Maine Squeeze (48 page)

“Hey—is someone on the line?” Bryan asked. “Hey, hang up!”

“Gladly!” I said. I dropped the phone and ran into my room and closed the door. My best friend … and my little
brother
? Since when?

They're dating … they're in love … she's the one he kept calling and writing in Ogallala, that's how she knew about the trip before I told her … that's why she hasn't been interested in anyone lately, it's because she likes Bryan …

I felt like Oscar, standing there with my tongue hanging out, about to go into a grand mal seizure.

She barely just got over having a fling-a-weekend.

He
barely just got over Power Rangers.

What the? Talk about
choc toxique
. I can hardly
breathe
.

I knew Bryan had a crush on her, but that's been for decades. Now what? They've been seeing each other—and not telling me. How could they not tell me? Why?

I went back to my computer and sent an instant message to her: “CRADLE ROBBER!” I wrote in all caps, even though that's bad netiquette, I couldn't stop to think about that.

Then I logged off. I didn't want to know what she'd say. I didn't want to hear about it.

Study Hall. Blah.

Beth came over to my locker before school, but I didn't know what to say. Why does her being with Bryan bug me so much? I think it's because they didn't tell me. Why should I be the last to know? Did they think they couldn't trust me or something?

“What's your problem?” Beth said. “Jane's okay with this.”

“You're not going out with Jane's brother,” I said. “It's different. And I'm not okay with it.”

“Obviously,” Beth said.

“Anyway, you don't
have
relationships. You have one-nighters,” I said. “Are you going to dump Bryan?” Because one depressed person in the family is enough.

“No, of course not,” Beth said. “God, Courtney, haven't you noticed? I haven't had any flings this year. It's a resolution I made, to give that up like I gave up smoking.”

“Right …” I said. “And
that
worked. I saw you smoking last week!”

“I was only doing that because I was freaking out about Bryan!” Beth said. “I wished I didn't like him so much—it was scary. And then the idea of telling
you
about us was even scarier. So I had a couple of cigarettes—but that's it, and I was just trying to escape.”

“So when you slip up and make out with some other guy, and totally ruin Bryan's life—”

“That won't happen!” Beth said. Her teeth were clenched like the way the dentist makes you do to check your bite. “I've changed,” Beth said. “Just like you.”

“I've changed?” I said.

“Yeah. Into a real bitch,” Beth said.

Whoa. No one's ever said that to me, to my face. I could see Alison doing it, as a joke. I called her when I got home to tell her what was going on. She wasn't home so I sent an e-mail. She didn't write back yet.

No one ever writes back.

Dinner tonight was hell. Mom was in a rotten mood. Some stuff got delivered tonight from a company that called to sell her the Century's Greatest Figurines. She said she didn't want them—so they sent them with a bill. She told them to get lost—they said “thank you for your order.” I made her open the package so we could have a good laugh at the things, to cheer her up. But they had been packed really badly and were totally shattered. Seemed like a metaphor or something. Smashed little people.

After that I was in a worse mood than Mom, which is saying a lot.

Bryan was sitting there whistling, looking like he'd just won the lottery. He even
cooked
. Last thing I knew, his favorite meal was cinnamon-sugar toast. Now he's making pesto pasta surprise, or whatever he called it. Oscar was running around the kitchen in circles he was so excited about it.

Bryan also made this crunchy Italian bread with spices. The entire meal had a very distinct flavor to it: BETH.

“This is wonderful.” Mom looked like she'd died and gone to heaven. A heaven with no phones and no telemarketers. “And all vegetarian, Courtney—no dairy, even. Aren't you impressed?”

“Are you guys in a cooking class together?” I asked, my eyes narrowed at Bryan. “Is
that
how you met?”

Bryan frowned at me. “We met when you brought her over here to play Barbie about ten years ago.”

“All right, you two—
no
arguing. This is a delicious meal, and I don't want it spoiled.”

Then Mom's smile warbled into this look of torture because the phone rang. She grabbed the receiver and was about to yell when she said, “Oh,
hi,
Beth, well we're eating, but since I love you so much, you can talk to Bryan.”

I glared at Bryan as he took the phone from Mom. I never got to talk to Dave during family meals.

I glared at Mom. What about her family-politics-school rule? Did Beth fit in there? I felt like I was underneath the family and the school rock. Smashed like an ugly figurine.

Why am I posting this e-mail in here? In case Alison ever tries to say she's never done anything mean.

Courtney:*

*[Note: not even a “dear”!]

I don't know why you're so upset. Okay, it's kind of weird, Beth and Bryan dating, and Grandma and Grandpa sleeping together. And maybe it's annoying when Dad goes on and on about Sophia. But you can't go around hating people because they're happy. Just because they found their soul mates, and you haven't found yours yet, doesn't mean you can rain on their parades. It's not fair, Courtney! We were all happy for you and Dave. What's his new girlfriend like? Have you met her?

Would you hate
me
if I told you I might be in love, too? And that's the real reason I didn't meet you for Thanksgiving? And that I've never been happier?

I'll tell you more about it at Christmas. Hang in there until then. I know you're a better person than the one who wrote me that hateful e-mail. I'm deleting it.

Love,

Alison

I think she wants to delete
me
.

