Leslie's Journal (6 page)

“I came like you asked in the letter.”

There were titters everywhere. Ms. Patrick said she’d like to speak to me in private and got Lara Babson, Queen of the Cute and Perkies, to lead warmup exercises while she walked me to her office. Everybody was staring. Katie, too, who’d come to cheer me on from the sidelines.

Inside, I showed Ms. Patrick the letter. She said I should’ve known it was fake since there was no handwritten signature. Also, that if there’d been a mistake she’d have mentioned it during morning announcements and added my name to the posted list along with her initials. She made it sound like the whole thing was my fault.

Then she asked who I thought could’ve done it. I just stared at the floor and shrugged. Who’d done it was the last thing on my mind. All I was thinking about was how I was going to explain to all the people I’d told that I wasn’t on the team after all. That I was a sucker, a loser, a reject.

When I see the girls watching me read the card, these awful feelings come back. And I think, It’s a set-up! They want to see me run to the bleachers so they can laugh at me!

But then Katie says, “Is it from him?” and my fears disappear. Katie would never hurt me like that. Here I was about to cry, and now all I want to do is laugh, because she’s acting as excited as a new puppy meeting houseguests. I mean, I want to tell her not to wet the floor. Instead, I smile mysteriously and say, “Maybe.” That gets the girls even more giddy. Except for Ashley, who looks like she just sucked a bug.

“What’s he say?” Katie pants.

“Who cares?” snaps Ashley. “We have to hurry or we’ll be late for choir practice.”

Katie gives me one of her patented hand flaps and runs down the hall after Ms. A-Hole. At the corner she turns and calls back, “Phone me? Okay?”

“Whatever,” I say, as if I have much more important things to do. Then I wink at the other girls, fan myself with my card and waltz down the corridor.

From the door leading to the track, I see him lounging on top of the bleachers. School’s been out for a while now, but he’s waited. It’s like he knew I’d come.

There’s no football practice today. Jason and I are alone except for one or two guys running laps. I walk across the field, climb halfway up the bleachers and stop. He must have heard me clunking on the boards but he keeps his eyes closed like he did the first day we met. Laid out in the sun, he looks sweet and innocent.

I’m scared. Not of
him
, exactly. It’s just that, well, since Saturday I’ve been desperate to talk to him, but now that he’s here I don’t know what to say. So all I say is, “So.”

He opens his eyes and flashes this slow easy smile. “What a perfect day.”

I force myself not to look away. “I got your card.”

“Good.” There’s a pause. He sits up, still smiling.

“Where’ve you been?”

“Out of town with my folks. They took me to the cottage. Got your messages. Meant to call, e-mail. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” I stare at my feet.

He pats the bench beside him. “Come on up.”

I stay where I am. “If you wanted to talk to me, how come you didn’t meet me at my locker?”

He looks surprised. “Isn’t it nicer to have some privacy? I mean, those friends of yours ...” He shakes his head like we’ve escaped from a bunch of baby sisters.

“Maybe it’s nicer,” I hesitate. Then I blurt out, “Or maybe you were scared I’d start yelling in front of them.”

“Yelling?” He laughs. “What about?”

“You know.” I hear my voice tremble so I shut up. I stare at his nose like I do with Mr. Manley. Only he doesn’t have any nose hairs. He looks perfect. I feel confused.

Jason doesn’t blink. His eyebrows scrunch up like he’s puzzled, and I wonder—can he really not remember? Or have I made a mistake? Did nothing happen after all?

“Jason ...” I say in a voice so small I’m hardly breathing, “... did we?”

For a split second time stops, and for some bizarre reason I have a flash of driving with Dad when this bird swooped in front of the car and everything went into slow motion and I was praying the bird would escape and then
thump
. I hear Jason say, “Yeah.” But the way he says it, it sounds like “So what?”

And I’m just standing there like a dummy with tears sliding off my face.

“Hey,” Jason says. “Why the tears? It’s not like you were a virgin or anything.” He starts coming down like he wants to comfort me.

“Stay away.” I wave my hands.

“But I don’t get it,” he says. “It was your idea.”

Am I hearing this?

“I thought we should wait,” he says. “You know, make it special. But you kept going, ‘Now is special. Now.’ Don’t you remember?”

The truth is, I don’t. But I would’ve remembered that.

