Vegan Virgin Valentine (7 page)

“We’ll talk about it tonight. Where are you?”

“I’m in Lift Bridge.”

“Be careful walking home. It’s getting dark. Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” I said.

I put my cell phone back in my coat pocket. That’s when I noticed that the woman at the counter was looking over at me.

“Sorry,” I said. “It was my dad.”

She smiled. “We all have dads, right?”

As I was walking out of the bookstore, I couldn’t stop thinking about how
most
of us have dads. But not V. Her biological father is some nameless guy who Aimee calls the Sperm Donor. Aimee once mentioned that V has his Irish nose and honey-colored hair. Another time, she told my mom that V inherited the Sperm Donor’s ability to carry a tune. But that’s all I’ve ever heard about him.

Sometimes, as much as I can’t stand V, I kind of feel sorry for her.

My parents and V sat on the couch. I sat in the comfy chair on the other side of the living room. My mom started the Family Meeting by saying, in five different ways, how she and my dad are so happy that V is living with us. But then she pressed her fists into her lower back like she was massaging knots and said they needed to discuss a few “adjustment issues.”

V hugged her knees to her chest. “Adjustment issues?”

It turns out my dad got a call from Mr. B today, informing him that V has been skipping some of her classes. V rationalized it by saying that a few teachers are being jerks to her because she’s not caught up in the subjects. My parents offered to talk to them, but V was like, “No, no, I’ll suck it up.”

“Let us know if you’re having any problems,” my dad said. “We can always arrange for a tutor, if that would help.”

V, still hugging her knees, started rocking from side to side.

“Sweetie,” my mom said, “there’s something else we’d like to talk about.”

“We’d like to encourage you to get involved in a school activity,” my dad said.

I nearly cracked up. V is always making fun of how I’m a big joiner, but now
she’s
getting a taste of life with my parents.

“A school activity?” V asked. “You mean like French Club?”

“Well, yes, that’s an example,” my mom said. “But something you’re interested in. Somewhere you could meet people who share the same interests.”

“But I don’t really have any interests,” V said.

“What about drama?” my mom asked. “You have a great voice and a knack for dancing…”

“Weren’t you one of the leads in
Oklahoma!
?” my dad asked. “In your high school in Vermont?”

My parents were acting casual about it, but it was obvious they’d discussed this beforehand. I knew this scenario all too well. V was getting tag-teamed.

“Yeah,” V said. “I was cast as Ado Annie, but it’s not like I got to actually
be
in the play. Aimee made us move two weeks before it opened and the understudy got my part.”

“What would you think about auditioning for the spring musical at Brockport High School?” my dad asked.

V paused. “Spring musical?”

My dad smiled at my mom. “When Ron Bonavoglia called me today, we got to talking. They’re putting on a production of
Damn Yankees
. Auditions are in two weeks.”

V shook her head. “I can’t. What if Aimee comes back from Costa Rica and I have to move? I don’t want to get my hopes up again. That sucked.”

My parents exchanged a quick look and then my dad said, “Just think about it. You don’t have to make any decisions tonight.”

V started rocking again.

“Can I go now?” I asked.

My dad shook his head. “We wanted to talk with you, too.”

“We were thinking about ways you can help V adjust,” my mom said.

“Ways
I
can help?” I asked, glancing at V. She hugged her knees tighter and lowered her head.

“You’ve enjoyed working at Common Grounds so much,” my mom said.

“Maybe you could get V a job there,” my dad said.

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!

“What do you think?” my mom asked.

I shook my head. “No way. Couldn’t happen.”

“At least talk to your boss about it,” my dad said. “James seems like a decent person. Maybe he could—”

I rose to my feet. “No, okay? So just forget about it.”

“Mara,” my mom said, frowning. “I’m surprised at—”

I dashed toward the back door, grabbed my coat, and jogged down the driveway.

I walked all the way to Common Grounds. I didn’t plan to. I just took a right on Centennial and a left on Main Street. As I neared the café, I spotted James getting out of his car. A second later, he glanced over and saw me.

“Hey, there!” he called out. “What are you doing downtown?”

