by Lara Zielin
Beth looked at me, then at Sylvia. “What? Why are you guys staring at me? Do I have something on my face?”
“The girls around here tend to keep their legs together,” Sylvia explained. “The last time I knew of anyone at our school being pregnant was three years ago.”
“Well, it’s more like they fix the problem before it’s a problem,” I clarified, thinking how I knew lots of girls who were having sex, and I was positive not all of them were being safe. My mom had told me once that there was a high abortion rate among teens in some rural areas. Then she’d looked at me like I’d be dead meat if I lost my virginity before age fifty.
“God, small towns are so messed up,” Beth said.
“Hey, our town is okay,” I said. I never would have professed to love St. Davis, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let Miss New York trash it. “You’ve been here, what? Five minutes?”
Beth rolled her eyes. “First chance I get to go back to New York, I’m taking it. My dad says he’s only working in St. Davis because has to. This was the only place he could find after he lost his position as president of a Wall Street firm.”
I almost choked on my Diet Coke. “You’re telling me your dad went from the president of a Wall Street firm to working in St. Davis, Minnesota?” I glanced at Sylvia. Beth was totally full of shit.
“You wouldn’t know anything about it, farm girl,” Beth said. She turned to Sylvia. “In New York, pregnant girls were on the prom court all the time. We even had a prom queen who was a prom king, if you get what I mean.”
Sylvia’s green eyes widened. “Yeah?”
“Totally. It’s too bad you’ll never be queen, Sylvia. It would have been cool, but it’ll never happen.”
My patience was running out. “So, what, now you can predict the future, too? You know how the election is going to turn out?”
“Oh, come on,” Beth said. “I heard that teacher’s voice when she announced Sylvia was on the court. You think anyone around here is going to let her be queen? Especially if what you told me is true about the pregnant girls? What kind of ‘message’ does that send?”
Sylvia’s pale face turned a shade whiter. “Except that’s not how it works. The student body put me on the court. The student body will decide who’s queen. It’s not up to Mrs. Wagner. She can suck it.”
Beth put her hands on the table. “You think the student body is going to vote for you for queen, then? You think your nomination was the real deal?”
My eyes locked onto Sylvia’s face, watching her. She crumpled up her hamburger wrapper, then sat back in her plastic chair. “Look, I’m not stupid, okay? I get that a bunch of people just found out about the pregnancy, so when they needed a name for the last line on the ballot, maybe I was on their minds. I can understand that the timing probably had something to do with me making it onto the ballot. I get it. Funny ha ha. Put the pregnant Goth girl on the ballot. Fine. But I’m on it, dammit. I’m on it. And that’s all that matters now. Because maybe I actually could be queen. You know? And I don’t think that would suck.”
Because then Ryan would be your king, I thought. At least for a little while.
Beth arched an eyebrow. “So your nomination was a joke, but somehow you’re going to convince everyone you should be queen?”
I had to hand it to Beth. She asked Sylvia questions I would have been afraid to.
Sylvia shrugged. “Maybe. I have a week to campaign, don’t I?”
“Campaign?” I asked. “You? I mean, no offense, but I am not tacking up a poster with your name in glitter. I’m just not.”
Sylvia smiled. “Maybe we can figure something else out, then. I just—I’m in this, and I want to stay in this. Okay?”
Beth nodded. “I’ll sure as hell vote for you.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Sylvia stood up. “Okay, enough about prom,” she said. “Let’s talk about this later.”
“I need a cigarette,” Beth said. “Let’s go to the drugstore so I can get a pack.”
I glanced at my cell phone. We barely had five minutes to make it back to school. “No time,” I said, “we have to go.”
Beth smirked at me. “Afraid Mommy will be mad at you if you’re tardy?”
“Knock it off,” Sylvia said. “Her mom’s having surgery today. She gets a free pass.” I wanted to hug Sylvia.
“So we drop her off,” Beth said. “You and I can go hang.”
“Cool,” said Sylvia. I suddenly felt like I knew what my dad meant when he used the expression “win the battle, lose the war.”
