Spectacle (A Young Adult Novel)

by Angie McCullagh

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  David came walking into the room and sat in front of her, blinking. She hauled him onto her lap and scratched his head.

  “C’mon, Trixie. I could be dead by tomorrow. Safeway’s open until midnight.”

  It was already ten o’clock, and a school night. She calculated that if she took the two buses it would require to get to the store, bought stuff for her mom, delivered it, and bussed it back to her dad’s, she’d be home by midnight. One at the latest. And she still needed to get ready for the quiz tomorrow.

  Her guidance counselor had informed Trix that any more unexcused absences or grades less than a C would result in her not graduating early. And getting out of school to start on her real life, hopefully at the Art Institute, sounded pretty appealing right then.

  Still, it was hard to refuse Fiona. She was her mother, after all.

  She began grumpily stuffing some clothes, makeup, and schoolbooks into her bag. “Okay, you know what? I’ll bring you some food. But then I’m going to crash there, and I don’t want to see Rodney. So, food or him?”

  Her mother sighed as if Trix were ridiculous. “He’s working tonight, Trixie.”

  “Okay, then.”

  On her way out, Trix stopped to tell her dad her plans, but he was asleep on the couch. She gingerly removed a half-full beer bottle from his hand, covered him with a thin blanket, and slipped out into the night.

  54. Shock and Horror

  IT WAS THE last day of school before holiday break and Emily pedaled her heavy bike east. She didn’t know how to feel. Her emotions were like bricks. Ryan dumped her! She was going to see her mother! Ryan dumped her! She was going to see her mother!

  She tried mightily not to let her breakup with Ryan ruin her upcoming trip to Bisbee. She’d been waiting so long to see her mother again. Far longer than she’d known Ryan.

  Who knew? Maybe she and Marilyn would hit it off and drink iced tea together on her desert patio, trading photos and stories and memories.

  It was a bitterly cold morning, though bright. When she rode, she had to visor a hand over her eyes to shield them from the low winter sun, and still she was afraid she’d mow over a pedestrian or get smacked by a turning car.

  She was about four blocks from school, uneager to arrive but ready to be warm, when someone called her name.

  Muttering to herself, “What now?” she turned to see Kennedy Furukawa sprinting toward her.

  “Hey!” Kennedy said, out of breath. “I’ve been trying to catch up with you.”

  Emily waited reluctantly, decided she felt conspicuous in her helmet, and snapped it off.

  “Any big plans for your break?” Kennedy asked, as if they were old friends.

  Emily wasn’t about to confide in Kennedy her plans of meeting her mother. “Not really, you?”

  “We’re going to Maui like we always do.”

  “Rough life.”

  “Yeah, well, my dad is half Hawaiian, so we see family.”

  Slowly, Emily started walking her bike alongside Kennedy. They continued their small talk, chatting about schoolwork they had to get done before they were set free on Friday. Finally, Kennedy got around to the reason she’d hunted down Emily, “So, Ryan.”

  Emily bit down hard on her bottom lip, then said, “We’re not together anymore.”

  “I heard.”

  Of course Kennedy had heard. It was common knowledge by now.

  “I think I can give you some insight into that.”

  “Into our breakup?”

  They passed under a tree on which frosty pine needles trembled. A squirrel skittered across the sidewalk in front of them.

  Emily said, “He told me why we broke up.” Ryan dumped Emily because she was too tall, or too insecure about her tallness. Or something. Even as persistently decent as Kennedy was acting, Emily wasn’t going to rehash it with her.

  “Did he now?” Kennedy said.

  “I mean, sort of. I stomped out halfway through his explanation.”

  “Well, there’s more to the story than he probably told you.”

  “Okay. So it’s your job to fill me in?”

  “It’s not my job. I want to. It’s still mostly hush-hush except, you know, in our group.”

  Emily felt simultaneously crass and gnawingly, desperately curious. She was not part of “the group,” and Kennedy deigning to share privileged information made Emily want to throw up in her mouth. But also to know.

