Of All the Stupid Things (9 page)

WITH NASH STILL NOT CALLING ME AND ALL MY FRIENDS doing their own activities, I’m feeling a bit lonely. Even Angela has plans today (which shows how desperate I am for company that I want to hang out with a ten-year-old). It’s too early to start homework and there’s nothing good on TV. The house is very quiet. Maybe a little too quiet. I don’t like it. I don’t feel safe in a quiet house by myself.

I grab Mama’s letters from the shoe box and head out. Instantly I feel better. It’s the empty house that always does it. Too many memories. Too many thoughts about what happened the last time it was this quiet. And the days haven’t gotten too cold, so it’s a shame to stay indoors.

I park on the road and walk through the gates. There are other people there, walking around and visiting family members or friends. I nod to them but don’t speak. I sit down at Mama’s side and start telling her everything that has happened. Some of the things I tell her are in the letters, but I know she would rather hear them directly from me.

I tell her about Nash and how much I think she would like him. I tell her how I know that I came on too strong. I wonder if my breath had been bad even though I had brushed my teeth. I also think he is embarrassed about what happened after the lecture. Then I tell her how I’m afraid that he might think I’m too young for him, even though I don’t feel an age difference when we’re together.

I tell her the stuff that I don’t tell Barbara because she’s too old to understand. Mama listens when I say what’s going on with my friends and how it bothers me that Tara is not staying away from Brent and how Whitney Blaire is leading David on. I talk to her about school and about the colleges I’m starting to look at. She doesn’t judge me when I admit to playing hooky the other week. I ask her if there is any way I can turn back time and at least change that day I missed to an excused absence. Just so it’s not on my record.

I often ask her if there’s a way to turn back time when I visit, even though it’s stupid. I like to think of it as a game we play. An impossible game. Because if I could turn back time, then maybe Mama would still be here.

But she’s not. I have to settle for placing her letters in a hole under the marigolds. Then I cover the letters with dirt for Mama to read.

Tara

MOM GETS HOME JUST AS I’M TAKING THE CHICKEN OUT of the oven. I make room on the counter for the canvas grocery bags she brings in. It’s a tight squeeze with the two of us and Sherman romping around with excitement. Mom gives me a quick hug and then heads upstairs to change out of her work clothes. Sherman trots after her and suddenly there’s a lot more room in the kitchen.

I put away the groceries but leave out the yogurt for the fruit salad. I take the broccoli and carrots out of the steamer and divide them onto two plates. Mom returns later in a paint-covered T-shirt, cutoffs, bare feet, and no bra. Her long auburn hair falls in loose curls. I’ve always wished I looked more like Mom. Instead I’ve got Dad’s thin, straight, dull hair. And his long face and strong thighs. And yet people ask if Mom and I are sisters. They’re probably being polite, because unfortunately there’s no resemblance.

She serves us both some brown rice and chicken. “Good day today?”

“It was all right,” I answer. “School’s the same. And I went to the gym for some weight training.” I tell her about meeting Riley but leave out the part about me staring at her and my obsession with her hair. I don’t know how Mom would react to that. I don’t even know how
I’m
reacting to that. I just mention that Riley is a gymnast and new but doesn’t seem interested in meeting my friends.

Mom cuts a piece of chicken. “It takes a while to get used to things when you’re new. She’s probably just a bit scared and shy.”

I don’t think Riley is shy. She introduced herself to me. She wasn’t the one blushing when our eyes met. But then again, she hadn’t been the one caught staring. I put that thought aside and ask Mom about her day. She sighs and goes on about the usual office complaints and how she feels she can never do anything right. I only half listen. It isn’t that I don’t care; I do and I hate seeing Mom so miserable, but it is pretty much the same thing every night. Mom keeps talking and my thoughts go back to Riley and her hair.

Once I finish dinner, I put down my plate for Sherman to clean and grab a couple bowls for yogurt and fruit salad. Mom is done complaining so I go back to my own subject. “I think I’d like to get to know Riley better. She seems really nice.”

“She probably is and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t.”

“What about Whitney Blaire?”

Mom places her own plate on the floor for Sherman. “You have other friends besides Whitney Blaire and Pinkie. There’s no reason why Riley can’t be one of them.”

“I know that, but…” I scoop the fruit into the bowls.

Mom seems to understand what I can’t say. “Whitney Blaire might never like this girl, but see how it goes. Who knows, the four of you might really get along.” Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand.

“I don’t know,” I say. Whitney Blaire is pretty stubborn. She’s a great friend but a horrible enemy. Although there have been a couple times I’ve seen her change friends and enemies around. “Maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t let Whitney Blaire keep me from getting to know Riley. Thanks, Mom.”

She shrugs and half smiles as if to say that’s what moms are for. “Oh, I completely forgot. I picked up the mail.”

“Is there—?” I start.

“Yes. Something you’ve been waiting for.”

I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until Mom hands me a fat envelope and I let the air out.