“Just going for a walk,” I said. “I needed to clear my head.”

I noticed that James was smiling. I also noticed how broad his shoulders looked in his wool coat. Claudia has pointed out James’s scrumptious shoulders on numerous occasions.

“Your cheeks are pink.” James reached up and touched my face. “Why no scarf?”

“I … I sort of…” I paused. I couldn’t stop thinking about how his hand felt on my cheek.

“Everything okay?”

I shook my head. “I left my house quickly.”

“Angry?”

I nodded.

“Why?” James asked.

I glanced into the front window of Common Grounds to see who was working tonight. Okay, I’ll admit it. I wanted to make sure Claudia wasn’t there. It’s not like I was doing anything
wrong,
but she may have taken it the wrong way, me standing on a dark sidewalk with James. I was relieved to see Josh and Randy, two guys who do a lot of shifts together, behind the counter.

I explained to James how V is living with us for a while. I was surprised to learn he actually knew that. He said that he overheard me telling Claudia. I told him how she’s kind of a juvenile delinquent and how my parents had a Family Meeting tonight to discuss ways to help her adjust. When I told him they wanted me to get her a job at Common Grounds, James laughed.

“
My
Common Grounds?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“What did you say?”

“Maybe I’m a horrible person, but I said no.” I paused. “Do you think I’m a horrible person for not wanting her to work here? I bet that’s what everyone thinks.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“I guess my parents.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“I just feel like this is my place,” I said. “I don’t want V here, too.”

“Well, sometimes you have to listen to yourself, even if it’s not what your parents want.”

James was standing pretty close to me. I got that thumping feeling again, so I stared down at the sidewalk.

“Want to come in and have some coffee or tea? Something to heat you up for the walk home?”

“No,” I said. “I’d better get going.”

James lifted both of his hands to my cheeks, holding them there for a few seconds. My heart started pounding so hard I could feel it in my entire chest.

“Stay warm, Mara,” he said. And then he turned and headed inside.

The only good thing about early February was that Travis got mono and was out sick for two weeks. Okay, that’s evil. I do not wish a fever and swollen glands on anyone. But it was a relief not to have him raising his hand in every class, hugging girls in every meeting. Plus, he’d missed a physics lab on the coefficient of friction and a pop quiz in psychology, so he was definitely losing that grade-point edge he’d gained when I bombed the government test.

I know that sounds thoroughly villainous. But I wanted to be valedictorian so badly, I could not only taste it; I could chew and swallow it. I couldn’t stop imagining myself up at the podium in the gym, making the valedictory address, knowing I’d permanently bumped Travis to second place.

Bethany Madison was the one who told me about Travis having mono. On Wednesday of the first week that he was out, I was walking into the main office to drop off a National Honor Society roster and she was heading out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t return your e-mail yet,” I said as we paused in the doorway.

“I’m sure you’ve been busy, getting ready for Yale and everything.”

“Have you heard from any colleges?”

Bethany shook her head. Her hair is Medusa-curly, so she usually pulls it back in a ponytail. “I’ve applied to Geneseo, Stony Brook, and Albany, but I won’t hear until early April. I really want to go to Geneseo.”

“I’m sure you’ll get in.”

“I don’t know. I’ve got volleyball, but I’m not sure I have the grades.”

“Grades aren’t everything.”

As I said that, I thought LIAR in my head. Look at me, jockeying for one-hundredth of a decimal point over Travis, feeling elated if I get it, feeling crushed if I don’t.

Bethany must have read my mind because she whispered, “Did you hear about Travis?”

“You mean how he’s sick?”

“Guess what he’s got?
Mono.
The kissing disease! My mom ran into his dad in Wegmans. He’s so weak he can’t even lift his head.”

“Poor Trav—”

“Don’t bullshit me, Mara,” Bethany said. “You’re as thrilled as the next girl he treated like crap. He totally deserves this.”

I smiled. Bethany started giggling, which made me start giggling.

