Maybe the writing thing was a bad idea. Dr. Brasher practically bombards me with questions the next day, and it’s got to be because he spent time on my file. He probably cross-referenced what I wrote against the fact recitation and witness statements in the Court Order. Blech.
"I know you’re eager to get your story out,” he says, “But before we get started I’ve got some pointed questions."
"Okay." I sit on the edge of the chaise lounge, hoping maybe I can answer a few things and get out of here early.
"You told me about Mason, and you said it all started there. I don't really see how meeting him led to-"
"To her dying?"
His jaw drops, and I can tell I've surprised him. I'm young, and yes, my life blows right now until the Court decides how to dispose of things, but I'm not a lame brain. I know the ending, I know what he's asking about. It's just not that simple.
I frown. "I guess I don’t understand why we aren’t talking about the real issue. She’s dead and she’s never coming back, which leaves me where? That’s what you’re supposed to decide. Being in limbo really sucks. Hard."
He holds his hand up in the air and closes his eyes.
I groan. "I thought your job was to get me to talk. I tell you where it started and you say that’s unrelated. I try to get to the point and you act like I kicked a puppy.”
He steeples his fingers again and I want to scream. “Maybe it's better if we keep writing after all. We don't seem to communicate very constructively out loud at the moment. Perhaps this time you can focus on connecting for me how meeting Mason is relevant to your current predicament."
“By ‘my predicament’, do you mean how I basically killed her?”
His eyes widen again. “Yes, I suppose that’s what I’m asking about.” Dr. Brasher stares at me for a moment, and stands up to hand me another yellow notepad.
"Seriously?" I shake my head. "I can do this so much faster on a laptop."
He sighs and presses a button on his phone. Melinda's voice blares at us. "Yes, Dr. Brasher. What can I do for you?"
"I need a laptop in here. Do we have an extra one we can spare?"
A few minutes later, she walks in and plops a huge laptop down in front of me. Maybe shrinks don't get paid very much. I wonder whether those two ever talked about the raise. I glance at Melinda, trying to figure out if she’s happier, whether I helped.
When Dr. Brasher clears his throat, I remember I have work to do. And even a fossilized laptop is an improvement over a yellow pad of paper and a Bic pen. I turn it so that Dr. Brasher can't look over my shoulder, and then I hunch over the keyboard and get started.
I texted Drew a dozen times on Sunday, but unlike Saturday night, she didn’t reply. I called her at least five more, and she never picked up. I wasn’t too worried. We’d had a fight or two in the past ten years, and Drew sulks like a toddler who can’t have her pink sprinkle donut.
On Monday, I had to squelch down some guilty feelings when she didn't come to class, but I texted her and she finally responded.
I’M SICK BUT I’LL BE IN CLASS TOMORROW.
Drew may pitch baby fits, but she had never lied to me before. I believed her.
My concern for Drew mitigated, I kept my word and introduced Mason to his new teachers. They really did all love me, so when I told them how amazing he'd done at the debate tournament, they fell for him right away. I took a make-up Spanish exam during lunch that day and generally got caught up on everything I'd missed on Friday in my other classes.
After school I finished my homework before my mom finished with work. I started to research a few issues with my new debate case a few moments before Mom got home.
“Hey Mom,” I said when she came through the door.
Her furrowed brow told me she had a headache so I dropped my voice.
“Long day?”
She shook her head. “Work was fine. My headache didn’t start until I was almost home.”
“Tylenol?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I took one last week. I’d rather not.”
Mom hated taking any drugs for any reason. Her uncle overdosed on prescription sleeping pills when she was little, so she had a good reason for her reticence.
“Why don’t you head for your room and take a little nap. I’ll make dinner.”
Dinner was way more peaceful when I made it alone anyway. Mom and I are so much alike that we tended to butt heads when left in the same room too long, unless we each had something to do. Sometimes I wished Dad was around, just so I had someone to talk to without being stressed out.
With Mom it was always, "How's school, how are your grades, how are your applications coming?" It felt like the FBI was interviewing me. Really, compared to Hope she should’ve been impressed with whatever grades I cranked out, but I felt like she always thought I could do just a little better. And at some point she’d always say, “When I was your age…”
On that Monday, Mom only napped for a half an hour. When she re-emerged in the kitchen to lend a hand, she was in one of her rare sunny moods. I had started some oven-roasted chicken, but Mom upgraded things into a big production. I loved when she was happy, so I went right along with it. I helped her put all the finishing touches together, like melting butter on top of the rolls, and sautéing the green beans. She and I made cookies too, oatmeal to be healthy and chocolate chip so they still tasted good.
