I look past Sara to the front of the school, where a toothpick-thin older woman stands holding the door open with one hand; the other planted sharply on her bony hip. Despite the lingering humidity, she’s wearing a long gray pencil skirt and an orange wool cardigan that makes me hot and itchy just looking at it.
“Miss Brown, where are you girls supposed to be?” Her voice sounds like lemons taste. I can’t tell if she’s glaring at us or if her silver-streaked black hair is pulled too tightly into the severe bun at the nape of her neck.
“Ugh,” Sara grumbles, rolling her eyes. “Mrs. Dour.” Turning to the woman, she smiles sweetly. “It’s Lucy’s first day. I was giving her an introduction.”
“That’s what homeroom is for. Hurry it up.” Mrs. Dour lets the door slam shut and watches us through the glass window.
Sara nudges me. “She is the worst,” she mutters through the clenched teeth of her smile. “My mother can’t stand her. And vice versa.”
We begin walking through the grass toward the school. “Why?” I whisper back, trying to encourage Sara to move faster by walking a step ahead.
“Oh, she hates that Dede takes me out of school sometimes to travel. But Dede’s right – I learn way more about history by visiting Rome than by reading a description of the Coliseum in her stupid history book.”
“Is Mrs. Dour a history teacher? Wait, you’ve been to Rome? In Italy?”
“Twice. Yeah, she’s awful though. So boring. Once, she called Dede ‘flighty.’ So Dede called her ‘a stick in the mud.’ She’s hated me ever since.”
I look at Mrs. Dour’s hard face through the window. I can already tell she is someone whose bad side I do not want to be on. “That stinks.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Sara pulls open the door. Mrs. Dour doesn’t move.
“Miss Brown, please get where you’re going. And you.” She turns her sharp, cat-like eyes to me. “Where is your homeroom?”
“Um… I think…” I pull my backpack off my shoulder and rifle through the front pocket to find my homeroom assignment. “It’s room 106.”
“I’ll escort you.”
Mrs. Dour spins on her heel and begins walking briskly down the hall. I shoot a glance at Sara, who opens her eyes wide. "Good luck," she mouths, then smiles.
Frantically zipping my backpack closed, I run to catch up with the history teacher, who is about to turn the corner.
“Wait! Mrs. Dour!”
Suddenly Mrs. Dour freezes. I stop in my tracks. She turns back toward me slowly, glowering.
“It’s Lauer. Mrs. Lauer.” Her hard face breaks into a grim smirk. “You can tell your friend that she’s not doing you any favors by sharing rude faculty nicknames.”
June 23, 2009
June 17, 2009
Tardy
"Yeah, um, yes. I'm Lucy." I’m taken off guard. "How did you...uh...?"
The bell rings, and kids start streaming around us toward the open front doors. Sara doesn't seem to notice that we're blocking their way. "Dede's the school guidance counselor. That's my mom. She said you were starting today and that you were from Florida. And nobody here actually has natural blonde highlights. So I just assumed."
"Oh. Well, yep, that's me." I laugh nervously. Sara is still smiling, but she doesn't move. Almost everyone has disappeared inside.
"So how do you like it?” She looks at me intently.
“Um…huh?” I had been watching the last few stragglers enter the school.
“South Haven? Super boring, right?"
I shrug, shifting my backpack from one shoulder to the other. “I dunno. I haven’t seen much of it yet…” I move slightly in the direction of the door, trying to give Sara the hint that we should start walking, but she doesn’t budge.
“There’s not much to see. But it’s a good home base. That’s what Dede and I call it. We travel a lot. I’ve never been to Fort Myers though.”
“It’s nice.” Sara seems nice, too. I’m torn between asking her about where she has traveled and running toward the front door. “But, um, aren’t we gonna be…”
“Girls! Final bell has rung!”
The bell rings, and kids start streaming around us toward the open front doors. Sara doesn't seem to notice that we're blocking their way. "Dede's the school guidance counselor. That's my mom. She said you were starting today and that you were from Florida. And nobody here actually has natural blonde highlights. So I just assumed."
"Oh. Well, yep, that's me." I laugh nervously. Sara is still smiling, but she doesn't move. Almost everyone has disappeared inside.
"So how do you like it?” She looks at me intently.
“Um…huh?” I had been watching the last few stragglers enter the school.
“South Haven? Super boring, right?"
I shrug, shifting my backpack from one shoulder to the other. “I dunno. I haven’t seen much of it yet…” I move slightly in the direction of the door, trying to give Sara the hint that we should start walking, but she doesn’t budge.
“There’s not much to see. But it’s a good home base. That’s what Dede and I call it. We travel a lot. I’ve never been to Fort Myers though.”
“It’s nice.” Sara seems nice, too. I’m torn between asking her about where she has traveled and running toward the front door. “But, um, aren’t we gonna be…”
“Girls! Final bell has rung!”
June 15, 2009
Meet Sara
As soon as both of my feet hit the sidewalk, Mom pulls her car away. I’m not surprised. She’s not deserting me; she’s just making sure I can’t change my mind and fling myself back into the passenger seat, begging her to drive straight to Fort Myers. As she stops at the corner, I can see her eyes on me in the rear-view mirror, willing me forward. And then she’s gone.
You can do this. You can do this. I take a deep breath and begin walking quickly toward the front steps, praying the bell rings before I get there so that I'm not forced to stand on the edges of the crowd by myself.
The day is bright and crisp, and although it’s only the end of August, a few yellowed leaves litter the expansive front lawn. Everywhere people are talking, laughing, hugging. A boy squirts a stream of water out of a sports bottle at a girl’s bare legs as she walks by with her friends. A few slight boys dressed in black saunter passed with their iPods on loud enough for me to feel the rumbling beat. Three girls huddle around a cell phone, laughing at a text or a picture.
I absorb this all in seconds, and yet I feel like I’m walking through a fog. My eyes don’t focus on faces, just blurs of colors and noise. All I want to do is get to the front steps and blend in and –
"Hi!"
“Oh! Jeez—“ My left shoulder suddenly slams into the side of a tall girl who has just stepped into my beeline. I take a shaky step to the side. “S-sorry…” I mumble, glancing up at her quickly.
The girl smiles eagerly and waves, bouncing slightly on her toes. I immediately assume she thinks I’m someone else and wait for her to apologize and walk away. But she continues to stand there, looking at me expectantly.
I smile meekly. “Hi.”
The girl is about five inches taller than I am, and very pretty and willowy, with wavy honey-colored hair that's almost too long and bright green eyes. Although she’s dressed casually in a gray t-shirt, dark skinny jeans and a gauzy white scarf draped around her neck, there’s something about her that makes me feel seriously unstylish in my pink tank top and faded jeans.
"I'm Sara. You're Lucy, right?"
You can do this. You can do this. I take a deep breath and begin walking quickly toward the front steps, praying the bell rings before I get there so that I'm not forced to stand on the edges of the crowd by myself.
The day is bright and crisp, and although it’s only the end of August, a few yellowed leaves litter the expansive front lawn. Everywhere people are talking, laughing, hugging. A boy squirts a stream of water out of a sports bottle at a girl’s bare legs as she walks by with her friends. A few slight boys dressed in black saunter passed with their iPods on loud enough for me to feel the rumbling beat. Three girls huddle around a cell phone, laughing at a text or a picture.
