Sticky Fingers (7 page)

“Right.” I hurry past the theft alarms, then join her as she hustles to the escalator. The whole time we’re in The Body Shop, I smell the different body butters and essential oils like I’m really interested. I even pretend to read the label on the peppermint foot lotion. But I can’t take my eyes off Courtney. I can’t help but watch where her hands are at all times, making sure she’s not taking another five-fingered discount. Or maybe waiting to see if she does, so I’ll have confirmation that I really saw what I thought I saw in the CVS.

She grabs body butters in Nut and Mango, a pack of emery boards, and two lip butters, then walks up to the checkout and plops her credit card onto the counter with them. I try to peek in her purse when
she opens it, but because it’s wedged between her hip and the green counter at an odd angle, I can’t get a good look.

I take a step to the side, so I can get a better view into her purse. She catches my eye, though, and starts talking about how much she likes the body butters as she hands me the bag so she can sign the charge slip. An instant wave of guilt grabs me, and I resolve right then and there to let the matter drop.

I must have been seeing things. Had to have been. One, she’s not stupid, so if she wanted to steal stuff, it’d be here instead of at CVS, right? This makeup is more expensive, and there aren’t any theft detectors at the doors. And two, she’s
Courtney.
And Courtney Delahunt does not steal. Anything. Ever.

As we’re walking out, I remember that I meant to buy something small for Scott. I start to say something, but Courtney’s already talking about how long it’s going to take us to walk back out to the parking garage, so I let it go.

“Cool shirt, Courtney,” Scott tells her as we wait in line for our movie tickets in the lobby of the AMC
Framingham. The line is huge, even though we bought our tickets ahead of time using a credit card. The couple in front of us can’t figure out the machine to claim their tickets, just like the guy before them couldn’t figure it out. Not surprisingly, no one under the age of twenty-one has a problem.

“Thanks,” Courtney tells Scott, smiling. I’m glad he said something, too, because I think she needs a little boost after breaking the divorce news to everyone. Of course, since it’s the Saturday night of Christmas break, everyone’s in a really good mood. We’re all done with midterms and papers, but no one’s had to leave to do family stuff yet—which means there are lots of parties happening later tonight. Best of all, the snow finally stopped, and it’s not completely frigid out, so naturally Courtney wore her favorite T-shirt and jeans and she’s eating up the compliments.

As we’re waiting in line, I start to develop a new theory about Courtney and her strange behavior lately: the excessive shopping (and shoplifting?), the fact she’s losing weight and denying it (well, she always denies it, but this time she’s really skinny),
and the whole sleeping with Mat and thinking it’s no big thing thing. I think it’s the divorce.

It’s kind of a cliché to say she’s acting weird because of her parents’ divorce (especially since I’m doing this psychoanalysis on her in a friggin’ theater lobby), but the diagnosis seems to fit.

First, she’s feeling lousy, so the shopping makes her feel better about herself. Probably ditto for the sex. The weight, I think, is probably partially about ego (and hers needing a boost) and probably partially stress. Even when we were little, she couldn’t eat if she was upset.

Maybe—and this thought just now occurs to me—the weight loss is also partially because she’s getting naked with Mat, and—not that I’m scoping out my best friend’s boyfriend or anything—Mat’s freaking hot.

Beyond hot, if you want the truth.

He’s got smokin’ shoulders and biceps from working on landscaping crews during the summer. And last August, before they got together, Courtney had me do a drive-by at a house in Scott’s neighborhood where Mat was planting trees and digging new
flower beds. Mat wasn’t wearing his shirt, and even from the road I could distinctly see the guy’s sixpack. I had to talk Courtney out of doing multiple drive-bys. I seriously thought she was going to drool on my car windows.

I think if I knew a guy built like Mat was going to see me naked, I’d be living on grapefruit and black coffee and doing the treadmill for hours at a time, even if I were running on fumes.

So, having come to these conclusions, I bring them up to Scott when he pulls me off to the side of the line to get us out of the crowd. Well, not the (possible) stealing part, or anything about Mat’s abs, but the rest of it.

