by Seven Steps
“Why not?
Alana looks from Adella to me. “Because if you don’t go, then I can’t go.”
“You were going to the winter formal?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
One of her eyebrows rises, and she leans back in her seat.
“Because I wasn’t planning on hanging out with you and your lame-o friends, obviously.”
“Seriously, Alana? You weren’t even going to tell me? Your own sisters?”
“It’s not like you didn’t hide things from me,” she retorts.
Her comment stings, and I suck in a breath.
“Wait,” Adella says. “Have you decided who you’re going with yet?”
My eyes slide to Adella. “You knew about this?”
“Of course I did. I’m her sister.” She turns back to Alana. “Spill.”
“Todd Jones,” Alana says, her voice haughty.
“The bench rider?”
Alana chucks a pillow at Adella’s face. “He’s not.”
“He totally is.” Adella turns to me with a sly grin. “Todd Jones is a freshman on the football team. That means he won’t even get to play for another two years. His uniform is just as clean after the game as it is before the game.”
“Shut up, Dell.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
“You’re just jealous because you’re not going.”
“I don’t want to go to the stupid dance. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll have a fun night and go through your room. I wonder what I’ll find in there.”
Adella ducks as another pillow flies at her head.
“Stay out of my room!”
“Okay, okay.” I hold up my hands, stopping their arguments before it gets too out of control. “No one is going to go in anyone’s room. What we are going to do is start picking out your dress pattern.”
Alana claps and squeals.
“I have the perfect one. I found it today online.”
I sit back while Alana goes on and on about the winter formal. I’m happy for her. She’s a sweet girl, no matter how terrible she and Adella treat each other. She deserved this.
I make a mental note to inquire about this Todd person, though.
Heavy steps in the hallway announce Daddy’s return. He’s been yelling at the roof contractor for nearly half an hour. By the triumphant smile on his face, I figure he’s won the battle. What Triton Swimworthy wants, Triton Swimworthy gets.
He carries a tray of fresh, warm cookies in his hands. Daddy didn’t bake them—the twins did that—but he did pull them out of the oven all by himself. It was the first domestic thing he’s done in years.
I wonder if he turned the stove off.
He plops down on the couch next to me and shoves the tray of cookies in my face. He hasn’t taken them off the tray, or even brought out a spatula. Plus, the tray’s still hot. I can tell this because he’s wearing an oven mitt to hold it.
I beam at him and scrape a too hot cookie off of an even hotter cookie sheet. Yes, I probably am going to get third degree burns on my fingers, but I’ll take a few burns if it means I can have Daddy smiling next to me every night. That’s worth a thousand skin grafts.
“Daddy, really!” Alana jumps up and heads to the kitchen. She comes back with a spatula and a cool plate. “Cookies go on plates. We don’t eat them off scolding hot cookie sheets like savages.”
She guides his hand down to the table, and he releases the tray. She slides the glove off of him, and onto her own hand. Then, she uses the spatula to put the cookies on a plate.
Daddy looks like he’s never been so proud of anything in his life.
“Yes,” he says. “That’s much better. Thank you, Alana.”
She smiles at him and sits on the couch next to me, while Adella hands Daddy the remote and sits on his other side.
He aims the remote at the television and turns it on.
“Now, what do you girls watch on Sunday nights? Football.”
“Daddy,” Alana says. “No one watches football.”
Adella’s hand shoots up. “I do.”
“Correction. No normal person watches football.”
“Shut up, Alana.”
“You shut up.”
“No, you shut up!”
Daddy raises his hands. “Girls, girls. You’re going on like a bunch of raised hens. Now…” He clicks through the channels for a while before settling on a movie with a few teen actors we all like.
The movie’s half over, and the roof of my mouth is still burned, but those things don’t matter.
I’m with my family and, for the first time in a long time, I finally feel like I’m home.
57
I spent the remainder of the week avoiding Eric as much as humanly possible. But I can’t avoid him entirely.
We sit together at lunch, along with Sophia, Bella, Cole, and Purity, but we don’t say much to each other. Plus, he still sits next to me in business class.
Mrs. Fleck’s heels click against the wood floor as she walks around the classroom, handing back our quizzes from the day before. When she gets to my seat, she lingers, pressing the paper to my desk.
“Ms. Swimworthy,” she says.
I bite the inside of my lip to keep back the swear that immediately forms there. I’ve never disliked a teacher more than I dislike her. After holding my gaze for a few, pregnant moments, she releases the paper and walks on.
I look at the top of it.
A ninety-eight is written and circled in the top right-hand corner.
I pick up the paper, staring at it in disbelief.
I’ve gone from a fifteen to a ninety-eight. I open and close my mouth like a fish and turn to Eric, ready to share my joy.
That’s when I remember.
I’m avoiding him.
Oops.
