Rosie was very pleased with herself as we walked to school on Monday. “My pull-ups were dry again this morning! That’s three mornings in a row.”
“That’s great, Rosie,” I mumbled.
We were walking past Phoebe’s house. “Aren’t we gonna pick her up?” asked Rosie.
“Not today.”
“Daddy called yesterday morning,” Rosie said. “He told me he could still get us plane tickets for March Break. All you need to do is say sorry.”
I didn’t answer.
Once I’d dropped Rosie at kindergarten, I made my way slowly up the stairs. Jean-Paul was at his locker. I stopped at the water fountain and had a drink, trying to focus my thoughts. The Sadie Hawkins Dance was only two nights away. And Phoebe was right: I did want to go with him, no matter how much I denied it.
“Hey, Pamplemousse.”
I jumped up, almost losing a tooth on the fountain.
“How did things go on Saturday night?”
“Terrible,” I confessed. “Dudley’s wife died a few years ago. He was going to visit her at the cemetery.”
He frowned. “That’s awful. I never would have thought of that.”
“Me, neither.”
We didn’t say anything for a moment. And then, in what seemed to be the story of my life, I just blurted it out. “The Sadie Hawkins thingy this Wednesday, I thought – maybe – if you aren’t busy – we could go. Together.”
The words seemed to hang in the air between us.
“Wow,” he said finally. “The thing is … Ashley called me last night and invited me. I thought – I mean, I didn’t think you were going to – I said yes.”
Oh.
“Sorry, Pamplemousse.”
I tried to smile. “Hey, no biggie. I didn’t really want to go, anyway. I hate dances. Oh, is that the time? I’d better run.”
I fled toward the classroom. Oh, well, I thought, at least the day can’t get any worse.
I was so, so wrong.
——
As I neared our class, I heard laughter, which was unusual. Normally there was nothing to laugh about at school on a Monday morning.
A bunch of kids were gathered around our sole computer terminal at the back of the class. Ashley was in the middle, showing them something on the screen.
“Oh my God!” I heard one girl say.
“Ouch,” said Claudia.
Lauren turned away from the computer screen for a moment. Our eyes met. She smirked and tapped Ashley on the shoulder. Ashley turned around.
“Violet, you poor thing!” Ashley said, her voice dripping with false concern. “Have you seen these photos on Facebook? Your mom’s friend Karen posted them on the weekend.”
It felt like I was walking in slow motion as I made my way toward the computer.
I looked at the screen.
The photos were almost a year old. In one, Mom and Karen were in crop-tops, their midriffs showing, drinking shooters. In another, they were drinking more shooters, and two guys had their arms around them. I recognized the guy who had his arm around my mom. It was Carl, the alcoholic.
But the worst photo showed my mom bending over Carl to kiss him. The top of her red thong underwear was clearly visible in her low-cut jeans.
I felt like I was underwater. I could see my classmates’ faces – some laughing, some feeling sorry for me – but I couldn’t hear anything. Jean-Paul stood near the doorway. Phoebe was nowhere to be seen.
I turned back and looked at Ashley. Suddenly I crashed to the surface again and could hear her shrieking with laughter. “You poor thing, Violet! I mean, irregardless of these photos –”
“Regardless,” I said quietly.
“What?”
“It’s regardless. Irregardless doesn’t make sense. It’s a double negative,” I said, louder this time. “Anyone with half a brain knows that.”
Her features hardened. “Irregardless of those photos, Pancake,” she said, her voice like ice, “your mom is a total skank.”
I had never swung a punch before in my life. But I guess there’s a first time for everything.