We Are the Goldens (13 page)

He and Julia disappeared into the kitchen, and Felix and I went down to the basement to Felix’s guy pad.

“He looks good,” I said.

“He always looks good. Like father like son. But, you know, he hasn’t started treatment yet, so …”

“When?”

“Soon. But first they have to make sure they know what they’re dealing with, like, is it only in this so-called adrenal cortex, or is it other places too?” He shook his head, then lowered the lights. “How ’bout we start with a classic? Bart versus Australia.”

“Season six. Episode sixteen.”

“God, how I love you.”

Just then Angel and Julia emerged with microwave s’mores, one of their specialties. “The flavor of camping without sacrificing the miracle of indoor plumbing,” Angel liked to say.

Julia handed Felix his plate. “Finally you admit what we’ve all known for years.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never hidden my love for Nell.”

I knew this was a joke, but still, I couldn’t keep from blushing, which amused and delighted Angel. He loves to embarrass me. Once, early in my friendship with Felix, I’d tried out some of my fifth-grade Spanish and responded that I was
embarazada
, which actually means “pregnant,” and now whenever I turn red Angel says, “Are you expecting?”

“Can Nell sleep over? We have, like, a thousand episodes to get through.”

“Of course. She’s always welcome,” Julia said. She took Angel’s hand and they started back up the basement stairs. “Just don’t stay up all night.”

“There. Done. You aren’t leaving.”

“I don’t know, Felix.”

“What?” He looked hurt. And of course I wanted to stay, but I wasn’t sure how to handle you and the lie we’d told Dad about going to the party. We’d planned to meet on the corner at 11:40 so we could walk in the door together, but I wasn’t about to ruin my night to protect your secret.

I texted you:
Staying at Felix’s. Tell Dad the party was lame
.

In the middle of our third episode, the one where Homer and Marge tell the story of how they first met and fell in love, my phone rang. It was midnight.

Dad was pissed.

“I’m standing here with your sister and I’m noticing that you’re not here with her.”

“I know. I’m at Felix’s. I’m going to stay here tonight.”

“Is that so?”

Dad loves Felix. He loves Felix’s parents. He never minds when we have sleepovers.

“What’s the problem?”

“The problem, Nell, is that you wanted to go to a party with your sister, and against my better judgment I let you go, and then you fail to show up at the appointed hour, and I can’t help but wonder why.”

“Because … I went home with Felix.”

“Are you drunk? Did you take any drugs?”

“What?”

“Let me talk to Angel or Julia. Are they home?”

“Of course they’re home. Dad. Why are you being such a prick?”

I regretted it as soon as I said it. Dad is pretty loose about language, except when it’s directed at him.

“Okay. That’s it. I’m coming to get you.”

“Dad. What did Layla tell you?”

“She said you thought the party was
lame
, which, by the way, is a word I’d like to see eradicated from both of your vocabularies. She said you left early with Felix.”

“Dad.” My eyes were stinging with tears. I felt six years old. I wanted to shout,
This isn’t fair
. I wanted to shout,
I’m the good one
. I wanted to shout,
Punish her, not me
.

“I’ll be there in five. Be ready.”

Felix waited out on the steps with me. I’d started crying when I’d hung up and was doing my best to rein it in before Dad arrived. It was freezing. I sat one step down from Felix, in between his knees. He ran his hands up and down the sleeves of my denim jacket, but I couldn’t stop shivering.

“Sorry this night has been such a big sack of poo.”

I sniffled. “You’re such a poet.”

“First the man of your dreams stands you up, and then your dad starts acting like it’s his time of the month.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Usually he’s so chill. At least with me.”

“I guess I should have asked him if I could sleep over.”

“Can’t hurt to ask.”

Dad pulled up in his Porsche, and for the first time I thought he looked ridiculous in it. He looked the opposite of cool. He looked old and bald. And angry.

“Get in.” And then, “Hi, Felix.”

“Hi, Matthew.”

“Say hello to your folks for me.”

“They’re sleeping.”

“Well, then say hello in the morning.”

We drove off without speaking a word to each other. I think you should know that in that silence I seriously considered telling Dad everything.

“You’re only fifteen,” he finally said. “I know you want nothing more than to be treated like an adult, but I can’t treat you like an adult because you’re my child, and I especially can’t treat you like an adult when you change the rules without consulting me. You promised to be home at eleven-forty-five and you weren’t. Case closed.”

“Case closed?” I hate when Dad pulls his lawyer crap on me.

“Look, I worry about you, okay?”

“I guess I should have called.”

“Of course you should have called.”

“But you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Yes, I do.”

I tried again. “You don’t need to worry about
me
.”

“Yes, I do.”

I’m sure you were confused when I came home and went to my room and wouldn’t talk to you. I was so angry. Everything felt so
unfair
. We were watching
cartoons
! Eating
s’mores
! How can you get more wholesome than that?

You knocked, you rattled the knob, but I wouldn’t undo the lock. You pounded.

Let her in
, Duncan said.
She probably wants to apologize
.

Let her in
, Parker said,
and tell her how much it hurts that Sam didn’t show up
.

More pounding.

You don’t feel like yourself when you’re mad at Layla or when she’s mad at you. Let her in. You need her
.

I didn’t need you. I had the Creed brothers.

They looked at each other and then at me.

But … we’re not real
.

YOU KNOW THAT POSTER IN
the science lab? Albert Einstein with the quote
The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once
. I’m not sure Einstein actually said this—maybe it just looks good under a picture of him with his insane hair—but I wanted to tell Einstein that sometimes time is of no use.

