Lucid (19 page)

“Thanks,” I say ironically.

“Stop that. Here’s the one thing you can’t handle, a compliment.”

As I get into bed, I use Emma’s book as a coaster for my glass of water. So Andrew thinks I should only date someone I’m in love with. And Emma thinks that falling in love will make me insane. But that kind of contradicts her other little theory that Sloane is the twin sister best friend I’ve never had and I’m such a lonely sad sack I had to create her. If I fell in love, I wouldn’t be lonely. Not that I am. But how do you fall in love? Is it really something that conveniently “just happens” to you? Or is it something that you have to make happen, see your opportunity and don’t let it get away? Even though I’m only just seventeen, I have this scary conviction that if it was going to happen, it would have happened already. I mean, it’s even happened to Sloane. Even though I’m the only one who knows that.

The phone rings. I smile and all the heavy thoughts disappear. Maybe Andrew has a new list of compliments that I can pretend to disapprove of. I snatch up my phone and glance at the screen. Oh.

“Hey, beautiful. I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Thomas is using his bedroom voice. He’s channeling George Clooney a little. Cheesy, but at least it isn’t Jonah Hill. “I’m just sitting here, thinking of the dinner I wish I made for us and hoping I’ll get a chance tomorrow night. Or do you have another family thing?”

“Nope. I’m all yours.” God. Why did I put it that way? Calling Dr. Freud…

“Can you do me just one favor before I let you go?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me you actually meant what you just said.”

“I certainly didn’t,” I say, glad he can’t see my stupid smile.

“I figured. See you tomorrow.”

I
stare out at my tree with a smile. The wind tousles her spring leaves. The morning sun warms her thick bark. Crocuses and daffodils decorate the grass around her roots. She’s so lovely. Maybe we all look better in the spring. Maybe all the birds and bees going about doing their thing puts something in the air and that’s why James asked me to go on a date tonight. Maybe I need to not think so much about the why and just let myself be excited about it.

“I have a date,” I tell her through my window.

There’s a knock on my door and I wonder if whoever it is could’ve possibly heard me. My dad asks if he can come in. When I turned twelve, he started knocking before coming in even though I didn’t shut my door until I was almost fifteen. It’s not like I sleep in the nude or anything, but it’s sweet that he respects my privacy.

He sits on the edge of my bed and whispers in a very serious tone, “I want to give you a heads-up before you come downstairs.
Your mom is going to ask you to go out to dinner tonight. I want you to say yes. And I want you to be grateful and excited to have the opportunity to make things right with your mother.”

It’s obvious this was his idea and he probably had to talk my mom into it, convincing her I wouldn’t chop her hand off yet again if she reached out one more time. I am both touched to have this chance with my mom and scared to turn James down.

Of course it’s tonight. My dad coaches Max’s soccer team and always takes them out for pizza. It’s my mom’s only free night each week. But what if I never get another chance with James? If I don’t go out with him tonight, will that give him enough pause to realize I’m not worth the trouble of pursuing? The truth is, though, if I turn my mom down, I won’t like me enough to want to date me, and I’ve got to live with me.

In homeroom I tell James about my command performance with my mom. He’s a little more understanding than I wish he’d be. In fact, he thinks it’s great that I’m going to get to hang with my mom. He clearly wasn’t as excited about the date as I was. But then he mentions that he misses his mom. He studies my face and asks, “Are you disappointed?”

“Very much so,” I tell him honestly.

“Me too. Want to do something on Friday?”

Friday! Big-league, actual date night. Wednesday is just like a school night hangout, but Friday is unquestionably a date. I’m high as a kite until we spill out into the crowded hall after homeroom. The sea of faces brings me back to reality. There’s very little you can get away with in Mystic without everyone knowing about it. A Friday date is not one of those things. Which creates a problem for me and Amanda.

Mom takes me to sushi at Go Fish! in the Olde Mystic Village. Mystic being the epicenter of culinary delights like the lobster roll (roll being a Wonder Bread hot dog bun), there is one sushi place in town. Bringing me here was obviously an olive branch offering since I once told her I liked sushi. Choosing this place shows she wants this to be the beginning of something good between us, and every cell in my brain wants to make this work.

