Out with the In Crowd (5 page)

“I can’t . . .” I fumbled with the words forming in my brain. “If something happened to you and me . . . I mean, if you broke up with me or something, I just—”

He leaned close and trapped my words with a kiss.

I wished it could be so simple, that his kiss could take away these thoughts steamrolling through my head—like how I’d entrusted too much of my heart to him. That I bet he’d be tough to get over. That maybe my life would be better, easier, if I went back to being cold, hard, don’t-mess-with-me Skylar.

But as Connor pulled me closer, kissed me harder, I couldn’t deny how head over heels I was for this guy. I couldn’t back out now. I’d just have to hope he proved a worthy risk.

5

“Do you believe in something being too good to last?”

Heather raised her foot from the sewing machine’s pedal and blinked at me. “Be more specific.”

I took a deep breath. “Like, do you think God ever allows us to live peaceful existences, or does he shake things up the moment we get comfortable?”

The corners of Heather’s mouth quirked. It usually bugged me when adults looked at me like that—as if my big questions were so amusing—but I’d been around Heather long enough to not be bothered. She often smiled like that when she recognized herself in me.

Sure enough . . .

“Sometimes it’s eerie how similar we are.” Heather flipped off the sewing machine and relaxed as much as the straight-backed chair would allow. In doing this, she abandoned her shirt collar midway, something she’d always warned me against. “It’s a tough thing to answer, because I believe our lives are shaped by the choices we make. But even making right decisions all the time doesn’t guarantee a pain-free life. We see that in Jesus.” She shrugged. “I feel our lives are a mix of consequences and divine intervention. God’s goal for us isn’t that we feel happy and relaxed all the time. His priority is our character.” Her eyes crinkled with her smile. “That wasn’t a very good answer, was it?”

I tried smiling back, but my efforts fell flat.

I tried smiling back, but my efforts “What’s going on?” she asked.

I wound a strip of fabric around my finger as I contemplated this. Thirty minutes ago, it had been Heather’s shirt collar, but now she’d ripped it out and replaced it. Even half-done and lifeless on the machine, the new collar gave the shirt a totally different look. It’s what I loved about designing and sewing—the tangibility, the clear and immediate changes. If only my personal growth could be so easily measured.

“I think my mom has left my dad.”

I didn’t mean to whisper it. After all, we were the only people in Heather’s tiny house. But the words carried a weight I didn’t like, and I’d kept myself from saying them. I’d tried not to even think them—not when I helped Dad clean up the lawn, or as I lay awake listening for Mom to come home, or this morning when I continually called her cell phone.

“Why do you think that?” Heather asked.

I told her what Abbie and I had found when we came home the day before. “Dad won’t say what happened, so I know it must be really, really bad.”

Heather flipped on her machine and resumed sewing. The soothing hum filled the room. “I’ve been told marriage is difficult. Lots of people I know, wonderful people who are crazy about each other, hit rough patches and come out of them just fine.”

I thought of Dad’s underwear dangling from the sycamore. “I think it’s more than a rough patch.”

Heather frowned. “Like they’ll consider splitting?”

I shrugged. “Back in second grade, my friend’s parents got divorced. I asked Mom if she and Dad would ever divorce, and she told me no, because the Bible says you shouldn’t.” I wrapped Heather’s old collar around my finger, then unwound it. “You know, my mom used to be in charge of everything at the church. She was always doing teas and brunches and fund-raisers.”

Heather smiled. “I remember.”

“She doesn’t do that kind of stuff anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s going to leave your dad.”

I drew my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “I know. But I liked who she was back then.”

“It sounds like your mom is going through something difficult. It’ll probably take her a little while to work through it.” Heather snipped a string. “Unfortunately, parents are just people too. They make mistakes same as everybody else.”

“I guess.”

I watched as Heather continued working, then dropped my gaze to the red satin pooled at my feet. Every Saturday morning, I escaped here to Heather’s house, and we sewed, drank frou-frou coffee I brought, and chatted about whatever occupied our minds. This whole week, I’d peeked into my sewing bag at the yards of red satin. I itched to create the beautiful prom dress I envisioned—strapless with an apron back and an A-line skirt.

