Sticky Fingers (13 page)

So if she’s going to explain about Bennigan’s, it’s going to be because she wants to, not because I make her. I’m determined to stick to my resolution to live my life the way I want, with my own goals firmly in mind, and not live in reactionary mode to the screwed-up people around me.

“Well, I feel bad about it,” Courtney says. “I was trying to cover my own ass on the nail polish, and it made you look like a liar.”

Holy shit! Is she going to confess to stealing the polish? Ever since Christmas, I’ve been wishing the old Cool Courtney would come back and replace Whacked Courtney.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I know you were all worked up about how much money I spent on that skirt, and on your necklace—”

“Not really—”

“Yeah you were.” She gives me a look meant to shut me up, and since I promised myself I would let her talk, I wave for her to go ahead. Besides, I want her to come clean so things will be comfortable between us again.

“The thing is,” she explains, “Mat’s been on my case too. He thinks I’m shopping too much and spending money I really need to be saving for college expenses, especially since my parents are divorcing and all.”

“Mat said that?”

She shoots me a little half-smile. “I know I’m making him sound like a nag, but he’s so not. He really worries about me, and he wants me to be able to do whatever I want with my life. So he’s been telling me—in a very gentle and nonpreachy way—to be careful.”

“That’s kind of sweet, in a way. He obviously wants what’s best for you.”

“Yeah, he does.” She blushes, then looks down at the bedspread. “And I love that he does. But when I bought that polish, I just knew he’d freak. It was
so
expensive. So I lied and said I bought the bottle at CVS, so he’d think it was, like, five bucks or something. If that makes sense.”

“I guess,” I say, because it would if she was freaking
telling the truth.
Is she really this deluded? Should I call her on it? Tell her that she’s being Whacked Courtney? Or will that ruin our friendship for good? Unable to help myself, I ask, “So, if you didn’t buy it at CVS, where’d you get it?”

“Filene’s. You were over in shoes, waiting for the woman to bring you your size. I was wandering at the end of the shoe section—remember?—and that’s when I saw it, across the aisle at the Chanel counter. It just called to me. I know I shouldn’t have, but since I didn’t have anything like it, I bought it.” She shakes her head and groans. “And then I saw a color almost like it in CVS for less than half the price!”

“The one you showed me.” Pukey electric orange.

“Right.”

I try not to look angry. I try not to
be
angry. This is her problem. Not mine.
Not mine.
Even if she’s been my best friend forever and we’ve always fit like opposite pieces of the same puzzle.

She adds, “If we weren’t in such a hurry, I’d have taken back the Chanel and bought the one at CVS, but I still wanted to hit The Body Shop, and”—she shrugs, but all I can think is,
Shut up, shut up, shut up,
as she keeps talking—“the money doesn’t matter now, I s’pose, but I shouldn’t have lied about it at Bennigan’s. Or I should have at least told you beforehand that Mat has been on my case about spending so much, so you’d know I was just covering my ass. I just … I dunno, I guess I freaked when you told Mat you didn’t see me buying the polish at CVS. I should’ve handled it better.”

What she
should
do is stop lying through her perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. And worse, sounding so smooth and believable while she does it right to my face. Who knew Courtney Delahunt could be such a good liar? And I won’t even let myself
think about her comments at Bennigan’s about my scoping out guys.

“Jen?” She gets two little furrows between her eyes. “Are you still mad? I couldn’t stand it if you were mad at me.”

“Well, I’m definitely mad.” I’m not going to lie about it. “But I’ll get over it eventually.”

“Are you sure? I’m just so sorry.”

“Just promise me you won’t do it again,” I say, trying very hard not to bite out the words. “I know you’re stressed out and have a lot going on and all, but—”

“I totally promise. I’m going to be careful with my money from now on too.”

I hold up the aqua shirt. I adore it—I really do—but I refuse to contribute to her problem. And if she’s stealing things like polish because she’s spending so much on gifts …

Crap. Maybe she stole the freaking shirt, too.

No.
I will not think that way. I have to trust her. Have to not jump to conclusions.

“Hey, no way am I returning that,” she says. “For one, it’s a gift. Got it? G-I-F-T. And for two, it
was a steal. Really. It wasn’t nearly as expensive as it looks.”

I am not going to think about her choice of words. I’m not, I’m not.

“I won’t say another word about your spending money,” I say slowly. “But if you’re serious about being careful with your money, stay out of the mall. Tell yourself you won’t go for two whole months. Or to the Wrentham outlets, or to Shoppers World, or any of those kind of places. You’ve gotta stay away from the temptation.”

“You’re right.” She tucks a stray piece of curly blond hair behind her ear, then looks me in the eye. “You know, I’m going to try. Two months. But you have to be supportive. Be my conscience.” She laughs out loud. “You’ve always been the best at that.”

“Is that a compliment or a slam?”

“Total compliment.” Her smile slips a notch. “Seriously, though, Jen. Do other things with me? Keep me busy not shopping?”

“Deal,” I tell her. If she wants me to throw her a life preserver, I’m here. As long as she keeps up her end.

She shifts a little closer to me on the bed, and I see her glance at my neck, noticing that I’m wearing the necklace she gave me. “So we’re still friends?”

“We’re always going to be friends,” I say, even though on the inside, I don’t feel quite the same about her. When she gives me a hug, I add, “Just take care of yourself, okay? Do the right things for
you.
Talk to me if you’re stressed out about things at home. Don’t let the snooty girls at school with all their cool clothes get to you and make you think you need to get something new to be part of the ‘in’ crowd. And don’t feel like you have to be someone you’re not to please anyone—Mat, or your parents, or even me.”

She gets a strange look on her face, like she’s wondering what I really think about her and her behavior lately. Like she’s wondering how much I really believe of her story. But she simply says, “I promise. I’ll do my best.”

