All of this is true, but really, it’s strictly status quo — nothing to keep me up at night. I’m just hoping a little sympathy will help patch things up. She’s still staring and arching her oh-so-pointy plucked eyebrows, so I know I’ve got to come up with more, and with only one block separating me from the source of my social anxiety disorder, I’ve got to think fast.
“And I don’t know,” I add, doing the big, sad, puppy-eye thing. “I just haven’t been able to shake this mood I’ve been in. I feel like I’m stuck, and nothing helps.”
Having taken Psych I last spring with Rachael, I know that I’ve gotten past the admitting-I-have-a-problem stage. I just need to play into her need to rescue others, and make helping poor little me as painless as possible.
“And I guess I have been spending too much time by myself. But maybe you could come over this weekend and we could do something. Maybe a makeover and some of my mom’s dresses will get me out of this funk. We haven’t done that in ages.” I give her a hopeful look. Her eyes light up, and I smile.
Gotcha!
“Only if you let me wear the green snake-print dress! It’s so bizarre, it’s cool. Where does your mom wear those things to anyway?” she asks, starting toward school. “And why does she need so many of them? I mean, really, twenty-odd dresses with a variety of feathers, fringe, and sequins? Your mom is so channeling some Vegas showgirl or something.”
We head across the school parking lot with a more relaxed click-clack pace. Disaster averted. And really, as much as I’d never be caught out of the house in my mom’s makeup and clothes, it is fun to dress up. I just need to make sure Rachael is out by — I take a quick peek inside my planner where I’ve taped the sunset tables — 6:29. I’ll need to get Rachael to leave a bit before then, because I have no idea when my dearly departed boyfriend starts hanging around the house.
I wonder if Michael would like the black dress with the slit that goes up almost to the top of my thigh. It would be fun to surprise him. Or maybe the blue flapper dress with the fringe might set a lighter tone for our nightly chat.
“Where’s your mom going to be?” Rachael asks.
I feel my cheeks burn. “Oh, uh, just some christening upstate; one of Steve’s relatives. They’re spending the weekend.”
I’m glad Rachael can’t read my mind. What is wrong with me, anyway? It is completely twisted to even contemplate dressing up for Michael. And, as of last night, I’m not even on speaking terms with him.
Paging Dr. Bell.
“Hey, check it out.” Rachael pulls my arm back and points toward the school. “Look who’s back from a lengthy stay at rehab, and look at the chill passing over the fountain crowd!”
I follow Rachael’s finger and see Lisa getting out of her father’s antique Porsche. I’d started to wonder if Lisa was ever coming back, but there she is, gently shutting the door and nervously scanning the front courtyard. It’s weird to see her so tentative, weird to see her taking baby steps across the lot, because Lisa always had this springy bounce to her step.
Her tennis buds and cheerleader friends are perched on their usual spots along the fountain’s edge, but they’re all huddled and whispery. The moment Lisa steps up onto the sidewalk, all but two of them quickly swing their backpacks over their shoulders and scurry en masse up the front steps.
“Oh my God, what are they doing?” I’m totally taken aback. Lisa was a central figure in that group; I can’t believe a stay in rehab would make them shut her out.
“Didn’t you hear?” Rachael hisses, leaning in closer to me. “Lisa is a total pariah now. All the überjocks’ parents have forbidden their star athletes to come in contact with Lisa lest they pick up her nasty coke habit.”
I shake my head. “What do they think, Lisa was snorting all by herself?”
“Doesn’t matter, Lisa was the only one that went to rehab, so they can imagine their kids are clean.”
“Maybe Courtney will come through,” I say, tilting my head toward the fountain.