When the door opened and Hope walked in, Mom’s face lit up like a sunrise.
“Sweetheart, welcome home.”
It hurt sometimes, to see Mom’s joy at seeing her, but I guess Hope reminded her of Dad and I knew she missed him. That’s why she got sad so often.
I worried for a minute at dinner, when Hope told us she'd met someone new, but we do get new students pretty often, especially when Dow is about to start a turnaround, which they were. Plus the guy she met was a swimmer and apparently not very smart. He had a huge tattoo that covered his whole back.
I thought about Mason, the orator I knew, enrolled in all honors classes, not mentioning swimming once, and tried to imagine him with a gigantic tattoo. I guess anyone could surprise you with something like that, but I’d seen his dad. I couldn’t imagine Mr. Slacks and Polo Shirt had let his son get a tattoo from shoulder to shoulder. Mason mentioned his mom put him in debate, so it’s not like she was likely to be a tattoo artist or flower child. Hope’s description of this Moby guy just didn't fit. Plus, anyone who liked Hope wouldn’t have even noticed me, much less offered to fill in for a debate tournament. I breathed easier for once, knowing we didn’t run in the same circles.
When I finished with the announcements on Tuesday morning, Mason was sitting in Drew’s seat again. I looked at him in his long sleeved blue shirt and dark jeans and tried again to imagine him with a huge swimming tattoo covering his back. It was ridiculous. I shook my head and forgot about it.
Or I tried.
When I sat down next to him, I might have leaned toward him and inhaled deeply, checking for telltale signs. Hope always smelled faintly of chlorine. All I could smell was his cologne, but he noticed my sniffing.
His nose scrunched up and he tilted his head. "If you smell something weird, it wasn’t me. I swear."
I rolled my eyes. “No, I don’t smell anything.” And that helped me relax.
When he grinned at me, my stomach flopped like a fish out of water. If Drew didn't show up soon, I’d start thinking of her seat as Mason's instead.
I texted her. WHERE ARE YOU?
I turned back to face Mason. "I’m a little worried about Drew. It’s strange she’d miss two days unless she was really sick.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Isn’t that exactly why she’s gone?”
I shrug. “Maybe. She also might be mad at me. For last weekend.”
He frowns. “Crap, is that my fault?”
I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I thought she’d get over it, but if she doesn’t, that’s on me, not you.”
Mason’s frown indicated he didn’t quite believe me. I needed to change the subject. “You getting settled in?” I asked. “What're you up to tonight?"
"Why do you want to know?" He cocked his head sideways. "Got another surprise tournament you need me to go to, this one on a Tuesday?"
"No," I said, "but I thought you might want to come meet my family."
I cringed inwardly at how awkward that sounded. I thought you might want to meet my family? Like we’re adults getting engaged, or something? What’s wrong with me? I needed to fix this. Think brain, think. I need to make this into a joke. Quickly.
“You know,” I said, “Maybe after my mom has given you her blessing, we can go pick out china patterns. I favor French Countryside. How about you?”
He grinned. "I already met your mom you know, and I think she liked me. But now that you mention that, I should come clean. You and I are probably doomed.”
My heart raced and I forced a smile on my face, even though I felt like crying. Doomed? Because he has a huge tattoo and loves my sister? Because he thinks debate is dorky and he shouldn’t be in this class? Or just because he’s one hundred times hotter than me? I told my brain to shut up and forced a smile. “Oh yeah? And why is that?”
Or maybe it was just because I’m so dorky that I ask awkward things like ‘do you want to meet my family?’ Ugh.
He nodded slowly. “The thing is, I favor American Colonial and I don’t just dislike French Countryside. I kind of hate it. I’m not sure there’s any way to get around that kind of fundamental disagreement in taste.”
I rolled my eyes. "French colonial was a test, obviously. No one likes that many flowers. You’re going to have to work way harder before I’d even consider going to pick out china. All I really have planned is a little family trip to get ice cream. My mom loves this place called Jutzy's. It's in Clute, and it's a local hole in the wall. It's like a Mexican store that sells all kind of stuff, but they mix ice cream and fruit in all these weird ways. We go pretty much every Tuesday."
