“Me?” I ask, shocked. “I only have my learner’s permit.”
Frances digs in her shorts pocket and hands me a car key. No, not a car key. A truck key. Frances has a blue pickup truck that is currently parked in our driveway.
I’m looking at the truck key and looking at Frances and trying to figure out what the hell to do when she says, “Please. It’s really hurting. I’d have you call my boyfriend, but he’s bartending at a July Fourth party and probably wouldn’t hear his phone.”
Her lips are pale, and there are tiny beads of sweat on her forehead. I lean over and hoist her up. She slings one arm around my shoulder, and we slowly make our way across the lawn. She’s hopping on one foot and wincing and clutching her rib cage with her free hand. Even though she’s sweaty, her body feels cold. After I help her into the passenger seat, I pull the seat belt over her, careful not to touch her ribs. Before I get into the driver’s seat I run into the house and grab my phone, a few ice packs from the freezer, and the throw blanket off the couch, which I drape over her.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
As I climb into the driver’s seat, I slide the seat forward, tweak the mirrors, and turn the ignition. The truck is facing toward the house. I try not to think about being so high up or how I’ve never driven a truck or how I have no natural driving instincts. I shift into drive, reverse, and drive as I manage a three-point turn and then make it down the driveway and out onto the street.
“Do you know how to get to the hospital?” Frances asks. “Like, in New Milford?”
New Milford. Hometown of my dreaded driver’s ed class.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve seen it.”
I’m not saying it’s the best-ever drive to the hospital, but I stay in my lane and I stop at intersections and I avoid oncoming cars and I manage to ease my foot gingerly onto the gas and brakes so I don’t hurt Frances. Mostly she’s quiet in the passenger seat. Every now and then she rocks back and forth and moans and I tell her it’s going to be okay, that we’re almost there.
Twenty minutes later, I pull up to the entryway leading to the emergency room. I leave Frances in the passenger seat while I run in and ask for help. A few hospital workers rush out with a stretcher and lift her onto it. I follow her inside and ask her for her boyfriend’s number. Luckily there’s a phone signal here, and after a few tries, he finally answers. I explain who I am and what happened. He says he’ll get there as soon as he can. Since some nurses are hovering around Frances, I go outside and park the pickup truck. And then, finally, as I’m walking back across the parking lot, I call Dad and tell him where I am.
20
That afternoon, my parents and I are sitting on the back porch drinking unsweetened iced tea and eating cherries. They’re marveling about how I drove Frances to the emergency room.
“It’s amazing,” Dad says, spitting a cherry pit into a paper towel. “I just talked to Green Arbor, and they asked what they can do to thank you.”
I overheard Dad on the phone with the tree-pruning company. I think he was reviewing the liability waiver to make sure Frances wouldn’t sue us for getting injured on our property, and then I heard him telling Mom that she can’t. That was good news. The last thing we need is another lawsuit.
“Green Arbor is sending you a gift certificate,” Dad says. “I said you love to read, so they’re getting you one from Words on Pages.”
Mom nods. “You were cool under pressure. Especially the way you gave her a blanket. People go into shock with that kind of pain. A broken ankle and two broken ribs. How awful.”
“How did you even know how to drive a pickup?” Dad asks. “We’ve never talked about adjusting to different-sized vehicles.”
I tip my straw hat so it’s shading my eyes from the sun. “I did what I had to do.”
“That’s my girl,” Dad says.
“Thanks,” I say, squeezing some droplets of lemon into my iced tea. I have to admit I’m soaking up the praise. Even Frances’s boyfriend was impressed that I drove her to the hospital with only a learner’s permit. When we met him at the emergency room, he went on and on to my parents about how her truck is not the easiest vehicle to handle.
Byron comes out to the porch and grabs a few cherries. It’s the first thing I’ve seen him eat since Thursday. His sunken cheeks are coated with a few days’ worth of stubble.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t call an ambulance,” he says. “Wouldn’t that have made more sense?”