We're all in trouble now. Some telemarketer told Mom he got her name from the phone company. “That's how it's done,” he said. “Wake up, Mrs. Smythe.” He mispronounced her name. Smith. How hard is it?

So now telemarketers are off the hit list.

MegaPhone is on it.

“They have no conscience!” she kept saying, as we sat in front of the TV, watching and eating dinner. Bryan went out with Beth; Mom and I were left to our own devices, which means pizza. About every half hour a new MegaPhone ad came on.

“We keep in touch” is their new slogan. (Their old one, “For the love of talk,” got them in trouble with a bunch of religious groups, something about how they were saying they were equal to God, or the phone was equal to God.)

“They keep in touch all right,” Mom kept muttering. “With our
wallets
. Stupid figurines. Stupid phone company!”

When I got to school (late and frozen, because Mom is making me ride my bike in subzero temps) (I wouldn't ask Beth for a ride because she was already giving Bryan a ride.) (What kind of relationship can they have if only one of them is old enough to drive?), Tom was waiting out front for me. He dragged me over to a corner by the entrance. This is it, I thought. He's going to make his move. Kind of bizarre at 7:45, but at least I'd know he was attracted to me. And if I could look good with ice chips on my cheeks, and some stuff coming out of my nose, well then hey.

“I have something really serious to tell you,” Tom said. “I don't even know if I
should
tell you, but it affects both of us, so you need to know.” He reached into his pocket. Here it comes. The standard Tom Delaney jewelry gift, I thought. I wouldn't accept it, of course. But the point was that he was finally making the offer. What's he going to tell me? I wondered. About his deep feelings for me? Yeah, right, like he has feelings. But he is cute.

He pulled out this sheet of paper. “What's that?” I asked.

“It's about the student council,” he said. “We're being investigated.”

“What? Is it Jennifer? Is she suing you for sexual harassment?” I'd seen this coming. As a future lawyer, I see lawsuit opportunities everywhere.

“Who?”

“
Jennifer
. You went out with her for a few months, and then she transferred to private school?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” I said. She could sue him for being thoughtless and cruel, but that was about it. “What does that letter say?”

“We're being investigated. There are like, some, discrepancies. They did some sort of study of us, and they checked our books. They think we stole all this money—they think we did all these volunteer things for show to cover up the fact we were … embezzling or something.”

“Embezzling? That's crazy,” I said. “We haven't been doing anything like that.” Only Tom and I had access to the checkbook. Then I looked at him. “Have we?”

“No, of course not. It's probably a clerical error or whatever. But the thing is I applied for early decision. I'm going to find out in days whether I got in or not, and I—I mean, we—have to keep this thing quiet. Keep it out of the papers, you know?” He was almost panting with nervousness.

“Like our school paper has ever broken a story. On anything?” I reminded him. “Don't sweat it.”

He was so lost and desperate. I didn't know what to do. I sort of wanted to kiss him, but I also felt like telling him to grow up. This was nothing he'd go to jail over.

So the Duck informed us later that we're going to be reviewed by the Student Honor Committee (not to be confused with the National Honor Society—this group checks out
lack
of honor). And guess who's the head of the SHC? I don't know why I never noticed, maybe because I never had a problem with my HONOR before. Anyway, the committee has a member from each class, and then an “arbitrator” to lead them (they need 5 total so they can have votes). So Mr. Honor of the Year turns out to be Grant. And we have to tell him everything (except maybe the fact that I think I'm getting a crush on him) (hope he doesn't subpoena this journal).

He came to investigate and check our office. We opened the supply cabinet to show him everything we have. It was totally empty.

Mrs. Martinez is horrified.

I'm
horrified.

Now we're all under this “umbrella of suspicion.” Only everyone suspects me the most, because I'm the new girl. I think I'm going to be impeached.

Remember what Jennifer told me? “You have to watch everything he does.” I thought she meant the backrub thing. She was probably talking about Tom's money management, or lack thereof—and that's why she left.

“Courtney! Talk to me,” Beth said. She was holding a knife to cut strawberries, so I didn't stand much of a chance. She demanded to know what was going on with the student council, and why I was still so upset about her and Bryan seeing each other.

I started out going on and on about the student council. She interrupted me—she didn't really want to hear about that at all. “Why are you unhappy for me and Bryan?” she asked.

“Because it's wrong,” I said. “Because you guys have known each other for too long. Because—Beth, do I really have to
explain
this?”

“Um, yeah, you do,” she said. “I'm always happy when you hook up with someone. So why can't you be happy for me?”

“You're like a sister to me. And Bryan's like a brother to me—”

“He
is
your brother,” Beth said.

“I know! I know that! But see, with the transitive property, you're like a sister to him—”

“No I'm not! Don't say that. Courtney, we've hardly spent any time with him for years. We've ignored him and made fun of him—”

“And what was wrong with that?” I asked her. “Can't we just go on doing that?”

“You don't get it,” she said. “Nobody gets it.”

Oh my God, I thought. She's starting to talk like him!

“He's changed,” she went on. “He's older now—”

“So are we!” I said. “So that still makes us two years older than him!”

“You like Grant,” Beth said. “He's younger than
you
.”

“What? I do not. And he's only …” I tried to remember when his birthday was. At most, he was two
months
younger than me. Then for some reason I got this picture of his body in my head instead of his birthday. “Just forget it!” I told Beth.