I absorb this all in seconds, and yet I feel like I’m walking through a fog. My eyes don’t focus on faces, just blurs of colors and noise. All I want to do is get to the front steps and blend in and –
"Hi!"
“Oh! Jeez—“ My left shoulder suddenly slams into the side of a tall girl who has just stepped into my beeline. I take a shaky step to the side. “S-sorry…” I mumble, glancing up at her quickly.
The girl smiles eagerly and waves, bouncing slightly on her toes. I immediately assume she thinks I’m someone else and wait for her to apologize and walk away. But she continues to stand there, looking at me expectantly.
I smile meekly. “Hi.”
The girl is about five inches taller than I am, and very pretty and willowy, with wavy honey-colored hair that's almost too long and bright green eyes. Although she’s dressed casually in a gray t-shirt, dark skinny jeans and a gauzy white scarf draped around her neck, there’s something about her that makes me feel seriously unstylish in my pink tank top and faded jeans.
"I'm Sara. You're Lucy, right?"
June 4, 2009
The Beginning
Talking about starting over and actually doing it are two very different things, and I haven’t realized it until this moment. Now, as I sit in my mom’s car staring out the window at South Haven Middle School on the first day of eighth grade, the realization hits me hard. Great timing, I think, frowning.
“Don’t be nervous.”
“I’m not.” I lie. Mom raises her eyebrows and looks down at my lap, where my hands have twisted the end of my t-shirt into a wrinkled rag. I let go. “Ok, maybe a little.”
Smoothing my shirt with my sweaty palms, I look back toward the imposing three-story brick school. It sits in the center of a lush green field, with delicate white sidewalks curving through the grounds. A line of yellow buses idle in a concrete semicircle in front of the tall front steps. But all of this is simply a hazy backdrop to the hundreds of kids my age – kids who I don’t know, kids who I’ve never seen before – who are pouring out of cars of buses and crowding the doors, waiting for the bell to ring.
By my request, Mom and I have driven by South Haven Middle many times since our move to Connecticut two weeks ago. We even went in over the weekend so that I could practice making my way around the strangely unfamiliar hallways. I was secretly hoping that seeing the school would instantly make me feel like I belong here. But that empty building with its quiet classrooms and echoing corridors in no way helped prepare me for this hectic, overwhelming experience.
“Like I said, this is the worst moment, because everything is unknown.” I barely register Mom's words as she continues her pep talk.
“Uh huh.”
She smiles encouragingly. “You’ll feel so much better once you go in and meet one new person.”
“Yep.”
“Everyone will love you. How could they not?”
“Ok, ok Mom.” Her reassuring tone is making me more nervous. “I’m going.”
I take a deep breath and step out of the car onto the sidewalk.
“Don’t be nervous.”
“I’m not.” I lie. Mom raises her eyebrows and looks down at my lap, where my hands have twisted the end of my t-shirt into a wrinkled rag. I let go. “Ok, maybe a little.”
Smoothing my shirt with my sweaty palms, I look back toward the imposing three-story brick school. It sits in the center of a lush green field, with delicate white sidewalks curving through the grounds. A line of yellow buses idle in a concrete semicircle in front of the tall front steps. But all of this is simply a hazy backdrop to the hundreds of kids my age – kids who I don’t know, kids who I’ve never seen before – who are pouring out of cars of buses and crowding the doors, waiting for the bell to ring.
By my request, Mom and I have driven by South Haven Middle many times since our move to Connecticut two weeks ago. We even went in over the weekend so that I could practice making my way around the strangely unfamiliar hallways. I was secretly hoping that seeing the school would instantly make me feel like I belong here. But that empty building with its quiet classrooms and echoing corridors in no way helped prepare me for this hectic, overwhelming experience.
“Like I said, this is the worst moment, because everything is unknown.” I barely register Mom's words as she continues her pep talk.
“Uh huh.”
She smiles encouragingly. “You’ll feel so much better once you go in and meet one new person.”
“Yep.”
“Everyone will love you. How could they not?”
“Ok, ok Mom.” Her reassuring tone is making me more nervous. “I’m going.”
I take a deep breath and step out of the car onto the sidewalk.
May 26, 2009
Sunset
Brandon is silent for a moment. He nods his head, looking away. “I guess that makes sense.” His voice is soft and understanding, and for some reason it makes me more sad than if he had been angry or called my reasoning ridiculous. He locks eyes with me. “Aren’t you scared though? To start over?”I shrug. “Yes. I am. But I’m more scared not to.” Brandon looks confused. I pause, trying to gather the thoughts I have pushed to the back of my mind until now. “I’m more scared to have things keep going the way they are now – with Mom, and Dad, and even Gretchen and Andrew. And with me.”
“With you? What do you mean?”
“I just … I guess I’m just tired of feeling like a shadow. Like, I’m a shadow of what Billy was. And Katie. I’m in her shadow--“ Brandon opens his mouth to argue but I rush on “--and I’ve actually been fine with that, you know? I’ve stepped into her shadow. But now, I’m just ready to be me.”
Brandon frowns. “But you are you. And you’re awesome. I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”
“Maybe not. But I’m hoping that will change.”
Brandon sits down on the bottom porch step and looks out toward the road. “I’m going to miss you.” The sun has almost completely set. A car drives by, moving slowly through the thick evening air.
I sit next to him. “I’m going to miss you, too. But we’ll always be friends.”
“Always.”
We sit in silence as the rose-gray dusk shifts to black.
May 21, 2009
Confrontation
Brandon stops short at the base of the stairs. “So?” He stares expectedly.
“Oh! Hi.” I smile at him quickly before turning back to the box I’m packing. I begin folding the top panels closed.
“Hi?” Brandon’s voice is filled with hurt and anger. “That’s it? Hi?”
Across the porch, Mom clears her throat. I keep my eyes on the box, bending the flaps of cardboard so that they interweave. Mom drops a final chair cushion into her cardboard box and then slips through the front door.
I glance at him. “Yes. Hi.”
Brandon’s lips are pressed together in a scowl. He pushes his wavy hair off his forehead and looks up. “Ok. Fine.” Spinning around, he begins to walk back to the front gate.
“Brandon. Don’t be mad.”
Brandon turns back. “Mad? Of course I’m not mad. Why would I be mad that my best friend is moving – in six days – and didn’t even tell me about it? I’m not mad.”
“I was going to tell you. It was just--"
“When? When were you going to tell me? You’re leaving in six days.”
“I--I just didn’t want to bother you,” I stammer, racking my brain to remember the other reasons I had come up with for keeping it secret. I can’t.
“Bother me? Why would you think you would bother me?”
I can feel my face flush. “Because you and Katie were always together, and I knew you were really happy and everything, and I--I just didn’t want to ruin that.”
Brandon looks skeptical. “That’s stupid.”
“I know.”
“Me and Katie aren’t together anymore anyway.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I know.”
“You do?” He sounds surprised. “Did she tell you?”
“Of course she did. She’s Katie.” I cringe as his face falls. “Brandon, I’m sorry…”
Brandon shakes his head slightly and then smiles. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Who cares, right? No big deal.”
“Yeah, no big deal.”
Brandon is silent for a moment. “So. You’re moving.” His tone is changed; his anger gone.
