The Lance Temptation

by Brenda Maxfield

  “I should’ve said making love, not having sex. I know perfectly well how old he is, Emili. You sound like a health teacher. Him being older is part of what makes it great. He’s had experience in life, unlike the little twerps in high school. At first, we weren’t going to do it. He was worried I was too young and would get hurt. Him trying to protect me totally proves he cares. He was kind to me, Emili. Legit nice. It happened, and I’m glad. Are you shocked?” Her voice seemed a bit too forceful at the end. Who was she trying to convince?

  “No. Shocked isn’t the right word.” I realized I wasn’t shocked at all. Farah had been flirting with this for a long time.

  She lay back on my pillow, silent. I could hear the faint hum of my digital clock. The heat register on the ceiling blew hot air over us.

  She sighed loudly. “Don’t you have more lectures?”

  “No,” I said. “Do you want me to lecture you?”

  She picked at a piece of loose thread on her sleeve. “No, but it’s something you tend to do. I think you like it.”

  “I know. Sorry. Can’t help it.”

  “It’s kind of sweet in a way. Makes me think you care. One person who does, anyway. No, I mean two.”

  I nudged her. “You know I care, Farah. I worry about you is all.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s nice someone worries about me.”

  I frowned. “Your mother was a mess when you were missing.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You don’t know her, Emili. She wasn’t a mess for the reasons you think. She was a mess because she thought I’d pulled one over on her.”

  “I don’t think so. She seemed genuinely upset.”

  “Oh, she was upset all right. It was genuine, but again not for the reasons you think. I’m telling you she doesn’t care much about me either way — except it drives her insane when I do something to cause her to lose face. It’s a thing with her. Her face.”

  She started laughing. At first, it was soft and quiet. But then she got louder and louder until it came out more like a chortle. Tears started to stream down her face. She fell over sideways onto the bed and curled up, still laughing. She was creeping me out.

  “Farah.” I shook her. “Farah, it’s not funny. Stop.”

  She didn’t stop. She coughed out choked sobs and the tears kept falling.

  “Farah!” I shook her again. “Stop!”

  Finally, she did. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and kept lying there as if comatose.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

  I remembered how mad she was about her purse the evening of the football game. And on the phone the other night, she said she’d done something she shouldn’t have. I wondered if they were connected somehow.

  “Farah, please don’t be mad. But you never told me what was in your purse. I wanted to ask again, but I never did. Are you doing drugs?”

  “No. No drugs.” Her voice was flat.

  “What was in your purse?”

  She sat up and sniffed, ignoring me. She took a deep breath. “Everything’s okay now. I’m done.”

  She pulled up her left sleeve. Angry red slash marks zigzagged across her forearm.

  “Farah! What’d you do?”

  “I thought I’d show you my new coping method,” she said, bitterness dripping off each word. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  “You cut yourself?”

  “All the rage now. Haven’t you heard?”

  I grabbed hold of her arm and my stomach plummeted as I noted the tiny rows of scabs. She yanked her sleeve back down. “You don’t have to worry. The whole experience sucked.”

  I grabbed her shoulder. “You can’t do it again. Does your mother know?”

  “Emili, have you listened to anything I’ve said?”

  “Okay. She doesn’t know. Promise me you won’t do it again.”

  She shook off my hand. “I already told you I wouldn’t. Didn’t see the thrill in it. Besides, I like to show off, making the whole thing self-defeating.”

  “Farah, what’s with you? Of all the girls in the entire school, you’re the one who knows what’s what. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

  “Emili, we’ve only done it a few times.”

  “You said the other day was your first time.”

  “I never said it was my first time.”

  “Farah…”

  “Pete said he used protection, so no worries. Interesting you mention it, though. I’ve been thinking…”

  “What?”

  “Being pregnant would fry my mom.”

  “It would fry any mom. You’re not seriously considering it, are you?”

