Blue Eyes and Other Teenage Hazards (4 page)

“You’re telling me.”

Mom paused, then glanced up at me again. “I talked to Rachel Taylor today, and she told me some things about Elise. It seems she got expelled in California. She and some of her friends vandalized their school. The police were involved.”

“Oh,” I said. That must be what Samantha knew. She was keeping her distance because she thought Elise was one of those kids who would constantly be in trouble. Maybe she was right.

I went up to my room to do homework. I usually did my homework right after school. That way the information was still fresh in my mind and I could do a better job. Besides, I liked having it out of the way so I had time to do whatever I wanted in the evening.

Only with Anjie gone, I didn’t have much to do in the evening.

As I did my homework today, I kept thinking about the things Elise had said. She was wrong, I told myself. Clearly wrong. Expelled wrong. So why did her accusations keep running through my mind?

I didn’t care about my grades too much. It was normal, wasn’t it, to do homework right after school?

Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe I’d never have another best friend because I didn’t socialize enough. First I’d start talking to myself, then to the cat, and before long I’d be communicating with people through the great beyond.

When I got to my English homework, I flipped through The Works of Shakespeare to decide which characters to compare and contrast to Macbeth. Last year we studied Othel o, Hamlet, Romeo, and Julius Caesar. They’d all died hideous deaths, which meant either Shakespeare or Mrs. Harris liked to see men in misery and ruin.

I chose Othel o because he would be easy to compare to Macbeth. They were both power hungry leaders with trust issues.

Since it was an easy comparison, I was clearly not jumping through any hoops. I could have chosen Romeo, who would have been more difficult. Romeo’s downfal had been love and rashness and a complete inability to communicate with Juliet about important issues such as faking one’s own death.

When you thought about it, a lot of Shakespeare’s characters had communication problems. I flipped through some more pages, wondering if that was a dramatic device or if it was an underlying theme of Shakespeare’s work. Maybe it said something about his personality.

Now that would be an interesting paper—a psychoanalysis of Shakespeare using his plays and sonnets to decipher his personality. I didn’t have time for that sort of research before this assignment was due, but I could do it someday. Maybe in college.

I was estimating how long it would take to read the complete Works of Shakespeare and simultaneously wondering if the fact that I was thinking about reading more Shakespeare meant I was hopelessly boring, when Mom called, “Cassidy, someone is here to see you.” I knew it was Elise. Who else would have shown up at my house instead of calling my cell phone? I wondered if she had come to apologize or just to ask me where she could find a place to buy liquor.

I slowly left my room. I didn’t want to see her.

When I reached the staircase, I saw Mom talking with someone downstairs. Two steps later I saw that it wasn’t Elise. It was Josh.

He was looking at some of Mom’s paintings on the wall but turned when he heard me coming down the stairs. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Well,” Mom said with forced cheer, “I think I’ll go start dinner now.” It was an obvious exit and made me feel even more awkward. I tried not to blush.

Josh gazed at me hesitantly. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure.” I walked into our living room and sat down on the couch.

He sat down on the loveseat beside me. He leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “Look, I’m sorry about the way Elise acted on the way home.”

“It wasn’t you’re fault. Why should you apologize?”

He hesitated. I could tell he was debating what to say. “You wouldn’t know it now, but Elise was a straight-A student from kindergarten through junior high. She’s got an IQ that would let her run for Mensa president. But last year she got in with a bad crowd—a jerk of a boyfriend and a bunch of dimwit fashionistas who were always skipping school to get wasted. It’s one of the reasons my parents moved here. A fresh start and all that.” His blue eyes fixed on mine earnestly. “She needs good friends, and I can tell you’d be that for her.” It wasn’t a question, and yet it was. He was waiting for my answer.

“I don’t think she wants to be my friend,” I said.

“She doesn’t know what she wants right now . . . well, except to bother my parents. She’s pretty clear about that goal.” He tapped his hand absentmindedly against his armrest. “I’m the one who had to move during his senior year, but the way she carries on you’d think it was the other way around.”

I felt a tug of sympathy for him then. It would be hard to start at a new school your senior year, especially if one of the reasons you moved was that your younger sister had been expelled from your last high school. Most guys would be angry at their sister for that, but Josh was here in my living room trying to convince me to be Elise’s friend.

