Weird Girl and What's His Name (21 page)

fifteen

R
ORY AND
S
ETH STOOD IN THE
parking lot of the Hawthorne Unitarian Church, looking like mismatched brothers. They both wore khaki pants and blue blazers, but Rory's was too big for him, his fingers barely peeking out of the sleeves. As big as he was, he still looked like a little kid. And me, I must've looked like the biggest dork on the planet. Wearing this ridiculous skirt-and-blouse combo Janet bought me for some Tennis Club luncheon. It had giant flowers on it. Not exactly the Dana Scully Power Suit.

“Hey, what're you doing here?” Seth seemed baffled at my presence. Maybe this was a mistake.

“I wanted to see if you were right. If it still smells like books.” I was suddenly afraid that Seth had forgotten our whole conversation that night at his party. Rory just stood there, examining me beneath the cloudy sky.

“Right on,” Seth nodded, and I felt relieved he wasn't laughing at me for showing up out of the blue. “Let's get inside before it rains.”

I somehow managed to get shuffled into the aisle between Rory and Seth. Seth's mom, sitting at the end of the pew, gave me a little wave hello. Seth's dad sat up at the front, beside a simple wooden lectern. I looked around. It was different from the First Baptist Church, that was for sure. Smaller and more casual. Some kids—and even some adults—were wearing jeans. I recognized a few of the guys from the Uno game at Seth's party. Our seventh grade science teacher, Mr. Brantley, was singing in the choir. They sang a few songs, we stood up, we sat down, we stood up again. A woman with her hair in a long gray braid stood up and reminded us to donate to the food bank's can drive. Then Seth's father stood up and began his sermon.

There I was, with Rory on my right and Sexy Seth on my left. I was trying to pay attention to what Seth's dad was saying, but I couldn't really focus. I kept wanting to stand up and yell out:
Aren't either of you going to acknowledge how awkward this is?
It was the first time I'd been this close to Rory in forever, and it was in a church, of all places. But then, a funny thing happened. I realized that I wasn't thinking impure thoughts about him. I wasn't angry at him. I didn't want anything from him except to be friends again. And if we couldn't be friends, I was glad that he had Seth, and Seth's family, looking out for him.
Okay, God. Wherever you are. I'm officially releasing Rory to your care. Just make sure he stays in school and eats a decent meal every once in a while, okay?

Was that a prayer? Was I even allowed to pray? Maybe I could ask Seth's dad about it after the show. I tried to focus on the sermon again, but I was too busy thinking about myself.
Typical Lula.
But then, another funny thing happened. I actually started thinking about God. Actually, I was thinking about
The X-Files. Again, typical.
But I remembered how, on the show, it's a big deal that Scully was raised Catholic, and she maintained her faith in God through the whole thing, but she never believed in extraterrestrial life until the end of the series, when she grudgingly admitted that she'd seen too much not to believe. Mulder believed in aliens, but did he ever end up believing in God? Not that I could remember.

Why was it so easy for some people to believe in God, like Jenny and her family? They just got up every Sunday and did the whole shebang, dressy clothes and hallelujahs. But some people didn't believe in anything they couldn't see. And frankly, I could sympathize. I didn't want to believe that the mysteries of the world were unsolvable. On the other hand, it seems the best stuff is always so nebulous. I thought back to when I first went horseback riding with Walter, and we watched the sunset through the clouds. If I had to, I could've recited back facts to explain it all. I could've made Mr. Badfinger's head spin with everything I knew about clouds and the atmosphere and the tilt of the earth from the sun. But no equation on a page ever made me feel like I did in that hushed clearing, watching the sun turn the sky the colors of fire, the fields beneath us glowing like the glassy underneath of the sea.

I thought about Walter, who thanked God for my mother and black coffee every day. Who felt sure that God had put him in the exact place he was supposed to be, despite the fact that he had no idea whether God was some all-seeing humanoid overseeing our daily meanderings from a high-altitude Fortress of Solitude, or some cosmic force on the level of black holes or solar flares that caused regular joes like him to fall in love with prickly, emotionally unavailable women like my mom. I thought about Janet and Leo. Rory and Andy. Jay and Carol. Sam Lidell and her husband, meeting in an airport. My own mom and dad. Did God bring people together, or was it fate? Accident or luck? Love was a pretty nebulous thing, too. Had I ever really been in love? Would I ever know if I was or not? Was there an equation for love? Was it quantifiable? Or did it just move through you somehow, like some spirit breath?