I caressed the satin with my fingertips. When I’d arrived at Heather’s this morning—hands occupied with Starbucks cups and the bag of red satin dangling from my crooked elbow—I’d been hit with a sudden case of nerves. What if I screwed it up? What if the dress I made turned out nothing like the gorgeous dress I saw in my head? What if the apron back looked stupid? What if I should do a straight skirt, or an empire waist, or—

“You know,” Heather said, interrupting my thoughts, “youth group resumes this week. We’d love to have you.”

I pretended to consider this. As much as I loved Heather, youth group just wasn’t my thing. They made us play weird games, then split us into small groups to pray together. I didn’t mind praying as much as the games. Call me crazy, but I didn’t delight in humiliating myself on a weekly basis by playing softball with a balloon wedged between my knees.

“Would I have to play the games?” I asked.

Heather grinned. “Too cool for mummy relays?”

“Everyone above age five is too cool for mummy relays.”

“Maybe a little silliness is just what you need. It’s dangerous to take yourself too seriously.” Heather made a final snip of a thread and whipped her newly collared shirt from the machine. “What do you think?”

“Wow.” I marveled at the improvement. “You know, when you showed me that fabric I wasn’t sure. But you were right. It looks so much better.”

Heather admired her handiwork. “That’s why I always say not to stop in the middle of a remodel. Those risky fabric choices sometimes look like big messes when you’re piecing it all together, but they usually have the biggest payoff if you see it through.”

I remembered last July, when I came to in Eli’s car after that horrid party. I never again wanted to wake up hung over and blurry about the previous night’s events. That’s when I’d decided to make a life change. I thought it would be simple—give up smoking and partying, maybe pop into an occasional church service. I’d been ignorant to think I could do it apart from God, that my plans were somehow superior to his. And it would be stupid to think I could quit midstream. My only shot at happiness was to hold on tight, dive in, and anticipate the payoff.

“Maybe I’ll stop by on Tuesday. Check things out,” I said.

Heather shrugged. “Suit yourself.” But I could see in her smile how pleased she was.

Seeing Jodi at church Sunday morning made my stomach knot.

Horrible, right? You’re supposed to be happy to see people at church, especially people who’d never been there, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted her to go away.

Jodi had dressed in what I assumed she saw as “church clothes.” Textured tights, a pencil skirt hitting just below her knee, and a cardigan. She sat with Eli’s family, her legs crossed and her gaze locked on Pastor Dave. She appeared wholesome. A girl you’d cherry-pick to date your son.

Jodi glanced my way and offered a slight smile. I acknowledged her, then returned my attention to the front of the auditorium. And straightened my sweater so the neckline didn’t hang so low.

I intended to steer clear of her and Eli, but unfortunately, Connor didn’t. We’d barely been dismissed when he grabbed my hand, said “Come on,” and dragged me to the back where Jodi and Eli perused the doughnut selection.

“. . . Tuesday nights,” Eli was saying as we came into earshot.

“Hey, guys.” Connor passed me a doughnut, one of the sprinkled ones he knew I liked.

Jodi’s face lit up. “Hey!” She threw her arms around Connor in an exuberant hug.

I believe my exact thought was—
?!?!?!?!

Eli didn’t seem bothered by Jodi’s too-friendly greeting or her sudden need to touch my boyfriend. Instead his mouth crooked in a half-smile and he nodded, as if I was a mere acquaintance. Ugh.

Jodi attacked me next, nearly giving me whiplash as she yanked me into a hug. She squeezed my neck like a boa constrictor. “Wasn’t service great?” She released me and tucked imaginary strands of hair behind her ears. “I really like your pastor. He’s so funny.”

Connor’s head bobbed in agreement. “Yeah, Dave’s the best.”

“My parents’ church is so stuffy I, like, can’t even breathe. But this is great.” She licked icing from her fingers and smiled at me. “No wonder you wanted to come back to church.”

How should I respond to that? It should make me happy to hear both Jodi’s acceptance of my life change and her apparent interest in the church. But it took remembering all my mom’s lectures on social graces for me to squeak out, “Yeah.”

Eli crammed the rest of his doughnut in his mouth. Charming. “I was just telling Jodi about youth group.”

“I thought it sounded sorta fun,” Jodi said.

