Purity (17 page)

What do I do, Mom?

I squeeze my eyes shut and picture Mom the same way I always do, us in her bedroom, me lying across the bed while she casually folds laundry.
Talk to me. Tell me what to do.

Mom smiles and pauses at pairing socks to stroke my hair, but she doesn’t answer.

And so I recite the Promises to myself, because they’re the only thing I know for certain anymore.

The next day, the heavy feeling in my stomach dissipates into quiet anger. I’ve been avoiding Jonas—he’s called seven times, but I sent them to voice mail, and when I talk to Ruby, I hurry her off the phone. How can I talk to either of them about anything but the fact that Jonas slept with Anna Clemens? How am I supposed to explain why it bothers me when even I don’t understand?

Dad is sitting at the dining room table when I clunk down the stairs in my pajamas. “We have to make goodie bags. The lady who was supposed to won a trip to Cabo off the radio and doesn’t have time to do them,” he says upon seeing me. He rubs his temples and yawns.

“Goodie bags? Is the cake and dress and ball not enough of a prize?” I ask.

I’m almost surprised to be reminded of the ball—Jonas and Anna have taken the priority position in my head to the point where I can’t focus on much else.

“It won’t be so bad,” Dad says, a poor attempt at cheerfulness. “There’s a catalog with all sorts of Princess Ball stuff
in it. We can just pick it out and put it in bags. We’ll have to get it rush-shipped, though….”

I sigh and sit down at the other end of the table. “All right.” Dad slides the catalog across the table to me.

“And…” he begins again.

“Not more,” I groan.

“We have to come up with a symbolic activity. Something that shows the, um… bond… between the fathers and daughters.”

“A what?”

“It’s different every year. Like, at some balls, the father and daughter actually exchange rings,” he says, coughing a bit. I flinch, so he tries another route. “There’s also a thing where the fathers stand on either side of an aisle holding up swords, and you put down a white rose—”

I blink. “Swords?”

“Awfully medieval, isn’t it? I’m not sure programmers are supposed to even touch swords,” my dad says, and I laugh a little, then pause.

“What did Mom do at hers?”

Dad inhales and looks down. “If I remember correctly, I think she said they all read a poem or excerpt aloud. Something they thought symbolized their relationship with their father. We joked around about it all spring, our friends, because your mom said she was going to read something from a romance novel as a joke.”

“Did she?”

Dad laughs a little. “No, because she was afraid they
wouldn’t realize it was a joke, and her father would get arrested. I don’t think she ever really planned on doing it.”

“What did she read from, then?”

He thinks for a moment. “
To Kill a Mockingbird.
But I don’t remember which passage.”

I try to remember the book, try to channel my mom and figure out which line she would have chosen, but all I can remember is failing the test on it in ninth grade. It makes me feel guilty, makes my stomach twinge.

“What if we did that, then? The readings?” I say.

“Sounds good. Well, then. After we make the goodie bags, I confirm the cake order, and we go to that second dance lesson, I’d say we’re finished, Shelby. Except the questionnaire—we’re supposed to go over those….”

“Right… yes.” My questionnaire isn’t entirely complete—to be honest, I’ve hardly thought about it lately.

“Is…” Dad looks at his hands, takes a long swig of orange juice. “Is everything okay? We don’t have to share the questionnaires if you don’t want to….”

My eyes widen a bit in surprise—well spotted, Dad. I’m not sure he’s ever been that tapped in to my mood before. I open my mouth, try to find a way to explain without
actually
explaining. I’m not horrified by the idea of talking to Dad anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to spill all the details of Jonas and Anna, much less how I found out about them. “It’s not the questionnaires. Just some stuff with Jonas,” I finally say.

“Like what?” Dad asks, and his voice is so real, so curious, that I can’t imagine not answering.

“I found out he was dating this girl from school and didn’t tell me.” When I say it like that, it sounds so stupid. I half expect Dad to laugh or shrug it off.

“Oh,” Dad says instead, nodding seriously. “Have you asked him about it?”

