You Knew Me When (4 page)

I
t's totally weird how everything can change all at once. One day you're a normal family, living in a normal house, with a normal life. Okay, maybe things weren't
completely
normal, but at least no one ever talked about me or pointed at me from across the cafeteria. I wasn't worthy of gossip. Lana Park was worthy of gossip. Justin Grills was worthy of gossip. And, unfortunately for Tanya Barker, she was worthy of gossip too, only not in a good way.

After the accident, I got lots of attention. There Goes That Poor Little Girl Whose Mother Got Killed kind of attention. And, of course, the She Watched Her Get Hit by the Car kind of attention. It definitely made me more popular at school. The cool girls were suddenly interested in me, inviting me to sit at their lunch table so they could ask me all sorts of questions about the accident, like I was some kind of circus freak. Sabrina Montag even lent me her pink fluorescent scrunchie in gym class. Unfortunately, having your mom pass away isn't exactly the reason you want to be popular, and mostly it made me want to run and hide. Some days I skipped school altogether; it's not hard to get out of class when your mom just died. The thing is, being home wasn't any better. It only made me sadder. That's when my dad decided it was time to move. He told me the bottling plant he worked at in Bennington really needed a new director of operations at their Manchester office, but I overheard him talking to his boss on the phone, begging to be transferred because we needed a change “in light of everything that's happened.” In other words, my dead mom.

Sometimes I think it was better when I was invisible at school. My mother was never invisible. She stood out like a supermodel in our small town, always wearing beautiful dresses, with bright red lipstick and long red nails even if she was just running her regular errands, never track suits, like the other moms. She liked to be noticed, looked at, listened to, complimented, and waited on. No one else could get into Giorgio's, the fanciest Italian restaurant in Bennington, without a reservation
and
have Giorgio himself bring a free bottle of wine to the table. No one else had their groceries carried to their car by the manager of the supermarket like she did. She expected it. I don't expect it, because I'm not beautiful or special the way she was. It's okay. I know it.

My mom wanted to be an actress. She was living in New York City and going to auditions for commercials and soap operas every day before she met my dad. It sounded really exciting. She said once she left Iowa, where she grew up, she never wanted to go back. One night she was out with her friend, another actress, who introduced her to my dad, who was visiting one of his friends in New York City. My mom didn't really like my dad that much at first. He wasn't as handsome as the men she usually went out on dates with and he was a little annoying, but he was so in love with her, she finally decided to go out with him. She said being an actress was no way to make money, and that my dad liked taking care of her, treated her really well, and had a good job. I guess he had enough money for both of them, so she went with him to Vermont. My dad tells a whole other story. He says they fell in love the first time they saw each other. I think she always missed her life in New York City. My mom would have been a great actress.

I'm not really sad to be leaving Bennington. It's been totally strange living in the house with all of her things for the past four months. My dad tried to pack up as much as possible. He said he'd save her clothing and jewelry in case I wanted them one day. But even with her stuff gone, everything still looks and smells like her. It's like she's gone, but she's not. It's hard to explain, but in a way, it's sort of like my dad and I never lived here to begin with. It was her house. It still is. Dad's never said anything about it, at least not to me, but I think he feels it too. It doesn't mean I don't miss her. I do. I guess it comes in and out. Some days I feel relieved. I know that sounds mean, but it's nice not to worry you're always disappointing someone. Other days, I'm sad a lot, sometimes from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep. It's weird to think I'll never see her again. I hope I don't forget her.

Moving day came faster than I thought. Once you know you're leaving, it's hard not to feel nervous about it. I didn't sleep at all last night. I couldn't stop thinking and mostly worrying about what my new life is going to be like. I haven't even seen our new house yet. My dad said he knows I'll love it. So I'm sure I will. He knows what I like. And my room is going to be much bigger, which can't be a bad thing. My dad says we're a team now.

I walked out onto the porch and sat on our stoop for the last time, watching him load the rest of our stuff into the trunk of our gray Chevy. I can't help but feel like we're leaving my mom behind. The house and her things are really my last connection to her. On the other hand, I want to run away from this town as fast as possible—the people who know, who point their fingers and stare at me with sad faces, and mostly all the little things that remind me of her every day. Like the way our dish towels still smell like her perfume.

“Ready, Kitty Kat?” My dad called from the car and slammed the trunk closed. He squinted at me and smiled. The sun was brighter than ever—a good omen, I hope.

“Yup!” I picked up my pink suitcase and ran toward the car, nervous and excited for our future together. I tried not to look back, but I did anyway. I needed one last look.

