My First Love (12 page)

“No, he’s not,” I said defensively.

The problem seemed so obvious to me right then. If I lived my life the way I wanted to, I couldn’t please my mom. It was impossible. But if I did everything she wanted, then
I’d
be unhappy.

“Amy, I don’t want to argue,” Mom said, sounding weary.

“You wouldn’t say that,” I told her, “if you really knew him.”

Just then, to my relief, the phone rang.

“Has he called you yet?” Blythe blurted out as soon as I’d answered the phone. I assumed she was talking about Chris.

“Not yet,” I told her, keeping my voice low. “I mean, I was just over at his house.”

“You were?” Blythe asked, sounding disappointed. “Then you must have said yes.”

“Blythe, slow down,” I demanded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Said yes to what?”

“What else?” she said, exasperated. “The junior-senior dance.”

“Oh, that,” I said. “I don’t think I’m going. I’m sort of mad at Chris right now.”

“Who said anything about Chris?” she said. “Rick told me today that he’s going to ask you.”

“Rick?” I said, surprised. I guess I was flattered—I mean,
it was really sweet of him. But at the same time, it was kind of awkward. He’d hardly talked to me in the past couple of weeks—and I’d barely thought of him. “Thanks for warning me,” I said, trying to be funny. “I’ll stay away from him tomorrow and keep the phone off the hook.”

Blythe didn’t laugh. “If you don’t want to go with him, then you should tell him so. It’s not fair to him, and it’s not fair to me.”

I guess the weeks of sneaking out and staying up late really had caught up with me, because I snapped at Blythe in a way she didn’t deserve. “Who cares about that stupid dance!” I practically yelled at her, not caring if Mom heard. “Especially since I’m not even going.”

When I hung up, Mom just stared at me. “Amy, I’m surprised at you. Is that any way to speak to your best friend?”

I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about Blythe or Chris or swimming or anything else. I quickly cleared my dishes and hurried off to my room. “I’ll apologize to her tomorrow,” I promised. “Right now, I’ve got too much homework to do.”

I started out with the best of intentions. I opened my notebook, sharpened three pencils, and dragged Blythe’s stack of student surveys from the floor up to my desk. But it was already nine o’clock by the time I was ready to actually read them, and I was yawning so much I could barely see the
pages through my watery eyes. My eyelids started drooping before I’d finished the first survey.

Finally, I gave up and turned out my desk light, telling myself I’d finish later, after I’d had just a few hours’ sleep. I set my alarm clock for midnight and collapsed across my bed, with Chris’s clothes still on.

When Mom woke me at a quarter to seven the next morning, I realized with horror that I must have turned off my alarm and gone back to sleep. And I was still exhausted. And there was absolutely no way I was going to get the project done.

Mom eyed my strange, rumpled outfit as I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth. “Amy, don’t skip breakfast,” she reminded me. “Eat something substantial, please, since today’s your qualifying meet.”

“Oh, yeah,” I grumbled around my toothbrush. “I forgot.” Mouth foaming with toothpaste, I grabbed my drying bathing suit from the shower rack where I’d hung it the night before, and stuffed it into my Dolphins bag. I went back to brushing my teeth.

I must have looked pretty pitiful, because Mom came up behind me and planted a kiss on the top of my head. “Just ignore that Renfrew girl,” she advised me, “because when you think about it, the only person you’re competing against is yourself.”

“Ummm-mmm,” I mumbled. I didn’t have the heart to
tell Mom that I wasn’t even thinking about the qualifying meet. I had a much bigger problem. In all my years of school, I had never missed the deadline for an assignment. But that day, for the first time, I was going to have to tell Blythe and Ms. Hutchinson that the health project would be late.

Just to give you an idea of how terrible my day was, telling Ms. Hutchinson I’d been delinquent with my project was the high point. I decided to talk to her in the morning, even before I spoke to Blythe. Her response surprised me. “As you know, I’m reluctant to give extensions,” she told me, studying me with her intelligent brown eyes. “But Amy, you’re such a good student, and up to this point you’ve done such stellar work, that I’m going to give you an extra week.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hutchinson,” I said gratefully. “It’ll be a much better project.” Even though I got exactly what I wanted, I couldn’t help but feel like an impostor as I turned and left the room. I knew Ms. Hutchinson had been lenient because of the “good student” label I’d worn proudly since grade school. Would she have been so forgiving if she knew about all the late hours I’d been putting in for the Astronomy Club?

