Saint Anything (24 page)

“Luckily, he sobers up fast,” she told me, walking over and shaking his shoulder. “Spence. Wake up. Time to go.”

“Just five more minutes,” he mumbled into the cushions.

Layla shook her head, then picked up the vodka bottle from the floor. She began to twist the top on, but then changed her mind, opening it and taking a swig. Then she handed it out to me.

I’d go over this moment again and again in the coming weeks. It was just such a stupid thing, a handful of seconds. And yet it was a pivotal point, the shift between before and after. I don’t know why I took the bottle, tipping it up to my mouth. Maybe it was the long night. Or what still might lie ahead, with Ames. Whatever the reason, I did it, taking one big gulp and closing my eyes, tight, as I swallowed. When I opened them, my mother was in the doorway.

Like Ames, she’d just appeared. As I looked at her face, everything crystallized: the smooth glass of the bottle in my hand; Spence’s foot, hanging off the couch; the guys moving in my peripheral vision, talking amongst themselves; Layla beside me, equally surprised. That bottle, again, in my hand.

“Sydney?” Like she wasn’t sure it was me, either. The crease between her brows was deeper than I’d ever seen it. “What is going on here?”

“Mom,” I said quickly, putting down the bottle. This seemed important, although I already knew it wasn’t going to make any difference. “It’s not . . . They were just using the studio.”

“You’re drinking.” A statement, although she sounded so incredulous, it might as well have been a question.

“I wasn’t, actually.” She shifted her gaze to the vodka, then to Spence, snoring softly on the couch. “I mean, I just took that sip. Just now.”

“You’re drinking,” she repeated. She looking into the recording room. “Who are these people in Peyton’s studio?”

“My brother’s band,” Layla said. My mom looked at her. “Mac. You met him at the pizza place? They needed to record a demo, and Sydney—”

“I told you, remember?” I cut in.

“And I said no.” Her voice was clipped, each syllable sharp. She looked at me. “You deliberately disobeyed me, Sydney. And you have alcohol here in our house, not to mention people I do not know.”

“Mom—”

She raised a hand.
Stop.
“I don’t want to hear it. It’s been a long, bad night. Just get these people out of here. Now.”

Layla was instantly in motion, going over and giving Spence a hard enough shake to finally wake him up. “Wha—” he mumbled.

“Come
on
,” she told him. Then she walked over to the board, hitting the intercom. “Speed it up, fellas. Time to go.”

Eric, his back to us, sighed. “We’re moving as quickly as we can. This is delicate equipment.”

“Go faster,” she snapped, then dropped her hand. Hearing this, they all stopped what they were doing and looked at us, finally seeing my mom. Mac’s eyes went wide. It was strange to see him surprised. The next thing I knew, he was heading our way.

Oh, God,
I thought, both grateful and terrified as he came through the door. Layla was busy with Spence, so it was just me there with my mom when he joined us. “Mrs. Stanford,” he said. “This isn’t . . . Sydney was just doing me a favor. I shouldn’t have put her in this position. It’s my fault, totally. I’m sorry.”

He said this so genuinely, so truthfully, that I felt something inside my heart shift. Each time I thought I’d felt all I could for him, there was more.

I slid my hand down his arm, wrapping my fingers around his. “You don’t have to say that,” I told him.

“I want to,” he replied.

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” my mom snapped.

“Mac,”
I said. “Layla’s brother. My friend.”

“Boyfriend,” another voice said, from outside the door. Ames. “Either that or just a guy she makes out with in parking lots.”

“What?”

I turned, slowly, to see Layla frozen behind me. She was looking at our still-joined hands the same way my mom had the bottle, as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.

“I saw them,” Ames said to my mom. “I wasn’t going to tell you, figured Sydney would. But I guess now you know.”

“Now I know,” my mom repeated. To Mac, she said, “Is that your alcohol?”

“No,” he replied. “It’s not.”

She looked at me. “I want these people out of here, Sydney. Do you understand me?”

“Mrs. Stanford—” Mac said.

“Do not talk to me.”
She kept her eyes level, dark and furious and solidly on mine. “Just get out of my house, and take your friends with you.
Now.
”

Mac kept my hand in his a moment longer. Then he unfolded his fingers and let me go.

