Authors: Coleen Patrick
I didn’t
know the origin of this particular grass stain, but I knew I got the shoes freshman
year when my life turned indoors—classes, homework, quiz bowl team, doing
graphics for the Steeple’s lit journal website. Maybe it happened on some
field trip for environmental science.
It didn’t
matter. It was just a random grass stain, soon to be covered in glitter.
I picked up
the jar of green glitter. Way too Christmasy. I wanted to be able to wear the
shoes whenever I wanted, so green was out. I started to slide the red next to
the green, but stopped. For some reason, red alone didn’t make me think of the
holiday.
Then, I
considered the rest of the colors: pink, purple, gold, silver, black, and a
rainbow mix. I picked through them all and went back to the red. I held it
next to each of the other colors to see if I wanted to do complimentary
colors. I considered the red next to the black. The combination made me think
of ladybugs. Then, Katie. Again.
Katie and I once
found a huge pile of ladybugs at the base of the old oak tree near her house
when we were kids. I’d never seen so many ladybugs at one time.
“Make a
wish,” Katie had said.
“A wish? I
thought we’re supposed to tell them to fly away.
Your house is on fire;
your children all roam
?”
“No silly.
That’s just a creepy nursery rhyme. Ladybugs are good luck.”
“So we make
a wish?” I smiled at the idea.
“Yup, and
get ready, because there are like a million ladybugs, so one of our wishes has
to come true.” Katie grinned. I thought she would wish for one of her baby
teeth to fall out, because she was super eager to experience the whole Tooth
Fairy thing. I’d already lost four teeth, but Katie was almost a year older
than me. She was always the one teaching me something new—from the magic of
ladybugs to the fragility of friendship.
We made one
wish after another, on every ladybug we saw. We started out asking for telescopes
and ponies, then moved on to purple hair, castles filled with jawbreakers, and
cheese fries for breakfast.
At my desk, I
felt that tingling pressure deep in my chest again. Good memories made me miss
Katie, and that instantly evoked guilt. I was the one who ruined our
friendship. I didn’t deserve to miss her.
I glanced over
my shoulder. Bug was still there. I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“You know that’s how you got your name, Bug. The lady at the shelter said it
was your lucky day, that all your wishes had come true.”
Bug twitched
an ear, then closed her eyes. I slid the red and black jars next to the
green. Ladybug inspired sneakers were too specific, just like the Christmas-y tone.
I rolled the silver jar between my palms and a song from Brownies popped into
my mind.
Make new
friends,
but keep
the old.
One is
silver,
the other
is gold.
Was every
memory going to send up a guilt flare?
Regrets were
like wishes, too—wishing I could change things, wishing I’d done something
different or not at all. Yes, there was a lot I would do differently. Except,
it would be easier to wish for everything to be the way it used to be.
But I
couldn’t do that. I needed to focus on Colson and power through the summer.
On Monday
morning, I dressed like a law firm intern. I put on the ice blue suit my mom
picked up for me to wear to her big charity gala thing, the one I missed due to
being at Gosley.
Hideous—no,
zombified, as Katie would’ve said about the fake, robotic world that was a big
part of Bloom. Dressed in a neutral, designer outfit I looked like I’d been
bit by the living dead of Bloom. After her mom died the summer before high
school, Katie felt she turned into The Girl Whose Mom Died of Cancer. She said
the women in our neighborhood hovered around her like she was a wounded kitten,
only to turn around and gossip about what was happening at the House of
Mourning. Katie overheard bitchy conversations about the way her dad
grieved/parented/returned casserole dishes. Maybe those women had good
intentions behind those superficial smiles, and maybe Katie’s opinions tangled
up in her grief, but the duplicity drove Katie nuts. She called them the
living dead of Bloom—emotionless zombies carrying lattes, playing tennis,
toting lasagnas, all under the guise of hearing the latest newsworthy tidbit
from their targeted victim.
