Dear Diary,
Confession: I never reread the depressing parts of books. The first time I’ll make myself slog through the wretched childhoods and tragic mishaps, but once I know about the floods and bankruptcy and scarlet fever, I skip straight to the first signs of hope, like when the orphan gets a bit of bread, or the hero and heroine exchange meaningful glances.
I wish there was a way to do that in real life. Flip a few pages and boom! Everything’s better.
M.P.M.
No one knows who you are.
As long as you keep moving, who’s to say you don’t have scores of friends waiting around the corner?
This was my internal monologue as I walked to my locker the next morning. Meanwhile, another voice sang counterpoint:
Everyone else has friends.
The reek of loneliness is rising off you like a noxious cloud.
People are staring.
The internal clamor made it difficult to concentrate on anything else, including the sound of my name. In the time required to pause, play back the tape in my head, and confirm that yes, someone had been calling “Mary,” my brain conjured a vivid fantasy. Anjuli, waiting with a penitent expression. When I turned around, however, it wasn’t my former friend.
“Arden,” the other girl reminded me.
As if I could have forgotten, even without the scarlet locks. It was almost funny that she thought me less likely to remember her than she was to remember me. Not that I was in the mood to laugh.
“Guess what?” she asked, with an air of barely suppressed excitement.
I could only shrug.
“We watched the movie.” Arden held out her phone; with a flick of the finger, the image on screen sprang to life. Figures in ball gowns and filigreed uniforms advanced and retreated, spinning in circles. I spotted Anna and Vronsky right away. She was all in black and he was staring wolfishly at her.
Another tap of the finger and the scene froze. “You were so right. Starts off super-hot, turns into a major downer.” She glanced both ways to be sure no one was listening. “Just like certain guys at this school.”
I smiled faintly, part of me still on tenterhooks. Was that all she’d wanted to say? As she slipped her phone back into a slim vermillion purse, I regretted the dowdiness of my backpack, which until that moment had seemed de rigueur for a high schooler.
“Anyway, we wanted to know what you’re doing for lunch.”
“Lunch?” I parroted, as though I’d never heard the word.
“We were thinking somewhere downtown.” Arden leaned toward me, lowering her voice. “Since we can’t speak freely here.”
“Sure,” I said, feigning nonchalance. One advantage of growing up with three older siblings was that I’d had lots of practice pretending to know what people were talking about.
We ended up at a pocket park between the yarn shop and a Himalayan restaurant. Since Terry and I had packed our lunches, Arden and Lydia grabbed pita wraps to go. Sitting on facing benches in the dappled shade, the humid air lightly perfumed with the scents of cooking oil and spices, I resisted the urge to pinch myself in case the whole thing was a mirage. I’d fully expected to spend this part of the day huddled between shelves in the school library, utterly alone.
“So,” Arden began, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin. “We’ve been thinking. It’s a new year. The perfect time to make some changes.”
I waited for the axe to fall. Actually, Mary, we’ve decided you’re an idiot, who knows nothing. What were the odds of two lunchtime rejections in a row? I wasn’t sure why they’d felt it necessary to invite me here to sever a connection that was tenuous at best, but at least they’d had the courtesy not to dump me in front of the entire school.
“This is a pivotal moment,” Arden continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “Do we want to lead totally superficial lives? No way. We have to stop accepting everything at face value, like we did with Alex Ritter. ‘Oh, he’s the most crushed-on guy at this school since Joe Lefort graduated, let’s just fall down and worship him.’ Or like, ‘Let’s keep eating lunch at this generic popular table because everyone wants to sit there, even though it’s super crowded.’”
“And loud,” put in Terry.
“Extremely,” Arden agreed. “It’s time to start living more intentionally, making conscious choices so we can manifest our own future—” She broke off at Lydia’s forceful throat-clearing.
“The thing you need to know about Arden is that she reads a lot of those ‘hey loser, fix your life’ books,” Lydia informed me, flicking one of her long blond braids over her shoulder. “How to revolutionize your existence in five minutes. Step one, buy this book. Step two, check out my line of yoga mats and water bottles. That kind of thing.”
“Excuse me,” said a clearly affronted Arden. “Some of us didn’t plan our entire career at the age of seven. We’re still searching.”
Lydia gestured at me with her can of sparkling water. “I’m just explaining to Mary what she’s getting into.”
I wasn’t sure what my face was doing, but my shoulders might as well have been carved from a block of stone.
“It’s nothing bad,” Arden hastened to assure me. She took a deep breath before releasing a rush of words: “I hope you won’t be offended, but I have a feeling you might be our good luck charm?”
“No,” I replied, after mastering my surprise. “That’s not offensive.” I could think of much worse things to be called.
“Oh, good.” Arden shifted forward on the bench, clearly relieved to have that behind us. “Because I was thinking about yesterday, and how close we came to disaster. I mean, I was ready to push Terry right into you-know-who’s arms. The only thing that saved us was you.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. I had no idea how to respond. Fortunately, Arden wasn’t finished.
“What kind of person does something like that?” she asked. “Stepping up to help people.”
I shrugged, hoping the answer wasn’t a busybody.
“The kind of person you want to have in your corner. A quality person.” Arden lifted her brows in a significant manner. “If you get what I’m saying.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again. I did not, in fact, get it.
“Am I coming on too strong?” Arden glanced from my face to Lydia’s. “I don’t want to smother you, Mary, so tell me if this is too much too soon. I like things to be super clear, so I’m just putting it all out there.”
“She wants you to be our fwend,” Lydia baby-talked.
“Sorry, did I not say that?” Arden shook her head, the sun bringing out glints of magenta in her hair. “It’s just, you have the kind of energy we want in our lives. I like to be around people I can learn from, who are on an upward journey. Trying to figure out what it all means.”
