The Implosion of Aggie Winchester (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

THURSDAY, APRIL 16 / 3:32 P.M.

I drove to Sylvia’s house
and parked my car on the street across from her driveway. Her car wasn’t there, and neither was her mom’s. Her house was dark and quiet.

On my way over, I’d texted and called her every five minutes, letting her know where I was and that I was waiting for her. I didn’t care if I had to sit there all night: I was going to talk to Sylvia no matter what it took.

I wanted to know what was going on.

Where r u?
I wanted to text her.

Why r u ignrng me?

R u mad at me?

But I kept my fingers off the keys of my phone. I figured it would be better to not have this conversation anywhere, or any way, but in person.

After a few minutes in the car, I rolled down a window. The sun was sparkling through the new buds on all the trees. I took a deep gulp of air, then cracked open
Catch-22
. It actually wasn’t half bad—nothing like the last book we’d read in class,
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
by James Joyce, which had me about stabbing my eyes out.

I was so engrossed in chapter 31, where a character named Doc Daneeka is running around trying to convince people he’s not dead, I almost didn’t notice when Sylvia pulled into her driveway. It was the slam of the car door that finally jarred me back to reality.

I looked up in time to see Sylvia getting out of the car. She was carrying a box of something, resting it against her stomach.

I bolted out of my seat and up the blacktop. “Hey,” I said, “I’ve been wait—” Beth emerged from the other side of the car. I hadn’t even noticed her.

“What are you doing here?” Beth asked. Her horseface wrinkled with disdain.

“Hey, chill,” Sylvia said to Beth. “If Aggie wants to come over, she can.”

Before I could voice a relieved thanks, Sylvia turned back to me. She shifted the box in her hands. It looked like it was filled with orange paper. “So, why are you here, exactly?”

My chest started to hurt—the same dull ache I’d experienced the day Neil had dumped me. “We need to talk,” I said, ignoring whatever was going on inside my ribs. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“What are you, her babysitter?” Beth asked.

Something in my head exploded. “Can you shut the fuck up for five minutes? I’m not talking to you.”

Beth balled her fist and took a deep breath. I put my weight in my heels and was getting ready to fight her when Sylvia yelled “Hey!” Both Beth and I turned.

“Cut this crap out,” she said. I noticed her eyes were ringed with dark circles that weren’t makeup. “I don’t have the energy for it. Beth, Aggie and I need to talk. Maybe you should just go inside the house.”

Beth trembled with fury, but obediently, without another word, she went inside the small bungalow. Once she’d slammed the door shut behind her, Sylvia rounded on me.

“Seriously, Ag,” she said, “what are you starting all this for?”

“Me?” I asked, squinting at her. “Are you kidding? I just wanted to talk to you.” I tried to get my voice under control. “Didn’t you get my text messages?”

Sylvia pulled her phone out of her pocket. “The stupid thing’s been blowing up because of the prom court thing. I’ve gotten so many calls and texts, I’ve stopped answering.”

Jess’s word from lunch came thundering back to me:
groundswell
. The Tommy Oakwells of St. Davis High were rallying around Sylvia.

Sylvia scrolled through a couple of messages. “Damn, are you trying to stalk me or what?”

I would have laughed except for the fact that my heart felt like it was in my feet. “Sylvia, what is going on? Why haven’t we been talking? What’s happening with the prom?”

Sylvia set down her box and put her hands on her lower back. “It’s only been since Monday that we haven’t talked,” she said. “Seriously, this feels like you’re going all
Single White Female
on me.”

“It just seems like a lot, when we used to talk every day,” I said, suddenly feeling small and stupid. Was I imagining things? Surely not, with Beth Daniels inside Sylvia’s house, where I could bet she was peeking out the windows.

“There’s just some stuff going down right now,” Sylvia said, looking off toward a neighbor’s house. “I can’t tell you about it.”

“What?” I asked. “We tell each other everything. What’s different this time?”

Sylvia shifted her gaze from the house to me. “It’s kind of complicated right now. It might be a bad time for us to hang out, if you know what I mean.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sylvia glanced back at the house. The living room curtain twitched.