"That sounds fun and I love ice cream, with or without mix-ins. The thing is though, I kind of have to unpack my room. I didn’t get anything done over the weekend, and my mom might kill me if I don’t finish tonight. Debate ate up the first two days, and chores ate up Sunday. Homework destroyed Monday, so."
"I totally get it. I'm sure you have a ton of stuff to do, just having moved here."
The moment the words left my mouth, I’d started to rethink the whole invite anyway. As much as I'd love to bring a gorgeous guy home and impress Hope and Mom, it might be a bad plan. It wasn’t like Mason and I were even dating, much less together. With the rate at which guys fell for my sister, I shouldn't introduce Mason to her until I had him bagged and tagged. Picking out china might even be premature.
"I would totally go if I didn’t think my mom would kill me about the unpacking, or you know. The lack thereof.” He tilted his head sideways. “Although, maybe if I just throw stuff out of boxes really fast, I could get away. When do you usually go?"
"We eat around six, so if you unpack like Barry Allen or something, here's my number." I wrote my number on a piece of paper and slid it over to him. "Text me and I'll get you directions."
"Okay.” He smiled. "I will."
We spent the rest of class looking over a few kritiks I'd been working on that I thought might work with our counterplan. He had a few great suggestions. After class ended, I walked with Mason to Physics and then to History. After that it was technically time for lunch, but I took advantage of Senior open campus to do something I'd been putting off.
I drove out to Drew's house.
I banged on her door. No answer. I banged again, harder this time. "Answer the door, Drew. I'm not going to stop until you do."
"I'm sick," she moaned.
"I'm sick as you," I said. "Of your pathetic excuses. Now open the door, or I'm getting the hide-a-key."
I really didn’t want to fish the key out from under their cobwebby hollow rock. Luckily my threat worked, and she opened the front door just before I went for the key. Her hair was sticking up in odd places in the back, and she had a stain on her Green Day t-shirt. She looked weird without her signature eyeliner, too.
"Wow,” I said. “You look like... like I imagine the inside of Ms. Harris’ brain looks. Too much Knight Fort does not look good on you.”
Drew backed away from the door to let me in and ran one hand through her snarled hair as I walked past her. “Telling me I look awful is rude. I told you I was sick."
“We both know you aren’t.” When Drew’s actually sick, her nose turns bright red and her eyes puff up like dough balls. When she’s spending all day staring at a video screen talking to her weird computer friends, her hair gets ratty and her eyes turn pink and streaky. “You’ve got bloodshot eyes, Drew. I’m not a dummy.”
It took almost a full minute for my eyes to adjust after I walked into the family room. All the blinds were shut and the room looked like a mole hole. Blankets slumped in piles on the floor, and messy plates crusted with food clung to every surface, in some cases nearly defying the laws of physics.
“What in the world? You and your mom are total slobs, but this is next level. Even for you.”
Drew picked up a pair of sneakers and tossed them down the hall toward her room. Like that made a difference. I didn’t roll my eyes, though. She had a right to be mad at me. I hadn’t been very loyal.
"I know you’re mad and I’m so sorry. I really am. I should’ve said that earlier.”
Drew didn’t respond.
“I’m genuinely worried that you’re skipping school and staying up all night playing your game instead of coming to yell at me. It’s not like you.”
Drew shook her head. “I don’t want to yell.”
“I am sorry, but I’m also surprised you’re so mad. You never even liked debate. You whine all the time about how you don’t get it, and you don’t want to talk about or even go over my ideas for my new case." My voice dropped in volume almost to a whisper. “I thought you might be relieved, actually.”
Drew folded her arms over her chest and stuck out her lip. "Debate wasn’t so bad. I complained to remind you I quit band for you."
“Okay, but even you have to admit, you kind of suck at it.”
“Screw you, too.” Crumbs scattered onto the floor when Drew shoved a blanket aside and sank down into the couch.
I couldn’t handle being in her house, not when it looked like that, and she wasn’t saying much. The only way to make Drew talk when she got like this was to wait her out, so I started cleaning. I picked up discarded plates and bowls from all over the family room and stacked them up. I gathered up dirty clothes and piles of shoes and took them to the laundry room. When I returned, Drew’s head rested in her hands.
My heart contracted. Drew had been there for me no matter what. I could get upset at her shortcomings, but I was the one in the wrong here, not her. She deserved more than empty words. She deserved my patience with her forgiveness.
