The Everafter (4 page)

age 13

I’m digging through a little plastic bag looking for a purple rubber band to attach to my braces. I’m hoping there’s one more. I’ve already put one on the right side. The colors of my rubber bands have to match, right? Green, yellow, red.

I’m standing at the end of a row of lockers, and Sandra, who’s supposed to be blocking me from everyone’s view, starts to move away. “Hey, get back here,” I say. I don’t want the whole world to see me digging around in my mouth for the after-lunch-rubber-band-replacement session. What if Paul walks by?

I find a purple rubber band. I reach for it and start to loop it around the hook on my bottom row of braces.

“Ooohhh…Oh, nooo!” The disappointment in Sandra’s voice distracts me. I pull a little too hard on the rubber band. It snaps and flies out of my mouth.

How humiliating.

Then I see what Sandra’s just seen.

Incredible. Awful.

Paul’s walking down the hallway with Mary Kramer. And they’re holding hands.

Sandra sees the look on my face and reaches out to touch my arm. “I can’t believe he’d do that, go back to his ex-girlfriend that way.”

Sandra might not be able to believe it, but I can. Mary Kramer is about a million times prettier than I am. She never needs to worry about whether the rubber bands on her braces match because she has the world’s most perfect teeth and will never need orthodontics.

Sandra’s going on. “Besides, you didn’t really like him all that much, did you?”

Past tense. As if I have already
stopped
liking him.

The irony is that Paul was only my boyfriend for two weeks. My first boyfriend. And that’s more because he picked me than because I picked him. I didn’t even like him two weeks ago when the rumors started going around that he liked me. But I wanted a boyfriend, so I gave him
a chance, got to know—and really like—him at Amber’s party a week ago. We even kissed in her basement.

And, wow, I guess that was a huge mistake. It was my first kiss and I failed at it. Paul laughed at me and said, “That’s not what you do,” before trying to teach me the “right” way to kiss—which had something to do with sharing his gum.

I bet Mary Kramer’s a better kisser than I am. That’s probably the number one reason he’s back with her.

And now I’m stuck liking him. Probably forever.

Sandra puts her arm around my shoulders. “He’s a jerk. Forget about him. You’ll find someone better.”

I don’t think so. I’m a failure. I’m never going to like a guy again.

Tammy walks by. She sees the look on my face and does a double take. Almost like she wants to say something to me. That would be the first time since the slumber party last month. Maybe she realizes I wasn’t trying to make fun of her when we were playing with the Ouija board. I’m hopeful for a second.

Then she’s gone.

Lately, it seems like I’m losing everyone I care about.

Sandra leads me away from the lockers and toward our fifth-hour class.

age 6

“Kristen, stop hitting your sister,” Mom says. We are driving to Florida. I am six, and my parents have promised me a trip to Disney World for spring break. Kristen is too old to enjoy the trip. At thirteen, she’d rather be going somewhere exciting with her friends, but my parents keep reminding her that
she
got to go to Disney World when she was little and now it’s my turn.

I grin in satisfaction and say in my head,
You got in trouble, you got in trouble.
I know better than to say it aloud. That will get
me
in trouble with Dad, who is already annoyed. But Kristen can tell I’m making fun of her with my eyes. She knocks a package of Life Savers out of my hand so hard that some of them roll along the floor and under the seat. I start scavenging for them. When I think I have them all, I stick my tongue out at Kristen. She just glares back.

“Turn on the air-conditioning,” Kristen moans for at least the twentieth time.

It’s not all that hot in the car. We’re only in southern Ohio, and it’s just the beginning of April. “I’ll turn it on when we get farther south and it’s hotter,” Dad says.

Kristen makes a nasty snorting sound. Dad likes to have the windows of the car open, but the wind whipping through them is messing up Kristen’s hair. I just don’t see the big
deal. Now getting to see Aurora and Belle and Ariel—that will be a
big
deal. I can’t think about anything else. I have all my princess books stacked in my lap.

I flip one open and start reading it. “Want to read with me?” I offer Kristen. I can think of no greater peace offering.

She glares at me.

“Please. They’re good books.”

She rolls her eyes at me and pulls out a pillow, then hides her face underneath it.

