"Shut up, Charlie," Paul says. "It's late and these girls are in trouble."
"Oh my God," I say, "are we pregnant?"
Everyone laughs. "Not that kind of trouble," Paul says.
"Whew," Ellie says. "That's a relief."
While Paul drives me home, Charlie and I make out in the back seat. He French kisses, he touches my breasts, but when I feel his hand moving up my leg again, I pull away. He sighs and looks at me, his face a blur in the dark. We hold each other tight. "Ooooh, baby," he whispers. We start kissing again. It's like we can't help ourselves.
All too soon Paul stops in front of my house. The porch light is blazing bright, casting the railing's sharp-edged shadow across the yard. My father's shadow stretches down the sidewalk toward the car. He's sitting on the top step, his face hidden by the light behind him.
"Goddamn," Charlie whispers. "We're in trouble now, Long Tall Sally." He gets out first and opens my door. Together we walk up to the house. My father's on his feet now, waiting. I don't need to see his face to know how mad he is.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Cunningham," Charlie says, "for getting Nora home so late." He sounds scared, but he stands there facing Dad.
I hang back, reluctant to get too close to my father. I've been in trouble before for little stuff, but this is the worst thing I've ever done. If he smells beer on me, I'll be grounded until I'm twenty-one. How will I explain my muddy skirt, my wrinkled blouse, my scuffed-up shoes?
"Where the hell have you been?" Dad shouts. A light goes on across the street. He's waking the neighbors. I cringe beside Charlie, speechless with humiliation.
"We were just driving around, sir," he says, "and I got a flat and—"
I hear a car door open. Ellie says, "We're really sorry, Mr. Cunningham. Please don't be mad at Nora."
My parents love Ellie. She's the sort of girl they want me to be friends with—in the Honor Society, already applying to colleges, a good Catholic. What I've done can't be too bad if Ellie did it too.
My mother appears on the porch. She's wearing her old blue chenille bathrobe and she has curlers in her hair.
"Where have you been?" she asks. "It's two thirty in the morning. I've been worried sick." She looks at Ellie, still standing by the car. "Your mother and I have been on the phone all night. You need to go straight home."
"We were about to call the police," Dad adds. "They let that kid go, the one who did it. He could have—"
"We were so scared," Mom interrupts. "How could you be so inconsiderate?"
Charlie's backing away now, still apologizing. Paul says, "I'll take Ellie home right now."
"I don't want to see you around here again," Dad tells Charlie.
I watch Charlie get in the car, a short guy with a crewcut. His suit pants are muddy. His shirt is still untucked in the back. He looks back at me, lifts his hand in a little wave, tries to smile.
"Get inside," my father says to me.
A few more lights are on in the neighboring houses. Billy has his face pressed against the screen door, making a hideous face at me which no one else notices.
"Go back to bed," Mom tells him.
"You woke me up yelling at Nora," he mutters. "I just wanted to know what's going on."
"Bed," Dad shouts. "Now!"
Billy runs up the steps so fast he trips and almost falls. I start to follow him, but I'm not fast enough.
"Where the hell have you been?" Dad asks.
"You look like something the cat dragged in," Mom says. She's taking in my untucked blouse, my uncombed hair, my muddy skirt. Her eyes narrow. She thinks the worst, I can tell. "What have you been doing?"
"Nothing," I say, even though I know she knows exactly what I've been doing. "We were just driving around, you know, talking about stuff, and we stopped at the reservoir and the path down to the water was slippery and I fell, that's all."
"You've been drinking," Mom says.
"No," I whisper.
"Smell her breath, Tom."
Dad leans toward me, sniffs. "Where the hell did you get beer?"
I want to say, "At your favorite liquor store," but instead I say, "Paul and Charlie had some beer in the car. Ellie and me had one, that's all, just one. I didn't even finish mine. I didn't like it. I..." Finally I stop lying and stand there, silent and ashamed.
My parents stare at each other. Suddenly they look tired. And old. It's my fault. I feel so sad and so sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. Sorry for everything I've done and will do that will make them older and tire them out.
"Go to bed," Mom says in a flat voice. "It's late. We'll talk about this in the morning."
