Outcast (7 page)

I marked off the minutes until the end of the school day. Being there seemed too much to handle. I needed a Trina break.

“I don’t feel very well. I think I’m going to go home early.”

I barely consumed the fish sticks and instant mashed potatoes on my plate. The first and only bite I took tasted like rubber bands coated with corn flakes. Feeling sick during lunch was never much of a theatrical stretch.

“Again?”

Grace moped pathetically, but it didn’t influence my decision. I picked up my tray, dumped the contents into the trashcan, and headed for the office.

I pretended to call home, receiving permission from my mother. The secretary confirmed the parental approval, and I waited at the front for my ride. I sat on the grass as the cranberry Mercedes pulled up.

“Your mother isn’t going to be too happy with me.”

“She isn’t happy with you anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Aunt P swallowed a mouthful of Beringer White Zinfandel. It was the Macaroni Grill for lunch.

“You know, you are awfully spoiled by me. Next time, I’m taking you to McDonalds. What’s the problem this time?”

I set my fork down. “There’s this boy.”

She raised a curious eyebrow.

“He’s popular.”

“And?” She took a Cosmopolitan sip of her wine.

“Well, you know how it was last year. Why would he be interested in someone like me?”

“Good God!  Break out the violins,” she announced to an invisible third party. “Last year was last year. This year is this year.”

“I don’t know what that means.” I scraped the cheese from one side of my plate to the other.

“It means you don’t exactly look like the pimple-faced girl of yesteryear.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She ignored my sarcasm and thrust ahead. “Although, you could make a little more effort.” Her eyes drifted to my chest.

“A boob job?”

Aunt P did nothing to mask her intolerance. “No, but a little cleavage speaks volumes.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, I think he may already be interested.”

“If he seems interested, he probably is. Men are the simplest creatures on the face of the earth. They don’t bother to mask their feelings like women do. They wear them on their sleeves for everyone to see. It can be so embarrassing.”

For a moment, it seemed as though she traveled back to her past in the time machine of her mind. She quickly recovered with a burst of giddiness.

“I say go for it, babe.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is.”

She looked deeply into her wine, watching the Super 8 film of her past experiences unravel at the bottom of her glass.

“Grace likes him, too.”

“When it comes to relationships, there are often casualties, Noelle. Consider Grace one of them.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t just throw away our friendship.”

“Friendship is overrated.”

There was no use arguing with her.

“Anyway, remember Trina?” I continued.

“How can I forget?”

“Well, she also likes
Chad
—that’s his name.”

“I need to see this kid,” she swirled the wine in her glass. “He must be a real looker.”

“Anyway, if Trina saw us together—”

“It would be the perfect act of revenge.” She polished off her wine and beckoned the server over for another.

I nodded, feeling guilty for even considering such an idea.

“So what’s the problem?”

P seemed so nonchalant about the whole thing. Didn’t she realize this was my life we were talking about? I needed an adult prospective, real insight, a bottle-feeding of advice.

“I’m just so confused. I don’t know what to do.”

“You asked for my input, I gave it, and you knocked it down. What more do you want from me? If you want to get back at this Trina person, then this seems like the perfect way. It can also serve a dual purpose, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know.” I searched my plate for better answers.

“If you’re so against everything I say to you, why don’t you go to your mother for advice? I’m sure she’ll have an entirely different spin on things. If you’re lucky, she’ll send you to a convent.”

Aunt P was right. She listened to me and offered realistic solutions to my problems, and I dismissed them.

“I appreciate all the suggestions. There’s just more to it than that.”

Aunt P suddenly seemed bored with the whole thing, but I continued anyway.

“There’s another guy. Jake. Grace’s older brother.”

Aunt P unleashed a cackle of pleasure, and then downed the remainder of her wine. “Two guys. How Cosmo, Noelle!  You’re less like your mother than I thought.” She leaned forward in true Bette Davis fashion. “Well, now things are interesting. How old?”

