Saint Anything (25 page)

We were in the front lobby. Her PSAT cram class, made up mostly of Arbors kids, was taking a practice test down the hall.

“The short version is that she caught me with friends over when she was out of town, and I was drinking.”

Her eyes widened. I could always count on Jenn for a reaction. “Seriously?”

I nodded. “The longer version involves me trying to help out my friends, Ames being typically creepy, and my mom happening to walk in at the exact moment that I took my only sip of alcohol.”

“Long version sounds more complicated.”

“That’s why it’s longer.” I sat back in the uncomfortable chair I’d chosen; it was clearly meant for people to only alight on for short periods, not actually settle in. “My parents were supposed to be at Lincoln for something of Peyton’s. But he told her he didn’t want her there. She came home, walked in on me, and has basically had me on lockdown ever since.”

“Except for daily tutoring and SAT prep class here,” she replied. She looked around, then lowered her voice before adding, “Nobody does that, by the way. Even the people who need it. And you don’t.”

“She has me at the daily Kiger lunch study hall at school, too.”

“What?” Bigger eyes. God, I loved Jenn. “What’s she trying to do, make you skip next year or something?”

“She’s got her eye on Kiffney-Brown. Or that new charter.”

“Oh, man. You don’t want either of those. The kids at Kiffney are competitive to the point of bloodthirsty. And Marks Charter is so hard to get into, I know people who went on Xanax just to apply there.” This was her area of expertise. “Anyway, everyone knows continuity of education is something admissions officers look at. Does she really want you to have to explain three schools in two years?”

“I think right now she just wants to keep me away from Mac and Layla. Everything else is secondary, as much as she’s trying to pretend otherwise.”

Down the hall, there was a burst of giggling. “I hear you!” Jenn called out, and quickly, it got quiet again. She sighed, shaking her head, then said, “I know about Layla. Who’s Mac?”

“Her brother,” I replied. “The pizza guy, from your party? Do you even remember?”

“I’ve tried to block out what little does remain.” She cleared her throat. “What’s her problem with him?”

I looked down at my hands, trying to think of a way to explain whatever it was that was going on between me and Mac. I was still grappling when I heard her laugh. With old friends, sometimes it’s what you don’t say that speaks volumes.

“Sydney,” she said, reaching out and slapping my leg. “Oh, my God. Why didn’t you
tell
me?”

“It’s really—”

“You’re blushing!” She hooted. “No wonder you haven’t wanted to hang out lately.”

I looked at her. “I’m sorry I’ve been kind of a lousy friend. I got . . . kind of caught up, I guess.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute, acknowledging this truth and the apology for it. Then she smiled. “It’s okay. But seriously, back up and tell me everything. Also, I want to see a picture. Do you have one?”

I did. Several, in fact: some from that night at the merry-go-round, a few I’d snapped from the passenger seat as we drove around together. But only one of both of us, taken in the cab of the truck at Commons Park. I’d held my phone out at arm’s length as I leaned back into him, and he’d rested his chin on the top of my head. You could see the leaves falling out the window behind us.
Click.

“Wow,” she said when I’d scrolled past this one. “I must have been really drunk. Because him I would remember.”

I smiled, looking down at it as well. “He’s a really nice guy. And all of this just really happened, like, recently. Now with this, and Layla finding out . . .”

“Finding out?” she repeated. “What, it was a secret?”

“Sort of. Yes.” I shut off my phone. “The last friend of hers who dated him left him kind of wrecked.”

“You wouldn’t do that, though,” she said with such surety, it was like she was reciting a theorem or historical fact. “She knows that, right?”

“I hope so,” I said. “Right now she’s not exactly talking to me.”

Jenn sat back, crossing her legs. “Wow. I don’t talk to you for a week or two and everything in your life changes. All that’s different with me is my ringtone.”

“Stop it,” I said, smiling.

“It’s true!” She looked out the front window at the traffic passing by. “Maybe
I
should transfer to Jackson.”

“Please do. You can go to Kiger study hall with me.”

She snorted, then looked at her watch. “I better get back to my morons.”

“Jenn,” I said, surprised.