“I told her it’s lame.” Eli winked at me.

Connor rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to Eli and Skylar about youth group. They’re such snobs.”

“You like it?” Jodi asked. She looked at Connor through lowered lashes, and I thought I might explode. How dare she steal a flirting move of mine, especially to use on
my
boyfriend. Right in front of me. In church!

Connor, oblivious as always, flashed her a chummy grin. “It’s great. You should come.”

Jodi giggled and smiled at her shoes—horrible navy flats she should be embarrassed to own, much less wear.

Dad and Abbie loitered at the front door. He looked antsy, and she, sulky.

I took a step away from the group. “I gotta go.”

Connor looked beyond me, to Dad and Abbie. “Yeah, looks like a good idea.”

“See you guys tomorrow.”

They all smiled and told me good-bye, then returned to their conversation.

I had a nasty feeling in my stomach as I walked toward the exit. Connor always kissed me good-bye, even at church. All it took for him to forget was Jodi batting her lashes and dropping hints at being interested in youth group.

What might happen if she upped the ante?

6

I planned to work on my prom dress after we got home from church. Instead, I stared at the red satin stretched across my bed. Did I really want red? Maybe I should go with a more muted color—black or eggplant. But I’d been dressing to capture attention since age two.

I rubbed the fabric between my fingers. Maybe the red was fine, but I should use a different fabric. Not that it really mattered. My date would likely wear sneakers.

This wasn’t like me, this constant second-guessing. No matter what had happened in my life, I’d remained 100 percent confident when it came to clothes.

My cell phone hollered at me from the bottom of my purse. I dug for it. Normally Connor called right after church. It had been a few hours already.

I gulped at the caller ID display. Mom.

My hand shook as I brought the phone to my ear. How would Mom sound? Like a pathetic, sobbing mess? Snappish and mean?

“Hi, Skylar, how are you?”

Calm with a touch of chill, like she’d always taught me.

I swallowed. “How are
you
?”

“I’d like to meet for coffee. I have something . . . something I’d like to discuss. Can you meet me now?”

I glanced at the clock, a habit left over from the days when I had a social life. I rarely had plans anymore. “Where do you wanna meet?”

“The Starbucks on Nichols, okay? And if you don’t mind . . .” She seemed unsure how to say it. “Please don’t speak of this to your father or sister.”

My throat constricted. I tried to sound normal as I said, “I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and held it in my lap. I watched the screen flash call ended until it went idle and cooled in my palm.

I needed to put on my shoes and scarf. I needed to come up with a story to tell my dad. Right then, all the little details involved in leaving overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t move. Especially because doing those things only brought me closer to the Starbucks on Nichols Road, where Mom waited to break the bad news—divorce. Or she might say separation, but we all knew where that led.

“Skylar?”

I jumped at the sound of Dad’s voice. “You scared me.” “Sorry.” He offered an apologetic smile from my doorway.

I noticed his coat and hat. “Are you going somewhere?” “Into the office.” He shrugged as if this wasn’t a big deal, him headed into work on a Sunday. Not long ago, it might have been normal. But recently, Dad rarely brought work home, much less ventured to the office on weekends. “We’re putting in a bid on a renovation downtown. I want to get a head start.”

“Okay, well . . .” No reason to lie when I didn’t have to, right? “Have fun. Or whatever.”

“I’ll be home in time for dinner.” He crossed the room and dropped a kiss on top of my head. “See you then, sweetie.” I waited until I heard the garage door open and close before searching out Abbie.

She’d parked herself in the kitchen, in front of the family computer.

“Hey, I’m gonna take off for a bit. Are you—” I noticed the website. “Are you giving the baby up?”

Abbie turned to me, her face void of emotion. “You knew I was considering it.”

Mom would’ve been proud of her polite, emotionless tone.

“I know, I just . . .” What? Why could I never turn thoughts into sentences at moments like this, moments when it mattered?

“Look at our family, Skylar.” Abbie’s eyes shimmered with tears. “The last thing it needs is a baby. When Mom and Dad were working through their problems, I thought . . .” She shook her head, sending her auburn ponytail swinging. “But she shouldn’t be raised in something like this. There are lots of nice families who’d want her.”