I shrug, smiling. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
The question takes me aback. “I dunno… Mom is unhappy here, and Gretchen could really use her help in Connecticut, and Andrew is there, and … and…” And what? I feel like I’m missing something. Why do I want to move to Connecticut? Why did I convince Mom to follow through with this crazy idea?
“…And I’m tired of people making decisions for me. I want to make my own. I want to start over.”
“Oh! Hi.” I smile at him quickly before turning back to the box I’m packing. I begin folding the top panels closed.
“Hi?” Brandon’s voice is filled with hurt and anger. “That’s it? Hi?”
Across the porch, Mom clears her throat. I keep my eyes on the box, bending the flaps of cardboard so that they interweave. Mom drops a final chair cushion into her cardboard box and then slips through the front door.
I glance at him. “Yes. Hi.”
Brandon’s lips are pressed together in a scowl. He pushes his wavy hair off his forehead and looks up. “Ok. Fine.” Spinning around, he begins to walk back to the front gate.
“Brandon. Don’t be mad.”
Brandon turns back. “Mad? Of course I’m not mad. Why would I be mad that my best friend is moving – in six days – and didn’t even tell me about it? I’m not mad.”
“I was going to tell you. It was just--"
“When? When were you going to tell me? You’re leaving in six days.”
“I--I just didn’t want to bother you,” I stammer, racking my brain to remember the other reasons I had come up with for keeping it secret. I can’t.
“Bother me? Why would you think you would bother me?”
I can feel my face flush. “Because you and Katie were always together, and I knew you were really happy and everything, and I--I just didn’t want to ruin that.”
Brandon looks skeptical. “That’s stupid.”
“I know.”
“Me and Katie aren’t together anymore anyway.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I know.”
“You do?” He sounds surprised. “Did she tell you?”
“Of course she did. She’s Katie.” I cringe as his face falls. “Brandon, I’m sorry…”
Brandon shakes his head slightly and then smiles. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Who cares, right? No big deal.”
“Yeah, no big deal.”
Brandon is silent for a moment. “So. You’re moving.” His tone is changed; his anger gone.
I shrug, smiling. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
The question takes me aback. “I dunno… Mom is unhappy here, and Gretchen could really use her help in Connecticut, and Andrew is there, and … and…” And what? I feel like I’m missing something. Why do I want to move to Connecticut? Why did I convince Mom to follow through with this crazy idea?
“…And I’m tired of people making decisions for me. I want to make my own. I want to start over.”
May 19, 2009
Loose Ends
My visit from Dad was the first time I questioned my decision to support Mom in her crazy idea to move to Connecticut. The second was when I finally told Brandon. Well, told might not be the right word …
It’s a week before the big move, and the sun is setting peach in the distance. Mom and I are on the front porch, silently boxing up the clutter. I pull out the final push-pin holding the string of white star-shaped lights to the ceiling and they fall in a twinkling cascade at my feet. The air is still and hot, and the dust clings to my arms and makes my face feel gritty. I wipe my hand across my forehead.
I hear the crunch of sand under sneakers before I see the figure jogging lightly toward us down the sidewalk. I immediately know it’s Brandon, even though his outline is made fuzzy by the dimming light. I’ve been expecting him to show up today, but my stomach still tightens as he gets closer. I grab a box filled with citronella candles and worn straw beach mats and begin twisting the star lights into a pile on top, turning my back to the road.
Last night, I called Katie to break the news of our move – which is why it was only a matter of time before Brandon found out, even though I told her not to tell anyone.
“WHAAAT?! Shut up. SHUT. UP.” Katie’s high-pitch squeal wasn’t softened at all by its travel through the phone lines.
“I know, crazy, right?” It felt kind of good to shock Katie, for some reason – to be the one to do something so totally unexpected for once.
“And you’re OKAY with this?”
“Yep. I am.”
Katie was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. “Well then. I guess that’s great.” She sounded frosty. I didn’t care. I said nothing.
“So… well, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
I tried to ignore the slight tinge of guilt settling in my stomach. “Oh I dunno… It all happened so fast. And I know you’ve been really busy too, with Brandon and everything, and…”
“Brandon? Ha!” Katie barked a laugh. “Didn’t you see my Facebook status? That’s like, so over.”
My heart stopped. “What? Since when?” I tried to sound casual, but my voice squeaked with the strain.
Katie didn’t notice. “Oh, I changed it yesterday morning. Yeah, I told him I’d still go to the dance with him and everything, but just as friends. Maybe that will make other girls like him or something, you know? Seeing him with me?” I could hear Katie’s nails clacking against her laptop keys through the phone. “But anyway! I can’t believe you’re leaving!”
Katie rambled on through the rest of the conversation, and I inserted the necessary whining “I know, I can’t believe it either!” and “I’m gonna miss you too!” But the entire time, all I could think about was Brandon. Was he all right? Was he completely crushed by Katie’s easy dismissal? And most of all, why didn’t he TELL me?
Now, as Brandon runs through our front gate to the porch where I stand, his face twisted in a mix of anger and shock, it looks like I’m about to get my answer.
It’s a week before the big move, and the sun is setting peach in the distance. Mom and I are on the front porch, silently boxing up the clutter. I pull out the final push-pin holding the string of white star-shaped lights to the ceiling and they fall in a twinkling cascade at my feet. The air is still and hot, and the dust clings to my arms and makes my face feel gritty. I wipe my hand across my forehead.
I hear the crunch of sand under sneakers before I see the figure jogging lightly toward us down the sidewalk. I immediately know it’s Brandon, even though his outline is made fuzzy by the dimming light. I’ve been expecting him to show up today, but my stomach still tightens as he gets closer. I grab a box filled with citronella candles and worn straw beach mats and begin twisting the star lights into a pile on top, turning my back to the road.
Last night, I called Katie to break the news of our move – which is why it was only a matter of time before Brandon found out, even though I told her not to tell anyone.
“WHAAAT?! Shut up. SHUT. UP.” Katie’s high-pitch squeal wasn’t softened at all by its travel through the phone lines.
“I know, crazy, right?” It felt kind of good to shock Katie, for some reason – to be the one to do something so totally unexpected for once.
“And you’re OKAY with this?”
“Yep. I am.”
Katie was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. “Well then. I guess that’s great.” She sounded frosty. I didn’t care. I said nothing.
“So… well, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
I tried to ignore the slight tinge of guilt settling in my stomach. “Oh I dunno… It all happened so fast. And I know you’ve been really busy too, with Brandon and everything, and…”
“Brandon? Ha!” Katie barked a laugh. “Didn’t you see my Facebook status? That’s like, so over.”
My heart stopped. “What? Since when?” I tried to sound casual, but my voice squeaked with the strain.
Katie didn’t notice. “Oh, I changed it yesterday morning. Yeah, I told him I’d still go to the dance with him and everything, but just as friends. Maybe that will make other girls like him or something, you know? Seeing him with me?” I could hear Katie’s nails clacking against her laptop keys through the phone. “But anyway! I can’t believe you’re leaving!”
Katie rambled on through the rest of the conversation, and I inserted the necessary whining “I know, I can’t believe it either!” and “I’m gonna miss you too!” But the entire time, all I could think about was Brandon. Was he all right? Was he completely crushed by Katie’s easy dismissal? And most of all, why didn’t he TELL me?