The first terrible shock came in physics. We’d had another test at the beginning of the week, and Mr. Tayerle handed it back today. To my horror, I got a D. Next to the red-penned, circled letter, Mr. Tayerle had written, “Amy, what happened?”

I couldn’t answer that question, not for Mr. Tayerle or for myself. I wasn’t going to admit to anyone that love might have something to do with it.
This won’t happen again
, I promised myself, and I turned the paper over and buried it in the back of my book.

When I walked out of physics class, Chris was waiting for me. “Did you get home okay last night?” he asked.

I couldn’t believe it. He was acting as if nothing were wrong. “Fine,” I said and turned toward my locker.

Like a friendly puppy, Chris followed after me. “So how’d you do on the physics test?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, banging my locker open with such force that Chris jumped. I threw my physics book in the locker, grabbed my books for English, then slammed the door shut. “I suppose you aced it,” I snapped.

Chris scratched his head and gave me a puzzled look. “Well, yeah, I did, as a matter of fact. Listen, if you didn’t do so well, maybe I could help you before the next exam.”

I stormed away from him. “No, thanks,” I called over my shoulder. “I’ve had about all the help from you I can take!”

When I got to the pool that afternoon, I had the second terrible shock: Coach August had benched me for my poor performance the day before and was letting Jill swim in my place. I rode the bus to the meet in stunned silence. This was the first time in over a year that I wouldn’t be competing.

Chris tried his best to console me, but at that moment he was the last person I wanted to listen to. “Coach is just teaching you a lesson,” he advised me. “Jill won’t swim as well as you can, and you’ll still make regionals.”

But in the next breath, he was trying to coax me into a midnight meeting.

Anyone who looked closely at me would have been able to tell that my whole life was splitting apart at the seams, but Chris, the guy who said he loved me, was oblivious.

“No how, no way, no time,” I told him angrily. “No more Astronomy Club.”

At home, in the mailbox, the third terrible shock was waiting for me. It was an envelope addressed, in my father’s handwriting, to Miss Amy Wyse. I was afraid to even mention it to Mom, who had a half-hour break between her two jobs and was changing her work clothes. She had sent him a note after I showed her the financial aid form.

I hesitated for a moment before opening it, torn between wanting to know what my father’s response to my mother’s note was and not wanting any more bad news that day. Finally, nervously, I tore it open and read the first few lines quickly. When I didn’t see the phrase “Not on your life!” in the first paragraph, I continued reading, feeling braver and stronger as I got through each line.

Dear Amy
, the letter began, in that same crampy script he used to sign my birthday card each year.
Your mom tells me
you’re planning for college, and of course I want to offer as much help as I can. But things haven’t been easy for me these last few years. Did you know that I’ve changed jobs five times, trying to find something I like?

When I read the last line, I thought of how Mom had to work two jobs just to make ends meet. I’m sure my father never asked if she liked what she did for a living. “Poor guy,” I couldn’t help mumbling sarcastically.

“Are you talking to me?” Mom called from her room, giving her hair a last-minute brushing.

“No,” I said. “Just talking to myself.”

All this by way of saying
, I continued to read,
that the contribution I can make toward your tuition isn’t much to speak of. But to help with your applications to the state schools
(this, he’d underlined),
I’d like to give you an early graduation present: any electric typewriter of your choice (within reason, of course)
.

The last line was so awful that it was almost funny. I mean, what century was this man living in, anyway? I had been using a laptop ever since I learned to type. I crumpled his letter, walked into the kitchen, and threw it into the trash.

“I see you found your father’s letter,” Mom said.

“You read it?” I asked.

“I didn’t have to,” she said, coming over to put her arm around me. “I know your father well enough to know he’ll never change. I thought it’d be better if we just got that hope out of the way.”