“I haven’t noticed anything different about her,” he says, glancing toward Courtney and Mat as they move to the front of the line and Courtney pops her credit card into the machine to claim our tickets. “Well, other than the fact that she and Mat are tighter than ever. But I can tell you from experience that Courtney’s bound to be a little depressed about the divorce. You get that way even if you see it coming. Even if you think the divorce is a good thing,
like it was in my parents’ case.” He also suggests that Courtney might be tossing around cash simply because she has more.

“When my dad moved out, all of a sudden he was giving me money left and right,” Scott explains. “I think it was guilt—you know, for cheating on my mom and then leaving us to live with Amber. So he and Amber bought me a new bike and video games and stuff, and then on my birthday I got the Jetta. And whenever I visited them on the weekends, at least at first, he gave me envelopes with money and told me to buy myself something I really wanted. When he and Amber got married last year, he handed me another envelope at the wedding.”

When I ask Scott if it ever feels like his dad’s bribing him for love—which I ask very gently, because I don’t want to offend him—he says he never really put that much thought into it. “But if that is why he’s doing it,” Scott says with a shrug, “then fine. He’s not hurting financially, so let him do whatever makes him feel better. Especially if it puts gas in my car and covers my college expenses, y’know? I’m not going to change my opinion of him either way.”

As I watch Courtney walk over to us with Mat, then wave off Scott as he starts to fish his wallet out of his back pocket to pay her back for the movie tickets, I think about what Scott said. I can’t see Courtney’s dad handing her fat envelopes full of cash. But if he is, I have to wonder if Courtney’s going to be smart like Scott and put some of it aside for next year.

We walk through the doors into the inner lobby, and after assessing the crowd situation, decide that Scott and I should take our two tickets and head for the theater to grab seats while Courtney and Mat go for popcorn and soda.

“You’re right about one thing,” Scott says once we’re out of earshot. “Courtney’s definitely lost weight. You’d think I’d notice since I see her all the time at Stop & Shop, but I guess her deli apron hides it.”

He hands our tickets to the ticket taker before we pass under the archway and walk down to theater six. As we scout out four good seats, I say, “So what do you think I should do?”

He drops into an empty seat, leaving me the one
on the aisle, then tosses his coat over two others for Mat and Courtney. “I know she’s your best friend, but she might feel weird talking to you. Since you’re into Harvard and your life is great, she might not want to get you all bummed out with her problems.”

“But that’s—”

“I know,” he says, and waves off my objections. “But maybe Mat should be the one to talk to her, anyway. No offense to you, but I bet she’ll listen to Mat before anyone else. It’s just where her focus is these days.”

I stick my purse under my seat, then scan the rows in back of us to make sure no one we know is there. I lean over and say quietly, “But I think that’s the problem. Well, part of it. She’s glomming on to Mat because she needs to feel better about herself.”

When he screws up his face at me, I explain, “Nothing against Mat—that’s not what I meant. I just worry that she’s expecting more out of the relationship than she should because things are bad at home. And having Mat be the one to talk to her … well, I’m afraid it’ll just make her that much more dependent on him.”

“And that’s bad?” Scott puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him. “You know I don’t know Mat as well as I should, but he seems pretty cool. And if Courtney’s in love with him, that should be good enough for you. It’s enough for Courtney that you love me.”

He glances behind us, I assume to see if Courtney and Mat are coming with the popcorn yet, then adds, “You know you can rely on me, don’t you? If you have bad things going on at home, or school, or whatever, I want you to feel like you can talk to me. Otherwise, if you can’t trust me, what’s the point of our being together?”

I give him a little smile. “Hey, I’m coming to you about Courtney, right?”

He gives me a quick kiss, then tells me not to stress too much about the whole thing. “She’ll snap out of it eventually. And she
will
talk to you. Besides, for all we know, she’s talking to Mat about things right now.”

