Reconstructing Amelia (21 page)

“My mom.”

“In the middle of a workday?” Sylvia asked, her eyes big and shocked. “Be still my heart. If she keeps this up, she’ll win Mother of the Year.”

“Stop it, Sylvia,” I said. “I’m not in the mood.”

And I was feeling punchy about my mom after we’d never gotten the chance to talk the night before. She was passed out in bed when I got home from babysitting, glasses still on, a
New York
magazine gripped in her hands. I didn’t have the heart to wake her.

Then after sleeping on it, I’d decided in the morning that I wasn’t ready yet to tell her about Dylan after all. I would. Just not yet. I loved my mom, and we were close, but just thinking about the time she’d told me about where babies came from still gave me the willies. She’d done the best she could to make it casual and normal, but it had still been all kinds of icky. And this was
me
having sex. Even if I left out the actual sex part, it was still me with a
girl
. Maybe it should have been the same as me telling her that I was seeing a guy, but it felt a lot more complicated.

Sylvia shrugged. “Whatever, just trying to help.”

I looked around the courtyard.

“Where’s Ian today?”

I didn’t feel like talking to her anymore, and Ian was always a surefire distraction.

“Where
is
Ian?” Sylvia growled. “That’s a
very
, very good question. One that
I
don’t have an answer to because I haven’t heard from that asshole
all
day.”

“Asshole?” I asked. Sylvia never talked about Ian that way. Not even as a joke. “What’s that about?”

“Hello?
I texted you about it last night. Do you even read my messages anymore?”

“Oh right, the
gRaCeFULLY
thing? Come on, Sylvia. You’re going to believe that stupid thing? It’s all made up.”

“Not all of it,” she said. “There’s been plenty of stuff on there about me that I wish wasn’t true but totally is.”

“Whatever, I don’t believe it,” I said. “Ian’s crazy about you.”

And I really didn’t believe it. I’d seen Ian at a lot of Maggie parties. He’d had lots of chances to cheat, especially with Zadie, who was still hanging on him every chance she got. But as far as I knew, he hadn’t taken her up on it. I hadn’t seen him take anybody up on anything. Sylvia looked down into her plain, nonfat Yogo Monster mixed with Chips Ahoy! cookies, and jabbed at it with her spoon. She shook her head.

“Well, he’s been MIA
a lot
lately, and he’s got all these lame excuses, like his dad having a last-minute gallery show or his kid sister’s doctor’s appointment. His mom getting him an interview with some art agent? I mean, is there even such a thing as an art agent?”

“If there is,” I said, “I feel like Ian would have one.”

Sylvia rolled her eyes, then stared off. I watched her face slowly sinking. Sylvia being mad was bad. Sylvia sad was terrible. She always got all shrunken, like a wrinkled balloon.

“I know what cheating feels like,” Sylvia said quietly. When she looked at me, her eyes were glassy. “It feels like this. And it seriously fucking sucks.”

“Maybe he just needs some space or whatever.”

But Sylvia was right. She did usually have good instincts about this stuff. I thought about Zadie again. With a girl like her, maybe it was only a matter of time.

“Space, right.” Sylvia laughed, but not like it was funny. “To find a new ho.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Amelia. But—and no offense—like, seriously, what do you know? You’ve kissed one guy your whole life. And I’m not sure a drunk lifeguard even counts.” She stared at me for a minute. I waited for her to remember our conversation from the Tea Lounge, the one about the relationship she’d guessed I was having. But it was like it had never even happened. It was a relief and a letdown that Sylvia had never brought it up again. “It’s kind of hard to take relationship advice from somebody who’s never been in a relationship. And texting with some freak up in Albany doesn’t count.”

“Ben’s not a freak,” I said, kind of halfheartedly.

He had been acting kind of different lately. At first, he’d been really supportive about Dylan and everything, but then he’d turned weirdly judgmental all of a sudden. He’d started talking to me like he was my big brother or something, telling me that I should watch out for Dylan because a girl like her wasn’t a girl I could count on. As if he even knew her. I’d started thinking he was kind of jealous or maybe just tired of listening to me talk about her.

“I love you, so I’m going to tell it to you straight,” Sylvia said. “Ben is
definitely
a freak. Any guy who just wants to
talk
to some girl all the time is a freak.”

