How Not to Spend Your Senior Year (5 page)

“Jo, it's Alex,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “You know—Alex Crawford?”

I took a breath, determined to come up with a snappy reply. Unfortunately for the success of this plan, my mind went blank at precisely that moment.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Alex echoed. There was a pause that probably only lasted about five seconds but felt like about five hours. “So, you're probably wondering why I called.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“The thing is,” Alex said, “there's this dance Friday night. It's girl-ask-boy. Maybe you heard about it during the day today?”

“Maybe I did,” I said. I could feel my
father, hovering just on the far side of the kitchen door.

“So, the thing is . . . ” Alex said again.
He's nervous,
I thought. This probably reveals something incredibly dysfunctional in my psyche, but all of a sudden, I felt much better. The Big Man on Campus was nervous about calling me, New Girl Jo O'Connor.

“I'm going,” Alex said.

“That's nice,” I replied. I heard him expel a breath into the phone. I thought he was laughing, but I couldn't quite be sure.

“I don't want there to be any misunderstanding,” Alex plowed on, “about the fact that I might have to, you know, take things slow.”

At that moment, I got the reason for the call. He was trying to tell me why he felt he couldn't pursue our attraction right away. Not only that, he'd accomplished the impossible. He'd done this without making it sound as if he was dissing Khandi Kayne behind her back.

“I won't misunderstand, Alex,” I said softly. “And just for the record, I think you're a really nice guy.”

“I can't tell you how much I wish you
hadn't said that,” Alex said at once. “I have it on very good authority that girls never fall for the nice guys.”

“Guess you'll just have to see, won't you?” I asked.

“Guess so,” said Alex Crawford. There was a second moment of silence. “So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow,” he said.

“Alex,” I said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Where's the closest Starbucks to campus? I owe Elaine a latte.”

Late that night I stood in my bedroom, staring down at my open suitcases and listening to the sounds Old Mrs. Calloway's house made as it settled all around me. This was a phenomenon that had startled me at first. Apartments simply do not make those sounds. But now that I was used to it, I had to admit I kind of liked the way the house began to sigh and rustle as night came on. It was just one more thing that made it feel like the thing I'd never really had but had always secretly wanted. A home.

I think it was sometime in the middle of my third piece of pizza that I'd realized the truth.

Old Mrs. Calloway's house had won.

I was tired of being the girl who couldn't put down roots. Who moved from place to place without ever knowing why. What I wanted was to be the girl I'd so unexpectedly caught a glimpse of today. The girl I'd suddenly discovered I could be, if only I was brave enough to try. A girl who had a boyfriend who called her on the phone. Whose best friend lived right next door.

A girl who didn't have to figure out how to blend in, because she didn't have to. She fit. She belonged.

“Go on,”
Old Mrs. Calloway's house seemed to say.
“Take the first step. It's not so hard. You can do it, Jo.”

I stared down into the first of my suitcases. My very favorite sweater was folded neatly, right on top. This was the item of clothing I chose first when I was feeling warm and snuggly, just as it was my first when I was blue and needed cheering up.

Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, I picked it up, carried it across the room, and
placed it in my bottom dresser drawer. As I did so, I heard the house sigh. I swear it was with approval.

I returned to the suitcase for the next item.

When I think of the next few weeks, I'm reminded of a flashback sequence in a romantic film. The edges of the images are all slightly blurry. The colors are soft. The light, nostalgic and golden. I know it didn't really look like that. But that's the way it feels in my memory. Those were special days, carved out of time. Days during which it seemed nothing would ever change. Nothing would ever go wrong.

Ridiculous, of course. If there's one thing I ought to know, it's that change happens. And when it does, it's usually of the major variety.

The next change in my life happened on a Wednesday, if I recall.

The weather was the first thing that altered. Yes, all right. I know. Talking about the weather is generally considered a pretty lame thing to do. Get over it. But I have to tell you about the weather that day. It happens to be important.

It rained like hell.

I'd begun my tenure at Beacon in a stretch of warm, clear weather, which Elaine assured me wasn't typical at all. Spring in Seattle was cool and rainy, she kept insisting. I should not be packing away my turtlenecks and getting out my tank tops.

I didn't even try explaining that I'd barely
un
packed the turtlenecks. Though our friendship was definitely growing stronger day by day, I hadn't yet reached the point where I felt ready to talk about the way things had been before. There'd be plenty of time for that, I kept assuring myself. In the meantime, I was too busy enjoying the way they were now.

Fortunately for Elaine and me, the rain did let up long enough for us to make the
trip home. We slogged along the wet sidewalks, my feet getting wetter by the minute. I swear I heard them make these icky little squishy sucking sounds.

“That's funny,” Elaine said as we rounded the corner of our street.

“What?” I asked, and promptly stepped into this enormous puddle.

“Your dad's home early. Isn't that his car in the drive?”

In that instant, I forgot about the rain. I forgot my wet feet. I forgot about everything but the fact that Elaine was right. My dad's car was in the drive. I know this doesn't sound like a big deal to you. All I can say is, to me, it was.

Once my dad and I establish a routine, we stick to it. That's one of the great unspoken rules of our lives. And the rule in Seattle was that Dad got home
after
I did. The reason for this was that he was working in an office for the very first time.