  “What then?” she said, irritability rising in her like a fast tide.

  For a few moments, the only sound was their boots on dry concrete. Kennedy shifted her backpack and said, “Jessie Turner is claiming Ryan got her pregnant.”

  It was like someone had yelled, “Catch!” and thrown a twenty-pound bowling ball into Emily’s soft, quivering gut.

  She didn’t realize she’d stopped walking until, several steps ahead, Kennedy turned and said, “I know, right?”

  Emily’s first thought was, Jessie’s lying. Her second thought, really a question, was, Did he get her pregnant before we got together or while he was with me?

  “I, uh, I’m processing … ” Emily said. She stared at her handlebar grips, at the brake cables that snaked down to the bike’s wheels. She dug her fingernails into the spongy seat.

  She had to put on her game face.

  Slowly, she started moving again. “So, did he? Get her pregnant?”

  “We don’t know. He’s too nice to claim the baby’s not his if there’s even a remote chance it is. There will be paternity tests once it’s born.”

  “Is she keeping it?”

  “She wants to.”

  “God.” This seemed so much bigger now than just Emily’s stature. Ryan was potentially going to be a parent. A dad, for cripe’s sake. Yet she couldn’t stop the nagging question from swimming around the forefront of her mind: Had he cheated on her? Emily asked, “How far … how pregnant is she?”

  “Five months.”

  Relief trickled through Emily. A bitter sort of relief. She and Ryan had only been together for two.

  “It happened over the summer,” Kennedy said, her lovely almond eyes shining with concern. “I’m sorry. I really just thought you deserved to know.”

  Emily should probably thank Kennedy, but couldn’t bring herself to. “All right,” was all she could muster.

  After that, Kennedy launched into a tirade about their shared algebra class and all the equations they’d been assigned the night before. “I mean, that’s the last thing I want to be doing. I’m trying to pack and shop for bikinis.”

  Emily couldn’t switch gears that fast. So she remained mute. She thought she nodded in the appropriate places, but jumping into a conversation about math and swimsuits so soon after learning that Ryan had had sex with Jessie over the summer and might be a father was impossible.

  When they came to the bike rack, Kennedy said, “See you in Johnson’s class. By the way, did you hear about the Spring Spectacle?” It was a talent show Johnson was orchestrating. Facebook had been abuzz with it.

  Emily nodded. She could not even begin to care about the Spring Spectacle.

  “The stuff he comes up with,” Kennedy called over her shoulder as she headed into school.

  Emily managed a small wave.

  She felt so naïve. So ridiculously sheltered. She knew Ryan had gone out with Jessie a while back, but obviously hadn’t known they’d had sex. She didn’t know much, as it turned out. But she did know she had to talk to Ryan.

  55. I don’t know what I know

  BETWEEN FIRST AND second period, Emily texted him.

  Cn we talk?

  He responded in less than 30 seconds.

  Def. When?

  Lunch?

  Cant. Aftr schl?

  Ok. Bike rck.

  Coffee shp?

  Fine. Obscura.

  The day passed by in a blur of nausea and a pounding headache that began in PE and never let up. By the time she was locking her b
ike to a light pole on Market Street, she felt in danger of passing out.

  She walked into the coffee shop. It was ambient with low, golden light fixtures and deep red walls. Ryan wasn’t there yet, so she ordered a cup of mint tea to hopefully settle her stomach and took a small marble table far in the back.

  Every time the door opened and cold air rushed in, she craned around to see if it was him. After fifteen minutes, she started to wonder if he was going to bug out completely.

  She considered texting him but then, just as she was about to pull out her phone, he sidled up, his winter jacket swishing, and took the seat across from her.

  They just looked at each other.

  “Want a coffee?” Emily asked.

  “Not now.” He shook his head and rubbed his palms together. He was clearly nervous.

  She was too. “So, are you wondering why I wanted to talk?”

  “I think I have a pretty good idea why you wanted to talk.”