  “No,” she said abruptly. “Course not.”

  “Then what is it? Because your parents split up?”

  “Have you ever felt lost? I mean completely lost.”

  The closest thing to me feeling lost would be my confusion over Marc and Lance. And somehow, I didn’t think it counted. “No.”

  “Well, lucky for you.” She scooted off the bed and stood up. “I’m going home. I’ve been here way too long. Mom will freak out if I don’t show up soon.”

  “If you need to talk…”

  “I don’t. I’m fine. It was a temporary blip.” Her smile was weak. “You know me, I’m always fine. Like you said, I know what’s what.”

  “You promise about the cutting?”

  “I said I wouldn’t, didn’t I?”

  “I mean it, Farah.”

  “I heard you, and told you I wouldn’t. It wasn’t such a big deal, anyway.”

  I completely disagreed, but I said nothing. I stared at her, feeling a huge weight of sadness.

  She punched my arm. “Cheer up, Emili. As I said, everything’s fine. Quit worrying.” She laughed. The pitch of her voice was unnaturally high. “See you Monday.”

  “Farah, before you go, can I ask you something?”

  “What?”

  I struggled to get the words out, but if I couldn’t ask my best friend, who could I ask? “What was it like?”

  Farah raised her eyebrows and shook her head. She sat back down. “The sex? It was great.” Her voice had a strange edge, which didn’t match her words.

  “Truthfully?”

  She frowned. “Okay, if you must know, it’s weird. And it kinda hurts — I’m not used to it yet, and I don’t want to talk about it. But, it makes Pete happy, and I like him a lot, Emili. If it makes him happy, well, then…”

  I peered into her eyes. Maybe Pete was happy, but she sure wasn’t. And when had I ever known Farah to be interested in whether someone else was happy?

  “I gotta go. Later.”

  “Farah—” I started. She hurried from my room. I watched her go, and the sadness still hovered over me.

  I climbed back under my covers. I wanted to sleep for a week.

  And have no dreams.

  ****

  Without my phone, it was impossible to keep up with anything. Maybe Lance had called or texted and was waiting for an answer. I knew how mad I got at Farah when she didn’t answer.

  When Monday finally came, I hurried into school and saw Lance standing next to his locker. Jennifer Gibbons stood with him — the same girl who was strangely at the drinking fountain every time Lance went near. I again observed her every perfect blonde hair and curve. She’d struck a pose, preening like a princess at the ball. She was also leaning way too close to Lance, which didn’t seem to bother him one bit.

  “Lance!” I called.

  He looked over and waved. He turned back to Jennifer and teasingly pushed her on the back. She walked away but not before glancing back at him with a way-too-friendly-smile. The whole scene appeared awfully cozy to me.

  “Cecily! I tried to call you all weekend.”

  “No phone. Part of my punishment.”

  “Sorry. How bad was it?”

  “Not as bad as I thought. Mom took my phone and gave me a lecture on how disappointed she was.”

  “When do you get y
our phone back?”

  “Four more days.”

  He looked at his watch. “And how many minutes?”

  “Not sure.” I shrugged and hit his arm playfully.

  “What did you do all weekend?”

  “Slept, studied, sat around. Nothing much. Farah came over.”

  He stopped moving. “She did? You didn’t get in trouble?”

  “Hey, this is Farah we’re talking about. Of course, she didn’t get me in trouble. She sweet talks her way in and out of everything.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, not surprising.”

  I studied his face and my mind started in. My jealousy of Farah where Lance was concerned was getting bothersome. Why did I bring her up? Was this some sort of evil self-punishment? I shook my head and faced facts. I was testing him, watching his expressions and voice for clues. Who did he like best — Farah or me?

  I knew it was absurd even while I was doing it. Yet I’d do it again. Checking, always checking. Self Torture 101. The bell rang.

  “We’d better get going. I’ll try to see you later,” Lance said. He touched my shoulder and took off.

