Identity Crisis (21 page)

“Why are you so dressed up?” I ask, and she actually blushes.

“I'm going out for dinner.”

“Tonight?”

“In the city. While you're at the concert. What, did you think I was going to just sit in the parking lot by myself all night long until you were done?”

Honestly, that's exactly what I'd figured my mother would do, but I guess that's not the most thrilling use of her time. “No, but––”

“Oh! Before I forget.” She picks up a small FedEx box sitting by the stack of mail on the foyer table. “This came. For you.”

I look at the return address. North Carolina. Dad. “What is it?”

She smiles mysteriously. “I don't know. Why don't you open it and see?”

I pick curiously at the packing tape, trying to get it open. So Dad did get me something, too, not just Elena. “So, who exactly are you going to dinner with? Diane?”

“No,” she says a little too casually. “With Gerald.”

“Gerald?” I say dubiously, trying out the name. A very masculine sounding name. Is my mother going on a date?

She continues, ignoring me. “Actually, it's a funny story. Remember when I crashed the car? Well, Gerald's the regional manager for Enterprise. He helped me get my rental all straightened out with the insurance company. And then he asked me out. We've gone on two dinner dates so far. And one brunch. He's really nice. A modest, unassuming guy.”

I am shocked. What did they do with my mother, the queen of bitter? “Dates?” I repeat. “But you never go on dates.”

“I know,” she says. And then she giggles in this lame girlish voice.

So this is why my mom's brain has been in la la land lately. I make a mental note to text Elena later and tell her that our mother doesn't have a thyroid disorder or an ovarian cyst; she has a
boyfriend
.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I manage to say.

My mother takes in my betrayed expression. “I didn't know what you might say.”

“Me?”

“Look, I know you've heard me being down on men, after your father, holding what your dad did against everyone else. But I can't stay that way forever. Pushing people away. It's not healthy.”

“I guess.”

She looks at me critically. “And I don't want that attitude rubbing off on you.”

“What do you mean?” I say, although I know exactly what she means. I never told my mother anything about what happened with Amos, but somehow deep down I wonder if she somehow has a clue.

“You should be having fun. Enjoying opportunities.”

“I am!”

“Then tell me about this Cooper.” I guess she figures she's shown me hers, now I'll show her mine. “You've never mentioned him before.”

But I'm not laying down all my cards just yet. “He's okay, I guess. Plays lacrosse. Smart in math. Goes to church. A parent's dream.”

She frowns, as if she's disappointed he doesn't ride a Harley and have multiple tats. “Wow. That's a real ringing endorsement.”

“Sorry, next time I'll be sure to bring home a meth-head,” I say wryly.

She sighs. “Not funny.”

I finally peel away enough tape so I can pry the box open. The present is wrapped up in tissue paper, and sitting on top is a note. “Honey, saw this and thought of you. Enjoy the concert tonight! Love, Dad.”

Wow again. I glance at my mom, suddenly feeling wretched that I had blown him off, and touched that he would still make the effort. I feel so undeserving, I don't even want to unwrap it. “I never called him back,” I admit, passing the note to her, letting the box sit there on my lap.

“I know, I told him you were all wrapped up in this concert stuff and your math test this week,” my mom says gently, still in the dark about all the Declan drama I'd been going through as well.  “But see!” She exhales a big sigh, gesturing to the mystery package. “He's trying, isn't he?”

“Yeah. He is.”

“Well, let's see what he got you then.”

Excited, I finally reach inside, push aside the layers of paper, and pull out a crisp white T-shirt, tightly rolled up and tied with a piece of twine. Could it be? I could even wear it tonight!! “Mom, look!” I pick open the knot, and the T-shirt rolls open. But instead of Viggo Witts, the face of Ramon, the lead guitarist of the Be Bop Brothers, is staring back at me.

WTF?

My mom and I stare at it silently for a long moment. Her face twists with anguish, like here comes another time that she has to apologize to me for
your father's
many failings. That she ever married him. That he cheated. That he left us.

