Never Enough (16 page)

Mom, pruning the plants in our living room, seemed slightly more interested. “Hmm. What kind of job?”

“It’s just a Saturday thing, Mom. It’ll be good experience, and it’s not like I do anything else on Saturdays. It’s probably
just for the summer.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to convince her, since she didn’t seem to be arguing.

Claire sat quietly on the couch. She just followed me around the room with her sad eyes while one of her favorite movies played in the background.

I wanted to say something to her, but I was afraid it would come out in a scream.
Why don’t you just get a friggin’ job? I mean, if you’re not going to bother going to college . . .

But before I could complete my ranting thoughts, Claire interjected, “Yeah, I got a job, too!”

“Oh?” Dad was about to reach for the front door, but stopped and looked between me and Claire. “Well, that’s great, honey.”

Mom jumped in, “I didn’t know you’d been applying. It won’t get in the way of your ballet practice, I hope?” She stopped watering her plants and turned to Claire.

What ballet practice?
I wondered. Sure, she’d been going to her summer class once a week, but other than that I hadn’t seen her dance bag leave its spot inside her bedroom door even once since school let out. Not like last year, when she was always dancing in her room or even booking extra time at the studio.

Claire crossed the room toward the stairs, not looking at any of us. “Oh, no, of course not, Mom. But I need to save some money for when I get into performing-arts school. It’s probably more expensive than regular college.”

The “probably” made it clear, at least to me, that she hadn’t looked into that yet, and part of me wondered if she ever planned on it.

“What schools have you been considering?” Mom asked, possibly thinking the same thing.

“Oh, there are so many of them,” Claire said. “I’ll . . . have to order some brochures.”

With Claire’s vague answers, Mom quickly changed the subject back to Claire’s new job, asking her a million questions about where it was and what she’d be doing.

Claire was halfway up the stairs before she turned back and said, “I’m just starting as a stock girl at Carmine’s Clothing. In the back,” she added. “It’s no big deal.”

But of course, it was a big deal that Claire was doing something. Because it was always a big deal whenever Claire did
anything
.

Even though it felt like everything had changed since I’d worked on the photo-set and discovered my ability with photography, standing in my house with my family, I realized that nothing had changed.

Claire would always overshadow me. My life wasn’t as important as hers.

Most days, Claire didn’t get home in time to eat with us, or said she’d just
grabbed something on the way home, but when she did, she spent most of the time moving her food from side to side. She took tiny bites—one pea, or a single grain of rice—then went back to rearranging her plate. I wondered what consumed her, since she still wouldn’t talk to me about anything real. If I watched her for long enough, she started eating normally.

Tonight, though, she stole the chicken drumstick before I even had a chance. Mom always put one drumstick aside for Dad, and Claire and I usually at least discussed who would get the other one, but I’d just assumed that with her new diet, I’d get it this time.

“I thought you were a vegetable now, Claire.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Very funny. Actually, Loann, I still eat a lot of vegetables. I’m just trying to be smart. I need some protein for my muscles, too.”

She only called me Loann at home, when she was pissed. So, what, she couldn’t take a joke now either?

Mom didn’t seem to notice the way Claire ate—or didn’t—so the next night, I tried to point it out to her.

“Claire,” I said pointedly, “can I get you some more mashed potatoes?” I scooped a big dollop out of the bowl and moved it toward her plate. I don’t know why I felt so antagonizing toward her. Maybe I was just trying to force her to pay attention to me again. To remember who I was and that we used to actually like each other.

“No. Thank you, Loann.” She pulled her skimpily decorated plate closer to herself.

“How’s your meal, Claire?” I pressed. “Not much there, huh?”

Claire’s eyes widened, like she couldn’t believe what I’d said, but it was pretty much just stating the obvious. “Well some of us watch what we eat,” she snapped back. “Why don’t you look at your own problems, first?”

I swallowed. She was right, of course. I never really held back from eating whatever I wanted. And because of that, I was too embarrassed to wear a bathing suit without a big T-shirt over my top every summer.

Mom, off in her own world, quietly jabbed at her own dinner, and I had to wonder,
Didn’t she care about anything that happened at the dinner table anymore?

*   *   *

Marcus didn’t show the next Friday at the Arts Club. Even though it had only been a few days, I missed him. I headed home to check and see if he’d e-mailed me, expecting to find the house empty, but Claire sat alone on the couch. She just stared at the wall and didn’t seem to even flinch when I said hi to her.

I walked around the far side of the couch to see her face. Tears streaked her cheeks.
Was she still upset over our argument about food last night? Or was it something more serious?
I went over and sat beside her.

“You’re not working today,” I said softly.

That’s when she started to really cry. And not her normal, prim little snivels. Big, snotty, crocodile tears.

“Oh, Loey,” she said. “Oh, Loey, it was awful.” With a big flourish, she threw her face into her hands. I reached over and patted her back, expecting her next words to be about getting fired, but then she wailed, “We broke up!”

It took me a second to catch up. “Wait, you and Josh?”

She let out an even louder wail, so I rubbed circles on her back as it pulsed up and down. I certainly didn’t expect the two of them to get married or anything, but Jaz and Laz had
been dating for so long that I just assumed Josh and Claire would too.

I was also surprised at the relief I felt that they weren’t together anymore. I’d always thought I was happy for Claire, getting
the
Josh. But maybe . . . I wasn’t.

“What happened?” I asked.