  “See you,” I said. My eyes fastened on him walking down the hall. No matter how many times I stared at him, it still gave me delicious tingles up and down my body.

  I paused, motionless, enjoying the sensation. And then another image jerked me right out of my dreams and sent cold fingers over my heart. For some reason, the picture of Farah and Lance together rose before me. I shook my head in disgust at my imagination and quickly turned on my heel.

  I rushed off in the direction of class and spotted Marc. I couldn’t catch a break. He looked down at me, his face turning pale. “Okay, awkward moment!” he said. Then he chuckled and his color returned. “How are you, Emili?”

  My smile was wobbly. “I’m okay.”

  “Me, too.” He seemed better than okay — he seemed happy.

  “I miss you sometimes,” I blurted. I felt my face go red. Would I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?

  His eyes widened. “Uh — well — thanks.”

  We stood there for a painful moment, not moving. His eyes narrowed — scrutinizing me. I’d revealed way too much.

  “Bye,” I said quickly and escaped.

  I needed to plaster tape over my mouth. I miss you sometimes. What was my problem? Homeroom was up ahead, and I broke into a run. I hurried into the classroom and dove into my seat as the last bell rang.

  “What’s the rush?” Jeannie asked. “You still had at least a half second left.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I replied. Like I wanted to sit there and chat it up with Marc’s new love interest.

  She continued to stare. “You all right?”

  “Fine. Everything’s fine.”

  She shrugged and turned away.

  Marc did look good, and it was true — I missed him. When I was with Marc, I didn’t have to wonder every second of the day what he was thinking about or whether he liked me or Farah better.

  Still, hadn’t Lance followed me, checked up on me after the library disaster? And he’d been early to meet me that night. Now he was talking to me in the hallways and hanging around. Those things meant something, didn’t they? Well, didn’t they?

  ****

  I was giddy with relief when my grounding was over. I grabbed my phone and hugged it like it a long-lost pet. It was pathetic. I promised myself I wasn’t going to ever lie again — I didn’t need the grief. I wanted things to calm down and return to normal.

  I sure didn’t think the next turmoil was going come from my hard-working, always-gone dad. After school on Wednesday, I walked home like usual. Dad’s car was in the driveway, which was major strange. It was never in the driveway when I got home, or any other time for that matter. He was always at work.

  I opened the front door, listened, and didn’t hear a thing.

  “Dad?” I ventured in and clicked the door shut behind me. “Dad, you here?”

  I walked into the living room and there he was, sitting on the couch staring at nothing.

  A sudden rush of fear knotted my stomach. Something was horribly wrong. “Dad, you all right?”

  He flinched, turning toward me as if I’d awakened him from a deep sleep. His eyes were wide and oddly blank, like an unused piece of paper. His voice was flat and distant as he asked, “Do you like Bates Academy?”

  “Yeah, both Sarah and I do. Why? What happened? Why are you home?”

  “This will be your last month there,” he said, his voice strangely loud. The words exploded like an unexpected landmine.

  “What are you talking about?” I hurried over to the couch and sat beside him. “Our last month? Why?”

  “I got laid off.” His voice became subdued and echoed lifelessly through the room.

  “From which job? What happened?”

  “Convenient Paper. Been losing clients for months. I thought it’d rebound. Always did before, but not this time. One client after another dropped off like dead skin. I kept telling the regional director I could get them back. Turns out, I couldn’t. Nobody’s buying extra paper products these days. Nobody.” My dad had never said so many words to me at once in my whole life.

  “Your job at McDafe’s. It’s safe, right? You can still sell copiers.”

  “Oh yes, it’s safe. For what it’s worth.”

  “You do great there. People are always buying from you. Mom says without you, McDafe’s would go under.”

  Dad glanced at me, his eyes mirrors of sadness. “Your mother exaggerates.”

  I was silent, unsure of what to say. Seeing Dad this way was creeping me out.