He looks at my paper, and his eyes fill with pride.
“Congratulations,” he whispers.
I smile.
As it turns out, if you pay attention in class and do the homework, you can get a passing grade on your quizzes.
Who knew?
I let out a breath and allow myself to get lost in his eyes for a moment. Then I turn away.
Eric and I have been through so many ups and down, I don’t know what I’m feeling for him right now.
Am I angry?
Do I miss him?
I have no idea. And so, I avoid him, because I don’t know what else to do.
The bell rings, and Eric stands up, grabs his bookbag, and walks out without even a backward glance.
My stomach rolls with something I don’t understand.
Something powerful.
Something that cuts off my air supply.
I pick up my bookbag and walk out behind him.
58
It’s Tuesday morning, the day of the choosing ceremony for the winter formal.
I have no intention of going to school.
There’s no way I’m going to be forced to go to a ceremony for a dance I’m not even attending. Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself.
I text my father that I’m sick with period cramps, and he replies he’ll check on me later. I’ll have to remember to leave a half open bottle of Midol on my nightstand, just in case.
Sophia sends a text, asking where I am, and I tell her I’m avoiding the winter formal like the plague.
She sends me back a sad face but doesn’t say anything else.
I flick on the television and drown myself in reruns of the Maury Povich talk show. After the second episode of “I’m pregnant, and you are the father,” I switch to Animal Planet and watch Africa’s Deadliest Creatures.
After fifteen minutes of watching lions gorge on a buffalo to death, I start channel surfing. That’s the problem with staying home from school. You find out very quickly there’s absolutely nothing on television.
I catch my reflection in the mirror and consider my new look. My hair has turned from black to burgundy after only
a week.
What was I thinking? This isn’t me. I’m not emo or Goth or even sultry. I’m just Ariel, a redhead. It’s time to stop hiding behind my box hair color and to reclaim who I truly am. So, I grab some baking soda, lemon juice, dishwashing liquid—to Mrs. Grim’s surprise—clarifying shampoo, color stripper, and color remover and set to work.
With each drip of black down the drain I feel like I’m becoming a little bit more of myself instead of who I wanted to be for Michael. He was wrong for me and so was this hair color.
After what seems like hours and two sore arms, I unwind the towel from my head and examine myself in the mirror.
My natural color isn’t completely back. It’s still a little muted and kind of orange, but I felt more like myself than I have in a long time. I’ll have to make an appointment with my stylist to fix the color completely but, until then, I’m happy with how I look. I put my hair in two braids, crawl back under the covers, and turn to MTV to watch The Challenge for a while.
I pick up my cell phone and check the time. Twelve o’clock. Why is time going so slow? This day is practically crawling. Why can’t it just be over?
I avoid thoughts of Eric at all costs, flip on my back, and press my pillow over my face. I imagine Eric going to the formal with another girl, and I want to claw the unlucky girl’s eyes out.
Why is this so hard? Why is forgetting him so hard?
Someone knocks on my door. Two short knocks, a pause, then two more.
Weird. No one knocks like that around here. Not even Mrs. Grim.
“I’m sick,” I call back.
“You’re faking it.”
My door opens, and I bolt upright as Jasmine Patel comes sauntering in as if she owns the place. Her nose is scrunched up and she toes a candy wrapper out of her path.
“Eww, it smells in here.”
“Jasmine!” I shoot out of the bed and throw my arms around her.
“You’re back.”
“Just in time it seems.” She looks around my room distastefully. “I forgot how… crowded your room is.”
She’s only been back for fifteen seconds, and she’s already judging my room.
Good old Jasmine.
“Glad to have you back,” I say.
Jasmine walks across the room and sits on my bed.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding?” she asks, gesturing around the room.
“I’m not hiding.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re being visited by your aunt flow. I can’t believe your dad calls it aunt flow, by the way. What is he, an old lady?”
“Look, after having eight women in this house, he can call it whatever he wants to call it.”
“I’ll bet. My dad calls it ‘that thing.’ Jasmine, what’s the matter? Are you on that thing?” She shakes her head. “Dads. Speaking of men, why are you hiding from Eric?”
I let out a breath and fall backward onto the bed, spreading my hands around me.
“I’m not hiding.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay. You’re not. So, what’s your problem? And don’t tell me you’re on your period.”
I bring a pillow to my chest and frown. “He lied to me.”
“So?”
My eyes widen in disbelief. “What do you mean so?”
“What did he lie about? How he came to notice you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. That’s minor. So Jake pointed you out. What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong was that he didn’t tell me about the bet.”
“This from the girl who was pretending to be someone else while playing an online game with him for, I’m sorry, how long was it?”
I frown.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“How convenient.”
I steady myself and prepare my argument.
“He called my dad and told him where I was when I went to Florida.”
“Yes, because your whole family was freaking out and he wanted you to be safe.”
