against my better judgment, I bought the dress. Instead of being elated about it, I felt depressed. Now both Chad and Jake had girlfriends, and I was left floating alone. Worse yet, I was now floating with Mike. How did things go so wrong?
“Your mother hates me so much that we have to meet at a grocery store,” Aunt P scoffed as she glided up and down the aisles of AJ’s Fine Foods with a basket draped over her arm. Inside rested a bottle of Clos du Bois pinot noir and a plum-scented candle. I trailed a few feet behind her.
“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” she goaded.
“I wasn’t, but I am now.”
She smiled, probably because I gave her an answer that she
would give. “No longer upset about the Doug thing?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Aunt P fondled a box of truffles then set them back down.
“What is it now, Noelle?” She sounded exhausted by my problems, though I hadn’t troubled her with them for months.
“I screwed everything up.”
“Your mother?”
“Chad.”
“Who?”
“The guy I told you about.”
She seemed more interested in the items that lined the shelves than she did with my problems.
“I’m not following you, Noelle.”
“I need advice.” I said it bluntly.
“I give you advice, you never take it.”
I ignored her comment and continued with my dilemma. “How do I fix everything?”
Aunt P raised an eyebrow, then looked me over.
“I know, I screwed up.”
She assessed me too long, making me uncomfortable. I broke her critical look with my words.
“He has a girlfriend. Not just any girlfriend. Trina.”
“What are you asking me, Noelle? Do you want to know how to break them up? Is that it?”
I thought about it. Is that what I was asking her? It’s not like I had to contend with Grace’s obsession with Chad any longer. She seemed to be contentedly enfolded in a budding relationship with Henry. Did I want Aunt P to give me the secret to ruining a relationship? Now that I had witnessed her first-hand ability to do it in her own life, I didn’t question her expertise.
“Yes. I want you to help me break them up.”
A curious smile crossed her lips.
“You need to stop passing judgment on me. What you want to do is no different from what I’ve done.”
No different—-except for the rings and the wedding vows and the sex.
“All right,” I agreed.
“You’re going to Florida this summer to visit those old buzzards, aren’t you?”
She was referring to the two-week trip we planned to take to visit my grandparents—her parents—in Orlando.
I nodded again.
“I’ll help you out when you get back. I’ll be damned if I’m going anywhere near them.” She snatched a bag of chocolate-covered almonds and tossed them in her basket. Apparently, the anxiety of bringing up my grandparents warranted a prescription of chocolate.
Ten
The Spring Fling arrived. At fifteen, I technically wasn’t allowed to date. But my mother—in her warped view of the world—didn’t consider a school dance dating. Of course, I left out the part about Mike being in college when I brought up the dance, otherwise she would have shut the whole thing down.
Mike made me nervous. Something was wrong with a college guy who was seemingly obsessed with a fifteen-year-old.
“I’d really like to meet this friend of Grace’s.” Those were my mother’s words when she first saw me in my new dress. No you look nice or pretty dress. Just another inquisition: “Does he go to your school?” “Is he Catholic?” “What do his parents do?”
Sheesh. I was glad to be heading out the door.
“Remember, curfew is at ten-thirty.”
“I know.”
Becca flowed down the stairs in her lime green number, makeup coating her face. I spied false eyelashes. She created enough of a distraction to allow me to escape.
“You’re not going out of the house looking like that.”
My cue to leave. “See ya.” I waltzed toward the door as my mother hollered back:
“Ten-thirty.”
The door opened, and there he was. My face burned the color of boiled lobster. I hadn’t seen him for months. He looked better than I remembered. His eyes absorbed me for a moment as though he didn’t really remember me. They were like seawater, crashing through my insides. In that moment, it was enough to pretend Chad no longer existed.
“You look … great.”
And so did he.
“Who’s at the door?”
A blonde, probably twenty, edged beside him. She placed her hand on his back. Girlfriend, I assumed. Her presence shattered the chemistry that I had imagined brewing between us. Jake stepped aside and allowed me to enter the house.
“Carrie, this is Noelle. Grace’s friend.”
“Hi,” she said in nursery school voice. Grace wasn’t around, but Mike was. He stood off to the side. Except for the suit, he looked the same. He even had the same stare.
“Hi Noelle. You look … pretty.” He feasted on my appearance, which made my stomach lurch.
The blonde jabbed Jake in the ribs and the two of them smiled. I wanted to go home or die, whichever came quicker.
“Where are Grace and Henry?” I combed the house, hoping to rid myself of the nauseating feeling I had.
“Grace is still getting ready. Henry hasn’t shown yet,” Jake responded. Just then the bell rang and I felt salvation at the doorstep. Henry wore an inappropriately formal tuxedo with a bow tie. A tilted carnation in his coat pocket masqueraded as a boutonniere. He held an oversized corsage of white and purple-dyed carnations for Grace.
