Meadow Perkins, Trusty Sidekick (11 page)

“Okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” Twist sat quietly for another minute. “Well, did you have a good time tonight at least?”

“Yeah,” I said. 

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“No.” 

Twist stood up. I wouldn’t look at her, but I could hear her brushing cat hair off of her black shirt. 

“Goodnight then.” She slipped out. 

I dug my phone out of my waistband. 

There was already a text from Jack.
Did u have to walk the plank?

Not yet. Maybe tomorrow
, I typed back.

Goodnight
.

Goodnight
.

Later, right before I went to sleep, a text came from Alejandro.
Where’d you go?

Chapter 11

My dad loved food, that much was clear. What was unclear was why I was sitting at Betty’s Bay View Diner with both of my parents on a Monday morning watching my dad dig into an enormous scramble. I didn’t usually breakfast with both of them at the same time. They were divorced, after all.

“What are you planning on doing about school?” he asked. 

“What do you mean?” I countered.

“I mean, what are you planning? You said you aren’t going back, so what’s the plan?” Dad asked after he’d cleared his plate. Leave it to my dad to insist upon eating an entire meal while the rest of us picked at our food in suspense. “Going to Berkeley High won’t guarantee that you into an Ivy League. Not without a lot of work.”

I wrinkled my brow and sunk deeper into my seat. “I didn’t know I was supposed to go to an Ivy League. We’ve never even talked about this before.” 

“Well, that or a prestigious art school,” he said. 

“But, Dad, you’re an investment banker. Why do you care so much about art school?” I maybe sounded a little defensive.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t. With your talent and lineage . . . well, it’s just what you do when you’re a Hobart.”

“I’m a Hobart-Perkins,” I corrected.

Mom sighed loudly and tapped her fingernails on the table. “Just hear me out,” Dad said with a considerably gentler tone. I hate when he treated me like someone who worked for him instead of his daughter. I guess he’d realized that. “All I’m trying to do is help you. Have you thought about the future at all?”

I felt a little panicky. “No,” I said. It wasn’t exactly true. I had a vague thought that maybe I’d go to college, but I hadn’t gotten much farther in any realistic way. I’d done plenty of thinking about moving to Paris right after high school. I could see now that it wouldn’t be allowed. 

“Meadow, I thought you loved HSA!” Mom looked heartbroken.

“Did you talk to Robert?” I demanded. They exchanged glances. Robert was the director of HSA and they had, indeed, spoken with him.
Why do I feel like they’re teaming up against me?

“Yes,” Dad said. “I talked to him last night. I asked him if he knew what was going on and he didn’t.”

“There is nothing going on,” I said, my voice shrill. “I’m just done. I want to go to a regular high school.” 

Mom gasped and grew pale as if she might faint. Dad furrowed his brow while opening and closing his mouth several times.

Mom’s phone rang breaking the tension, at least for a second.

She groaned and slipped out of the booth. “I feel like I’m missing a large piece of this puzzle. I have to take this call, but this is
not over
.” She marched out of the restaurant. It wasn’t a great sign that she wore only black. And her hair frizzed more than usual. I watched her pace and talk on the phone through the large smudged window.

“Listen, Meadow, I just don’t think this is a good idea. But if you really want to leave HSA, you have to have a game plan. I talked to the headmaster at Mountain Day this morning and—”

I cut him off. “You’ve already talked to headmasters? Don’t I get any say in this?”

Dad sighed in a long-suffering sort of way. “Calm down. Of course, you get a say. If you really want to leave HSA, and this isn’t some sort of adolescent rebellion, then you can leave. But we can’t jeopardize your future.”

I rested my forehead on the table. “You can’t just make me do what you want.”

“Quit being so melodramatic, Meadow. I just want you to visit a few schools. I’ve arranged a few tours and interviews over the next week. It’s the middle of July, there’s no time to waste. We can decide what to do from there.” 

“You’re really going to a lot of trouble to make sure I get into Stanford or wherever.” I left my head on the table, refusing to make eye contact. “I just don’t understand why all of this is necessary.”

“I care about your well-being and your education. I want you to have opportunities that you won’t get everywhere.”