I didn’t move fast enough out of McDonald’s to snag the front seat in Sylvia’s car, and even before I was dropped back off at the school’s front doors, I felt like Sylvia and Beth had forgotten I was there.
I trudged into chemistry and tuned out a lecture on molar heat and hydrocarbons. At one point I nodded off and dreamed that Sylvia was made prom queen, but her crown turned into hissing snakes. I woke up to find Jacob Handler’s pen had exploded and ink had gotten into his eye, and the hissing sound was of the water in the eyewash station. I watched him rinse out his cornea for a second before putting my head down and going back to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
MONDAY, APRIL 13 / 4:39 P.M.
When I got home that afternoon, both cars were in the driveway. I went into the house through the garage and was ready to call out when my dad padded into the kitchen, a finger over his lips.
“Your mom’s sleeping,” he whispered. “Finally.” My dad’s hair was mussed and his shirt wrinkled. He looked exhausted.
“How did it go today?” I asked, setting down my bag.
“Good. Your mom was extremely calm, and the doctors were happy with how things went. They’re confident they got all the cancerous tissue.”
“She’s upstairs now?”
My dad nodded. “She woke up from the anesthesia, then slept for most of the car ride home. When we got home she was in some pain, but she didn’t want to take anything. She said the pain pills make her lose her focus. But after about four hours, I was able to get her to take one. It knocked her out almost immediately.”
My dad pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down. I half expected him to drift off to sleep right there and then himself.
“You want some coffee or something?” I asked.
My dad’s bloodshot eyes met my own. “Thanks, no. I’m okay.”
I thought about offering to make some dinner for him, but I figured it would be easier if I just ordered a pizza later.
“If you want to go peek in on your mom, you can,” he said. I got the feeling my dad could use a few minutes alone.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, and made my way upstairs.
My parents’ room was at the end of the hallway. To get to it, I had to walk past a wall of family photos. There were a lot of just me—ranging from childhood pictures where I’m smiling and pigtailed, to last summer’s forced road trip to South Dakota, where I’m scowling with my arms folded, the stone faces of Mount Rushmore looming in the background.
For whatever reason, I stopped to take a good look at every image. I studied the pictures of my mom and dad, from back in the 1980s, with their feathered hair and huge smiles.
I reached out and touched the glass of an old photo showing my parents and me at the pool of a family friend. My parents are reclining in lounge chairs, drinks in their hands. I’m leaning against the back of my mom’s chair, about ten years old and wearing a blue swimsuit with bright daisies all over it. My parents are grinning, and I’m pink with chlorine and sun, looking like I’m having the time of my life.
I didn’t remember this photo being taken. I couldn’t recall that day—who I’d played with or what I’d eaten—but I was glad it was there. It was proof that we hadn’t always pissed each other off.
When I pushed my parents’ door open, their room was dark, the curtains drawn. A small lamp cast a dim glow in the corner. My mom was still, her breathing deep.
I w
alked closer to the bed. My mom’s mouth was open in a half moon. Her hair was pushed back from her forehead. Her throat made little clicks as the air went in and out of her lungs.
She seemed so . . . dehydrated. I thought about waking her up to ask her to drink some water. But she probably needed rest more. I just wished she didn’t look so frail—like Grandma Lou Belle after her stroke.
If she were awake, I thought maybe I’d tell her about how Sylvia got nominated for the prom court today. And about how she was carrying Ryan Rollings’s baby, and how he treated her the way Neil had treated me. And how Beth Daniels had moved here from New York, and how I’d thought maybe Fitz Peterson liked me but then I’d found out he had a girlfriend.
Instead, I tiptoed away from her, pulling the door shut behind me with a gentle click.
Back in my room, I shot off a quick text to Sylvia asking what she and Beth had done during fifth hour. I wanted to ask if Beth had talked smack about me when I wasn’t there, but I didn’t want to come across as paranoid. I left it short and hit send.