I leave them standing at the foot of the steps, sure they're watching me climb the stairs, taking in my muddy skirt and wrinkled blouse, thinking the worst of me. Disappointed in me. Angry. I'm all alone except for my friends.
Mister Death
Wednesday, June 20 2:30 A.M.
HE sees his brother from his bedroom window. It's very late. Where the hell has he been all this time? Who's seen him? Has he spoken to anyone?
He watches him open the front gate and come up the sidewalk. The rain stopped a long time ago, but he can see how muddy and wrinkled his father's suit is, how it hangs on his brother like something a dead man might wear on his way home from the cemetery.
Down the street, Paul's car pulls up in front of Ellie's house. Its headlights sweep across his yard. Luckily his brother is inside already. What if they'd seen the fool?
Ellie's parents rush to the car, both talking at once. Where have you been, we've been so worried, what were you thinking staying out so late, you know Buddy's around here somewhere, your father almost called the police, where's Nora, was she with you, her parents are beside themselves ... Inconsiderate, thoughtless, shocked by your behavior, do I smell beer, have you been drinking...
He smiles, glad Ellie's in trouble. Miss Nice Girl, thinks she's so smart because she's in Honor Society. She's no better than Cheryl, drinking beer, staying out late with Paul. He knows what goes on.
His room is dark, the street lamp casts diagonal lines across his wall. The slanted shadows remind him of black-and-white crime movies, the kind you see on television, cropped and cut up with commercials. Film noir. Dark movies for dark lives. Existential.
Paul drives past the house. Charlie's with him. He hates them both. The way they laugh at everything and everyone—himself included. He's been in class with them, knows them for what they are: fools. Know-nothings. Scoffers. If he has the opportunity, maybe he'll shoot them, too. Ellie and Nora as well.
But not Buddy. He smiles again. Buddy is safe. He needs Buddy. Someone has to blamed. And Buddy is so obvious. Angry, belligerent, stupid. A perfect example of a juvenile delinquent. The type who'd shoot his ex-girlfriend. And all her friends.
The note, though, the quote from E. E. Cummings. Maybe he shouldn't have left it. Buddy sure as hell wouldn't know any poetry. He shrugs. Everyone has secrets, hidden depths. Maybe the police think Buddy's smarter than he looks. Much smarter.
His brother's coming upstairs now. He opens his bedroom door and steps into the hall, scaring him. He probably thought he'd be asleep. Fool.
He pulls him into his room, shuts the door firmly, leans against it. He doesn't say a word, simply stares, knowing the effect his eyes have on his brother.
"Don't be mad," his brother pleads. "Nobody noticed me, I didn't talk to anybody. I stayed well back and watched, that's all."
"Why did you go?" he asks, keeping his voice cold, his face expressionless. "You put us both in danger."
His brother plucks at a loose button on the suit jacket. "I wanted to see her," he whispers, "one more time. Just Bobbi Jo."
"You said you stayed in the back," he says, "so how could you see her?"
"I went to communion and walked past Bobbi Jo like everybody else. They'd cleaned her up, washed off the blood, combed her hair. Her eyes were closed like she was sleeping. She looked peaceful, like she didn't mind being dead, like she accep
ted it. I thought what we did might be okay after all."
His brother starts crying before he's finished speaking. He's so weak. How can they have the same blood?
"Pull yourself together." His voice is as sharp as a gunshot in the quiet room. He shows his contempt, his scorn.
"But then I went to the park," his brother goes on as if he hadn't spoken. "They were there—they were waiting at the tree. They hate me for what I did. You, too. They hate us both. They'll never stop hating us."
Jesus Christ Almighty. He's going to have to do something about his brother.
In Trouble
Wednesday, June 20
Nora
THE next morning, my mother and father and I talk. Or actually they talk. I just nod my head when it's appropriate. Never drink, they tell me, their words running together. Never ride in a car with someone who's been drinking, don't you know how many kids die in car crashes because they were drinking? Stay away from the reservoir, it's lonely and dangerous, kids have drowned there, you don't know who's in those woods. Come home at midnight, that's your curfew.
They also ground me for a week.
