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I don’t understand anything at all about Elaine.
That afternoon when Mom picks me up, my heart falls as I realize she probably said something to Elaine. Before I can ask, Mom rips into me. Apparently she found out about Mitchell, the guy I knocked through the door. Instead of being concerned for me, she goes on and on about how we’re lucky he’s decided not to press charges.
I guess I should have gotten myself hurt so I don’t look like the bad guy. After all, he had to get stitches while I walked away without a scratch.
Since I’m unharmed, Mom is only worried about how everyone else’s mom is going to see her. Lindsey’s mom will think she has no control over her daughter, not even knowing where I am, and Mitchell’s mom will think I’m some kind of delinquent.
I close my eyes and rest my head back on the seat and take it. It’s not like I have an excuse.
I’m sick of being grounded already. Now that I have things to do with my friends, I can’t remember what I did before I had them. I sneak my phone out one night and call Lindsey, but the next day, my mom actually goes through my call log and catches me. I curse myself for not deleting the call—I didn’t realize the extent of her psychosis.
Unfortunately, telling her this does not help my cause.
She won’t let me go to Lindsey’s house, even for school related purposes. She won’t let me go to the basketball games, so I have to read about them in the school paper and listen to all the other girls talk about them.
I made friends with a lot of the jocks’ girlfriends during football season, and I still sit with them at lunch. But I’m not part of things. I get left out because I can’t join them in recounting the highlights on the floor and in the stands. The further they slip away, the more desperate I feel. I’m losing everything thanks to my Momzilla.
Greg comes by the table at lunch the next week.
“Hey, girl,” he says, holding out a fist. “You haven’t been to any of my games. Don’t like basketball?”
“I’m grounded,” I admit, my face flushing as I awkwardly bump his fist with mine. “I really want to go, though. I swear, I’ll be there the second I’m off house arrest.”
He laughs in that way he has that never makes me feel bad. “Here I thought you were my friend this whole time. And all you really wanted was to come to my parties.”
I try to laugh as I assure him again that I’ll come see him play as soon as I’m not grounded. Which may be next year, but I don’t tell him that. Then I feel bad, like I’m lying to him.
I realize it’s my usual wave of guilt for daydreaming about Chase, since I know I’ll spend most of the basketball games watching him, just like I did at the football games. Everyone thought I was the doting girlfriend there to see Todd. But I’m not a good girlfriend. I’m a terrible person who wants to die every time she thinks of his best friend.
That night, while all my friends go to yet another game, I lock myself in my room and turn my stereo up, blaring my music like a passive aggressive brat, hoping it drives my mother crazy.
I lie on the bed and try not to picture my friends at the game. What Elaine might be saying behind my back. Who might be breaking up or hooking up tonight.
I wonder if Chase is as dazzling on the basketball court as he is on the football field.
Of course he is. He’s Chase Freaking London. He’s born to be a star. He can’t help but shine.
Maybe that’s why he feels so safe with me—because I know it’s a lie. He’s a star, but it’s a perception others have of him, not his truth. Everyone’s painted him with a coat of gold, and he’s trying so fucking hard to fit their image, to meet their expectations. But beneath that shiny surface, he’s drowning.
Beneath the glimmer of gold, he’s a boy who breaks like anyone else, and only I know. I know because I met him on the night when his star burned out, when it turned to a black hole.
In some strange way, he can be real with me because I know he’s a fake. I know his secret, and he knows mine—that I’m a fake too.
Maybe that’s what really draws us to each other. You can’t con a conman, after all.
If only I’d recognized the conman in my own house as easily.
six
Now Playing:
“Hand in My Pocket”—Alanis Morissette
Thanks to Lindsey, my grades are looking pretty good this year, and when I show my mom that I have A’s in three classes before finals, she lets me have a little freedom as a reward. Freedom being limited to studying with Lindsey.
Lindsey’s not in any of my classes, so she’s spending her extra time helping me just because she’s so sweet, which only makes me more guilty for being a shit friend. She’s too nice to say no, so I can’t tell if she really wants to help or not. At least we get to hang out after school.
Lindsey claims she has to watch Chase practice every day as one of her duties as a girlfriend. So, we go to the gym after school, and she tutors me on the bleachers while the basketball team practices.