Okay, one day in church, and already I was noodling away on some trippy spiritual nonsense. I glanced over toward Seth, who glanced back at me. Blushing, I faced front again. He probably thought I was such a dork. Rory's little sister, tagging along. Or maybe he didn't. I thought about how we both used to listen to Midnight Pete. And now there we were, both of us zoning out to the same sermon. I looked down at Seth's foot tapping along to a beat only he could hear. I almost laughed. The only thing in Seth's head was football stats and Guided by Voices songs, probably. I looked back at Rory, who sat ramrod-straight, watching Seth's dad. I nudged him gently in the ribs.

“Psst,” I whispered. I was quickly formulating a good joke. “Wh—”

“Shh,” Rory replied.
Shh?
He shushed me? Theodore Callahan, my former best friend, just shushed me in church. Well, I never. Seth looked over at me and smiled.

“Gum?” he asked quietly, offering me the pack. I took a piece. It tasted strange, like licorice and grass.

“What kind of gum is this?” I whispered again.

“It's all-natural,” he explained.

“Seth. Twigs and bark are natural, but it doesn't mean they taste good.”

At that, Seth snorted a big laugh that he covered with a cough. Rory and Seth's mom both leaned over and shushed us.

Seth's dad cracked a few jokes of his own, then wrapped it up with another prayer. He reminded us to sign up for the Habitat for Humanity build and that the ladies' yoga class in the Free Room had been changed to Thursday nights. One more song from the choir, and we were free to go.

“What'd you think?” Seth asked me when it was all said and done. I decided I better not tell him all my weird rambling thoughts about Agent Scully and God.

“You were right. It still smells like books.”

He smiled. “We've got Krispy Kremes and coffee in the rec room, if you wanna hang out, do the whole meet-n-greet thing.”

“That's okay. I told Janet I'd be home for lunch.”

“Oh. Well, good to see you, anyway.” Seth hugged me again. I was starting to get the drift. He's a hugger. “Come back sometime. Anytime you like.”

“Thanks. Maybe I will,” I told him. They weren't so bad, the Unitarians. And if I came back, next time, I'd wear jeans. Seth drifted off to say hello to his church friends, leaving me and Rory standing there, tugging at the sleeves of our mutually ill-fitting costumes.

“Looked like you're getting the hang of it,” I remarked.

“The hang of what?”

“Y'know. The whole church thing. Praise the Lord, et cetera.”

“It's not like that,” Rory squinted. The rainclouds had blown away while we were inside, and the sun had broken out, all brilliant. “Things got pretty bad there, for a while. They really helped me out.”

“Rory! How are you today?” A bearded guy in a corduroy blazer came by and squeezed Rory's shoulder, as if on cue.

“Doing well, thanks. How are you, Mr. Dunn?”

“Never better, kiddo! Hey, don't forget to give me a call when you're ready to bring the Buick over. It's an easy fix—we can work on it this afternoon if you like.”

“Will do, sir. I'll give you a call when I get home.”

“Excellent! I'll have Margie thaw some chicken, too, unless the Brocks have big plans for dinner.”

“We usually just order Chinese on Sunday nights.”

“All right, then! Dinner at our place.”

“Sounds good.”

“Terrific! Good to see you!” Mr. Dunn gave us the thumbs-up and went off to work the rest of the parking lot crowd.

“You know, you could've gone to Janet and Leo's,” I told him. “Even if I wasn't there. Janet would've taken care of you. When you left your mom's.”

“Yeah, well,” Rory shrugged inside of his giant coat. “I guess I thought if you could make it on your own, I could, too.”

“I wouldn't say I ‘made it,' exactly,” I said.

“Either way,” Rory said. “We survived, didn't we?”

“I guess we did.”

“Rory, honey,” a gray-haired lady in a sweatshirt that said I
F
Y
OU
C
AN
R
EAD
T
HIS
, T
HANK A
T
EACHER
put her arm around Rory. “I hope you're coming back to the rec room—I made your favorite banana bread!”

“Yes, ma'am, I'm on my way.”

“We've got to feed this growing boy!” The woman patted Rory's back, laughing. “And you're invited, too, dear,” she said to me.

“Thank you, ma'am, but I have to run.” I told her, feeling like I did want to run. I could feel myself on the verge of tears again, but I didn't feel like crying because I was upset. On the contrary, I was suddenly overjoyed. While I'd been off looking for my mother, Rory had somehow managed to find an entire
family.

It was a relief. Whatever happened to me, my former best friend was going to be okay.

L
ATER THAT NIGHT
, I
WAS ONLINE,
watching Guided by Voices videos on YouTube, when my IM screen popped up.

Rory!