Lisa walks over to her doubles partner, Courtney, and Courtney’s best friend, Alicia. They appear to be so engrossed in their conversation that they don’t notice Lisa standing right in front of them. My God, they’re sitting in Lisa’s shadow, why can’t they at least acknowledge her presence? My stomach pinches itself into a tight knot. I want to rescue her, but finally Courtney looks up and gets this wide-eyed, surprised look, like she can’t believe it’s Lisa and not a solar eclipse that’s cast her in shadow. She plasters a big smile on her face and jumps up, giving Lisa the “Oh my God, when did you get back?” routine.
I guess she doesn’t want to blow her chance to be Lisa’s partner again, because she sure won’t make it to the state all-star team without her. Alicia barely manages a tight smile, and they walk awkwardly into the school.
Rachael and I follow at a safe distance. Dr. Deluca greets us as we go in and gives us his daily, “Ladies,” with a nod and quick check of our eyes. Doesn’t he know the people who have taken the time to get stoned before school flush their eyes with Visine and use the side entrance by the gym?
The door swings shut behind us. Rachael mumbles something about her Latin teacher and hooks a sharp left toward the language wing. I want to believe she has actual business with her Latin teacher, but I know this is her way of punishing me for the “purple-hair envy” comment.
My stomach turns again and I head to my locker alone, bracing myself for hallway anxiety. I know walking to one’s locker is a relatively simple thing to do. It is, after all, an extremely common activity that everyone does many times a day, everyday. And by the end of the day it doesn’t even bother me that much, but there’s something about that first walk through the halls, knowing people are rating my hair, my clothes, my every move. The buzz is deafening as everyone is giving a fresh check on everyone else. It makes my throat close up. When I’m with Rachael, I’m okay; I can pretend to be like her and not care what anyone thinks. Alone, I freak.
Do I:
A. Focus my eyes on the floor and plow through the halls like I’ve got something so urgent to do that nothing else matters?
B. Take furtive glances ahead and make quick eye contact with random members of the student body, despite the looks I may get in return, because after Sissy Burns stuck her tongue out at me freshman year, I’ve learned some people just don’t like being looked at.
C. Put on the Miss America smile and beam at everyone like I’m totally stoked to be here and see everyone?
Or:
D. None of the above; just walk down the hallway like a normal person, because deep down I know that no one cares that I’m simply walking to my locker?
I decide option A will produce the least amount of adrenaline and start watching shoes go past. I take quick peeks up so I don’t run into any other people keeping their eyes to the ground. As I’m rounding the last corner, I hear footsteps coming up quickly behind me. Two arms link with mine and I am enormously relieved to see Gabby and Janine on either side.
There’s just no getting past having friends to walk down the hallways with; it shows the world that even though you’ve been labeled quiet, or shy, or just plain weird, you’re capable of having relationships with other people, unlike the Marjory Stiles of the world who wander around alone, reduced to mumbling into their hands during lunch period because it’s a better option than talking to the actual lunch being served that day.
“Did Miss Purple Mountains Majesty ditch you?” Gabby asks.
“Yeah.” I laugh, hoping to convince them that I am in no way bothered by her desertion. “Do you think you two could call her? She’s all on my case.”
Gabby whips out her cell phone. “I’ll call for an appointment at the salon so they can strip that heinous color from her hair! She was just approaching normal, and then she comes to school looking like a freakin’ eighties refugee. I guess the Goth garb wasn’t pulling in the stares like it used to, and she had to kick it up a notch.”
Janine pats me
on the shoulder. “If she’s still bent on Monday, I’ll drive you to school so you won’t be alone in the big bad halls.”
“Like I care about that,” I say, pretending not to know what she’s talking about.
Gabby laughs. “You were walking down the hall like a hunchback. For a minute I thought you were Marjory Stiles.”
So much for that air of important business I was hoping to project. “Well, I happen to find high school footwear immensely fascinating.”
“Never mind shoes, we’ve got news,” Gabby says, eyes gleaming.
“Lisa?” I say smugly. I love beating her to the punch. It happens so rarely.
“Damn, who told you?”
“I saw her get dropped off this morning.”