“Look, Ag,” Sylvia said, taking a deep breath, “I’ve never,
ever
given a shit about who your mom is. You know that. But right now, it’s probably not the best time for me to be hanging out with the principal’s kid. I just need a little space. That’s all I’m going to say.”

My mom. I was back to being the principal’s bitch, only this time, somehow, it was in relation to Sylvia. The ache in my chest started to throb. “So, what? We’re not friends anymore? Because of my mom?”

Sylvia’s voice was suddenly hard. “Because of a lot of things.”

“What other things?”

“Well, some of the stuff you said about Ryan, for starters.”

“Ryan? What’d I ever say about him?”

“That he won’t stick around for me.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You’re mad at me because I was honest about what I thought of him?”

Sylvia put her hands on her hips but didn’t say anything.

“Okay, come on. Seriously? This is stupid.”

“Oh, so you think it’s stupid that I’m having his kid? Do you think it’s stupid that maybe I’m freaking out a little? I mean, I’m going to be raising a person that’s half him. And you want to go dissing him at every turn.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just—”

“Forget it,” Sylvia interrupted. “You wouldn’t understand.” She picked up her box and started walking toward the house. “Just—let’s talk when prom is over.” But she didn’t even look at me when she said it. She just stepped into the house and closed the door behind her.

I stood in the driveway, dazed, for at least ten seconds before my brain kicked in. Sylvia had dumped me. We weren’t friends anymore. I took a deep breath and was summoning the energy to make my way back to the car when I spotted an orange piece of paper on the ground. I bent over and picked it up.

It was rectangular, with a couple boring straight lines on it. There was no writing, no date, no nothing. I had no idea what it was.

A breeze whipped up and rattled the branches overhead. I dropped the paper, which tumbled away, and walked to the car. The engine roared and the tires squealed when I took off down the street. I waited until I was at least a mile away before I started bawling like a stupid baby.

Chapter Seventeen

SATURDAY, APRIL 18 / 10:25 A.M.

Saturday morning,
bright sunlight streamed into my room, forcing me awake. After peeing and brushing my teeth, I tried not to stare too long at my reflection in the mirror. I hated how I looked without makeup.

When I got downstairs to the kitchen, I stopped. My plans to drown all my feelings about Sylvia in a tower of frozen waffles and at least a gallon of maple syrup were zeroed out at the sight of my mom. She was standing at the counter making pancakes from scratch. She looked up when she heard me. “Good morning,” she said. She was still wearing her pajamas. I glanced at the clock. It was ten thirty.

“Mom, are you okay?” I asked. My mom was never in her pajamas past seven. Ever.

She flicked a couple drops of water onto the griddle. They hissed and danced. “Never better. Why?”

I grabbed a mug and poured myself some coffee. “Just, you know. It’s not really like you to still be in your pajamas.”
Making pancakes. And not working
.

My mom ladled her pancake batter into perfect circles on the griddle. “I decided to sleep in. When I got up, I wanted pancakes. I figured you’d eat a few.”

My stomach rumbled. “Sure. Where’s Dad?”

“He left to get the oil changed in the car and run some errands. It’s just you and me.”

I couldn’t remember the last time my mom and I had been alone in the house together—and in the same room. It actually wasn’t half bad standing in the kitchen with her, both of us still in our pajamas.

“
Sense and Sensibility
is on,” my mom said, placing the first batch of fresh pancakes onto a plate. “I’m recording it on the DVR. You want to watch it with me?”

I wrapped my hands around my mug. “I don’t think so. I hate that British love crap.”

“I know. But this version with Kate Winslet is so wonderful.”

I hesitated. “It’s just not my kind of thing.”

My mom stacked more pancakes onto the plate. My stomach rumbled so loudly, I figured Al heard it down at the hardware store.

“Give the movie ten minutes,” my mom said. “We’ll start it while you eat. If you hate it, you walk away when you’re finished with breakfast. Deal?”

I stared at the pancakes. “Deal.”

An hour later, my mom hit pause on the movie so we could take a bathroom break. I’d made it all the way to the part of the movie where Kate Winslet’s character is in London, sending note after note to Willoughby. She refuses to let herself admit he’s not replying.