“What if I want something different?” 

“You can do whatever you want after you get a Bachelor’s degree from an Ivy League or art school. It’s the same deal we made with Twist.”

“Aren’t you going away again this week?”

“Yes, I’m going to Paris tonight.”

“How am I supposed to get to all of these mysterious school tours if you aren’t even going to be here?” I asked with more than a little sarcasm present in my voice.

“Your mom will take you,” he said, his voice calm. 

Mom must be seriously upset if she’d agreed to that. We left soon after. Dad kissed me goodbye and said he’d bring me something from Paris. I followed Mom to the car. 

We didn’t speak most of the way home.

“You are a Hobart, Meadow. A
Hobart
.”

I cringed. “You will never let me forget it either.”

Mom took a deep breath and reached over, putting her hand on my knee. Her voice was soft. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

I didn’t answer, and she moved her hand finally. “That was an ambush,” I said as we turned down our street. That we had taken the car was another sure sign of the seriousness of the occasion. 

“Oh, Meadow. No one is ambushing you unless it’s an ambush of caring,” Mom said.

Oh my God.
“An ambush of caring? That is the corniest thing I’ve ever heard! And it’s ridiculous.
And
if you really cared, then you would have asked me how I felt!” I got louder and more hysterical with each word. I hadn’t for one second thought that this would turn into interviews with headmasters and Ivy League schools. I waited for her reaction. 

“Meadow, just keep an open mind when we go on these visits.”

“You mean interviews,” I corrected.

“Don’t think of it like that. After all, you’re interviewing them as well,” she said, rehearsed and upbeat. She’d try to win my over with kindness and compassion. “And I don’t think it would be a bad idea if you made a list of the reasons that HSA is an amazing school, not the least of which is that your grandfather founded it and it’s practically a member of the family.”

“A member of the family?” I couldn’t believe she said that a cluster of buildings were family. “That is ridiculous. It’s a building.”

Mom gripped the steering wheel and said through gritted teeth, “I just want what’s best for you.”

“If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that this weekend!” I shouted.

Mom pulled into our driveway and put the car in ‘park’ and then she broke. “You are acting like a jerk. Yeah! I said it! And you are going to Mountain Day on Thursday and that is final!” Her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “We are not finished. We will discuss this later. Hello?” She got out of the car and slammed her door. 

“MOM!” I said in my outside voice as I hopped out of the car. “Dad has a girlfriend! He’s bringing her to Twist’s show!”

Mom’s mouth fell open as I spun on my heel and stormed to my room. 

Much later, I was lying on my bed, wallowing in self-pity. I was scrolling idly through pictures of people’s incredible summer vacations when a little red ‘1’ signaled that I had a new message.

Jack:
Hi.

Meadow:
Hi.
 

Jack:
What’s up?

Meadow:
Not much. Just engaged in a fierce battle with my mother.

Jack
: Ah yes. I’m familiar with battling mothers. Who’s winning?

Meadow
: It is still unclear. Anyway…

Jack
: Changing the subject then?

Meadow
: Absolutely yes. Unicorns?

Jack
: Are fantastic.

Meadow
: I’m glad we both agree.

I giggled. “Stop giggling. Your life is in shambles,” I said to myself. I smiled and snuggled into my pillows as I typed out another message to Jack.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the stress level at our house was high. Mom was stressed about me, Dad, and Twist’s opening. She always stressed when she opened a new show and this was worse because it was her daughter. I was stressed about school and boys. Twist was sad because she and Paolo had broken up, and stressed about her show. 

Mom didn’t ask me any questions and I stayed out of her way. Isla came over once and left almost immediately. “You could cut the tension in this house with a knife,” she said on her way out. I couldn’t blame her. 

Twist appeared once in a while dressed like a ghost from 1943¸ complete with a snood. Otherwise, she spent all of her time chain-smoking or painting. Mom was used to artists and could overlook a lot of artist nonsense, but even she wouldn’t allow smoking in the studio.

