Rock My World (9 page)

Her
girlfriend was supposed to be the one who got her through this type of
situation. To tell her everything was going to be okay. That he’d been an
asshole and needed to do some serious sucking up. That in the end it would all
work out. That girl wasn’t supposed to be the reason for all of this! And, even
worse than being the perpetrator was that she ripped her friendship out from
under them both.
Airika’s
actions negated every one
of those conversations. Every bit of affirmation,
of
shared experience, of soothing comfort and inside jokes were now tainted with
lies. Did she ever care, or was she only my friend because my dad’s famous? Did
she stand by me just to be near Alex? She felt lost in the sea of betrayal. The
sense of loss was so overwhelming she couldn’t breathe. Literally, it took
effort to breathe.

They kept
that secret for nearly two decades and she’d never known. Jenna had never even
suspected it. What else hadn’t she known? What secrets had she confided in this
wolf-in-sheep’s season-appropriate clothing?
Airika
knew everything about Jenna. Had she been laughing at her all these years? Had
Alex? Did they laugh about her together?

The
questions flooded her overloaded brain and her pulse quickened with rage. She
hurled a pillow from the couch across the room. It wasn’t enough. She grabbed
her phone, inertly taunting her from the coffee table, and
hucked
it against the wall. It shattered into tiny pieces, Swarovski crystals plinking
all around the floor, reflecting bits of light like prisms. Her chest heaved in
satisfaction at her own destruction. She knew, of course, that she would be the
one to clean it up, but the pressure inside her head was too much. The failsafe
valve was fit to burst, messes and all.

When she
looked around, instead of mocking herself for losing control, or feeling bad
about destroying her brand new one-of-a-kind phone, she found herself dazzled
by the flickers of beautiful rainbow light reflected all around the room. The
juxtaposition of the old quaint cabin peppered in
blinged
out shrapnel seemed absurdly amusing. She didn’t recognize that
person
who had time to apply multi-colored gemstones to a
cell phone case, yet missed the fact that her best friend was harboring
feelings for her husband for the last twenty years. A voice in her head told
her to remember this moment—this anger—and to never let it happen
again.

She
ransacked the spare room looking for her old camera, having just destroyed her
camera phone. It was an old Canon SLR that still had a roll of film in its
back. Perfect. She set up the antique tripod she found in the corner of the
room, set the timer, and glowered over her epiphany. There was a click, click,
click followed by the sound of film being sucked back into itself.

She wanted
to blow that image up in order to remember how badly she felt at this moment
and to never ever let anyone make her feel like this again. Sadistic as it was,
she found pleasure in the pain.

As she
walked to the grocery store (the only place that still developed film in town)
she felt an odd sense of self-satisfaction. Not ready to be fully articulated,
it felt something like gumption. Being disconnected from the world seemed
wildly underrated. No cell phone, no computer, no car, just herself. If she
wanted to do something she wouldn’t talk to anyone, consult anyone, or ask for
anyone’s help. She could just do it. How had it taken her thirty-four years to
figure this out?

Later that
night, glass of wine in hand, she ceremoniously mounted the poster size frame
that would soon house her image of liberation. She envisioned herself looking
calm, exuding intimidating confidence.
Afraid of nothing.
The good thing about hitting rock bottom was having so much less to fear. She
couldn’t say she had nothing to fear—she was the mother of a teenage
girl, after all—but the two people she’d counted on to be her anchors,
her pylons of strength keeping her from sinking in a sea of worst-case
scenarios, had simultaneously abandoned their posts. And yet she was still
standing. Figuratively speaking, anyway.
 

Somewhere
around the third (or maybe fourth) glass this newfound confidence morphed into
something akin to self-pity. The victim came out again. She hated that girl for
being so damn whiny and pathetic.
But how
am I not a victim?
She sniveled.

Maybe she
shouldn’t have finished that bottle off by herself.
On a
nearly empty stomach.
This was why she busied herself with projects and
shunned introspection. It was dangerous. And dizzying. Her cheeks were wet
again too. The world spun so fast around her. She couldn’t keep up. And then
she passed out.

Chapter 15

“Your
homework tonight, and every night this week,” Felicity’s teacher, Ms. Joy,
addressed the class of high achievers as they shifted impatiently in their
seats, “is to write a short, one-page vignette on a family member. They can be
about anything … classroom appropriate,” she clarified to the much too
enthusiastic hands going up around the room. She paused for the collective
groan of disapproval. “I want you to learn something. It’ll be fun. It can be
historical or gossipy or even abstract, but
it must be
written by you
, from their point of view. Now is the time to get the
dirt you’ve been wanting to get on your parents and get school credit for doing
it.”

As the bell
rang, releasing their waning attention spans, Felicity slowly packed up her
notebook. The class cleared out quickly. It was last period and everyone was in
a hurry to get to practice, work, or just out of the classroom. “Is something
wrong?” Ms. Joy leaned against a nearby desk, arms folded in watchful concern.

“No.”

“Are you
sure?”

“Yeah … no …
” Felicity stared into her neatly packed book bag. “I was just wondering if it
has to be about a family member. My parents are out of town so I’m staying with
my grandparents … and they’re really busy. I think I could write a more
interesting paper on a stranger or historical figure instead.”

Ms. Joy,
accustomed to lying teens doling out outlandish excuses, teased out the line of
truth. “Ask them. I’m sure they’d love to take the time to tell you stories.
Grandparents live for that sort of thing. I think you’ll be surprised.”
Felicity nodded.

“Okay, I’ll ask.”

