Effortless With You (3 page)

Dad starts the confrontation. “What is this?” He holds out my report card.

“Report card.” I shrug.

“No.” Mom takes the report card and hands it to me. “What is this?”

“An A, two B’s, and three C’s. So what?”

“C’s?” Mom stares back at me, her face red.

“Yes, C’s.” I dip the granola bar back in the Skippy. “No big deal, Mom. C’s get degrees.”

Mom grabs a stack of papers off the top of the desk. The drawers are askew, not the way I’d left them. “Lucinda, this C will never get you a degree. What happened to your beautiful writing?” She tosses me the paper. My final
Pride and Prejudice
essay glares back at me with a large “C-” circled in the upper-right corner.

“It was a boring novel.” Not true; I didn’t read it. “Lots of students get C’s.”

“Lucy,” Dad’s voice is lower than normal, “if you got these C’s by studying and doing your best—”

Mom interrupts. “You didn’t even try. You always have a choice to try.”

“—then we would be proud of a C. But you didn’t,” Dad finishes.

“Great. So you aren’t proud of your own daughter? Wow, I’ve got amazing parents.” I love twisting their words around.

Dad sucks in his breath. “No. That’s not what I said.”

Mom plops down on my bed, her voice more controlled. “What he’s saying is last semester you got all A’s and one B. You’ve never had a C in your life. You can’t expect us to believe that suddenly the academic standards have risen.”

For real? They’re so unrealistic. Some things are more important than grades. Like friends.

“We assumed your homework was done when we didn’t see you doing it,” says Dad. “That was our mistake.”

“The old Lucy would have finished it.” Mom says softly, almost talking to herself …
The
old Lucy.
It’s not like I disappeared or something.

“I tried.” I tried hard to fit what homework I could into my busy schedule with Marissa.

“Lucy, this is unacceptable.” Dad’s voice is as calm as mine. It’s creepy.

“First you quit basketball and now you’re slacking in school. What’s happening to you?” Mom’s voice hits those horrid high notes. An occasional sob sneaks in.

“Mom, you promised never to mention basketball again. Why would you do that? Are you trying to make this worse?”

“No, honey. I just know basketball makes you happy.”

“No, it doesn’t. Trust me.”

She had no idea what I’d been through. What those jealous seniors did to me because I took a starting position on the team as a freshman. Nothing was worth putting up with their torture on and off the court. Not even something I loved. I never told Mom or Dad what was going on because they were so proud. Their freshman daughter, lead point guard and All State Champion. Mom would’ve gone ballistic if she knew all the lockers I’d been slammed into or heard the names they got everyone in school to call me.

No, I couldn’t have told her. I couldn’t risk her snapping and slipping away again, back into her world of depression. It wasn’t worth it then and certainly isn’t worth it now.

Mom reaches out for me, but I refuse her touch. “That’s not true, Lucy. Think of the years you spent dragging your father out to the hoop. And then you hit your sophomore year and suddenly quit? How can I just let that go?” Mom buries her head on Dad’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Dad puts his hands between us, “we’ve had this argument too many times already. We aren’t going to figure this out tonight. Lucy, you’re grounded until we figure out what to do with you.”

Crap.

“What? No way. Not tonight. It’s Watson’s party,
the party
. I need to be there!” Why am I saying this? I don’t want to go at all.

“I’m sorry. You did this to yourself. You won’t be going.” Dad rests his hand on Mom’s back, leading her from the room. Mom just shakes her head.

I wait for them to start down the stairs before I slam the door shut, the crack above my door inching a bit deeper. Boom, the vents in the house shake. Mom and Dad don’t know who I am, who I’m not and what I’ve been through. I text Marissa.

Me: Got grounded. Report card.

My phone rings immediately. “What? You’ve got to be kidding me. You did explain it was Watson’s party, right?”

“It’s useless. Bad report card,” I mutter.

“Oh please. They’re archaic. My report card came today too. My parents just say try harder next time. No big deal.”

