Second Kiss (19 page)

Drew and Carmen stepped out of my way while I hastily pulled from the locker what belonged to me-two textbooks and an old granola bar. I slammed the locker shut and marched down the hall while Drew and Carmen watched with looks of shock plastered to their faces. When I was twenty feet down the hall, I turned around one last time.

“And don’t call me Gem!”

I walked - no, ran - toward my first-period classroom, but I couldn’t go in. Instead I flew past the door nad headed straight for the girl’s bathroom. Tears were streaming down my face by this point, so I ducked my head as I weaved in and out of the hundreds of girls crammed int front of the bathroom mirrors. I slipped into the only available stall - the handicap stall at the very back of the room. I sat down on the toilet seat - even though my pants were still on - and wept into my backpack. How could this happen to me? This was a hundred times worse than I had imagined it. I thought Drew and I were friends! but she was turning into the terrible, self-centered, inconsiderate person I knew! The first-period bell rang and the bathroom grew quiet. Soon I was alone, which only made it easier to cry. I cried because of the rejection. I cried because of the shock of the rejection. But most of all, I cried because of my stupidity. Why had I ever wanted to be friends with Drew? She used me from the very beginning. How could I allow her to have a huge party at my house when my parents were out of town. Was I
that
 weak? And to think that I almost turned on Jess because of her! Was having no friends at school really so bad that I had to go and make friends with the twenty-first century version of Cruella Devil?

I heard another bell ring, which meant first period was over. I wiped at my eyes and pulled myself together enough to be able to finally exit the stall. I made it to second period and then to third and onto the rest until the final bell rang. And then finally, I made it home. I stepped through our front door and clumsily dropped my backpack on the steps. The house was filled with its usual smells of my mom cooking in the kitchen, and I followed the smells until I got to the kitchen counter, where I fell heavily into the bar stool and waited for Mom to ask me what was wrong. She was stirring something in a pot on the stove, and it took her longer to speak than I had expected.

“I’m worried about you.” The words themselves made sense since I was basically having the worst week of my life, but the tone of her voice created a knot the size of Rhode Island in my stomach. She was mad.

I lifted my head off the counter and watched the back of her as she stood motionless, staring into the pot in front of her. “What do you mean?” I needed an explanation. I was going crazy not knowing what would make her so angry that instead of yelling at me she was giving me something close to the silent treatment. We hadn’t talked much since my confession to her the night before. She seemed pretty normal at breakfast, though she did mention that we were going to discuss the “consequences of my actions” tonight after dinner. But even then she didn’t seem angry. Not like this.

She turned around slowly as she rested the spoon on a plate next to the stove. She stared at me with cold, hard eyes as she lifted up her hands. She pointed to the index finger on her left hand with the index finger from her right. “First, you throw a party in our home when your father and I aren’t in town and when we had specifically said you could only have two friends over.” She paused and pointed to her middle finger. “Second, you snuck out of the house to go talk to Jess after you were already in trouble.” She pointed to her ring finger next. “Then to top it all off I get a call from your principal-for the second time this year-telling me that you skipped first period today!” Her eyes were huge, and I could have sworn I saw a blood vessel pop in her forehead. “Is there something going on with you that I don’t know about?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

So Mom went on, “Do you honestly think that I have nothing else in my life to worry about? Do you think that things are just so darn easy that you need to skip school and throw parties so I have something to do?”

I could feel the tears pressing their way up toward my eyes again, and I knew I couldn’t hold them in. I began to sob for the zillionth time that day. “I didn’t mean to skip first period!”

“Oh! You didn’t mean to skip first period.” Mom bounced on her hip as she continued on with her sarcastic dramatization. “Well, as long as you didn’t mean to skip first period, then I guess it’s okay!” She suddenly remembered whatever was in the pot that was starting to boil. She picked up the spoon and started stirring furiously.

“It’s true, Mom, I didn’t mean to skip class.” The tears were strolling down my cheeks faster now. “It was just such a terrible day!” I buried my head in my arms.

