The New Normal (12 page)

thirteen

The next day when I was at my locker between second and third period, getting my biology textbook, Eric Gaines tapped me on the shoulder. Eric is a semipopular grade twelve. He's on the rugby team and writes the sports column in our school paper. He sometimes says hello to me in the halls, I think because he hung around with my sisters. Eric is taller than any of the teachers. He has thick, charcoal-colored hair and his skin always looks tanned. He's what my mom would call big-boned. Solid, not fat.

“How's it going, Tamar?” He leaned against the locker beside mine.

“Oh, hey, Eric. What's up?”

“I was wondering…do you, uh, do you want to go to prom with me?” His ink-black eyes darted from my face to my feet and back again. He smiled, displaying a mouth full of teeth as white and square as Chiclets.

There was what you could call a pregnant pause as I considered the implications of his question. He stared down at me, mouth slightly agape, eyes shimmering with what looked like hope. I heard the voices of my sisters yelling in the back of my head,
“Yes. Yes
!
YES
!
Say yes, you moron
!!!
”

“Um, okay. Sure.”

“Yeah?” His dark eyes gleamed like two polished stones.

“Yeah.”

“That's great! I'll pick you up tomorrow night at eight, okay?”

“Okay.”

“See ya!” Then he hurtled away.

I stuck my face into the cool darkness of my locker and waited for my crimson blush to subside. I grinned into the sleeve of my coat. I knew it was cheesy and totally overrated, but I couldn't help being a teensy bit excited. I was going to prom!

I ran home after school and ransacked my mom's and my sisters' closets for a suitable dress to wear to the prom. I settled on a floor-length black dress of Mom's with a slit up the side. It had rhinestone spaghetti straps and tiny sparkles running through it. I tried it on in the parents' room in front of their full-length mirror. I looked slender, leggy and, as Mom would say, busty, if only a little. I found a rhinestone choker in her jewelry box that matched perfectly. The only thing left was to decide what to do with my hair—or lack of hair, as it were. I tried on the black dragon scarf, but it didn't seem formal enough for a prom. I could wear my wig, but I felt so fake and weird about it now. What if I just went with a naked head? Could I do that? Should I?

I tried it out. I looked at myself from every angle.
It certainly was…striking…daring, even. I would be the only
bald eagle at the prom. That was…unique. But could I really
do it? Could I pull it off? “
Maybe with some bright
red lipstick
,”
I heard Abby say. “
And some black eyeliner
,” Alia added.

The phone shrilled and I grabbed it before it could ring again. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Hey, Roy.”

“Tamar?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you be my prom date?”

My heart hurled itself against my chest like a caged bird. “I'd love to—”

“Cool.”

“But I can't.”

“Oh.”

“Someone else already asked me.”

“I see.”

I could hear the disappointment in his voice, and I felt like yelling into the phone, “
Why didn't you ask me sooner, you stupid idiot?
”

“Well, have a good time then.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, Roy.”

I listened as he hung up, and then I belly flopped on the parents' bed and screamed into a pillow.

On Friday I couldn't hear any of my teachers. Their mouths were moving, but all I heard was, “Okay class, blah blah blah. And blah blah blah you know your blah will be coming up soon. So blah blah blah…” Paper airplanes were zooming around in my stomach all day. In rehearsal I screwed up a couple of lines, and it threw everyone off. It was embarrassing. But Cole Benson didn't even know all his lines yet and still had to call out “LINE!” for prompts all the time, so I didn't feel that bad about it.

Ms. Jane let us go early. She said our energy was through the roof but so scattered that we were useless.

“FOCUS, PEOPLE! That's your homework. I want you to go home and think about focus. What it means to really”—she put her hands to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut, took a big breath in and let out a huge, long, noisy breath through her nostrils—“
focus
.”

We all left the theater, chattering and giddy. Outside, it was raining lions and tigers and bears (Oh my).

Scott McKinnon walked me home, and I was grateful because he shared his umbrella.

“So my manager should be giving you a call this weekend,” Scott said.

“Wow, that's great. Thank you so much.”

“No problem.”

I sidestepped a puddle. Scott walked right through it.

“Would you want to go to prom with me tonight, Tamar? As friends, obviously.”

My belly did a backflip and I tried to keep my face composed.
Damn, damn, double damn
. “I'd really like to Scott, but I've already said yes to someone else.”

“Oh yeah, that figures.”

“Thanks for asking me though.”

“I just thought it could be fun, that's all. I haven't danced in a while.”

I nodded.

“Do you like to dance?”

“I don't know. It's been a few years. I probably shouldn't do it in public.”

He laughed. “Every Wednesday is salsa night at the Rose and Bull.”

“Yeah?”

“You should come with me sometime.”

I smiled. His hair looked good wet. “I'd like that,” I said.

I had a vision of me in a ruffly red salsa dress with my naked head, and Scott with a rose clenched between his teeth. I had to suppress my laughter.

“Well, I guess I'll see you on Monday then.”

“Thanks for sharing your umbrella.”

“Anytime.” He spun on his heel and sauntered away. I watched his black umbrella bobbing up and down all the way to the end of my street, until he turned the corner. I wondered if he would always be with guys now or if he would make exceptions.

I heated up one of Mom's lasagnas for dinner. No one could make a lasagna as good as my mom's. No one. I flipped the calendar page over. She had been gone two weeks. Neither Dad nor I had heard from her since she'd left. Not a postcard, not a collect call, nothing. I guess they didn't allow contact with the outside world at her
ass
ram. That would be the only logical explanation.

“Dad! Dinner's ready!”