“W
hen do you think they'll get here?” I followed my mom around the kitchen, feeling antsy, kind of like my skin was tingling all over. She'd made the four of us a huge pancake breakfast, and there was still yellow batter splattered everywhere. Mom loves to cook, but she's a bit messy at it.

“I don't know, love. Soon, I guess.” She swiped a wet dish towel down the length of the counter and patted it dry with a paper towel.

“Did you see her?” I twirled in circles on the shiny brown tile.

“Laney, I told you I didn't see her, only her father.” She washed a bunch of red grapes in the sink and added it to a bowl of big pink peaches.

“Well, what was he like?” I sat down at the kitchen table, hugging my knees to my chest. I was
desperate
for every last detail.

“He seemed lovely, sweetheart. I'm sure they'll be here soon enough.”

“I'm sure they won't. Soon enough would be
now
.” I stood up again. “What color is his hair?”

“Brown.”

“Like, a lightish brown? Or is it real dark, like, almost black?”

“I don't know. Sort of medium. Why do you care what color his hair is?”

“I'm trying to imagine what his daughter's going to look like.” So far she looked like a man with medium brown hair. “And his eyes?”

“What about them?”

“What color are they?”

“Laney, I have no idea. I didn't study him. We talked for maybe five minutes. Just long enough for him to say they were moving in next Saturday.”

“
Next
Saturday!?”

“
This
Saturday, love.
Today
. I'm just telling you what he said then.”

“Tell me
exactly
what he said.”

“For the millionth time, he said he and his daughter are moving into the house next to Luella's, and that she's eleven, just like you.” Didn't sound like a five-minute conversation to me.

“I wish they'd just get here already.”

“Patience, Laney. Patience.” It's a word I hear a lot, mainly from my parents. I guess because I don't have any. I once tried to explain to them that clearly I wasn't born with patience, and eleven years later it has yet to arrive. They told me that it's not something you're born with or something that arrives out of the blue, but it's something you have to develop. Seems like a waste of time.

“Can I take the pie and wait on their porch?” Yesterday Mom and I baked them a gorgeous raspberry pie with golden crust and oozy red goodness all stuffed inside. It took lots of willpower for my brother, Grant, and me not to eat it for dessert last night.

“I don't think so, Lane. We should let them get settled in before we jump down their throats.” She took off her flowery apron, folded it neatly into the drawer next to the stove, and kneeled down in front of me. “I know you're excited, but this is a big change for her. And for her dad.”

“What happened to her mom again?” I knew the answer, at least part of it, but I wanted to hear it one more time. If I was about to meet my new best friend, I had to know everything there was to know about her.

“Laney, I told you her mom passed away.” She shook her head. I heard her tell my dad it was a “real travesty.” I'm not quite sure what that means, but it can't be good.

“From what?”

“Lane. Come on. It's not important.” She peeled one side of a peach and cut me a slice. “All I'm saying is that I think we should give them a little space and, once they're settled in, you can go over with the pie. Okay?”

“Fine.” I sighed, though I still thought it would be nice to welcome them as soon as they got here. Who wouldn't want a sweet girl like me with a delicious pie waiting at their door? I'd be happy to help them unpack boxes too! “Do you think she knows about me?”

“I'm not sure, love, but I have no doubt she will soon enough.”

The house two doors down from ours has been empty for three years now. Mom told me a really rich family from New York City used to use it as their ski home when I was little, but I don't remember them much and it seems like forever ago. It's similar to our house. Medium-sized, white on the outside, with black shutters and window boxes, where I hope they'll plant some pink tulips. Pink tulips are my favorite. My dad buys them for me every Valentine's Day. I've only been inside the house once. It's nice. But nothing like Luella Hancock's. Her house is enormous, and since it's right between my house and the new girl's house, it makes ours look kind of little, even though they're not. I was beyond excited when Mom told me a girl exactly my age was about to move in. Jackpot, right? I'm sort of over most of the kids at school. They're so boring. Now I'll have a brand-new friend to do
everything
with. Plus, it's a huge deal to have your best friend live practically next door. Best friends
and
neighbors. I hope her dad told her about me.

“I'm just going to watch out the window, okay?” I hopped onto the window seat by the front door, leaning my back against one side and stretching my tanned legs down the blue-and-white-striped cushion. I look eons better with a tan, especially in the white Cavariccis I got for my birthday. Grant and I have been swimming at Luella's pool almost every day this summer. He's my older brother, but only by a year, and he can do a backward dive. I can't yet, but I'll have mastered it any day, and then I can teach the new girl. Unless she already knows how. Well, I'm sure there will be plenty of other stuff I can teach her. Summer is my absolute favorite time of the year, especially since winters are so cold and dark in Vermont. Mom always says, “Even when it's cold and dark, our home has a sunny disposition,” but I still like summer best.

