Recovery Road (12 page)

I
thought I was doing okay. I thought I was handling myself. But once I’m out of that room, my whole body starts to shake. I can barely breathe. I feel like I’m having a heart attack.

There are people in the hallway. I look for somewhere private to go. I find a small bathroom at the end of the hall. I lock myself into it. I collapse onto the toilet.

I lay my head down on my lap. I take deep breaths. I stare at the floor.

I need to call someone.

I dig out my cell phone. I scroll through my numbers. Who can I call? Cynthia, my old counselor? Where is her number? I deleted it.

I look at the other numbers … Stewart’s mom’s … Trish … Emily … Martin …

I call Martin. He doesn’t answer. I text him:
I KNOW UR MAD. AND IM REALLY SORRY. I NEED UR HELP. PLEASE CALL ME.

I put away my phone, lower my head, and shut my eyes. How am I going to get out of here?

But after a few minutes, I regain my composure.
I can do this,
I tell myself. I stand up straight, unlock the door, and begin my journey through the house to my car.

It’s not that hard, it turns out. It’s not hard at all. I slide by people in the hall, step over people on the stairs. I even say good-bye to Amanda Davidson, who is getting felt up on the front steps outside.

“Leaving so soon?” she says, forcing the boy’s hands down.

“Yup.”

O
n May 21 my dad and I have an official appointment to meet Principal Brown after school. This is to figure out summer school, and see where everything stands.

We follow Mr. Brown into his office. He’s round, balding, and has hair growing inside his ears. Today, he looks embarrassed and slightly irritated by the sight of me. He has no right to be like this. I have been a model student for two months. I guess it’s the two years before that he’s remembering.

Still, we’re all here for the same reason: to figure out how to get Maddie Graham graduated and out of Evergreen High School forever.

Mr. Brown takes a seat at his desk and looks me up on his computer.

“Looks like everything’s going well for you, Maddie,” he says. “No attendance problems. You’re still behind in your credits. But your grades look…hmmm…Well, look at that. Straight As this term. That’s great, Maddie. That’s very impressive.”

I smile. My dad pats my hand.

“I assume you want to graduate? We’re not thinking about a GED anymore?”

I nod.

“Good,” he says, scrolling down. “Looks like you can graduate with your class if we can make up some credits over the summer.”

“That’s what I want to do,” I say.

“If Maddie could graduate with her class, we would be thrilled,” echoes my dad.

Mr. Brown finds some summer school catalogs in his front drawer and hands them to us. “If she’s willing to put in the work, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I am,” I say without hesitation. “I totally am.”

My dad and I flip through the catalogs. Mr. Brown gives me the rundown on my distribution requirements: What classes I have to take. What choices I have. Not that many, it turns out.

When we’re done, Mr. Brown asks if we have any questions.

“I don’t think so,” says my dad.

“Good,” says Mr. Brown, turning off his computer.

“Can I say something?” I ask.

“By all means,” says Mr. Brown.

I look at him. I look at my dad.

“I want to go to a good college,” I say.

Mr. Brown smiles politely. “Well, now, Madeline —”

“I know, Mr. Brown. I’ve screwed things up,” I say. “But I’m serious
.
I’m going to have a 3.6 this semester. And I’ll work my ass off in summer school. I want you to help me go to a good college.”

My father looks at me with surprise.

Mr. Brown frowns. “Unfortunately you won’t have the same options a normal student would have.”

“I understand that,” I say. “Maybe I can’t go to Harvard. But I can go somewhere, right? Maybe back east? Could you help me do that?”

My father watches me. “We will, honey. Of course we will —”

“Because you can talk to them, right?” I say directly to Mr. Brown. “You can tell them I’ve changed. You can tell them my whole story.”

“Well, yes, but that’s only if —”

“If I come through,” I say. “But I will come through. You saw my grades this semester. I’ll do the same thing in summer school, and next year too.”

“Yes, that would speak to your favor.…” says Mr. Brown.

“So that’s the deal, then? I get straight As from now on. You send me to the best college you can get me into. Is it a deal?”

Mr. Brown stares at me.

“Is it a deal?” I say, sticking out my hand for him to shake.

Reluctantly he lifts his hand. “It’s a deal.”

S
chool ends. Stewart doesn’t call. Another week passes. Stewart still doesn’t call. After asking me to give up my future and move into a shack in the woods with him, he can’t be bothered to
call me?
The world is so strange. And yet, things happen pretty much like you know they will.