As they’d come in and set up, there’d been constant conversation: directions of equipment placement, discussion of Eric’s agitated disc, all the back and forth of a group of people trying to get something done together. While they packed up, no one spoke. I knew, because I was listening as I stared into my mom’s eyes, still focused on mine. After so long in my own invisible place, I was squarely in her sights. Just not the way I’d wanted to be.

Distantly, I was aware of everything else that was happening: Layla brushing past me without a word, tugging a stumbling, sleepy Spence behind her. Eric’s and Ford’s quick, cautious looks. How surprisingly light Irv’s large hand felt as it touched my shoulder briefly. And, finally, Mac, the last one to leave us. Only then did my mom look away from me, her eyes following him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do the same. I was not punished yet, had no idea what would happen next. But already all that space left in my heart, open after being clenched tight for so long, was narrowing. When the door shut behind them, I felt it close.

CHAPTER
19

WE WEREN’T
in a courtroom, and nobody asked me to rise. But I still knew a sentencing when I saw it.

My mom, sitting across the table, cleared her throat, then looked at my dad. It was seven a.m. the next morning; a half hour earlier, he’d come into my room and told me to wake up, get showered, and come downstairs. The first part was easy, as I hadn’t slept all night. This, though, was going to be hard.

“Sydney,” he began as I crossed my legs tightly under the table, “I don’t think we have to tell you that we are very,
very
disappointed in you right now.”

I said nothing. I knew I wasn’t to speak yet.

“Your mother specifically told you that your friends could not use the studio,” he continued. “Still, you invited them to do so. You are underage and know the rules of this house. Yet there was alcohol here, and you were drinking.”

I couldn’t help it. “I only—”

He held up his hand, but it was my mom’s glare that stopped me midsentence.

“You know how concerned and worried we both are about your brother and his situation. It’s frankly unfathomable to us that you would choose to add to our burden, to this
family’s
burden, with this kind of behavior.”

“I wasn’t trying to burden anyone,” I said quietly, studying the tabletop. “I just wanted to help a friend.”

“This is Mac?” my mom said, enunciating his name like you might the word
herpes
or
molestation
. “Ames tells us he’s your boyfriend.”

I felt my face flush, angry now. “Ames doesn’t know anything about me.”

“Clearly. He came over expecting to watch a movie with you and found a party instead.”

“It wasn’t a party!”

“Sydney! There was a drunk boy here!”

“That’s Layla’s boyfriend, and I didn’t invite him. I hardly know him!”

“Well,
that’s
reassuring,” my mom said.

“That’s not . . .” I stopped, forcing myself to take a breath. “Mac and Layla are my friends. Mac’s band had a chance to enter a showcase and needed a demo. We have a studio.”

“A studio,” my mom added, “that we said they could not use.”

“But at first, you did!” I pointed out. “That night we ordered the pizza. You were open to it. And then Peyton called, and he got angry with you, and just like that, everything changed.”

“This is not about your brother,” my dad said to me.

“For once!” I said. They both looked surprised: my voice was higher, louder than I’d realized. “Everything is about Peyton, all the time. And that’s okay, I get it. But this was one thing, for me, that I wanted.”

“You wanted to have your friends over, drinking, unsupervised, in our home,” my mom said. “Well, that’s great. Just wonderful.”

“No,” I said, again loudly enough to get shot a look from my dad. I lowered my voice. “I wanted to do something to thank my friends for being so good to me. To repay a bit of the debt I owe them for taking me in. That’s all. That’s
it
.”

My mom sighed, taking a sip of her coffee as my father leaned forward. “You can understand, I’m sure,” he said, “that it’s surprising for us that you’re close enough with people we barely know to break our rules and trust this way.”

“I
wanted
you to know them,” I said. “I still do. I invited Mac in that night, when we first talked about the studio. You met him, Dad. I wasn’t keeping him a secret.”

“Oh, well, good,” my mom said. “Because I was beginning to think you lied about everything.”