I shake my head.
“No. That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
I stutter, trying to clear my line of thought. I’m mad at Eric. I have reason to be mad at him. Don’t I?
“Look, the point is I can’t trust him.”
“So why did you let him drive you all the way to Florida.”
“Um, I… You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No.” She grabs my pillow and throws it at me. “The problem is no one is telling you the truth. The truth is you’re in love with him, and it terrifies you that he might be taken away from you just like your mother. So, you’re using any excuse to keep him at bay.”
My lungs tighten. My heart speeds up.
“No. That’s not true.”
“It is true. But you’re so used to lying to yourself that you don’t know what truth is anymore.”
She begins walking around the room, picking through clothes.
“I… I…”
“Don’t try to tell me any more of your nonsense.”
She picks up a pair of jeans from the floor, smells them, then throws them at me while I stare at her.
I try to reason her words away. To remind myself why I’m angry. Why Eric doesn’t deserve my heart. My trust. But my mind refuses to think of a single reason.
Crap on a stick.
Jasmine’s right.
A red shirt hits me in my face, pulling me from my thoughts.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m finding you something decent to wear.”
“For what?”
“Because we’re going to the choosing ceremony.”
“What? No. I’m not going to the winter formal.”
She kneels in front of me.
“Ariel. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been a fighter. I’ve seen you take on two girls at once. For God’s sake, you took on your father, and he’s the scariest person I know. And now, this guy comes along who loves you. Really loves you. And you aren’t going to fight for him?”
“I… I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I tried to think of something. Tried to pull up the negative feelings I’ve been nursing for so long. But they wouldn’t come. There was only sadness.
I’m sad.
I’m sad because I miss Eric.
I look up at Jasmine, wondering how she’s been in my room less than five minutes and she’s blown my entire world apart.
“Do you love him?” she asks.
I nod. Faster. Then faster.
“I do. I love him.”
I’m saying it out loud for the first time and it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
“Then you put on some clothes, and you fight for him.”
I suck in a breath.
It’s two o’clock.
I only have half an hour to get to school.
“We have to go.”
“Yes!”
We scour my room for sneakers. I find one, and Jasmine finds the other. Then I run out of the room while pulling them on.
“Dad, I’m heading to school for a bit. I’ll be back,” I call as I race out the door, not even grabbing my coat. I’m dressed in a long-sleeved red shirt, jeans, and sneakers with no socks. My hair is still drying in two braids and I’m not wearing makeup. I’m sure I look like crap, but I don’t care.
I’m going to fight for Eric, and I’m going to win.
We practically run out of the elevator and out of the door.
“There!” Jasmine says, pulling me to the left.
She stops in front of a cherry red Maserati. I gasp. It’s the same car as Eric’s.
“A present from Papa,” she says. “Now get in. We have a boy to snag.”
I slide into the car, marveling at the soft cream leather seats.
“This is gorgeous.”
“I know.”
She puts the car in
drive and peels out of the parking spot, cutting off a taxi. A symphony of horns assault us, but Jasmine doesn’t seem to hear them.
She gets me to school in less than five minutes. It’s definitely a record.
When we arrive, I jump out without saying thank you or goodbye.
I have to get inside.
I have to find Eric.
Taking a moment to steady myself, I sprint up the stairs and push the door open.
I can hear the music coming from the lunchroom.
The ceremony.
I pick up my pace, running hard down the hallway and sliding around corners until I reach the lunchroom and skid to a stop.
I take a minute to get my bearings.
The guys are all blindfolded and facing the wall. They each hold a single rose high in the air. The girls are already moving down the line, plucking roses from unsuspecting guys’ hands.
I look for a mop of black hair and find him at the end of the line.
Eric.
I walk forward, then stop.
Vanessa has spotted me at the same time I’ve spotted her. Then she swings her eyes to Eric.
No!
I race forward, jumping over tables and swerving around girls in jeans and guys in tuxes.
But she’s closer. So much closer.
I ran faster, desperate to reach Eric first.
She turns and smiles at me, her grin full of evil intention.
And then, her body pitches forward, slamming to the ground.
Bella, my best friend ever, has thrown herself in Vanessa’s path, tripping her.
I have no time to be grateful. This is my chance.
“Run!” I hear someone shout.
I run as fast as I can, stepping on Vanessa’s back as she tries to get up—I definitely did that on purpose. I fling myself at Eric, grab the rose and, in the process, send us both spiraling to the ground with an umph.
Eric snatches the blindfold off and twists his body to see who has both selected and tackled him.
His beautiful blue eyes meet my green ones.
I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than the two eyes that fill with disbelief, then with joy.
He throws his arms around me, burying his face in my chest. “You came.”
Something breaks free within me. Something wonderful.
I remember this feeling.
It’s happiness.
I hug him back. “I had to come.”