Sitting across from him, I noticed for the first time what a pretty shade of blue his eyes were. Bright blue. Almost like Chad’s.

“She’s actually fun,” Josh said, “when she’s not drunk or angry.”

“What percentage of the time is that?”

He let out a chuckle. “Do you want an estimate or empirical data?”

Empirical. I didn’t know what the word meant, so I couldn’t answer. Which bothered me. Vocabulary was one of the things they tested on the SATs. I definitely needed to read more Shakespeare.

“Look,” Josh said, “would you give Elise another chance? Just let her know you’re still willing to be her friend?” I hesitated. I didn’t want more car trips like the one this afternoon. And our first meeting where Elise had let her gigantic dog sit on me—yeah, I could do without that sort of thing too. The rational response would be to tell Josh that I wished Elise the best, but we were obviously too different to be friends.

I didn’t say those words though. Maybe it was thoughts of Anjie struggling to fit in at her new school. Maybe I saw a little bit of myself in Elise. Or maybe I just didn’t want to see a good IQ go to waste. I let out a deep breath and said, “Okay.” Josh smiled. “Great. Can I pick you up tomorrow for school?”

“Sure.”

“Can I pick you up at the bus stop so Elise doesn’t know I’ve talked with you?”

“What if she doesn’t want you to pick me up tomorrow?”

“She will.” He got up, and sent me another smile. “Thanks, Cassidy. See you later.”

“See you.” I walked him to the door.

Within seconds my mother poked around the corner. “Who was that guy?”

“Josh. He’s Elise’s brother.”

“Is he psychotic too?”

“I don’t think so.”

Mom peered out the blinds and watched Josh walking down the sidewalk toward his house. “He looks old. How old is he?”

“He’s a senior.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “Mmm-hmm.”

“It’s not what you think. He just came over to talk to me about Elise. He wants me to give her a second chance.”

“Does he know you’re only a sophomore?”

“I don’t think it matters to him.”

Mom turned back to me. “Well, it matters to me. I don’t think it’s a good idea to date a guy who’s eighteen.”

“Then you shouldn’t date him,” I said, heading up the stairs. “I fully support that decision.”

“Very funny,” Mom said, and went back to looking out the blinds.

This was not the end of the discussion though. While I helped make dinner, she kept making little dating comments like, “Standards are more important than looks when you choose a boyfriend,” and “You know, it would be better if you dated boys your own age; then you’d be on the same experience level.”

Most of the boys my age had passed my “experience level” sometime around the seventh grade. I didn’t tell Mom that, though. It would have only made her panic.

At dinner Mom told Dad about Josh’s visit. “A boy came to see Cassidy today.”

“It wasn’t a real boy,” I said.

“He wasn’t a real boy?” Dad asked.

“No, I mean he didn’t actually come to see me.”

Mom prodded at things on her plate. “He certainly didn’t come to see me.”

“It was only Elise’s brother. He came to talk to me about Elise.”

“He’s a senior,” Mom told Dad, “and very handsome.” The way she said it, handsome sounded like a character flaw.

Dad cut into his lasagna and let out a disapproving grunt. “Perhaps we need get to know him better.”

“No, you don’t,” I said firmly. “I don’t want you saying anything to him. You’ll embarrass me.” Mom stopped eating. “We won’t embarrass you. We know how to make casual conversation with your friends.”

“You’ll embarrass me.”

“Ohhh,” Dad said. He sounded like Sherlock Holmes discovering something.

I put down my fork. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You must really like this boy if you’re so concerned about us talking to him.”

“I can’t believe this,” I said. “He was here for five minutes, and you’re acting like I’m going to run off with him. When I do start dating, I’m never bringing any guys here.” I picked up my fork and stabbed my lasagna with it. I didn’t take my eyes off my plate, but I could tell my parents were exchanging exasperated looks.

Dad changed the subject and talked about work. Mom made remarks every once in a while. I finished dinner in silence.

Before I went to sleep, Mom came in to talk to me. She sat down on the side of my bed like she’d done when I was a little girl and she’d told me bedtime stories. “I’m sorry about dinner,” she said. “I guess I’m not quite ready for you to grow up.”

“Look on the bright side. I might never get asked out.”

“Yes, you will. You’re beautiful, intelligent, and talented.” She stroked my hair and sighed. “Soon you’ll be busy keeping the herds of boys away.”

