Love You Hate You Miss You (9 page)

I SHOULD HAVE SAVED
the whole skipping school thing for a better day. Like today. After yesterday, with the weirdness of hanging out with Caro, of all people, and then that horrible conversation with Mom and Dad, I could have used a day off from the forced-knowledge factory.

But of course I didn’t get one. Even worse, I had to face Giggles with Mom and Dad along. Apparently we’d all been summoned for a meeting.

The ride to school with them was quiet. Too quiet. No one said anything about why we were all going to school. No one said anything about last night. I expected as much. I know what I’ve done and I hate myself for it, so why should they be any different?

Still, I’d—I know what I did, but I guess I thought that maybe Mom and Dad would…not understand, not that. But I thought there might be more than the endless quiet.

When we got to school, we sat in the guidance office and waited. It’s not like I haven’t done it before, except then it was Julia and me, and this time it was just me. And Mom and Dad.

I might as well have been alone, though, because while we waited Dad used one of the six million gadgets his company’s given him to check his e-mail. Mom wandered around for a while, then came back and flipped through college brochures, muttering things like “Emphasis on the arts? Since when?” Neither of them said anything to me.

I thought about the last time Julia and I were here. It was late last May, and Giggles had grabbed us as soon as we’d come in, loudly pointing out that we were three minutes late and then dragged us to her office for her usual “you’ve got detention and don’t think I won’t be watching you” lecture.

Julia was wearing the dress she’d made out of an old-fashioned slip we’d picked up at the Methodist church thrift store, Lawrenceville’s answer to vintage. Her fingers were still stained purple from the dye she’d used to
color it. In the car, she had braided her hair while we sat waiting at a traffic light, giving the drivers behind us the finger when they honked because the light had turned green, and then looped the braids into a bun knotted with purple ribbons.

She looked so amazing. All day long, people turned to watch Julia walk down the hall, and after third period Kevin apologized for his latest screwup. She laughed at him and then patted his head like he was a little kid or a dog, but forgave him at the end of the day, folding her arms across her chest the way she did when she wanted to look sure but was actually nervous.

“He loves me, I know he does, and it’ll be different now, won’t it?” she said afterward, and I knew the question wasn’t one she wanted answered. So I tugged a hair ribbon instead, pulling it free, and her braids slipped out.

She laughed, loud and strong like she always did, and then said, “I’m supposed to go meet him, but I’m feeling the need for a trip to Millertown and some ice cream. Besides, he deserves to wait around wondering where I am. What do you say?”

We drove to Millertown. In the grocery store parking lot we sat on her car hood, eating stolen ice cream and making up stories about everyone walking by.

“When we get old, we’ll go grocery shopping together every week,” Julia said after a little old lady (I’d said she was a former snake handler/brothel owner) walked by. “We’ll bitch about our fake hips and the weather and steal ice cream every time. Promise?”

“Promise,” I said, and she smiled.

I miss her so much.

Giggles appeared after first period had started. As she swept into the room she claimed to have been “occupied elsewhere” and then said, “You know, we feel it’s important to maintain contact with our students because it fosters the best atmosphere for education.” Ha! I suppose lurking in the halls trying to find someone to chew out is about creating atmosphere.

Her office was the same as always, plastered with her degree from Crap U and all her certificates. (Apparently they give them for something called “Word Processing II.” Pathetic.)

She then “apologized” for “having to bring yesterday’s troubling matter to light,” and said, “I think we should take another look at Amy’s situation. As you know, her record here is spotty at best, and it may be that an alternative school, like Pinewood’s vo-tech program, might be—”

“How are her grades?” Dad asked.

“Well, her grades aren’t really the issue. What happened yesterday is why we’re here, and I’d like—”

“You mentioned needing to take another look at Amy’s situation,” Dad said, his voice icy, and now I knew why whenever someone from his work called, they always sounded nervous. “Since you brought it up and mentioned an alternative school, this must mean Amy’s grades are an issue. Grace and I haven’t heard anything of the sort from any of her teachers, or, for that matter, you, so if you know of any academic problems, I certainly hope you’ll share them with us now.”