Now, as Brandon runs through our front gate to the porch where I stand, his face twisted in a mix of anger and shock, it looks like I’m about to get my answer.
May 14, 2009
Rollercoaster
Dad’s face falls slack with recognition. “Luce, I…” His eyes gloss over; he looks pained. I see his bottom lip tremble once before his jaw tightens.
I have to look away. The anger that exploded from me cools just as quickly as it boiled, leaving me exhausted. I sigh. “I know, Dad. I’m sorry.”
“No. No, I’m sorry.” Dad runs both palms down his face, wiping away his emotion. “I shouldn’t have done this.” He clears his throat and shoots nervous glances around his feet. “Where … where is my hat…?” he mumbles.
“There...”
Dad’s eyes bounce quickly from my face to his hat, perched on the banister post. He grasps it with both hands to his chest, bending the rim. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. You’re right. Of course you’re right. I can’t ask you to stay.”
“Dad… That’s not it; I…”
How can I tell him what I’m really feeling when I don’t even know myself? I’m so angry with him, but so happy he’s here. I’m excited to leave with Mom, but I wish I could stay with Dad.
His eyes catch mine. “It’s OK, Luce. I know.”
And in that second, I think he does. I feel like I’m five years old again, when Dad could sense that I was scared to ride the kiddie rollercoaster at the traveling fair without even asking. “Let’s skip this one,” he said as we strode by the clanking, sparkling ride. “It looks boring.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Dad smiles a crooked smile and opens up his arms. I step forward and allow myself to be wrapped up. And as he gives me a tight squeeze, I know I made the right decision.
I have to look away. The anger that exploded from me cools just as quickly as it boiled, leaving me exhausted. I sigh. “I know, Dad. I’m sorry.”
“No. No, I’m sorry.” Dad runs both palms down his face, wiping away his emotion. “I shouldn’t have done this.” He clears his throat and shoots nervous glances around his feet. “Where … where is my hat…?” he mumbles.
“There...”
Dad’s eyes bounce quickly from my face to his hat, perched on the banister post. He grasps it with both hands to his chest, bending the rim. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. You’re right. Of course you’re right. I can’t ask you to stay.”
“Dad… That’s not it; I…”
How can I tell him what I’m really feeling when I don’t even know myself? I’m so angry with him, but so happy he’s here. I’m excited to leave with Mom, but I wish I could stay with Dad.
His eyes catch mine. “It’s OK, Luce. I know.”
And in that second, I think he does. I feel like I’m five years old again, when Dad could sense that I was scared to ride the kiddie rollercoaster at the traveling fair without even asking. “Let’s skip this one,” he said as we strode by the clanking, sparkling ride. “It looks boring.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Dad smiles a crooked smile and opens up his arms. I step forward and allow myself to be wrapped up. And as he gives me a tight squeeze, I know I made the right decision.
May 12, 2009
Leaving
My hands jerk back out of his instinctively. "Wait - what?"
Dad looks down, uncomfortable. He runs his palms back and forth against the tips of the grass. "I mean, I know the apartment would be kinda crowded, but we could make it work--"
"Wait. Dad--"
"And I'm not the best cook, but I'm learning--"
"Dad. Dad!"
He looks up. His eyes are hopeful. I break his gaze. "Dad, thanks and all, but I just don't think... I mean..." I push myself up off the step. I suddenly feel claustrophobic in our postage-stamp square of a front yard.
I cannot believe my father is here -- and not just here, but here asking me to move in with him. My father, who said he felt so contained by his life in Fort Myers that he had to break free. My father, who had seemed perfectly content to see me on a few weekends and holidays and no more. Why is he doing this now? Why is he doing this to me?
I lean against the front fence and look out down the street. I had just been so excited and anxious to leave this place, and now I suddenly have a whole new option to consider. Why can't things ever be easy?
Behind me, I can hear Dad stand. "Luce, don't leave me."
His words catch me off guard. I freeze. Don't leave me. Is he serious?
The warm anger that I have been able to keep contained until now begins to trickle through my body. Don't leave me. How could he say that to me?
"Don't leave you? Don't leave you?" I feel the tears threaten to pour over, and it makes me even more angry. "That's impossible, Dad. You already left me."
Dad looks down, uncomfortable. He runs his palms back and forth against the tips of the grass. "I mean, I know the apartment would be kinda crowded, but we could make it work--"
"Wait. Dad--"
"And I'm not the best cook, but I'm learning--"
"Dad. Dad!"
He looks up. His eyes are hopeful. I break his gaze. "Dad, thanks and all, but I just don't think... I mean..." I push myself up off the step. I suddenly feel claustrophobic in our postage-stamp square of a front yard.
I cannot believe my father is here -- and not just here, but here asking me to move in with him. My father, who said he felt so contained by his life in Fort Myers that he had to break free. My father, who had seemed perfectly content to see me on a few weekends and holidays and no more. Why is he doing this now? Why is he doing this to me?
I lean against the front fence and look out down the street. I had just been so excited and anxious to leave this place, and now I suddenly have a whole new option to consider. Why can't things ever be easy?
Behind me, I can hear Dad stand. "Luce, don't leave me."
His words catch me off guard. I freeze. Don't leave me. Is he serious?
The warm anger that I have been able to keep contained until now begins to trickle through my body. Don't leave me. How could he say that to me?
"Don't leave you? Don't leave you?" I feel the tears threaten to pour over, and it makes me even more angry. "That's impossible, Dad. You already left me."
May 7, 2009
Close Range
“Dad?”My dad, Mark Malone, is perched on the edge of a wicker rocking chair on our front porch. He looks up at the sound of my voice and smiles, his tanned face breaking into deep grooves like dry leather. “Lulu…” Standing slowly, he takes the faded Ranger hat he has been fiddling with in his lap and drapes it over the banister post.
“Dad!” I sprint up the front steps and throw myself against his chest, wrapping my arms around his thin frame. His canvas uniform feels rough and starchy against my cheek. He smells like incense and freshly turned soil.
“Hey there kiddo.” Dad’s callused thumb scratches my forehead as he pushes my bangs out of my eyes. “What’s new?”
Behind us, the car door slams. “Hi Mark.” Mom’s tone is cut and dry, and I immediately loosen my grip on my father and turn to face her. Her forced smile is painful. She gives Dad a slight nod.
“Bonnie. Hi.” Dad’s voice is soft and calm. He runs his fingers through his sand-colored hair.
Mom adjusts her pocketbook on her shoulder and clears her throat. “Well. I’ll let you two catch up.” She sweeps past us up the porch stairs and into the house.
The uncomfortable silence only lasts a moment. “Dad! What are you doing here?”
“To see you, of course.”
I’m so happy to see him that I hold back my knee-jerk response to say that you should only use “of course” when something is obvious, since Dad coming to see me is anything but obvious. He hasn’t been to the house since the divorce. The few times I have seen him I’ve gone to stay at his small one-bedroom apartment in Homestead, right outside Everglades National Park.
I try to put all that aside and focus on the fact that Dad is actually here. “Of course. Well, I’m glad you’re here.” I pause. “So … I guess you heard about the move.”
“You guessed right.”