“Eighteen.”

She grinned to herself.

“You know, sex with him would be considered statutory rape.”

I choked on my bread and whispered, “Who said anything about sex?”

“Come on, Noelle. This is the twenty-first century. You’ve gone through puberty.”

“I just think he’s cute. That’s all.”

“Mmm hmm. What do you expect from him? Holding hands while you walk through the mall? Teenage boys want sex. There’s no way around it.”

She must have noted the look of shock on my face because she continued. “It’s not as though I’m telling you something you wouldn’t find out for yourself later. I’m just saving you years of trouble and heartache.”

“I just wanted someone to talk to. That’s all.”

“Well, if that’s all you want, that’s all you’ll get. But I’ll just say this: jealously can work wonders when it comes to love.”

She picked up the check and spoke into it. “I know you’re a sensitive person, Noelle. We’ll have to break you of that.” She almost spoke her last sentence as an aside. “But what
Chad
and Grace don’t know won’t hurt them.”

I felt more confused than before my meeting with P.

“Just consider it,” she lightly encouraged. “It’s a simple solution to all of your problems. When you need that additional advice, you know where to find me.” She glanced at her watch. “Better get you home before your mother sends out a search party.”

As she stood to leave, she said, “By the way, I’m taking you to
Chicago
for winter break. Maybe that will cure you of your conscience.”

Chicago
? She didn’t even ask if I already had plans for the break. She simply assumed I would go with her. I wanted to be angry, but it was
Chicago
. How could I be upset with that?

“What about mom?”

“I’ll take care of her.”

When I walked in the door, I was greeted with a scornful look from my mother. I felt sure she knew about my secret rendezvous with Aunt P and my skipping afternoon classes. Story lines raced through my head:
Aunt P dated a German soldier and was helping me with a class project for German class
. Or
Aunt P took me to church and the service ran long; by the time we looked at the clock it was two forty-five
.

“A boy called.”

She stood cross-armed with the message gripped tightly in her hand like a found pregnancy test.

“You know we have specific rules around here. No dating until you’re sixteen. Last time I checked, your birth certificate indicated you’re still fourteen.”

“I’m not dating anyone.”

“Then why does a boy have your phone number?”

“I don’t know. Maybe for sex.” It slipped out. It was Aunt P’s influence. I never would have said it otherwise.

“What did you just say?”

“I was kidding.”

“Go to your room.”

“I said I was kidding.”

“In this house, we do not kid about sex. Go to your room. And don’t bother coming down for dinner. Your father and I will discuss your punishment and notify you later.”

I stood stubbornly, but didn’t move.

“Now!”

I turned toward the stairs, slogging upward. “At least I’m not the one actually having sex.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should talk to Becca.”

I walked up the stairs, not waiting for her response.

As I moped in my bedroom, I hashed over the words of wisdom Aunt P imparted to me. I desperately wanted to get back at Trina, but I didn’t know if I cared to do it at the expense of Grace and
Chad
. They were innocent parties and there was something inherently wrong about playing friends like pawns. Besides, I liked
Chad
. He was nice. Cute. Sweet. I just could not, in any way, fall for him. The problem was, I was afraid I already had.

I decided, for now, to wash away my hatred as though it was writing drawn in beach sand. I pulled out my journal and let my loathing for Trina vomit onto its pages.

Grounded. Excessive, I thought. But that was my mother.

“Noelle,”
Chad
chased me down in the hallway outside of homeroom.

“Hey.” I tried to be elusive.

“Did you get my message?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t call back.”

“I’m grounded. Not allowed to use the phone.” My punishment served as the perfect excuse.

He rushed behind me like a flood of water. “So I suppose you can’t go out this weekend?”

I shook my head. Looking into his café-colored eyes, I wished I could.

Grace bounced over toward us.

“Hi.” It was all for
Chad
; I wasn’t there.

He faintly smiled. Dimples again. 

“Have you met my friend, Grace?”