“No,” I say. “I’ve been avoiding it, really.”

Dad frowns. “You can’t just hold that in. You’ve gotta be honest with the people you love.”

Wow.
Love.
The word leaves his mouth so easily that I inhale, unsure what it means. Does he think I’m in love with Jonas? Is that why I feel so betrayed?
Am
I in love with him and just didn’t realize it?

Whoa. I guess deep down, I must have known that was a possibility—why else would Anna’s news bother me so much? But thinking it so directly makes it different, makes it possible. Makes me think it might be true.

“You think I love Jonas?” I ask Dad faintly.

Dad raises his eyebrows, surprised. “I mean, he’s your best friend. I assume you love your best friend.”

“Oh.” Platonic love, that’s what he meant. “Right. Of course I love him.” There’s never been any doubt that I love Jonas in that regard. Though now I can’t shake the wonder: Are my feelings stronger than even
I
thought?

“That’s my advice—for what it’s worth, anyway,” Dad says. “Your mom had to tell me the truth about how she felt. I’d never have believed she could love me if I hadn’t heard it from her.”

I manage a small laugh as Dad rises and gives me a short
clap on the shoulder. Would Mom’s advice have been the same? Does it matter? Guilt overpowers the anger at Jonas for just a moment: Dad is here. Dad is giving me advice from the heart. And here I am, trying to talk to Mom, who isn’t here, instead of Dad, who is.

But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to talk to Jonas. I want to wait, wait till I know I won’t yell, wait till I know I understand what our relationship is. Because right now? I don’t understand anything.

Maybe I never did.

“I’m supposed to pick out stuff for goodie bags,” I say, dropping the heavy catalog onto a wet spot on the well-worn table.

Ruby ignores the cook calling her order up, balancing a tray of orange juices like some sort of diner circus performer. She peers over my shoulder at the catalog’s table of contents.

“They sell accessories for these things? Jesus Christ.”

“Exactly—necklaces with Jesus Christ on them are apparently a bestseller for this sort of thing. But then there’s also weird stuff, like… I dunno, cake tins. Princess Ball–themed cake tins.”

“Cake tins, huh?” Ruby says, green eyes sparkling mischievously. She sets her tray of drinks down on my table. “Dare I ask what they’re in the shape of?”

“Castles,” I reply, flipping to a page full of silver castle-shaped tins. “And hearts.”

Ruby giggles. “I’ve got a few cake tins from my sister’s bachelorette party that would be more fitting for a virgin fest. What’d you pick out?”

I turn to a dog-eared page in the back of the catalog.
“Among other things, this.” I point to a page full of bright red shirts that say things like
Always a Princess
and
Her Royal Highness
and, my favorite, the one I’m pointing to, which proclaims,
I’m waiting for my prince
.

“Oh, my,” Ruby says. “I see what you did there, Princess Ball. Clothes for the proudly celibate. Which style?”

“I’m thinking I’ll go with the ‘fitted baby rib’ cutout tee.” I snicker. Ruby laughs loudly, causing a few diners to raise their eyebrows in our direction.

“Perfect,” she answers, tapping the huge-boobed blond model wearing the “fitted baby rib” style. The words are stretched across her chest in a way that definitely contradicts the cursive message. “But let me know if you want those cake tins, Shelby. You know, just to show the supposed virgins what bits of the male anatomy to avoid.”

“Will do. I brought Ocean Fiesta, by the way, if the offer for you to turn it into something less… um… ‘frothy’ is still available.”

“Of course it is. I would never turn down the opportunity to work miracles,” Ruby says, eyes gleaming. “But you can’t be mad at me if I rip some of those sequins off.”

“Please. Donate them to Kaycee’s Sequins for the Poor cause.”

“Seriously?” Ruby asks, her eyes wide.

I laugh. “No, but would you be surprised if I told you she ran a charity about sequins?”

“Not really. By the way, I still haven’t heard how things went with Ben! Jonas said he hasn’t heard how it went,
either—you should seriously call him, by the way. He’s getting worried about you. Anyway, still got your chastity in check?”