I bite my lip. Planning for the move has been a busy, frantic, exciting whirlwind. For the past two weeks, I’ve willingly let myself get caught in it, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that keeps reminding me how hurt everyone will be when they find out. Because it’s not just Dad who has been kept in the dark – I haven’t built up the courage to tell Katie or Brandon either. But that’s another story.
In my mind, I can justify not telling Dad. I just tell myself that he did the same thing to me – he moved away and left Mom and me alone. But now, seeing him in person, all I remember is how hurt I was when he moved out. I don’t wish that on him. I don’t wish that on anyone.
“Sorry I didn’t say anything.”
“Your mother called last night. I have to say I was taken aback. Moving in two weeks? That’s not enough warning.”
It was when you left.
Although I don’t say it, Dad can read it on my face. He squats down next to me and grabs my hands in his.
“Lucy. I’m here because, well, I don’t want you to go. I know I haven’t been here for you as much as your mother has, but I’m ready to make a change.”
Dad takes a deep breath. “I’m here to ask you to come live with me instead. Stay in Florida. Don’t go to Connecticut.”
May 5, 2009
Transition
The next few weeks go by in a blur. Turns out Mom had done a little more than some Googling on the Internet before she sprung the idea of moving to Connecticut on me. She already has a house in mind – a tiny white ranch with pretty powder-blue shutters and a big maple shading the front yard – and she has talked to a local real estate agent about listing our bungalow in Fort Myers as a rental home. She has even applied for that librarian job in South Haven, and they call her to do an over-the-phone interview two days after my midnight revelation.
Everything seems to fall into place easily – and for some reason, I’m not freaked out. Instead, I’m actually excited.
At first Mom seems skeptical about my out-of-character ease. “Now you’re sure you want to do this?” she asks repeatedly for the first few days, and every time I answer “I’m sure,” my heart flutters – but with anticipation, not nervousness. It feels, I dunno, exhilarating to be acting so unlike myself – to be taking such a risk and not worrying every step of the way. I feel grownup and mature, like my mom and I are making this decision together.
There are only a few times during the month before we move to Connecticut that I feel like the old Lucy – the old scared, nervous Lucy. The first is when Mom and I come home after a lunch out celebrating the news that she got the job to find an unexpected visitor sitting on the front porch...
Everything seems to fall into place easily – and for some reason, I’m not freaked out. Instead, I’m actually excited.
At first Mom seems skeptical about my out-of-character ease. “Now you’re sure you want to do this?” she asks repeatedly for the first few days, and every time I answer “I’m sure,” my heart flutters – but with anticipation, not nervousness. It feels, I dunno, exhilarating to be acting so unlike myself – to be taking such a risk and not worrying every step of the way. I feel grownup and mature, like my mom and I are making this decision together.
There are only a few times during the month before we move to Connecticut that I feel like the old Lucy – the old scared, nervous Lucy. The first is when Mom and I come home after a lunch out celebrating the news that she got the job to find an unexpected visitor sitting on the front porch...
April 30, 2009
Spark
Later that night, I can't sleep. I lay staring at the ceiling in the dark, tracing patterns in the prickly popcorn texture with my eyes. A lopsided heart ... A sleeping kitten .... A blossoming flower ... When I was little, this used to help put me to sleep, but tonight it just keeps my mind wheeling.Is Mom really serious about wanting to move? Is she really that willing to leave everything behind and start over?
Well, I guess “everything” isn’t much for Mom. Just this house, the dogs and, well, me. Only the house would be staying behind. But what’s in Connecticut for her – for us?
Family, of course. It would be great to be able to see Andrew more often. And more than once during the two weeks we were visiting Gretchen I thought, “So this is what it’s like to have an older sister.” Not that having Mom isn’t enough, but it was nice to have someone else besides Mom to talk to and get straight answers from.
But other than Gretchen and Andrew, what else? I hope not John Bainbridge. That would just be too much for me to deal with.
Perhaps … hope? A chance at a new beginning? I know Mom needs that. Ever since Billy’s death and the divorce, Mom hasn’t had much to hope for. It must be really lonely for her.
But what about me? I love Fort Myers; I love Florida. I love my friends, and my school, and riding my bike to the beach. Could I really give it all up? Could I ever be that ... brave? Unselfish?
And then, as if sleepwalking, I’m getting up in the dark and feeling my way along my bedroom walls to the door. I'm stepping softly across the hall to Mom’s room. The door creaks as I slip inside.
“Mom?” My voice is swallowed by the still silence.
I hear a faint rustle as Mom moves slightly under the thin sheets. “Hmmm?”
I take a deep breath. In the darkness, something within me sparks. “Let’s do it.”
April 28, 2009
Couching the Idea
“Hel-lo honey? Are you with me?”
Mom waves her hand in front of my blank stare, snapping me out of my silent perseveration. I smile. “Sorry. I’m here.”
“It’s OK.” Mom picks up the remote and clicks off the TV. “I was just saying that I really miss Gretchen and Andrew. It was so much fun seeing them.” She curls her feet up underneath her on the couch. “We need to do that again soon.”
I snuggle down against the arm of couch, facing Mom, my arms wrapped around my knees. “I know. It’s too bad we don’t live closer to them.”
Instantly, like she was shot through with a bolt of electricity, Mom sits upright. “Really?”
I frown. “Huh?”
“You wish we lived closer to them?” Mom’s voice is rushed with excitement.
I peer at her sideways, cautiously. “Or that they lived closer to us....” The look in her eyes makes me nervous. “Moooom....” I warn. “What are you...?”
Mom readjusts herself on the couch, crossing her legs. “Well, I was just thinking,” she starts, casting her eyes to the ceiling as if this new thought is just entering her mind. “I mean, wouldn’t it be nice to make a change? To start somewhere new, with our family around us?”
My jaw drops. “Mom. You cannot be serious.”
Mom keeps up her lighthearted tone. “I mean, it is the perfect time to do it, if we ever were to do it. We still have a month before school starts, and my job – jobs – aren’t anything to stick around for, and---”
“Mom. Stop!” I grab her hand. “Are you really saying you want to move?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Mom pulls her hand from mine and waves it dismissively. “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be nice?”
“No! No, it would not be nice!” I push myself up to sitting, slamming my hands into the couch cushions. “Move?! To Connecticut?! Have you completely lost your mind?”
Mom looks at me defiantly. “Well, why not? What’s holding us back?”
“Um, everything!” I cry. “Friends, school, work. Everything.”
“We could make new friends. I could get a new job. There’s actually an opening for a librarian in a town not too far from Gretchen. Some place called South Haven. It seems really cute, with little shops along the main street and a big town green with a gazebo and--”
“Stop stop stop! I don’t even want to know how you know that.” I stare at her until she meets my gaze. “Mom. For real. You’re talking crazy!”
Mom looks as if she's about to say more, then lets out a giant sigh. “OK. I know. It’s crazy. I’m not really serious.” She looks down at her hands in her lap. “I just started thinking about it, and then I looked up a few things online, and it got me a little excited.” Mom smiles wistfully. “It was just a kooky idea.”
I stare at my mom’s face, where the glimmer of excitement that lingers is mixed with obvious disappointment. I feel like I should say something – give her hope by telling her the idea isn’t totally crazy – but instead, I just shrug. “Totally kooky.”
