Sticky Fingers (14 page)

“Yeah, thought I’d try there first. Then head to the mall if I can’t find anything cheap. I’ll probably call a couple friends, see if they want to go.”

We talk about other mostly inane stuff for a while, then she asks if I’m doing anything Friday night for New Year’s. “Scott called Courtney this morning—I think it was to see if she and Mat are going out to any of the parties.”

“Yeah, I guess this weekend’s our last chance before school starts up again,” I say, though I have to
wonder, why is Scott calling Courtney about parties? Why isn’t he calling me? “How ’bout you? Going to any?”

“I’m thinking about going to my dad’s. Maybe go to First Night stuff in the city. We’ll see. But I did hear Courtney tell Scott she’d get back to him. Sounded like she really didn’t want to go to whichever party Scott wanted to, but when Scott said the two of you were going, Courtney said there was no way you guys could go without her. I bet you have a blast.”

Since Scott hasn’t mentioned any parties to me—well, other than the fact there are a bunch taking place and that he wants our New Year’s to be special—this is all news to me.

Could that be what he and Courtney were arguing about at the store? Strange, since Courtney and I weren’t really talking at that point. No, I decide, it can’t be. It wouldn’t make sense, given what I overheard about Scott maybe doing something and Courtney telling him not to.

Which reminds me that I never did get around to finding out about the whole Syracuse thing, which I’d meant to do.

I wish Anne good luck with her dad—since he really is a nice guy, and I want things to be good between them—then let her go before hopping back on e-mail. I see my horoscope in my in-box, but I’ve gotta get an e-mail out to Courtney while I’m thinking about it. And before I think about it too much.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Forgot …

Hey—totally spaced asking you yesterday—how goes it on the college applications? Did you finalize where you’re applying to yet? I know BU for sure, but anywhere else? Let me know what I can do to help. (BTW—I just finished reading over Scott’s essays for Brown. Can you believe he wrote about Walter Mondale?)

Also—thanks again for the new top. You know I’m dying to wear it.

Have a blast at work today. I just know you’re loving life amongst the cheese and deli meats. Let me know the plan for tomorrow night and about the college stuff.

J.

Not the world’s most eloquent e-mail, but it’ll do. I surf the Web for a while, killing time before I have to go babysit for the Messermans again by looking at more internship stuff online and printing applications for a few positions that look interesting. I know I should give a more detailed answer to Marks e-mail than my “leave you in suspense” copout, but I haven’t figured out what to say yet.

I mean, do I admit that Scott has been pressuring me for sex? Or do I tell Mark he’s way wrong? And I still haven’t decided what I want to do about spring break, assuming Mom and Dad say I can go to Mark’s. Georgetown would definitely be fun, but the senior class trip to Disney World is that week, and already approved by Mom and Dad. I’m not that
keen on going to mouse world, even though everyone assures me that it’s a total blast, but I kind of feel like I should go. Just because I’m on student council and everything.

I take a long sip of my OJ, then wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my flannel jammies. Maybe I should just stay home. Use the vacation week to spend some time with Mom and Dad and clear my brain.

I reread Mark’s SEX?!?! e-mail, trying to come up with a real response, then decide I just can’t answer today. I’m about to sign off when I get pinged. Courtney’s online, and of course she IMs me right away.

CourtD: Yo, Jen! You there? I’m reading your e-mail now.

JennaK: I’m here …

Court D: Yes to help on applications. I’m sending out to BU, of course. And to Simmons, since I think their internship program for communications majors looks really good. I’m pretty sure I’ll end up applying to Mount Ida to make Mom
happy, but it’s my third choice right now.

JennaK: Mount Ida?

CourtD: It’s in Newton, which is why it’s third.

JennaK: Again … Mount Ida? What brought that on?

CourtD: Mom graduated from there and loved it. They have a communications program, so …

JennaK: Sorry, forgot about your mom. I think I remember you telling me that once. So is that it? Those three? Nothing outside of Boston?