Over the last couple of weeks, I'd developed my own sub-routine until Dad got home. I went to Elaine's and we did our homework. If Dad worked late, sometimes I even stayed for dinner at the Goldens'.
That was the way things had been since we'd moved to Old Mrs. Calloway's house. I got home first. Dad got home second.

But there was his car, sitting in the drive. It was a change, and if there was one thing I knew, it was the way one change could lead to another. Not only that, in the case of Dad and me,
change
usually meant
change of location
. That thing I was so
D for Desperate
to avoid.

I gave what I sincerely hoped was a nonchalant shrug.

“Maybe he came home sick,” I said. “Isn't there some weird flu thing going around? Listen, I'm going to go in and change my shoes before I come down with pneumonia. I'll be over in a few. If there's something up Dad-wise, I'll call.”

“Okay,” Elaine said.

There was a gust of wind, followed by a sudden return of the rain, full force. Elaine and I sprinted for our respective front doors. I heard hers slam behind her as she dashed inside. I stopped on the porch to tug off my wet shoes.

“Jo!” I heard a voice call.

I straightened just in time to see Alex dash up the front walk.

“I thought you had practice,” I said.

“Cancelled,” Alex said shortly. He made the front porch and pushed back the hood of the sweatshirt he had on beneath his letterman's jacket. His breathing was quick, as if he'd run all the way from school. “I tried to catch you guys but you'd already gone.”

“Elaine's at her house,” I said.

Alex gave an exasperated laugh and moved to put his hands on my shoulders, a thing that pretty much made me forget all about my dad's car in the drive. Apparently Alex had decided that the waiting period was over.

“I didn't sprint ten blocks to see Elaine,” he said. “I came to see you. There's something I want to ask you, Jo.”

“No, you can't borrow my math homework,” I said.

“Shut up, you idiot,” Alex said, giving me a shake. “I want you to go with me to the prom.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. An action which no doubt made me look exactly like a fish out of water.

“That wasn't a question,” I finally said.

Alex rolled his eyes. “Do you want to know why I like you?” he asked. “It took me a while, but I figured it out. It's because you're so impossible.”

A laugh bubbled up and out before I could stop it.

“Impossible,” I repeated. “What about annoying?”

“That too,” Alex nodded. “You're impossible and annoying and unpredictable. Will you please go with me to the prom?”

“Aren't you worried about what will happen if I say yes?” I asked.

“Uh-uh,” Alex shook his head. “I'm only worried that you'll say no.”

“I'm not going to do that,” I answered steadily. “Thank you, Alex. I'd love to go with you to the prom.”

For a moment, he simply stood, his hands on my shoulders. “You'd better hold still,” he warned.

“Why's that?”

“Because I'm going to kiss you now.”

Words failed me. Which turned out to be a very good thing as, for the next few minutes, I needed my lips for something else anyhow.

The kiss ended and Alex eased back. There was an expression on his face I'd never seen before. Sort of startled and blank all at once, as if he'd just discovered something he hadn't expected but couldn't quite put a name to.

“Well,” he said.

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” I replied.

“I'm that obvious, huh?”

“Actually, no.”

“Now who's being nice?” Alex said. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said. He turned, and I watched him sprint off down the walk. It was only then that I realized I was still clutching my sopping wet shoes.

Very smooth, Jo. No wonder the guy can't resist you,
I thought.

Still feeling dreamy, I opened the front door and stepped into the hall. My eyes automatically sought out my mother's picture.

As if from a great distance, I heard my shoes hit the floor with a thud.

My mother's photograph was gone.

It only took me about twenty seconds to locate it. My dad was sitting on one of the living room couches, the one covered in fabric with these big hydrangea blossoms on it, cradling my mother's photograph between his hands.

No. Please, no,
I thought. My chest was so tight it felt like I'd forgotten how to breathe.

Once we got to a new place, we never took Mom's picture down. The only times it even got touched were when I did the dusting, a thing that didn't happen all that often, and when Dad took it down to pack it. A thing that always meant . . .

“Forget about it, Dad,” I said as I
finally remembered to close the front door. Actually, the word I'm looking for here is
slammed
. I slammed the front door. “Wherever it is, I'm not going.”

My father looked up then. There was an expression on his face I'd never seen there before. Sad, yet determined, all at the same time. Though I didn't put it into words, I think I knew, right then, what he was going to say next.

“I understand why you feel that way, Jo-Jo,” he said. “But I'm sorry to say there isn't any choice.”

“Of course there's a choice,” I snapped. “There's always a choice. You told me that yourself.”

My father's eyebrows shot straight up. “I did not. When did I?”

“In fourth grade. When Arabella Swackhammer told everyone in Mrs. Mitchell's class the reason I was moving was because I'd been kicked out.”

“Oh, thaat,” my father said, drawing out the syllable the way people do when they're remembering something long forgotten. “You did something to get her back, didn't you?”

“Of course I did,” I snorted. “I kicked her. What else? That night, after you'd gotten off the phone with the principal, you told me I could have expressed my anger in another way. You said I didn't have to resort to violence. There was always another choice.”

“I never said
resort to violence
,” my father protested. “I'd never be that pompous.”

“The point I'm trying to make here, Dad,” I said, “is that you told me I had a
choice
. There was always another
choice
. That's what you said. So now you're saying what? You lied to me when I was a child?”