Picture Perfect (12 page)

“Y
ou know what would be great? If you all ended up in the same dorm,” Heather’s mom said.

We were having a big dinner to celebrate the news that Adam had gotten into Linden. All the parents had prepared it together, and we had clams, shrimp, steak, three different salads, and enough veggies, chips, and dips to feed an army.

“If you were in the same dorm, then the guys would be right there to look after you, keep an eye on you for us,” Mrs. Olsen continued.

“Oh, that would be nice,” my mom agreed, nodding.

“I can look after Heather,” I piped in, feeling
completely full from the last stuffed shrimp I’d eaten.

“Yeah. And I don’t want to burst your bubble, but Adam’s going to be too busy doing sports, and Spencer wouldn’t do that at all,” Heather said.

“He wouldn’t? What do you mean?” Her mom looked surprised.

“Well, he pretty much only cares about Spencer.”

Spencer looked over at us with an exaggerated, clown-like sad face.
“Me?”

“That’s not true. He volunteered for months,” my mother said, coming to his defense. “He’s given up a year of the most exciting time in a young person’s life to help others.”

“Wait a minute, Mrs. Matthias. Are you saying I can’t get it back?” Spencer asked, looking puzzled. “That year is like, gone?”

I wanted to laugh, but at the same time I didn’t want him to think he was funny. Is that selfish?

“Spencer, tell me about your year off,” my dad said. “I’d love to hear more about that.
What was the coolest thing about volunteering?”

“Meeting all the people. Amazing people. A lot more interesting than us, you know? Different lives. Some of them have been through so much, lost everything, and they’re still positive,” he said. “Which is incredible to me.”

“Okay, so we’re impressed by the way he helps total strangers,” Heather said to the group. “But he doesn’t associate with us…unless he has to. He already told us he wasn’t even going to talk to us at Linden.”

“What?” Spencer cried. “I never said that—”

“You did.” I nodded.

“I wasn’t serious! I was just giving you a hard time,” Spencer said. “Come on, guys.”

“I heard him, too,” Adam said. “Plus, he gave me a hard time about not getting in.”

“My apologies. To all of you,” Spencer said.

I glanced over at Heather’s plate and saw she hadn’t eaten much, even though everyone else was completely pigging out on the delicious food. I wondered if she was feeling okay. She hadn’t said anything, but she had seemed a
little down for most of the night.

“Maybe you can redeem yourself by clearing the table,” suggested Spencer’s dad.

“Fine.” Spencer got up and started taking away empty plates, and I took another look at Heather while our parents continued to plot what would be best for us when we got to college. I was starting to think they all needed to go back to school for advanced degrees—for any kind of degree. Just not at Linden.

“Are you done?” Spencer asked Heather, gesturing to her plate.

“For now. I’ll eat leftovers later,” she said.

“What’s great about Linden is that it’s a small campus, but you still meet people from all over the world,” Mr. Thompson was saying.

“Oh, sure, but you have to sign up for activities, clubs—” my dad chimed in. “In fact, tell you what. First thing you do when you hit campus is go to the Linden Leadership Office.”

“Actually, I think I’ll find my dorm room first,” Adam said with a laugh, looking over at me and Heather, as if to say,
Help! I can’t take any more advice!

Heather poked my leg. “Are you with me?” she whispered.

“What?” I whispered back.

“Just follow me!” Heather gestured to Adam and Spencer, too.

As the adults continued to talk about their best moves in college, Heather grabbed cups and a half-full bottle of white wine from the table, and the four of us sprinted for the stairs.

“Hey! Where are you—” my mother sputtered.

“We need to plot our own strategy, have our own celebration,” I told her. “We’ll be back, don’t worry!”

We hurried outside, across the deck, and down onto the beach. Adam took the bottle of wine from Heather and started filling our cups. Then he set the bottle in the sand, grinding the bottom down a little so it wouldn’t fall over and spill.

“Look out, I think you just killed something,” Spencer said, holding something up to the slim moonlight.

Adam stared at it. “It’s a shell.”

“A shell of its former self, that’s what it is,” Spencer said. “This is a sand crab, and this little sand crab is part of a community, and—”

Adam groaned. “Listen up, Al Gore. We’re trying to have fun here.” He took a sip from his cup. “Okay? So don’t mention how the tide is too high and the beach is eroding and we’re killing all the sand life.”