“Oh, please. It’s no secret, trust me. Most of them are taking this class for the third time.” She leaned over, giving me a quick hug. “I hate how you ended up here, but I’m happy to see you. Is that bad?”

I shook my head. “No. Just don’t get sick of me. I’ll be here a lot, if my mom has her way.”

“Not gonna happen.” She got to her feet. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yep.”

And with that, she headed down the hall, ducking into a door off to the left. I sat there until the clock over the front desk hit five o’clock exactly, then went out to my car. I was just getting in when my phone beeped. It was my mom.

Heading home?

I actually glanced around, thinking she might be watching me from somewhere nearby. I would not have put it past her.

Right now,
I replied.

A pause while I cranked my engine and backed out of the space. Over at the Kiger Center, some of Jenn’s morons—students—were filing out, chattering with one another.

See you in five,
my mom responded. For some, this was a figure of speech, casual. But I knew she was watching her own clock. I drove home as slowly as I could, like doing so might change what was waiting there for me. As I pulled into the driveway, I could see the afternoons following this one laid out in front of me one after another, neat little squares filling the calendar. It made me want to speed away as fast as I could and not look back. But I was a good kid, despite what my parents thought. I went inside.

CHAPTER
20

2 XTRA
lg veggie, 2 xtra lg roma. Greek salad. Onion rings. Go.

I picked up my phone from beside my calculus book, smiling.

Girls,
I wrote back.
Unhealthy vegetarians. The one with the salad also got the onion rings.

I hit
SEND
, then waited. It was a Thursday night, and I’d been on my new schedule for almost two weeks. It felt like longer—like years, to be honest—even though I’d figured out how to see Mac for a few minutes before school, after, and sometimes en route to study group at lunch. At night, in my room doing even more homework, I kept my phone close at hand so we could be in constant touch. It wasn’t the same as riding along with him, but I’d take it.

A few days into all this, when we met at my locker before the early bell, Mac told me to close my eyes and hold out my hand. When I did, he dropped something into it.

“Okay. You can look now.”

I opened my eyes to see a silver chain, like his but thinner, longer, with a saint pendant on it. It wasn’t the same as his, though; the image was a man’s profile, his eyes turned upward.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“No idea. I found it in a jar my mom has full of them,” he said. “I was looking for one like mine, then just someone I recognized. But then I thought maybe it was cooler to have it be a mystery, you know? So it’s not just about one thing, but anything. That way, it can be about what you want it to be.”

I turned it over in my hand. Like the image on the front, the back was well-worn, the few words there unreadable. “Saint Anything.” I looked up at him. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He picked it up, undoing the clasp, and I turned around and lifted up my hair. When he draped it over me and fastened it, the pendant hung low, against my heart. This seemed fitting, as it was where I kept Mac now, as well. From that point on, it was a solid, daily reminder that even though I was by myself a lot, I wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

Even though I continued to do everything my mom asked of me, she had not let up one bit. I remained on the tightest of timetables, my days consisting solely of school and studying. I’d become such a presence at the Kiger Center that they’d offered me a job working the front desk, which was allowed only because it kept me close to home and would look good on my applications. So now, instead of the study sessions Jenn had assured my mom I did not need, I answered phones, fielded questions, and helped oversee practice tests. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as delivering pizzas. But at least I was out of the house.

Right again,
Mac texted me a few minutes later.
Apartment full of estrogen.

Did you doubt me?

A pause. Then:
Nope.

Most nights, it was these exchanges that got me through, along with the short conversations between deliveries and longer ones once he was home and doing his homework before bed. My phone, which I’d always viewed as necessary, was now the only evidence I had of my life before that night in the studio. School and home were so different, but in my pictures, my text messages, and the ringtone I’d programmed just for Mac (bells, like a merry-go-round), I had proof that I had lived another life. Even if it was on pause, for now.

“You’re seriously not missing much,” he reported to me one night. “Irv is still eating everything in sight. Eric’s obsessed with coming up with the perfect band name before the showcase. Same old, same old.”

“What about your mom?”