But instead of feeling anger or disappointment, something else bubbles up inside me. Laughter. My dad's attempt is just so lame. Like no matter how hard he tries, he's doomed to botch things. My sister's unintended words float back to me:
Maybe he'll surprise you.
The absurdity of the situation takes hold of me, and before I know it, I start to snicker, and pretty soon I'm rolling on the floor in full-on gut-busting laughter. I can't keep blaming my dad for his weaknesses. Expecting him to be more than he is. Elena is right. I have to let it go.

“What's so funny?” my mom demands, looking somewhat relieved at my bizarre reaction.

“Dad . . . he's just so clueless,” I manage to gasp out. “What you were saying. Nobody's perfect, right?” Maybe my dad won't ever get it right, but at least he's trying. And if my mom can give this Gerald a chance, maybe I can again, too. If not with Declan, then maybe with Cooper.

She smiles in confused relief as the doorbell rings. She reaches it first, since I'm still on the floor trying to compose myself, and pulls the door open. Cooper is standing on the doorstep with an adorably nervous smile, with Maeve beside him. Both are grinning at me. My eyes travel downward, and I see they have each pinned buttons to their shirts with the face of Viggo Witts and his slogan “Keeping it real.”

“I got them on eBay,” Maeve explains, pinning one to my sweater.

“I'm almost ready, can you guys just give me five more minutes?” I call out to them, grabbing my phone and dashing upstairs. I have a one call to make before we go.

The least I can do is tell my dad thanks for the shirt.

“Thirty minutes,” my dad says sternly. He pulls into the parking lot of the arena. Crowds of girls my age stream around us, most wearing Knucklies T-shirts and jeans, heading inside. “Understand? Find her, make your apology, tell her you are grounded for what you did, and then come back here and we'll go right home.”

“I get it,” I say, shaking my head in agreement. I'm just thankful my parents agreed to let me come tonight at all. My mom didn't want to let me do this, but Dad had talked her into it, saying it was the right thing to do, that this girl was going to be standing there waiting for me and I had a moral obligation to fulfill.

“I'll be waiting. Right here.”

I hesitate. What if Annalise refuses me? What if it takes longer to convince her? “But what if—”

“Just text me if there's a problem.” He pulls out his book,
The Dummies' Guide to Starting a Business
, curtly ending the conversation.

I sigh. I may be in the doghouse, but at least my parents can't go and divorce me. I head toward the main lobby, where I told Eva to meet me. I spot her easily through the crowd. Eva is way overdressed for a concert, stuffed into a slinky black dress and teetering on wedge heels, hanging on to Amos for support. I see what I have come for: the laminated VIP passes, hanging from thick lanyards around their necks. On the passes are shimmering hologram images of Viggo Witts's face. They stop in front of me. I gaze evenly at Eva. Is she ready to hand hers over?

Amos doesn't seem clued into the tension between us. “Hey, Noelle! How'd you get tickets?”

“Someone had an extra,” I gesture vaguely to the Will Call window. “But first, Eva—”

“Noey, can I talk to you for a second? In private?” Eva's voice is cheerful, but only on the surface. “Amos, we'll be right back.”

“What, now?” Amos asks, incredulous.

“It's female stuff.” She digs her fingernails into my arm and drags me outside towards the steps. As soon as we are out of his sight, she pulls me to a stop. “I can't believe you're really going through with this,” she hisses. “I've been thinking about this all day. You said the account is deactivated. History. She'll never figure out it was us. So what's the point of telling her now?”

“It's too late,” I say. “Your cousin knows his identity was hacked. And now my parents know. Declan called it in and the site traced all our chats to me. It's all going to come out eventually. But the point is, she has a right to know.”

For once, she is speechless, probably shocked that I am not backing down. I put out my hand and she reluctantly pulls the VIP pass from her neck and gives it to me. I had told her if she let me have it, I would take all the blame for what we'd done and leave her and Tori out of it. But if she didn't, I'd encourage Annalise to turn all three of us in.

“Fine.” Her tone turns disdainful. “You really think this will make her forgive you? That she won't turn on you, too? Look what she and her friend just did to Tori. She's really got you brainwashed. Just like Tori said.”

