The Battle of Darcy Lane (15 page)

Mom hit the gas and we were off. “Peter, do you have a cell phone?” she asked.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, and presented it as evidence. “Just got one.”

“See!” I was giddy.

She said, “One battle at a time, Julia,” and we all settled in for a quiet drive.

After saying good-bye to Peter in the driveway, I went up to the porch and saw a note taped to the door. I snatched it, unfolded it, and read it:
Saturday. 1:00 p.m. No excuses. Even if it's Armageddon.

“Pretty big word for a girl like Alyssa.” Mom was reading over my shoulder.

I turned and looked at her, shocked.

“Sorry,” Mom said. “That was mean.”

We started cracking up and couldn't stop.

The paint smell was officially
gone, so we moved the rest of my stuff in and started to wash my new sheets and bedspread. Too excited to do anything else, I sat in front of the washing machine, watching circles and bubbles go round and round, and thought through a whole game of Russia in my head.

When everything was dry, Mom and I put them all in place, and the whole room felt new and amazing. We hung the orange flower over the bed and both took a step back. I said, “I love it. But the dolls . . .” We'd moved them from my old room to a shelf in the new one. “They have to go.”

“But you
love
those dolls,” Mom said.

“
Loved
, Mom. When I was like five.”

“We'll box them up,” she said as she plopped down and had a look around. She seemed sad.

“Mom?” I said.

She looked up.

“Wendy said her mom thought you were going to have another baby, that this was going to be a baby's room.” We were in it now, no turning back.

“Oh, honey.” She grabbed my hand. “You've been wondering all this time? Why didn't you ask?”

“I'm asking now.”

She took a minute to think. “Your father and I had what people call a . . .” She stopped then started again. “We thought I was pregnant, but it was just for a week, and I actually wasn't. But when it was happening, I started getting excited about the idea—everything was so much simpler when you were a baby, and I guess I was thinking a lot about that—so we talked about maybe trying, but we're way too old. And we're fine about it. We're good.”

“I think I would have liked a little brother or sister.” I felt so sad, imagining a little baby to hold.

“I know it's hard sometimes. You feel like you're on your own. But your father and I, we love things just as they are. And the friend thing. It really does get easier, I swear.”

We joked about the idea of Dad changing diapers again, and then she left me alone on my circle-y bed in my
cool new room. I felt like big things could happen here. I tried to think ahead, another seventeen years, to imagine what things would be like when the cicadas came back. I'd be twenty-nine, so I'd probably only ever come back to sleep in this room when I was visiting my parents from wherever I lived.

It seemed crazy that it would ever happen.

The phone rang and I stiffened, and Mom called out that it was Taylor. I didn't even want to move to go talk to her, but I did anyway.

“I have something to tell you,” she said.

“What?”

“Alyssa and Peter are going to the movies together tonight. I thought you should know.”

“Thanks.” My face started to vibrate, like it might jump off my skull.

“That was all. I have to go.” She hung up.

I went to the mirror and looked at myself, but nothing appeared different even though it was.

I hated Alyssa and it felt good.

I hated Peter and it felt awful.

Mom seemed extra happy
that night. She smiled wide and more easily, and she talked about all these things
we should do come fall and winter, like apple-picking and ice-skating. She was already giddy about Christmas, and it was only August. I sat close to her while she talked about new decorations that we might get—like a new star topper for our tree—hoping some of it would rub off on me like glitter.

Then the phone rang and Mom picked it up and there was no one there. She hung up and said, “Wrong number,” but I could tell in her tone she wasn't convinced, and neither was I.

It rang and rang again and Mom answered once more, but there was no one there.

“Not this again,” Dad said, coming into the room.

The next time Mom just picked up the phone and hung it right back up without a word. “I'm going over there,” she said.

“Mom! No!” I said.

She looked expectantly at Dad.

“I have to side with Julia on this one.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed like he couldn't believe his misfortune at being stuck in the middle of all this. “You've met the girl's mother. You really think she's going to be open to having this conversation after the way she reacted to, well, you know?”