I booted up my computer and cleaned up a few e-mails and documents. But I found my eyes flitting back to one icon in particular: the self-portrait Neil and I had taken homecoming night.
As if he knew I was thinking about him at that exact moment, an e-mail landed in my inbox from [email protected]. I stared at the message subject until I could no longer make out the letters: need 2 talk. Fingers trembling, I clicked it.
Did u get my text? I have been thinking abt you. We left things pretty screwed up a few weeks ago @Jefferson’s. I want to c u and work this out. Call me. Love, Neil
I put my head in my hands and groaned. There was no way I was ever going to get over Neil if he didn’t stop contacting me. At the same time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get over him. If there was a chance he wanted to get back together—if he wanted to be boyfriend and girlfriend again and not just get to me to get his rocks off—maybe I’d take it. I closed the message and turned off my computer. I’d reply to him later, once I had time to think.
Chapter Fourteen
THURSDAY, APRIL 16 / 8:55 A.M.
Thursday, I caught a glimpse of my mom in the halls at school and immediately headed the other way. That morning, my dad had tried to get her to stay home until next week, but she’d refused. “Work calls,” she said, kissing him on the cheek, “and I’m answering.”
Dad was right to worry: she was too pale, too thin. Irritation needled me. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t just stay home for the whole week. But leave it to my mom to think her health should take a backseat to St. Davis High.
On my way to fencing, a freshman wearing a cheerleading uniform skirted past me. “Vote for Marissa Mendez!” she cried, handing out VOTE FOR MARISSA flyers. Her voice had a high, panicked pitch to it.
Ever since court had been announced on Monday, the nominees had been campaigning nonstop. Save one: Sylvia.
I opened my phone and checked for missed texts. None. After our lunch on Monday with Beth, I’d hardly heard from her, even though I’d called and texted a bunch. Anxiety clawed at my gut. If Sylvia really wanted to be queen, then she needed to start campaigning now. It was already Thursday.
But it wasn’t just the lack of prom campaigning that was eating at me, since I couldn’t give two craps if Sylvia was queen to Ryan’s king. Instead, it was more that Beth had been at school for a matter of days but already it felt like she was inching in on my territory with Sylvia. I guessed I could understand that Sylvia and Beth had probably bonded over the fact that Beth had been pregnant once, too. But they didn’t have to cut me out of the picture in order to attach at the hip. Besides which, I was annoyed that Sylvia would even consider attaching at the hip with anyone but me. Sylvia and I had been friends for years. She’d only just met Beth.
Beth’s shine will wear off, I told myself. And besides, I could probably chalk a lot of this up to Sylvia’s phone, which was notorious for fritzing out.
Still, I decided to swing by her locker to see if I could catch her. I ambled past but she wasn’t there. I pulled out my phone again and punched the keys. Lunch 2day?
I snapped it shut and hoped it would vibrate with an answer soon. I was getting tired of eating lunch in my car alone when Sylvia wasn’t around.
In fencing, Jess covered her mouth and tried not to lose it while I attempted a “pass forward.” I crossed and uncrossed my feet, trying to jab her with the tip of my foil.
“Good effort, Winchester,” Ms. Rhone called out. Part of me was annoyed that I looked like a dancing elephant, but then again, the entire class looked like a herd of dancing elephants. It was kinda funny when you thought about it. Behind my fencing mask, I grinned.
I wiped the smile off my face and lifted off my mask when Sylvia walked into class—late. She didn’t look over at me.
Ms. Rhone marched up to her. “I understand you have a pass for participating,” she said, “but you’re still expected to show up. You’ve missed two and a half days.”
Sylvia’s dark-rimmed eyes traveled slowly from Ms. Rhone’s feet all the way to her face. “Yeah, so?” she asked.
“Watch your tone,” Ms. Rhone snapped, “or I’ll send you down to the principal’s office so fast your feet will hurt.”
“Go easy on the prom nominees, Ms. Rhone!”