Mrs. Chatham had been to the ER twice in recent days due to blood pressure issues related to another new medication she was on. Both times she’d been released relatively quickly, but I could tell when he was concerned, that natural wariness turning to all-out worry. “Better,” he said. “I’ll tell her you asked about her.”

We were both quiet a moment. Then, finally, I said it. “And Layla?”

“She’s coming around,” he told me. “Just give her some more time.”

I could do that; time
was
all I had, even if I didn’t have a say in how it was spent. But in those afternoon hours, as I sat at Kiger or at our kitchen table with homework in front of me, I missed her. Not in the concentrated, aching way I did Mac, but something broader. I’d think of our time together at Seaside, pizza crusts between us, her tapping her pencil and staring out the window while bluegrass played on the jukebox behind us. The complicated fry preparation at lunch. Her voice, singing high and light, or laughing as she ribbed Eric. It was like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
, going from black-and-white to color, then back again. You first had to have something—change, light, friendship—to understand the loss of it. And I did.

I was also very aware of the fact that Peyton was not calling. A month or two earlier, I probably wouldn’t even have noticed, and if I had, I’d have been relieved. Now, though, on the days I was home, I put on
Big New York
or
Los Angeles
and tried to focus on it, thinking of him and his friend maybe doing the same. Instead of feeling better, though, it made me miss him in a way I couldn’t quite explain. Everything was different now.

The following Saturday, I was at work, trying to help an Arbors ninth grader in a field hockey uniform download our app. I couldn’t figure out if the problem was her phone or our Internet, so I’d ducked under the front desk to reset the connection. When I came back up, Spence was right in front of me.

“Hey,” he said, flashing me that same million-dollar smile I remembered from the Day of Three Pizzas. “Look at you.”

“Look at me,” I repeated, gesturing for the girl to try the download again. “What are you doing here?”

“SAT test tutoring session,” he replied, sliding his hands in his pockets. “Need to juice my scores. Hear the tutors are hot. That true?”

The ninth grader inched down the counter, putting space between them. Smart girl. I said, “How’s Layla?”

A shrug. “She’s okay. Haven’t gotten to see much of her lately. Shit kind of hit the fan at home.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.” He flipped his hand, this one gesture encompassing the entire story. “No biggie. I show up to this enough, I’ll be golden.”

Just then, Jenn came down the hallway, following her two o’clock study group. As they bunched around the doorway, heading out, she plopped into the chair beside mine. “Is it five yet?” she asked.

“It is somewhere,” Spence told her, leaning forward on his elbows. “That’s what I always say.”

Jenn gave him a polite smile. I looked at my computer, pulling up the Kiger schedule. “This is Spence,” I told her. “Your three o’clock.”

“No shit.” He grinned at me, then her. “My day just got better.”

And yours got worse,
I wrote on a piece of paper, sliding it over to Jenn under the counter. She raised her eyebrows.
Layla’s boyfriend,
I added. By this point I’d told her enough of the long story to make it unnecessary to provide more details.

“O-kay,” she said, getting to her feet. To Spence she said, “Did you bring your study materials?”

“My what?”

“The list you were e-mailed? With what you’d need for each session?”

Spence looked at me. “My mom set this up. No hablo any list. Sorry.”

Jenn sighed, coming out from behind the counter. “Follow me.”

He did, and thus ensued the first of several, in Jenn’s words, “excruciatingly painful” tutoring sessions.

“It’s not
just
that he thinks he’s so charming,” she said to me later, as we were packing up. “Although that’s a lot of it. He’s also just really, really stupid. It’s not a flattering combination. I’m surprised Layla can stand him.”

“She’d be the first to tell you she does not have the best taste in guys,” I replied. “And I don’t even know if they’re still together, anyway.”

“For her sake, I hope not.” She zipped up her bag. “I don’t even know that girl and I’m sure she can do better.”

Apparently, Layla had, in fact, not yet realized this. The next Saturday, I looked out to see Rosie pulling up in front of Kiger’s front window, Mrs. Chatham riding shotgun. As she turned toward the backseat, I saw Layla there, gathering her purse into her lap. Her hair was falling across her face, so she didn’t spot me as she replied, then got out of the car. It was only when they drove off and she peered in the window that our eyes met.