Mom presses her lips together and picks up the remote. “Yep. You’re right.” She places it in my lap. “Here you go.” I watch her walk out of the room.
Mom waves her hand in front of my blank stare, snapping me out of my silent perseveration. I smile. “Sorry. I’m here.”
“It’s OK.” Mom picks up the remote and clicks off the TV. “I was just saying that I really miss Gretchen and Andrew. It was so much fun seeing them.” She curls her feet up underneath her on the couch. “We need to do that again soon.”
I snuggle down against the arm of couch, facing Mom, my arms wrapped around my knees. “I know. It’s too bad we don’t live closer to them.”
Instantly, like she was shot through with a bolt of electricity, Mom sits upright. “Really?”
I frown. “Huh?”
“You wish we lived closer to them?” Mom’s voice is rushed with excitement.
I peer at her sideways, cautiously. “Or that they lived closer to us....” The look in her eyes makes me nervous. “Moooom....” I warn. “What are you...?”
Mom readjusts herself on the couch, crossing her legs. “Well, I was just thinking,” she starts, casting her eyes to the ceiling as if this new thought is just entering her mind. “I mean, wouldn’t it be nice to make a change? To start somewhere new, with our family around us?”
My jaw drops. “Mom. You cannot be serious.”
Mom keeps up her lighthearted tone. “I mean, it is the perfect time to do it, if we ever were to do it. We still have a month before school starts, and my job – jobs – aren’t anything to stick around for, and---”
“Mom. Stop!” I grab her hand. “Are you really saying you want to move?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Mom pulls her hand from mine and waves it dismissively. “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be nice?”
“No! No, it would not be nice!” I push myself up to sitting, slamming my hands into the couch cushions. “Move?! To Connecticut?! Have you completely lost your mind?”
Mom looks at me defiantly. “Well, why not? What’s holding us back?”
“Um, everything!” I cry. “Friends, school, work. Everything.”
“We could make new friends. I could get a new job. There’s actually an opening for a librarian in a town not too far from Gretchen. Some place called South Haven. It seems really cute, with little shops along the main street and a big town green with a gazebo and--”
“Stop stop stop! I don’t even want to know how you know that.” I stare at her until she meets my gaze. “Mom. For real. You’re talking crazy!”
Mom looks as if she's about to say more, then lets out a giant sigh. “OK. I know. It’s crazy. I’m not really serious.” She looks down at her hands in her lap. “I just started thinking about it, and then I looked up a few things online, and it got me a little excited.” Mom smiles wistfully. “It was just a kooky idea.”
I stare at my mom’s face, where the glimmer of excitement that lingers is mixed with obvious disappointment. I feel like I should say something – give her hope by telling her the idea isn’t totally crazy – but instead, I just shrug. “Totally kooky.”
Mom presses her lips together and picks up the remote. “Yep. You’re right.” She places it in my lap. “Here you go.” I watch her walk out of the room.
April 21, 2009
Solitary Confinement
A week after the Katie/Brandon/Guitar Hero drama, Mom and I sit side-by-side in the den watching the news. Or rather, she sits watching the news while I just stare blankly at the screen.
"So corrupt. They should be sent straight to jail, no questions asked." Mom shakes her head in disgust as two men are paraded across the screen in handcuffs. I try to focus on the story but my mind keeps wandering, so I settle for mumbling an incoherent "mmm hmm" instead.
Luckily Mom doesn't notice, because she's been bugging me about my "depressing attitude" ever since we got home from Connecticut. She keeps asking why I'm spending all of my time in my room or reading alone in the backyard. "Is something wrong?" "Did you get in a fight with Katie?" "Why don't you go out with your friends?" I think she finally gave up when I said that if she really wants me to get out the house, I'm sure Dad would love for me to visit.
Mean, I know. But I couldn't help it. I just need my space.
For the past few days I haven't been able to concentrate on anything other than the fact that I've basically lost my two best friends - and to each other, on top of it. Yes, they asked me to stay and hang out that first day, but I felt nauseous every time I saw Brandon turn three shades of red just because Katie looked in his direction. And yes, Katie has called me every day, like usual, but I can't bare to hear her refer to the two of them as "the classic Hollywood It-Girl and Cute-Nerd Combination" one more time, so I've been sending her straight to voicemail.
OK, so maybe lost my two best friends is over-dramatic. Maybe it's more like "banished my two best friends for my own sanity."
"So corrupt. They should be sent straight to jail, no questions asked." Mom shakes her head in disgust as two men are paraded across the screen in handcuffs. I try to focus on the story but my mind keeps wandering, so I settle for mumbling an incoherent "mmm hmm" instead.
Luckily Mom doesn't notice, because she's been bugging me about my "depressing attitude" ever since we got home from Connecticut. She keeps asking why I'm spending all of my time in my room or reading alone in the backyard. "Is something wrong?" "Did you get in a fight with Katie?" "Why don't you go out with your friends?" I think she finally gave up when I said that if she really wants me to get out the house, I'm sure Dad would love for me to visit.
Mean, I know. But I couldn't help it. I just need my space.
For the past few days I haven't been able to concentrate on anything other than the fact that I've basically lost my two best friends - and to each other, on top of it. Yes, they asked me to stay and hang out that first day, but I felt nauseous every time I saw Brandon turn three shades of red just because Katie looked in his direction. And yes, Katie has called me every day, like usual, but I can't bare to hear her refer to the two of them as "the classic Hollywood It-Girl and Cute-Nerd Combination" one more time, so I've been sending her straight to voicemail.
OK, so maybe lost my two best friends is over-dramatic. Maybe it's more like "banished my two best friends for my own sanity."
April 19, 2009
Sunday Recap #2
Hi friends! New to the story, or just need a reminder? Here's the latest happenings with The SPIT Sisters:
A lot has changed in Lucy Malone's life since Sunday Recap #1. Lucy and her mother Bonnie fight about whether to go to Connecticut to visit Lucy's sister-in-law Gretchen and Gretchen's 4-year-old son Andrew. With the summer drawing to an end, Lucy doesn't want to miss a moment of time in Fort Myers, Florida with her best friends Katie and Brandon.
But Bonnie wins the argument (as mother's usually do), and they leave to spend two weeks in Connecticut - just as Katie and Brandon discover that they may have more in common than being Lucy's friends.
When Lucy and Bonnie first arrive to Connecticut, it's a little rocky. Gretchen runs a successful event-planning business and is preparing for a large fundraiser for one of her clients. She is extremely stressed - and a little self-absorbed. Bonnie also has some trouble adjusting to being back in Connecticut and seeing first hand that life has gone on after the death of her son (and Lucy's brother) Billy.
But things turn around quickly, and Lucy ends up having a lot of fun spending time with her mother and her nephew. There are only two problems...
The first is that Lucy feels completely cut off from what is happening at home. She hasn't spoken to Brandon or Katie since she's been away - neither of them return her calls - and she begins to wonder if they're mad at her or just too busy spending time with each other.
The second is John Bainbridge. He's the reporter that Bonnie became "pen pals" with after Billy's death. Bonnie ends up meeting John for coffee (and Bonnie never drinks coffee!) to thank him for his support during that hard time in her life. Bonnie swears they are just friends, but Lucy is beginning to wonder if there's something more going on.