CourtD: What, like I WANT to do more applications?

I stare at the text on the screen. Now that things are good between us—well, at least as far as Courtney knows—there’s no reason to hide it if she’s applying to Syracuse.

So why would she tell Scott that?

Or did Scott make it up, just like I suspected, trying to cover for something else? Like trying to patch things up between me and Courtney? Hmmm …

I’m about to type something jokey to Courtney when more text from her pops up onscreen.

CourtD: Three is definitely it. Unless I don’t get in anywhere (but I will NOT think that way… ). JennaK: You’ll be fine. Like I said, I’m happy to do what I can to help too.

CourtD: Good, because I’ll need it! Just don’t make me write about Walter Mondale (who IS he, anyway?! I know I should know …)

CourtD: And on the New Year’s party issue—I haven’t heard the final word about what’s going on. Info, please?

JennaK: Mondale is a former vice president and was a senator from Minnesota. On parties—I have no clue what’s going on. (Although I can tell you that Mondale belongs to the Democratic Party … LOL!)

CourtD: I’m calling you now to discuss parties. And NOT political parties. TTY be in a minute …

CourtD: And P.S. I’m going to pretend you never made that joke. You are such a geek.

My phone rings at the same time Courtney’s last line of text appears on my computer screen.

“So, is there a party plan?” I ask, without even bothering to say hello.

“Scott hasn’t talked it over with you yet?”

“I don’t think so.” It all still feels strange to me, talking about which parties I want to attend like it’s no big thing, when out of habit I nearly always say, “Sounds fun, but I have calc homework” or “There’s a paper I need to finish” the second the word “party” enters a conversation. I keep having to remind myself that, for one, it’s break, so there’s no homework I’m supposed to be doing, and second, I’m
in,
so I don’t need to be researching schools or doing SAT practice exams during every second of my spare time. And that it won’t kill my chances of getting into Harvard if I have fun.

But the scary part—the part I can’t admit to anyone—is that I actually miss having school stuff to do. It isn’t that math thrills me or anything, but having an assignment or two due gives me a goal to work toward, and I’m a pretty goal-oriented person.

“I take it Scott said something to you?” I ask, knowing from Anne that he has, but wanting to hear Courtney tell me herself.

“Indeed he did.” She lets out a low Coke belch,
then says, “He wants to go to the party at Aric Jensen’s.”

“Then no.”

“No go, or no he hasn’t talked to you?”

“Hasn’t talked to me,” I tell her. I’d have remembered if he’d mentioned going to Aric’s party, because it’s not the kind of party I’d want to attend, even if I was dying to go out. Aric’s parents fall into the strict “You can’t have booze in our house” camp because they’re Mormon. They’re always telling other parents that’s their philosophy because they want other parents to know that their kids are “safe” while visiting their home.

However, the Jensens frequently spend weekends at their house on the Cape and let Aric stay home by himself. Totally misplaced trust, since Aric usually drops his Mormon values the second his parents’ Taurus leaves the driveway. He makes a few phone calls, and within hours the house is packed, alcohol flows like crazy, the whole deal.

I’m guessing he hires a cleaning service or something to help him hide the evidence, because from what I’ve heard about parties at Aric’s, the cleanup’s
gotta be a bitch. And he’s never once gotten caught.

“So,” Courtney says, “you have no idea if you’re going?”

“Well, if Scott told you that we are, then we probably are. Since I was the one who wanted to go bowling, like, forever, I told him he could choose what we do on New Year’s.” Though I think I’d rather go to one of the other parties, something more low-key. As in, where the focus is on seeing my friends and catching up on gossip instead of seeing who’s the most accurate at tossing a Ping-Pong ball into a glass of beer.

“Don’t razz me too much, but to be honest, I’m kind of burned out on the whole party scene right now,” Courtney says, sounding completely sincere even though she’s laughing. “Maybe the four of us can just go to a movie or something? Or if Scott’s totally determined to go to Aric’s, maybe he won’t mind just going with the guys, and the two of us can go to the movies. Or we can ask Anne to go or whoever else from school and make it a girls’ night out if you want. I don’t think we’ve done that since Mat and I hooked up.”