Mom sees the hurt look on my face. “Don’t worry about it, Maddy,” she tells me. “Just enjoy your books.”

“Will you read along with me?” I ask. I want company.

Mom smiles at me. “Next rest stop I’ll change places with Kristen. She can sit up here, and I’ll sit back there with you so we can read the stories together.”

“Thank God,” Kristen emerges from under the pillow long enough to say. Then she hides back underneath it. The next few minutes are peaceful until Dad stops at the rest area. When we all get out of the car…

age 11

I’m in Sandra’s bedroom. I’m trying to get dressed and pack my clothes, but I’m missing a pair of socks.

It’s Sandra’s eleventh birthday, and we were planning to
have a sleepover.
Were
is the most important word here.

Sandra’s mother hasn’t been feeling well lately, so every time in the past few months we’ve asked if I could stay over, we’ve been told no. Sandra’s mother suffers from bad migraines. Noise makes them worse. So it makes sense to me that I shouldn’t spend the night at her house.

But why Sandra hasn’t been able to stay the night at my house…that I just don’t get. Every time we bring the subject up with her mother, she starts saying things like, “If you really feel you must go, darlin’, I understand.” Her mother was raised in the South, and she has this honeyed way of speaking the word
darlin’
that drives me crazy; maybe that’s because Sandra melts whenever her mother says it. And to make things worse, her mother adds something like, “I’m feeling so sick, darlin’, that I can understand why you’d rather be at a friend’s house than here keeping me company. But I’ll miss you so much while you’re gone. Who will bring me my cup of tea when I don’t even think I can make it out of bed?”

That just sort of kills any desire Sandra has to stay at my house.

Sandra and I have been fighting about this stuff a lot lately. I keep saying she should stay at my house even though her mother doesn’t want her to. She says she just can’t, not when her mother needs her so much.

Two days ago, when Sandra invited me to her house for
a birthday sleepover, I was crazy excited. It’s been ages since we’ve spent the night together.

I should have known better. Mrs. Simpson is a mastermind at ruining my time with Sandra, and I should have expected her to pull it off tonight, too. Except I guess I thought that, this being a birthday, her mother would go out of her way to make it a nice night for Sandra.

No such luck.

Five minutes ago, Sandra’s mom knocked on the bedroom door, stuck her head inside, and said, “I’m so sorry, girls, but I have a migraine coming on. I’m afraid that Madison is going to have to go home.”

“Please, Mom,” Sandra begged. “We’ll be quiet. I promise. We haven’t had a sleepover in ages.”

Mrs. Simpson started crying. “I’m so sorry, darling. I wanted so badly for this to be a perfect night for the two of you. Maybe Daddy can take me to a motel so I can have enough quiet to recover. I’d just be so lonely there all by myself. Your dad would have to come back here to check on you. And I get so scared when I’m so sick. I can’t get up by myself if I need to. But I’ll call Madison’s mom and tell her not to come get her if your father says—”

“No, Mom,” Sandra said. “We understand. We’ll do it again some other time.”

Except
I
definitely
don’t
understand. I want to cry. I’m feeling ripped apart inside. My best friend isn’t really my
best friend.
My
best friend wouldn’t let her mother do this to her. How can Sandra not see this is all an act on her mother’s part? That her mother
wants
to ruin our time together?

Sandra’s mother leaves the room, and I look at the devastated expression on Sandra’s face. Her brownish-green eyes are wide and glittering. She’s holding her own arms like she’s hugging herself. Even her normally bouncing, curly hair seems to drag along the side of her face. Guilt washes over me.

None of this is Sandra’s fault.

The doorbell rings. My mother is here. I still haven’t found my socks. I don’t want to leave Sandra here by herself wearing that desperate expression…on her
birthday
of all days. But now I can hear my mother’s voice in the entryway. She’s asking for me. Forget the socks. I know it’s a bizarre idea, but I figure that they can stay here and keep Sandra company for the night.

I give Sandra a hug. A sob starts to wrack her body, but as her mother walks back into the room, she chokes it down.

