Ten Things We Did (And Probably Shouldn't Have)

SARAH MLYNOWSKI

ten things we did

(and probably shouldn’t have)

For Farrin Jacobs,

brilliant editor and true friend.

Contents

THE MORNING AFTER

I bolted awake. A siren.

The police were outside my house. Ready to arrest me for underage partying, excessive flirting, and an overcrowded hot tub.

But wait.

My brain turned on. No, not the cops. Just my phone—my dad’s ringtone.

Which was even worse.

I rummaged around the futon. No phone. Instead I felt a leg. A guy’s leg. A guy’s leg flung over my ankle. A guy’s leg that did not belong to my boyfriend.

Oh God. Oh God. What did I do?

WEEEooooWEEEooooWEEEoooo!

Upstairs. The siren ring was coming from upstairs, the main level of Vi’s house.

Maybe I should just go back to sleep . . . No! Phone ringing. In bed with not my boyfriend. I managed to get myself out of the futon without disturbing him and—um, where were my pants? Why was I in bed with a guy who was not
my boyfriend without any pants?

At least I had underwear on. And a long-sleeved shirt. I looked around for some pants. The sole item of clothing within grabbing distance was Vi’s red dress that I wore last night for the party.

That dress was trouble.

I ran up the stairs bare-legged. At the top, I almost passed out.

It looked like a war zone. Empty plastic cups littered the wooden floor. Half-eaten tortilla chips were planted in the shag area rug like pins on a bulletin board. A large blob—punch? Beer? Something I’d be better off not identifying?—had stained the bottom half of the pale blue curtain. A white lace bra hung from the four-foot cactus.

Brett was in surfer shorts, face-planted on the couch. He was using the purple linen tablecloth as a blanket. Zachary was asleep in one of the dining room chairs, wearing an aluminum foil tiara on his lolled-back head. The patio door was open—and a puddle of rain had flooded the carpet.

WEEEooooWEEEooooWEEEoooo!
Phone was louder. Closer. But where? The kitchen counter? The kitchen counter! Nestled between a saucer of cigarette butts and an empty bottle of schnapps! I dove toward it. “Hello?”

“Happy birthday, Princess,” my dad said. “Did I wake you?”

“Wake me?” I asked, my heart thumping. “Of course not. It’s already”—I spotted the microwave clock across the room—“nine thirty-two.”

“Good, because Penny and I are on our way to see you!”

Terror seized me. “What does that mean?”

My dad laughed. “We decided to surprise you on your birthday. It was actually Penny’s idea.”

“Wait. For real?”

“Of course for real! Surprise!”

My head was spinning, and I felt like vomiting and it wasn’t just because of the many, many, definitely too many glasses of spiked punch I had consumed last night. My father could not see this place. No, no, no.

Oh God. I’d violated 110 percent of my dad’s rules. The evidence was all around, mocking me.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t happen. I would lose everything. If, after last night, I had anything left to lose. I took a step and a tortilla chip attacked my bare foot.
Owww
.

Mother friggin’ crap.

“That’s great, Dad,” I forced myself to say. “So . . . where are you exactly? Did your plane just land?”

Please let them still be at the airport. It would take them at least an hour to drive here from LaGuardia. I could make this house look presentable in an hour. I would find some pants. Then I would toss the bottles and cups and cigarette butts and vacuum the tortilla chips and maybe the bra, maybe even Brett and Zachary—

“Nope, we just drove through Greenwich. We should be in Westport in twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes?!

There was groaning from the couch. Brett flipped onto his back and said, “It’s eff-ing freezing in here.”

“April, there’s not a boy over, is there?” my dad asked.

I sliced my hand through the air to tell Brett to shut the hell up.

“What? No! Of course not! Vi’s mom is listening to NPR.”

“We just passed the Rock Ridge Country Club. Looks like we’re making better time than I thought. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Can’t wait to see you, Princess.”

“You too,” I choked out, and hung up. I closed my eyes. Then opened them.

Two half-naked boys in the great room. One in a tiara.

More half-naked boys in the bedrooms.

Empty liquor bottles and trashed cups.

And Vi’s mom nowhere in sight.

I was a dead princess.

THREE MONTHS EARLIER

“How would you like to finish high school in Cleveland?” my dad asked me out of nowhere during Christmas break of junior year.