“Getting a little woo-woo,” Lydia murmured.
“Okay.” Arden pressed her palms together. “Bottom line. I think we’d be good together. The four of us.” She looked hopefully in my direction.
I swallowed hard. “That sounds really good to me.” This may have been the understatement of the century.
“Fantastic!” Arden blew out a long breath. “Whew. I am sweating right now. That was like asking somebody out, times ten.” She fanned her face with the paper bag from her lunch. Terry passed her an extra napkin.
“So.” Lydia played with her necklace as she considered me. “Old books. That’s your fandom?”
“Yes.” It would have been silly to pretend otherwise.
“And is there a lot of death?” Terry asked, dark eyes eager.
“See, I pictured them being more about relationships,” Arden put in. “Like love stories, only messed up.”
I screwed the cap back on my water bottle while I thought it over. “It’s all that, but other stuff too. Like power, and who has it and who doesn’t, and how oppressive society can be with its rules and restrictions, especially for women. Class conflict. Being judged by appearances. How one mistake can ruin your life.”
“Pretty much the story of our lives, am I right?” Arden poked Lydia in the shoulder.
Lydia’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t know how excited I can get about a time that was basically, Men Control Everything, They Do What They Want. Oh wait, make that White Men. Even more than now. It’s like, ‘Yay, let’s be more oppressed!’ No offense,” she added, glancing at me.
“Actually, a lot of them are women’s stories, written by women.” I tried not to sound like I was disagreeing with Lydia, who was by far the most intimidating of the three. “They’re the heroines. And even when they get shafted by society, the books make you see how tragic that is, because they have these rich inner lives. It gives them a voice.”
“Exactly!” Arden pointed a potato chip at me. “Maybe they couldn’t fix all their problems, because patriarchy, but we can. It’s about taking control of your destiny. We can learn from the past. ‘Heads-up, don’t get owned.’”
“That’s how I think about it.” My heart raced. Was I courting public ridicule all over again by talking about these things? “I don’t want to be a victim, or a villain, so I try not to make any of the mistakes I already know about.”
“Or let your friends make them,” Arden added, with a significant look at Terry. “Like dating the wrong people.”
“There are plenty of those,” I agreed.
Arden’s eyes widened. “At MHS?”
“In books. But maybe also at our school. I don’t really know anyone else, so it’s hard to say.”
“But we do. Know people, I mean. Or people who know people.” Arden flung out a hand. “Wait. I’m having a brain wave. That should totally be our goal, don’t you think, Lyds?”
Lydia squinted at her. “Having brain waves?”
“To show Mary the ropes,” Arden corrected. “See the sights, meet new people, try all the things they didn’t have at her old school. Give her the complete Millville High experience.”
“What about Terry?” Lydia asked.
“Terry’s new, but not new new. She’s coming from a different school, but it’s like Mary’s from a different century.” She offered me a quick smile. “In the best way possible.”
“Uh-huh,” said Lydia, who did not seem to find this analogy as pleasing as I did.
“I have a really good feeling about this,” Arden assured her.
“You have feelings about a lot of things.”
“Yes, I do, Robotica. But this one’s bigtime. And you know how much I like having clearly defined goals.”
“Arden’s mother runs an event business,” Lydia informed me. “The urge to plan is genetic.”
A fluttery feeling migrated from my stomach to my throat. “It sounds almost like a season.”
“I guess we could make it a fall thing.” Arden’s furrowed brow suggested this was a significant scaling back of her plans.
“Not that kind of season,” I said. “There used to be a tradition where a young woman would make her debut, usually at a ball.”
“Like a debut-tante,” Arden put in.
“Exactly. After that she’d officially be ‘out.’”
Terry’s mouth opened in an O of surprise. “Out as in—?”
“Letting down her skirts, changing her hairstyle, going to grown-up social events. Once you made your debut, you were eligible for courtship, so your chaperone would plan a ‘season’ to introduce you to everyone, mostly in hopes of finding you a husband.”
“So pretty much like high school,” Arden said.
Lydia raised a hand, index finger extended. “Except for the teen bride part.”
“Obviously,” Arden retorted, rolling her eyes. “That’s just how they did it back in the day. They were probably in a hurry to lock it down before they lost their teeth. We can focus on other things. Personal growth. Fixing your skirts, like Mary said. Which I totally love, by the way. It feels”—she cupped her hand as if summoning the right word—“classy.”
Lydia stood and began gathering her things. “You know what’s not classy? Pit stains. We better start walking so I don’t sweat all over myself.”
“I can’t wait until Thursday,” Arden sighed as we began the return journey. She must have seen the consternation on my face. “It’s my birthday. Sweet sixteen. And I think we all know what that means.”
“Limousines and a DJ?” Lydia teased. “A sheet cake with your face on it? Renting out a hotel ballroom?”
“Yeah, no. Great-Aunt Aggie’s birthday is the same day, so we’re going to her house for dinner. It’s a whole thing. But on Friday I get my license.” She waggled her brows. “Just in time for the party at Kaitlynn’s.”
Lydia pinched the pink fabric of her T-shirt away from her chest, fanning it for air flow. “So we’re going?”
“I think we should. It’s the first big event of the school year, and everyone will be there. What better way to kick off the season?”
There was a beat of silence before Lydia spoke. “What’s with the TV announcer voice?”
“I’m in my feelings, okay? This is going to be epic.”
“It’s not going to be that epic,” Lydia tossed over her shoulder, to where Terry and I were walking side by side. “My curfew is eleven.”
Arden shushed her, thumb and fingers clamping together like a sock puppet. “Don’t spoil the moment.”