“I feel so bad for her,” my mom said, standing and stretching. “She’s so in love.”

“She needs that book
He’s Just Not That Into You
,” I said.

My mom laughed. “Hurry up and do your thing so we can get back to watching.”

When I came back from the bathroom, my mom had cleared the breakfast plates and had two bowls of ice cream out.

“Ice cream?” I asked. “Before noon? Are you kidding?”

I was starting to question whether or not my mom was on some seriously trippy cancer drugs.

“This is fun,” my mom said. “I just want to make the most of it.”

I sat next to her and dug into the ice cream. “So did you ever pine for Dad the way Marianne pines for Willoughby?”

My mom smiled. “Not even close. It was the other way around, really.”

“Yeah?” I’d never heard much dirt on my mom and dad’s premarriage relationship.

“Yes. You know your dad showed up on my doorstep day after day, juggling?”

My spoon clanked against my bowl. “Juggling? For real?”

My mom nodded. “Cross my heart. He was in my advanced economics class and asked me on a date. I said no. So then he said he was going to show up on my porch every night juggling until I said yes.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “How long did you make him juggle?”

My mom wouldn’t look at me. “Thirty days.”

Ice cream nearly went up my nose. “Thirty days? Are you kidding? That’s so long!”

“I know! It’s terrible, isn’t it? But I married him. And we had you. So it all worked out.”

Well. It was nice of her to say that. My mom reached out to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. “You’re such a lovely girl,” she said. “I bet you’d have lots of dates, too, if you’d just—” She seemed to catch herself.

I pulled my head back. “What?”

“Nothing,” my mom said. “You want to get back to the movie?”

“No,” I said. “Tell me. I’d have lots of dates, if I just
what
?”

My mom took a breath. “I was just thinking you look so nice now without all that makeup on. That’s all. And your skin would glow if you wore brighter clothes.”

My mom couldn’t go five minutes without criticizing me. My temper flared. “I thought you were worried about me banging every boy in the junior class. More dates would add to that, wouldn’t it? I mean, since I’m such a slut anyway.”

“Aggie,” my mom said, her voice switching instantly to principal-speak, “that’s not what I meant. I’m trying to
help
you. But you’re always pushing me away.”

“You’re not trying to help me,” I said. “You’re trying to help yourself.”

My mom set her ice cream bowl down so hard I thought it would break. “If I only cared about myself, I’d let you run around looking like one of Satan’s minions and not ever say a word. But, Aggie, be logical. I know this isn’t you. The reasons you have for being tough and Goth—they aren’t valid.”

I clenched my hands so I wouldn’t reach out and throw something against the wall. “Oh, and what reasons would those be?” I asked. “Please. Enlighten me.”

My mom stared at me for a second. “This is clearly a protection strategy. It’s also a way to rebel.”

Her words went deeper than I wanted them to. “Good thing you got a PhD so you could figure that out,” I said. “You think the school will give you an award for being principal
and
mom of the year?”

My mom didn’t even flinch. “Ultimately this strategy will fail you, Aggie. It’s disingenuous to who you really are, and if you’re using it to protect yourself from being hurt, it won’t work. That much I know.”

A wave of pain crashed over me unexpectedly. I fought to keep it from sweeping me away. My mom was right. Since going Goth, I had been hurt—but not by the people I thought could crush me, like Tiffany Holland. Instead, I’d been hurt by the people I loved and trusted. First Neil, now Sylvia.

I looked at my mom and wished I could tell her about Sylvia dumping me. She had been my rock. She was the person who always knew what to do next. Where did I go without her?

“I know how you feel,” my mom said. “I understand what you’re going through. It’s not uncommon for young women your age.”

In the space of a second, I was back to being something out of a textbook.

“Don’t fool yourself,” I snapped. “You think you know me because you studied kids in college or whatever, but I’m not a theory. I’m a person. And you have no clue what’s going on with me. So don’t even pretend.”

I stood up and headed to my room. I thought my mom would try to stop me, but she didn’t. She just stayed there on the couch looking small and wounded. I told myself to be happy I’d rattled her. I told myself I’d won. Except I didn’t feel very victorious when I closed my door and threw myself down on the bed.