Fine. Maybe it wasn’t completely out of nowhere.

THREE MONTHS, ONE MINUTE, THIRTY SECONDS EARLIER

“April, can you sit down? We need to talk to you about an important issue.”

This should have tipped me off that something disconcerting was about to take place. But at the time, I was too busy multitasking to pick up on the signals. It was Thursday night, nine fifty-five, and Marissa had just dropped me off before my ridiculous ten o’clock (even during Christmas holidays) curfew. I was standing in front of the fridge debating between grapes or an apple for my evening snack
and
contemplating if tomorrow night was finally the right time to have sex with Noah.

I was leaning toward the apple. Even though what I really wanted was chocolate fudge cake. But since Penny didn’t eat junk food, especially chocolate junk food, the likelihood of finding chocolate fudge cake in our fridge was about as high as finding a unicorn in our backyard.

As for the other thing . . . the one that made me want to jump on my bed and hide under the covers . . . it was time. I loved Noah. He loved me. We had waited long enough. We had planned on doing it over the break, but my brother, Matthew, had been here until this morning. Tonight, Noah had a party he had to go to with his parents and on Saturday he was leaving for Palm Beach.

Tomorrow was the only time. Plus, my dad and Penny had a dinner party in Hartford, an hour away, so that would leave me an empty house from about six to midnight. Sex would not take six hours. Would it?

I guessed it would take thirty minutes, tops. Or an hour. Or three minutes.

I was ready. Wasn’t I? I’d told Noah I was ready. I had convinced myself I was ready. Ready to have sex with Noah. Noah who had dimples when he smiled. Noah who’d been my boyfriend for over two years.

I grabbed the apple, rinsed it, then took a large bite.

But was it a bad idea to do it the night before he left for a week in Palm Beach? What if I freaked out the next day and he was at the bottom of the country?

“You’re dripping,” my stepmom said, eyes darting back and forth between the offending fruit and the white-tiled floor. “Pretty please, use a plate and sit down?” Penny was obsessed with cleanliness. The way most people carried around a cell phone, Penny carried around hand-sanitizing wipes.

I took a plate and a seat at the table, across from them. “So what’s up?”

“And a place mat,” she added.

Then came my father’s contribution: “How would you like to finish high school in Cleveland?”

The question did not sound like English. It made zero sense to me. I wasn’t going to Cleveland. I’d never been to Cleveland. Why would I be going to school there? “Huh?”

My dad and Penny stole quick glances at each other and then refocused on me. “I’m starting a new job,” he said.

The kitchen was suddenly a hundred degrees. “But you already have a job,” I explained slowly. He worked for a hedge fund right here in Westport, Connecticut.

“This is a better job,” he said. “A very lucrative job. Very.”

“But—why do you need two jobs?” In retrospect, I
was
being dense. But they were throwing massive information bombs at me. Cleveland! New job! Place mat!

“I
don’t
need two jobs,” he said slowly. “That’s why I’m quitting Torsto and taking the job at KLJ in Cleveland.”

My brain was refusing to process this information. “You’re moving to Cleveland?”

“
We’re
moving to Cleveland,” he said, sweeping his right hand to include all three of us. My dad, Penny. And me.

I choked on a piece of apple.

What? Me? In Cleveland? No. No, no, no. Not happening. I gripped the arms of my chair. I was not moving. They would not, could not, make me let go of this chair.

“We’re all moving to Cleveland,” Penny piped in. “On January third.”

Nine days. They wanted me to move in nine days? Wait. But. “You asked me
if
I would like to finish high school in Cleveland. My answer is no. I would not.”

They looked at each other again. “April,” Penny said. “My folks have already found some terrific schools for you to . . .”

As she rattled on, panic grabbed hold of my throat and tightened its grip. I wasn’t going to Cleveland. I wasn’t leaving my life. I wasn’t leaving Marissa. Or Vi. I wasn’t leaving Noah. I wasn’t leaving Westport smack in the middle of junior year. Not happening. No way. “No thanks,” I managed, my voice squeaky and weird.

Penny giggled nervously and then added, “We found a very nice house in . . .”

I took another bite of my apple and willed myself not to hear her. Lalalala.

