The Truth about Us (15 page)

He shuts down the ignition, not pulling into the garage. “You may think you can handle poverty, Jess. Welfare. Handouts. But you can't. You have too much going for you to hang out with a boy who believes the world owes him favors.” He shuts off the car.

My hands shake with rage. “He works harder than any of the privileged boys who live in this neighborhood.”

“You're privileged,” he tells me. “You live in this neighborhood. I thought working at that place would show you how good you have it.”

“So you're saying you want me to develop a work ethic? Like Flynn has?”

“Don't twist my words,” he growls as a car pulls up to the curb of our house. Nance's car. Great. “It wasn't meant to be a dating club,” he says. “There are plenty of boys around here.”

I reach for my door and open it. I hate my dad so much right now, I can't even.

“If you don't listen to me, you won't be working there at all,” he says. “I told Stella you would honor your commitment, but I can take that back.”

I get out and slam my door again, holding my book close.

He climbs out the driver side and reaches into the backseat for his briefcase. “Don't tempt me, Jess. I hear anything about you and that boy, and you won't be going back.”

The rage inside me explodes. “You are such an…asshole,” I hiss under my breath. I can't help it.

I see in his eyes that he heard me as Nance opens her car door and climbs out. “Hey, Mr. W. Jess-I-cup. What's up?” she shouts, not yet aware of the tension between us.

“Watch your mouth,” my dad hisses in a low voice. “And that's it. You're not going back to that place.”

“Fat chance,” I tell him.

Nance bounces up the driveway, holding a plastic bag. She looks back and forth at my dad and me and raises her eyebrows.

“Hello, Nance,” Dad growls as he spins on his heels, carting off his briefcase. I lift my middle finger at his back as he goes.

“Trouble in paradise?” Nance asks as he disappears inside the house.

“So not paradise,” I snap.

“Apparently not.” She thrusts the bag, which has a heavy lump on the bottom. “My mom baked a pumpkin loaf for you guys. I think she's making a peace offering.”

“Asshat.” I take the bag with my free hand.

“My mom?” she asks.

“No. My dad.”

“What's up with Pops-erello?” she asks.

“He's an asshat,” I repeat.

“Yeah. You said. But I mean, besides that. What are you two fighting about?”

I peek inside the bag at the loaf. Nance's mom used to send loafs over a lot after Mom was attacked. She's a baker, not a talker.

“He showed up at New Beginnings. Out of the blue. To give me a ride home. Check up on me. Whatever.”

“And?” she prompts.

I sigh, some of my anger starting to turn inward. “He saw me kissing a boy.”

Her eyes widen. “At the shelter?”

“Flynn,” I admit.

“Flynn the summer fling?”

I chew my lip and look at the sidewalk. An old woman with a scarf around her head, as if she has cancer or something, walks on the sidewalk toward us with a small black dog. The dog stops in front of the house and lifts a leg to pee on the lilac bush.

“He came to see you at work? You're actually seeing this guy during the
day
?” she asks. “You never once saw Josh during the day.”

I look away from the dog, back to Nance. “Because Josh is a douche bag.”

She ignores that. “Why is he hanging around the shelter?” Her voice rises. “Sounds serious for a fling.”

“He's not a fling,” I say, tired of her using that word, tired of dealing with everyone's prejudices. My dad. Her. Me.

“What do you mean?” she asks slowly.

The little dog starts barking. “Hush, Fredrick,” the woman says, and she smiles at me apologetically.

I look back at Nance. “He's more than that. I like him. I like him a lot. And to be honest…” I take a deep breath. “His mom works, and he has a little brother. They lost their house and…everything. Once in a while, Flynn brings his brother to the shelter. To eat.”

“What?” Her voice raises into a shriek. The little dog growls, and then the woman pulls his leash and they trot off. “He
uses
the shelter?” She makes a face and sticks her tongue out, disgusted.

“It's no big deal, Nance. It's not their fault. They're getting back on their feet.”

“Uh, yeah. It kind of is a big deal.” She crosses her arms, glaring at me. “Is that why your dad is pissed at you? God, Jess. I don't blame him. You can do better than a guy like that.”

“He's not a guy like anything. You're being judgmental,” I tell her.

She raises her eyebrows. “Uh, sorry. I hate to point out the obvious, but hanging out with Soup Kitchen Boy isn't going to win you any popularity contests.”

“I didn't enter any contests,” I tell her. “I don't care about that stuff.” I shove the plastic bag toward her. “And I don't like pumpkin loaf,” I tell her.