I brushed off the couch and sat next to her. "I'm sorry I said you weren’t good. I was trying to be honest, because we’ve always been straight up with each other. That’s the kind of friendship we’ve always had, and it's a great example of what I love about you. You debated with me for a year and a half just because I needed someone, but you never loved it. I’m not sure if you even really liked it. I’m sorry it hurt your feelings so bad that Mason took your spot. I didn’t think you really wanted it, honest."
I had to stop talking then. If I kept quiet, Drew would finally be forced to say something. She still didn’t meet my eye, so I thought I’d give her some time to process. I crossed to the kitchen and started to empty the dishwasher so I could reload it. I cleared the counter and I was eyeing her crusty countertop when she finally made a sound. I dropped a spoon and turned toward her.
She huffed. "You dumped me like a hot, moldy potato when he showed up."
“I think it’s just hot potato. You drop it because it burns you.”
“You know what I mean.” Her lower lip trembled.
It was almost verbatim what Hope had accused me of doing. I cringed a little inside. I wonder whether my guilty feelings might have made me defensive, because I was a little less Zen than I wish I’d been.
"You were so late,” I said, “that you almost missed the entire tournament. And that wasn’t the first time I spent an hour texting you and praying you’d show." Maybe I was in the wrong, but she was partially to blame.
She stood up and started gathering trash off the floor. "I know, and I apologized every time I was late, but I was late a lot. You should have had faith I’d make it eventually."
“You didn’t always make it at all.” I huffed.
“One time,” Drew said. “One time I missed.”
A cockroach darted out from under a blanket and zigzagged toward me. Drew screeched.
I whacked it with a pot and waved my arms around at the disgusting mess. "What's going on with you? I should’ve come over Sunday when you wouldn't answer the phone. I should’ve come over last night after dinner, but I didn't and I'm sorry. I think we can agree I’ve been the crappiest friend out of the two of us, but I'm here now, and I’m sorry, and I need to know. This is your second day of school to miss when you’re clearly not sick. What's the deal? Is it all because you’re mad at me?"
"I’m fine, okay? The house is just a mess because my mom doesn't have time to clean, and I don't like to. The cleaning lady usually comes every week, but she’s been sick. Her calling to cancel gave me the idea when I didn’t want to go to school."
Drew and her mom always played chicken with the housekeeping, but she was deflecting. "I’m not just asking about the mess. You’ve been online non-stop lately. It’s like you’re forgetting you have real live friends. And what’s with bringing that spoiled rich druggie to the tournament?"
Drew glared at me. “He’s not spoiled rich. His family’s broke, actually.”
“Then how does he drive that shiny, fancy car, and have all that nice stuff? I hear he throws huge parties. With beer, and those aren’t cheap.“
“He earns it, okay?”
“A seventeen year old kid earns that kind of money?” I raised my eyebrows. “He earns enough to drive a Lexus?”
Drew mumbled something.
“I can’t hear you.”
“I said he sells stuff, okay?”
My head almost exploded. “Drugs, you mean he sells drugs?”
“Dude, you need to chill,” Drew said. “Your mom’s made you crazy. You guys act like taking a Tylenol is the gateway to cocaine or something.”
I bit my lip to keep from screaming at her. “My mom’s uncle—“
“I know,” Drew said. “Your mom’s uncle died of an overdose, blah blah blah. Except I’ve been thinking about it, and I doubt it was really her uncle. Someone who mattered to your mom died and it had something to do with drugs, that’s for sure. I don’t think an uncle dying when she was a kid would make her as insane about that as she is. She’s turned you guys into a bunch of loons. Normal people take Tylenol and a lot of people try other stuff too. My mom said she smoked pot when she was in high school and it wasn’t a big deal.”
My jaw dropped. It was like I didn’t even know my own best friend anymore. My throat felt like the dentist had been spraying it with that air blower thing. I forced the words out anyway. “Are you getting pot from him?”
“No, you idiot. I haven’t tried it. I just don’t hate him for doing what he has to do. That’s all.”
“You don’t fault him for selling illegal substances to minors?” My voice sounded shrill. I took a big breath and counted to five. “You think he needs a Lexus? And big parties? Somehow his need for that stuff justifies him getting kids hooked on mind-altering drugs?”
“You need to listen to yourself. You sound like an after school special. And no, I don’t think he should sell cocaine, okay? But I think selling pot to some high school kids is no big deal. It’s legal in Colorado, and that state hasn’t burned down yet.”