“Hi.” He immediately returned his full attention to me, barely looking at her. The disappointment registered on Grace’s face.

“Well, when
will
you be available?”

I skirted around the subject, noticing Grace’s startled reaction.

“I’ll let you know. See you at play practice, okay?”

“Sure.”

Uh oh!  Think of something fast.

“Available for what?” Grace immediately probed.

“Help with Geometry. He saw me studying in the theater. I told him I have an A in math.” I wove such intricate lies.

“I don’t remember you studying.”

“It was while you were doing Titania’s makeup.”

“He likes you.”

Time to change the subject.

“I forgot to tell you. My aunt is taking me to
Chicago
over winter break.”

“You’re so lucky,” she moped.

I was pretty sure she was referring to
Chad
, not
Chicago
.

Autumn moved toward winter. I always appreciated the cooling temperatures and the climb toward the holidays because it meant the semester was rapidly drawing to a close.

Rehearsing for the play remained treacherous as usual. Not only were Trina and I fighting over our love, Lysander, in the play, but we seemed to do the same in real life.

Chad
continued to ask me out. I avoided his advances even though I didn’t want to. In fact, I wanted to be close to him, to know what it was like to touch him, to hold his hand. I wanted to spend hours with him, doing homework together and gazing into each others’ eyes. But I couldn’t. It was important to make sure that Grace didn’t suspect anything. So I became an expert in the game of evasion. 

Chad
cornered me in a recess of the theater. I tried to find an escape route like Matt Damon in
The Bourne Identity
. Perhaps a secret corridor would present itself or I could crawl inconspicuously up the curtains. Where was the getaway car when I needed it? No luck. I was now in the spotlight.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not.” Lying was becoming a pastime.

“If you don’t want to go out with me, just say so. But I really want to go out with you.” He touched my arm and it became electrified. God, he was gorgeous. I glimpsed his umber eyes, which were so dreamy when he said the words. I measured the sincerity in them, the honesty spoken from his soft lips. I so wanted to touch them with my own. To say
I do
. It was hard not to throw myself at him or fall totally and completely head over heels in love with him. And I was sure he felt my heart hammering through my skin.

He clung to the silence between my words.

“I do, but…”

“What?” His patient look screamed with unaffectedness.

“But…” Seventh grade crept into my mind. Jerry Searfus, his hands crawling on my skin. Then Grace appearing in the locker room just when I needed her. Telling him to stop, not taking
no
for an answer. Finally, threatening him with those photos that Jake had—the ones she later showed me.

Saying the words ripped me apart. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

In that moment, I really did want to go out with him. Who wouldn’t? Just looking at him made me sigh.

His gaze washed over me like baptismal water, and I considered telling him that my mother wouldn’t let me date, but I didn’t want to sound completely naive. So I told him the truth. “Because Grace likes you.”

“Who’s Grace?”

“My friend.” He still seemed unsure. “The makeup artist?”

“Oh.” Realization dawned. “Oh.” The tone of his voice moved from baritone to tenor.

“Didn’t you tell her that I’m into
you
?”

My heart did backflips. My cheeks flushed. He was into me. The
word
swoon
actually held meaning for me. 

“Does that embarrass you?” His hand moved to meet my own. Cardiac arrest surely was on the horizon.

“No.” My pulse quickened and my face continued to burn. “It’s just that she’d never forgive me.”

“What’s to forgive?” he asked innocently.

That hand on mine. It was so distracting. Every nerve ending sparked. I felt claustrophobic, and my breathing became stifled. I wanted to throw myself at him and be done with it. But I reined my feelings in.

“What is it?” he asked. His fingers rubbed my own like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we’d been doing this for ages.

I wanted to tell him what Grace had done for me, but I couldn’t. No one else knew. It was our secret. Even thinking about it made me feel dirty and disgusting all over again.
Chad
would look at me differently.

“Maybe if you talked to her,” he suggested.

