Never Enough (12 page)

But no. It had nothing to do with me. “Hmm,” I replied, letting this new information settle in.

Deirdre didn’t have many other friends now that Shayleen wasn’t on her side, and I knew what that felt like. People seemed to follow loudmouths like Shayleen, probably afraid to get trampled by them. But I knew Deirdre would attract new friends soon enough and surely would not turn into an outcast like me.

*   *   *

Over dinner that night, I interrupted Mom and Claire gabbing about Claire getting her makeup professionally done for prom, and brought up my renewed friendship with Deirdre. I suspected Claire would be glad. And if she wasn’t, Mom sure would be.

“We’ve been talking quite a bit,” I said.

“Hmm. I don’t remember which one she is.” Claire flipped a page in her magazine and ignored the salad in front of her.

Figured. I knew every single one of Claire’s friends, who they were friends with, who their siblings were, what kind of cars they drove. But Claire, she didn’t know the very small trio of people I’d shared my entire school life with. I took a deep breath and resigned myself that I wasn’t going to impress her anyway.

“You should try the yams,” I said, passing them over to Claire to change the subject. “What did you put on them, Mom?”

Mom started to answer—just butter, salt, and sugar—when Claire interrupted, not even glancing at the bowl in my hands.

“Is she one of the ones who made that big scene yesterday?” Claire asked.

I crinkled my eyebrows. “Who?”

“Deirdre. Your friend.”

Deirdre? A scene?
“I don’t think so.”

“Didn’t you see that big fight in the cafeteria?” Claire flipped through her cell phone, even though she wasn’t supposed to have it at the dinner table. She had yet to take a bite of her plate full of salad, and I wondered why Mom wasn’t on her about it.

“I haven’t been eating in the cafeteria, but I’m sure it wasn’t her.” Marcus and I usually ate our lunches in the backstage area, since it was always deserted and it gave us a chance to brainstorm more set ideas, but I’d been on my own there since he’d been absent.

“Yeah, I was wondering about that. Where do you eat, Loey?”

“Here and there.” I wanted information. “Tell me about the fight.”

Claire moved a tomato from side to side, not answering right away. Mom had also made pasta, but Claire refused it, saying she still felt bloated from lunch. It was obvious that Claire’s diet was getting crazy deficient. Was Mom just going to let her eat—or not eat—whatever she wanted until prom?

“Well, it was so funny”—Claire leaned in toward me conspiratorially—“they walk in, giggling together, and all of a sudden Shayleen slams down her tray and starts yelling that Deirdre’s sleeping around with, like, five guys. The teachers broke it up right away, of course, but not before Shayleen started naming all these guys and saying only a skank would sleep around like that!”

“Claire, that’s enough. Those aren’t nice things to say.” Mom stood up from the table and started to clear the dishes. I was still trying to process Claire’s story. She must have had
it backward. Deirdre had hardly dated since I’d known her. Though I couldn’t exactly picture Deirdre using the word “skank” about Shayleen, either. Even if she was mad.

“I didn’t say them, Mom. I’m just relaying the story. Loey deserves to know. These are her friends.”

Mom shot me an accusing look.

“They are not!” I scowled, wishing I could take back the whole conversation.

“Oh yeah, right,” Claire added. “Marcus is your friend.” She looked down at her salad with a smug smile. I didn’t have a clue what I’d done to her. I mean, every time Josh had been in her room, I’d kept quiet. I hadn’t pried into her secrets. We’d
always
defended each other to our parents.

My fists clenched beneath the table as I fumed, ready to say something to get back at her. But as mad as I was, I’d never done that before, and it just felt wrong. Thankfully Dad tromped through the door, interrupting my rage.

“Hey, honey, I wanted to send a check to the university for your deposit,” he said to Claire. “Is your housing application all filled out?”

Claire had just looked at her phone two seconds ago, but she pulled it out again.

“Claire?” he repeated.

“Oh, yeah. I kind of wanted to talk to you about that, Dad.” Claire switched to her magazine and flipped another
page.
Was she nervous about something?
My anger was edged out by curiosity.

“What’s there to talk about? I thought you said it was due by the fifteenth.”

Claire nodded into her magazine. “Yeah, it is. For this year,” she added after a second.

Dad started to say something, but stopped with half of an unintelligible word out of his mouth. Mom came back from the kitchen and seemed to catch on faster than the rest of us.

“For this year? What are you talking about, Claire?” Her tone was that patronizing, all-business one she usually used on me. “You’re
going
to college this year.”

“Wait. What?” Dad looked between Claire and Mom. My invisibility cloak seemed to be working. “You’re thinking of deferring? Now?”

“No way.” Mom said. “Not a chance.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to go,” Claire said, now looking up at them. “I do. And I will,” she pleaded. She watched Dad until he met her eyes. “It’s just that the University of Wisconsin is so generic, and I don’t even know what I would major in yet. Mrs. Avery thinks I might be able to get into a performing arts school with my grades and experience, and if I work really hard at ballet this year—”

“Mrs. Avery is suggesting that you skip college?” Mom sounded like she was ready to send Claire’s poor ballet teacher
to prison. For life. On another night, I might have come to Claire’s rescue. But not after the whole Deirdre/Marcus conversation. It didn’t matter, Dad took my place.

“I’m sure that’s not what Mrs. Avery meant, Beth,” Dad said. It came so naturally for him to take an opposing side against Mom that I wondered if he’d even thought about what he was agreeing to.

“It’s not,” Claire confirmed, and I could suddenly see it as though the words were painted on a scoreboard above them: Team A = Dad and Claire; Team B = Mom, all on her own.