When the two weeks are up, Lucy is happy to go home but also nervous about what she missed. As soon as she gets back to her house, she tries to call Brandon and Katie. When neither of them answer - again - she heads over to Brandon's house (right next door). And that's when her suspicions are confirmed - Brandon and Katie are "together."
Lucy knows she should be happy that her two best friends really like each other, but she can't get this nagging feeling out of her head - or her heart - that something isn't right. Does Katie really like Brandon? Or will she just break his heart? Either way, more than Brandon's heart is at stake...
Check back often to keep up with The SPIT Sisters! The drama is just beginning.
A lot has changed in Lucy Malone's life since Sunday Recap #1. Lucy and her mother Bonnie fight about whether to go to Connecticut to visit Lucy's sister-in-law Gretchen and Gretchen's 4-year-old son Andrew. With the summer drawing to an end, Lucy doesn't want to miss a moment of time in Fort Myers, Florida with her best friends Katie and Brandon.
But Bonnie wins the argument (as mother's usually do), and they leave to spend two weeks in Connecticut - just as Katie and Brandon discover that they may have more in common than being Lucy's friends.
When Lucy and Bonnie first arrive to Connecticut, it's a little rocky. Gretchen runs a successful event-planning business and is preparing for a large fundraiser for one of her clients. She is extremely stressed - and a little self-absorbed. Bonnie also has some trouble adjusting to being back in Connecticut and seeing first hand that life has gone on after the death of her son (and Lucy's brother) Billy.
But things turn around quickly, and Lucy ends up having a lot of fun spending time with her mother and her nephew. There are only two problems...
The first is that Lucy feels completely cut off from what is happening at home. She hasn't spoken to Brandon or Katie since she's been away - neither of them return her calls - and she begins to wonder if they're mad at her or just too busy spending time with each other.
The second is John Bainbridge. He's the reporter that Bonnie became "pen pals" with after Billy's death. Bonnie ends up meeting John for coffee (and Bonnie never drinks coffee!) to thank him for his support during that hard time in her life. Bonnie swears they are just friends, but Lucy is beginning to wonder if there's something more going on.
When the two weeks are up, Lucy is happy to go home but also nervous about what she missed. As soon as she gets back to her house, she tries to call Brandon and Katie. When neither of them answer - again - she heads over to Brandon's house (right next door). And that's when her suspicions are confirmed - Brandon and Katie are "together."
Lucy knows she should be happy that her two best friends really like each other, but she can't get this nagging feeling out of her head - or her heart - that something isn't right. Does Katie really like Brandon? Or will she just break his heart? Either way, more than Brandon's heart is at stake...
Check back often to keep up with The SPIT Sisters! The drama is just beginning.
April 16, 2009
Showdown
Katie tackles me in a huge hug, and the plastic Guitar Hero guitar that’s still strung across her chest digs sharply into my side.
“Er, hi,” I gasp as she gives me a tighter squeeze before letting go.
“Omigod, I missed you!” Katie’s eyes are warm and sincere, and I instantly feel horrible for almost speaking badly about her to Brandon. Katie is such a good friend – I’m the weak link in our friendship.
“I missed you too! Didn’t you get any of my messages?”
“Ugh, who knows.” Katie rolls her eyes, pulling her long wavy hair over one shoulder. “I get soooo many messages, it’s like, almost ridiculous.” Her sweet laugh stings. “I want to tell people, I’m only one girl!” Katie does this a lot – reminding people of her popularity by calling it a burden. She shoots Brandon a dazzling smile. “Right?”
Brandon instantly turns bright red and looks toward the street. I can’t help but frown. “Yeah, well, um,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head absently while keeping his eyes off of us, “I’ll let you two talk.” He rushes inside, closing the door behind him.
“Eeeeee.” Katie squeals softly the moment he’s gone, grabbing my hands and jumping up and down. “Isn’t he so cute?” She looks at the closed door and smirks, adding proudly, “He’s so embarrassed around me. He’s always blushing. It’s really cute.”
“Yeah. Cute.” If Katie notices my sarcasm, she ignores it.
“Sooooo, whaddaya think?” She looks at me with intense anticipation.
“About what?” I ask, my expression blank. I know I’m being spiteful but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that Katie+Brandon is not just on my mind, but the only thing on my mind. I still just can’t believe–
“About me and Brandon. Duh.”
“Oh, right.” I shrug. “I think it’s great.”
Katie narrows her eyes. “You do?”
“Of course. My two best friends. It’s the best.”
I’m a horrible actress, and I’m not even trying to act enthusiastic, so I know Katie must notice my bland tone this time. But she smiles triumphantly. “Good. Because I like him.”
I stare back at her, and then smile. “Good.”
“Yep.” Katie pulls a lipgloss out of her pocket and smears it across her lips without breaking my gaze. And for a split second, I feel like we’re in some kind of showdown – me versus Katie, the underdog obvious. I wonder if she feels it too – for some reason I get the sense she can see right through me, like she can read my thoughts and knows exactly how I’m feeling.
But then Katie smiles warmly and the feeling is gone. She grabs my hand. “I’m so glad you’re back. For real.”
“Me too.” My smile is genuine this time. But I can’t say the same about my answer...
“Er, hi,” I gasp as she gives me a tighter squeeze before letting go.
“Omigod, I missed you!” Katie’s eyes are warm and sincere, and I instantly feel horrible for almost speaking badly about her to Brandon. Katie is such a good friend – I’m the weak link in our friendship.
“I missed you too! Didn’t you get any of my messages?”
“Ugh, who knows.” Katie rolls her eyes, pulling her long wavy hair over one shoulder. “I get soooo many messages, it’s like, almost ridiculous.” Her sweet laugh stings. “I want to tell people, I’m only one girl!” Katie does this a lot – reminding people of her popularity by calling it a burden. She shoots Brandon a dazzling smile. “Right?”
Brandon instantly turns bright red and looks toward the street. I can’t help but frown. “Yeah, well, um,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head absently while keeping his eyes off of us, “I’ll let you two talk.” He rushes inside, closing the door behind him.
“Eeeeee.” Katie squeals softly the moment he’s gone, grabbing my hands and jumping up and down. “Isn’t he so cute?” She looks at the closed door and smirks, adding proudly, “He’s so embarrassed around me. He’s always blushing. It’s really cute.”
“Yeah. Cute.” If Katie notices my sarcasm, she ignores it.
“Sooooo, whaddaya think?” She looks at me with intense anticipation.
“About what?” I ask, my expression blank. I know I’m being spiteful but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that Katie+Brandon is not just on my mind, but the only thing on my mind. I still just can’t believe–
“About me and Brandon. Duh.”
“Oh, right.” I shrug. “I think it’s great.”
Katie narrows her eyes. “You do?”
“Of course. My two best friends. It’s the best.”
I’m a horrible actress, and I’m not even trying to act enthusiastic, so I know Katie must notice my bland tone this time. But she smiles triumphantly. “Good. Because I like him.”
I stare back at her, and then smile. “Good.”
“Yep.” Katie pulls a lipgloss out of her pocket and smears it across her lips without breaking my gaze. And for a split second, I feel like we’re in some kind of showdown – me versus Katie, the underdog obvious. I wonder if she feels it too – for some reason I get the sense she can see right through me, like she can read my thoughts and knows exactly how I’m feeling.