“She was in a lot of pain,” I say. “She asked me to get her to the hospital quickly.”
“I just can’t picture it.” Byron coughs a few times. “I can’t picture Virginia driving someone to the hospital.”
He says it like he wants Mom and Dad to agree that, yes, it’s hard to picture me doing something strong and bold and brave. But they ignore his commentary and he goes back into the house.
An hour later, I’m reading on the couch when Mom says, “Gin.”
“Yeah?” I ask, folding over the page.
“Mike, come in here,” Mom calls to Dad. “I’ve got some news about Virginia, and I want to say it in front of you.”
Dad turns off the water in the kitchen sink. “Did she rescue someone from a burning building as well?”
I grin. I have no idea what Mom is going to tell us. Even so, this hero stuff is pretty nice.
“I was just in town checking my e-mail, and I got your grades from Brewster,” Mom says when Dad appears, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “You made high honor roll.”
“Wow!” I say. I knew my grades were strong this semester, but I’m surprised I did so well on finals. That week wasn’t exactly the best of my life.
“Anaïs and Byron always made honor roll,” Mom says. “But never high honor roll. Also, I got a personal note from the college counselor. With your grades this year and your score on last fall’s PSAT, she thinks you’ve got a solid shot at Harvard. She wants to set up a meeting in the fall for all of us to discuss what steps you can take junior year to further strengthen your candidacy.”
“Harvard,” Dad says. “Imagine that.”
“I sort of want to go to Vassar,” I say.
“You’ve mentioned that before,” Mom says. “Why Vassar?”
“A lot of my favorite writers went there.”
“You don’t say no to Harvard,” Mom concludes. “I’m sure Harvard has wonderful writing classes, too.”
“It’s not like Harvard is saying yes,” I tell her. I don’t add that, for one, I’m a year away from applying to college. And for two, I’ve never seen Harvard. I don’t even know if I want it.
“Let’s celebrate,” Mom says. “Dad got a few bunches of kale at the farmers’ market this morning. We can make something out of that new cookbook you bought. I was flipping through it, and it looks great.”
Dad tosses the dish towel over his shoulder and heads back into the kitchen.
“Some of my colleagues have read Americanah and say they love it,” Mom says, eyeing my book. “Very impressive.”
It’s not like I wanted a gold medal from Sebastian for driving Frances to the emergency room, but he doesn’t seem excited about it at all. It’s Monday afternoon and we’re in line at Magnolia down in the West Village. Sebastian is sketching the corner of Bleecker and West Eleventh as we wait, complete with the awning and the cursive script spelling out The Magnolia Bakery. As we wait, we’re chatting about our weekends. Actually, it’s mostly me. All he’s said is that they came home early from camping and his nana flew in from Saskatchewan last night.
“How far was it again?” he asks. We’re getting closer to the front of the line. He zips his pastels into his pencil case and puts them in his messenger bag. “You said fifteen miles from your house to the ER? Like twenty-four kilometers? That’s not too far.”
“The point is, I’m a terrible driver.”
“Maybe you’re not,” he offers.
“That’s the thing,” I say. “I always thought I was
, but when I actually had to drive, I just did it.”
The people in front of us step into the bakery.
“Everyone in Regina drives when they turn sixteen,” he says. “It’s not even an option. You don’t get to decide you’re a bad driver. You just get your license and that’s it.”
I’m not sure what to say. When I texted Alyssa about it last night, she wrote me a congratulatory note full of caps and exclamation points and emojis with balloons. Maybe she did it out of guilt for getting together with Froggy, but I’m honestly not mad at her. I was sure to tell her that in a text before I described my heroic drive.
“Some people even start driving at fifteen,” Sebastian says. “For snowmobiling, there are kids doing that at twelve.”
“It’s not like it’s a big deal.” I shuffle my feet along in the line. I suddenly want this conversation to be over. “It was just a good story.”