“Fine. I won’t. But we are.” Spencer drained the rest of his cup of wine, then grabbed the bottle for a refill.

Heather sank onto the sand beside me and stretched her legs, then scrunched up into a ball, hugging her knees. She took a sip of wine. She didn’t seem to be in that celebrating mood we were all supposed to be in, and I wondered if the big, special dinner was making the adults happier than it was making us—and her, in particular.

“Great night,” I said. “I mean, weather.”

“Hmm,” Heather agreed.

“So. I’m totally not trying to pry, but…how are things?” I asked. “Besides Dean, because we know things are going great there.” I smiled.

“Okay.” She sighed. “I guess.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“It’s just…some days are hard. I mean, it’s been an incredibly hard year. I think that’s why I want to unwind so much while I’m here, with you and everyone,” she said. “It just feels really good to get away from there. From home, I mean.”

“I can imagine,” I said. “Sort of. I’m sure I don’t know anything, though.”

“At home there are lots of memories. I’ve never been here before, so…” She shrugged. “Despite the fact I have to hang out with all of my dad’s best friends, it’s actually okay. Then I think about going home.”

“You won’t be there too long,” I said.

“True. But then we’ll go to Linden. And Dad was all about Linden. You know?” she asked.

I nodded. “He’d be really proud of you, knowing you’re going.”

She squeezed her cup, crumpling it a bit. “But he’s supposed to
be
there at Homecoming.”

“I know. Totally embarrassing you by
wearing a giant Linden sweatshirt with a matching hat, and shouting through a megaphone—”

“Yeah,” Heather said. “Exactly.”

Spencer sat down on the other side of her. “Now you’ll just have to listen to Emily’s dad singing the leaf song.”

“It’s not the leaf song,” I protested. “It’s called ‘Linden, My Linden.’”

“Listen to her. Trying to suck up already by knowing the school song,” Spencer said.

“You guys. It’s not funny. It’s not fair,” Heather said quietly. I looked at her and saw a tear sliding down her cheek.

“It isn’t fair,” I agreed, “you’re right.”

“Completely unfair,” Spencer agreed.

“It sucks, is what,” said Adam as the four of us gathered in a semicircle.

Heather sat there for a minute, just quietly crying, resting her chin on her arms. I had put my arm around her, and Spencer put his arm around her, too. I didn’t know what I could say.

“You know what, Heather?” Spencer said. “I really wanted to be there, for the memorial
service. I only saw your dad a couple times a year, but he made a big impression on me.”

“He did?”

“Yeah.” Spencer nodded. “You know how my dad can be hard on me sometimes? Like, he thinks I should be exactly like him, and I’m not. Well, your dad must have noticed that, and he’d always find a way to tell me it was cool, whatever I decided to be. ‘Football isn’t life,’ he said once, when my dad was criticizing my passing technique.”

“Which you have to admit, sucks,” Adam noted.

“Anyway, I just thought you should know—we all miss him, too. And we’re not going to forget him,” Spencer said.

“Thanks.” Heather sniffled.

“When that happened…the real reason I couldn’t come to the funeral was I had this really close friend—from high school. He got hit by a car, riding his bike off campus. It was the day before we were supposed to fly out and he was in a coma. I couldn’t just leave him.”

“Did he die?” I finally asked.

“No, but he was unconscious for a week, then he couldn’t walk for months. His memory’s still not all there. He’s just getting out of rehab now, and…anyway. It’s not about him. I mean, it’s about—you find yourself walking around wondering what’s the point? Because it
isn’t
fair.”

“Exactly,” Heather said.

“And you have no idea what’s coming, but all of a sudden your whole life can change. That’s not fair, either,” Spencer went on. “I can’t even begin to imagine how much worse it is for you. We all miss your dad, but that’s not even—a millionth of it.”

I watched him just holding Heather, letting her collapse against him.

Suddenly, he seemed like the best and nicest friend a person could have.

I didn’t just want to be in the same dorm with him. I wanted to be
with
him, with him.

“You know what we’ll have to do,” Adam said. “We’ll have to all take off together some weekend. Go camping. Just get away from campus.”