On June 14, I drive my mom’s car to my first day of summer school at Portland Community College. I park the Volvo station wagon in the mall-sized parking lot and find my way to the registration office in cement building 2C. That’s what the campus is, pretty much — a series of square, gray, cement buildings.

My first class is in cement building 3A. It’s a plain, bare-walled classroom, plastic desks, fluorescent lights. I sit near the front. Most of the people are older and from foreign countries. The only people my age are two high school rocker chicks who smell like they’ve been doing bong hits in the parking lot.

This is my English class. Among other things we’re going to read
Lord of the Flies,
which I just read, so that’s good. I glance
back at the rocker girls. One of them has already lost her book list, even though the teacher just gave them to us two minutes ago.

When that class ends, I go to the next. It’s remedial American history, and it’s more of the same: drab classroom, bored teacher, more people who can’t speak English or who reek of pot smoke or are otherwise hindered in their advancement in life.

At lunchtime, I eat by myself in the cafeteria, which is in cement building 2B. It’s actually the nicest of the cement buildings. Everything’s clean. There are long tables. The food’s not bad.

There’s also no social pressure. Everyone sits far apart. Nobody talks to anyone else.

It’s okay here. I can do this for eight weeks. But this is not where I belong. I need to go to a real college.

And that’s what I’m going to do.

T
o make sure I ace every summer school class, I set up a little work desk in my basement away from the summer sunshine and the fresh-cut grass and the sound of neighbor kids playing basketball in their driveway. I study two hours every night, no matter what. My parents think I have gone insane.

Then one day, when I’m done with homework, I try calling Martin again. I’ve called him a couple times, but he never calls me back.

This time I call his parents’ landline. His mom answers and remembers me from Trish’s funeral. She says she’ll go get him.

Since his mom is right there, he takes the call. He acts annoyed and put out. I ask him if he wants to go to the mall, maybe go see a movie.

“I
thought you didn’t like movies.”

“Or we could just drive around or whatever,” I say.

He sighs loudly and makes a big show of what an inconvenience this is. But he probably has nothing going on either. So he agrees to come by.

I sit outside on my yard so he won’t have to wait. He shows up twenty minutes late, but I don’t say a word. We drive around. I am glad to be with him. I find his company relaxing. Still, there’s something about Martin that brings out my inner smart-ass. It’s hard to not use the word “dork” repeatedly in his presence. I make sure to keep my mouth shut.

We end up at the mall, and then go ice-skating, which I still can’t do, but I’m better than last time. I get so I can push off a little. And turn. At one point I do almost a whole lap around the rink, teetering like an old lady. Then I crash into the wall.

While I’m trying to do a second lap, Martin gets a call on his cell phone. He hustles off the ice and runs to one of the benches to take it.

Who could that be?

Later, as we’re driving home, I ask him who called.

“No one,” he says.

“It couldn’t have been no one. I’ve never seen you move so fast.”

“Her name is Grace,” he says.

“It’s a
she
? It’s a girl?”

“That’s right. And I would appreciate it if you could restrain your acid tongue.”

“Okay, okay,” I say. “So where’d you meet her?”

“You’re sort of the last person I want to talk to about this.”

“I’m still a girl, Martin. I like to hear about these things.”

“Debate,” he says. “We met on the debate team.”

“Oh my God. She out-debated you. And now you’re in love.”

“For your information, I haven’t lost a debate in two years.”

“You’re so smart.”

He shakes his head and powers down his window.

“So what’s she like?” I say as the car fills with wind.

“She’s a girl. That’s what she’s like.”

“But what about her personality?”

He sighs. “I would prefer not to discuss it.”

“What kind of clothes does she wear?”

“She wears girls’ clothes. I’m not talking to you about her, Maddie. Can you please just accept that?”

“Okay, okay. Jeez,” I say.

But that doesn’t last.

Four days later, Martin calls me back. I’m eating popcorn with my dad, watching Laser Cats on
Saturday Night Live
. I see his name on my phone and answer.

“Maddie,” he says, all nervous and breathless. “It’s me, Martin. I have to ask you something.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“It’s, uh…well…do you promise you won’t laugh?”

“I won’t laugh,” I say, licking the popcorn off my fingers.

“Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

“And you promise you won’t give me a bunch of crap either?”

“What is it, Martin?”