“Okay. I’ll try to be patient.” Maybe he’s right. Courtney’s constantly telling me that it amazes her how book-smart and people-dumb I can sometimes be. Even about her.

Scott and I start talking about the movie—the reviews we’ve seen, the gossip we’ve heard about the stars—and before long, Mat and Courtney show up with two monster popcorns and a tray with four sodas. Courtney refuses to take money—again—and Scott gives me a quick look to warn me not to read any meaning into it.

As the lights go down, Scott leans in close and whispers, “Just watch the movie. Courtney’s a big girl. She’ll be fine.”

I realize as he starts to whisper that I was actually watching to see if Courtney ate any popcorn. And he was watching me watch Courtney.

What the hell is
wrong
with me? At this rate, Scott’s going to think I have bigger problems than Courtney does. Then again, maybe I do. Maybe the fact I don’t have something else to focus on during break, like school or college applications or even sports, is making the whole thing with Courtney a much bigger deal in my head than it is in reality.

I give his hand a squeeze for trying to help me override my obsessiveness, and thankfully, when the previews start and Scott lets go of my hand to wrap
his arm around my shoulders, I suddenly have no desire whatsoever to watch or worry about Courtney.

“Totally fake special effects,” Courtney says between bites of nachos as we sit at a barside table in Bennigan’s and plan our strategy for the evening. “But I still think the movie was pretty good.”

We all agree. The special effects looked like they were from the eighties, but it was still a cool enough flick to be worth the ticket price.

And, frankly, it gave me enough of a break from living inside my own warped skull to make me feel 100 percent better.

“So what’s the party plan?” I ask. I know this cracks Scott up, but now that I don’t have college or midterms hanging over my head, I figure tonight’s the night to show them I can go out and relax. Also, this way, when school starts up again, they’ll be off my case.

Since we went to the early movie, it’s only nine thirty and most of the parties we’ve heard about are just getting started. After we eliminate several possibilities, the guys start to weigh the pros and cons
of the two parties that sound promising: one that a bunch of the jocks are having, which Scott says we’re all invited to, and one that’s at the house of a Brazilian friend of Mat’s. I’ve been to a couple of the jock parties. They’re usually okay, but mostly because that’s where all the gossip is. Stuff happens at those: couples hook up and break up, or people puke on one another, and it’s guaranteed that at least one catfight’s gonna start about who back-stabbed whom. In other words, it’s where all the beautiful people like Scott do the see-and-be-seen thing, and it’s always the party everyone’s talking about Monday at school, debating exactly what happened.

There is also, almost always, alcohol involved. Some parents are simply oblivious to the fact there’s beer being served in their home right under their noses, some parents are okay with it as long as no one’s driving home and no one drinks too much (which Courtney’s dad says is a monster lawsuit waiting to happen, no matter how much anyone drinks and whether they drive), and some parties, like the one apparently going on now, happen when
the parents are out of town and don’t have a clue there’s a party at all.

“Rick Dando’s party is closer,” Scott says as he snags a beef-and-cheese-laden nacho from our side of the pile. “Maybe we can go there first, then if it sucks or it looks like the cops are gonna show up, we can ditch and go over to Lucas Ribiero’s.”

“If we go to Rick’s party first, we won’t leave,” Mat points out. “It’s supposed to be huge, and you know how that goes. Either we won’t be able to find one another, or someone will get stuck talking to someone else—”

“You think it’ll be big enough that someone will call the cops?” I ask, trying to sound like I’m simply curious and not freaked out. Rick lives in a really nice part of town—one where the neighbors are going to pick up the phone if some drunk teenager decides to take a leak in their backyard. Or hurl there.

“You’re such a wuss,” Courtney says to me over the chip pile.

“I doubt there’ll be cops,” Scott says, rolling his eyes at Courtney. “Besides, whenever there are tons of
people, you can just fade into the background if the cops come, then quietly leave out the back. They’re going to be more focused on trying to figure out who lives in the house and whether they’re serving alcohol, or breaking up fights if there are any.”