“Look at you Henry, all dressed up.” Jake laughed innocently as Henry stumbled into the house. Carrie clung to Jake’s arm. I wanted to wiggle out of the whole affair, but Grace suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. She made her grand entrance, and without further ado, the evening was underway.
“Behave yourself,” Jake kidded with Mike, slapping his buddy on the back.
I sat in the passenger seat beside Mike. Our conversation was nonexistent. Grace made small talk about sports and music. I hated spectator sports; Mike was an avid fan of Major League baseball and professional hockey. I was a big jazz fan; Mike never heard of Miles Davis and said all jazz sounds the same. By the time we arrived at the dance, I knew we had absolutely nothing in common. Unfortunately, I don’t think Mike cared.
Grace and Henry sped off to dance, leaving me alone with Mike. We were wallflowers pressed to the wings of the gymnasium.
“Wanna dance?” he asked.
I shrugged my okay. I kind of felt obligated.
At least it was a fast song and not one of those nauseatingly slow and romantic ones that lead to utter awkwardness. We joined Grace and Henry as they twisted and turned in gyrating motions, bumping the couples around them. They were all over the dance floor, finally smashing into Chad and Trina.
“Sorry.” Grace apologized too profusely to Trina. Instead of accepting it like a decent human being, Trina glowered at Grace.
“Watch it, loser,” was Trina’s response. Grace’s demeanor fell from elation to pangs of hurt. Henry ignored them, unaffected by anyone’s status. I rushed to Grace’s side.
I looked at Chad. He seemed surprised to see me.
“She said she was sorry. Why do you have to be such a bitch?” I demanded. Mike edged to my side. Chad gave him the up-and-down.
Trina studied Mike, then backed down. She grabbed Chad’s arm and led him off the dance floor. He was reluctant to go.
“Thanks,” I said to Mike.
“For what?”
It was true, he didn’t really do much.
“For being here,” I said.
“Sure.”
My gaze followed Chad and Trina off the dance floor where Chad tried to calm her down. I watched her smile up at him then give him a peck on the cheek before heading to the bathroom. Chad’s eyes immediately found mine. He ran a hand through his hair and shifted his feet. We danced in glimpses from across the room, our eyes flitting until his shyly met the gym floor, his hands diving into his pockets. There was still chemistry between us. It was palpable. But that’s all it would ever be: a simple chemical reaction of pheromones because he had now given his heart to Trina.
“Wanna dance?” Mike asked.
One of those mushy, disgusting, cotton-candy songs played. The kind I would have considered perfect if I was dancing with Chad.
I looked over one last time as he waited for Trina to return
. Mike awaited my answer. I wanted to defy the laws of physics and turn back time. Take a monkey wrench to the space/time continuum and bring Chad back to me. I wanted my arms draped over his shoulders during a slow song, my lips brushing against his dimples on what would have been a magical night. But I had screwed everything up for Grace. It was supposed to feel good—rewarding even—to help someone out. But I felt lousy, the worst I’d ever felt in my entire life. And for the first time ever, I hated Grace.
I broke away from Chad and turned to Mike. “Sure,” I said, “I’ll dance.”
As Mike took my hand and led me to the dance floor, soft music began to play. A tortured look came over Chad’s face. It reflected the same dark and shattering hurt I felt. But we both had made our choices.
When the dance ended, Mike drove us all home. I was the last to be dropped off.
“I had a nice time,” he said.
“Me, too.”
The inside of his car was littered with tension. A crescent grin remained eternally pressed upon his face while he looked at me. I heard the voice of Grace in my head: I think Mike has a crush on you. You know Mike, the one who likes you. There must be thousands of girls attending Arizona State. Why me?
“I should get inside. Thanks for the date.”
Did I say date? That’s not what I wanted to say. That’s not what it was to me. I knew that word would open everything up to misinterpretation. I meant night out, friendly gathering, a meeting of the minds. I had no time to think of any other phrases to coin because Mike stopped me in mid-thought with a kiss. He planted it right on my lips. It was wet and mushy. When he inched back to his seat, I grabbed hold of the door handle, ready to bolt.
“Can I call you sometime?”
I should have run when I had the chance. Now I was forced to answer. What would I say? I couldn’t tell him I had a boyfriend otherwise I would have gone to the dance with him instead. I couldn’t tell him that my mother wouldn’t let me date. How would I explain the fact that I went to the dance with him? It was the first time that the truth seemed like the best excuse to give.
“I can’t. My mother would totally freak out if she knew I was dating a college guy. She’s way overprotective.” I blamed it all on her. All of her stringent rules and regulations finally paid off. Without even knowing it, she was my scapegoat.