I didn’t even know what to say. I stared at her awkwardly.
“Your mom thinks all drugs are bad. But if she would take some stuff for her head, who knows? She might not miss so much work.”
I frowned. “Did your dad say—“
Drew shook her head. “My dad thinks your mom’s great. Maybe too great maybe. But the point is, some people don’t have everything so easy.”
“Excuse me?” I asked. “You think my life is easy?”
“Your mom eats dinner with you every night and she has a solid job. You have a nice house, you’re beautiful, you’re smart, and you have a car to share with your sister. Yeah, I’d say you have things pretty easy.”
“Your mom’s a doctor,” I practically shout. “Your dad is my mom’s boss. You have a nice house, two actually, if you ever spent any time with your dad, and you’re smart. If my life is easy, yours is cake.”
“It’s not about money, you know. All I’m saying is maybe don’t judge people you don’t even know.”
“I do know you, and apparently you think I’m judgmental.” I fumed. “For trying to suggest you might not be making good decisions, like skipping school and hanging out with a drug dealer. But you don’t want to hear that? Well, you know what? I’m sorry I even came here. Maybe I don’t actually know you very well.” I stepped backward, inching toward the door. I needed to get back to campus before lunch ended anyway.
The blood drained from Drew’s face. “Don’t leave. You do matter to me, and we are close.” Her hands balled into fists at her side.
“You aren’t acting like it,” I said. “Why aren’t you talking to me?” I took a step toward her. “What’s really going on?”
"I can’t talk to you about it." She sat down on the edge of the sofa, her hands gripping her knees so tightly her knuckles turned white.
I breathed slowly in and out a few times and forced out the words I thought she needed to hear. “If you’re doing drugs, you can tell me Drew. I’m your friend, no matter what, even if my mom’s a little extreme, okay?”
Her voice was so small when she finally spoke that I wanted to pick her up and hug her. “You may wish you could take that back once you know the truth.”
My heart sank at the thought of Drew going to rehab, or being all emaciated and strung out with track marks like the images Mom showed us of where drug use can lead. The Faces of Meth, one website was called. I shook it off and crouched down in front of her. If Drew needed me to listen, I would. She had to know I loved her, no matter what.
“Are we five again? Because I knew you when you were five, and that’s the kind of dumb crap you said then. I was there for your parents’ divorce. You were there when my mom’s migraines were so bad she couldn’t get out of bed. I was there when your dad had that big-haired girlfriend you hated. You stuck with me through those awful braces and the librarian glasses.”
Drew looked up and met my eyes, hers full to the brim with equal parts unshed tears and heartbreaking uncertainty.
I shook my head. “You were my best friend through all that Drew, and you always will be. If you want me to, I’ll dump Mason as a partner, okay?” My heart broke at the thought of passing up my chances at winning state, but I pushed past it. Some things mattered more. “I really didn’t mean to make you so sad.”
"It’s not about debate," she said. “Or even Mason, not really.”
“Then what’s going on?” I asked. “What did I do?”
She shook her head. “I already said. Not everything is about you.”
“I don’t think everything is about me.” My eyebrow lifted and I wanted to defend myself. Which I realized meant I was making this about me. I spluttered. “Fine, so then what is it?”
“I’m gay, okay?”
My jaw dropped and any thoughts I had shot right out of my brain. Had I misheard her? Did Drew say she was gay? She couldn’t be. I’d known her for years. I’d have known, right?
“I think I might have misunderstood you. It sounded like you said you were gay. Like you like girls, not guys.”
Muscles worked in Drew’s jaw and I realized I’d said the wrong thing.
“I’m sorry. But didn’t we spend the past four years talking about every guy we knew and making jokes about who we liked and who liked us?” My voice lifted at the end, making it a question and I knew that was wrong too. I stood up and balled my hands into such tight fists that my nails dug into my palms.
“Did I stutter?” Drew asked. “I said I’m gay. You heard me right. I’m attracted to other girls. Like me.”
“I don’t know what to say right now,” I said. “I didn’t see this coming.”
“Clearly.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I asked. “Or did you just realize it?” I thought back on all the sleepovers we’d had in the past ten years. I wasn’t sure what to feel about that.
“I don’t know how long I’ve known,” Drew said, “but a while. I kept wanting to tell you, but I didn’t know what you’d think. I didn’t want to lose you as a friend. As my best friend.”