  Damn him for being so cute with his curly hair, strong nose and wide-set eyes. And his hands—long, tapered fingers, short, clean nails, slightly big knuckles. She could’ve cried. If she weren’t so numb.

  “Yeah,” she said. “So, you and Jessie.”

  “Apparently,” he said, looking miserable.

  “I know about her … condition.”

  He nodded.

  “I mean, I did the math and I’m pretty confident you didn’t … impregnate Jessie while we were going out, but, did you—?”

  “No, God! When you and I were together, there was no one else.” His chin ticked and his hands visibly shook now.

  Emily almost felt sorry for him. She crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. “Seriously? Because—”

  “I swear,” he said. “I hope you know I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I don’t know what I know!” Emily snapped. To get a grip, she gulped down some tea, burning her tongue in the process. “Is that why you broke up with me then? To be with Jessie?”

  He stared at her, pleadingly, it seemed. He said, “I might be a dad, Bean.”

  “Please don’t call me Bean.”

  “Sorry. Emily. A freaking dad. That would make Jessie the mom. What kind of guy would I be if I just let her go through that alone?”

  “You did … have sex with Jessie over the summer then?” So bitter were the words to say, it was as if Emily had rolled raw cocoa beans around her mouth, then spit them into her palm.

  He sighed. He jiggled his knee. “Once, at a beach bonfire. We were both soused. It was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake. But you and I were not together.”

  Maybe she and Ryan weren’t going out at that point, but she hated imagining him with Jessie. He and Jessie had been together in a way he and Emily never would.

  “Believe me,” he said. “If this had to happen, I wish it were with you.”

  Her heart lifted, just a little.

  His chin was full on quaking now. “I did not break up with you because you’re tall or because your family’s a little kooky or even because of any insecurities you had about me and us. But I couldn’t tell you that then. I was totally shell-shocked and, stupidly, I was hoping this whole thing with Jessie would just go away and you and I could get back together at some point.”

  Emily said, “Really?”

  “Yes!” He lowered his voice and between clenched teeth, said, “But I have to pretend I’m not totally wigged out and be supportive.”

  “So, you and Jessie are back together?”

  “Technically we’re boyfriend and girlfriend,” he mumbled.

  Wincing, Emily stared at the curve of their table. The gray and white flecks in the marble blurred into different shapes like clouds: a spaceship here, a giraffe there. She blew her nose into a scratchy paper napkin.

  “Ugh,” she said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Suddenly, it occurred to her to show some compassion. Jessie certainly hadn’t been expecting this either. She’d be a sixteen-year-old mom, home changing diapers while everyone else was going out on weekends, running track, acting in school plays. At graduation, she’d have a toddler. “How’s Jessie doing with it?”

  “She’s … a hard one to figure out. Some days she’s totally pissed. Some days it seems like she’s adjusting to the idea. And other days she acts like she wants it. Wants her, me, and the baby to be a happy family,” Ryan said. He propped his chin on his palm. His eyes that used to dance and sparkle when he talked to her looked far away.

  The air between them went dead. Small talk was inappropriate. She didn’t know what else to say on the topic of Ryan’s probable, impending fatherhood. And, frankly, sitting across from him like old times was making her irrepressibly sad.

  “Well,” she said.

  “Well.”

  She was tempted to tell him about her upcoming Bisbee trip, but also afraid to share another intimacy with him. If she filled him in, she’d want to update him. And she really needed to stay away. It wasn’t like she was going to get him back. “I should go,” she said, standing and gathering her stuff.

  Ryan just sat there. “I’m gonna hang out here for a while.”

  And as she pushed out of the coffee shop, she turned, looked at the back of his curly head, and saw it hanging, his neck almost folded over on itself.

  56. Pressure

  HEAD POUNDING, TOTALLY exhausted, Trix sat slouched in her art history class. There was no doubt about it—her grades had slipped. Her guidance counselor had scheduled her for an emergency meeting that morning.

  “As we discussed before, if you fail even one class,” he’d said, “you won’t be graduating early.” He’d flipped through some papers on his desk. “And you’re in danger of not passing English Comp.”