I
OPENED THE COLLEGE WEBSITE AND
turned on the radio stream. Put on my headphones and listened.

“Lula, huh? I hear that name a lot.” It was Midnight Steve! Was he talking about me?! “Lula, honey, whoever you are, you must be breaking hearts all over town. So, what can I play for you, Seth?”

Seth! Seth was requesting a song for me on Midnight Steve?

“Um, I'd like to hear ‘Learning to Hunt,' by Guided by Voices. Going out to Lula, if she's listening.”

“Uhh . . . pick again, kiddo. Midnight Steve doesn't have that tune in the ol' library.”

Ugh, Midnight Steve. He always did this. Got callers on the request line and then couldn't play their request. So lame.

“How about ‘Hold On Hope,' also by Guided by Voices?” Seth asked. “Or ‘Acorns & Orioles'? It's on an album Midnight Pete used to have, it's called
Under the Bushes Under the
—”

“How 'bout we give Lula some Coldplay, Seth?”

“I . . . don't think she likes Coldplay.”

“Everybody likes Coldplay! Lula, wherever you are, here's a little Coldplay action comin' atcha from your buddy Seth and me, Midnight Steve, here on 88.2 FM.”

I took my headphones off as the song started and typed a new message to Rory.

A-ha! I get it now. He's trying to fix me up with his Insta-Brother.

sixteen

I
PULLED
L
EO
'
S
C
ADILLAC UP TO
the curb outside the school gym. Kids I knew passed by outside, some of them looking in at me. This was turning into a Thing. I already wanted to go home.

“Don't forget the emergency brake,” Leo reminded me. Even though we weren't staying. Well, he wasn't. Maybe I wasn't, either. I pushed the e-brake pedal in.

“What time should I come back for you?” Leo asked.

“I dunno,” I murmured. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“Nonsense. All your old friends will be there. Rory invited you, didn't he?”

“Yeah.” All my old friends. All one of them. I couldn't believe Leo was supporting this silliness. This stupid dance.

“You want me to walk in with you? Anybody looks sideways at you, I'll kick their damn butts.”

I laughed. “I think I can manage.” I curled my fingers around the door handle, unable to pull the trigger. “Hey, uh, Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“I know probably now's not the time, but Janet and I were talking at lunch the other day.” I took a deep breath. The rest of what I had to say tumbled out in a rush. “And, um, I wanted to say that. Well, I was thinking that even though you and my mom didn't get along too well beforehand, and it was wrong of her to have just up and left, it kind of sucks that you never would talk about her or let me know anything about her like she didn't even exist.”

Now I really wanted to get out of the car. Leo sat there, visibly contemplating.

“I've been thinking a lot about your mom, too,” he finally said, not yelling. “And I think you're right. Our . . . inability to get along made it hard for Christine to have a decent relationship with her own mother. And when it came to you . . . I always saw Chris as a careless person leading a reckless life, and I thought I was protecting you from that carelessness. But maybe all I was doing was just . . . making it worse for everybody.” Leo shifted in his seat. I could barely breathe.

“I've been talking to Jan, myself,” he went on, his voice quieter than I'd ever heard it. “And there are some things I need to work on. Not just with your mother, but with you, too. Because if my trying to protect you just ends up making you want to leave us and never come back, well, then . . .” Leo's voice hitched. He looked down at his hands. “I know I let my temper get the best of me sometimes. There are some . . . pretty big regrets I have, about the way I handled things with your mom when she was your age. I always thought if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't screw it up the second time around.” He looked at me. “Did I screw it up? Irreparably?”

“No,” I assured him. “Not irreparably.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” I said softly.

Leo reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. Outside, other parents were dropping off their kids, rolling by us in their big SUVs, honking horns as they pulled away. Leo patted my shoulder. “Why don't you run on in there and have some fun?”

“Fun, huh?” I looked out at the gym and grimaced. “What do you say we forget this whole thing and go hit a bucket of balls down at the driving range?”

“Nope,” Leo protested. “You're dancing tonight, kiddo. Go on, get.”

I got out of the car. Leo did, too. He walked around the front, cutting the headlights' beam with his long strides. He got in the driver's side and slid the seat back. He closed the door and rolled the window down.

“Thanks for bringing me,” I said. Even though it was Janet's idea.

“You're the driver,” he said. “Thanks for letting me ride shotgun.” It was his idea to let me drive.

“I'll call you when it's over. Or I'll get Rory to drive me home.”

“Don't worry about it. Just have a good time.” He looked up at me. “I love you, honey.”

Whoa, super weird. Leo never used the l-word.

