You Knew Me When (7 page)

S
ome people think being an only child is special because you get all the attention. But, on the flip side,
you get all the attention
. The spotlight has nowhere else to shine. And I'm not really a center-stage kind of girl.

Laney is the closest thing I have to a sister. The only problem with that is she's already got a brother and parents of her own. Her family is the definition of the word
normal
. The Drakes eat dinner together every night at six o'clock. On Sunday mornings, Laney's mom makes a big breakfast of waffles or pancakes or eggs and bacon with fresh-squeezed orange juice, while Laney and Grant watch
Saved by the Bell
. Their dad helps them with their homework, and their mom goes clothing and school-supply shopping with them. They even take family vacations to Nantucket every summer. Freakishly normal, right?

Mrs. Drake is like one of those TV moms, a real Maggie Seaver type, with the permanent smile and the after-school-special personality to go with it. She always goes out of her way to make me feel like a member of their family, but as much time as I spend there, and as much as they treat me like one of them, I still can't help but feel like an outsider. It's probably just me and my overthinking. I hate to be an imposition on anyone, and since my dad works late nights and some weekends at the bottling plant, I really am at Laney's house a lot. He's trying so hard to do it all, and I can tell it's wearing him down.

I can't lie. Growing up with just a father has its challenges. Any discussion of boys, my changing body, my period, or, worst of all, sex is beyond awkward for him and completely humiliating for me. Most girls would probably rather lose a father, if they had to choose. But I'm not sure. My dad and I have a special bond. And as much as Mrs. Drake makes me miss having a mom, I'm pretty sure my own mom would never have been like her.

On her good days, my mom could make you feel like the center of the universe—kind of like Laney does. I guess that's what my dad loved about her. There are moments that I wonder if our relationship would be better today, if we'd be really close, but I think I know the answer to that. I would probably still be a disappointment to her—a mutt who got the short end of the stick in the looks and dazzling-personality department. I know I'm not altogether ugly. Let's just say I'm not getting into Giorgio's without a reservation.

Tonight I'm sleeping over at Laney's. Mrs. Drake made an amazing dinner for all of us. Lamb chops so tender they were falling off the bone, creamed spinach, roasted potatoes, and warm apple pie with vanilla ice cream for dessert. So much for my diet. The other really awesome thing about Laney's parents is that they don't expect any help cleaning up. I always offer, but Mr. and Mrs. Drake just shoo us out of the kitchen as soon as we're done eating. They say we'll have plenty of time to clean up when we're adults. My father does not share their feelings on this, nor does Luella. She thinks Laney's parents are too lenient, which might explain Laney's laid-back attitude toward, well, everything.

“Come on. Let's go to my room.” Laney was halfway up the stairs five seconds after we'd finished our pie. “Grant's hogging the TV in the den.”

“I don't mind watching together.” It's strange that Laney never wants to hang out with her brother. I feel like if I had a brother, especially one as cool as Grant, I'd want to do stuff with him all the time.

“Well, I do. He always wants to watch those stupid cop shows. And, remember, there's that thing we wanted to do.” She widened her smoky blue eyes. I wish I had smoky blue eyes.

“Yeah, I guess.” I followed her reluctantly. Ever since I got my period six months ago, Laney has been obsessed with teaching me how to use a tampon. I don't understand what she has against pads.

“Trust me. This will change your life.” She nodded like she'd never been so sure of anything. Although, come to think of it, Laney is always sure about everything. Like the time she said she was certain that Sun-In would transform me into a blond bombshell. Instead, my hair came out an unfortunate shade of orange, not that there is a good shade of orange in the way of one's hair.

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. I do that a lot when it comes to Laney. Sometimes I feel guilty, but I can't help myself.

“Take this.” She handed me a box of tampons.

“I don't think I'll need a whole box.” I took it anyway.

