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I went straight to my room and showered. Rather than putting on makeup and worrying about my hair, which I would do after I showered to get ready for the party later, I simply ran a brush through my long brown waves, swiped on some mascara and lip gloss. I slipped on some cut off jeans and a red t-shirt that read “Got Milk?” across the front then pushed my feet into some flip flops.
I carried my purse down the hallway, walking softly, listening for Mom. I heard the quiet sounds of weeping from behind her closed door so I grabbed the list off the refrigerator door and left.
It only took me a few steps to remember that I wasn’t going far. My car was not in the driveway, which was a dead giveaway. I stomped my foot in frustration and headed back inside.
I knocked softly on Mom’s door. “Mom, my battery’s dead and I had to leave my car at school last night. Can I take yours?”
Sniffle, sniffle. “Yes.”
“Thanks,” I said, turning to grab Mom’s keys off the top of her purse where she always left them.
I hit the button to unlock the door of her Maxima and ducked in behind the wheel. It was always a treat to take Mom’s car. It was brand new and loaded with every available bell and whistle. My Civic was neither new nor loaded. I don’t think bells and whistles were even invented when my car was manufactured.
The engine purred to life and I shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway. I cracked the windows, opened the sunroof and turned up the radio. Katy Perry sang “Firework” and I wailed right along with her.
As I left the house, I was feeling like the plastic bag and the house of cards she was singing about. I did feel buried deep by my life, like I was suffocating. But as I drove, growing farther and farther from home, I began to feel more like the firework instead. Away from all the bitterness and turmoil, from all the painful memories and heartache, I felt like a different person.
My usual determination poured through me. It brought with it a confidence that my future was bright and happy and well within my control.
I decided that since it was such a beautiful day and I was driving such a beautiful car, I was going to take my time and enjoy it. I could see no reason why her funk had to be my funk, so I drove to the store all the way across town. I usually went to one closer to the house, but I was in no hurry to get back.
I pulled into the shopping plaza and slowly made my way around the store fronts, in the direction of the supermarket. As I casually scanned the people milling about on the sidewalk, a familiar dark head caught my eye when I passed the rare books store. Shamefully, despite everything and everybody else in my life, my heart soared.
I slowed and did an embarrassing double-take. Then, just as quickly as it had taken off, my heart came crashing back down to earth with a dull thud.
It was Bo. There was no doubt about that. But he wasn’t alone. He was with a girl I recognized, a sophomore named Savannah. I didn’t really know her per se, but I knew of her. Trinity absolutely despised her because Devon had once made a comment about her.
If I remember correctly it was something fairly innocuous, something about her being nice or funny maybe. I couldn’t recall exactly, but that’s all it took to get Trinity’s ire up. After that, the full weight of The Unholy Trinity’s angry social power was turned on the poor girl. Now, she was basically exiled, forbidden entry into any and all decent parties and events.
Watching her laugh with Bo, however, caused me to see things from Trinity’s perspective for one jealousy-induced, temper-flaring minute before I reminded myself that I was nothing like Trinity (a secretly insecure, cripplingly envious psycho). Besides, I had no claims on Bo, and that was that.
I must’ve gawked too long because Savannah noticed me and said something to Bo, who then turned to look back at me.
Humiliated, I sped up, racing to the supermarket lot and turning into the first parking spot I came to. I got out and hurried into the store, mortified that he’d caught me staring.
My pleasurable outing had taken an unfortunate turn for the worse. Evidently, I wasn’t the only one at school that he had an interest in. All those flowery words and all the sincerity that gushed from his eyes had scrambled my brain. How could I have been so wrong about him?
You don’t even know him, that’s how, Ridley. It doesn’t matter what you thought you saw in his eyes. You were wrong, I told myself.
Irrationally aggravated and disproportionately disappointed, I went rushing through the aisles, picking out items on Mom’s list and throwing them into the basket, all the while slapping deep brown eyes out of my mind. I’d probably get home with broken eggs, smooshed bread and bruised fruit, but at that moment, I couldn’t have cared less.
When I got through the checkout line, I remembered (too late) that I hadn’t gotten money from Mom. Choking on the scream of frustration that simmered in my throat, I pulled out my debit card and swiped it. There went a little bit more of my summer money. It was the second time this month this had happened. At this rate, I’d be destitute in no time.
Carrying the bags to the car, I quickly stuffed them into the back seat and climbed in to speed away, taking a different way around the lot than the one I’d used coming in. I didn’t want to risk seeing them again or, worse yet, them seeing me.
At home, I put the groceries away and then went back to my room for a healthy dose of focus. I put my ear buds in and picked out angry white female music to listen to while I flipped through my Stanford brochures. I pictured myself among the happy students on campus, living a life totally different from this one, accomplishing great things and making my dreams come true. My biggest goal in life was to become a whole person again, and a new start at Stanford seemed to be the most promising way to achieve that.
I didn’t intend to fall asleep, but that’s exactly what happened. Dad woke me up when he got home and, at his insistence, I went out to spend some family time with him and Mom.
When Dad was home, we all pretended that we were once again a normal, average, Leave-it-to-Beaver kind of family. We pretended that tragedy hadn’t struck, that Mom wasn’t an alcoholic and that Dad wasn’t running away. We pretended that I was a typical teenager with typical teenage problems. We pretended that our lives were still our lives from three years ago, only minus one family member, one we never spoke of.