“Me too. I mean, uh.” I was too weirded out to say the right thing. “Don't forget to take off the parking brake.” Oof, that was lame. Leo just smiled and released the brake with a pop. He cruised off in the Caddy, giving a big wave out the window as he drove away. I finally took a breath. That was actually less exhausting than I thought it would be. Now, to stare down my old nemesis—
Hawthorne High, we meet again.

I strolled up to the gym, pretending like it was no big deal that I was wearing this stupid dress and that I was walking into this gym that I hadn't walked into since last spring.
Be Scully,
I thought, which was what I always thought when I felt like a total loser.
You're secretly carrying a gun and you can kick everybody's ass in here. And, if the need arises, you can also perform an autopsy.
It wasn't really working like it usually did, though. I was just lame old me. Walking into the darkened gym alone, beneath the arch of balloons in Fighting Eagles green and white. Inside, there was a fake ocean made out of gauzy blue-and-green fabric, a pair of inflatable palm trees and a display set up with two Styrofoam coolers painted to look like treasure chests, both full of cheap plastic beads. A banner tacked to the wall read H
OMECOMING
C
ASTAWAYS!
Which seemed a little depressing, if you asked me.

“Lula. Happy Homecoming!”

I didn't even see her there, in the darkened entryway. Mrs. Lidell. Who was, evidently, tonight's faculty chaperone. Really, Hawthorne High? You couldn't have gotten Mr. Miller or Mrs. Dalrymple? Or how about Mrs. Havens? Everybody knows she's got no life outside of algebra.

“Oh. Hi,” was all I said. “Rory invited me.”

“He told me you might show up. Here,” she reached into one of the treasure chests and came up with a couple of strands of beads. “Everybody gets some pirate treasure.”

“Gee, thanks.” I put on the beads. Totally cheesy. “These really bring the outfit together.”

She smiled. This was good, right? She didn't seem totally pissed off at me or horrified that I'd shown up.

“I, uh—”

“Sam!” We both turned around. A goofy-looking guy in a pirate hat and a puffy shirt stood by the ticket table, holding two cups of punch.

“That's Mark,” she said.

“Your husband?” I asked. She nodded.
That
was the infamous Mark Lidell? This guy with the big teeth and the pirate hat was the dweeb she left Paris for?

“I want you to meet him. Mark!” I followed her to the ticket table. “This is Lula. One of my star students.” It was nice that she didn't say
former
star student.

“Nice to meet you, Lola,” Mark Lidell grinned broadly at me. Wait a minute, didn't he know who I was? Wasn't he going to grab me by the lapels and tell me to keep my grubby paws off his wife?

“Lula
, honey,” Sam nudged him, taking one of the cups of punch out of his hands.

“I hope Sam's not too hard on you. I know she likes to assign a lot of homework,” he said. Still grinning. What a tremendous goofball.

“Not at all,” I said. “She's taught me a lot.”

“I bet! She's one smart lady.” He winked at her. He actually winked. Oh, wow, this guy was unbelievable.

“Yeah. So . . . I'm gonna . . . grab some punch. Nice to meet you, Mr. Lidell.”

“Likewise, Lola!”

Run away!
I made for the punchbowl, double time. Watered-down pineapple juice and Sprite never tasted so good. Talk about an awkward situa—

“I forgot to give you your ticket.” Sam Lidell found me by the punchbowl.

“Oh. Thanks.” I slid the ticket into the tiny white purse Janet let me borrow. “Your, ah. Your husband seems nice.”

“He is. He's got a good heart,” she said. “You know, Lula—”

“Yeah. I know.” I scanned the darkened gym, looking for Rory or Seth, but it was hard to see. Colored lights swung around in time to the Kanye song thumping out of the DJ's speakers. Maybe I didn't need anyone to swoop in and save me. Maybe I needed to talk to Samantha Lidell. Clear the air, just like I'd done with Leo. Maybe we needed to put the Humiliating Incident behind us once and for all.

“Mrs. Lidell, do you think—” I hesitated. “Could we talk?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she replied. “Let's talk.”

“Hi, Mrs. Lidell! Hey, Lula!” one of my ex-classmates, Bethany somethingorother, was standing there by the punchbowl. “Are you coming back to class next semester?”

“Uh. I don't think so.”

Bethany was still standing there, smiling politely at me.

“Say, I don't suppose you girls know where they keep the extra trash bags around here?” Mrs. Lidell interjected. “These are getting kind of full, and they didn't give me a key for the janitor's closet.”

“Trash bags?” I repeated.