“That's what you say now.” She smirked. “Go on.” I stared at Laney in her short, frayed jean shorts and tight white tank top. Her legs were all tan, as was her face. And, of course,
her
hair was the perfect shade of blond, without the Sun-In. If I looked like Laney, using a tampon would definitely be easier. I know that sounds crazy, but I'm convinced everything in life would be easier if I looked like Laney. There's just something about my thick thighs and flabby belly that makes it all so much more challenging. Shallow, maybe, but it's true. Skinny people have it made.

“Fine, but
do not
come in.” I gave her my sternest look. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just go.” She seemed a little too eager to me. “Tell me when you're ready.”

I walked into the bathroom, closed the door firmly, pulled my shorts and underwear down around my ankles, legs spread, and unwrapped one of the tampons. “I'm ready.”

“Okay, so first you need to find the hole. With your finger.”

“Gross.”

“Kitty, come on. You can do this.”

“Fine, okay.” I searched the area. “Got it.”

“Good. Now take the tip of the tampon and push it up there.
Gently
.”

“I really don't understand why I can't just wear a pad.” I caught a glimpse of myself in Laney's full-length mirror. Can you imagine if I had to do this with my father? He'd be reading the instructions off the box. The thought of him even saying the word
vagina
, especially in reference to mine, is totally mortifying.

“Because it's like wearing a diaper. Are you pushing it in?”

“It won't go. Okay? It just won't go.”

“It will. You're just tensing up. Try to relax.”

“How am I supposed to relax with my legs spread open, trying to shove some random object up me?”

“If you can't put a tampon in, you can't have sex.” I couldn't see Laney, but I suspected she had her hands on her hips.

“Well, clearly, I have some time to worry about that.”

“Not as long as you think.”

“No, not as long as
you
think. Having sex actually requires someone being interested in you first.”

“Can't I just come in there?” The doorknob jiggled, and I started yanking my shorts up in a hurry.

“Laney, if you come in here, I will KILL you. Not everyone is comfortable prancing around naked.”

“Touchy, touchy. Fine, I'm not coming in. Let's try this again. Relax this time.”

Fifteen minutes and nine tampons later, it was in. I stepped out of the bathroom triumphant. “It feels weird.”

“You'll get used to it.” She hugged me tight. “I'm proud of you!” Even though we'd been friends for three years, Laney's spontaneous and frequent displays of affection still caught me by surprise.

“Thanks.” I smiled.

“Don't be ridiculous.” She stuck out her tongue and flopped onto her bed. “That's what best friends are for.”

“Actually, I think that's what moms are for.” I lay down next to her, our backs propped up by the nine thousand white and purple pillows stacked against her twin-sized headboard.

“Well, yeah. But we're more like sisters, so it's pretty much the same thing.” I love that Laney calls me her sister, even though I never tell her that. Sometimes I wish she knew how much she means to me, without my having to say it. In three years she's never once asked about my mom, which—for Laney—I know has been nearly impossible. I'm sure Mrs. Drake told her not to. That's the kind of person she is, always considering other people's feelings. But still, Laney rarely listens to her mom.

“I know. I guess I just wish . . .”

“Wish what?” Laney rolled toward me.

“That she was here sometimes.” My eyes began to sting, and I pressed my fingers into the lids.

“Yeah.” She rested her hand on my arm and rubbed it lightly, which only made me more emotional.

“It's not like she was a saint or anything.” Tears began to creep into the corners of my eyes. “She was nothing like your mom, believe me.”

“It doesn't matter. She was
your
mom.”

“I know. But I hated her sometimes. I really hated her. It was like she was embarrassed by me because I wasn't beautiful and charming like she was.” Unwillingly, I started crying, which I hoped wouldn't freak Laney out because I never cry, not if I can help it. “And you know what?”

“What?” Impressively, Laney remained calm. Not a word I'd typically use to describe her.

“That day. The day she died. We were in the supermarket, just before she got hit, and she was telling me that I couldn't have a cookie, because little girls with chubby thighs like mine didn't need cookies. So I called her Mommy Dearest. And do you know what she did?” My breathing was fitfully rhythmic, as I tried to stifle more tears.