But then Katie smiles warmly and the feeling is gone. She grabs my hand. “I’m so glad you’re back. For real.”
“Me too.” My smile is genuine this time. But I can’t say the same about my answer...
April 14, 2009
Declaration
“Was that ... Katie?!” For some reason I’m whispering.Brandon raises his eyebrows at me and smiles. “I know, right? I can’t believe it either.” He glances down the hall and then steps out onto the front stoop next to me, quietly closing the door behind him. “We’ve been hanging out like, every day. Weird, right?”
“Really weird!” I blurt out before thinking. Brandon looks at my quizzically. “But, but ... awesome!” I add quickly.
He shakes his head and his goofy smile returns. “I know. Luce, she's like, the perfect girl. She loves PlayStation and hanging out with my brothers. And she's totally into X-Men.”
“Katie?!” I squeal incredulously. I suddenly wonder if my plane landed in an alternate universe instead of Fort Myers. Katie? Playing video games? What is going on?
“Yeah. Katie.” He shoots me a look like the answer is obvious. “Luce, why didn’t you tell me she was so laid back and, I dunno, cool?”
Because laid back and cool are two words I would never, ever associate with Katie Heeley, I think, trying to keep from scowling. But instead I mumble, “I’m sure I’ve said that.”
Brandon gives me a sideways look, and I force my face into an exaggerated smile. “So,” I ask cheerfully, “are you guys, like ... together?”
Brandon shrugs. “I guess. I dunno. But I really like her, Luce. I mean, a lot.” He lowers his eyes and starts kicking loose chucks of cement off the edge of the step. “I keep thinking I must be dreaming or something, that a girl like her actually likes me. I mean, me. No one ever likes me.”
He looks up and grins. He looks so hopeful, and well, dopey. But in a cute way.
It makes me suddenly furious. I have the overwhelming urge to shake him. To yell, That’s not true, you idiot! Lots of girls like you! She should be thankful that you like her! You’re the cool one. She hates video games. I’m sure she’s annoyed by your brothers. And she probably thinks Jean Grey is a nail polish color. She is totally wrong for you!
But then his brown eyes catch mine, and my chest tightens. I know that if I’m ever going to say something, to tell him what I’m thinking, it has to be now. This moment. I take a deep breath. “Brandon, I…”
“OmiGOD! Lucy!! You’re HOME!”
My head snaps up to see Katie’s face pressed against the window screen for a split second, and then the front door swings open.
April 10, 2009
Reading Break
Thanks to Karen at FolkHeart Press for giving The SPIT Sisters a guest blog opportunity! We hope you all check it out and enjoy it: www.folkheartpress.blogspot.com.
April 9, 2009
While You Were Out...
Brandon’s face softens with surprise when he sees me. “Luce! You’re home!” He smiles widely.An instant wave of relief washes over me when I realize that no, he's not mad at me or avoiding me, and I’m suddenly giddy. “Yeah! Hi!” I cry, and before I realize what I’m doing, I throw my arms around him in a huge, tight hug.
Brandon chuckles. “Whoa! What’s up?” He pushes back slightly, and I take an awkward step back. “Why were you knocking all frantic and everything?”
My face flushes. “Oh, you know… I dunno… I just…”
Suddenly, loud rock music starts to blast out from somewhere in Brandon’s house. “Brandon! Hurry up!” someone calls out – I can’t tell if it’s Taylor or Tommy.
“Hold on!” Brandon turns back to me and rolls his eyes. “Sorry – we’re playing Rock Band. So what’s up? Tell me.”
I sigh, giving in. “I tried to call you last week, and today, and you never picked up.”
“Oh man, yeah, sorry about that.” Brandon pulls his curly brown hair behind both ears. “Stupid Tommy ran over my cell with his bike. It’s like, totally ruined.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “Why, d'ya miss me?” he asks slyly.
My heart stops. Literally.
And then Brandon reaches forward and playfully punches me in the shoulder. “Nah I’m just kidding Luce. Seriously – were you mad?”
“Ha, ha,” I force out, swallowing hard. “Um, no I’m not mad. I mean, I wasn’t mad and I’m not mad. I was just bored. I wanted to know what was going on.”
Brandon shrugged. “Oh, well in that case, be prepared to be disappointed. It’s been super boring. Rained like five times.”
“Really? Nothing new has happened? At all?” My voice sounds a pitch too high. But I’m suddenly back to feeling giddy. Surely Brandon would be all too excited to tell me if--
“Braaandon!” a new voice calls out from inside in a sweet whine. “I can’t get this song right! Help meee!”
And then I deflate. Unfortunately, this voice I can recognize.
April 7, 2009
Who's There?
I hop swiftly up the front steps of the Bennett house and rap quickly on the front storm door, the glass rattling precariously in its flimsy steel frame. And then I wait.
Brandon’s house looks a like lot mine but a little more, well, unkempt. The gray paint on the wood siding peels and curls in places like ribbons on a birthday gift, and the window screens are marred with gashes and holes. A semi-deflated soccer ball stands sentinel next to the tarnished mailbox, which tilts slightly to the left, a large dent in its side.
I imagine it’s hard for Mr. and Mrs. Bennett to think much about how the house looks from the outside, though, when they have five boys living on the inside all under the age of 20. Brandon, his two older brothers – 18-year-old Jim and 16-year-old Jesse – and his two younger brothers – 8-year-old twins Taylor and Tommy – keep his parents pretty busy. Mom always says she doesn’t know how they do it.
I absentmindedly flick at a piece of chipping paint on the door, waiting, but there’s no response. Maybe no one’s home – although that’s pretty unlikely at the Bennett house. I knock rapidly again, and then press my ear up against the glass.
Very faintly, I think I can hear the muffled vibration of music coming from inside. Someone is home.
Frustrated, I start banging on the door continuously for about thirty seconds – until it suddenly flies open.
“Oh!” I cry, startled, my pounding fist stopping just in time to avoid accidentally punching an annoyed-looking Brandon square in the chest.
Brandon’s house looks a like lot mine but a little more, well, unkempt. The gray paint on the wood siding peels and curls in places like ribbons on a birthday gift, and the window screens are marred with gashes and holes. A semi-deflated soccer ball stands sentinel next to the tarnished mailbox, which tilts slightly to the left, a large dent in its side.
I imagine it’s hard for Mr. and Mrs. Bennett to think much about how the house looks from the outside, though, when they have five boys living on the inside all under the age of 20. Brandon, his two older brothers – 18-year-old Jim and 16-year-old Jesse – and his two younger brothers – 8-year-old twins Taylor and Tommy – keep his parents pretty busy. Mom always says she doesn’t know how they do it.
I absentmindedly flick at a piece of chipping paint on the door, waiting, but there’s no response. Maybe no one’s home – although that’s pretty unlikely at the Bennett house. I knock rapidly again, and then press my ear up against the glass.
Very faintly, I think I can hear the muffled vibration of music coming from inside. Someone is home.
Frustrated, I start banging on the door continuously for about thirty seconds – until it suddenly flies open.
“Oh!” I cry, startled, my pounding fist stopping just in time to avoid accidentally punching an annoyed-looking Brandon square in the chest.
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