Beyond Clueless (15 page)

“But you’re right,” I said, finally breaking the spell. “I’m being a baby. We can totally see each other outside of rehearsal. But, I mean,
I’m
sure as heck not going to ask
him
to hang out. Maybe he’ll ask me.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s the big deal?
You
be the decider. You’ve hooked up with the boy, so you should at least be able to speak to him.”

“It’s not like that—not for us. I get all clumsy and inarticulate around him. I don’t even know why. I guess it’s ’cause he’s older and confident and . . . it can be kinda scary. But also scary in a good way. Know what I mean?”

“No,” Xiang said flatly. “But I bet Parker does. He seems a little scared of me, actually.”

“Yeah? I can see that.”

Xiang narrowed her eyes at me. “Bitch.”

At dinner that evening my parents were in rare form. By that I mean, “a form that is not nearly rare enough.”

As my mother passed me the marinated-tofu latkes, I sensed an uncomfortable vibe in the air. She kept glancing at my dad, and he was quieter than usual—but not the good kind of silence I would normally consider a blessing.

“Soooo, is anyone going to tell me what’s up?” I finally ventured, no longer able to bear the tension.

My mother tucked a stray lock of graying hair behind one ear and moved her pointed stare from my father to me.

“Well, actually, there is something your father and I want to discuss with you.” She twirled her fork around, grinding a cylindrical hole into her parsnip-and-apple compote. “We think it’s time for us to set some ground rules for you and your friends.”

“Ground rules,” I repeated, uncomprehending.

“Yes, ground rules. You’re no longer a young girl, and the way you socialize with your cohorts is changing. We wouldn’t be doing our job as your parents if we didn’t respond accordingly.”

Oh, God. I knew it would be bad once she started being all clinical about it.

“You’re entering an age when your friends may be discovering aspects about their bodies—”

“Eww! Mom!” I barked, my shoulders instinctively seizing up.

“—and we can’t just sit idly by while you face all kinds of new social pressures. Isn’t that right?” Then she did that
thing where she widens her eyes at my father, telling him it’s time for him to step in.

My dad cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s correct. You’re a teenager now, Marty, and we understand that it’s not an easy age. You and your friends are growing older, and we know how hard it can be to stay true to your values.”

“Honestly, I don’t think I’m capable of rolling my eyes hard enough for this. This is exactly like you sending me to Oaks because you think—”

Ignoring me, he continued: “With that in mind, we’re going to try our best to create an environment for you that is safe, structured, and as free of those pressures as possible.”

“Can we please speak normal English? Whatever this is, it’s ridiculous.”

“We have never set up clear rules for you before now, because we didn’t believe you needed them at your young age. But now that you and your friends are older—”

“Since when are you two so interested in ‘my friends’?” I interjected, my exasperated mood starting to tilt toward defensive anger.

“—we need to make them explicit. So here they are.” My dad pulled out a Post-it note that he had scrawled all over. I could see that my anger made him angry, and some tiny, wise part of me started warning me to pull back.

As if!

“One. You will be home by ten on school nights, and midnight on Fridays and Saturdays.”

“Are you kidding me? You have got to be joking. A curfew? Oh, please! I don’t need a curfew.”

My mother’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, considering the time you came home with Xiang the other night, young lady, I don’t think you have much of a leg to stand on.”

Damn it, they
had
heard us stumble in. Well, whatever, this was still outrageous.

My father’s voice grew louder. “Two. No phone calls longer than ten minutes. Three. We can’t monitor what you do online all the time, but we will be keeping an eye on you. Don’t ever forget that.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Oh, is that a rule? Great, yeah, that’s a good one. I’ll be sure to
not ever forget that
.”

“Four. If you do go out, we want to know where you are going, whom you are going with, and for how long,” he said. “You don’t leave this house without your cell, and you don’t turn it off.” Then he blushed a little as he added, “And five, if you have male visitors, you keep the door open the entire time.”

“What?”
I was flabbergasted. “Like . . . Jimmy?”

“Well, yeah. Jimmy and his friends. Boys.”

“As if . . . me and Jimmy—I mean, seriously? You know he’s
gay
, right?”

This time it was my mother who rolled her eyes. “We’re not
morons
, Martha.”

My father cleared his throat. “From the looks of it, when he and his friends came here the other night, there are romantic interests brewing—”

“
Romantic interests brewing?
” I said/shrieked. “If you want to know, just ASK. Yes, Jimmy and Derek are a couple.
So what?
And now it seems you think me and ‘my friends’ are wild, sex-crazed hooligans.”

They just sat there, looking at me impassively, a black thundercloud of tension hovering over the room, crackling with electricity.

“See, this is the part where you say, ‘Oh, no, that’s not what we think at all. You’re totally right: You’re good kids! In fact, we’re lucky to have such a Goody-Two-Shoes for a daughter, with such upstanding gentlemen for friends! And you know what? Scratch everything we just said. We were just being
jerks
.’ ”

As soon as I spat out the word—with surprising venom—I realized it was a strategic blunder. They were clearly taken aback. I knew I was only confirming their unhinged fears that I was turning into a Bad Kid. But I was so mad at that point, I was so incensed, I couldn’t go back. And the only way forward was up a notch.

“Like, my friends are going to come over here to
screw
?
Really
?” I was dizzy with rage.

“This has nothing to do—” my mother began, but I would not be derailed.

