Shuffle, Repeat (16 page)

Mom and I are getting ready to start a game of Scrabble. It was her idea, I suspect because she's feeling guilty about forbidding me to move in with Dad next year. I got turned down for financial aid at all of my New York college choices, but I thought we could still swing it if I lived with him. But Mom says his apartment is small and the neighborhood is sketchy. When I talked to Dad about it, he said he would love to have me, but he wouldn't do it against Mom's wishes. Thus—since Mom has been putting money into Michigan's prepaid tuition program for a while now—it looks like I'm heading to U of M next year.

It's not my first choice, but I guess it won't be terrible. Darbs is going to Eastern, so I'll still be able to hang with her, and Shaun will be only three hours away at Ohio State. He claims that we will be locked in a heated football rivalry that may break our friendship.

Oliver hasn't made a final decision yet, and I'm kind of glad about that. Ever since Valentine's Day, I've found myself being just a little more
careful
around him, taking extra caution not to cross any lines.

And caring what he does with himself next year—that kind of feels like crossing a line.

For Mother-Daughter Bonding Night, Mom is making hot apple cider. She adds spices to the steaming pot while I set a bag of popcorn in the microwave. I've just pressed the start button when the home phone rings. “I got it,” says Mom, so I assume she's expecting a call from Cash.

As she heads into the living room, I watch the digital numbers on the microwave count down and I wonder if Shaun is talking to Kirk yet. Shaun said he wanted to discuss the “quality of the relationship” tonight, whatever that means. As I'm rewarded with the first pops from the bag, Mom answers the phone in the other room. “Hello?” she says in that questioning way that you do when you honestly don't know who is on the other end.

Landlines.

I still assume it's Cash until Mom says,
“What?”
and I hear something heavy slam down, like maybe she dropped a book. My stomach dips and I have a sudden terrible image of my father dead in New York, either run over by a taxi or shot with a wayward bullet. If it happened, this is absolutely the way I'd find out.

I step away from the microwave so I can hear better. Mom's voice has scaled up an octave and she's saying things like “Are you freaking kidding me?” and “Calm down, I'll be right there!”…so at least it doesn't sound like it has anything to do with Dad.

The microwave beeps as Mom rushes back into the kitchen. She turns off the burner under the apple cider and looks at me. “Honey, I'm so sorry but I have to cancel on our game.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Friend drama.” She comes close and gives me a hard kiss on the forehead before scooping her keys off the counter. “Back soon,” she says, and flies out.

I hear the front door open and close and then the sound of her car driving away into the night.

So that's weird.

I clean up the kitchen and head upstairs. After I shower, I huddle in my bed, lights off and phone on. I've just finished a turn against Oliver with my “Marauding Medusa” when I hear faint sounds from outside. I jump up and go to my bedroom window. I can see my mother's car in the snowy driveway. She's getting out of the driver's side as someone else exits from the other door. It takes me a moment to realize it's Marley.

Oliver's mother.

I hurry back to bed and listen to the sounds below. The front door opens and closes. There are whispers as two sets of feet plod up the wooden stairs. They go past my room to my mother's, and then one turns back. A second later, the knob twists and my door opens a crack. Mom's face appears. “Honey?”

I raise my head as if I'm not completely awake. “Hi,” I say in my sleepiest voice.

“Just wanted to tell you good night. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I murmur, and settle back into my pillows long enough for Mom to close the door. The second she's gone, I hop up and crack it so I can eavesdrop.

Down the hallway, Marley is weeping. Mom is saying she's going to be okay and she's going to sleep here tonight. “I didn't win after all,” Marley says between sobs. “I got the
booby
prize. It's worse than
losing.
”

“Shhh,” my mother says. “It's going to be okay.”

And then Mom's door closes, so I can't hear anything else.