She didn’t answer right away, but draped her long, slender body over my shoulders in a hug. I moved my hands around to her back and continued circling. When we were younger and closer to the same size, we used to hug all the time or, at the very least, throw an arm over the other’s shoulder. This felt so awkward now. We were such different shapes. But still, I was happy to have my sister needing me.

“It just . . . I don’t even know,” she finally breathed out between her sobs.

After several minutes of me soaking up her tears with my dark green T-shirt, she inched back to her place on the couch. Then she smoothed her capris and said, “You’re the best, Loey.”

Even though I hadn’t done anything, her words made my insides flutter. They made me remember long-ago days, when we knew how to help each other. I knew this wasn’t the time to talk about her weird eating, but I also wondered if this was the cause of it. Now that it was over between them, sure, she’d probably be upset for a few days, but then maybe
she’d be less stressed. She’s so beautiful and popular, I had no doubt that she’d find a new boyfriend in no time.

Claire stayed in her room through dinner that night, and left early the next day for work. I figured she probably needed a breather from talking about it, so I made excuses to Mom for her. A few days later, I noticed that she wasn’t talking to Jasmine, either. She usually spent her evenings at the very least gabbing on the phone, but these days she just sat on the couch, watching TV with me. Mom and Dad both headed back to their jobs most evenings, if they even made it home for dinner, so Claire and I were left on our own. We didn’t really talk much, and some days she didn’t want anything to eat—not even a salad. I tried to keep the conversation light and happy, to let her know she didn’t have to talk about Josh if she didn’t want to, but she seemed to be in a cranky mood no matter what I said. She flipped TV shows, even when I was watching one. She played cell-phone games with one hand and held a death-grip on the TV remote with the other. Rather than arguing with her, I headed for my room and lay on my bed to think.

Had Josh been mean when they broke up?
That didn’t seem like Josh, but Claire had become such a mess.

*   *   *

By Saturday, Claire still hadn’t said another word about the breakup. I stood behind the Arts Club counter, washing dishes
and thinking about her, when who should walk through the doors but Josh and three of his buddies.

The same friends who had tormented Marcus at his locker last year.
How had they found this tiny, tucked-away café? Was I the only one who hadn’t known about this place?

Josh smiled right away when he saw me. “Loann. Hi! Your sister told me you worked here.” The way he talked about Claire, it sounded like he wasn’t the least bit torn up over their breakup. My thoughts went immediately to Claire—was she just being melodramatic about the whole thing? I mean, they hadn’t been dating
that
long. But then my second thought—she told him I worked here?
Really?
And he remembered?

“Um, hi,” I finally spit out.

Marcus moved to the back end of the counter and cleaned one of the machines that we hadn’t used all morning. I glanced back at him and felt a flush to my face, having my two
favorite
guys so close to me at the same time.

Josh ordered an Americano, and I didn’t bother asking Marcus for help. I made the drink and slid it over. When Josh passed me his money, I swear, he grasped my hand as he placed the bills in it.

What was that for? Was it supposed to be a message about Claire?
Maybe it was his way of saying he
did
miss her, even if he was acting strong in front of his friends.

I offered him a sympathetic smile as I gave him his change.
Then one of his friends butted in front of him at the counter.

The guy, I think his name was Ron, eyed Marcus while he asked for a grandé dark roast. After filling his cup, I passed it over. I waited for Ron to pay, but he didn’t reach for his pocket. Instead he leaned in a little and said, “Thanks, Loann.”

He turned to leave.

What? Seriously?

“Hey, buddy!” I called out as they walked for the door. “You have to pay for that.”

“Oh, sorry,” Ron called back, not sounding sorry in the least. “Is it Loann, or is it Slow-ann?”

He kept walking but then Josh grabbed him by the shoulder. Ron stopped in place and went rigid, as if he couldn’t believe Josh would challenge him.

The other two guys headed outside, like the stench of their friends’ body odor wasn’t enough to hide behind.

I could see a silent battle going on between Josh and Ron.

“Funny,” I said. “I’d be more inclined to think a guy who couldn’t remember to pay the cashier was the slow one.” I stared at Ron and didn’t relent. Who cared if he hated me? Then Marcus and I would have another thing in common. “But don’t worry if you’re too broke.” I flicked the donation can for a charity organization that Armando kept beside the till. “We keep a fund here to help the mentally disabled.”

I spun back to the coffeemaker and cleaned it as if the
boys weren’t worth my attention. I heard the door open and close, but didn’t turn for fear I’d start shaking.

Then footsteps sounded near the cash register. I glanced up just as Josh placed a five-dollar bill on the counter.

“Sorry about that,” he said, and left without giving me a chance to reply, or offer any change.

Marcus was quiet after the café cleared out. I couldn’t stop thinking about the whole scene: not only about how I’d stood up to Ron but also how awesome Josh had been. I could definitely understand why Claire was heartbroken.

“That was really cool of Josh,” I said.

Marcus just
pftted
at my comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He raised his eyebrows and passed me a latte he’d just made. I set it down. I knew Marcus was just insecure. I mean, the guys were way bigger than him. And more popular. Though I thought Marcus was just as cute.

“No, really. What did you mean by that? Because Josh has always been nothing but nice to you.”
And to me
, I added silently in my head.

Marcus shrugged. “I just think they’re all the same. Josh puts up a better front than the rest of them. That’s all.”

I wanted to argue, to tell Marcus that lumping Josh with the other jocks was just as bad as them picking on him. But I clamped my mouth shut.