“I know.”

“Well, you’re going to this party, whether they like it or not.” She pauses for a moment. “Sneak out. Seriously. They’ll never know. Sneak out around ten while they watch the news. Put that great tree by your window to use.” Marissa loves the oak tree by my window; the perfect escape route or boyfriend entrance. Not that it’s any use to me now.

“I don’t know.” If my parents find out, I’ll be doomed to live the life of an imprisoned princess. But unlike an animated princess, no prince will waste his time rescuing me.

“They won’t even know. I’ll help you sneak back in by midnight. You did say they were night owls, right? They’d never suspect you sneaking out while they’re awake.”

She has a point. Most kids sneak out while their parents sleep. My parents never check on me before they go to bed anymore. I’d bite their heads off if they did. My pulse quickens. This may actually work.

But, wait. Did I want to go to the party?

I scan my blank walls where basketball posters used to hang. My shelves are clean of trophies now too. Nothing remains. My own solitary confinement. The party holds better prospects.

“Alright, I’m in.”

Marissa squeals and her words shift into a higher gear. “Yes! This is so exciting. I’m jealous; I wish my parents were lame so I could sneak out sometimes. I can’t wait! I’ll pick you up at the gas station down the block from your place. Five minutes past ten.”

“I’ll be there.” Lucy, secret agent.

Marissa drops her voice. “And Lucy, don’t be late.”

***

I hate heights.

My hands tremble as I sit on the ledge of the open window, the humidity of the summer night pouring in. The tree limbs look much thinner and the ground much farther away than ever before. My legs dangle and then rest on the tree branch below, my feet exploring its thickness. I grab the branch above and pull up, lifting my weight off the window ledge.

My wrists strain as my toes struggle to guide me along the lower branch to the trunk. Closing my eyes, I steady my breathing, like I’m going to shoot a free throw. I keep my eyes closed, allowing my hands and feet to guide the way.

Snap.

My eyes fly open and I lunge forward, grabbing the trunk as the branch above gives way. I hug the trunk tight, getting scraped on the arm as the branch plunges to the ground. I hold my breath.

There’s no way Mom and Dad missed that.

The living-room window opens and Dad’s head pops out. Light filters out of the window over the grass below. Thankfully, it doesn’t shine up. Dad scans the ground and glances up the tree. I hold completely still, smashing myself against the trunk. Let this puke green dress be enough camouflage, please.

“Yup. Must’ve been that raccoon again, Sarah. There is a nice-sized branch down.” His head disappears inside the window for a moment, then pops back out, surveying the yard. “Nope. You’re right, Sarah, time to buy a trap.”

I let out a sigh of relief. I can’t believe he didn’t see me. He closes the window and the living-room light disappears behind the shade.

I exhale slowly. Holy crap, that was close. My eyes take some time readjusting to the thickening darkness. Testing each branch, I navigate down the tree. My fingers struggle for hold on the flaking bark. I jump, landing hard on my feet. The impact vibrates up my legs. I bite my lip hard, holding in a yelp of pain.

This party better be worth it. But anything’s better than here, right?

CHAPTER THREE

Watson’s enormous brick house is surreal. The landscaping is gorgeous. Mom would spend hours here examining the gardening that frames Watson’s brick mansion. A small lit archway stands before a brick path, bordered with small garden lights. As we walk down the pathway and to the backyard, my mind refocuses on Zach and Justin. The brief exhilaration of sneaking out distracted me from my worthlessness.

What should I say to Zach? Call him out? No, it wouldn’t be worth it. I’ll stick with avoidance. He didn’t want to see me anyway. And Justin? Well, hopefully he’s had enough fun for today.

White-uniformed servers effortlessly maneuver through the packed crowd on the dance floor while DJ Rain spins music in a booth near a brightly lit tiki bar. Pink and green lights highlight the edge of an eclipse pool disguised as a pond with large boulders. People shout at one another over the music.

