My brother was a coward. Instead of breaking up with Sonja, Will began avoiding her by staying away from the house as much as possible. He got busier, too busy to return her texts and phone messages. He skipped dinners with the family, and when he came home, announced he was exhausted and went to bed early, locking his door, turning off the light, and shutting Sonja out.
I came out of rehearsals one afternoon and found her message: Why isn’t your brother answering my calls?
After dinner that night, she settled on my bed. “Is Will talking to other girls?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You sure? He seems really distant.”
“School, practice.” I shrugged. “Soccer takes over his life. Just give him space. He’s super stressed because scouts are coming to the tournament games. It has nothing to do with you.”
She glanced toward his room at the end of the hall.
“I can’t wait until you see the costumes,” I told her. “Stevie’s a genius. She made them all from vintage clothing.”
“She does the sewing?”
“And the makeup. She’s really talented.” I wanted her to realize I had my own life and a new set of friends, separate from her. “The play is only two weeks away. I’m excited.”
She was busy scrolling Facebook sites of my brother’s friends for any secrets Will might have. When I sighed out loud, her eyes stayed on her phone even as she insisted, “I’m listening. Stevie’s costumes are great. Stevie’s makeup is great. It’s coming together.” She glanced up. “See? Heard it all.”
She hadn’t heard though. She hadn’t heard the part about me being excited.
“You’re coming opening night, right?” I said. “Only two weeks away.”
“Whichever night your brother wants to go.”
Two nights later, I walked out of rehearsal, surprised to see Will waiting to give me a ride home in the poetry-mobile. As I climbed into the passenger seat, he reached his cell toward me. “Seventeen texts from Sonja in the last two hours. She’s getting on my nerves.” Will stared off across the fields, shaking his head. “It’s getting really awkward. Can you talk to her?”
“Me!”
“You’re her best friend.”
I shook my head. “You need to talk to her.”
After we’d turned on to the street, I asked, “Which performance are you coming to? I need to reserve tickets.”
“Opening night?” He glanced sideways. “Isn’t that when you want us to come?”
His phone was sitting on the seat, and when it rang, Sonja’s number lit up on the screen. “It’s Sonja.”
He shook his head, and I clicked it off.
When we reached the house, he dropped me off at the end of the block. “Tell Mom I’ll be at Gravy’s.”
“Doesn’t help to avoid her,” I told him. “You’re never home anymore. That’s cruel.”
“She needs to be reassured constantly.”
“What did you expect?”
“Not this. It’s exhausting.”
In the kitchen, Mom was chopping parsley. Glancing up, she seemed surprised. “Where’s Will? Didn’t your brother give you a ride home?”
“He went to Gravy’s,” I told her. “Four nights this week he’s been gone.”
“Senioritis,” Mom said, stirring the lentil soup. “Your sister was the same way, remember?”
“I don’t see why I have to be here if he doesn’t.” What I didn’t say is that I couldn’t stand another dinner with Sonja’s chattiness, the way she moderated the conversation, plumbing Mom and Dad for stories about our family.
Mom tossed the sponge in the sink. “Sonja is your friend, Fran.”
I glared at her. “You never liked her.”
“Of course I liked her. I worry for her.”
“You’re on her side now?”
“Are there sides?” Mom searched my face.
At that moment, Ravyn came trotting in with a pair of my underwear in her mouth. I had my period and she had eaten the crotch. She trotted proudly up to my feet and looked at me, her mouth clenched around my undies. I felt entirely humiliated and grabbed the underwear. When I looked up, Mom was holding back laughter. I realized I could laugh, or I could stay angry. I had all the power right then; I could determine the moment—retreat or attack.
Mom wanted me to laugh. A month ago I would’ve laughed. But now my voice trembled. “Don’t you see what Sonja’s doing? She’s taking over.”
Mom looked surprised and reached out to hug me.
I pushed her hug away. “Ali’s right. You’re such a doormat.”
Mom’s eyes flinched, and she reached to slap me but stopped herself just in time. But I had seen it. It stunned us both. Mom had never once raised a hand to any of us. She was very pro-hug. Pro-kiss. Pro-love. She looked shocked. “Oh god, Franny. I’m so sorry.”
I slapped the air. “Now that’s mature!”
“Franny!”
I kept slapping the air, like I was beating it up, as I walked toward the stairs. I didn’t know what had just happened, but I felt powerful, like I’d just shifted who I was in the family. I’d made Mom wonder who I was becoming. I wanted her to wonder. I didn’t want her to just assume I’d always stay the same, the easy one. Because that’s not how I felt anymore. I felt like there was an explosion inside, and eventually it would make its way to the surface.