I turned around to see who’d said that. It was Tommy Oakwell—I was pretty sure he was on the academic decathlon team. He gave the thumbs-up to Sylvia, who actually smiled back. I’m voting for you, he mouthed. His fencing partner, whose name I didn’t know, nodded in agreement. I tried not to fall over.
“Over in the corner for the rest of the hour,” Ms. Rhone said to Sylvia, ignoring Tommy. “If you brought any homework, I suggest you get it out.”
As she made her way to the edge of the gym, Sylvia looked up and found me among the class members.
What is up? I mouthed to her.
She shook her head, then looked away.
I was about to march forward and find out what was going on when I felt a bony hand on my arm. “Let it be for right now,” Jess said.
I swung around. “What?”
Jess pulled her fencing mask off and shook out her cornsilk blond bob. “I said let it be. She’s pissed, the teacher’s pissed, now you’re getting pissed. So just chill, pretend to fence, and when class is over you can go talk to Sylvia. Tommy Oakwell is about all the mouthing off Ms. Rhone can handle right now, and if you butt in right now, there’s a chance Ms. Rhone will send Sylvia to your mom’s office. She’s about a half a breath from doing it as it is. You’ll push her over the edge.”
I wanted to be mad at Jess for bossing me around like this, but she was right. “Fine,” I said, pulling my mask back down. “Whatever.”
Jess and I took a few crisscrossed steps toward one another before she dropped her sword at her side. “You want to have lunch today?” she asked me.
I was glad the fencing masks hid our faces because it meant Jess couldn’t see the bewildered expression on my face. “I’m not sure. I usually eat lunch with Sylvia,” I said.
“That’s why I’m asking,” Jess said, pointing her sword at the door. “Sylvia just left.”
I whipped around and stared at the place where Sylvia had been. Jess was right: she was gone. Ms. Rhone was across the gym helping one of the girls get her elbow position right on the lunge. She hadn’t even noticed.
“I’m allergic to wheat, so I have to pack my own lunch,” Jess said. “I usually eat it in the cafeteria, but if you don’t want to be seen with me, we can eat in your car.”
“What?” I asked, trying to figure out where Sylvia could have gone off to and also trying to process the fact that Jess was telling me about her allergies. Also, how did she know I ate lunch in my car when Sylvia wasn’t around?
“I’m just giving us options,” Jess said.
“Okay, okay,” I said. I looked back at the door, still dumbfounded that Sylvia had just walked out. I would get a hold
of her tonight—even if it meant I had to stalk her at her house. “I’ll meet you at my car in the student parking lot.”
“Cool,” Jess said, and then raised her sword again. “In that case, en garde.”
Chapter Fifteen
THURSDAY, APRIL 16 / 12:12 P.M.
Jess met me at my car as we’d planned, a brown lunch sack in her good hand. I reached over and unlocked the passenger side door for her, and she slid in.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” I replied.
I switched on the CD player so we’d have some background noise, figuring it would come in handy if we ran out of things to talk about. “What kind of music do you like?” I asked.
Jess fished a small container filled with carrots and hummus out of her lunch bag and focused her sharp blue eyes on the dashboard. Looking at her profile this way, I realized suddenly that Jess was pretty. Or if not pretty, then at least really cute. She had a small nose with a pale dusting of freckles that went with her heart-shaped face. Her frame was petite, her blond hair trimmed and styled. If it weren’t for the fact that she had a claw for one hand, I guessed she probably would have been one of the most popular girls in school.
“Really anything,” Jess said. “My parents love the eighties, my little sister can’t get enough of that boy band Peligroso. Our housekeeper is Russian and plays Communist dirges. You throw it at me, I can probably sing it.”
The laugh that bubbled out of my throat surprised me. Jess smiled and dipped a carrot into hummus. I punched number four on the CD player. It was an all-girl indie rock band from St. Paul.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a package of storebought cupcakes. Jess eyed them. “Is that seriously what you’re having for lunch?”
“Yeah,” I said, unwrapping one. “I picked them up at the gas station this morning. That okay with you?”