Mom's frustration at knowing he was right, I guess, came out as a deep, guttural scream. What had they even talked about that night?

The phone rang again. I picked it up and just held it to my ear, picturing Alyssa at the movie theater, maybe calling from the bathroom.

“Hello?” came a confused girl's voice. A familiar one.

My brain worked hard to figure it out. “Wendy?”

“Julia?” she said. “I called a second ago, but somebody hung up on me.”

“Sorry,” I said. “We've been getting some prank calls.”

I went out to the deck for some privacy as my parents started talking in the den. Call waiting signed another call, but I ignored it and asked Wendy about her vacation. She told stories about crab cakes and beaches and a big house on the ocean. “Sounds awesome,” I said.

“How was camp?” she asked.

“It's been great.” And I froze, thinking about the extra ticket. “I mean, it's been okay.”

“So what's the deal with the concert tomorrow?”

“Oh.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Let me ask my mom. I'll be right back.”

I put the phone down on the table and didn't move a muscle while I tried to think how to play this. The idea of Wendy coming to the concert and of having to introduce her to Laney made me mad. Why had Mom—who I could hear saying to Dad, “well, somebody has to do something about it”—invited her without even asking me? I pictured Wendy talking to Peter, who'd betrayed me, and thought I'd
be sick from jealousy. So I made some footstep sounds with my feet and made some muffling noises into my hand, and picked up the phone again. “You there?”

“Yeah.”

“My mom's
so sorry
but she totally forgot to get you a ticket. And they're not selling them at the door.”

“Oh.”

The silence was so painful that I wished for some cicadas to fill it, but they were officially gone. I heard a lone cricket croak, then said, “I'm really sorry.”

“No big deal,” she said. “We'll make plans soon, though, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.” I'd gotten away with it. “Okay, I have to go.”

“Okay, bye.”

I hit a button on the phone to end the call, and got up and turned to head inside. Mom was standing at the door. I had no idea for how long until I looked her in the eyes.

“I'm not impressed.” She turned off the outdoor lights.

“You invited her without asking me,” I said, lamely, in the dark.

“Don't even try to make this about me,” she said wearily and drifted back into the den.

I got an old notebook
out before going to bed and turned to a new page. I wrote down the names
Alyssa
and
Taylor
. But when I went to write things under them that I liked, I found myself writing words like
mean
and
disloyal
and
stuck up
instead.

On the next page, I wrote
Laney
, and wrote under it,
Awesome in every way
.

I wrote down
Peter
and had to think hard.

I wrote
smart
, then
funny
,
cute
,
understanding
.

I crossed those all out and wrote,
TRAITOR
.

Under Wendy, I wrote
smart
,
talented
,
happy
,
confident
,
nice
,
nice to me
.

Then I wrote
Julia
and the letters looked funny to me, like that couldn't possibly be a real word, a real name.

I wondered what words my friends might write under
me
.

20
.

We'd been told to wear
white shirts and black pants or skirts for the concert, which seemed silly in summer, but those were the rules. So I pulled out my lightest weight black skirt and a short-sleeved white top and got dressed. I spent some extra time on my hair, drying it with the blower, which I hadn't really done all summer, and making it curl under just right.

“You look gorgeous!” Laney said when she saw me, but I didn't feel gorgeous. I felt awful about everything.

Laney was wearing a black skort—!—and a white top with black suspenders. “And
you
can somehow pull off suspenders!” I said. “How is that even possible?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” She really had no idea how amazing she was. I didn't dare kill her mood with my drama.

The stage was all set up with the chairs arranged just so, and I stood there in the wings for a minute trying hard not to feel so lousy. I peeked out into the auditorium, which was filling up quickly, and that started to do the trick. Then a few notes played by people tuning their instruments rose up, making me excited and nervous at the same time. Which was silly. There was nothing to be nervous about. Even if I messed up, who'd even know but me? Still, it felt important.

To do a good job.

Since I'd gone and mucked things up good last night.