“Oh, I bet there's some in the locker room!” Bethany said. “They always keep a bunch of supplies and stuff in there.”

“Thanks, Bethany. I'll try the girls' locker room, then.” Mrs. Lidell kind of stared at me. “Well, good to see you, Lula. You girls have fun catching up!” She stared at me again. Ohh, now I get it—the girls' locker room! Nice covert ops, Sam.

I chatted politely with Bethany for a few minutes, finding out that the cafeteria food really sucked this year and that she had no idea that Rory was such a football superstar. I started to reply that I didn't either, when, thankfully, Tyrone Bosley came up and asked Bethany to dance.

The girls' locker room was empty and dark except for the lights over the row of showers. Hard shadows crossed the benches. Sacks of basketballs and soccer gear sat in lumps along the painted cinderblock wall. Samantha Lidell leaned against a row of lockers, her arms folded against her chest. My stomach quietly tied itself into a knot.
Oh, Lord, let this be over quick.

“So . . . no trash bags?” I asked.

“You wanted to talk.” Mrs. Lidell cut to the chase.

“Yeah. I did. I do. I um.” Well, it was going splendidly so far.
Get it together, Lula.
“I wanted to apologize. Officially. For coming to your house and . . . behaving the way I did. It was pretty over the top, and I get that now. And I'm sorry.”

“I think I'm the one who should apologize,” she replied. “Do you have any idea how horrible I felt? How horrible I still feel? Every day, Lula. I feel fucking awful.”

Wait a minute, Sam Lidell felt horrible? What on earth for?

“I know I shouldn't have been so hard on you at the game the other night, for starters,” she went on. “But, Lula, you scared us all half to death. If something had happened to you—if you'd gotten hurt or worse . . .” she shook her head. “I could never have forgiven myself.”

“But you didn't . . . do anything.” I was totally confused, and still reeling from hearing Mrs. Lidell say the f-word. Sam was, like, wracked with guilt. Over me?

“I sent you out into the night and didn't see you again for four months! And that whole time I kept thinking, what if I'd given you a ride home? What if I'd made you stay until you calmed down? What if I had just been a little more understanding, somehow? What if I hadn't laughed at you? Maybe you wouldn't have left town.”

I felt a sudden sting at the corners of my eyes, remembering her laugh.

“It wasn't just you. I got sort of . . . overwhelmed with everything.” I tried to explain. “I mean, I know I humiliated myself in front of you and all, but that wasn't your fault.”

“And I didn't mean for you to leave that night feeling humiliated. Or feeling like there was something wrong with you. With being who you are. It's all right for you to be gay, Lula. Or bisexual, or just still trying to figure it out. And I understand why you might have thought—why you thought of me that way. Kids have crushes on their teachers all the time. Especially teaching English—I stand there and fill your heads with poetry all day long. Trust me, if I was forcing you to solve quadratic equations, you wouldn't think I was so great.”

“I think I'd still think you're great,” I said. “Regardless of your syllabus. Your coolness transcends quadratic equations.”

“My coolness,” she sighed. “Kiddo, my coolness is in permanent storage.”

“The thing is, when I came to your house that night . . . I really . . . I wasn't thinking,” I confessed. “I wasn't thinking about, you know. That I was putting you in an awkward position, or whatever. My friend Jay thinks I was just acting out, but it was more like . . . I dunno, it was like suddenly my best friend in the world was on this whole other planet, like a total parallel universe, and you were the only other person I ever . . .” I caught myself.
Parallel universe?
“Sorry. I'm not explaining this right. Sometimes I'm so bad at just . . . being a normal person around other people. Jay thinks it's because I watch too much TV.”

“Your friend Jay may be right about the TV,” Mrs. Lidell said. “But if you haven't figured it out by now, then let me assure you, Lula—nobody's normal. And pretty much everybody you meet in life is trying to figure out how to be a so-called “normal person.” As if it's some fixed point that you reach, like zero degrees Celsius. But everybody's just who they are. Weird, flawed, good at some things, bad at others. There's no one single person who's doing everything right all the time. Trust me on that. There is no such thing as
normal..”

“So, what you're telling me is, not only are there no normal people on this planet, but nobody's even figured out how to pretend? Not even you?”

“Least of all me.”

“Well, shit,” I said, and Mrs. Lidell laughed. “I'm never gonna figure this out, am I?”

“Listen, Lula, you're, what, seventeen? Eighteen, now? This isn't the final version. You've got years to figure out who you are and what you want out of life. Heck, I'm still trying to figure out what
I
want out of life. When I was your age, all I wanted was to run away and marry Paul Westerberg.”