I go to my room and sit on my bed, staring at my purple skirt and my pretty blouse lying in a muddy, wrinkled heap on the floor. I kick them under my bed. I'll never wear that outfit again. I'll never drink beer again. Never go the reservoir. Never go to the park. Never take that path through the woods and over the bridge. I'll never see Cheryl, I'll never see Bobbi Jo. Nevernevernever—so many nevers.
I spend the rest of the week talking to Charlie and Ellie on the phone. He's not grounded, of course. Boys never are. He'd come over if my parents would let him but they're still mad at him. Ellie is a prisoner like I am.
When I'm not on the phone, I reread Catcher in the Rye and Member of the Wedding. I watch television, even in the daytime. I get drawn into The Edge of Night. Sometimes I listen to the radio, but most of the songs make me sad because they remind me of doing stuff with Ellie and Cheryl and Bobbi Jo. I get out my watercolors, but I hate everything I paint. I lie awake at night and think about kissing Charlie and wondering what he might have done if I hadn't made him stop. It's hot and horrible and I think my life is ruined. And I'm only sixteen.
Part Six
Doubts and Questions
Repercussions and Departures
Sunday, June 24
Nora
SUNDAY finally comes, the end of my jail sentence. Wearily I put on a pale blue sleeveless dress with a full skirt. It has a little white collar with lace trim. My white pumps look good with it, but they're stuffed in the back of my closet with my purple skirt and blouse, muddy and ruined. I find a pair of navy blue pumps and slip my feet into them. They're a little tight, but that can be my penance. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. For your penance, wear shoes that pinch your toes.
As usual, Dad drops us off at St. John's and heads for the Starlight to meet his brother for a few beers. He's not Catholic, which used to bother me a lot. When I was a kid, I begged him to convert so he could go to heaven with Mom and Billy and me. I believed what the nuns said then. He'd go to hell.
Now I'm not so sure. About that or anything else the nuns and priests say. Or almost anyone, for that matter.
I see Ellie at church. After Mass, Mom stops to talk to Mrs. O'Brien, probably about their wayward daughters, and Ellie and I sit on a bench beneath a statue of St. Francis with a dove on his shoulder. He's my favorite saint—he gave away everything he owned to the poor, and he loved animals. As far as I know, he never preached about hell and damnation.
All around us daylilies bloom, yellow and orange, buzzing with bees, but Ellie looks at me, her face glum.
"My parents are sending me to Boston to spend the summer with Uncle Ed and Aunt Marie," she says. "They're driving me up there tomorrow."
"Is it because of last week?"
"Partly. They were really upset about the beer and staying out late. They're mad at Paul and Charlie. They don't want me hanging out with them."
"Are they mad at me, too?"
Ellie hesitates just long enough for me to be sure they are. "I think it's more like disappointed," she says. "Disappointed in both of us, not just you."
We sit there silently for a minute or two. "The police took Cheryl's diary," she says after a while. "Bobbi Jo's, too."
"Why?" I'm almost too horrified to ask. If anyone read my diary, I'd die of embarrassment. It's full of stupid stuff I wouldn't want other people to know.
"It was in today's paper," she says. "They think maybe one of them might have written something that would shed light on, um, what happened."
I nod. Yes, I can see that. "Will they take our diaries?"
"I hope not. I'm in enough trouble already."
"Yeah, me too."
Billy runs up to us. His face is red with heat and his hair sticks up in funny little spikes. Even Brylcreem can't tame the straw on his head. "Come on, Nora," he says. "Dad's here. Do you want to walk home or something?"
"I'll miss you so much," Ellie tells me.
"I'll miss you, too."
We throw our arms around each other. No Ellie to go places with, no Ellie to talk to or call late at night. My heart is breaking all over again. I need her, she needs me. How will I get through this summer without her?
"I'll write to you every single day," Ellie says.
"Me too," I promise.
"My aunt and uncle are going to Cape Cod for a whole month. It's even better than Ocean City," Ellie says. "Maybe you can come with us."
I hug her again and she gets in her parents' car. I stand at the curb and wave until she's out of sight. Lonely days and weeks stretch ahead. Long, hot summer days with nothing to do and nowhere to go.