Gabby is clearly disappointed and drops my arm. “Well, did you know that she’s no longer the IT girl?”
“Yep.” I nod. “Saw the fountain crowd royally blow her off just a few minutes ago.”
“Damn!” she says again. “I would’ve stayed back and watched your Quasimodo routine if I’d have known you’d scoop my poop!”
Janine squeezes my arm. “I still love you. And since she’s an old friend of yours, I was thinking we should ask Lisa to hang out with us, or have lunch or something.” Janine drops my other arm as we walk up to our section of peach-colored lockers.
“Nice,” I say. “But you can’t really ask someone who just got out of rehab to hang out with people who spend the majority of their free time getting wasted. Unless, of course, you’re ready to get clean and sober?”
We all laugh and start spinning our locks. Rachael saunters by and leans against her locker, smiling coolly.
“What’s so funny?” she asks.
“Your hair,” Gabby says.
Rachael’s eyes go wide, and some of the kids around us start snickering. Janine snorts and sticks her head into her locker to stifle a laugh.
“I’m just kidding. It looks great. Really.”
Rachael turns to me, and from the nasty look I’m getting, it’s clear Gabby’s not the one she’ll take this out on. She stretches her spine to her full five-foot-nine Amazonian height and gives me a long glare. Me!
“You know, Jordan, I just remembered I have plans for Saturday. Sunday, too.”
She flips her stupid purple hair, twists her lock back and forth, and opens the door, pulling out her trig book and calculator. She slams the door and stalks down the hall.
“Send Barney my love,” Gabby calls after her, cracking up.
Rachael holds her hand behind her back and gives us the finger.
Janine frowns. “Who’s Barney?”
“The big purple dinosaur?” Gabby looks hopeful.
“Enough already! Why do you have to torment her?” I ask, trying to figure out how it is that Rachael thinks any of that scene was my fault — unless she’s still mad about my earlier dig.
“I’ll talk to her at lunch,” Gabby says. “I’ll bet the stash I picked up will soften the heart of the warrior princess. And by the way, when will you be joining us for fun and such? It’s bad enough you ditched the play, the sets totally suck.”
I turn to my locker to grab a book.
“Yeah,” Janine says, “we haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“It’s just that you guys get out of work so late and I’ve been babysitting the twins a lot lately.”
Gabby narrows her eyes. “Those people go out a lot.”
I can tell from her tone that my excuses are ghostly thin after three months.
“Yeah, well, their father’s doing a lot of business entertaining.” This is a total lie. I haven’t watched the twins since Michael’s reappearance, but until I figure out what to do about him, I want to make sure Janine and Gabby don’t think I’m blowing them off. The last thing I need is to have them redirect their attention to me.
Aha! The lightbulb goes off over my head. Is this why Rachael’s so mad, because I’ve never stuck up for her when Gabby is doing her Queen Bee routine? Honestly, Rachael gets enough crap from a large part of the student body. I guess it hurts when your friends are dishing it out, too. And it must also hurt when you know one of your friends is keeping her mouth shut because she wants to fly under the radar.
Ick! I felt much better when I thought I was the victim of an unprovoked attack.
“Well, Mark Menducci is throwing a bash Saturday, and you’re coming!” Janine says. “We even got off work!”
I’m not sure how any of us know Mark, but he has these megaparties and invites the theater group from our school. It’s like a teen version of Pleasure Island from Pinocchio at his house: heated pool, Jacuzzis, video games, pinball machines, pot, coke, kegs, and — most importantly — no parents. I still don’t remember how I got home from the last party. Of course, that was last spring, before Michael came back from the dead and I was still going out and having fun.
I plaster on a smile and force my eyes into an “Oh my God, can’t wait” look. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there! I need a night out!”
What I really need is a good excuse, because there is no way I’m venturing out after sunset with Michael lurking around.
“Good!” Janine says. “And I’ll walk you to class so you don’t have to stare at people’s shoes. Like there are any good ones to look at, anyway.”