If I didn’t leave Westport to move to
Paris
with Mom and Matthew, I wasn’t leaving to move to
Cleveland
with them. And why Cleveland? Penny’s parents were there so we had to be there too? Was it all about her? My head started to spin.

“. . . wonderful because you’re right in time for the new semester—”

“I. Am. Not. Moving,” I said with as much force as I could muster.

They stared at me again, obviously unsure how to react. Penny reached over and played with the tip of my place mat.

I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t,
I couldn’t
. I tried to blink away the black spots that were suddenly dancing before my eyes. There had to be a way out. An escape. “I’ll stay here,” I said quickly. “I can stay here, can’t I?” Yes. That was it. They could go. I would stay. Ta-da! Problem solved.

“You absolutely cannot stay here by yourself,” Penny said.

I could, I could, I could. Please?

My dad leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin in the palm of his hand. “We’re going to rent out the house until the market gets better and then we’re planning on selling it.”

“Don’t rent it! Or rent it to me! I’ll stay!” Not that I had any money. But it was all I could think of.

“You are not staying here without us,” my stepmom told me. “That’s ridiculous. And it’s not safe.”

Wait a sec. I caught my breath, anger pushing out the panic. I narrowed my eyes at my betrayer of a father. “This is why you two were in Cleveland last month?”

He nodded, a bit sheepishly.

“I thought you were visiting Penny’s parents. Why didn’t you tell me you were interviewing?” I had been oblivious, enjoying the weekend with Marissa’s family. Lalala clue-less me.

Another look with Penny. “We didn’t want to worry you.”

Yeah, why would I want some time to get used to the idea? Much better to spring it on me like a knife-wielding jack-in-the-box. “But now it’s all set?”

“Yes,” he said. “I gave my notice yesterday.”

So Penny, Penny’s parents, and my dad’s
company
knew before I did. Way to make a daughter feel important. Did Matthew know too? Did Mom know?

“It’s a beautiful city, April,” Penny said, rubbing her hands together like she was washing them. “I loved living there. And it’s very culturally interesting. Did you know the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is there?”

The panic set in again. “I can’t move,” I said, struggling for air. “I just can’t.”

“Is this about Noah?” she asked.

“No, it’s not about Noah.” Of course it was about Noah. Noah, who had filled my room with fifty helium balloons on my sixteenth birthday. Noah who helped me lug all my suitcases and badly taped boxes from my mom’s to my dad’s. Noah who had the softest hands I’d ever held. Noah who called me his cutie.

But it was not
just
about Noah. It was about Marissa and Vi and my whole life. I couldn’t leave everything—everyone—behind. My dad and I were close, but now he had Penny, and Penny and I . . . we didn’t have much of a relationship. She tried to connect, I tried to connect, my father tried to connect us, but it was like we had walkie-talkies that were on different frequencies. Moving to Ohio with them would be lonely. Too lonely.

“You’ll meet lots of new boys,” Penny said.

“It’s not about Noah,” I repeated, louder, over the sound of my pounding head. What was I going to do? I could
not
move to Cleveland in ten days. I needed a plan. Fast. They were four seconds away from packing me up and tossing me halfway across the country. “I have friends here. I have . . .” What else did I have? “Soccer. School.” I was grasping at straws, but I needed to get through to them. I had only recently started to feel settled again. I couldn’t just move. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

“You’ll make new friends. And soccer season is over,” Penny said, reaching to pat me and then apparently deciding not to. “You can play on a new team next year in Cleveland. And you can still keep in touch with everyone back here.”

I didn’t want to
keep in touch
. I knew all about
keeping in touch
and I hated it. And now I’d have to do it with Noah and all my friends. Were Cleveland and Connecticut even in the same time zone? Where was Cleveland exactly?

The black spots returned to the corners of my eyes. If I moved to Cleveland, I’d wake up every morning wishing I was still in Westport. I’d wake up every morning in the big black hole. I couldn’t let that happen. There had to be another way. Someone I could stay with here. Marissa? I sat up straighter. Yes! Maybe. No. In theory, her family would be happy to have me, but they really didn’t have the space. Marissa already shared a room with her sister. I couldn’t exactly sleep in her trundle bed for the rest of the year.

