Freshman Year (24 page)

After we hang up, I stand in front of my mirror and try to braid my hair. It looks pretty bad, so I do it again. But it still looks like I just survived a tornado, so I give up and find my mom.

“Everything all set for tonight, honey?” she asks as she weaves my hair into a perfect french braid.

“Yep. Are you sure you don't mind driving us around?”

“Of course not. Just call me from your cell phone when you're ready to come home.” She taps my shoulder for the hair band, wraps it around the end of my braid, and then kisses my head like she always does when she's finished. “There you go.”

I look in the mirror and admire her work. It looks perfect, but my mom's niceness makes me feel ugly inside. I fake a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

When I walk back into the living room a few minutes later to wait for Stef and Garrett, my mom's at her easel, working on another large painting. This one's commissioned by the Tucson Public Library. I peek over her shoulder and look for the mini version of me. Once in a while, when she can get away with it, she sneaks in a girl who looks just like me. “There I am,” I say and point to a girl sitting on a bench in the front of the library. I'm reading one of my favorite books,
Alice in Wonderland
.

“Yep, there you are.” She rinses off her paintbrush and dries it on a cloth diaper that I once wore.

She usually paints me to look like I'm five or six, maybe that's when I looked the cutest, but this time in the painting I'm much taller and I'm wearing checkered Converse. Maybe she's finally accepting that I'm growing up. I sigh because I wish I could be that perfect little girl on her canvas, the one who likes reading and hanging out at the library, not making out with girls in instrument rooms. But maybe I'm making too big a deal out of this whole thing. Maybe she won't even care. Maybe it's time to say something true for once.

I open my mouth and wait for my confession to escape, but the only words that surface are, “Looks cool, Mom.”

*

At around seven fifteen, Garrett calls me. “Dude, is Stef there?”

“She hasn't come by your place yet?” I look out the window of my front door to see if Stef's walking down the street. “That's weird,” I say when I see her sitting on the curb in front of my neighbor's house. “She's outside. Call you right back.”

Out of sheer insanity or boredom, my mom decided to hang about a thousand bells on the front door to “get in the spirit of the holidays” even though it's only mid-November, so it sounds like Santa Claus's arrival as I open and shut it. Stef looks up at the commotion, but when she sees it's me, she stands up and starts to walk down the street away from my house.

“Stef, wait!” I run after her and grab her arm to keep her from fleeing. “What's wrong? Why didn't you go to G's?”

She turns to face me. The street light illuminates her bloodshot eyes.

I'm very familiar with the look of a recent cry, so I change my tone. “Are you okay?”

Instead of crying on my shoulder like before, she yanks her arm out of my grasp and glares at me. “I should have figured it out. It's always the ones you trust the most that end up stabbing you in the back. You're such a cliché.”

“Stef,” is all I can say.

“God, Abbey. You know, I actually feel responsible? I should have left you alone about trying out for basketball. Maybe then you wouldn't have become such a two-faced whore.”

“Stef, it's not like that. I…”

She backs up and the distance between us forces her to yell even louder. “Let me guess, Abbey. Keeta read you poetry and played her stupid guitar for you. She told you, ‘I've never met anyone like you before.'”

I feel an invisible punch hit me hard in my gut.

“Oh my God.” She smacks her forehead with her hand. “That present! That was from her, not your mom. And the box from Josephine's…that was for your birthday, too. God, you really had me fooled, Abbey.”

“Stef, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.” I really am sorry, but I know
sorry
isn't going to get me out of this one. Mostly, though, I just want her to stop yelling so my mom won't hear us. “Can we talk somewhere else?”

“Why? So you can lie to my face some more?”

“Please?”

She finally lowers her voice. “Abbey, good luck with this messed up life you're stupid enough to take on. I hope your mom is able to accept it. I hope you find a happy ending. But I'll tell you one thing, it's not going to be with Keeta. Everyone tried to warn me about her, but I never listened, and she's going to screw with your head and heart so much you'll wish you were dead just like me. Don't think you're that special,
Amara
.”