As expected, Mom put up a fight, but Claire fought her right to the end. Dad cited all sorts of excuses about how another year would give them something to pay on the Visa.

It was settled. Claire would take the year off college to practice her
pliés
. And Mom couldn’t do a thing about it.

On my way to my room that night, I knocked on Claire’s door. She’d been pretty
argumentative with Mom at the table, and I knew from experience that could drain a good chunk of emotional energy. I thought Claire might want to come to my room to talk.

She didn’t answer at first, so I knocked again. Seconds later, our toilet flushed, and I heard the door open from the bathroom into her room.

I knocked again.

“What?” She sounded exasperated, like she’d heard the first two knocks and ignored them.

“It’s just me,” I said.

I waited, but she didn’t tell me to come in or anything. After a few long seconds, she said. “I’m not in the mood, Loann.”

I stood there, stunned. At first I felt hurt—why would she talk to
me
that way? I hadn’t even been part of the whole postponing-college conversation. But then I grew angry. She was getting her way, not to mention, if I was lucky enough to get early acceptance into college, I sure wouldn’t throw it away like it was nothing. Besides that, I was trying to be nice, and Claire thought I was a nuisance?

I stomped to my room and shut my door behind me. We usually leave both bathroom doors open a crack so we each know when it’s not occupied, but Claire had obviously forgotten to crack mine.

The simple mistake made me even angrier.

I marched over and yanked it open, but a weird stench made me push it shut again. Okay, so maybe her stomach was intolerant to this vegetarian thing. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well and her bad attitude had nothing to do with me. I guess she was entitled to have a bad night.

*   *   *

The next day, Marcus returned to school. I couldn’t help grinning like a Cheshire cat when I saw him at our lockers. He smiled weakly back. I picked at my fingernail, immediately feeling insecure. He wasn’t as happy to see me as I was to see him. Not even close.

“I’ve got to get to class early to find out what I missed,” he said without inflection. “But I thought we could meet at the
computer lab at lunchtime to work on our photo-set. Sound good?”

I nodded, trying not to let my disappointment show. I thought we’d have time to catch up and talk about more personal stuff during lunch backstage. So much for that. So much for any private time.

When I arrived at the computer lab two minutes after the lunch bell, Marcus was already at work behind one of the terminals near the teacher’s desk. I sighed. Two other students worked at the back of the room, and didn’t even lift their heads when I arrived.

“Hey.” I plopped down in the chair beside him and splayed the photos out on the desk.

His mouth turned down. I wondered if he really had to rush off this morning. Was he trying to avoid me, or had I inadvertently done something wrong again?

Marcus pointed to a contraption on the other side of him. “Put one facedown in the scanner. I’m going to see what kind of quality I can get.”

I did as he instructed and watched as he scanned the photo, then resized it, and added all sorts of effects. My eyes widened as Marcus’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

“Yeah, I don’t think the caricature look is going to work for
this
play,” I said, forcing a laugh at something he was trying on the screen.

“Hmm, I guess not.” Marcus smiled a little now, and I hoped my laugh had broken the tension. “What about sepia tones on the house photo for the beginning of the play?”

I handed him the picture and he nodded, slipping it into the scanner. When he adjusted the color and then enlarged it, my mouth opened in awe. All this time I’d been thinking a photo-set could be okay, passable. But now . . . I really thought it could be great. My heart thumped with excitement. And from the way Marcus’s fingers paused typing, I suspected his did too.

When I opened my locker after last class, caught in the crack between my door and Marcus’s was a blown up vignette of my squirrel picture. I caught it just before it hit the ground. I’d left all my pictures with Marcus for the afternoon, since he had computer class after lunch. He’d obviously fiddled around with it. The background was now muted tones, with the bright brown squirrel standing out in the middle. I loved it.

I studied it with wide eyes, marveling at not only his talent but also at mine. How could two different people with opposite abilities come up with something so beautiful?

Suddenly Deirdre appeared beside me.

“Hey, Loann. A few of us are going swimming this afternoon. Want to come?”

I blinked. Well, I wasn’t wrong about her finding a new set of friends quickly, but she seriously still wanted to hang out with me?

“Uh, I can’t today,” I said. Even though Marcus and I hadn’t made official plans, I figured now that he was back, we’d for sure go to the Arts Club today. “But thanks,” I added.

“Well, maybe next time.” She fiddled with the edge of her binder. “Hey, cool picture!” She pointed to the squirrel in my hands.

I nodded. She jabbered on. Something about the swimming pool and her new friends, but all I could hear was
Cool picture
resonating again and again in my ears.

I waited around, but Marcus didn’t show at our lockers. He wasn’t at the computer lab, either. Not that I’d have gone swimming with Deirdre and her friends, whom I didn’t know, anyway, but I tried hard to swallow my frustration.

Was Marcus trying to give me a hint—he would work with me on the set, but that’s all he wanted?

I nibbled at my lip, looking around one more time for him.

Shayleen came tromping down the hallway right then. I hated to admit it, but the jeans and short cardigan she wore made her look really good. She was having a great hair day, too. I suddenly felt frumpy.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Shayleen scoffed. “Get stood up for another guy?”

“I’m not—” I stopped myself. I didn’t owe her any explanation, and I knew she was just trying to rile me up. She used to
do it in a good way, like when we had sleepovers at Deirdre’s and Shayleen had us both thinking we’d be marrying the guys we were crushing on.

It’s not like I was scared of Shayleen—well, not in any physical way. But she knew a lot about me. Not just that I’d wanted to kiss Josh Garrison, but lots of things about how insecure I was about boys. I didn’t want to give her any more reason to try to hurt me.

Turning back to my locker, I grabbed my history notebook and shoved it into my backpack, even though I didn’t have history homework.