“No, I won’t. That’s your job.”

“And I’ll do it with great diligence.”

“Mom, he really did come to talk about Elise.” I don’t know why I told her that again. Perhaps it was because I didn’t want her to be disappointed when Josh never showed up again. Maybe it was because I wanted her to convince me otherwise. But she didn’t. She just kissed me and said goodnight.

I was nervous the next day at the bus stop. I almost hoped Josh and Elise wouldn’t come. What would I say to Elise? “Hi there. Ready for another day of Honors English?” Or perhaps, “How’s your sense of wonder this morning?” The only thing I could do was hope she said something to me first.

I’d begun to think I would end up riding the bus after all when Josh pulled up.

Elise opened her window. “Hey, do you want a ride?”

“Sure.” I climbed into the back seat.

No one said anything for a minute. The quiet panicked me. I could picture the whole long, silent ride to school.

I was developing a healthy aversion to Nissans, when Elise finally spoke. “I’m sorry I laid into you yesterday. It’s just . . . I’m the type of person who wants to experience life instead of listening to teachers tell me about it. Carpe diem. Seize the day.”

“Right,” Josh said. “The way you live life, what you mostly experience is detentions and hangovers. Why don’t you try seizing something else for a while?”

Elise rolled her eyes. “That was today’s motivational quote, brought to you by HolierThanThou.com.” Elise and Josh were obviously not having one of their better days together.

I looked out the windows longingly.

Elise turned back toward me and went on, “Anyway, I’m sorry about yesterday. I want to be your friend, but I have to warn you that I’m not some straight-laced scholar like the rest of your friends. I don’t want to sit around and discuss quantum physics or Machiavel i. Life is too short for that crap.”

I didn’t know what to say. All I could think about was what a waste it was. Elise had a Mensa IQ and she was shrugging off school—shrugging off learning—like it meant nothing, like that kind of intelligence wasn’t a gift. I knew I was smart, but those shiny new As on my report cards had come through hard work. They’d come through long nights of studying when it would have been easier to watch TV.

“You’re selling yourself short,” I said. “You need to think about your future.”

“I am,” Elise replied glibly. “I plan to be partying in the future too.”

Josh shifted his gaze to her, disapproving. “You’ll be living it up with all the other alcoholics at the homeless shelter.” Elise waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “And you’ll be boxed up in a cubicle, crunching little numbers for a living. Which is worse?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “While I’m in Hawaii for two weeks of paid vacation, you’ll be in detox.” Elise sat back in her seat with a frustrated thud. “I’ll get a degree and job eventually. Which is all the more reason to have fun now. School and work—it’s all drudgery. It’s being a cog in a machine that makes money for someone else.”

“I don’t like every class,” I said, “but you have to take the good with the bad.” I leaned toward her, trying to connect to a part of her that I knew was there somewhere. “Haven’t you ever learned something that made you feel like your mind had physically expanded—that you became more—

just because you understood something new?”

For a moment I saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, and then it was gone—pushed away. “If school makes you happy, great. Spit out as many assignments as your teacher asks for. But getting good grades never won me friends, increased my popularity, or gave me something to do on Saturday nights. So I’d appreciate it if everyone would let me live my own life instead of trying to make me live theirs.” Josh shook his head, resigned, and turned on the radio. He flipped through the stations without saying anything else. Elise took out her cell phone and read through text messages. I went back to looking out the window and wondered how many times Josh planned on picking me up in the morning.

I mentally compiled a list of excuses to get out of this new ritual: I was sick, running late, had to go to school early for tutoring. Better yet—I had to log more time driving for my learner’s permit, so I needed to drive to school with my mom every morning. Mom would probably agree to it. All I had to do was tell her I had a massive crush on Josh and then ask her how long I should know a guy before it was okay to French kiss him. She’d be falling over herself to get me out of his car.

“Get this,” Elise said, scowling at her phone. “Bell a hooked up with Carter.” Josh pulled onto the street that led to the high school. “Is that Isabel or Isn’tabell? I could never keep track of the Bell as.”

“Bell a Rogers,” Elise said. “The slut.”

As though interpreting for me, Josh said, “Carter was Elise’s boyfriend. Bell a Rogers—Isn’tabel to me—was one of Elise’s loyal friends that she was distraught about leaving behind.”