“Oh, let me guess. Did you forget your class schedule and go sit by the dumpster all day? Oh wait, that already happened!”

I didn’t know Mom had it in her to be so sarcastic. She hated it when Bridget and I were sarcastic. She always said it was the devil’s humor.

I lifted my head and looked at her in awe. I couldn’t believe I had actually brought my mom to her snapping point. I had gone too far.

“Mom, I-“

“No! I don’t want to hear it right now. Just go up to your room!”

I waited for her to change back to the mom I knew. I waited for her to put her arms around me and tell me everything was going to work out all right. But she didn’t, so I finally slunk off of the bar stool like an earthworm and dragged myself up the stairs to my room. I closed the door behind me and walked directly into the closet. I closed the closet door behind me and crawled in the darkness through my church dresses until I reached mine and Jess’s wall. I curled my legs up to my chest as tight as they would go, and then I cried myself to sleep.

I woke up sometime later to the sound of loud voices.

“What do you mean she’s not in here?” It was Mom, and she was still yelling.

Then I heard Dad’s calm, even voice. “Are you sure she came up here?”

“Yes! I told her to come up here an hour ago!” Her voice became low and bitter. “So help me if she snuck out again! I have had it up to here with that girl!” I could imagine Mom holding her hand up to her forehead as she said it. I was about to reveal myself to my parents until I realized that Mom was now crying. Dad made hushed, soothing tones, and I was sure he had his arms around her. Her words were broken and came intermittently between the sobs. And though they were muffled by the flannel shirt that covered Dad’s chest, I heard her words clearly when she said, “Oh, Rob, how … am I going to raise her … without you?”

I shut my eyes again and cuddled closer to the closet wall. I suppose I was trying to get as far away from everything as I could. My thoughts rolled through my brain like a bingo machine as I consdered the possible meaning to my mom’s words. Why would she have to raise me without my dad? Divrose was the first possibility that came to my mind. Before Jess’s parents got divorced, it was something that seemed to only happen in far off places like Los Angeles or New York. Not in my world. But since the reality of Caris and Kevin Tyler set in, I had realized that there were a lot more divorced parents that I ever knew about. Drew’s parents were divorced. I knew because Drew mentioned once that she was going to visit her dad in Atlanta for the summer. And I thought Carmen’s parents were divorced because whenever she talked about her home, she called it “my mom’s house.” The idea of my parents not being married anymore created a lump the size of a billiard ball in my throat. I wanted to cry again, but didn’t have any more tears to cry.

I realized then that there were other possibilities beyond divorce. Maybe he was going on a long trip. Maybe he had gotten a job offer in Germany or France or some far away country and we would only be able to see him on holidays and a summer vacation. That would be sad, but it would be a much better option than divorce. The second option made me feel lighter, and I finally found the strength to lift myself up off the carpet and crawl out of the dark closet into my bedroom. The sun had set and only a tiny bit of blue light shown through my windows. How long had I been in there? I opened my bedroom door and stepped into the lit hallway. I blinked at the sharpness of the light and rubbed my swollen eyes. I could hear my parents and Bridget in the kitchen, utensils hitting plates, and ice bumping against the water glasses. They had gone ahead and eaten dinner without me.

I walked into the kitchen feeling like an outsider in my own family. I stopped at the doorway and watched as Bridget dished herself up a second helping of lasagna, my favorite meal. Dad was the only one to look up at me.

“Hey, Gem, where have you been?” His mouth was turned upward, but his face didn’t look happy. I could tell that he was trying to keep himself on an even playing field between me and Mom, but he wasn’t going to be able to stay there for long. He always succumbed to Mom’s side of the battle. Not because he always agreed, but because he was a loyal husband.

“I fell asleep in my closet,” I mumbled. They were the first words I had spoken since I was sentenced to my room by Mom. The words came out with a grumble in my throat.

Bridget snorted as she took a bite of green beans. Mom put her fork down and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“You should eat, Gemma,” Mom spoke softly without looking at me, “while it’s still hot.”