“What?” Laney looked like she was about to cry, which provoked my reluctant sobs.

“She slapped me. In the
face
. In front of everyone.” I'd never told anyone this before, not even my dad. I was so ashamed. What if he blamed me for what happened? “Then she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of the store. I screamed, ‘I hate you!' And she stalked off. That's why I was walking behind her. She didn't even want to talk to me and refused to be near me.” I wiped my nose with the side of my arm, hiccupping in an attempt to catch my breath.

“That's awful.” Laney pulled a tissue from the white lacy box on her nightstand and started wiping away my tears and blotting around my nose. “You didn't deserve that, no matter what you said.”

“I'll never forget it. Right before the car hit her, she was so angry with me.”

“I'm so sorry for you.” Laney tilted her head downward. “But I'm not sorry about one thing.” She looked at me again.

“What?”

“Well, if you'd been walking next to her, you could have been hit by the car too. And that would have ruined my life.” I laughed through my tears. Leave it to Laney to make my mom's death about her.

“You'd never have known what you were missing.”

“Maybe, but I know my life is better because of you.” She smiled, still rubbing my arm.

“Thanks.” I sniffled. I'm sure my face was all messed up. I'm not an attractive crier like Laney, who looks like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman
when she cries—tears gracefully cascading down her cheeks without all the smeared snot and red blotches.

“It's natural to miss your mom, Kitty, even if your relationship wasn't perfect.”

“I know.” I blew my nose, which sounded like an elephant.

“You never talk about her. It must be hard to keep it all inside.”

“Sometimes. I just don't want to burden anyone with my stupid stuff, ya know?”

“It's not stupid, Kitty.”

“I know, but my dad is so happy now. And I don't want to bring it all back up. He doesn't even talk about her anymore. It's like she never existed.”

“Maybe he thinks you don't want to talk about her. That's kind of what I've always thought. Otherwise I would have asked sooner.”

“I'm sure you're right. My dad has a lot to deal with at work and with being a single parent and all.”

“That's why you have me.” She thought for a second. “Maybe you had to lose a mom to gain a sister. I know it's not the same, but still.”

“Maybe.”

“You can talk to me anytime. I know I'm usually chattering away, but you have to tell me to shut up and give you a chance.”

“Okay, shut up.” I laughed again.

“Good! I'm listening.”

“I'm okay. It just hits me sometimes.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being the best sister ever.” This time, I hugged her.

•   •   •

I
don't understand how Laney falls asleep so quickly. One second she's talking a mile a minute about whom she should date this year (yes, she actually has a choice) and the next she's snoring so loud I can barely think, which is rare. Luella told me I suffer from insomnia because my brain won't shut down. That sounds about right.

I got up as quietly as possible, not that anything can wake Laney, and tiptoed downstairs for a drink of water. I noticed a dim light on in the living room, next to the kitchen, and turned back around. I really didn't want to bump into Mr. Drake, especially not in my nightshirt.

“Hey, Kitty. It's just me.” Grant leaned his face under the table lamp so I could see him.

“Oh, hey.” I stopped mid-stairs, not knowing whether to turn around again or head back to Laney's room as planned.

“Come down.” Grant waved me toward him. I'm always surprised when he wants to talk to me or hang out with me. I guess I'm lucky to be Laney's friend; otherwise someone like Grant would never give me the time of day. I'm nowhere near as cool as he is. He can have any girl he wants at school, not that he
wants
me. Obviously. He sees me like a second little sister. Anyway, supposing I did like Grant, he'd never like me back. Plus Laney is superpossessive about him, even though she doesn't actually like hanging out with him.

“Looks interesting.” I pointed at the TV and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, stretching my nightshirt over my knees.

“
Coach
. It's a rad show. You should watch sometime.” I'd seen it. It wasn't that rad, but I was still happy to watch with Grant.