Twist is a really versatile artist. Her style is all over the map. For this show, many of her paintings looked like really disturbing children’s illustrations. At first glance, they were sweet and precious but on closer look there was something scary or off in every painting. My favorite and my least favorite, all at once, was of a little girl sitting on the front step of a house, putting on green rain boots. Staring out from the window of the adorable cottage behind her is a figure, presumably a ghost, but totally scary and the stuff of nightmares.

“What does it mean?” I asked. “I mean, what is it you’re trying to say?”

“What do you think?” She carefully added freckles to a little boy’s face in another painting with a brush with a microscopic point. 

“I guess it’s a metaphor for childhood, especially in our modern age.”

Twist turned to look at me. “Yeah, that’s the overall gist.”

There was one painting that looked like it belonged in those old reading textbooks,
Dick and Jane
. It was of a classroom of smiling children, but there was a shadow on the floor of a guy holding some sort of automatic weapon.

“That one gives me a really yucky feeling in my stomach,” I said and pointed. “But, it’s effective.”

“Yeah. That one sucked to paint. I just concentrated on color and shadow.” She brushed her fingers over the painting.

Like I said, things were kind of heavy.

Thursday arrived and Mom and I headed way out into the country to see Mountain Day. After our visit, we—she—planned to drive back to the city to visit another school. She hoped to squeeze two schools in before lunch, Mountain Day and City Academy. Mom spent the hour and a half long car ride talking up HSA. Despite everything, she wanted me to go to HSA. It hadn’t occurred to me that it might really hurt her if I left. But I just didn’t see how I could go back there. 

“This drive is so long. You couldn’t come home every night. You don’t even drive! What was your father thinking?” 

I rolled my eyes. Maybe I was only 16 but everyone obviously thought I was still a fourth grader. I could practically hear Dad’s train of thought. “If we make the other schools seem like a pain in the ass, she’ll see that HSA is her best option.” I imagined him congratulating himself on his ingenuity. Good grief.

We headed away from the city and into the hills where I could see enormous glass houses peeking out from the trees. 

Mom finally stopped talking when I refused to respond to anything she said.

Isla drifted through my thoughts. I got why she didn’t want to talk about Santa Fe much and she had only ever said anything about her mother that one night. I felt closer to Isla than I had ever felt with anyone other than my mother or Twist. I was happy and sad. Happy for myself that I finally had a best friend that wasn’t a total jerk to me but who seemed to genuinely care about my happiness, and sad and afraid for Isla.

As we got farther away from the city, the houses began to spread out. They weren’t packed on top of each other out here. Normally, I might have found that freeing. But this time, the openness suffocated me.

Finally, we turned down a long and incredibly manicured lane. There was a very large brick building at the end that looked like a fancy old hotel. I could see other buildings behind it. “Really?”

Mom looked at me with pursed lips. “Lose the attitude and pretend that you’re charming,” she said and pulled into visitor parking in front of the enormous front steps. 

I stepped out the car and gazed at the massive school. “I am charming.” Mom either didn’t hear me or pretended not to.

Inside, we were greeted by a petite woman wearing a gray pantsuit. “Welcome to Mountain Day Academy.” She reached her hand out to shake my hand after she shook my mom’s. “I’m Elaine Rowling, Admissions and Outreach Officer.” She whisked us around and showed us fancy classrooms and a study lounge that looked like a country club. I gathered that I would be required to wear a uniform if I were unlucky enough to be sent there. I’m sure it was fine for some people but not for me. I conveyed that sentiment by sighing audibly at various intervals.

Elaine Rowling led us outside to perfectly manicured grounds. “The stables are down the lane and the field hockey field is down there.” She smiled with pride as she surveyed the expanse of green and brick.

I looked at my mom with raised eyebrows, as if to say,
Do you really expect me to play field hockey?
She ignored me.

Elaine continued. “The student dormitories are the buildings on the left and the gardens are behind them. Please spend some time looking around after your interview. Speaking of, please follow me inside. The headmistress will be with you soon.”

I frowned. Gardens? A lake? They must spend a literal fortune on grounds keeping.

Mom caught up with Ms. Rowling. “Can you tell us more about the art program? You see, Meadow comes from a prestigious academy for the arts.”