Stef saying my secret name feels like spit in my face and there's nothing I can say to make it better. But I don't want to make it worse, so I just stand there and take it.

She steps toward me and I brace myself for my first real punch in the face.

“I should totally kick your ass.”

At least this is something we both agree on.

“But you know what? Being with Keeta is punishment enough.”

With that, it's over. She storms down the street as her words linger and try to penetrate my hard head. Logically, I have no reason to doubt what she said and every reason to believe she probably knows Keeta better than me. But I'm getting used to having what I want, and what I want more than anything is Keeta all to myself. Maybe Keeta treated Stef badly, but that doesn't mean she'll do the same to me.

I head back to my house and try to come up with a way to explain the blowout I just had with Stef in case my mom heard us.

As I walk down the driveway, I see the worst possible scenario: my mom standing at the kitchen sink. Even though a thin pane of glass is all that separates us, she feels a million miles away. It's like the wall I've been working so hard to put up between us has become too large to leap over, too solid to yell through, and too strong to break down.

The jingle bells announce my return as I step into the house and get ready for my next battle.

“Everything okay, Abbey?”

“Um, yeah.” I grab my braid and start to paint my cheek with its soft tip. “Well, sort of.”

“She seemed pretty upset.”

“Yeah, she was,” I say, letting out a little sun-ray of truth to counteract the snowstorm of lies.

“Why don't you tell me about it?” She wipes her hands on the dish towel and pulls out a chair for me at the table.

I sit down because I can't think of a reason fast enough for why I shouldn't.

After ten painful seconds of silence, I say, “I didn't mean for it to happen.”

“You didn't mean for what to happen, honey? Who's Keeta?”

“Keeta?” I ask, buying time.

“I heard her say something about someone named Keeta.”

I look down at the placemat and play with its edges. “Well, see, Stef and Keeta were really good friends. Like, best friends, then Keeta and I started to be friends, and I guess she got sort of jealous. I guess Keeta”—it's beyond weird to say her name in front of my mom—“started hanging out with me more, since we have guitar together and stuff, and Stef started to feel left out, so Keeta and I kept some stuff we did from Stef, but I guess tonight Keeta told Stef about how we lied to her and, so, yeah, Stef was pretty mad at me.” I grab my braid again but drop it to avoid looking suspicious.

“Hmm. I guess you know a little about feeling left out,” my mom says, picking up her coffee and leaning back in her chair like she's channeling Ms. Morvay.

“What do you mean?”

“It's been pretty obvious, Abbey. I mean Kate hardly ever calls and always cancels her plans with you. That must be really painful for you, too. I bet you can understand what Stef must be going through.”

“Yeah,” I agree to help speed things along. “I guess I do.”

“You know what I think? I think you should cancel your party plans and talk to Keeta about what you guys can do to help Stef feel better. Maybe you can figure out a way to make it up to Stef. That's the kind of good friend I know you are.” Then she nods her head and smiles.

But her smile makes paranoia seep into me and I am convinced my mom is messing with my mind.

“Here's an idea,” my mom says and then stands to get more coffee. “Since I was planning on having dinner with a friend anyway while you were out, I can drop you off at Keeta's and then pick you back up afterward at around nine o'clock. Unless you and Garrett still want to go out.”

If she's messing with me, she's the master. “Uh…” is the only sound I can make.

“Why don't you call Keeta and Garrett and work it out. I'll get ready.”

I'm finally able to spit out an okay and run to my room to use my brand-spanking-new cell phone to call my brand-spanking-free girlfriend.

“Hey, gorgeous, I was just thinking about you,” Keeta says. For someone who's just broken up with her girlfriend, she's in pretty good spirits.

“Really? Well, I guess my super telepathic powers are improving. Do you know what I'm telling you to do now?” And for someone who has just been given a strong warning about being with Keeta, I sure am being flirty.

“Hey now, don't tease me, Amara. I don't get to see you until tomorrow. Which reminds me, buttermilk or blueberry pancakes?”