We were going to eat at the kitchen table like a proper family. Because I didn't want lasagna all over my lap, because
TV
rots your brain and dulls your eyes, because…because it was prom night, damn it. Dad sat down in his usual chair and I set a glass of milk down beside his plate. His eyes were bleary, and his hands had little red slashes all over them from his can cutting. We began to eat without saying grace, which still seemed strange to me.

“Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think Mom's coming back?”

He set down his fork, swallowed and wiped at the sides of his mouth with his napkin. “I have no reason to believe otherwise,” he said.

I nodded and we finished the meal in silence.

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I do.”

He looked at the calendar on the wall. “Is it March already?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she'll be back soon then.”

“What if they brainwashed her?”

He smiled. “I think it was a little late for that, don't you?”

We both had a small laugh.

“It's a special night tonight, Dad.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“I'm going to prom.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Well, that's fantastic, T. Who's the lucky fella?”

“His name is Eric Gaines. He's on the rugby team and he writes for the school paper.”

“Wonderful.”

“But get this…”

He leaned in.

“I was also asked by two other guys.”

“Of course you were. You're probably the prettiest girl in school.”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes.

“I
know
you're the smartest.”

“
Dad
!”

“So, how did you make your decision?”

“Well, Eric asked me first and I said yes, and then the other guys asked me later, so I couldn't go back on my word.”

“They must have been devastated.”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, I guess the early bird catches the worm, as they say.”

“Are you calling me a worm?”

“I meant worm as in caterpillar, and caterpillar as in butterfly. Beautiful, elegant, graceful butterfly.”

“Nice save, Dad.”

“Will Eric be driving?”

“No, we'll probably walk.”

“But it's pissing rain out there!”

“Okay, we'll drive then.”

“And how old is Eric?”

“Um, twenty?”

“And still in high school? He must be a real dummy. I don't want my daughter going out with some dummy.”

“Arrrgh! Okay, he's eighteen, but you have to let me ride in his car to prom! It's only a few blocks away.”

“I'll think about it.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Whatever. I have to go get ready.” I ran upstairs and showered and scrubbed my head with the loofah. Tonight would
be my head's big debut, and I wanted it to be clean and shiny.
I smoothed lotion over my scalp and face. I put on some black eyeliner and then carefully drew the two dark arches of my eyebrows. I glued on my eyelashes. I actually saved a lot of time not having to shave, wax, trim, tweeze, shampoo, condi
tion, blow-dry or style. Being bald was probably going to save me thousands of hours a year. I slipped into Mom's black dress
and fastened the glittery necklace, then looked at myself in the parents' full-length mirror. Something was missing.

Lipstick.

I went into Abby's room and found a tube of brilliant red lipstick called Bleeding Heart. I put it on.

“Perfect,”
I heard Abby say.

I smiled into the mirror. She was right: red lipstick really pulled it all together. I tucked the lipstick into my purse in case I needed a touch-up during the night. It didn't creep me out this time that Abby had been the last person to wear it. It was kind of special, in a way, kind of nice.

I stood in front of the mirror again. The naked head was a shock even to me, but I couldn't wait to see the looks on everyone's faces when I waltzed in with it exposed. It was going to make for a memorable evening, that's for sure.

I went downstairs to sit with Dad while I waited for Eric to arrive.

He reached for his crutches and stood up when I came into the room. “Tamar! You look…stunning.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“So, you're not wearing your…”

“Nope.”

“Wow.”

“Well, you know what they say: hair today, gone tomorrow.”

He smiled. “That's a bold move, T.”

“Don't you mean a
bald
move?”

“You're, like, the bald and the beautiful!”

“I could have my own show!”

“To baldly go where no one has gone before!”

“Yeah!”

“Fortune favors the bald!”

“That's right!”

“Bald as love!”

“B-A-L-D! Tell me what you'll give to me!”

“B-A-L-D! Super beauty you can see!”

“Bald and courageous!” I threw up my arms and we both collapsed onto the couch in a fit of laughter.

Eight o'clock came, and I caught myself tapping my foot and looking at the front door every two seconds.

Then it was eight ten.

Eight fifteen.

Eight twenty.

I could feel my dad staring at me during a commercial break.

“He probably just wants to be fashionably late,” I said.

Dad nodded and turned back to the
TV
.

I went to the bathroom. I figured by the time I came out, Eric would be there, standing on the front doormat, introducing himself to my dad, apologizing for being late. Maybe he would even have a corsage for me. I put on my best smile to greet him and went out.

He wasn't there.

At eight thirty my dad said, “Do you have his phone number?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should call directory assistance.”

“He's probably just running late, Dad. Relax.”

He shrugged and turned back to
Xena: Warrior Princess
.

I went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. Then I had another one. Then I made some tea. It was eight forty-five.

“You had better call him, T. Something could have happened. He could have crashed his car on his way over here.”

I rolled my eyes. “If he's not here by nine, I'll call.”

“Up to you.”

I went to check the answering machine to see if there was a message from Eric. There was a flashing red light on the display. I held my breath and pressed
Play
. The person had hung up without saying anything. I dialed *-
6
-
9
to find out who had called. I didn't recognize the number but called it anyway. There was no answer. I let it ring about a thousand times. Then I hung up and dialed
4-1-1
. The operator gave me three numbers for Gaines. None of the numbers matched the one *
69
had given me. I tried the first one, but there was no one there named Eric. I tried the second one and there was no answer. I tried the third one and it was busy. I didn't know what to do. I went back into the living room and sat on the couch and watched the clock on the wall while my dad tried to find a good movie on
TV
. After five minutes I went back to the phone and tried the third number again. Still busy. I tried the second number. I let it ring a thousand times. It was nine twenty-eight. I went back to the living room and slumped against the couch.