I force a smile. “Great, it’s the race information.” I open it up and glance at the marathon booklet stating how the race day will work, ads for equipment, and tips on nutrition and avoiding an injury. It also includes lists of potential charities and how to best approach people for sponsorship. I was hoping the packet would come this week, but I can’t say that I was waiting for it. Not like the letter I really want. It’s been over a month since my seventeenth birthday in September, which means it’s been over a year since I last heard from my dad.

Whitney Blaire

I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. TARA HAS MADE FRIENDS WITH THAT stupid Riley kid. It’s horrible. It’s like Pink and I are no longer good enough for Tara because we’re not hard-core jocks. But really, what does Riley have that we don’t? Nothing. Riley’s not in the Honor Society like Pink and I’m much more fun to be with than her. Riley is just a nobody.

Just yesterday Tara said she couldn’t hang out with Pink and me because she was going to the gym with Riley. What does she see in her? Pink and I, we’re Tara’s real friends. We have history. We were there when her father bailed years ago to Uruguay or Paraguay or something ending in “guay.” We helped her out when she was in crutches for weeks because of a sprained ankle. And we spent hours looking for her that day a few weeks ago when I stupidly mentioned the thing with Brent and Chris. Riley wouldn’t do any of that. I know she wants Brent for herself. She pretends she doesn’t by avoiding him, but I see her watching him and Tara whenever they’re talking. She stares and stares, watching their every move. If Brent touches Tara’s arm, I can see the smoke coming out of Riley’s nose. But when Tara talks to Riley, she’s all smiles. Damn hypocrite.

Then Pink has to go and invite her to eat lunch with us. I almost take my tray somewhere else, but Pink convinces me to stay. “Come on, Whitney Blaire, let’s give her a chance. She’s new and doesn’t know many people. And Tara seems to think she’s nice. Ooh, and look, they have nachos today. I’ll go get us some.”

I set my tray down. “With jalapeños.”

Tara and Riley sit down a couple seconds later. I glare at her and she glares back. I know Tara had to convince her to sit with us too. But I got the better end of the deal. I don’t see nachos on her tray.

Pink comes back with two tubs of nachos. “Sorry, they were out of jalapeños.”

Figures. I take a chip and push it around the sauce. How am I supposed to eat them now? Without the jalapeños, the calories won’t burn away.

“So,” Pink, the damn welcome committee, says, “how are you finding it here? Do you like it?”

“It’s all right,” Riley answers.

“That’s good,” Pink says. She eats one the nachos. No one says anything. Pink offers Riley the tub. Riley takes the biggest one with the most cheese. Greedy pig.

I look at Tara. She’s eating her usual healthy weird shit. And for some reason she’s smiling. I eat a nacho and pretend I’m smiling.

“So,” Pink starts again, “why did you move here?”

Riley unwraps her sandwich. “My parents didn’t like who I was dating.”

“Really? Parents really do that kind of stuff? Move to a whole new place just to keep you away from someone?” Pink asks.

Riley nods. “Mine did. Though they were offered better jobs over here anyway, so I guess that helped the decision.”

“And did it work?” Tara looks at her.

Riley looks back at Tara. “We were going to break up anyway, so yes. But if that wasn’t the case, nothing would keep me from seeing whoever I want.”

I stare at her, just waiting for her to sneak a glance at Brent; she’s practically saying she’ll do anything to get him. But her eyes stay on Tara. Sneaky. There has to be another way I can get her. Then I remember what she didn’t mention at the burger joint.

“Why don’t you tell us about being on TV?” I suggest, thinking now she’ll be embarrassed.

“You were on TV?” Pink gasps. I kick her under the table and she squeaks, which is worse than the gasp because it sounded like excitement. But at least it shut her up.

Riley looks surprised and then shrugs. “It’s not that big a deal. I qualified for the national finals earlier this year and they showed me on the vault. I didn’t win the event, but I guess the national news thought I was competition.”

Liar, stupid liar. Okay, so maybe she was on TV for some silly air-flippy thing, but what about the other stuff? The secret thing she hadn’t wanted to mention to Brent. Or had that just been a stupid act to create mystery and attract attention? That makes it worse.

But I can’t think about it right now. The worse has gotten worse.

David is at the table.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

He looks down at his shoes. “Just wanted to say hi.”

Riley suddenly becomes all smiles and holds out her hand. “Hi, I’m Riley. I’ve seen you around, but I don’t know your name.”

David turns red and smiles like a dork. “It’s all right. I’ve seen you too. How’s it going?”

“Great,” Riley answers as she slowly runs her hands through her hair, which of course is just an excuse to stick out her chest. “Ah, I’m really glad you came by. It’s good to finally meet you.”

My eyes squint to narrow slits and my nose flares. I wonder how easy it would be to hide the evidence if I were to scalp her. But no matter. Even if I’m caught, I have access to the best lawyer in town. And no one messes with my father.

“His name’s David,” Pink says, being her stupid overly friendly self. I kick her again but manage to hit the table instead. I scrunch up my face to keep from screaming. David blushes more and smiles bigger.