As a best friend? Or as more? My eyes widened. Did Drew like me? I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. “Are you telling me this for a specific reason?”
Drew lifted one eyebrow and met my eyes for the first time since saying she liked girls. “What does that mean?”
I couldn’t possibly say more dumb, wrong stuff. I figured I may as well get it all out there. “Do you like me?”
Drew tilted her head. “Of course I like you, Lacy.”
“I mean like, love me, like me?”
Drew rolls her eyes so hard I worry they’ll get stuck up in her cranial cavity. “Uh, just because I like girls doesn’t mean I’m in love with you.”
Duh. “Then why did you struggle to tell me? I meant what I said earlier. I will love you, no matter what.”
She shook her head. “Okay, now it sounds like you’re saying even if I murder someone and wind up in jail, even if I sell drugs, even if I am a drug addict, even if I, I don’t know, get a face tattoo, you’ll still love me. Except those are all bad things. So you’re lumping being gay in with all that bad stuff. Like you’re such a good person, you’d love me in spite of my being gay. It’s offensive, Lacy.”
I plopped back on the sofa. “I don’t mean it like that, and you know I don’t. I’m sorry I’m saying all the wrong things. And I’m relieved you aren’t in love with me, okay?” I blinked my eyes a few times. “Wait, you aren’t in love with me, but you didn’t want to tell me. . .” I turned toward Drew slowly. “Please, please, please tell me you aren’t in love with Hope.”
Drew belly laughed then, which eased something inside of me.
“Thank goodness,” I said. “So why didn’t you tell me before? And why are you hanging out with Jack?”
Drew sat down next to me and leaned her head against my shoulder. I thought it should feel weird now that I knew she liked girls, but it just felt like Drew. “Jack got into a fight at school after P.E. last month. Punched a kid in the jaw for calling Porter a rude name.”
“And?” I asked.
“The kid called Porter a Fag. I figured I could talk to someone who attacked another kid for making fun of someone for being gay.”
“Jack, the drug dealer, defender of gay rights?” I choked back a snort.
Drew shrugged. “I talked to him about it when he got back from being suspended. He said his sister’s gay and he doesn’t like people who use words like that. He was the first person I told.”
I meant to speak loud and clear, but my words came out as a whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you knew?”
Drew patted my hand. "I kept telling myself that maybe one day you'd wake up and realize I was gay, like you knew I didn’t like debate, like you knew I was never, ever going to wear high waisted jeans or those floral rompers. You knew me better than anyone. Surely you’d see it, and then I wouldn’t have to tell you. I’d set timeframes for myself. Tell her by Halloween, Drew. Tell her by Christmas. Only, when they got close, I got too scared. You’re my best friend in the world, and what if you didn’t like me once you knew? I couldn’t tell anyone else without you knowing. And if you told me it wasn’t okay.” Her voice shook along with her shoulders.
“Drew—“
She sat up. “No, I need to explain. It’s not your fault, and I handled this all wrong. I need to tell you why.”
“Okay,” I said. “Go ahead.”
She licked her chapped lips. “When that stupid, muscle bound thug showed up, and you ditched me for him in like ten seconds, I don’t know. I felt all shaky and weird, and jealous even though I don’t care about you like that. It was like I was being replaced in your life and I hadn’t even told you the truth. I was jealous of him, but not because I wanted to like kiss you or something." Her grimace felt a little unflattering.
“So I’m gross, then?”
She chuckles. “You’re such a girl. No, you’re fine, but what I’m saying is, I overreacted about Mason because I was already worried the truth about me would drive us apart. I can’t lose my best friend.”
“You will never lose me.” I glanced at my watch and realized I was going to be late. “I’ve got to get back Drew, and you need to get your cute gay butt into class tomorrow. No more excuses.”
I stood up to go, and Drew nodded. “I’ll be there.”
One word Drew used earlier got stuck in my head and I couldn’t leave without asking her about it.
"Hey, so thug, really?" She used the word to describe Mason in an offhand way. It was the same word Hope used to describe the guy she liked. The guy she had just met, who we knew couldn’t be the same person. Who had to be someone different because otherwise I would die a little bit inside.
“What?” Drew asked. “What are you talking about?”
"Why did you say Mason was a muscle bound ‘thug’?"
"Are you really asking me about him right now? I don't know, he's enormous. What does it matter?”