“Suit yourself. I'm going to the supermarket. Are you sure you don't want to come?”

“Yup.”

“Might make the time pass more quickly. Maybe they'll be here when we get back.”

“No, thanks. I'll stay here.” I spotted their gray Chevy the day my mom met the new girl's dad. Of course, I didn't know whose it was at the time, otherwise I'd have been out there immediately to introduce myself. Anyway, they have to pass our house to get to theirs, so if I just sit here and watch it'll only be a matter of time. I do
not
want to miss their arrival, because as soon as they get here I can start counting down their “time to settle in” before I pop on over with the pie. Maybe she'll want to go for an afternoon swim at Luella's; she says we can come over whenever we'd like. Luella doesn't have any kids. I once asked her why and she said it wasn't in the cards for her. I told my mom, and she said not to be such a busybody. Funny word, but I don't see what the big deal is. It's not like she
killed
her kids; she just didn't have any of her own, which is fine by me, because we get her pool all to ourselves.

“Okay, but do not run over the minute they get here.” She gave me a warning look, and I nodded back when she was facing the other direction. “Did you hear me, Laney?”

“Yes, Mom.” She gathered her purse and car keys. “You said don't go over as soon as she gets here.”
But you didn't say don't get her to come to me
.

W
e got to the house really quickly. I almost wanted a little while longer to imagine it. But here it was—big and white, with black shutters and a cherry-red door. I like a cherry-red door. It reminds me of my mom's nails. On the way over, my dad told me that there's a girl my age who lives on the other side of this mansion that's next to our house. He said that when he met her mom, she said her daughter would be thrilled to have a new friend. I'm not really getting my hopes up. That's what parents always say. And her daughter is probably cooler than I am. She probably wears tight acid-washed jeans and tortoiseshell sunglasses. Plus she probably has all the friends she needs. I thought about telling everyone in Manchester that I was very popular in Bennington, but I'm pretty sure very popular people don't tell people they're very popular. Although I couldn't really say, since I'm not. Anyway, that would be lying, which I try not to do, because then I need to apologize at church.

“Let's go, Kitty Kat. Grab what you can,” my dad said cheerily. I took my pink suitcase, which I'd held on my lap on the way over, and two other small bags and followed him into the house. “So?” He looked at me, waiting to see what I thought.

“Wow. It's so . . .” What was the word? “Fancy!” My mom would have loved it. She loved fancy. I felt a little sick knowing she'd never live in this house. There was a huge, shiny kitchen with a refrigerator bigger than I've ever seen. Connected to the kitchen was an even bigger living room. My mom didn't cook, but I could still imagine her in this kitchen, heating up a can of beans in the microwave and looking beautiful. “Can I go see my room?”

“You bet! Up the stairs on the right.” My dad seemed happy. I knew this was hard for him too. Even if the place was gross, I would have said I liked it. And then I would have had to apologize at church.

My bedroom was twice the size of the one in Bennington. It could fit at least six friends for a sleepover, if I made any friends. The walls were painted a light pink, my favorite color, and there were two large windows taking up one whole side of the room, with empty window boxes on the outside for flowers or plants or something. I ran back downstairs.

“I love it, Daddy!” I squeezed him tight around the middle and he held me for longer than usual, kissing the top of my head.

“I'm so happy, Kitty Kat. So, so happy.”

“Me too!” I might have seen some tears in his eyes.

“Hey, there's a letter here for you. Someone dropped it through the mail slot.” My dad handed me the purple envelope which had “NEW GIRL WHO'S 11 WHO JUST MOVED IN” written on it in red marker. I turned it over and the other side said, “VERY IMPORTANT—READ IMMEDIATELY.” So I did.

Dear New Girl,

Welcome home! My name is Laney, and I live on the other side of the really big house (in the white house that looks like yours). We need to meet immediately!! Don't unpack! It can wait! Come over as soon as you get this!!!!!!!!! It's very, very, very important.

Sincerely,
Your New Best Friend

I stared wide-eyed at the note. I've never had a best friend. I've never had anyone think it was very, very, very important to meet me. Not even one
very
. Could it be a joke? Could news of the girl with the dead, beautiful mom from Bennington already have gotten to Manchester? I showed the note to my dad.