“You have
the second highest GPA in your class; I’m sure you can write an interesting
paper on someone in your family. It doesn’t need to be scandalous, just
interesting to you.” Ms. Joy tilted her head, eyebrows cocked in that pitying
look teachers give students who put too high expectations on themselves.
Felicity, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate being reminded that she was
second to perfect miss Sadie. Dejected, she left the classroom and headed down
the hall to her locker.

“Hey Trey,” she said.

“'Sup?” he
said, tilting his chin up in lieu of a wave hello. “You
wanna
go to the beach? Bonfire party tonight.”

“Nah. I’ve got homework.” She closed her locker
and pulled her long hair into a messy ponytail. He followed her down the hall
toward the parking lot.

“Can you
give me a ride home?”

His eyebrows raised and he put a hand to his
chest. “Would your mother approve?”

She rolled
her eyes at him. “She won’t know. I’m still staying with the grandparents.”

“Nice. Will
Shawn be home?”

She turned and gave him her most exasperated look.
The last thing she wanted to do right now was talk about her family or listen
to another conversation about the merits of this condenser microphone or that
preamp. But it sounded better than talking about her parents.

Thankfully
Trey left the other day before her mother burst in so he missed her meltdown.
Felicity gave him a brief rundown, leaving out the gorier details. She worried
because her mom hadn’t checked in last night or the day before, and her dad was
texting instead of calling, which was unusual on both sides. She still didn’t
know what happened between them but whatever it was had been enough to make her
grandparents speak in generic clichés like, “give it time” and “they’ll work it
out” or the most annoying “these things have a way of working themselves out.”
It was disturbing, to say the least.

She slung her leg over the seat of Trey’s dirt
bike and unhooked the extra helmet.
 
“Let’s go to the beach.”

His eyebrows
shot up, but he nodded approval. “You said it.”

She grabbed hold
of his waist as they sped off, her sun-streaked hair whipping wildly behind
them.

Good girl.
Over-achiever. Athlete. These were the words frequently used to describe her.
Today, she felt like being someone else.
Someone who, for
once, didn’t do as she was told.
Someone who went to
parties and rode on the back of a motorcycle.
Why shouldn’t she let
loose a little? She wasn’t stupid enough to repeat her parents’ mistakes. She’d
done well enough in biology to know the odds of getting knocked up when you were
a virgin without a boyfriend.

Sex held no
interest for her. Not really. She had better things to do than worry about
whether or not some guy was going to call her when he said he would. Sure, no
one had shown interest, but that was beside the point. Her best friend was a
guy and she loved him, but she couldn’t imagine ever doing
that
with him. If she didn’t want to do it with her best friend,
why would she want to do it at all? It was illogical.

They pulled
off the road, parking near an unmarked dirt trail that led down a bluff to a
semi-secluded beach. Wafts of smoke and the unmistakable smell of fire reminded
Felicity of barbecues on the beach with her grandparents and, for a second, she
wanted to turn around and go home. Then she saw Trey, his messy blonde hair
bobbing along the trail behind her, laid back as ever.

“What, you
want to leave already?” He joked.

“Ha
ha
,” she said, mad that he knew her so well. “Just checking
to see if you can keep up.”

“Oh-
hoh
! Game on,” he said, sprinting down the path in front of
her, flip flops clacking loudly beneath his feet. She ran after him, slipping
along the path. She caught up with him just as they reached the mouth of the
trail and jumped up on his back. Galloping in on piggyback wasn’t exactly the
entrance she’d imagined, but they certainly turned heads. There was some
not-so-discreet whispering and then the obligatory teen head turn, as though
nothing could be less cool than her existence.

“Wow, this
sure looks fun,” she said.

“It’ll be
fine. Look, isn’t that Rachel?” He pointed to a brunette on the volleyball
court. Felicity waved.

“She’s
coming over here. Be nice … ” Trey warned, playfully elbowing her. “I’m
gonna
get a beverage. You want
one?”

She glared
back at him.

 
“Hey Rachel.”

“What’s up,
Felicity? I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Yeah? Why’s
that?”

“Uh, because
I never see you at parties. But hey, we could use a fourth for volleyball.”

“I’m in.”

Felicity
suddenly felt happy she’d come. It was nothing to stress about. She thought
parties were all about drinking and smoking pot and people hooking up. None of
that appealed to her, but volleyball—that she could do.

Spiking,
bumping,
diving
across the sandy court: no problem.
Making small talk with cliquey prima donnas and hormone infested boys trying to
prove their manhood: a pathetic waste of time.

She and
Rachel were paired up against two sophomores Felicity recognized from the
volleyball team, but with whom she’d never spoken. They looked a full head
taller than she was, maybe 6 feet tall, with shoulders most guys would kill
for. If Felicity were the type to back down from a challenge, she may have been
tempted.

“Hey, I
heard your parents are splitting up. Bummer,” someone said over Felicity’s
sweaty shoulder. She’d already thrown the ball in the air for her serve and it
fell to the sand, untouched.

She whirled
around to see her arch nemesis and general destroyer of good moods: Sadie.
Their rivalry dated back to the second grade when, as the new girl, Felicity
beat undefeated Sadie in the recess running races. After that, it escalated
into full-on war. Spelling bees, science fairs, soccer, basketball, anything
they could compete in, they did. And now, among other changes puberty brought
on, their social rivalry had taken on a more malicious tone.

Felicity
knew Sadie was trying to rile her up—that she had nothing to go on,
because she couldn’t know about the fight when even Felicity didn’t know what
happened, right?
 
Sadie was the last
person in the world who she’d want to know inside information about her family.
Felicity glared at her, ignoring the game.

“You must be
mistaking my parents for yours,” Felicity retorted. Sadie’s eyes widened for a
moment, almost revealing real emotion.