That night Charlie calls me. I take the phone in the bathroom and shut the door. My heart beats a little faster. I like his voice in my ear, but I wish we were at the reservoir making out. I feel warm all over thinking about kissing him, his hands on my breasts, his hand on my leg above my knee, creeping up toward—
"Wait till you hear this," he says. "Paul's Uncle Tony owns a pizza carryout place in Ocean City, right on the boardwalk. He's hiring me and Paul to work there all summer. It's like getting a paid vacation."
Something slips inside. He's not going to ask me out—that's not why he's calling. No reservoir. No making out. "Wow," I say, trying to sound enthusiastic. "That's neat, Charlie."
"I'll send you a postcard when we get there and give you my address. Will you write to me?"
"Yeah, sure." I'm picturing all the cute girls he'll sell pizza to and thinking he'll never write to me. But why should I care? He's shorter than I am, and anyway, all we really are is friends who just happened to make out once or twice. No big deal. So why do I have this big lump in my throat? Why do I feel like crying?
"Did you know the cops took Cheryl's and Bobbi Jo's diaries?" he asks.
"Yeah, Ellie told me."
"God," he says, "I hate thinking about cops reading what they wrote. It's an invasion of privacy."
"But if it helps them find the killer," I say, "then—"
"They already know who did it," he says.
I don't say anything. Why start another round of Buddy did it, no he didn't, yes he did.
"I'm sorry you got in trouble last week," Charlie says. "I forgot all about the time."
"Yeah, me too."
There's a little silence and then he says something about the Orioles and the bad season they're having and he hopes they start playing better. No World Series this year. Not a chance. I don't really care about the Orioles. Sports bore me. But I remember the advice column in Seventeen magazine and pretend to be interested.
As usual Billy starts banging on the door, yelling he has to pee. I tell Charlie goodbye and give Billy a dirty look. "Why do you always have to pee when I'm on the phone?"
He makes a face and ducks around me to get in the bathroom.
I go up to my room and sit on my bed and stare at the posters on
my wall. Charlie hates me. He thinks I'm cheap because I let him touch my bare breasts and put his hand under my skirt. That's why he didn't ask me out tonight. He could have. If he'd wanted to see me before he left. But I let him do stuff nice girls never let boys do. I've ruined everything. He'll never be my friend again, he'll never kiss me again. It's all over, everything's all over. I can't stand it.
I grab my old teddy bear and cry into his fur. Ellie's leaving, Charlie's leaving, I'm all alone. There's nobody. Nobody. I don't see how I can keep on living.
After a while, I sit up and blow my nose. I feel so empty my insides hurt. Miserable. I am miserable. Elvis Presley stares at me from his picture on my wall, he's smiling that easy smile of his like he's saying life is good, so good. Beside him, James Dean gazes into the distance at something only he can see, his face tragic. Marlon Brando has a kind of sneer on his face. I think I might throw Elvis in the trash can.
I remember what Charlie said about Cheryl's and Bobbi Jo's diaries and I get my diary from its hiding place in my underwear drawer. I haven't written anything in it since the day before the party at the rec center, but I leaf through it, reading an entry here and there, trying to remember what I was like before everything went wrong.
Jan 10. Saw Don in the hall today. He smiled at me and said "See ya in art class!" He had on a blue shirt that matched his eyes. He's so cute!!!! But I think he's dating Judy Winograd, she's a cheerleader and a snob and I hate her. She's not even all that pretty. Got a D on my chemistry test. I'm really scared Mr. Haskins will flunk me and I'll have to go to summer school. Boy would that ruin my plans to spend every day at the pool, getting tan and learning how to dive.
Feb 3. Went to the basketball game with Ellie. We beat Windsor Mills by twenty points. Don was high scorer. He's so cute!!!!! Sigh. Got a ride to Ellie's with Buddy and Cheryl. She was practically sitting in his lap, don't know how he can drive with her that close. Ellie and I stayed up late talking about them. She thinks they do a lot of heavy petting. Good thing she's not Catholic. I'd be scared to go to Confession if I did what she does. Ellie also thinks Cheryl has her eye on Ralph, one of Don's friends, also on the basketball team. He's not as cute as Don but who is? Sigh. I thought she was in love with Buddy but Ellie says she told her she's getting tired of him, he's too possessive and he's a sex fiend.