Giggles looked like someone had shoved a whole sack of lemons in her mouth. “I’m not aware of any academic problems at the moment.”

“I see. So then we just need to deal with Amy’s absence yesterday. A single, isolated incident. Correct?”

“Skipping school is a very serious issue.”

“I completely agree with you,” Mom said, putting one hand on Dad’s arm. “In fact, while we were waiting to see you, I chatted briefly with a very nice woman. A Mrs. Howard? Halder? I’m afraid I’m terrible with names. I always have my students sit in alphabetical order because of it. Amy, do you know who I’m talking about? She said she works with the principal.”

“Mrs. Harris?” There are many things you could call Mrs. Harris, but nice isn’t one of them. Her favorite word is “No,” and even though Mr. Waters is technically the school principal, everyone knows Mrs. Harris runs everything and Mr. Waters spends his time counting down the days until he can retire.

“Right,” Mom said. “Anyway, Mrs. Griggles, Mrs. Harris told me that twenty-five students skipped school yesterday. She also told me that we were the only parents called in for a meeting because of it.”

“Well, you see—”

“And the really funny thing,” Mom continued, “is that she also told me that Amy missed twelve days of school last year. Do you know how many phone calls Colin and I received about that from you?”

Giggles looked positively full of lemons now. “Well, last year we weren’t as fully staffed as we’d hoped and—”

“Of course. But I think that, in the future, it might be better if you focused less on Amy’s past and more on her current situation. And now—well, surely you need to contact those twenty-four other families, and we don’t want to take up any more of your time. Thank you so very much for seeing us.” And then she and Dad stood up.

Giggles didn’t stand up. She just sat there, totally silent for the first time ever. I would have laughed, but I couldn’t actually speak myself.

My parents had told Giggles off. I’d never seen anything like it. Even Julia had only been able to get away with calling her Mrs. Giggles and then saying, “Oops, sorry, Mrs. Griggles.”

They’d stood up for me. After what I’d told them, after they knew what I’d done to Julia, they’d stood up for me. I couldn’t believe it.

They acted like nothing had happened, though. Even when we were out of the guidance office Mom just patted my arm quickly and said, “See you this afternoon.” Dad did the same thing, only he said, “See you this evening.” Then they left.

That was it. It felt like there should have been something else. I wanted there to be something else. I wanted to run after them and hug them. I wanted to say thank you.

I wanted to run after them and say that after I missed ten days of school last year I brought a letter home for them. They had to sign it, say they knew how often I’d been gone. I gave it to them after dinner, after they’d talked about their days to each other and I’d picked the meat out of my lasagna.

They were doing the dishes, which really meant they made out while they loaded the dishwasher. (There are some things no one needs to see. Parents making out is
so
one of them).

After I cleared my throat a lot, Mom pulled herself away from Dad long enough to sign it. She didn’t read the letter. She just signed it and handed it to Dad, who gave it back to me. He didn’t read it either.

I didn’t run after them. I didn’t say anything to them. I just watched them go. It was quiet in the hallway, and I thought I could hear the door click closed as they left.

I didn’t really want to go to class after all that, but it wasn’t like I had a choice, especially since Giggles came out into the hall and glared at me until I walked away. I walked through the cafeteria and then cut through the student resource center to reach the hall that led to my first class. Whoever “designed” Lawrenceville High wasn’t much of an architect. Putting the cafeteria, resource center, and auditorium in the middle, and then branching hallways off it—it’s like going to school inside a wagon wheel.

The student resource center was deserted just like always, stacks of pamphlets piled up waiting to be read (it’ll never happen), and Mrs. Mullins off on one of her
six zillion smoking breaks. As I pushed open the door that led into the hallway, I saw someone leaning against the far wall, almost hidden by one of the six million trophy cases scattered around the school.

It was Patrick. He was leaning against the wall, only not so much leaning as looking like he wanted to press through and get outside, get away. For some reason, I thought about asking him if he was okay, and even took an almost-step toward him, but before I could he looked at me and the expression in his eyes sent me walking away as fast as I could.