“Wow! Go on over.” I'm pretty sure he was as surprised as I was. All parents like to think their kids have loads of friends, but when no one ever comes to the house and no one ever invites your kid for sleepovers, it's hard to ignore.

“Really?” I looked around the first floor at all of the unpacked boxes, bags, and furniture wrapped in blanket-type thingies. “I'll just help you here and go meet Laney tomorrow.” Part of me wanted to rush over. Another part of me wanted to wait. What if she realized I'm not her new best friend? It's one of the problems with being an overthinker, as my mom used to call me.
You take everything too seriously,
she'd say. A lot.

“Are you kidding? Get out of here! I've got this under control.”

“Okay. I'll just say hello and be home really soon.” He gave me a thumbs-up, and my mind started sprinting immediately. Should I change my clothing? What would a best friend of Laney's wear? Probably not knee-length brown shorts, which made my legs look like pork sausages, or a dark green collared Izod shirt, which made me look like a boy. But all of my stuff was packed and, honestly, most of it wasn't much better. I didn't bother asking my dad. I knew what he'd say.
If Laney doesn't like you for who you are, she's no friend of yours.

On the other hand, my mom would have said,
Beggars can't be choosers
.

•   •   •

Standing
at Laney's front door, I wished I'd changed my ugly outfit. She'd probably take one look at me and realize her mistake. My stomach was all flip-floppy and, as I rang the doorbell, I decided I should have waited until tomorrow. Maybe she wouldn't be home. Or maybe she wouldn't hear the bell, and I could just slip back to my house and help my dad unpack. Not my first choice of things to do, but at the moment it sounded pretty good. I turned around and started walking away.

“Hello?” a woman's voice called out just as I'd reached the bottom of the steps. “Are you the new girl from three-oh-five?” She stood in the doorway, wearing a light yellow sundress with a blue-and-white checked apron tied around her very thin waist. Her long, curly blond hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She wasn't beautiful like my mom, but she was pretty in a natural kind of way.

“Oh, hi. Yes.” I made my way back onto the porch. “I didn't mean to bother you. It's just that I, um, I got this. I think it's from your daughter, Laney.” I handed her the letter.

“I see.” She read it and shook her head, laughing, which made her whole face light up. “That would definitely be my Laney. I told her not to bother you.”

“It's no bother, really. I'll just come back at a better time.”

“Nonsense!” She smiled brightly. “I'm Carol Drake. Laney's mom. It's such a pleasure to have you as our new neighbor. Laney is simply over the moon to have a friend her age living so close. Please come in. . . .” She paused.

“Kitty. Kitty Hill.” I followed her inside. Laney's house looked a lot like ours, only lived-in. Carol walked me into the kitchen, where there were big bowls overflowing with fresh fruit and glass containers filled with cereal and crackers and cookies, even one tall one with uncooked spaghetti. Most of the food in my old house was either canned or from the deli department.

“Can I get you something to drink, Kitty? A snack?” She didn't even wait for me to answer before putting a bowl of the biggest red grapes I'd ever seen in front of me and pouring me a glass of lemonade.

“Thank you.” I picked a grape off the stem. My dad and I were so busy getting everything together for the move we'd barely eaten anything all day, unless you count the bag of corn nuts we shared on the car ride over.

“I'll just be a minute. Laney's next door at Luella Hancock's house for a swim.”

“Oh, you don't have to get her. I could just come back later when she's done, or tomorrow.”

“No, no. Laney has been dying to meet you. I literally had to shove her out the door to keep her from staring out the window all day! Don't go anywhere.”

“Okay.” I smiled. It was impossible not to. Laney's mom was so
happy
. I don't remember my mom being like that—at least not most of the time. There were some great days. Days where she'd wake me up and say, “No school today!” and we'd go shopping and have strawberry milk shakes at the Bennington Diner. But then the next day, she'd be all snippy again. Still, Carol made me miss my mom a little. There's just something about moms that dads don't have, no matter how hard they try. I can't explain it.

I sat for a little while, eating the grapes as slowly as I could until I heard voices coming from the back of the house. A second later, Laney spun into the kitchen like a tornado, soaking wet in a red-and-white polka-dot bikini. At first glance, I knew she was everything I expected her to be, but had hoped she wasn't: blond, blue-eyed, skinny, and perfectly tanned from head to toe. She even had a sparkle in her eyes—the same one my mom got when she talked about her days as an actress in New York City.

“Kitty!” Laney threw herself at me, wrapping her wet arms around my sweaty back. “I can't believe you're finally here! This is so exciting! It felt like
ages
. I almost jumped out of my skin! What should we do? Do you have a bathing suit? Do you want to go to Luella's pool? Are you hungry? Do you need help unpacking? Did you get my note?”