"Never mind.” This was not the time for me to grill her about her opinion on Mason, clearly.
“I’ll be honest about this much,” Drew said. “I don’t like him. He’s more like Hope’s kind of guy than yours.”
The words stuck with me like they were jackets from popcorn kernels lodged between my teeth. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t quite eliminate them.
The drive back to school took forever. I felt drained when I walked into Calculus. I liked Mason, more than I'd ever liked anyone, but now with Drew’s revelation and her description of Mason, I didn’t know what to think. I wasn't even sure what Mason wanted, other than to unpack his bedroom, apparently.
He sat right next to me in Calculus, in Drew's seat again. I wondered what would happen tomorrow when Drew returned. I didn't have much to say and I guess Mason noticed. After Calculus but before we parted paths, he said, "Hey is everything okay?"
"Oh, sure. It's fine. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Maybe tonight," he said with a smile. "I'll call you if I can convince my parents that I’ve made enough progress."
I smiled back, but it felt forced. I didn't know what to do about Drew, and I couldn't help thinking that maybe I had dodged a bullet with Mason. What was I thinking, introducing him to Hope? It's been like this since the day she was born. I’m not a moron. I can see myself in the mirror. I'm thin, and I have thick, dark hair. But it's wavy, and sort of unruly. It's usually pulled back into a messy bun because I don't have time to do anything with it. I have light grayish blue eyes, and they're not bad. I have really pale skin that never tans, but I'm relatively attractive.
Until you stand me next to Hope. Then I look like a Midge doll next to Barbie. Like a Kia next to a BMW. Like the moon next to the sun. No one could even see me when she was around.
Eclipsed. That’s the word for what happens when Hope steps into a room I’m in.
She was born with a shock of almost white hair. It frames her face perfectly at all times. Except when she pulled it back into a ponytail, which never got frizzy. Her eyes looked enormous in her flawless face. They're bright, almost indigo, and so big she almost looks like an anime heroine. Despite that impossible coloring, her skin darkens to golden as soon as she steps outside. She walks outside for three minutes and tans to a deep bronze, not kidding.
I haven't even mentioned the important parts. She's stacked. She's got legs that go on for miles, and she's got this toned swimmer's body that leaves boys aged ten to one hundred drooling. She can't remember a grocery list when you send her to the store, but you forget you're annoyed when she smiles, apologizes and hands you a Snickers. Her name fits her pretty well, better than mine does me, but I think my parents missed the mark. She's bright and bubbly and full of light, always happy. They should have named her Joy, or maybe Radiance.
Anyhow, I was actually okay with Mason having plans by the time I got home and finished my homework. I decided not to invite him to anything that involved Hope until he was solidly my boyfriend and couldn't wriggle free. Maybe not even then. It's not that I don't love Hope because I do, but I've just seen too many guys become captivated by her, almost against their will.
Actually that's one thing I could say for Drew now that I knew she, you know, liked girls. She'd known Hope for as long as she’d known me, and she only ever paid attention to me. I think that's why I liked Drew so much in the first place. We went to get ice cream with Drew and her parents once, before they got divorced. I picked mint chocolate chip and Hope picked cotton candy, only when she took a bite, she hated it. She insisted we switch. Drew threw a fit. She said it was totally unfair that I would lose my ice cream because Hope chose poorly. My mom ended up buying Hope another one, and I kept mine.
Later, Drew told me my mom spoiled Hope. It was the first time I’d been able to put into words how I felt about the way Mom treated her.
Drew was the first person I knew who seemed immune to my little sister, like Hope emanated some kind of irresistible hormone and Drew’s nose was broken.
I had just put a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner when Hope came bounding up the stairs on the front porch. "Hey," I yelled through the screen door. "Welcome home."
"Hey to you, too! I’ve got to get ready.” She breezed upstairs to her room. “Be back in a minute.”
I guess that answered my next question. I was going to meet Moby.
I flopped down to read while I waited for my mom to get home and for the pizza to be done. I was re-reading The Scarlett Letter. I had to read it for school the first time and I enjoyed it, but sometimes I reread the classics for fun. If a book was okay the first time around, it’s always way better when I don't have to think about it and analyze it and generally ruin it just for a grade. I was feeling pretty bad for poor Pearl, who no one ever seemed to think about, when the doorbell rang.