“Ben’s gay, Sylvia,” I said. “I’ve told you that, like, a million times. And I’m his friend. I don’t know why you don’t believe me.”

“Right, sure. Because you can totally believe everything some guy you’ve never met says. For all you know, he’s not even a guy. And even if everything he’s told you is true, somebody who spends more time on their computer than with real live people is weird, period.”

“Whatever.” I shrugged.

But maybe Sylvia was right. Maybe I should ratchet things down with Ben for a while. Between Sylvia and Dylan I had enough to juggle without worrying about what was going on with him. I’d been thinking a lot about telling Sylvia about Dylan, too. It was too much pressure keeping that a secret on top of the Magpies. I didn’t think Sylvia would be that freaked-out about the girl part either. She’d be surprised, sure. I was still surprised. Sometimes I still wasn’t even 100 percent sure it was true. There was a chance she’d be mad I hadn’t told her about Dylan sooner—not that I really could have when I was still figuring it out myself—but she was definitely going to be way more pissed off about the Maggies.

But what if I was wrong? What if Sylvia did care about the me-with-a-girl thing? I mean, we
had
been naked together, like, hundreds of times. We’d shared a bed almost as often. Sylvia had shown me how a tampon worked. And had explained—with diagrams—what it was like when a guy went down on you. We’d shared all our secrets up until now. What if nothing was ever the same after I told her?

“Ms. Golde?” someone called from across the courtyard before I could work myself up to opening my mouth about Dylan. When we looked up, there was spooky Dr. Lipton, the school counselor. With her pale skin and high-collared black dress, she looked, as usual, like a vampire. “We had an appointment. Ms. Golde.”

“Oh, craptastic,” Sylvia said, loud enough for Dr. Lipton to hear.

“Did something happen?” I asked.

Sylvia had had some problems at the end of freshman year. Her mom had caught her cutting herself a couple of times. It wasn’t as big a deal as it sounded, at least according to Sylvia. But her mom totally lost it. She sent Sylvia to, like, ten different therapists all at the same time and had Dr. Lipton’s head permanently implanted way up Sylvia’s butt. So far, this year, Sylvia had been totally fine. At least, as far as I knew.

“Nothing happened,” Sylvia said. “My mom’s being a bitch. Same old.”

“Sylvia, seriously. Are you sure you’re okay?” I did feel bad that I’d kind of missed the whole boat on the cutting thing the first time around. I wasn’t going to let that happen again. “I mean, with all this stuff with Ian and everything.”

“Jesus, yes. You people,” Sylvia hissed, then sauntered off toward Dr. Lipton. “For somebody having an affair with a pretend gay kid, I think you should be a little more worried about yourself and a little less worried about me.”

It was great for me that Dr. Lipton had turned up because I’d had no idea how I was going to ditch Sylvia in time to get back to my house in time for the “photog.” I still wanted to bag out of the stupid game, but I hadn’t figured out a way to do it without maybe offending Dylan. And things were going so well with her, I didn’t want to screw it up.

I headed back inside along with the wave of people coming back from lunch, then made a hard right through the atrium toward the side door. I’d learned from the Maggies that the fire stairs were the best way to duck out of school. On that side there were no administration offices and no classrooms. I’d slipped out in the middle of the day that way at least five times now, no problem. It was a left, then another left, and through a set of doors to the staircase and then—

“Oh hi,” Liv said, slamming her laptop closed.

She was hunched over it on the steps. From the look on her face, I’d have thought I busted her surfing porn. I felt busted, too. For a second, I even thought about diving back the way I’d come, but it was too late. And I couldn’t think of anything I could have been doing that would have put me out in that stairwell, except sneaking out.

“Hi,” I said, still hoping that a good excuse for being out there was going to come to me.

“So we’re both kind of busted, huh?” Liv said, reading my mind. She looked pretty, as usual, in a fluttery blouse and big, chunky necklace. “I’m supposed to be at a faculty meeting, and you’ve caught me hiding out here instead, working on a story.”

“What’s it about?” I asked. Talking about Liv’s story was a better option than explaining what I was doing there.

“What’s what about?” Now Liv was the one acting weird.