When we get to the front, Sebastian orders a vanilla cupcake with chocolate buttercream frosting. I ask for vanilla with vanilla buttercream and point to the one with purple frosting. Sebastian insists on paying, so I grab napkins and save us a table near the window.
But then, as soon as we’re sitting down, I have no interest in eating. Partially, my mouth has gone dry. But also, Sebastian’s snowmobile comment made me think about Maddie, and thinking about his ex-girlfriend is making me feel fat. The last thing I need is to stuff a cupcake down my throat.
At first, Sebastian is oblivious. He peels off the paper and takes a bite from the side. “Wow, that’s amazing. Really good.”
But then, three bites in, he’s like, “Aren’t you eating yours?”
I shrug. I’m wearing a short sundress with spaghetti straps, and I’m suddenly aware of my upper arms being exposed. I yank my dress farther down on my thighs and hug my stomach. Back in middle school, kids told me I looked pregnant when I wore a dress. I bet I look pregnant now, maybe even with twins.
And just like that, my worst self comes out.
“Is Maddie thin?” I ask.
Sebastian looks up, confused. “That’s a messed-up question.”
“She must be thin,” I say. “Otherwise you would have answered me.”
Sebastian shakes his head. His eyes are narrowed in a way I’ve never seen before.
“She’s regular,” he says after a second.
“What’s regular?” I know I’m pushing it, but I’m on a roll and I can’t stop.
“Regular,” Sebastian says sharply. “I guess thin. I don’t know.”
I nod. Regular is thin. Of course it is. I knew that and I led him into the trap.
“What’s going on?” Sebastian asks.
I stare at my hands, folded on top of the table. “Why are you even attracted to me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Are you a chubby chaser?”
Sebastian pushes his chair back like he’s going to leave but then shakes his head angrily. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
I grab my untouched cupcake, drop it in the trash, and hurry out onto the street. There’s still a line weaving around the corner, so I walk the other way on Bleecker. Halfway down the block, I lean against a building and bury my face in my hands. A second later, Sebastian shows up.
“Hey,” he says, touching my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“What’s wrong with you?” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “You could have anyone, so why are you attracted to me?”
“I’m attracted to you because I am.”
“No way,” I say, shaking my head.
“Listen,” Sebastian says. “I don’t have some big flaw, if that’s what you’re wondering. I like you. I may even love you. There doesn’t need to be something wrong with me to be attracted to you.”
I shake my head harder. I’m not buying it.
“Whatever,” he says. “I’m not going to argue about this. Look me up when you believe me.”
Sebastian hurries to the corner, trips on the curb, and nearly face plants onto the pavement. He quickly recovers and disappears into a park on the other side of the street.
For a few minutes, I stand there crying. Then I go back into Magnolia, lock myself in the bathroom, and cry for several more minutes. As I’m walking out to the sidewalk, my phone rings.
“I can see you,” Sebastian says when I answer. “I’m sitting on a bench in the park across the street. Come on over.”
First we hug. I breathe him in, touching my lips against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. Once we start talking, I tell him I’m sorry for the things I said and for bringing up Maddie and for not believing him when he told me he’s attracted to me. He apologizes for being a jerk about how I drove Frances to the emergency room and for being in a bad mood in general.
“Our weekend camping trip was awful,” he explains.
“Awful how?”
Sebastian shakes his head. “I don’t know for sure, but I think my sister is having a breakdown.”
“A breakdown?”
Sebastian shrugs. “The first night of camping she started crying and couldn’t stop. She said she thought that reporting what happened with Byron to the police would help, but it’s not helping. Now she’s freaking out that if it goes to trial she’ll have to testify, and she doesn’t think she can do that. It got so bad that we had to pack up early and drive back to the city.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“That’s why my nana flew in. She’s always been able to get through to Annie.” Sebastian bites down on his bottom lip. “This is only strengthening my parents’ case that they don’t want me to go to Columbia. It’s just … I’m sorry I’m taking it out on you.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I understand.”