“You know what?” I leaned forward on trembling hands. “
I hate you
.”

On that charming note, I got up from the table and flew upstairs to my room, slamming the door so hard that my ears hummed for a good five seconds afterward.

Oh, well, so much for dinner. I lay down on my bed, staring holes into the ceiling and replaying the blowup in my mind. I came up with about twenty better rejoinders that I
wish I had said (and thrown my food! and knocked over my chair!) before my blood pressure started easing off.

I tossed and turned, then jumped up and paced the room, then grew tired and returned to the bed.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Eventually the anger started to subside, displaced by a heavy sadness that lay over me. I knew that even if this disastrous dinner could someday be smoothed over and forgotten, it would never be the same with my parents. This was just one more nail in the coffin around our relationship, a coffin they had started building by sending me to Our Lady of the Oaks. I’m a
person
. I have feelings and opinions and rights. But they just didn’t give a shit.

When I thought about how it was just one year ago, I could remember joking around with my parents like we were buddies, and I’d felt closer to them than any of my friends were to their parents. They were often lame and embarrassing, sure, but they could be fun! They liked me, and I liked them!

But now, more and more they were aspiring to be some kind of weird, enemy authority figures. Did they really want to be like Xiang’s parents? They thought I was changing—and maybe I was—but to my mind, they were the ones who were changing, for the worse.

The stereotype of a teenage girl, sullen and withdrawn, was something that had always seemed foreign and counterintuitive to me. But suddenly it seemed to be the only available option. The only leverage I had with my parents
was myself, and that’s something they wouldn’t get to access anymore. They want to create rules and put up barriers? Fine. But I can build barriers, too.

Jerks.

But perhaps there was one tiny sliver of a silver lining in this shitstorm: This definitely called for a foray into my secret Twix stash. I grabbed one bar (OK, two) and flopped back onto my bed.

For a second, I considered running away. No, not like to New York or something—don’t be ridiculous—just slipping out of the house, heading through the woods, and crashing with Jimmy. But what would that solve, really? Nothing.

More to the point, this was one fight that I didn’t want to talk over with Jimmy; I mean, I didn’t want him to feel weird around my parents. They’d known him forever, and now all of sudden they apparently saw him as some sort of sex fiend.

Plus, it was raining.

I fingered my phone. I wanted to call Oliver, but that would have been weird, right? I really didn’t know him
that
well, to call up and complain about my parents.

Instead, I texted Xiang.

my parents r evil – ive SO joind yr club
:(

I couldn’t wait to see Felix the next day. Mom and Dad think I’m bad? Oh, I can be bad.

I can be
very
bad.

Y
ou need to
relax
,” urged Xiang. We were walking to the rehearsal room from her locker, and she was lagging far behind.

Poor Xiang. From the moment I laid eyes on her in Mr. Dartagnan’s class, all throughout lunch, and in four long diatribes/e-mails sent between classes, I’d vented my anger about my parents. She was trying to be sympathetic, but since her own parents were even more crazy-strict, it was clearly a strain.

“I’m relaxed! I’m totally relaxed. Who isn’t relaxed?” I muttered, yanking open the entrance doors to Jerry Hall. I stalked through the lobby, pushed open the auditorium doors, and ran into Jenny McCafferty.

Like, literally rammed my forehead into her skull. Bangs to headband. There was a hollow knocking sound and a flash of white as I sank to my knees, but I managed not to pass out. I smiled stupidly at this accomplishment.

Jenny, on the other hand, chose to go with a different reaction: red-hot fury. “WHAT THE HELL?” she spat, rubbing her head and glaring at me.

Oliver had been following right behind her, and he dropped his clipboard and script to rush to my side.

“Oh, my God, Marty, are you OK? Does it hurt?” he asked, his big brown eyes floating in front of me, full of concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, wincing. “Just embarrassed, I guess.”

“WHAT THE HELL?” Jenny repeated, red-faced, although this time directing her rage at Oliver.

He cast her a sidelong glance. “Oh, Jenny. Sorry. You OK?”

She huffed indignantly, then turned and marched out into the lobby.

“I think that means she’s fine,” he said, gathering his things and standing. He offered his hand and lifted me up. He leaned in close. “Hey, if you feel like you want to fall asleep, don’t.”

Then he was off, ducking into the lobby—just as Xiang finally caught up.

“Jesus, you’re fast,” she heaved. “What’s with the noggin?”

“Noggin?” I asked.

“Yeah, your forehead is all red.”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Xiang pushed me toward the girls’ bathroom. “I can’t take you anywhere, can I? Look, I’ll do what I can, but I gotta get going soon to
my
rehearsal.”

Five minutes later, with my bangs awkwardly plastered in vain over a sizeable bump, I was sitting in Rehearsal Room B as Sister Mary Alice talked us through the set design and what it would mean for how we moved around
onstage. I tried to hold my script out in a way that blocked Felix’s view of me.

Typical. The plan for today was to take my flirtation with Felix to the next level, not have him confuse me with the Elephant Man!

Felix was wearing his St. Paul’s uniform, and his slim physique was perfectly served by his fitted charcoal pants and dress shirt. (He had taken off his tie, of course.) I mean, I don’t know what hair products that boy uses, but his dark locks are perpetually shiny without looking oily, and they’re wavy in a classic way that makes me think of ancient Greek sculptures.