Marissa doesn’t seem fazed at all. She walks right into the crowd, grabbing a glass of pop off a waiter’s tray, as well as some sushi-roll thing. She looks back at me, urging me to follow. I catch up to her and she hands me her camera. “Are you ready for phase one of project M and J?”
Crap.
It never occurred to me that I would be involved in this scheme.

I follow her over to the tiki bar where she tosses her pop in a bush and asks for a frozen daiquiri. She takes a sip. “This is good.” She leans in, winking at the cute blue-eyed bartender. “It’d be better with some rum though, just like at home. But it’s still good.”

Marissa turns around, flips her blond hair and leans casually against the bar. She scans the crowd. I know she's looking for Justin. My palms grow sweaty, hoping whatever part I have in this plan involves distance.

“Now, Lucy.” She sounds like an elementary-school teacher. “When Justin comes over, I want you to take some photos of us. Pretend you’re me, grabbing some lifestyle moments.” She waits for me to nod before continuing. “I’ll wink at you when I think the shots are right and what I’m looking for. Once you take the pictures, you can go find your Zach and have a nice time.” She pats me on my back before she turns back to the bartender. I feel like a dog. I ignore the pat.

Instead I focus on Justin. I don’t want to see him even more than I don’t want to see Zach. Zach had forgotten but Justin was knowingly cruel. What if he mentions our conversation to Marissa? She’ll be furious I didn’t tell her we talked. I turn the camera back and forth in my hand, playing with the dials. There’s no way he’ll pass up the chance to share.

“Justin, come over here,” Marissa calls. I take a slow, deep breath. “I’ve got something to ask you.” Marissa’s hair stings my cheek as she flips it over her shoulder. She giggles. Her game is on.

“Marissa.” Justin sounds unenthused but she doesn’t seem to notice. Marissa leans in and gives him a long hug. Justin pats her back a bit before distancing himself. He asks the bartender for a bottle of water before turning his attention back to Marissa. “What’s up?”

“What do you think of new uniforms for the basketball team? I’ve got an
in
with Midwest Jersey through my uncle and he told me he has a great new design you’d love.” She lightly brushes his arm. When he looks down at his arm, she kicks her leg back, jamming me in the calf. Photo time. My calf throbs where her stiletto jabbed me. That’ll bruise.

I take a deep breath. I can’t believe I have to face Justin so soon. Time to harness my loathing energy and turn it into fake energy. Spinning around, I pop the camera up to my face and step out in front of them. Justin looks too perfect in a white Batman shirt and dark jeans, hair curling in the humidity. But his teeth do glow stupidly in the black lights. I’ll focus on that.

“Hi, guys.” I say in the most chipper voice I can find. Justin locks eyes with me. I immediately shift my focus to the LED screen. “Do you mind if I take some photos while you talk? It’s for a summer photography project.”

“Oh, sure. Whatever.” Marissa rolls her eyes at Justin. Great, now I'm even lamer. She turns back to him, talking more about new basketball jerseys. Justin lifts his right eyebrow at me. He shrugs, turning back to Marissa as she demands his attention. He seems indifferent.

He doesn’t even care about this afternoon. No remorse.

I click away. Marissa's taught me to stand on my tiptoes to get a downward angle so she doesn’t end up with a double chin. Whenever Marissa winks, I push the button. She leans in, whispering something in his ear. He pulls back gently, laughing. Another wink and I shoot as she turns her body, making it look like Justin is cornering her into the bar. She leans in again briefly for the photo. I have to hand it to Marissa; she's good.

Marissa looks back at me. “So, are you done yet? We’re having a real conversation here.”

“Yup. Thanks for helping me out.”

She waves me off in response. Further proof of my loser status. I cringe. Marissa can be a bit clueless how she treats me sometimes. Once she gets her mind set, she’ll always play the game to come out on top. I should expect it by now. I know she doesn’t mean to make me feel like dirt. But I can handle it. It’s way better than being called a dumpster slut. Marissa’s easy to handle compared to my past.