I hopped up and walked over to see who it could be. I hoped Mom hadn't ordered a pizza on her way home, or we'd be eating reheated cheese and bread mush for days. I like pizza, but I hate leftovers of any kind. When I opened the door, Mason was standing there.
His jaw dropped when he saw me.
Mine did, too. "Uh, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to text if you could make it."
He shook his head, and opened his mouth. Then he closed it. After a few seconds, he opened it again. "Do- Do you live here?"
"Hey Moby, you found it," Hope called from behind me.
I know, I know. I was an idiot. I’m sure you had already figured it out by this point Dr. Brasher, but I was completely shocked. I felt like someone had slapped me in the face for the second time in one day. I peered around Mason to see a blue Audi parked in our driveway. His dad's car.
He was here for a date, only it wasn't with me. He was here for Hope. Eclipsed again.
"You have a huge tattoo?" I felt like an idiot asking that, but it was the first thing that came to mind, and I always say whatever pops into my head, I guess.
Mason looked at me, his brows drawn together.
"I’m sorry.” Hope blushed as she bounded down the stairs. “I told them about your whale tail."
"No, she didn’t actually.” I stepped back from the door until my legs hit the sofa. "You didn't mention it was a whale tail, but let me guess. It says Moby somewhere near it."
Mason nodded.
"For Moby Dick," I said.
"Language, Lacy," Hope said, making big eyes at me. She turned back to Mason and grinned. “Sorry, she’s usually super polite.”
"Oh Hope, shut up. It's the title of a book by Herman Melville.” I felt sick again. I should’ve faked sick today. I wanted a do over. "Dick is a common nickname for Richard." I sat down on the sofa with a giant whomp. "Now that I think about it, that's probably another reason he got the tattoo. It's funny."
And suddenly I got it. How someone like him could have a huge tattoo. Hope's swimming demigod and my novice debater are the same amazing guy, a modern day warrior poet. And he was here to take my perfect, eye-candy sister out on a date, which is why he told me he needed to pack his room. Obviously a lie. I should probably be flattered he didn’t just tell me he had a date. He’d only make up a fake excuse if part of him wanted to keep me as an option, but of course he didn’t text me. Because what guy in his right mind would cancel a date with Scarlett Johansson for Anna Kendrick?
"Are you hungry?" Hope asked Mason. "Lacy made pizza. It's probably ready by now."
"Actually, I'm feeling kind of lousy," I said, stealing a page from Drew’s playbook, eight hours too late. "I should go pack some things in my room." I arched one eyebrow at Mason.
"What?" Hope said. "Pack for what?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. I probably need to pack for something, though.”
Hope looked at me like I was losing my mind. “But we have ice-cream tonight. Jutzy’s. You have to come."
"I think Moby will enjoy a little one on one time with you." I met Mason's eyes and dared him to say something. He didn't. Coward.
I wasn't going to let him off that easy. "Sorry, Hope. I know you don't like taking the pizza out, but I bet Richard can help you with that. I bet he’s great at taking things out of places, like unpacking boxes, or pulling pizzas out of ovens."
Hope shakes her head. “No, his name is easy. It’s not Richard, it’s MOBY.”
“Right,” I said. “My mistake, sorry Moby.” I met Mason’s eyes and he winced.
“She must really be sick, because she’s so smart usually, I swear. I can barely deal with it.”
I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to my room."
I ducked out before Hope could say anything else. I closed my door a little too hard. My phone buzzed and I looked down at Mom's group text message to me and Hope. STUCK AT WORK LATE. GO WITHOUT ME. SORRY!
I hadn't even thought about it, but Mom met Mason at the tournament. She'd have known Moby was Mason the second she clapped eyes on him, but now it'll fall to Mason to tell Hope himself about the whole mess.
When I thought about it, though, there wasn't much to tell from his end. He knew me and he had classes with me, but what had we done, really? He hadn't kissed me, or even so much as held my hand. He hadn’t asked me out either. I asked him, and he told me he was busy.
Because he had already asked Hope out.
I felt like crying. Instead, I shoved my headphones into my iPod, turned on some angry music and texted Drew. YOU BETTER BE AT SCHOOL TOMORROW.
I SAID I WOULD.
I texted again. ALSO, UPDATE. MASON IS DATING HOPE.
She texted back immediately, just like I knew she would.
I DON’T KNOW IF HE’S A BIGGER JERK OR A BIGGER IDIOT. TOSSUP. SEE YOU TOMORROW.