  Trix sat in the gray, plastic chair smelling his stale coffee and ink from the copy machine, and knew she wanted this. Graduating early was the key. It’d get her away from toxic high schoolers and in with talented kids who had goals. Plus, it’d move her one year closer to getting a real job and living on her own.

  She imagined herself as an early twenty-something in New York. She’d have a little apartment, always stocked with bagels, coffee, rotisserie chicken, and chocolate milk. She’d invite friends over for small dinner parties and serve decent wine. She’d wear only her own creations and conversation would revolve around her shows at Fashion Week.

  It’d be so much better than shuffling between her parents’ dumps, getting wasted with Marjorie, and sleeping with losers.

  “Okay,” she’d said to the counselor, rubbing her temples.

  “I can talk to Mr. Johnson,” he said. “But he’s a tough nut and you really need to pull your grades up in there to make this work.”

  She thought of the Theatre of the Absurd play and how she hadn’t even tried. The night before it’d been due, the assignment had crossed her mind, but she was sitting at a picnic table outside a Mexican food cart drinking margaritas with Marjorie and thought, Screw it. This is real life. This is fun. A cute boy across the parking lot keeps looking at me and there’s no way I’m going to the boring library to do homework right now.

  At the time, she hadn’t known there was a chance of graduating at the end of her junior year or what that would even mean, but now that a possible, happier future was beginning to take shape in her mind, she had more at stake than she’d suspected.

  She forced herself to pay attention to the Cézanne slides her teacher was showing on the white screen at the front of the room. Fruit. Naked woman. Trees. Mountain. Men playing cards around a table. More fruit. So boring and expected. Impressionists were not her thing.

  She much preferred the crazy boldness of Picasso. Not only did he have the talent to paint anything and paint it well, but he expanded on that, experimenting with the human form like no one else in history.

  That was how she wanted her designs to be. Fresh, different, strong. She wanted to be the cubist of the fashion world. As she sat there in the darkened room among her quietl
y murmuring, shuffling classmates, she realized that she wanted it more than she wanted to party with Marjorie. More than she wanted to be liked by boys.

  As she left class, Marjorie charged at her. “Two items of interest!” she bellowed. Because she could never say things at normal volume.

  Trix’s brain was still inside her ambitious haze. And she was hesitant to emerge into the real world of high school again. “What?” she said, and sighed.

  “Number one: Do you want to join my band?”

  “What band?”

  “The band I’m starting. Machine Room.”

  “I don’t play anything.”

  “None of us do! We’ll learn.”

  Flattered, Trix almost said yes. But then she thought about the art institute and how she needed to focus on her schoolwork if she wanted to graduate early. “I can’t,” she said.

  “What?” Marjorie cupped a hand around her ear. “I don’t think I heard that right.”

  “I can’t. I have too much … shit to do right now.”

  Marjorie was seriously put out. “Can you be more specific?”

  “I need to get my grades back up. I have a chance at something and don’t want to blow it.”

  Kids whizzed around them as if Trix and Marjorie were pinball bumpers. Marjorie yelled, “But you’re so good at blowing it.”

  Trix treated Marjorie to one of her most condescending sneers and started to walk away.

  “Wait, one more thing.”

  Trix turned on one heel and raised an eyebrow like a wicket.

  “Ryan dumped your friend. He knocked up some other stupid bitch.”

  The air rushed from Trix’s lungs and she had to remind herself to breathe so she’d have a voice. “He broke up with Emily.”

  “Yup, he’s going to be a baby daddy.”

  She tried desperately not to look as shocked as she felt. She never would’ve pegged Ryan as someone who’d get a girl pregnant. And, the fact that he was and that he had … could she still feel the same way about him? She liked squeaky-clean Ryan, impeccably respectable Ryan, too-good-for-her Ryan. If he was smarmy, he was just like all the guys she’d been with in her lifetime. “Huh, wow,” she said, deadpan.