As we were saying goodbye, I thought about how I’ve fallen out of touch with my high-school friends. It’s not that I don’t like them. It’s that my mind is so focused on beginning my new life at Yale. And now that I’ve gotten accepted to the Johns Hopkins summer program and my parents mailed in the tuition, I’m leaving Brockport for good at the end of June. I feel like my mind has already gone and now my body just needs to follow.

My parents gave up on the idea of V working at Common Grounds, but they hadn’t given up on V.

She had become their New Project, like reupholstering a couch or investing money in retirement funds. They quizzed her on SAT words. They looked over her homework. My mom was encouraging her to either grow out her bangs or get them trimmed.

V seemed to be gobbling up the attention. She didn’t even protest when, last weekend, my parents called another Family Meeting, this one with the sole purpose of getting V to quit smoking.

As soon as the words were out of my dad’s mouth, V jabbed her finger at me. “Did Mara tattle?”

My dad looked surprised. “No, sweetie. We knew you were smoking since last summer. Remember when you and Aimee visited and you had that lighter in your bag?”

“And I found an empty pack of Camels in your jeans when I was doing the laundry,” my mom added.

It hit V and me at the same time. They were talking about
cigarettes
, not the other kind of smoking. The illegal kind. I studied V’s face carefully, wondering what she was thinking, but she wouldn’t look in my direction.

V slumped back on the couch, sagging with relief that my parents weren’t on to her. She was so relieved that when my parents lectured her about the horrors of nicotine—lung cancer, stained teeth, increased risk of strokes—V went up to her room, came down with two packs of cigarettes, handed them to my dad, and promised she’d never smoke again.

The biggest component of Project V was convincing her to try out for the school play. For two weekends in a row, my parents rented every musical they could get their hands on, from
Chicago
to
My Fair Lady
to
Moulin Rouge
. They even went so far as to go on to Amazon and buy the DVD of
Damn Yankees
. As soon as it arrived, my mom made a bag of microwave popcorn and the three of them watched it. I was in my room, proofreading some text for the yearbook, but I could hear them through my wall. They were rewinding and rewatching all the dance numbers. And every so often, they’d hit pause and remind V of her uncanny ability to carry a tune and her knack for dancing. Or they’d tell V that with all her energy, she belongs on a stage. Or they’d say that if she didn’t have serious talent, she never would have gotten cast as a lead in
Oklahoma!

I wasn’t sure if anyone had spoken to Aimee yet, but one night, as I was brushing my teeth, I overheard my dad and V talking in my parents’ bedroom. My dad basically gave V his word that if she got into the school play, she could stay with us through mid-April.

“But what if Aimee comes back from Costa Rica and I have to go with her wherever she moves?” V asked.

“Then we’ll send you to Aimee
after
the school play.”

“She’ll probably come back, you know. This whole Campbell thing is so fucked up. He’s a twenty-two-year-old surfer idiot. And, besides, Aimee can’t commit to anything or anyone for more than a few months.”

I strained to catch my dad’s response, but all I could hear were his footsteps crossing the room and closing the door.

The next day, Aimee called. It was Wednesday, two days before Valentine’s Day. I was home from school and had some time to kill before improv dance. I’d done all my homework, so I was working on the volunteer schedule for the senior-class candygram fundraiser.

Travis had sent me a brief e-mail that morning, saying he wasn’t going to be back at school until the following Monday and asking if I could coordinate the V-day volunteers. I responded with an equally terse “Consider it done.”

When the phone rang, I set my notebook on the coffee table and ran into the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Mara?” Aimee shouted. The connection sounded crackly and distant. “I’m calling from a pay phone in downtown Jaco!”

“What’s up?”

“Dad sent me two e-mails last night and one this morning telling me to call him. Is he around?”

“He’s at his office.”

“Oh, right, I’ll try him over there.” Aimee paused for a second. “Is my daughter there?”

“She’s at school, Aim. It’s early afternoon here.”

“Why aren’t you there? Exemption for geniuses?”

I ignored that comment.

“Listen,” Aimee said after a moment. “I don’t have a phone in my room, so can you tell V I’ll call again soon?”

“Dad got her a cell phone,” I said. “Want the number?”

Aimee laughed. “Did you just say that dad got her a
cell phone
?”

“We all have cell phones.”