“Why are you
being
like this?” I asked her. “I’m not a bad kid, and you know it. This was one night, one thing. One mistake. And I’m sorry. But you can’t—”

“Your brother started with one mistake as well,” she replied. “Which led to another. And another.”

“I’m
not
Peyton,” I said. It seemed crazy I’d have to say this, as all my life they’d made it clear it was the one thing they knew for sure.

“You’re damn right you’re not. And you won’t be, as long as I have anything to say about it.” She pushed back her chair, getting to her feet. “First thing Monday, we go meet with Perkins Day about transferring you. In the meantime, you go to school and nowhere else. I want you home by three thirty every day until we get this sorted out.”

“Sorted out?” My voice and panic were both rising. “You can’t make me switch schools.”

Suddenly, she was pouncing, lunging across the table at me, slapping her hands on the surface. “I,” she said, right into my face as I drew back, startled, “can do whatever I want. I am your mother, and I make the rules. From now on you follow them. We’re done here.”

She pulled back, straightening up, but I stayed where I was. I was still gripping the chair arms when she left the room.

For a moment, my dad sat there, not saying anything. We both knew he’d follow her, the way he always did. But it was the pause before that I’d recall later. Like if my parents were finally going to shift from their respective, decided responsibilities, this was when it could happen. Maybe he might have listened, if I tried to explain. It couldn’t have made things worse. I’d never know, though, because then he was getting to his feet, wearily, and pushing the chair in behind him. Court adjourned.

* * * 

I had Peyton to thank for everything that happened that night. After our conversation, he had indeed reached my mom on her cell, just as my parents were checking in to the hotel. I could picture the moment of her answering, her face brightening as it always did at his voice. And then her smile wavering, followed by confusion as he told her, now adamant, that he
did not
want her there. I imagined her resisting, explaining, tears audible in her voice before filling her eyes. Then silence as Peyton told her he wouldn’t be attending the ceremony, even if she was, and hanging up on her.

All of this was so easy to imagine, as was the drive back home and the moment she came in and Ames told her what was happening downstairs. The weird thing was that even though what followed I
had
seen, with my own eyes, it was the part that still felt like a dream.

By Sunday morning, my mom was rested and ready to focus on a new project: me. It was obvious the moment I came down to breakfast and found her at the table with a shiny new folder, a stack of papers, and her coffee.

“So I’ve been in touch with Headmaster Florence,” she said, skipping a salutation, “and she’s of the mind that a midsemester switch is not in your best interest.”

I paused, right where I was, to give Mrs. Florence—a tall woman with birdlike features who had never been particularly fond of me—my eternal gratitude. “So I get to stay at Jackson?”

My mom picked up her coffee cup, taking a sip. “Until the end of the marking period, yes. After that, we’ll revisit the issue. In the meantime, there will be some modifications.”

That didn’t sound promising. I went over to the fridge, taking out the milk, then gathered my cereal and a bowl. She was waiting for me to ask her what was in store, I knew, and the only power I had was not doing so. So I didn’t.

“Starting tomorrow,” she said, “I’ve signed you up for tutoring and SAT prep at the Kiger Center. Monday through Friday, three thirty to five.”

The Kiger Center was where Jenn worked, in the strip mall just across the street from the Arbors guardhouse. “My grades are good, though. So are my prep test scores.”

“There’s always room for improvement,” she replied. “Additionally, there’s a Kiger study group that meets at Jackson each day at lunchtime. I’ve signed you up for that, as well.”

“I have to study at lunch?”

She leveled her gaze at me. “You’re a junior now. SAT prep is crucial. You need all the practice you can get.”

“But,” I said, realizing even as I spoke that arguing was probably futile, “all I’ll be
doing
is studying.”

She opened the folder, jotting something down on a sheet of paper inside. “Well, then you’ll be more than prepared to transfer back to Perkins, or to one of the other schools I’m considering, after the break.”

“Other schools?” This just kept getting worse.

“There are actually quite a few options since I last did this kind of research,” she said. She took out a sheet of paper, putting it in front of me. “Kiffney-Brown is my first choice, but you’ll need to really work to pass their entrance exam. There’s also a charter school that just opened with a focus on math and science that’s intriguing. But I’m just beginning to read up on it.”