He looked relatively calm, his mouth compressed into a thin line, but his eyes—I can still see the expression in them now. He looked like I feel. He looked sad, like he’d lost something he could never get back.

He looked…he looked angry too.

In class, I got a tardy slip despite explaining that I’d been stuck in Giggles’s office. I also got my last test back. I got an A. Written right below it was, “Only one in the class! Great work!” The last time a teacher wrote anything about me that ended with a! and was positive, I was in middle school.

After all that, I figured my day couldn’t get any worse. Or stranger.

I was totally wrong.

Mel and Beth are together. Like, actually doing the whole boyfriend-and-girlfriend thing together. I found out in English, when they walked into class holding hands. Corn Syrup came in right after they did. She looked fine. We broke into our groups and she argued with Mel and totally ignored me. She would have ignored Patrick too, if he’d been there, but he wasn’t.

It was like yesterday and the stuff she said never happened. Was it all an act? Or—wait—maybe some sort of plan to—oh, forget it. I have no friends, no life, nothing. Beth wouldn’t waste her time trying to get me. I’m not worth noticing. And Corn Syrup certainly wouldn’t do anything on her own. Yesterday was…

Yesterday, she was probably just high from the fumes of her hair products or something.

Caro really did seem fine about the Mel and Beth thing. Mel was acting kind of weird though. He ignored me except to ask if I knew where Patrick was (like I’m his keeper) and spent all of class arguing with Caro and giving her these looks, like he was trying to ask her a question without saying anything.

Beth walked by just as Caro looked like she was going to say something to him, and ran her fingers along the back of his neck. Mel immediately got that stupid glazed
over expression guys get when they’re thinking about getting laid.

I glanced at Caro, and she was just smiling away, grinning at Mel and Beth like they were adorable and not nauseating. I suppose if they’d started going at it she would have offered up her desk for them to use.

Beth said—to Corn Syrup, obviously, and not me, “So, what about Friday? Did you ask about Joe?”

“Not yet, but it’s been, like, all I’ve been thinking about since you told me,” Caro said, and if her smile had gotten any wider her face would have cracked. She turned to Mel. “Can you find out if Joe’s going to be at Tammy’s party?”

“Joe Regent?” Mel sounded shocked. Joe was this honors guy who somehow managed to make the football team. He was a big deal for them, but to me he’d always be the guy who told Julia her eyes were “like velvet” and then got all teary-eyed after she laughed at him.

Caro nodded. “He’s hot, and I want to know if he’s coming because…you know.”

Mel frowned, and when the bell rang, he bolted into the hallway. Beth looked so pissed that I laughed out loud. She didn’t even glance at me, of course, but Caro did. Her eyes were narrowed and unhappy-looking.

“He probably went to look for Patrick,” she told Beth. Her eyes were wide and happy again.

“Yeah, I know that, Caro. I don’t know why Mel still hangs out with him. What are you wearing to the party?”

“I don’t know. I totally need your help.” She smiled, jammed her book in her bag, tossed her hair back, and walked out with Beth. Still the perfect follower except her left hand, hanging by her side, was curled up tight, an angry silent fist. I walked behind her and Beth all the way down the hall, and Caro’s hand never unknotted.

That’s when I knew why yesterday happened.

Yesterday, when Caro followed me, when we hung out, Mel and Beth were already together. They must have hooked up after the movie, and I’ll bet anything that yesterday morning was when Caro found out. It would be just like Beth to wait and tell her at school. To say, “Oh, I thought I told you! I mean, everyone totally knows already,” and then give her every single detail so she could watch Caro’s face. So everyone could see Caro’s face.

Caro came after me to get away. That’s why she was so upset. It wasn’t because of what I said and later, us hanging out—it wasn’t about me. It was about her wanting to pretend she wasn’t going to go along and act like everything was fine. I was safe to talk to, safe to vent at. It was
middle school all over again, except this time she didn’t even have to worry that Beth might find out. The thing is—

The thing is, I thought Caro maybe wanted to be friends. Not hang-out-in-school friends or anything like that, but just…I don’t know. That maybe we might talk sometime or something. I thought—I thought we did talk yesterday. I thought we talked for real.