I shook my head. “Would you consider going out with
her
?” I asked. But even as I said it, the thought sickened me. I mean, what was I doing? I wanted him for me. Not for Grace.

“I’m not into her, I’m into you.”

I reluctantly withdrew my hand from his and brushed my hair back nervously. I finally asked, “Why do you want to go out with me anyway? I would’ve thought someone like you would prefer to date someone like…Trina.” I even hated the sound of her name.

The skin between his eyes pinched together as he tried to understand. Wrinkles creased his forehead.

“Why wouldn’t I want to go out with you?” His eyes danced over me, making me feel wanted and beautiful.

I blushed. He made me want to yell out,
I’m just kiddin
g
. The whole thing is a joke!
But I knew I couldn’t betray Grace in that way. Because I owed her. Maybe I always would.

“We can still be friends, right?” I asked even though I knew we couldn’t.

“Yeah.” He only said it as a courtesy. The dimples disappeared into a sullen face, and
Chad
returned to the stage as Lysander. His performance seemed fueled with an intensity that I hadn’t seen before. And I watched, mourning the loss of what could have been.

Thanksgiving Day. A celebration of all the things we have to be thankful for, a day to spend quality time with family members. At least in the fairy tale version.

My mother’s parents came into town from
Orlando
. I was exiled from my bedroom because they were too cheap to stay in a hotel. Since I was the youngest, I was forced to sleep on the living room sofa while they enjoyed the comfort of my childhood bed.

“Go away,” a groggy voice called when I knocked on the door.

“Mom says you need to get up and help with Thanksgiving.” I waited for an angry comeback. Instead, the door opened, and Becca drooped in her pajamas and makeup-free face.

“She’s not going to make us do this again, is she?”

I nodded. This was the only time Becca and I shared camaraderie.

We crawled down the stairs and took orders from the big boss. I peeled potatoes. Becca made banana bread. We occasionally looked at one another, rolling our eyes. It felt like old times because we actually got along with each other. Our dad was nowhere to be found. Our mother told us she sent him out on a number of errands. He was definitely taking his time, possibly taking in a movie.

Grandpa Hitchcock meandered into the kitchen dressed in slacks, a pressed shirt, and a tie.

“You slept in this morning, Dad,” my mother said cheerily.

“No, no. We’ve been up since four-thirty. We didn’t want to disturb anyone.”

“Where’s Mom?”

“She should be down shortly.”

My mother served coffee and sat down with my grandfather. Since my work was done, I thought I would get ready for the day.

I felt like an intruder going into my own bedroom. I opened the door and stepped inside. My grandmother reclined on my bed, watching the Macys Thanksgiving Day parade. Rollers and a net covered her head, but aside from that she had absolutely no clothes on at all. I mean, nothing. I was so shocked that I was unable to move. When she saw me, she pulled my comforter and sheets, the ones I used since I was a little girl, over her nude flesh.

“I thought your grandfather locked the door.”

I shadowed my eyes, spun out the door, and shut it behind me. It must be this way when you stumble upon a crime scene, maybe even worse. I ran to Becca.

“You’re not going to believe this.” I grabbed hold of her and rushed her unwillingly into her room. I closed the door to her bedroom and secured the bathroom entrance on her side.

“I just saw Grandma naked.”

“What? Like in the shower?”

“No.” I squeezed the words out, horrified by them. “Lounging on my bed.”

“Naked?”

I nodded my head.

“You’re lying.” Becca dropped down onto her bed.

“No, I’m not. It was so disgusting, Becca. It hurt my eyes. I mean, what was she doing on my bed without any clothes on?”

“Wake up, Noelle. She and Grandpa probably just had sex.”

“Sex? Old people don’t have sex.”

“Of course they do. And they did it in your bed.” She laughed hysterically.

“That’s gross.” I pushed back the image of my own grandparents engaged in
that
. On my bed.