“Well…the thing is…I’m with Grace. We’re at the mall.”

“Yes?”

“We’re kinda…on a date.”

“Okay.”

“Here’s the thing, though…I want to kiss her.”

“You what?”

“
I want to kiss her
. But I don’t know how, exactly. What do I do?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” he hisses into the phone. “What do I do?”

“Just reach over and do it.”

“Like, just reach over?”

“Well, yeah. And hug her. You know.”

“That’s it?”

“And be romantic. Go slow.”

“Shit,” he says. I can hear the mall music in the background. “I’ve never kissed a girl before.”

“And how old are you?”

“Don’t start with me, Maddie. Just help me out for once.”

“Okay, okay.”

I hear the music playing while Martin thinks. “What do I say? Do I ask her?”

“No. Definitely don’t ask her.”

“How about my breath?”

“Your breath is fine. Don’t buy any breath mints. That looks nerdy.”

“Do I wait until I take her home?”

“No. It looks lame if you wait until the end. Every guy tries to kiss the girl at the end.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Just act normal, relax, and let it happen. Watch her for signs. If she grabs your arm, or touches you, or snuggles up to you in any way. Go for it.”

“Okay. Yeah. Definitely.”

“And Martin?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re cute. So don’t worry. She wants to make out with you.”

“Really? You think I’m cute?”

“Yeah. Especially lately. You’re more confident.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“In what way?”

“I don’t know. You just are. You’re more mature.”

“Wow,” he whispers, amazed at this information. Then he composes himself. “Okay. Cool. I’m totally going to do this. I totally am.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, Maddie.”

M
id-July, I’m eating lunch in the cafeteria in cement building 2B. I look up and see the two rocker girls from my English class. Their names are Allison and Veronica.

“Can we sit with you?” asks Allison.

“Yeah, we’re bored with each other,” says Veronica.

“Sure,” I say.

They plop down on their chairs. Allison salts her salad. Veronica covers her large order of French fries with ketchup.

“Oh my God, I am so sick of summer school,” says Veronica.

“How can you stand to sit in the front?” Allison asks me.

I shrug.

“You sure are smart,” says Veronica. She wears a black hoodie with millions of tiny skulls on it.

“Yeah, you know all the answers,” says Allison.

“I had to miss some school. So I try to study,” I tell them.

“I never study. I hate homework,” says Allison, eating her salted salad. “I don’t even understand homework. Why can’t we just do it in class?”

“I hate books,” says Veronica. “I can’t even read. That’s what they finally figured out. I have a learning disability.”

“You can read a little,” says Allison.

“Oh, I can read, like, signs and stuff,” says Veronica.

“You can read
Us Weekly
,” says Allison.

They sit there across from me, noisily munching their food.

“So what’s your deal?” asks Allison.

“Yeah, we’ve been wondering,” says Veronica.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, what’s your guy situation?”

They both stare at me, waiting for the answer to this all-important question.

“I wouldn’t call him a boyfriend,” I answer. “It’s kind of a long-distance thing at the moment.”

“Oh, that sucks,” says Allison. “Those never work.”

“They cheat on you,” says Veronica. “That’s what happened to me.”

“Where is he?” asks Allison.

“He’s in Redland,” I answer.

“Where’s that?”

“Down south. Near California.”

“That’s not good,” says Allison. “Girls in California will steal your man.”

“They all got fake boobs.”

“Guys like fake boobs,” Veronica tells me. “They say they don’t. But they do. The bigger the better.”

“I knew this girl,” says Allison. “She got these huge ones. For her birthday. Her parents got them for her.”

“That’s so creepy,” says Veronica. “Like when your
dad
pays for them.”

They both pause to eat for a minute.

“You gonna marry him?” Allison asks.

“Probably not,” I tell them. “I’m only seventeen.”

“Hey, when you’re young is when you get the best guys,” says Allison. “You might as well grab a good one while you can.”

“Maybe you could get pregnant,” says Veronica.

I look at the two of them. “Yeah, maybe,” I say.

“Guys are like buses,” says Allison. “Why get on the first one you see, when there’s another one coming right after? Or something like that. Or maybe it’s the opposite. I heard that on
Oprah
.”

We all nod at the wisdom of
Oprah
. They eat their French fries. I eat my yogurt. Then they have to go, so they can smoke before class.

I say good-bye and watch them go.

I have to go to a good college,
I tell myself.