No,
I think. You are the one who has been brainwashed, by a shiny new friend who has twisted your spunk into spite.

“She won't,” I tell her.

“How do you know for sure?”

I don't. But it's a risk I have to take. “I'm telling her the truth. And don't worry. I'll say it was all on me.”

“Telling who the truth?” a voice behind us asks. Amos. We both turn slowly. He must have wandered outside and come upon our heated discussion without us noticing. “Telling who the truth?” he repeats.

“No one,” Eva says quickly.

But I am done with staying silent. “No, tell him,” I say. “Or I will. It's all because of him, anyway. He has a right to know.”

Eva's face twists defensively. “It was just a dumb prank.”

“What was?” Amos asks slowly, and when I tell him the whole story, how Eva had used her cousin Declan's profile to catfish Annalise, publicly humiliate her at the mall, and then spread rumors that her online boyfriend was just a fantasy, I don't think I've ever seen him so angry. He peppers us with questions that I try to answer, while Eva just stands there, dumbly, as the crowd streams around the three of us.

Finally, he turns to Eva, eyeing her as if for the first time. “Who
are
you?”

She looks stunned, reaching for him. “Amos—”

“No, I don't even want to know.” He snaps her hands off his wrist like he's flinging a Frisbee. “I can't believe you're still messing with that poor girl. It was bad enough all the rumors that got started, after I told you nothing happened. Plus, you dumped me that night! Maybe we should have left it that way.”

“Amos. Wait.”

He rips the VIP lanyard off his neck, then fumbles around and grabs something from his pocket. His ticket. “Enjoy the show,” he says, thrusting them both at Eva. “I'm through with you. For good.”

He spins and charges into the crowd like a mad bull stampeding through the streets of Pamplona. Eva gives me a look of anguish before she yells, “Amos,” and starts chasing after him.

“There he is!”

I turn and see Declan waving madly at Maeve and me, right where we'd told him to meet us, outside the arena in front of the Golden Greek statue.

“Hey,” Maeve says shyly, and I am amused to see how excited she looks to see him. “Sorry we're late.” We introduce the guys, who shake hands heartily, although Cooper's grip leaves Declan tenderly wringing out his fingers afterwards when he thinks no one is looking.

“Where to?” Declan asks, looking around like Bambi who'd wandered into a den of iniquity.

“First concert, Dec?” Maeve teases him.

“Of course not!” he says, full of mock indignation. “My parents took me to the Beach Boys reunion tour last summer.”

I expect her to make a snarky comment, but instead Maeve surprises me. “The Beach Boys rule!” she squeals, then shoots me a look that says, don't you even.

“Maeve and I can go to Will Call to pick up the tickets,” I suggest, pointing to the long sea of bodies snaking out the door. “How about you guys go grab us two T-shirts and we'll meet you over there?”

The guys amiably agree, and shuffle off toward the merchandise booths, while Maeve and I find our way to the end of the line.

“So. Any good vibrations yet?” I ask, teasing her about her and Declan's lack of musical taste. “Still planning to kidnap the Kardashian kid?”

“Nah, we've moved on to the royal princess,” she says, ever unflappable. “So how about you and Cooper? Are you actually going to give him a chance? Or tear his poor heart out?”

Before I can answer, I hear my phone buzz and I pull it out to check it. Part of me irrationally thinks it could be a message from “DecOlan,” but that's impossible of course. Or Colin, checking to see if I've got my tickets, maybe offering me some backstage passes after all. But it's from someone else entirely. My sister Elena.

ElenaB
: enjoy the show 2nite!

KnuckLise99
: aw, thanks. dad got me a concert T-shirt. For the BeBopBros! Can u believe him?

ElenaB
: seriously? he must be having a senior moment. He got me a rowing sweatshirt from amherst college. Not umass amherst. Where he pays tuition. wtf?

KnuckLise99
: lol! should we be worried? early alzheimers?

ElenaB
: nah, i just think his new assistant is a screw up.

KnuckLise99
: btw, mom's not going senile,. turns out she's got a boyfriend!