I can only hope she means it. For her sake, and for mine. Because even if I’m determined to stand on my own two feet from now on, I really want my old friend back. Cool Courtney. The friend who would never lie or steal. The friend who laughs with me and
IMs me and teases me about being a dorky teacher’s pet even though she respects me for it. The friend I respect for being able to read other people and know them for what they are when I have no clue.

And I want her to stand on her own two feet too. No matter what’s going on with her or Mat or her parents. Or even with me. I want us to be bulletproof together.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Helllloooo, Jennnnnaaaa!?!

You there? You pissed at me? Did I offend you by using grown-up words like “sex” and “condom” in my last e-mail? Next time, I promise I’ll put a big R rating in the subject header, just to give you advance warning.

Or is it because I suggested that Georgetown might be superior to Harvard? (cough GO HOYAS cough cough)

Your apologetic (but not really) cousin,

Mark

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Helllloooo, Jennnnnaaaa!?!

Dearest deviant cousin,

I do not hate you, but I must point out that you are making some pretty big assumptions about my virginity/nonvirginity, my relationship with Scott, and the fact that I need advice about all this. And, um, Helllloooo, Mark?!?! YOU ARE MY COUSIN. Isn’t it a little icky to

I lean back and stare at the computer screen, then delete the e-mail I’m typing. I don’t want Mark to think of me as a little kid who needs help, but I don’t want him to stop giving me advice either. I don’t think I
need
it, necessarily, but having him e-mail me with his views on life (and relationships) does make me feel better about my decisions. He’s a great gut-check.

Not knowing what to type, I go downstairs, grab a glass of OJ, then talk to Mom for a while. I bring up the fact that Mark invited me to Georgetown for
spring break. I haven’t decided whether I want to go, but I want Mom to know it’s something I’m considering. Ten minutes later, I’m back at the computer.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Helllloooo, Jennnnnaaaa!?!

In answer to your questions, my dear, deviant cousin:

1. I am here.

2. I am not pissed at you.

3. You did not offend me.

4. Talked to Mom about spring break. She is, and I quote, “giving it serious thought.” So I’ll have to let you know.

5. About your SEX?!? comments, well, I’ll leave you in suspense about my thoughts. :0

Your dear, nondeviant, HARVARD-BOUND cousin,

Jenna

P.S. What the hell is a HOYA?!

“Jenna, I owe you big time. Thanks so much for talking to Courtney for me! I bet it was about college, wasn’t it?” Anne’s on the phone gushing, which she never does. If I wasn’t so determined to not let other people’s problems become mine, I’d feel pretty damned guilty right now.

But who am I kidding? I
do
feel guilty. Anne’s trying to do what’s best for Courtney, and therefore letting Anne believe that her older sister’s problems are nothing more than college application stress is dishonest of me.

I have a real problem with dishonesty, especially lately.

On the other hand, I can’t exactly tell Anne that Courtney shoplifted and is now lying to cover her ass either. Especially if Courtney’s determined to do the right thing from now on.

“Did Courtney tell you we talked?” I ask as I bookmark the Web site of summer internships I’d been perusing and quit my browser so I can give Anne my undivided attention.

“Well, I know she was at your house yesterday,” Anne says. “She was really psyched to give you your gift.”

“It’s beautiful.” And hopefully not stolen.

“You like it? I helped her pick it out. If they’d had it in my size, I’d have bought one, too, but no such luck. It wouldn’t look as good on me, anyway.”

My gaze flicks toward my closet door. It’s open, so I can easily pick out the sheer aqua fabric. “You helped pick it out? Thanks, Anne.”

“Hey, I didn’t tell you this, but it was on sale and there were only a couple left. When I saw it, I grabbed Courtney out of the makeup department to show her. She was planning to buy you perfume, but I told her you’d like the top better. She couldn’t get to the cash register fast enough once she saw it.”

So it wasn’t really a steal, thank goodness. I suppose taking a bottle of polish—one time—from CVS doesn’t mean she’s a serial shoplifter. Though now I’m feeling another wave of guilt for suspecting her. And it pisses me off that I’m feeling guilty about something
she
did.

“When she got home from your place last night, she showed me the belt you got her,” Anne continues, “which you should know I plan to borrow next time I go out. Anyway, she just seemed so much
happier. Like she’s not in a state of permanent PMS anymore.”

“Well, that’s good news. But I didn’t do anything, really.” Just suspect her of stealing the gift. Well, and catch her in lie after lie. I pick at a tiny hole in the thigh of my jeans, trying not to think about it.

“You didn’t talk to her about college?” Anne asks. “Not at all?”

“Nope.”

“That’s strange.” She’s quiet for a sec, then asks, “So did she say what bug’s been up her butt the last few weeks?”

I lean back in my desk chair, kicking my feet up on the desk while I fumble for something that sounds reasonable. “I think she’s just been stressed with the holidays. You know, your parents separating, getting her essays written, working all those holiday hours at the deli counter with customers flipping out when their cheese trays aren’t just so for their holiday parties. It’s a lot to deal with.”

I can feel Anne’s hesitation over the phone line. “I guess. So you think her mood was temporary?”

Better have been. “Well, she does seem to feel
better. And she actually ate the Oreos my mom gave us. You know she quits eating when she’s stressed out. Maybe she just needed a day to relax or something.” Since I’m dying to change the subject, I ask Anne what her plans are for the day.

“Nothing major,” she says. “Mostly hanging out. I asked Courtney if she wanted to go over to Shoppers World with me so I could get some new boots, but she wasn’t interested.”

Let’s hope she’s not interested for a long time. “She’s probably tired, is all,” I tell Anne. “So, you’re going to that new discount shoe store, I assume, since it’s at Shoppers World?”