Part of me wasn’t hungry, but part of me was starving. I think the part of me that was starving was also the part of me that ached for normalcy with my family. I loved lasagna, and I longed to be able to enjoy it while laughing with my parents about my day at school or listening to Bridget tell about a date she had to go on that weekend even though she really didn’t want to.

I slid into my usual chair at the table as Bridget continued telling my parents a story about her biology class that I had apparently interrupted.

“So Sandra goes up to Mr. Kroff and asks why she got a B minus on her report card when she’s gotten As on all of her tests.” I stared at Bridget, even though I was barely listening to her, and it occurred to me that her world really hadn’t changed that much. To her this was just a family dinner like any other night. She wasn’t in big trouble like I was. And she didn’t overhear Mom say something to Dad that wasn’t supposed to be heard. “Then Mr. Kroff tells her-in front of the whole class-that she was tardy nine times this semester, and he takes two percent off your grade every time you are tardy! Can you believe that? Two percent! That really adds up!” Bridget looked around the table with wide eyes, even though the rest of us were staring at our forks, emotionless. “Sandra was the only one in the class getting a better grade than me. So you know what that means.” Bridget took another bite of green beans then continued, “I’m the top of my class.”

At that Dad seemed to beam back into the present day from wherever his thoughts had taken him. “Wow, Bridge! That’s great! Congratulations!”

I knew he hadn’t heard a word of the story before that, but Bridget was beaming with delight. Bridget took another big bite of her food, and there was a long stretch of complete silence while she chewed. Mom barely looked up from her plate, and Dad only looked up to reach for the salt and pepper. I ate quietly, though the lasagna didn’t taste nearly as good as it usually did. The tension between my parents and I was thick, and the silence was making everything taste worse with each bite. I couldn’t take it any longer.

I looked at Mom, who was watching her green beans as she pushed them around her plate. “Why are you going to have to raise me without Dad?” I didn’t mean to yell.

Mom’s head shot up and stared at me in shock across the table. Dad looked at me with as much astonishment until he turned to my mom and put his hand on her arm.

Bridget broke the silence, “What are you talking about, Gemma?” Panic filled her eyes as she saw everyone’s expressions. She looked back at Dad. “What is she talking about?”

Dad took in a deep breath and looked at Mom questioningly, but she didn’t take her eyes off of me. “Maybe you two girls should go upstairs and do your homework. Your mom and I will clean up down here.”

“What’s going on?” Bridget pushed. I remained silent. I had already done enough.

Dad spoke again when it became obvious that Mom wasn’t going to. “Let your mom and I have a moment down here, Bridget. I’ll come up and talk to you both in a minute.”

Bridget threw her napkin on her plate and pushed her chair out from behind her. It squeaked as it slid across the linoleum. She marched up the stairs as loudly as she could, and I followed sheepishly behind her. I walked into my bedroom; the sun was far beneath the surface of the earth, and the only thing coming through the windows now was the dim glow of street lights below. I didn’t have the courage to turn on the lights. I folded down the comforter on my bed as well as the sheet below. With my shoes still on, I slid safely underneath them, pulling them far over my head. I didn’t see the light come on some moments later, but I felt a warm hand brush over my back that was followed by the cool tone of Dad’s voice.

“Gemma, sweetheart.” He sounded sad. “Would you come on downstairs? Your mother and I need to talk to you and your sister about something.”

I unfolded the sheets, revealing my face that was covered with matted hair. “Before we go down there,” I urged, “please just promise me one thing.”

Dad’s eyes looked bigger than I had ever seen them. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t even nod, but I continued.

“Don’t leave us.” The familiar sting of salt built up behind my eyes. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. Just tell me that you won’t leave us.”

Dad said nothing. Instead he reached out for my hand and led me out of my room and down the stairs to the living room, where Mom and Bridget were already sitting, waiting. The silence in the room was almost tangible, like it was waiting for the right moment to pounce on me and make breathing an impossibility. When we were all sitting down-Mom and Dad on one couch, Bridget and I facing them on the other-Dad started to speak.