“Camping?” Heather scoffed. “How about a hotel? In Detroit or someplace. Or Los Angeles, maybe. Ooh—what about Mexico?”

“Are you talking about spring break? Already?” teased Spencer.

“What’s wrong with camping?” Adam asked.

I cleared my throat. “Remember the night we all slept outside? By that cabin in New Hampshire? And a porcupine decided to try and sneak into the tent?”

“
What
tent?” Spencer said.

“Oh, yeah.
That
was the problem.” Adam started to laugh. “And you—Heather—you tried to fend him off with your hair dryer—you brought your hair dryer camping—”

“And you threw a book at it—and missed, thank God—”

“Remember, Emily?” Spencer was holding his stomach. “You said, ‘p-p-p-p-p-’ for like ten minutes before you could get the word
porcupine
out.”

We were all laughing so hard, it was impossible to talk.
Must be the wine,
I thought. Heather
seemed happier, which was really all I cared about.

“Em?” Spencer knocked on my door. “You in there?”

I was half undressed, toweling off my hair. We’d all run into the ocean for a late-night swim after our little wine party, and then we’d headed inside to change into dry clothes. I quickly pulled on a clean T-shirt, a dry pair of jeans, and opened the door.

“I think I got your fleece jacket by mistake. It’s a small-medium and I haven’t worn a small-medium since eighth grade.” He handed me my jacket and walked past me into the room.

“You were really short back then,” I observed.

“Thank you. I remember it well.”

“I didn’t know you could climb four flights without passing out,” I teased him.

“I’ve been training.” Spencer wandered around the room. “So this is what it’s like to have the best room in the house.”

“It’s not the best—look how small it is,” I pointed out.

“Look how private it is,” Spencer countered. “Look how your parents are not sleeping in the living room.”

“That’s only because there
is
no living room.”

“But you’re all alone. What if you wake up in the middle of the night, crying? Your parents won’t be there.”

“Shut up,” I said, shoving him so that he fell onto my bed.

He put his hands behind his head and bounced a few times on the bed. “Your bed is more comfortable than mine,” he complained. “You have way more room up here than I do.” Then he jumped up and went out to the balcony. “So this is what I look like from up here.”

“Like what?” I asked, walking out beside him. The last time I’d stood on this balcony with anyone, it had been Blake. The balcony had a sort of jinxed feeling, like maybe if we stood here too long, we’d plummet to the ground.

“Um…short. I guess.” Spencer shrugged.
“So…when we were all talking, earlier, on the beach? There was something I wanted to say. But I couldn’t tell everyone, but maybe I can tell you.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Go ahead.”

“I have a confession to make. And I’m only going to tell you. I mean, eventually I’ll have to tell everyone, or everyone will find out, anyway, but maybe for now we could sort of keep it between us. Okay?”

“Sure,” I said with a smile, but I was afraid to ask. Afraid to find out. What if it was something extremely private? What if it was “I’m gay”? What if it was “I’m in love with Heather”?

“What is it?” I finally asked, after running through all the worst-case scenarios in my mind.

“The reason I know so much about freshman orientation? I already went through it,” he said.

“You what?”

“I went through it already,” Spencer said. “I started college last year.”

“You did? Where? But you said—”

“I didn’t stay long enough to finish the semester, so it doesn’t count. We don’t talk about it much, because my folks were so mad at me, because they spent the money.”

“Okay. Explain,” I said.

“I didn’t want to go to Linden, because I was so sick of being pressured to apply there by my dad. I mean, I applied and I got in, but I applied other places, too, and at the last minute I decided to start at UVM instead of Linden. It was a lot less expensive, closer to home, and most of all—it was the opposite of what my dad wanted. A bigger school, and
not
Linden. I don’t know if you know this. But my dad and I have this history of me trying to live up to what he wants—and it isn’t what I want.”

“I know a little about that,” I said. “So what happened?”

“I went to UVM, but I didn’t really want to be there. Nothing against the school—it just wasn’t the right fit for me. There was that thing with my good friend getting hurt,
so I was home a lot visiting him, and I didn’t know how to deal with living in a dorm, I didn’t like my classes—everything was just wrong.”