I actually haven’t eaten a ton of raw fish. But through Maggie, I’ve seen some of the best New York has to offer. I’ve also seen what fresh wasabi and ginger look like, which is nothing like the neon green paste and the fluorescent pink shavings of sugary ginger they plop in front of us.

“So,” I begin, “I could use a little advice about James.”

“Are you guys actually dating?”

“No. But he asked me on one.” She smiles and I can see she’s genuinely excited for me, which is nice since she’s the only person I’ve told.

“And you want to go, and you’re allowed to go. So what’s the problem?”

“You know Amanda Porcella. Well, she’s let everyone think that they’re dating because they used to. But they broke up a long time ago.”

“How does she let everyone think they’re dating?” my mom asks as she munches on some edamame.

“She never actually lies about it, but she knows that everyone thinks they’re together. And she just lets them think that. The thing is, I really like Amanda. I don’t want to hurt her feelings and I don’t want everyone to hate me. If I go out with him, it’ll look like she
got dumped and I’m a home wrecker because she’s never going to embarrass herself by fessing up that she isn’t even dating him in the first place. So what do I do?”

She thinks for a minute. I like that about her since I’m the type that starts running my mouth well ahead of my brain. The sushi chef (believe it or not, a Caucasian female) hands us a yellowtail scallion roll and some toro sushi. My mom is a ninja with her chopsticks. She’s a woman of many hidden talents, my mother.

“I think you tell Amanda what’s happened. Don’t tell him first, even if he promises to keep his mouth shut, because he won’t. Don’t ask for Amanda’s permission, just give her a heads-up. Tell her that she probably doesn’t realize it, but some of the kids think she’s dating James, and you wanted her not to be blindsided. That keeps her dignity and gives her a chance to be prepared. More importantly, if James hasn’t told you the absolute truth, that’s his problem. And deserves to be.”

I’m stunned. I mean, I’ve known her all my life. Duh. And I know she’s no dummy. But that was a lot of clear thinking in one well-organized burst. She makes it sound so easy.

“You’re right. That’s what I should do. But what if he was lying to me, and they really are dating?”

“Would you really want to date someone like that?”

On the one hand, I should be talking to this woman more often. On the other hand, I don’t want to hear any bad news about Sparrow Boy.

Dinner turns out to be really nice. We never talk about the past or why things have been so tough for us. We just genuinely have fun together. I know it doesn’t mean that things are miraculously okay
or that I won’t wake up tomorrow angry again. But I’m grateful to be with her like this again.

I’m so nervous getting ready for bed. Maybe it’d be easier on Amanda if I called her. That way she won’t have to guard her reaction, and she can yell or swear at me or hang up if she wants. Of course, it is easier for me in exactly the same way. Her number is in my phone.

Unbelievably, she answers. I may throw up. Or have a complete panic attack. I start talking to keep myself from hanging up on her.

I tell her exactly the way Mom had suggested. And then there’s silence. Great. It’s probably a dropped call and I’ll have to say the whole thing over again and it will sound all rehearsed.

But then she tells me in a very calm and friendly voice, which sounds a little tight and fake, that it’s so nice of me to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she is fully aware that everyone thinks she and James are dating. She never announced they aren’t because she’s hoping they will be again. “We’re very close,” she says almost as a warning.

She thanks me for giving her the heads-up and asks if she and I are good.

“Totally. I’m good. Are you good?” I wish my mom could have scripted a better answer for me.

She says, “Sure,” unconvincingly.

Nonetheless I hang up feeling proud of myself for being such an adult (for a change). Of course Amanda is bummed. I can’t blame her. But it’s also not my job to take care of her. Getting over this hurdle feels like any remote possibility I may have with James is at least on the up-and-up.

The next day, Amanda isn’t in school. I feel like a criminal. She’s at home feeling ashamed and afraid and didn’t know how she would ever face anybody again. Anyway, that’s how I would feel. Supposedly she just has the flu. I’ll never know the truth of it.

At lunch, James finds me. He just walks right into my little hen circle and sits down with his turkey grinder. Lila drools. Kelly eats her lasagna as if she’s parked in front of the TV.

“So I’m thinking for Friday night, maybe we drive down to Providence to hear Eric Clapton. We’ll probably be the youngest people there by twenty years.”