“Bye,” I whisper, letting go and rushing from the room.

age 16

I pull some books from my locker, and a pen slides out. I try to catch it, but my hands are full. It lands on the floor and makes a rolling escape toward Sandra, who’s standing right next to me at her locker. She yanks hard on the handle of the locker’s jammed door. It suddenly gives up its fight to protect her books from the odious duty of accompanying her to class. But lockers are not above simple revenge. Books, notebooks, even a pencil case, slide off the top shelf. She jumps back to avoid the avalanche.

I’m laughing at the bizarre look on her face when I hear a voice behind me say, “Hey…”

Ohmygod. Go away,
I think. Thankfully, I have the presence of mind not to let the idea slip out of my mouth. Nausea rises in my stomach at the sound of Gabe’s voice. Must be the memory of Kristen’s wedding.

That and the rumor I heard earlier today that he’s planning to ask me out.

By the time I turn around, he’s helping Sandra pick up the mess on the floor.

“Thanks,” she says as he hands her a pile of papers that’s fallen out of a book. I’m such an idiot. Why am I standing here instead of helping them?

Useless now. They’re done.

Gabe turns toward me. As his eyes meet mine, my
stomach lurches crazily.

Gabe says, “So, I hear Kristen and John get back from the honeymoon in a few days.”

I should be able to handle a few sentences of small talk, right?

My eyes skitter away from his, and I look to Sandra for help, but she’s kneeling in front of her locker, going through papers on the locker floor. She hasn’t bothered to clean anything in there all year. She’s obviously trying to eavesdrop.

She’s also obviously not going to bail me out.

“Yeah,” I say. I’m such a brilliant conversationalist. I scour my brain for things to add to this exchange.

“Hawaii…wow, what a great honeymoon.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s an encouraging streak,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“A couple of ‘yeahs’ right in a row. Shall I go for another one?”

Dread descends.

“So there’s a party this Friday at Allan Redford’s house. Want to go with me?”

Yeah, I do. Only I can’t say that because I also don’t want to go.

Sandra’s behind Gabe’s back making go-for-it-girl gestures at me.

“Well, actually, I can’t. My family has plans and my
mother really expects me to be there….” I can tell from his face that he’s not buying it.

“Oh, well, then. Maybe another time?”

I swallow and this time manage, “Yeah.” But then feel compelled to add, “Maybe.”

Gabe doesn’t waste any time getting away from me. “Later, then,” he says, and walks away.

I turn to face Sandra. The look she’s giving me is even worse than the look my mother gave me when I got caught cheating on a test in fifth grade. “For God’s sake, why’d you do that? Are you crazy? You’ve had a crush on Gabe since, what, like, seventh grade?”

“Sixth,” I mumbled.

“Which just makes it worse! What are you thinking?”

“It’s just, well…it’s—I’m not so sure…. Well, you know how when you’ve been eating something right before you get the flu and then every time you even
think
about that kind of food—for, like, the next year—you think you’re going to be sick again?”

Sandra looks at me as if I’m crazy. It takes her a minute to put the pieces together. “Wait. Are you trying to tell me that Gabe makes you feel
nauseated?
”

“Uhmm…yeah? Well, not exactly him. Just the memory of him at the wedding.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Maddy. Take some Pepto-Bismol or something. But get over it. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Sandra slams her locker and glares at me.

I can’t quite explain everything to her. She wouldn’t understand that Pepto-Bismol might help with the nausea, but it’s not going to help with all the other things that are roiling inside me.

Like total embarrassment over falling out of my dress in front of Gabe.

Or fear of picking up a rebound boyfriend and losing him within days—the way I did in eighth grade. Two weeks of going with me was enough to drive Paul back to a girl who’d only been his girlfriend for a couple of months. What chance do I have of keeping a hot guy like Gabe, who’s had the same girlfriend for two years? And, okay, so she’s one of the witchiest girls I’ve ever met. Still, she must have some redeeming qualities if Gabe stayed with her that long.

And then there’s that awful kiss I shared with Paul back in eighth grade. I’ve kissed a few boys since then, but no one that I actually liked. They were just guys at a party looking for someone to make out with. What if I kiss Gabe and
he
laughs at me because I’m doing it wrong?

I’d rather be lonely every Friday night for the rest of my life.