“No.” Sebastian looks me in my eyes. “It’s a big deal that you drove someone to the emergency room.”
“I’m sorry I asked about Maddie,” I tell him. “I know she hurt you. That wasn’t fair of me to bring her up.”
“She’s one person and you’re another,” he says. “Maybe some guys find only one body type attractive, but that’s not me.”
I stare at him, at his blue-green eyes, his long hair, his crooked nose. My heart is swelling with how much I care about him. I nestle closer to him, and he slings his arm around my shoulder.
“Can we make a deal?” he asks, kissing the top of my head. “How long was our fight?”
“Ten minutes. Maybe less.”
“Okay, so let’s make a deal to cap fights at ten minutes. That’s as long as we’ll go without talking.”
“What if we just agree not to fight?” I ask. I can’t imagine ever having to go through this again.
“Not realistic,” Sebastian says. “People fight. Let’s just not exceed ten minutes.”
“Deal,” I say.
We lean in and start kissing.
After a few minutes, I pull back and smile. “Before … when we were fighting … did you say you might …?”
“I did,” he says, nodding. “I do.”
“Me too.”
I’m in the elevator when I see Mrs. Myers hobbling across the lobby. I consider pushing door close so she can’t get on the elevator with me, but then I see Alberto watching and my moral compass kicks in.
“Hello, young lady,” she says in her scratchy old voice as she steps inside. She taps her cane on the elevator floor a few times. “I noticed that your beautiful sister got home from Africa.”
A million thoughts ping through my head. I could tell her that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes. I could tell her that an amazing guy loves me. I could tell her that, sure, men like their bank accounts big, but they also like curvaceous chicks. Or I could simply tell Mrs. Myers to fuck herself.
Instead I decide to ignore her. I step out of the elevator, letting the door close with her alone inside.
The next day, I put together another package for Shannon. I’m sending her a shirt because I read that clothes get ratty on the Pacific Crest Trail an
d having something new to wear is like Christmas morning. This time I write a short card.
Dear Shannon,
Hey there, hiker. New clothes! Yay! Now you won’t stink anymore. Remember how I said that I might love Sebastian? Well, I do. He does. We’ve said it.
We love each other.
Your clean and showered friend,
Virginia
I don’t write it small. I don’t even write it medium. I write it full size. Bold. Black Sharpie.
21
Two days later, I wake up with my period. It’s five in the morning. As I’m scrounging around for tampons and getting dressed for work, I think about how when I got my period a month ago, Byron had just been arrested. I had just figured out the Annie-Sebastian connection. It was the day Froggy broke up with me.
It’s amazing the difference a month makes.
My cramps are bad today. I keep hunching over and pressing my fists into my abdomen. Gerri can see I’m feeling like crap, so she urges me to take a break from swiping IDs and do some gentle running on the treadmill. I look at her skeptically, but she explains that exercise can ease cramps. The crazy thing is, she’s right. After a few minutes, I start feeling remotely human again.
The resort-style towel counting is still going well. When Mom comes in for a yoga class on Wednesday, Gerri raves about how I’ve solved the towel situation at Whole Fitness. Mom must have texted Dad immediately because, by noon, he writes to me.
I heard you’re the towel hero at the gym. #BelieveInYourself
That’s been his thing this week. He’s been texting me cheesy hashtag affirmations. On Monday, he wrote: To my strong, brave daughter. #AlwaysRespectYourself
My favorite so far was the text he sent me on Tuesday afternoon. I was walking to the subway to meet Sebastian at the Bronx Zoo when Dad texted: Follow your heart and you can’t go wrong. #BeTrueToYourself
When I saw that one, it made me think about Sebastian and me. Obviously our being together is an example of #BeingTrueToMyself. Because if I were being true to my family, then I wouldn’t have contact with the brother of Annie Mills. Then again, my brother made his own choice when he forced Annie to have sex with him. And I’m making my choice, too. I’m choosing Sebastian.