Everything in the world was happening at once. Every clock was ticking. Every radio station was playing. Someone had turned up the speed on the treadmill while I was still trying to walk.

The play was opening in four days. We were in the middle of finals. And you’d all but disappeared: always out, busy, lying to Mom and Dad. Like that time I convinced Mom you didn’t mutter
bitch
, I covered for you, helped maintain the fiction that you were just working hard at school.

And, of course, there was Sam.

After our Goldsworthy trek, after asking me if I was going to be at the party, after rubbing my hip bone with his thumb, he barely acknowledged me.

“You said ‘the play’s the thing,’ ” I whispered to Felix. “But guess what? The play is this weekend and Sam is already over me. My window has closed. On my fingers.”

We were sitting in the back of the theater, watching Sam. The scene where he tells Ophelia “Get thee to a nunnery,” one of the only original lines Ms. Eisenstein kept in the play, before walking offstage and leaving her all alone. I knew exactly how Ophelia must have felt.

“Maybe he’s just distracted. He has like a thousand lines. And he’s a junior, so his grades actually count. Plus the tights might be cutting off oxygen to his brain.”

“I’m supposed
to be
the distraction,” I whined.

“I find you distracting,” Felix said. “Like a fly or a gnat.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He knocked me on the chin. “Buck up. There’s the cast party coming up. And it’s at his house, so he has to show.”

All this work. For three performances. Friday night, Saturday matinee, Saturday night. It hardly felt worth it. Especially for the five lines I had, two of which were only one word.

I guess I was sitting in the auditorium that day coming to terms with what the sensible part of me already knew—that life is a long series of anticlimaxes. Starting high school? Soccer finals? School play? Sam’s thumb on my hip bone? So when the final performance of the play rolled around—I guess the joke was on me.

Every movie I’d seen, book I’d read, or bad made-for-TV movie I’d watched about a school play went something like this:

The heroine’s life changes on the night of the play in one of the following ways.

A. The lead actress falls suddenly ill, so the heroine gets to live out her dream of being a star
.

B. The shy heroine opens her mouth and sings like an angel when before she could only croak like a frog
.

C. The boy the heroine adores finally confesses his love
.

And it always ends with a standing ovation.

Well, Isabella Jones didn’t fall suddenly ill, and anyway, I wasn’t Ophelia’s understudy. I can’t sing; plus this
Hamlet
isn’t a musical. You’d know these things if you’d been there on Saturday night.

But you weren’t.

Maybe it’s unfair of me to be upset. After all, you did come on opening night, but lots of people’s families came to all three performances.

Anyway, that leaves the evening with only one other cliché:

C. The boy the heroine adores finally confesses his love
.

The play went off without a hitch. Felix got the biggest laugh of the night. There was thunderous applause but no standing ovation unless you count Hugh Feldman, who stood up to cheer for his girlfriend, Ava Price.

Backstage there was a ton of hugging and high fives and bouquets flying this way and that. There was sweat and smeared makeup and some serious BO. It was exciting. Exhilarating. Democratizing—it didn’t seem to matter what
part you played, how many lines you had, the fun was equal opportunity.

And: Sam kissed me on the lips.

To be totally honest, I could have been anyone. He spun me around and planted one—quick and delicious—then turned and threw an arm around Austin Baker’s neck, pulling him in for a noogie.

Dad and Sonia were there. Mom made the matinee. Maybe it would have been less disappointing if you’d just told me you had no intention of coming, but you said you’d
try
.

Backstage cleared quickly, the odor retreating with the cast. Everyone had gone to the lobby to find their friends and family, and I suddenly realized that I didn’t know where or when the party started or how I was going to get there.

But then I found Felix with Angel and Julia, Dad and Sonia. Thank God for Felix. I should make a bumper sticker and a T-shirt and maybe get it tattooed on my wrist.
Thank God for Felix
.

“You made everyone laugh,” I said. “That’s not easy to do. You did it. You brought your flair.”

He turned to Dad. “There’s a cast party downtown. Can I take Nell with me? And would it be okay if she slept over after so that I don’t have to worry about her getting home safely?”

“Of course.” Dad looked at me.
See? I can be reasonable. All you have to do is ask
.

“Thanks, Dad.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then, because I was still on a high from the play and feeling generous, I kissed Sonia too.

Angel and Julia drove us to Sam’s party. We stopped first at the new retro burger place and slipped into a red vinyl booth. I ordered mine without onions or pickles.

“You love onions,” Felix said.

“Not really.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Someone has big plans tonight.”

I turned red. Angel smiled a half smile at me. “Look at Nell. She’s expecting again!”

Our burgers came to the table. Five for the four of us. Angel took the extra one, cut it in fours, put it in the middle. “Table burger!”

Angel ate his burger and the extra all on his own. Felix and I shared a smile. He had his appetite. That could only be counted as a good sign. I crossed my fingers under the table and made a wish for his adrenal cortex—that the spot lived there and only there.

Do you ever have those moments, Layla, when you know you’re supposed to be enjoying yourself? When you tell yourself you’re happy, having fun, but there’s something gnawing at you? I guess that pretty much describes my life since I started to understand what was happening with you. I sat in that cool new burger joint, surrounded by people I love, while this monologue ran in my head:

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Life is good. Life is great. You’re on your way to a party with the boy you adore, who just kissed you on the lips. Don’t think about Angel and the spots. Don’t think about Layla and what she’s doing. Life is good. You are with your best friend. On your way to a party. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it
.