She frowns and refuses to take the bag. “Take the stupid loaf,” she says. Her nostrils flare and her brows furrow deeper. “My mom made it for you.”

“Shit.” My brain hurts. “I'm sorry,” I say. “I like her pumpkin loaf. It's not that.” Ugh. I hate myself for trying to keep everyone happy. I have to stand up for myself. And for Flynn.

“It's senior year,” she reminds me.

I'm sick of hearing that. I don't want to spend an entire year trying to impress other people, worrying about an image I don't even care about.

“What about Hunter Bell?” I ask her.

Nance doesn't flinch. “He has an expiration date. You have to end it, Jess. Figure out who your real friends are.”

I stare at her.

“You're right,” I blurt out. “You're so right. And I like Flynn. I don't give a crap about dating the right boys or wearing the right clothes. Not anymore.”

Nance looks me up and down, slowly and dismissively. I want to say something to make it better, but I resist. An invisible door between us slams harder than the car door I slammed earlier.

“Yeah, I should go,” she says, her voice chilled as if I'm pretty much dead to her. And as if she doesn't mind. “Jennifer is having some people over. I left a message on your house phone. You can go ahead and ignore that. Obviously, it won't work with your plans.” She turns to her car. “See you around,” she calls.

I watch her drive away, smelling the fumes of smoke from the bridge I just burned as she goes.

Dad is in his office with the door closed. Mom is in her bedroom with the door closed. Allie isn't home. So, the usual. I take the house phone to my room and place my cherished book on top of my dresser. I pull the monkey from my pocket and gently sit him on top of the book. Despite everything, I smile. They're both amazing.

Sitting on my messy, unmade bed, I stare at the phone, trying to work up my nerve to make the call I want to make. With a deep, deep breath, I finally dial the number and hold my breath, waiting.

“Hello?” The voice on the phone line is quiet.

“Penny,” I say.

There's a pause. “Jess?” she asks.

We both know it's me. Caller ID.

“How're you doing?” I ask.

“You know. Okay.”

Awkward. So very awkward.

My voice chokes, and I cough. I miss her so much. “Do you still hate me?” I ask, trying to make a joke of it.

She sighs. “I never hated you, Jess.”

“Really?” My heart is pounding faster than it should be. “I'm really nervous,” I admit. She'll understand. Penny always understood me.

She sighs again. “What do you want, Jess?”

The words sting and my heart sinks. “I wanted to see how you're doing. I mean, talk.”

She doesn't say anything, so I forge ahead, wondering if this was such a great idea after all. I imagine her face, smiling at me at the party, and go on. “So, you're with Keith now?”

“Yeah.”

That's it. A while ago, every detail would have spilled from her, down to his favorite color. “That's so great. Really great. I'm happy for you. Keith Alex! You've loved him since seventh grade.”

“I know.” Her voice livens up a bit because we have so many shared memories of her crush on Keith Alex. She sounds a little more like my friend Penny and less like a wary stranger.

“How'd it happen?” I ask.

“Just a second.” She covers the phone with her hand. She says my name.

“He's here right now,” she says when she comes back to the phone.

“Oh. Well. Ha ha. I guess you can't really talk about him then, can you?” I try to laugh but it's fake and sad. I blink and blink. I'm really not a part of her life. Not anymore. “Listen, Penny?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry,” I say, remembering the night I turned on her.

It was after Mom's attack. I'd been feeling restless and reckless. Mom was in bad shape, and I didn't know what to do. Dad told me not to talk about it with people, as if not talking about it would make it go away. So I didn't. Not even to Penny.

But I started wearing tighter clothes and boys noticed, and the attention fed a growing hole inside of me. I liked it. When Nance invited us to a party with the popular kids, I pushed Penny to go. The invite was for me really, but back then, me meant Penny too.

I drank the liquor Nance offered. I drank and drank and for a while, it filled up my blank spaces with happy silliness. The liquor loosened me up, and I giggled and stumbled around, talking to everyone and carrying on like a completely different person. Josh Reid latched on to me.

Penny tried to get me out of there. Away from him. I'd laughed at her. Made fun of her. Called her a nerd. A loser. I used intimate things I knew about her to humiliate her. I humiliated her for other people's entertainment. It went too far. Way too far. She left in tears.

I sigh, heat tingling my cheeks. “I'm sorry for what I did to you. I've never told you that. But I really am sorry. I was such a jerk. And I never said sorry.”

She breathes in and out, in and out, but doesn't say anything.