“Leslie, you’ve gotta believe me.” His voice is so sincere. “I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“Oh no? Well, what about the money? You made me feel like a hooker.”

“Sorry. It’s just, my folks got called back to town because Dad’s deal was falling apart. It was after midnight. They phoned ahead to let me know they were coming, so I wouldn’t think they were burglars or something.”

I’m sniffling, but I’m listening.

“Leslie, please, you gotta remember. We wanted you to make a good first impression. But you were so wasted—we both were—we thought you should leave, come back to meet them another time. I paid for the cab, sure, but what was I supposed to do? You didn’t have any money. I felt responsible. And I was way too drunk to drive.”

I look in his eyes, and there’s so much pain there it breaks my heart. How could I have thought those terrible things about him? I was zoned out of my mind, and he took care of me. I should be thanking him.

“Leslie, I have feelings for you. I mean it. If I’ve done or said anything to upset you, I’m sorry.” He’s all helpless now. How could I be so wrong?

“Did you mean it about meeting your folks?”

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want to.”

“No. That’d be fantastic.”

He kisses me gently on the eyelids. “How about now?” he whispers.

I wash my face before heading out. I also change into the Mom-Approved Clothes stashed in my locker, in case Mrs. McCready has a thing against vinyl mini-skirts. They don’t make me look like a nun exactly, but I’m decent enough not to scare anybody.

As it turns out, I’m not the one who needs to worry about looking decent. When we get to Jason’s house, it’s like Saturday: the Camry’s in the drive but the
BMW
is missing. Jason says his dad must still be at work. Inside, the place is quiet as a tomb. I wonder if coming over was such a good idea. Then, from upstairs, I hear this voice. It sounds like a movie star, all husky and glamorous. “Is that you, Doug?”

“No, it’s me, Mom.”

“I am so annoyed with your father,” the Voice exhales. It’s coming down the stairs. “He promised he’d be home early. We’re supposed to be at the Richardsons’ in an hour and he hasn’t phoned.”

Now I see the Voice, and It sees me. I’m not sure who’s more surprised.

Mrs. McCready could be a model. She’s tall with a long neck, designer hair and an amazing figure. But there’s something wrong with the picture. She’s in her slip, with a mud mask on her face and a glass of tomato juice in her hand.

“This is Leslie. Leslie, this is my mom.”

Mrs. McCready decides to pretend everything’s normal. “How do you do?” she nods, then tilts her chin at Jason. “You didn’t mention we’d be having company. Your father and I are going out.”

“We’re working on a geography project for school tomorrow. We’ll be down in the rec room.”

She considers this briefly. “Good. There’s pie in the fridge if you get hungry.”

Before I know it, Jason and I are heading downstairs.

“Does your mom really think we’re in the same grade?” I whisper.

“My mom doesn’t think at all after three o’clock.” He winks. I don’t get it. “Leslie, wake up. You think that’s just tomato juice she’s drinking?”

“But she acts so sober.”

“Practice makes perfect.” He puts his arms around me. “Speaking of practice ...”

I resist, but the kiss is so nice I start kissing him back. My eyes are closed, and there’s little flashes of light. It feels like that first day on the football field, only better.

After a few minutes, Jason breaks away. He goes into the bathroom and brings back a towel, folding it carefully in the middle of the sofa.

“What’s that for?”

“You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?”

His girlfriend? Wow! “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well ...” He flashes that smile and sweeps his arm towards the sofa as if he’s a waiter directing me to the best table in some fancy restaurant. “It’s not like we haven’t before.”

That’s true. I mean, the damage is already done, and if we’re going out, well ... All the same, I feel weird. “Your mom’s upstairs.”

“So we’ll keep quiet. Besides, she only hears what she wants to hear. Hey, if it’ll make you feel any better ...” He puts on some music.

“What if she comes down?”

“She won’t. She doesn’t like surprises.” I’m still not sure about things, but I melt when he looks in my eyes and whispers, “I love you, you know.”

Somehow we end up on the sofa, and then, well, things go so fast I hardly know it’s happened, except I hurt. We’re even still dressed, except for my panties are around my knees and my sweater’s pulled up. All of a sudden I want to get out of there. How can I be so in love and feel like shit?

“I should go. My mom’ll be expecting me.”