“The, um, story?”

“Oh you know, a boy, a girl, tragedy ensues. It’s a work in progress,” she said, smiling. “And speaking of stories, Amelia, I’m glad I ran into you. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What?”

“You look nervous. Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad, it’s . . . I ended up submitting your story to that fellowship.”

“What?” I’d told her I didn’t want to apply. What kind of teacher did that?

“I know, I took the risk and overruled you, and I’ve been feeling guilty ever since.” She shook her head. “I think you’re such a talented storyteller, and I was trying to support you. But just because I’d personally like a creative writing fellowship doesn’t mean you do. I think I’ve been so wrapped up with my own frustrations in getting work published that I . . . Anyway, it wasn’t my place to make that decision for you, and I’m sorry. That’s all I can say.”

I stared down at my shoes feeling weirdly exposed and kind of mad, until it occurred to me that I was looking at this all wrong. It was annoying that Liv had done that, but if she felt bad about the fellowship, I could maybe use it to my advantage to get out of that side door and home in time.

“It’s okay, I guess,” I said. “But I do kind of have to go. I have an, um, dentist appointment. And my mom forgot to write me a note, and so—”

“Oh,” Liv said quietly. I couldn’t tell if she believed me. Actually, I could kind of tell she didn’t. “The dentist, huh?”

“I have a cavity.”

She nodded slowly, biting down on her lower lip.

“Then we’ll call it even for now.” She smiled. “You go to the dentist and I won’t say anything, if you promise to forgive me for sending your story. And also not tell anyone I skipped out on a faculty meeting to work on a story.”

“It’s a deal,” I said, pushing open the door. When I turned back, I felt good, safe. Looked after. “Thanks, Liv.”

I ran through the side yard and away from the school without looking back. From there, I jetted down Prospect Park West toward First Street, sure at any second that Mrs. Pearl or somebody was going to yell out my name. As I rounded the corner, I looked back over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching. I was turning around when something cracked against my forehead and sent me bouncing back.

“Ouch!” I shouted.

“Oh, my bad,” came a voice. “You all right, luv?”

My head was vibrating when I looked up.

“I am
such
a prat,” Ian Greene said. “I shouldn’t have been texting and walking. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m okay,” I said, even though my eye was killing me. I must have collided with his shoulder or something. “Don’t worry about it. And I’m actually kind of late, so . . .”

I started to step around him, trying to navigate with my one good eye.

“Yes, well,” he said, “I believe I might be the one you’re late for.”

Ian held up his camera kind of bashfully.

“It’s apparently one of my hazing responsibilities.” He shrugged sheepishly. “To be honest, this whole business has made me regret getting involved with this club nonsense in the first place. Perhaps Sylvia was right. They are quite mad.”

Ian being a great photographer was obviously not the reason Zadie had sent him to take the photographs. Zadie was trying to create problems between Sylvia and me. Or, who knows, maybe Sylvia and Ian.

“Yeah, the stuff with the clubs can get kind of crazy,” I said. I sounded awkward and nervous and guilty. It was one thing for me to keep from Sylvia what I did with the Maggies, but for any of those secrets to include Ian? But so far my guilt wasn’t driving me to call the whole thing off. I was still more worried about Dylan, and myself. “Do you even know what the pictures are supposed to be like? They didn’t tell us anything.”

“Well, to add to the cloak-and-dagger nonsense,” Ian said, “they’ve sent me here with a sealed envelope, which apparently contains the instructions for this little photo shoot. I’m not supposed to open it until you and I are alone inside.”

“Seriously?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Now this was officially getting stupid. And the longer I let it go, the further I was sliding into Zadie’s trap. But what choice did I have? Zadie was probably betting I’d call off the photo shoot. That was probably the whole point. It would finally give her a reason to throw me out of the Maggies and away from Dylan. I took a deep breath.

“Okay, well, I guess we should get to my house then,” I said. “Before someone sees us standing here or whatever.”

Ian smiled. He looked relieved to be moving on, too. He rolled out an arm and bowed his head like nobility. “After you, madam.”

When we were inside, I dropped my bags on the living room couch.

“You can hang out down here or whatever,” I said. “I’m just going to run upstairs and change my clothes.”