  I put on a smile. “It’ll be okay, Dad. We’ll think of something.”

  He patted my leg. “Of course, it’ll be okay. Don’t you worry, Emili.”

  “And school…”

  “Bates will have to go. The only way we’ve afforded tuition has been because of my two jobs.”

  “But, Dad, they have vouchers now to pay for private schools. Can’t we get two for Sarah and me?”

  “We don’t qualify yet, and they don’t give them in the middle of the year.”

  “Then you’ll get another job. Who wouldn’t want you?”

  He rubbed his hands on his knees. “We’re about to find out.”

  Trying to reassure my dad was not the natural order of things. I was way out of my comfort zone. Finally, I patted him awkwardly on the back and stood up.

  “Emili, sorry I dumped on you. It was highly inappropriate, even though true. Tuition will have to go.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll be fine.”

  I walked to my bedroom. Leave Bates? Go to public school where I didn’t know anyone and no one knew me? The year wasn’t even half over. Wouldn’t Bates let me keep coming for free until Dad got another job? At least for a while? I’d been a faithful student for years. Didn’t my loyalty count for something? Maybe if Dad explained it all to Mr. Ramos, it’d be okay. My dad could be pretty convincing.

  I shoved my stuffed animals aside and sat on my bed. I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted Lance. Call pls. Lance would make me feel better.

  I sat there and waited. I carefully lined up my animals again by size — big bear, stuffed ducks, small bear. I studied my phone. Nothing. Didn’t Lance have his phone on? I texted Farah the same message and waited. Still nothing. Where was everyone? I cringed to think about Sarah finding out. She’d freak. With all her talk about never seeing Dad, she’d come unglued when she found out he was laid off. There would go her dream of taking dance lessons, too.

  Everything was in the toilet.

  I stood up and started pacing, staring at my phone. Why didn’t they call me? This would totally change my life, and no one cared. I started to chew on my thumbnail then stopped. I didn’t chew my fingernails anymore. I quit last year after painting each fingernail with this disgusting dirt-colored liquid that tasted like sucking on a gas can. For three weeks, I had painted it on. Three weeks! I’d broken the habit an
d wasn’t about to start again now.

  I could work on a new perfume recipe. I walked to my dresser and inspected my essential oils. There was enough jojoba oil to base two or three more batches, so I only needed to decide how I wanted to mix the scents. I got out my log book to record a new blend. I picked up my favorite pen and then laid it back down.

  My mind wasn’t on it.

  Someone had to be paying attention to their phone. Why was no one texting? Without thinking, I texted Marc. Big chge. Upset. I pushed send before I could stop myself. I knew Marc would answer me. Some people paid attention to their messages.

  My phone dinged. Marc. What’s happening?

  I sat on the edge of my bed. A surge of relief jangled in my heart as I flopped down on my blankets. Marc was there for me. He still cared. As I typed in a return text, the reality of the situation returned. Dad lost job.

  Oh! Sorry!

  Chge school.

  I waited for his next response and jumped when my phone rang.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Marc.”

  “You have to change schools?”

  “Probably. Dad told me. He lost his job at Convenient Paper. He’s home right now.”

  Marc knew my dad was rarely home. “Hey, I’m sorry. He still has his copier job, right?”

  “Yeah, but it won’t pay the tuition.”

  “What about your mom’s job?”

  “Still has it, but it doesn’t make much. I’ve heard her rant about her crummy pay often enough.”

  There was a long silence. “Where would you go?”

  “Public. What else is there?”

  “Homeschool?”

  “Yeah, and who would teach us? I can’t see Dad getting into it, and Mom might want to but she wouldn’t have the time. Besides, can you imagine me staying home with Sarah all day?”

  “Yeah, it wouldn’t be good. Wow, Emili, sorry.” His voice was soft and sympathetic, pure perfect Marc.

  Tears came to my eyes. “Me too.”