“Sure.” He nods, as if he’s secretly happy. “I’ll drive you back.”

Mrs. McCready is posed at the picture window in the living room, dressed in something out of
Vogue
. She’s still holding her tomato juice. “Finished your project?”

“Yeah.”

“You must be a good influence on him,” she says to me. Her eyelid twitches.

It’s six-thirty by the time I get home. There’s salad and a plate of cold macaroni and cheese waiting for me on the kitchen table. My mom is waiting too.

“Where were you?” she asks.

“Over at Katie’s.”

“Is that so.”

From the tone of her voice, I’m not sticking around to chat. I head down the hall to my room, calling back, “Yeah. We were working on a project for school tomorrow. You have a problem with that?”

Mom follows me. “Yes, I have a problem with that,” she fires back. “If you were at Katie’s, perhaps you’d like to explain why she called from choir practice asking you to phone her about a card you received.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“As long as you live here, everything is my business.”

“Yeah, right.” And I slam the door in her face.

Eleven

O
ne of Mom’s favorite expressions is “Let sleeping dogs lie.” She says this all the time when I ask her about Dad and other women: “Leslie, just let sleeping dogs lie.”

I joke, “Does that mean I should let Dad lie, on account of he’s a sleeping dog?”

She gives me a dirty look. “I mean, don’t bring up unpleasantness from the past. Okay?”

Fine, so Mom doesn’t have a sense of humor. But at least you’d think she’d practice what she preaches. Isn’t it her job to set an example? I figured a good night’s sleep and she’d drop the whole cop routine about where I was last night. But no. Seven o’clock her alarm goes off, and she’s still on my case.

Well, if she’s going to be a busybody, I’m going to be a bitch.

“For the last time, Leslie, where were you?”

“Wherever will make you happy.”

Pretty soon it’s eight, and she’s so wired from her coffee and my crap she’s running in circles like a hamster on speed. I’m eating bran flakes while she screams at me from the bathroom—brushing her teeth with one hand, spraying deodorant with the other—when somebody buzzes from the lobby.

“Will you see who it is?”

“I’m having breakfast.”

“Leslie, I’m late enough for work as it is.”

Whoever’s in the lobby buzzes again. Mom runs out of the bathroom, toothpaste drooling off her chin. “Yes?” she hollers into the intercom. She mouths at me: “You’re grounded.”

“Annabelle Florists,” says this voice.

Mom looks surprised. So do I. “Come on up.”

The delivery guy arrives in no time. He hands her a bundle done up in fancy wrapping paper. Inside, there’s a dozen long-stemmed red roses and a note. Mom reads: “Leslie. Thanks for a great geography lesson. J.”

She passes me the roses. I’m in another world. I cradle the bouquet like it’s a baby.

Mom’s not impressed. “I take it he’s where you were last night.”

“Somebody’s just sent me roses for the first time in my life. Can’t you be happy?”

“Does ‘somebody’ have a name?” She wipes the toothpaste off her mouth.

“Why do you always have to spoil everything?” Instead of fighting, I want to cry. I sink into my chair and bury my head so she won’t see.

“Pooky Bear ...”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry.”

I feel her hand on my shoulder and shake it off.

“Look, I’m happy for you. I just don’t like you sneaking around behind my back.”

I wait till I’m sure my voice won’t break. “His name is Jason McCready.”

“Have you been seeing him for a long time?”

“Who says I’ve been seeing him?”

Mom takes a deep breath, smoothes her clothes and sets a stool under the cupboard over the stove. “Why don’t I get the vase and we put those flowers in some water?”

“You’re going to be late for work.”

“This is more important.”

Out comes my great-grandmother’s crystal vase and we’re cutting the ends of the stems with a kitchen knife, arranging the roses, starting to have a good time, even. Half of me feels wonderful, and the other half wants to gag.

“They’re beautiful.” Mom smiles.

“Yeah.” I want to shut up now, but I have this sudden, overwhelming need to say his name. “Jason’s great. The other girls are really jealous.” Saying his name out loud felt good. So good, I forget Mom only acts nice when she wants something. She doesn’t let me forget for long.

“Why don’t you invite him over?”

Thunk. “Here?”

“What’s the matter with here?”

“Mother, please. Are you trying to humiliate me?”