I fall back onto my bed and kick my legs in the air before saying, very maturely, like someone who isn't a freshman, “Actually, change of plans. Can I come over tonight?”

“No joke?” She sounds excited, which makes me want to gallop around the house like a pony. “Something go down?”

“Nothing big,” I say casually. “It just worked out this way.”

“Damn, then get your cutie bootie over here. Not much to do at my house, but I think we'll find something to fill the time.”

As Keeta finishes saying this my mom pokes her head in my room. “Abbey, I…”

“Get out, Mom! I'm on the phone!” Lucky for me, my mom doesn't rip the phone out of my hand and toss it in the prickly pear cactus patch outside my window. She does give me a mean mom glare, though, so I say in a much sweeter tone with my hand over my phone, “I'm just getting directions. Be right there.” Then back to Keeta, “Anyway, you better give me directions to your apartment or house, or whatever.” Of course, I know it's an apartment. Thanks to Mrs. Schwartz and Google Earth, I know exactly where Keeta lives and that there is a brown Buick in the driveway, a tombstone rose bush in front of the window, and a paloverde tree next to the door.

After Keeta and I hang up, I call Garrett.

“No need to explain. Stef already called me,” Garrett says, with a tone that tells me she's not mad at me.

“So you don't mind if we postpone?”

“You mean do I mind if you ditch me to slut around with your secret lesbian lover?”

“Right,” I say, hoping to wrap up the call so I can get on my way to Keeta's.

“Nah, just have fun. We'll do it some other time.”

I hear a click of another call on her line.

“Speaking of whoring around, that's Tai to tell me how sorry she is for flirting with some lame-ass friend of her cousin's. I better go so we can make up already.”

“Okay, I'll call you later,” I say, looking in the mirror to reassess my outfit.

“You bet your ass you will.”

Before going to Keeta's, I reapply some lip gloss, unbutton one more button of my blouse, and undo my hair because I'm pretty sure Kate once told me only little girls wear braids, real women wear their hair down, long, and tousled. I recall her demonstration and flip my head down between my legs, mess it up really good with my fingertips, then come back up to admire it. Kate's right. I do look sexy as hell.

“Take a left on Sandalwood,” I say to my mom on our way to Keeta's.

She slowly completes the turn. “Then what?”

I look down at the directions I printed out for show. “Uh, it should be coming up, three oh seven Sandalwood, Building A.”

We pull up in front of Keeta's apartment, and lo and behold, there's the brown Buick. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Her parents are home, right?” Mom says before I shut the car door.

“Uh, she lives with her grandmother, actually. And yeah, she's home.” I guess.

“Okay, I'll be back at around nine.”

It's a good thing I wait for my mom to drive away before knocking on the door because when Keeta opens it, she holds out a tiny yellow rose.
“Una rosa para ti.”

“Wow, thanks.” I put it behind my ear and step inside her home for the first time. It smells like scented candles and looks very tidy. Her grandma isn't visible, which makes me kind of nervous for some reason. But then I get even more nervous when I see how little clothing Keeta has on. She's wearing a tight, racer-back black tank top, boxer shorts, and no shoes. It's the most skin I've seen of Keeta's, and frankly, she might as well be naked.

Keeta closes the door and pulls me to her for a hug. I melt as usual and let my earlier near-death experience with Stef get deleted from my brain.

It isn't until we finally part that I lay eyes on him. “Whoa. That's amazingly…big,” I say and point to the giant crucifix occupying the wall opposite the television. Its size and realistic red blood dripping from the feet, hands, and head wounds make me feel very bad for being a backstabbing sinner. “So I take it you go to church.”

“If my
nana
asks, then yes I do.” She laughs. “I take it you don't.”

“Once, when my dad died. It's funny because I hadn't ever given God much thought, but when I sat there in front of my dad's coffin, I decided I hated him for letting my dad die. I guess I never got past that.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” She reaches out and moves the clasp of my necklace to the back of my neck. I smile because I'm glad she notices I'm still wearing it. “But he's not as bad as you might think,” she says.