“At least they’re staying in your room and not mine.” Becca continued to amuse herself by torturing me. I didn’t know how I was going to manage to sleep there again. It would take witchcraft to cleanse my sheets and comforter. Likely, I’d have to burn them.

The morning was the smooth part of the holiday. We sat down to Thanksgiving dinner, the tension among my grandmother and me thicker than the fat floating to the top of the gravy boat. There was a great deal of pointless chit-chat: college game scores, Christmas shopping left to do, the boring details about the receptionist who makes personal calls throughout the day at the hairdresser’s office. Yawn.

I choked down the pieces of dry turkey meat. It kicked its claws into my esophagus, refusing to plunge into the recesses of my stomach. I followed the shot of poultry with a Pepsi
ch
a
s
er.

I caught my Grandma Hitchcock looking at me. She quickly averted her eyes. If she were younger, she would have blushed. Everyone else gobbled forkfuls of food. In the midst of our not-so-pleasant holiday dinner, the doorbell rang. My mother looked at us all in turn.

“You expecting anyone?” she asked the table in general.

We shrugged, waiting for her to get up and answer the door. The bell sounded again. My dad laid his fork down, stood, and moved to the door.

“Forgot to invite your favorite sister-in-law to Thanksgiving dinner?” The voice was clear. It was Aunt P. Everyone stopped eating.

My grandmother turned to my mother. “You didn’t invite her, did you?”

“Of course not.”

Aunt P paraded into the dining area. A shawl fell from her shoulders. She appeared drunk. Personally, I was glad to see her. We needed someone to liven up the mortuary of our home.

“Mother, Father, how are you?”

Both eyed her suspiciously, not answering.

“Aren’t you going to pull up a chair for me, big sis?”

My mother appeared livid, but forced her anger down with a bite of mashed potatoes. She made no effort to accommodate my aunt, so I stood.

“I’ll get it.”

“At least someone has some manners around here.” She scanned the dining room table. “Becca, you look lovely as always.”

“Thanks.” Becca smiled, enamored by all that Aunt P signified.

“What are you doing here, Penelope?” It was my grandmother.

“This is a family occasion. I’m family.”

I set a kitchen chair down. Aunt P winked at me as she took it and pulled up a seat.

“What are you having?
Turkey
, mashed potatoes, corn? How creative!”

“I’m sorry we don’t have any caviar or cooked snails,” my grandfather chimed in. His voice shook with a nervousness that was interwoven with anger. Because of the tremble in his hand, the potatoes and corn see-sawed on his fork.

“How are you, Penelope?” my mother said with manufactured courtesy.

“Just peachy, Joyce.” Her tone burst with mockery.

“I don’t want any trouble here,” my dad said, cautiously forking up his food.

“There won’t be any trouble, Jack. A little birdie told me my parents were in town. I just wanted to come by and say hello. I know you meant to invite me over, Joyce.” She locked eyes with my mother. “It must have just slipped your mind.”

I had leaked the information to Aunt P during our last luncheon. She’d seemed disinterested at the time. I didn’t really think she cared. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that little birdie of yours,” my mother glared at me. “She needs to stay in school or she’ll never learn to leave the nest, if you catch my drift.”

“No matter how much you mask your orders in flowery language, I always catch your drift,” Aunt P retorted. “The real reason I came over—”

“I was wondering when you’d get to that,” my grandfather interrupted.

“The real reason I came over was to let you know that I’m going to
Chicago
over the Christmas season.”

My mother seethed with jealousy. “Good for you.” She had never been to
Chicago
.

“I want to take your daughter with me,” Aunt P continued.

Becca perked up, a smile consuming her face.

“Becca’s not going to
Chicago
with you.”

“I’m not inviting Rebecca.”

My sister wilted in her seat.

“I’m inviting Noelle.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You have some nerve coming into Joyce’s house, on a holiday no less, and asking to whisk her impressionable daughter away to a city of sin.” As if seeing my grandmother nude didn’t leave a worse impression than the
Windy
City
would.