I nod in agreement, like I’m in these conversations all the time. Beautiful boys ask me to Stones concerts, sometimes Yo-Yo Ma, whatever. No big deal.

“But he is the greatest guitarist ever. I worship him. Sorry, no flamenco on the program.”

“You just don’t want me to have anybody to compare you to,” I say.

“In any way,” he says right back.

Kelly laughs out loud. I worry for a minute that my virginal status is that obvious, like I literally walk around with a V patch on my sweater. But then, who cares?! He is definitely flirting with me. It’s a shame they don’t build lunch yards so you can take a victory lap.

After school, Kelly and I go shopping for something a little more sophisticated than what’s in my closet. I tell her we’re definitely not looking for a dress; that’d be trying too hard. I wind up buying a dress. I will try as hard as I can.

The dress is lavender, which makes my eyes look really green. It
is sweet and wispy and reminds me of spring. I show it to my mom when I tell her about the date. She does the mom thing about what time I’ll be home but is clearly really happy for me.

Gordy stops by and stays for dinner. During dessert, Mom asks whether I want to borrow her gold bangles for tomorrow night. The ones she got in college when she traveled to India that I’ve drooled over since I was a little girl playing dress up. Yes, I want to borrow them. And I also cannot believe she brought this up at dinner. The old flash of anger flares again. But Gordy simply asks where I’m going. So I simply answer. And he simply looks, frankly, jealous.

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

If I had Maggie’s acting skill, I would know how to answer immediately and casually. I don’t.

“Just James.”

“James and Sloaney sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Max sings obnoxiously. As if there’s any other way to sing that. Gordy laughs and stuffs his napkin in Max’s piehole.

Gordy and I walk to the Marble after dinner and I successfully avoid talking about my date with James. We then head next door to the Mystic Disc and look through all the albums. I linger over Eric Clapton’s section to try to buff up for Friday. Bill loved the Mystic Disc. He not only had a record player but insisted on still buying CDs, even though almost everything could be purchased instantly as MP3s. Bill always used to chat up Dan, the owner and local music aficionado, and have him order rare releases from overseas. They put a picture of Bill up behind the register after the accident. I don’t come in here without Gordy. On our walk home, the silence between us feels unusually awkward.

I wake up on Friday and decide to wear my cute jeans and a purple blouse that people say makes my eyes look like cat eyes. When I walk into homeroom, James has saved me a seat, but his face looks off somehow.

“I feel so bad about this, but I have to drive down to Kennedy really early tomorrow to pick up someone around seven. Is it okay if we just grab a bite tonight and we’ll do a concert another time soon?”

He seems so sorry. Things happen to cancel plans. It’s not a big deal, I tell myself. But it is very strange, a high school boy driving to “Kennedy,” which I realize a beat too slow means the airport in New York.

“Who are you picking up?” It doesn’t even feel like prying, but just a natural thing to ask. But the second I do, I can see in his eyes that something is off and I shouldn’t have asked.

“Just somebody.”

Whoa. That basically makes my heart throw up. Now I don’t know what to do, but I won’t be able to function if I’m left totally in the dark like this.

“Is it some kind of secret?” Clearly it is.

“Just a friend.”

“Is he from California?” I feel like I’m sinking. He doesn’t look angry; he looks like of course I’m asking these questions and he just doesn’t know what to do. In an ordinary person, that wouldn’t seem so odd. But I never thought that there would be anything that could make James feel uneasy or awkward. He was perfect. And now he isn’t.

“Look, I am so sorry about this. It’s just something I said I’d
do, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. I thought maybe tonight, we could drive out to the Ocean House for dinner.”

The Ocean House is far and away the most awesome date anyone could offer in this area. He is really trying. That’s part of what’s scaring me. Why is he trying so hard?

In sixth period, he comes in late and has to sit far away from me. He keeps looking at me and smiling. And it dawns on me. He feels guilty. Who is he picking up? Is it the girl who owned Peaches? Is she flying into New York to say that they are destined to be together and to whisk him back to California or worse, move to Mystic and take a little job somewhere? I’m sick to my stomach. And every lame smile he throws my way is just another nail in my coffin.