“Later, chicks.” Gabby shuts her locker with her hip and heads off in the other direction.
Janine and I round the corner and I see Danny peering into his locker. I wonder if we can sneak by unnoticed.
“Hey, Danny!” Janine hollers. “Look who’s here? Jordan!”
Danny looks our way and I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I plaster on another smile. “Hey,” I mumble, rushing past him.
I think he mumbles something about seeing me in class, but it’s too hard to hear with Janine cackling in my ear.
“What’d you do that for?” I hiss as we pass the next set of lockers.
“The poor guy is pining away for you. I told you he’s in the play — finally someone tall enough to dance with Ashley Hannigan — but it’s so obvious he tried out hoping to see you.”
“I seriously doubt that.” I seriously hope it’s true!
“Well, it’s not too late to help with the sets — they really do suck. I wish you could’ve done the design.”
“Me too, but I’ll try to get Saturday night off for the party,” I lie.
“Danny’s coming,” Janine sings.
“Really?”
“Really! So find a way to be there.”
Janine chatters on, but my mind is racing. Maybe I could go to the party. Mark Menducci lives in Sands Point, forty minutes from my house. Michael will be expecting me to be home. I’ll make sure I’m out of the house long before sunset. Even if he could track me down, he wouldn’t risk showing up and being seen by everyone.
Of course, even if I do hook up with Danny, I’ll still have to deal with Michael.
God! Why did Michael have to come back?
CHAPTER FIVE
I remember everything about July 6th: the smells, the heat, the sound of the birds in the tree. Every detail is scored into my brain because that was the day Michael came back to haunt me.
The air in my room was sticky and hot, and I was trying not to feel pissed that my mom kept “forgetting” to get me a new air conditioner, despite six trips to the mall that week. I mean, Michael had been dead for two days, what right did I have to bitch about the heat?
I heard the AC in my mom’s room humming and thought of heading in there, but decided sweating was better than dealing with her.
As if on cue, she opened my door. “Oh, Jordan, you’ve been moping for two days. You should take this as a sign to move on. It’s not normal for a girl your age to have had only one boyfriend.”
“Ah, so you finally admit you don’t think I’m normal,” I said, hoping for some sort of an apology, or at least some clarification.
My mother just stared, shaking her head. She picked s
ome clothes off the floor and tossed them into my hamper. “I don’t suppose you’ve thought any more about doing something special tomorrow? You could invite some friends over; I could get a cake.”
“Mom!”
“I know! I know! God forbid you should have a birthday party. You’d think it was a crime being the center of attention for a few hours! Couldn’t you at least invite Lisa over? Surely you two can get past your big blowup after all this time? And I, for one, would love to see someone other than Miss Mohawk at the house.”
“Rachael’s growing out her Mohawk. It sort of just sticks out everywhere now.”
My mother shook her head again. “At least you’ve shown some sense and haven’t followed Rachael’s misbegotten footsteps. And I still think you could learn a thing or two from Lisa; she knows what school is for. It’s to get involved, to be a part of something. I would have killed to have your opportunities when I was your age.”
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from telling her the rumor about Lisa. It was tempting, though, if only to see the bug-eyed look she reserves for whatever getup Rachael has on, but it was too damn hot to get into something else with her.
All I could do was hope that sometime soon she’d get over the big “Lisa blowup.” Not that we even had a blowup, but Mom is a born embellisher, and I guess from her perspective that sounded better than what really happened. Lisa liked cheering and sports, big crowds and hair and makeup, and I loathed all of that. She found new friends; I found new friends — the end. But Mom’s convinced Lisa dumped me in some dramatic fashion because I “don’t get what high school is all about.”
I think the real reason she was so bent about the whole Lisa thing is that, unlike me, Lisa actually likes my mother and thinks that being obsessed with clothes and makeup is part of the natural order of things. Hell, Lisa thought I was lucky to have a mom who knew what was in style.