I never forget a face,
she’d said all those weeks ago, but I wondered what she thought now, seeing mine. She had on a black sweater, jeans, and motorcycle boots, her bag slung over one shoulder, and like every other time I’d caught a glimpse of her since that night, I realized how much I missed her. On the counter in front of me, my phone lit up as a text came in, Mac’s icon popping up on the screen. For once, though, I didn’t grab it. Then, like a reward, she was coming in.

The tone sounded over the door—
beep!
—but neither of us said hello. She didn’t approach the counter, either, stopping instead by one of our uncomfortable foyer chairs. Still, this was progress, so I did my part and spoke first.

“Hey. You here to meet Spence?”

She looked at me. “Yeah. He said you were working here.”

So she had known and came here anyway. Another good sign. “Just for a couple of weeks now.”

“You like it?”

“No,” I said. For this, I got a mild smile, encouragement enough to add, “My mom signed me up to be here every day. I might as well get paid for it.”

Layla sat down on the chair arm, pulling her bag into her lap. “Mac said she’s keeping you on a pretty tight leash.”

“More like a choke collar.” Saying this, I realized I’d been holding my breath. She’d mentioned Mac, though—that had to be good, right? God, I hoped so. “How have you been?”

She shrugged, playing with a bit of fringe on her purse. “All right. Busy. My mom’s been sick some. I guess you knew that, though.”

Up until this point, the whole conversation had felt like a house of cards, liable to collapse at any moment. But this was Layla. I’d always spoken straight with her. It felt wrong to do otherwise, even if it was safer. “Look,” I said, “I should have told you about Mac, how I felt. I’m sorry.”

She bit her lip, still fiddling with her purse. Then she looked at me. “I just couldn’t believe you kept it a secret. I thought we told each other everything.”

“We did,” I replied. She raised an eyebrow. “Okay, okay. But you’d been so clear that you did not want any of your friends ever liking him. And I did. I . . . I do. I didn’t want to have to choose between you. But then everything happened, and now you hate me anyway.”

“Sydney.” She cocked her head to the side. “I don’t hate you.”

“You’re not happy.”

“Because you guys snuck around behind my back!”

“How was I supposed to tell you? You said you never wanted to have a friend date him again.”

“No, what I
said
,” she told me, “was that I’d never again be responsible for bringing someone into Mac’s life who would hurt him. Are you planning to do that?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Good. Then there’s no problem here, other than you guys made me feel stupid. And I
hate
feeling stupid. You know that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, then let it out. “But if you do hurt him, I don’t care if you are my best friend, I’ll kick your ass. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” I replied.

Now I got a real smile, and then she was coming over to the counter across from me. “So tell me about this tutor of Spence’s. He claims she’s got the hots for him. True or not?”

For the next ten minutes, until Jenn and Spence emerged from their study room, we talked nonstop. About Mrs. Chatham’s visits to the ER and yet another new medication she was on. How Rosie’s return to training was going, and her hopes of returning to the Mariposa tour. The latest on Eric’s submitting the demo to the showcase—no word yet, but he was wholly confident, as always—and the ongoing band name debate. Then, finally, how Spence’s grounding after getting busted for breaking into his stepdad’s liquor cabinet had made their meetings practically impossible.

“But you’re here,” I pointed out.

“Only after much strategizing, and just for an hour,” she said. “He told his mom he was taking an extra session, so he’s not expected back until five. But he got his car taken away, and I never have any of ours, so we’re at Rosie’s mercy.”

“Or Mac’s,” I said.

She shook her head. “He was never a fan of Spence’s. But after what happened that night at your house, and to you? He’s not doing
anything
to help him out. Even if it means helping me, too.”

Hearing this, I felt touched and guilty all at once. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I understand.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “But like you were saying, when you really care about someone, you can’t just stop. Even if you have a good reason. You know?”

I nodded, and then Jenn was coming down the hallway, a tired expression on her face. Behind her I could hear Spence saying, “Lighten up! I didn’t mean it as an insult. I was just saying if you smiled more, you’d be a pretty girl.”