Elise kept staring at her phone’s screen. “I’ve been gone for what—twenty minutes?”

“Maybe it’s just gossip,” I said.

Elise flashed her phone at me. The picture on the screen showed a girl in a bikini top lip-locked with a bronzed, shirtless guy.

“Oh,” I said. “I guess not.”

Elise turned back in her seat and began texting with much more force than the process required. She muttered as she did this, and despite all the flack she’d given school, she had a thesaurus full of synonyms for the word slut.

* * *

I wasn’t sure how much Carter had meant to her. She hadn’t seemed too attached to her boyfriend when she’d ogled Chad yesterday. But then, to see your friend kissing your boyfriend—and kissing him out in public where people could snap photos and send them to you—ouch. Low blow.

Hall mark should make sympathy cards for those sorts of occasions.

I hadn’t expected to see Elise in English, either, but she was already sitting at her table, speed-reading Macbeth, when I came in.

I walked over. “How’s it going?”

She didn’t look up. “I’m mired in Macbeth. That pretty much says it all.”

“We missed you at lunch. Are you hungry?” It was completely juvenile, but I was fishing to see whether she’d skipped out or found someone more worthy to sit with.

She flipped over a page. “Josh took me out. I had three McDonald’s hot fudge sundaes.”

“Sounds better than cafeteria food.”

“Yeah.” She flipped another page, still skimming.

“Your brother is really nice.” I had already upgraded him from a nine to a nine and a half. And then, because I didn’t want her to think I had a thing for him, I added, “It makes me wish I had a brother.”

“There are days when I would gladly rent him out.” She glanced up at me for the first time. “But I guess not today.” Chapter 6

Samantha Taylor’s mom was not only involved in her daughter’s school activities, but also in all sorts of community boards, activities and fundraisers. I figured she planned on running for something someday—mayor or senator or Mother of the Year—and wanted a resume that would put every other candidate to shame. This wouldn’t have mattered to me, except that our mothers were friends, so I often got dragged into projects right alongside my mother.

Last month, we went over to the Taylor’s house with a bunch of other women to tie quilts for a homeless shelter in Seattle. I had pointed out to my mother that the homeless people would be just as happy with a quilt we bought at a department store, but she made me go anyway. For my mother, these projects were as much about socializing with the neighbors as they were about getting anything done.

This might not have been so bad if Samantha and I were still friends, but we weren’t. Mrs. Taylor either didn’t know or didn’t want to accept this fact. She was always directing me to where Samantha and her friends were, as though they would be glad to see me. It was awkward.

On Wednesday after dinner, Mrs. Taylor, my mom, and a dozen other women were going over to a caterer’s to use their kitchen to make and freeze fifteen-hundred cookies for the homecoming dance. This way the school could keep the price of the dance down. Baking probably would have been fun, but I wasn’t doing that. My mother volunteered me to babysit the kids of the women who were baking. Mrs. Taylor was having a craft session at her house so the kids could have fun too. I wanted to point out that it was for this exact reason that God had given children two parents—

so that dads could watch children while their wives were out doing things—but it wouldn’t have done any good. Mom hadn’t let me buy a quilt so I could skip out on making one from scratch. I knew she wouldn’t let me go AWOL on babysitting. I was just glad that Mrs. Taylor had invited Mrs.

Benson to help make cookies, because Mrs. Benson had volunteered Elise to babysit too. Otherwise I would have been stuck all night with Samantha and her evil cheerleading twin, Chelsea.

Elise and I walked over to the Taylor’s together, slowly strolling down the street. Autumn had reached the trees, and orange leaves scattered around our feet. When I was little I loved seeing the trees like this, dressed up in fancy colors. I still liked them, but I couldn’t forget that this spurt of sunset colors meant that winter was coming. Months of cold weather, gray skies, and trees that looked like skeletal hands reaching out from the ground.