Noah? Ha. Sure, I loved him, and I got along with his parents and siblings, but I wasn’t ready to share a bathroom with any of them.

And that left . . . Vi.

Wait. That was it. “I can live with Vi!” Yes, yes, yes!

“You want to live with your friend Violet?” my dad asked.

“Yes!” I exclaimed. My ribs expanded as hope poured in. “I can move in with Vi.”

“You can’t live with a
friend
,” Penny said, emphasizing the word
friend
like I had said “family of anacondas.”

“Not just a friend,” I rushed to explain. “A friend and her mom.” This could work. It could really work. Vi had a funky house on Mississauga Island, right on Long Island Sound. From her living room windows you could see right onto the water.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to move in with another family,” my dad said. “And I doubt Vi’s mother would agree to it.”

Well, I didn’t think it was appropriate—or fair—for them to yank me out of school in the middle of my junior year. “Vi’s mom will be completely cool with it. Last year they volunteered to host an exchange student but it didn’t work out. Suzanne’s really laid back.”

Dad’s eyebrows went up.

“Not too laid-back,” I added quickly. “Plus, the basement is already set up like a bedroom. Has its own bathroom and everything. I could at least ask, couldn’t I? And then we could talk about it some more? We could at least consider it?”

Penny wrinkled her nose. “You want to move into a basement? Basements are cold and drafty.”

“I don’t mind.” A basement in Westport was better than any room in Cleveland.

“I don’t know,” Penny said, shaking her head.

It’s not up to you, I wanted to say but didn’t. I pointedly looked at my dad, and did my best to appear reasonable and mature. Speaking slowly, I said, “There’s no point in me moving all the way to Cleveland now. I have six months left of the year. Let me finish it here. At Hillsdale. I love Hillsdale. I’ll be fine at Vi’s. She’d love to have me.”

A furrow formed in Dad’s brow.

“Please?”

“But what about next year? Isn’t Vi a senior?” my dad asked.

“Let’s deal with this year first. If I have to move next year, I’ll move next year.” There was no way I was moving next year either. But who knew what the situation would be by then? Once upon a time I lived with my mother, father, and brother at 32 Oakbrook Road, but that had changed too. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll hate Cleveland and want to come back. Or maybe Vi will still be here next year.” Yeah, right. Vi had big plans and they involved colleges far, far away from Westport. “Can’t we try Vi’s for this semester? Please?” By the final
please
I had tears in my eyes and a quivering lip.

No one spoke.

I wasn’t sure what I expected. I kind of doubted they were actually going to let me move in with a friend.
I
wouldn’t have let me move in with a friend. When the pause continued, I thought I was done for.

“I guess we can talk to Violet’s mother,” my dad said at last.

I jumped out of my chair and threw my arms around him.

TINY COMPLICATION

I left two messages on Vi’s cell on Thursday night but she didn’t call me back. She was probably busy with some sort of party. We’re Jewish, so to me it was the Day Dad Told Me He Was Moving, but to the majority of the world it was Christmas. I hadn’t told her the details, only that I needed to talk to her.

She called me back Friday morning at eleven.

“Everything okay?” she asked. “I just called in for my messages. My mother borrowed my cell yesterday and can’t remember where she left it.”

I filled her in, then held my breath. What if after all this Vi didn’t want me there?

“Of course you can live with me! Of course my mom won’t mind! I absolutely cannot let you move to Cleveland! Hells no!”

Whoosh—I exhaled with relief.

“We’re going to be housemates!” she squealed.

I would have used the word
roommates
myself, but Vi was a
housemates
type of girl.
Housemate
sounded sophisticated.
Roommate
was for kids. Vi was also the type of girl who hated being called a “girl.” She was a woman, thank you very much. She drank wine, wore her hair in a short black bob, worked out every morning, edited the school paper, and read the
New York Times
daily. “Girl” would not do. Vi rocked.

Vi and I went to the same preschool. Back then the classes were mixed, three- and four-year-olds together. Vi and I bonded. Our moms bonded. Eventually Suzanne and my mom lost touch, but Vi and I stayed friends over the years even though we weren’t in the same grade, even though we didn’t run in the same crowds. Sometimes we overlapped—like the night of The Incident. But usually we stayed to our own social circles. We always stayed friends though.