My mom
appeared in my doorway for a moment and offered me a thumbs up before heading
out to the station. The zombie seal of approval.
Of course,
she approved. Other than the school uniform (which I was sure my mom was
grateful for), the last half of my senior year I wore sweatpants, a white
Hane’s V-neck tee, and a hoodie if it was cold. Every day. Because I didn’t
care. It was probably why on the morning of Katie’s funeral, Mom hovered in my
room until I was dressed. Or until she dressed me. She handed me pieces: a
skirt, a cardigan, boots (not the brown ones, if she had, maybe she would’ve
sent me to Gosley sooner). She even picked out a necklace, sorting through the
necklace tree on my dresser, bypassing one with charms (from Katie), one with a
half of a friendship heart (Katie had the other half), and finally stopping on
a tiny diamond pendant on a gold chain. It was a birthday present from my
aunt. I’d worn it once. Maybe Mom thought a Katie necklace would be too
painful of a reminder. Or maybe my mom was completely clueless. I didn’t know.
Mostly, I felt like she was in my room just to make sure I wouldn’t show up at
the funeral in a man’s T-shirt and sweats. Or not show up at all. She didn’t
accept my excuse that Katie and I weren’t friends anymore. She said everyone
expected
me to attend Katie’s funeral. She dressed me, then fastened the diamond around
my neck. “Here,” she’d said. “This is simple.”
Simple.
Nope, saying it didn’t make it so.
Now, the
simple thing was to put all the memories out of my mind. I completed my intern
ensemble with a scarf. Every zombie needed one. But when I turned to step in
front of my mirror, I cringed. My reflection reminded me of my mom. I took
off the scarf.
I would have
to avoid all mirrors and reflective surfaces. Either that or start practicing
a cringe-free smile. I had to, because the outfit was kind of standard for the
women at my dad’s law firm. If I was going to get out of Bloom smoothly, I
needed to go through the motions. That meant finishing my volunteer hours in
order to get my official diploma. I picked working at my dad’s law firm, because
it was the quickest route out. I could’ve stuck with my Spring Hill home
project, but I’d ignored so many e-mails from the director regarding when I would
start back that it was embarrassing.
Outfit
aside, this was easier.
Besides, I’d
helped at my dad’s firm before, shelving books in the small law library and
keeping it neat. The teen internship I was starting this morning would be more
structured I figured, but still, I was sure it would be easy busy work.
Sitting in
the car with my dad for the forty-five minute commute, I leaned back and stared
at the window, almost falling asleep as we chugged along Interstate 95 to the
sounds of a boring talk radio show. Once we got to Parker, Denison &
Pratt, my dad parked his Beemer in the garage, and we got in the elevator. He
pressed three for Max’s office, and I waited, but he didn’t press five for his
own. He was going to walk me to the internship director’s office. Didn’t he
trust me?
Whatever. I
knew he wasn’t someone to be trusted either.
Once on the
third floor, Max’s secretary said the interns were waiting on the steps at the
front of the building. We’d missed them coming in via the garage.
I shook my
head, suppressing an eye roll.
“I think
I’ve got it from here,” I said to my dad when he stepped into the elevator with
me.
He shrugged,
not paying attention. He was a terrible conversational listener, always
working in his head. He pressed the lobby button, oblivious that I’d even said
anything, and we rode the elevator in silence. Once outside, I stopped at the
top of the stairs to look for Max, but I didn’t see him. Only a group of
backpackers or tourists loitered near the bottom of the stairs.
My dad
stepped down, heading in their direction. He stopped next to the one person in
the group who appeared older. Great. My dad was in meet and greet mode, while
I focused on finding Max.
I stayed at
the top step, watching my dad shake the guy’s hand. I couldn’t hear what they said,
but there was a lot of nodding and a few smiles here and there. The new shoes made
my feet sweat. I shifted my stance. Maybe I should have worn hose, except
when I tried on a pair from my mother’s drawer, they looked so unnatural. Sweaty
feet were the epitome of natural.