“It's not an excuse, I know. But I was drinking and I didn't mean any of it. Dumb things come out of my mouth when I drink.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “They do.” And then there's silence again.

I'm crying now, thinking about that night. I had to call Allie to come and pick me up. She drove me home and didn't say a word about me pretending to be sober, even though I hiccupped all the way home. She didn't say a word when I threw up all over the bathroom or in the morning when my face was the shade of white lily. Instead, she left after breakfast and went to her boyfriend's house. Dad was out of town. Mom was in bed. I had my first hangover alone on the couch, curled up underneath a blanket. A messy aching body.

I wanted to call Penny. Apologize. But I knew I didn't deserve forgiveness. So I let it go. I let her go. It added to the already big hole inside me. I turned to Nance. The parties and full force of Nance kept me distracted for a long time.

I sigh, about to tell Penny good-bye, about to hang up, embarrassed and emotionally naked and knowing it doesn't matter. I went too far. She's never going to forgive me.

“Thank you,” she says. I take a deep breath and swallow my tears. “Thanks for the apology, but I know things were hard for you.” Penny pauses. “Are things okay now? I mean, how's your mom?”

“She's doing better, some days. It's hard to tell. She still sleeps a lot. I think it's the medication.”

“That must be hard.”

I close my eyes. “It is,” I whisper. My eyelashes are wet. It's been even harder without Penny to talk to about it.

“Jess?” she asks. “You still there?”

“I'm here.” I sigh deeply. “Listen, I was wondering if we could, you know, get together sometime. Like for coffee or something. To talk? I'm dying to hear about how you and Keith got together. And what it's like, being his girlfriend.”

She actually giggles. It's tiny and it's soft. But it's there.

“I met a guy too,” I tell her, wanting to share. Wanting her to care the way I do.

“I heard,” she says.

“You did?”

“Nance. Telephone. Telegraph. Tele-Nance,” she says.

We both laugh. A real laugh.

“I don't think Nance likes him,” Penny tells me.

Less
now
, I think. She likes him less now that she knows the truth about him.

“She doesn't,” I tell Penny. “But he's nice. I think you would like him. He's real. He's not fake. Like I've been acting the last while.”

Silence.

“I miss you,” I whisper. “A lot. I miss you a lot.”

“I miss you too,” she whispers back. But then she clears her throat. “But you really hurt me, Jess.” Her voice is louder now. Clear. I imagine Keith giving her a thumbs-up. Encouraging her to let me have it. I deserve it after all.

“You dumped me,” she says. “For Nance. You left me all alone.”

“But you dumped me,” I say. I never called to apologize. It's just that she never called me either.

“I thought you made your choice. Nance. Drinking. And boys.”

I nod. “I don't want that anymore. I think I'm changing,” I tell her. “Or maybe I'm just learning to be myself again.”

“I hope so,” she says.

“Me too.” I smile, thinking of Wilf. She would love Wilf. “I'm volunteering,” I tell her. “At New Beginnings. I'm friends with a seventy-five-year-old man. And people there.”

“That's good,” she says. “It sounds good for you.”

I nod again. My stomach flops around and I have a sudden understanding of boys trying to ask a girl on a date. Rejection is scary. “So,” I try again. “Do you want to get together? You could come here? Or we could meet at a coffee shop?” I ask.

She clears her throat but doesn't answer.

“Penny?”

“I don't know.” She sighs. “I want to trust you, Jess. I do. But…”

“You can't,” I answer flatly. My eyes go to the book on my dresser. The monkey.

“I'm afraid of getting hurt again. This is kind of unexpected. I need some time to process things.”

“Okay, Pen,” I say. It's not what I wanted to hear. But it's something. There's hope. I should have known Penny wouldn't make a snap decision. She doesn't make snap decisions.

“Hey, Jess?” she asks.

“Yeah?”

“What's your boyfriend's name?”

“Boyfriend?” My cheeks heat up and I giggle. “I don't know if I can call Flynn my boyfriend yet.”

“It sounds like you want him to be though.”

I smile “I do. Yeah, I guess I do.” I pause for a second. “He lives in Clover Lawn,” I tell her.

“So?” Penny asks.

“Exactly,” I say, and my heart fills up.

And that's why I love her. Present tense.

“I think his mom hates me,” I confide.

“She probably doesn't even know you,” she says. “Listen, I have to go. Keith is waiting. I'll call you back sometime. Okay?”

“Okay.” A tear drips down my cheek.

“Good luck,” she says.

“Yeah, thanks. Bye.” I hang up. My heart is heavy and sad, but there's a thin lining of something new.