Elise had been upbeat all day—a fake kind of upbeat that meant she was refusing to let herself think about Carter and whichever of the Bell as had stolen her boyfriend. But now, Elise wasn’t even trying to sound happy. “I can’t believe my mother said I would do this. Like I don’t do enough free babysitting as it is. I swear, there must be some sign on my shirt that says ‘This girl is a professional nose-wiper.’”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “We’re babysitting so our moms can make cookies for the homecoming dance, and I bet I don’t even get asked to go.” Elise sized me up after this statement. “You may have a point. We have to work on your guy skills.” I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or insulted by that suggestion. After all, I had already been trying to improve my guy skills. Or at least I’d been trying to improve myself, which should have automatically improved my attractiveness.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

She let her gaze run over me in a mournful sort of way—the way someone looks at a stained shirt that might be beyond saving. “You’re too serious,” she said. “You don’t send out a ‘fun’ vibe.”

I bristled. “Just because a person is serious, doesn’t mean they aren’t fun.” And really, I wasn’t even sure I was serious. Anjie had never accused me of being serious.

“You know what we ought to do,” Elise said, ignoring my assertion. “We ought to go up on campus and pretend to be college students. It would be so easy to pick up cute guys there.”

“I don’t think my parents would like that.”

“Which is why we won’t tell them about it,” she said with an air of stating the obvious. “Why are you so concerned about what your parents think?

You’re an only child. Take advantage of it. Your chances of being disowned are slim.”

“Yes, but my chances of being grounded are high.”

Elise flicked her hand in my direction. “You admit you live under an oppressive dictatorship and yet you do nothing to resist. Exercise some civil disobedience. Haven’t you ever read Thoreau?”

“Yeah, and I don’t remember a chapter on picking up college guys.”

She kicked at some leaves and they fluttered limply off the sidewalk. “Well, it’s not like we have to give the guys our real names.” I sent her a look of disbelief.

“Oh, come on. Carter is probably making out with my ex-best friend even as we speak. I need to have something fun to look forward to this weekend.”

It was getting dark enough that the streetlights came on, glowing dully in the evening sky. “How about we do something nice and normal, like . . .

bowling?”

“Bowling?” she repeated with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

“Bowling would be good for you. You throw things and knock around all those pins.” Elise considered this. “How about a compromise? We’ll play tennis. At least you don’t have to wear stupid shoes to play tennis. You said you know how to play, right?”

I nodded. “Tennis would be fun.”

“And if we play on campus, maybe we can find some cute guys to play doubles with. I’ll be Trixie. You can be Bambi.” I gave her another incredulous look. I was getting quite good at the facial expressions. “We’re not giving guys fake bimbo names.”

“Okay. I’ll be Claudette and you can be Rowena.”

We had almost reached the Taylor’s house, a brick two-story with a big bay window in the front. I slowed a bit more. “Why don’t you join the chess club? We meet a couple of times a week after school and everybody there is really nice. And it’s mostly guys.”

“Are any of them cute?”

“Yeah.” Most were cute in the way puppies were cute, but I didn’t elaborate on that. I wanted Elise to meet nice people. Smart people. People who didn’t vandalize schools in their spare time. “Come on, Elise. I bet you’ve been playing chess since you were eight years old.”

“I was six,” she said. “Josh taught me.”

“You can try to hide the fact that you’re smart, but you’re really one of us. You’re not going to be happy with some brainless, hot guy.”

“I might be,” she said. “I’m willing to give it a try.”

“How smart were Carter and Bell a?” I asked.

Her lips twitched, then pursed into an unhappy grimace.

“I rest my case,” I said.

She didn’t comment, just looked out at the houses sull enly.

“You don’t have to play dumb to have friends here,” I said. “Embrace your inner genius.” She let out a sigh. “Okay, I’ll try the chess club a couple of times. But only until I find something better to do.” Chelsea’s old Ford was already parked in front of Samantha’s house, looking cheap in comparison to the Taylor’s BMW. We rang the doorbel and Mrs. Taylor answered. She was securing the back of a gold loop earring in one of her ears. It was just like Mrs. Taylor to dress up to go someplace where she would have to wear a hair net.

“hello, Cassidy,” she chimed, then finished with her earring. “And you must be Elise. Come in, come in.” She stepped aside to make room for us. “So far we’ve got eight kids, but more are coming. Let me take you downstairs.” She headed that direction, still speaking. “I’ve set up a couple different centers for the kids so they won’t get bored. There are some ceramic pumpkins for the older kids to decorate, and the younger kids can make ghosts out of marshmal ows and loll ipops. They’re just the cutest things. Oh, and I also have some sugar cookies for them to decorate to look like jack-o-lanterns.”