Courtney saying no to a party? And at
Aric Jensen’s?
I can’t help but laugh right along with her. “This from the person who called me a wuss at Bennigan’s when I didn’t want to go to Rick Dando’s party?”

She doesn’t say anything right away, even though I was teasing, and I suddenly realize that she probably doesn’t want to be reminded about the night at Bennigan’s. I guess neither of us want to get into that.

“Well, I’m going out with Scott tonight,” I tell her. “Nothing major, just running errands after he’s done at Stop & Shop, but I’ll ask him what he thinks. I mean, a movie sounds good to me, whether it’s with or without the guys.”

“Great.” I hear her fingers tapping on her computer keyboard as she says, “I’ll check Moviefone and see what’s playing tomorrow, just in case. And I’ll tell Mat that it might be movies, might be Aric Jensen’s. But let’s try to do the movies, okay?”

“Okay.” My computer alarm starts beeping, so I tell her I have to go—I’ve gotta be at the Messermans’ in twenty minutes—but that I’ll call her the
minute Scott and I talk. When I hang up, though, I realize that I forgot to read my horoscope. I click on it, then grab my shoes so I can lace ’em up while I read.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Today’s Horoscope

Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22)

A chance encounter will change your entire day—and perhaps the entire week ahead. Weigh your options carefully before making firm decisions, Libra.

Your Leo Partner (July 23-Aug. 22)

Leo’s feeling testy today. Get to the root of it—this isn’t the time to stand back and simply let your Leo roar.

As I finish up dinner and talk with Mom and Dad about where Scott and I are going to be tonight (they simply
must
know that we’re planning on Target,
then maybe Starbucks for a quick coffee on the way home, and of course they tell me for the umpteenth time that I need to have my cell phone on me every second, so they can find me), all I can think about is the chance encounter I’m supposed to have that’ll change my entire day.

Since it’s already after six, I’m thinking my horoscope is wrong. Not that it’s ever
right.
I mean, sometimes I can mentally twist it into being right, but that’s just my twisting it. But today it’s just flat-out wrong. Which sucks, because the whole time I was driving home from the Messermans’, I was half-waiting to have a chance encounter.

I even let myself daydream that maybe I’d be putting gas in my car, and I’d bump into some gorgissimo actor who just happens to be driving through Framingham, Massachusetts. Or maybe I’d find out I was the millionth person through the door at the Apple Store and I’d get a free laptop or something. But none of the daydreams felt at all possible to me. I think because the only chance encounters I want changing my life are so totally unrealistic that I can’t even daydream about them convincingly.

The encounters that are more likely to happen are the kind that aren’t good. Like someone from the IRS seeing me leave the Messermans’ and realizing that I wasn’t paying the proper income tax on my babysitting money.

I drop my plate into the dishwasher a little too hard, and Mom turns around from the table to shoot me a death look—since she got the dishes cheap from some yard sale but claims they were a “real find” and I should be careful with them—but when she sees me cringe, two vertical lines of concern appear between her eyes. “You okay, honey?”

“Fine,” I tell her. “Just tired from all day at the Messermans’, I guess. Sorry ’bout slamming the plate in there.”

She seems to accept this, since she just takes a deep breath and tells me to go ahead and get ready. She and Dad have always kept pretty good tabs on me—making me call to check in regularly when I’m out, always asking me how I’m feeling and if I need help with homework, all that stuff. But now that I’m done with midterms and Harvard’s on the horizon, it’s like they’re trying to bite their tongues and let
me go. Treat me like adults treat other adults instead of the way parents treat their kids.

Which, in a totally backward kind of way, actually makes me wonder if I’d have just as much fun staying at home tonight and hanging out with my parents watching game shows or the latest made-for-television movie as I will at Target with Scott.