I wished I’d
finished my spangled Converse.
Just as I wondered
if I had time to duck into the bathroom to wipe the soles of my feet (or stick
them under the hand dryer), my dad motioned for me to join him. My shoulders
sagged. He was big on networking. I held back another eye roll, pasted on a
fake smile, and moved down the stairs.
And almost
fell. My right foot slid inside my shoe, causing me to falter. Fortunately, I
managed to right myself without landing on my ass or splitting a seam on my
knee length skirt. But it took a bit of arm waving on my part to avert the
spill, so I kind of had the attention of all the backpackers.
“Whitney,”
my dad said, stepping up toward me and reaching out his hand. “This is Joe
Blankenship, Max’s cousin.”
The
“backpackers” were the interns. I managed an itty-bitty smile as a dozen or so
guys and girls around my age, dressed in a casual mix of khaki, tees, and cargo
shorts, gave me the once over. I stood a step above them, and suddenly, I felt
too small for my suit, like I was shrinking, my energy seeping right out of
me. I would soon disappear—if I were lucky.
I wasn’t sure
why the interns were outside, ready for an expedition though. All I knew was
that I was the odd one out. At some point, between Max and my dad, and me and Joe,
we’d screwed up the communication, because this didn’t look like a standard
interning gig.
Joe
Blankenship held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Whitney. I’m assuming
you didn’t get my e-mail regarding our team-building exercises this week?”
Team-building?
Ugh. I shook my head. What happened to filing books, answering phones, or
trolling social media sites as a marketing tool? Did my dad know this wasn’t a
traditional interning position? Had he chosen this on purpose? At Gosley, I’d
done my fair share of team-building and sharing exercises. Did he think I
needed more?
“Well, our
bus leaves in fifteen minutes. Do you think you could get something together
and be back before we leave, or would you rather just start tomorrow?”
“Um…” I was
embarrassed. I didn’t want to return at all. But I wasn’t sure how to say
that with my dad still standing right next to me.
“I’ll drop
her off here tomorrow,” my dad answered for me.
“Great. We’ll
see you tomorrow then, Whitney,” Joe said.
Instead of
looking at my dad or Joe, I turned and headed down the stairs, away from the
group. I wanted to run, but the shoes made it impossible. I felt ridiculous,
humiliated. I definitely didn’t want to come back the next day and go on zip
lines or whatever stupid adventures they had planned. This was obviously
another one of my parents’ efforts to fix me.
“Whitney,
where are you going?”
I stopped
and waited for my dad to catch up, then shrugged, because I didn’t want to talk
to him. Not that it mattered, he was talking, and I was the pathetic dead-in-the-eyes
dummy.
“Did you
want to come to work with me today? I’m sure Betty could find something for
you to do, at least for today.”
“Why? Is it
take your daughter to work day?” I asked, shaking my head. His idea was
moronic. Did he think one day without an activity would get me into trouble?
“I don’t
need your attitude. I’m already late, so just tell me what your alternate
plans are.”
“Okay. Well,
to start, I really don’t want to do that team-building thing tomorrow. I can
find something else to do. In fact, that’s what I’m going to do now. Find
another place to volunteer.”
“Whit,” my
dad said my name with heavy import, as if it would be impossible for me to find
work on my own.
“This was
all my idea, remember? I’m the one who chose this, not you. This thing at
your office was already second best, and this is worse. It’s not going to help
me with my plan.”
My dad took
a breath and slowly blew it out. “What is this plan again?”
To leave
Bloom far behind, but I couldn’t say that. I might have been waiting for my
real life to begin, but my parents and Bloom were really all I had right now. I
imagined telling him exactly what he wanted to hear—that I was doing whatever I
could to get a start on my future, but that was crap. That was just something
to say. I still didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. Besides, I
wasn’t in the mood to give him any sort of satisfaction.