I’d thought the dread I’d been feeling since Thursday night had already hit its maximum. Seeing the printed spreadsheet of schools—each listed with its average SAT score, tuition (if applicable), and requirements for enrollment—proved me wrong. I knew my mother in this mode. Peyton had finally succeeded in stopping her from organizing his life. Now she had her full arsenal of resources, not to mention all the time in the world, to focus on mine.

“She’s just reacting still,” Mac told me when I reported all this. My parents hadn’t taken my phone as part of my punishment—yet—so I was calling and texting him as much as I could while I still had the chance. “It freaked her out, seeing you with the bottle and all of us there. Too much like your brother.”

“She wants to send me to Kiffney-Brown,” I said. “That’s, like, the genius school. She’s delusional. Even with all this studying she’s signed me up for, I’d never have a chance.”

“It would probably still be better than that charter, though,” he replied. “Irv has a bunch of friends there. Says it’s like college.”

There was that dread again. Not about the academics, although that wasn’t exactly calming. Worse, though, was the thought of being away from him, from Layla, from this world in which I’d somehow managed to find a place. That was assuming, however, they still wanted me.

“Has she said anything?” I asked him again. I’d texted Layla multiple times, even gone so far as to leave a voice mail, but had heard nothing in return. To be fair, she’d been clear about her rule concerning dating Mac. But I was hoping for forgiveness, and if not that, a chance to explain.

“She’s been caught up with Spence,” he replied. “Total drama. You know how they are.”

It was kind of him to sidestep the question, but it just made me feel worse. To me, the Chathams were like that merry-go-round out in the middle of nowhere in the woods. I hadn’t been aware they’d existed; it was pure luck to have stumbled upon them. Now that I had, I couldn’t forget and go back to the way I’d been before. Just knowing they were out there changed everything. Especially me.

Monday morning, my mom sent me off to school with my own folder, containing the information about the Kiger lunchtime study group (
Attendance taken daily,
she’d highlighted in bright yellow), as well as a packet with the details of the after-school program. When I got to my locker before the first bell, Mac was waiting for me. The only upside of all this—and it was a big one—was that we had no reason to hide anymore.

“Hey,” he said. “Long time, no see.”

I smiled, or tried to, and then he was wrapping his arms around me, pulling me close. Despite all of the typical loud noise of Jackson around us, it was like everything went quiet as I pressed my face into his shirt, feeling his pendant against my forehead. He smelled like soap and coffee, and I just wanted to stay there, breathing nothing but him, for as long as possible. But the bell was already ringing, so he walked me to homeroom, kissed me, and disappeared into the crowd.

I looked for him everywhere, though, and for Layla. Jackson, which had seemed so vast and infinite when I first arrived, had become manageable, even familiar, once I had friends there. With no contact at lunch, my chances of seeing any of them were left up to fate. Between second and third, over the heads of several people, I caught a glimpse of Eric. I rerouted every chance I had to pass by Layla’s locker; she was never there. At lunch, rushing to the Kiger group, I craned my neck at a window, trying to see the benches where I knew they gathered, but had no luck. My mother’s plan was working. I was alone again. It was so much harder this time.

“It’s going to be okay,” Mac told me that first afternoon as we grabbed a fleeting few minutes at his truck before I had to leave for the Kiger Center. Already my mom had texted me twice, reminding me to be there at three thirty sharp to meet her for an overview of the program. “It’s just the first day. We’ll work it out, I promise.”

I wanted to believe this, and him. But I knew my mom. Once she had a project in her grasp, her grip only tightened. I didn’t say this, though, as he leaned down, putting his lips on mine. When we finally pulled apart, I opened my eyes to see Layla across the parking lot. She had on her army jacket, her hair loose over her shoulders, and when she saw us, she stopped walking. We looked at each other for a moment, Mac there unaware between us. Then she turned around and went back the way she’d come.

* * * 

“Okay,” Jenn said later that afternoon, when my mom had finally left the Kiger Center after exhausting everyone with all her questions and concerns. It was four forty-five, so I had no time to actually get anything started, but she insisted I stay the full time, anyway. “What is going
on
?”