Mom was being so sympathetic that I wanted to burst into tears. “Cheer up, Amy,” she said when she saw my eyes welling up. “We’ll work things out. The best years of your life are still ahead of you.”

I knew that her idea of “working things out” was my applying to a state school. We couldn’t afford tuition, let alone room and board, at a private school. I was afraid that if I said that’s what I wanted, Mom would go out and get a
third
job.

I wiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand and walked with my mom to the driveway. After I watched her drive off down the street, I went back into the empty apartment and strode purposefully to my room.

After the awful day I’d had, what I needed was to write an A+ project for Ms. Hutchinson and, for once, get a good night’s sleep.

That night, I spent almost four hours composing a can-you-top-this paper on intimacy. I printed it out on bond paper and placed it in a crisp red folder I found in my desk. After I’d finished, I was feeling relieved and also pretty pleased with myself.

When I heard the tap on my window, my heart didn’t leap. It sank. Mom would be home from El Rancho any minute. Technically, I was still grounded, and by that time—ten-fifteen—I was supposed to be fast asleep.

I opened the window and glared at Chris. “What are you doing here?” I asked him. “I told you, no more.”

“Please, Amy. It’s still early, and I won’t keep you up late,” he promised. Something reckless in his eyes alarmed me. What if he did something stupid, I worried, like hang around until Mom pulled into the driveway and we were both caught? That’s when I decided that getting him safely out of there would be easier if I just played along.

I glanced at my glow-in-the-dark alarm clock and saw that there wasn’t time to change back into my clothes. “Stay right there. I’ll come outside.”

There was really no graceful way to climb out my window wearing an ankle-length nightgown. “Let me help you,” Chris said as I balanced, half in and half out of the window. I rested my arms on his strong swimmer’s shoulders, and he lifted me in his arms and carried me to the lawn.

I shivered as he set me down in the shadow of the oleanders, where we could stay out of sight. “Cold?” Chris asked. I nodded, and he pulled me close.

Around us, it had started to thunder. In the distance, I saw a flash of lightning.

“I can’t stay,” I told him. “It’s going to pour. Besides, my mom will be home any minute.”

“Stay just a little while,” Chris begged.

“I can’t risk it,” I told him. “By the time my mom gets home from work, I’ve got to be back inside, asleep in my bed.”

Just then, the skies broke open, and the rain came down in torrents. “Chris, I can’t—” I started to protest, but he had
already taken my hand and was pulling me to the shelter of a palm tree. Its fronds made a puny umbrella.

“Amy,” he said, pulling me closer, “I had to tell you. When you were mad at me today, I realized …” He paused for a moment, as if unsure of his words. “It’s just that I love you. I don’t want you to be angry. I don’t want to be apart.”

It was exciting to hear those words, but it was a little scary too. I wasn’t sure I was ready.

“Well, we have to have
some
time apart,” I tried to joke. “You know—to see our families, change our clothes.” But Chris wasn’t laughing, and he held me so tightly I could hear his heart beating in his chest.

“Chris, I really have to go,” I told him, pulling away.

“Amy, you know I’d do anything for you,” Chris whispered.

I stared at him for a moment as he held my arm, and I realized that though he meant what he said, it wasn’t true. If it were he wouldn’t be holding me so tight when I was desperate to get back to the safety of my bedroom.

“Chris, listen,” I said, getting anxious. “If my mom comes home and I’m out here soaking wet in my nightgown, we’re both going to be in big trouble. Don’t you even care?”

“Of course I care,” Chris said.

“Then let me go,” I protested. “If you really care, you’ll do what’s best for me. All these late nights don’t even seem to affect you. You work half as hard as I do and end up with
much better grades. You swim as well as ever, and I end up getting benched. You may not need the space, but I do!”

Just then, a pair of headlights flashed across the front lawn as a car turned into our drive. “Quick! Duck!” I said, pushing Chris into the oleanders. I recognized the whiny sound of the car’s engine. I didn’t even have to look to know that it was Mom.

“You’ve got to get out of here!” I whispered, and without waiting for an answer, I took off for my open window. I prayed that Mom would fumble with her door keys, giving me a few extra seconds to get inside.

“I’ll wait for you,” Chris promised, running beside me.