She spoke without taking a breath, dripping a puddle onto the kitchen floor. I must have sat with my mouth hanging open, because she just kept going. I didn't know what to make of it. What to make of her. It was like she'd known me forever and we hadn't seen each other for the longest time, even though we'd never met before. I watched her carefully, wondering why anyone who looked like her or acted like her—the little bit I'd seen—would be interested in someone like me, sitting like a lump in poop-colored boys' clothing.

“Laney, relax.” Her mom handed her a fluffy white towel and wiped up the pool of water that had formed under her feet with a bunch of paper towels. “Kitty just got here. Maybe she's not ready to rush over for a swim.”

“I think all my bathing suits are packed.” I nodded.

“Oh.” Laney twisted up her perfect face. What I wouldn't give to look like her, twisted face and all. “Well, Luella invited us both for tea and biscuits tomorrow. Wanna go?”

“Sure. I just have to ask my dad.”

“Okay.” Laney looked a little disappointed. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“Laney, she just got here. I'm sure her father wants her home tonight.”

“Probably.” I nodded again. It was a lot to take in all at once.

“Kitty, you and your father are welcome at our house anytime, and I hope you will accept a dinner invitation for next week, once you're settled.” Carol put a hand on my back. I was thankful Laney had hugged me all wet, otherwise her mom would have known how grossly sweaty I was from the move.

“Thank you. I'll tell my dad.” I smiled. I couldn't do much more than smile and nod. “I think maybe I should be getting home. There are still a lot of boxes.” I stood up.

“No! You only just got here,” Laney shrieked. I sat back down.

“Laney.” Carol gave her a serious look, which wasn't really serious at all.

“Fine.” Her shoulders collapsed. “You'll come to Luella's tomorrow?”

“Okay.” I was sure my dad would say yes. I stood up again.

“Pinkie swear?” She held out her right hand, waiting for me to do the same. We hooked our smallest fingers together, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. The brightest Christmas tree I'd ever seen. “To new best friends.”

“To new best friends.”

•   •   •

The
next afternoon, I showed up on Luella's doorstep with a sad batch of cookies, which my dad had baked after I went to sleep. He said it's really important that we make a good impression on the neighbors.

“My, those look delicious. Thank you.” Luella took the cookies and led me inside. Her home was just as beautiful as she was. Crystal chandeliers hung from the tall ceilings, colorful carpets covered the polished wood floors, and everywhere you looked there were trinkets that seemed like they were from far-off places—a shiny gold Buddha, a pair of orangish-pink colored porcelain dogs, and lots of statues with women and men kissing and hugging, which I think were made of china. Luella was definitely older than my dad by a lot, but she was still very beautiful, with silvery gray hair slicked back into a tight bun, skin that glowed, and big brown eyes the color of dark chocolate.

“Sorry they're burnt. We just moved in next door, and my dad hasn't learned how to use the oven yet. I'm Kitty.”

“No bother. I'd say they're well-done.” When she spoke, it almost sounded like singing.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hancock.”

“Luella will be just fine.” She nudged me into the kitchen. “Iced tea, dear?”

“Yes, please.”

“So, tell me: how do you like Manchester so far?” She carried two tall glasses to the table; sat down across from me, tipping the frosted-glass pitcher of tea into each glass; and pushed a plate of biscuits toward me. “Help yourself, dear.” I did.

“It's okay, I guess. Our house is nice. And my room is really big and pink.” I was wearing a navy blue skirt and a plain white T-shirt, in the hopes that Laney would forget yesterday's ugly outfit. My dad said he'd give me some money to go shopping before school starts. I hope he doesn't want to come with me. I love him, but he's even worse with fashion than I am. If that's possible.

“Well, that sounds delightful. A good start, I'd say.” She took a biscuit for herself. “I hear you've met our Laney, then?”

“Yes.”

“A real spark plug, that one. Sucks all the energy into her vortex. Don't you think?”

“I guess.” I had no idea what a vortex was.

“But a nice girl. Means well, even though she can wear you down.”

“Uh-huh.” I bit into the biscuit. I get uncomfortable when people ask me lots of questions. So I just eat, which explains my thighs. “Is she . . .” I looked around the room, thinking Laney might leap up from behind the counter.

“She'll be here any minute now.” Luella smiled reassuringly. “I hope you two will enjoy the swimming pool while it's still warm.”

“Oh, sure. Thank you.” I wiped some crumbs off the table and into a napkin.