I swallow the urge to ask Ruby if she knew about Jonas and Anna. “Wouldn’t wear a condom. I know that health classes sort of go above and beyond to scare the hell out of people about having sex, but even
I
understood the whole ‘condom is a must’ rule.”

Ruby nods. “Maybe Ben thinks condoms are just another scare tactic. You know, ‘Oh, God, if you have sex you have to seal your organs in rubber and it’s awful’ instead of ‘It feels the same and you don’t get the Herp.’ Not that you have the Herp, Shelby, just saying.”

“Right,” I say, smiling.

“So you’re on to the next guy on the list?”

Right. Guy number three. I nod.

“Who is he?”

I grimace. “I don’t have one, actually. No one came to mind, and I sort of figured that between Daniel and Ben, something would happen.”

“I’ve got somebody for you, remember?” Ruby says mysteriously. She points across the restaurant at Jeffery, the guy she mentioned right after school let out. “Jeffery asked me if you were single a few weeks ago.”

“I don’t want to date him, though,” I say.

“Yeah, but… desperate times call for desperate measures? And who knows, Shelby. Maybe you’ll end up in love with him.”

“Maybe,” I say, but I don’t believe it. “Should I talk to him?”

“I’ll let him know you’re interested. And I’ll imply what you’re interested in so there’s no issue, okay?”

“Sounds good,” I say slowly, watching Jeffery from across the diner. He’s an attractive guy—dark hair, dark eyes, the kind of guy who might play in an indie band and ride his bike to work. He’s a stranger, though, and something about that renews my worry about the LOVIN plan. Can I go through with losing my virginity to a total stranger?

“Why don’t you talk to Jonas and see what he thinks about Jeffery?” Ruby suggests at my pause.

An image of Jonas and Anna together flashes through my head. “No,” I tell Ruby quickly. “No, it’s fine. Talk to Jeffery for me? Maybe we could get together sometime this Saturday?”

“Saturday?” Ruby pouts. “But that’s the day the Ridgebrook cheerleaders start summer practice. I wanted you to come with me so we could watch them fall out of the pyramids.”

Before I can respond, Ruby grabs her tray of juices and scoots off to see to another table. I circle things from the catalog.
Focus, don’t think about Jeffery, don’t think about Jonas.
There’s a whole page of silk flowers—I circle the red rose, because there’s something wrongly sexy about red roses. If I have my way, these will be the most ironic goodie bags ever created.

I sigh and sit back. I’m making goodie bags for a ball I
hate. How lame is that? My thoughts flicker back to my Life List, how it’s languishing in the billfold of Jonas’s wallet. Somewhere on it is
Put flowers on every grave in a cemetery.
I don’t know where it is without Jonas here to show me.

I circle the red silk roses again.

I shouldn’t be so lost without Jonas. I could complete my Life List without him, if I had to. I close the catalog and rise. Ruby catches my eye from near the order-up window.

“See you later,” I mouth. Because when you have these moments of inspiration, you sort of have to act on them immediately.

*   *   *   *

“I need, um… carnations,” I say as I sort through my wallet. I’d like to say roses, but at two dollars apiece I’m pretty sure they’d end up being more than my dad’s credit card limit.

“How many and what color?” the girl behind the counter of the flower shop says. I do a double take—it’s Christine Juste, one of Anna’s friends. She has long hair that was once pink but has now faded, a nose ring, and dirt smudges on both cheeks. Somehow the dirt smudges made her almost unrecognizable to me.

“Christine,” I say suddenly, blushing at not realizing it’s her sooner.

“Hey, Shelby,” Christine says, smiling. “How’s your summer?”

“So far it’s decent,” I say. “Better than school.”

Christine nods. “So, you said carnations? How many?”

“How many do you have?”

Christine’s eyes widen a little. “We have… fifty or so pink ones, and about two hundred or so white ones. We use whites in bouquets more often,” she explains.