I'm perched on a kitchen stool, eating an orange-rhubarb muffin, when Marley shuffles in. She's wearing my mom's robe and her messy topknot is secured with the tortoise-shell clip I gave Mom for Christmas a few years ago. Her shadowed, bloodshot eyes meet mine and immediately water up. “Hannah said I could hide upstairs until you left, too, but I need coffee.” I point to the coffeemaker—which Mom thoughtfully left on—and Marley pours some into the mug waiting for her on the counter.

“Your mom is the best.”

“She's not bad,” I agree.

“I need a favor.” I know what it will be before she says it. “Don't tell Oliver I'm here.”

It rubs me the wrong way. Oliver and I made that honesty pledge, and especially given the Itch-pocalypse, I don't want to betray it. “He might notice that you're not at home,” I tell his mom.

“I've already worked that out with Bryant,” she says. “This isn't Oliver's business—”

But it's mine?

“—and I don't want to worry him.”

Okay, that actually makes sense. I can imagine Oliver's freak-out if he knew his mom had a weeping sleepover—a weepover, if you will—with my mom. Besides, she's a parent, which means she outranks me in a significant way.

“I won't tell him.”

“Thanks,” says Marley.

Oliver has just taken a bite of toast when I clamber aboard, so he only waves at me with the crust before cranking up our playlist and pulling onto the road. The Ramones beat harsh and fast, and it's the perfect thing to propel us toward school, toward Regular Life, to let the triviality of here and now fade away, trampled by the drums.

When Oliver finishes eating, he turns down the music so we can hear each other. It's the way things are these days. The music means less, and talking to Oliver means more.

“In case you're wondering, my mom has a headache,” he tells me. I have a flash of panic—does he know she's at my house?—before making the connection. It helps that he's brandishing his crumpled napkin at me. “She didn't come down to make breakfast, so I had to fend for myself.”

“You have the worst life.”

“I know, champagne problems. That's what my dad would say. Speaking of which, guess what.”

“What?” I say on autopilot.

“I talked to my dad. He at least
acted
like it was okay.”

Wait. Oliver
does
know what's going on with his parents?

Oliver stuffs his napkin between his seat and the center console. “Although he says it's squandering my legacy, to not take the internship.”

I don't even realize I'm holding my breath until I let it out in a whoosh of air. “Oh yeah?” My attempt to speak casually is laughable. “He's not trying to make you do it?”

“Not yet,” says Oliver. “But he might be pretending now so he can spring his disapproval on me later.”

“Lovely.” So Oliver's dad is lying to him: about Marley's whereabouts, about his own feelings, about everything.

Kinda like me, except my lie is by omission. Again.

Dammit.

I'm pretty sure Mom specifically told Cash
not
to come over, because usually he'd be hanging around, but right now it's just the two of us with TV trays in the living room. Normally we're a little more civilized, but tonight we're having what Mom calls “retro dinner.” It means we have a layered salad with mayonnaise dressing, and chicken casserole with crackers baked into the top. For dessert, there will be blue Jell-O with Goldfish crackers “swimming” in it.

Apparently this is the food of my mother's youth.

A few bites into the cracker chicken (shockingly delicious, BTW), Mom says she appreciates my discretion. I knew this would be coming, but still, it's nice to hear. “Oliver's parents are having some problems,” she tells me. (Duh.) “You should stay out of it.”

I've been turning this over and over in my head all day and I've come to a decision. Yes, Oliver and I made a pact about honesty, but telling him this truth would only hurt and confuse him, and I don't want to do that. I know it's risking our friendship and the rare trust we've somehow found between us, but this is one of those times when I'm going to choose what's good for another person instead of what offers the most safety for me.

Besides, it's not my story to tell.

“Okay,” I say to my mom. “I'll stay out of it.”

General cacophony abounds as we trundle along the highway behind the other yellow bus. People throw wads of paper and bounce in their seats. Someone starts the school fight song and most of our bus joins in with great exuberance. It's like they've all turned into a bunch of children.

I am squeezed between Darbs and Lily on one of the narrow vinyl seats. Darbs sings along but Lily is looking out the window and talking to me. “Ice-skating,” she says loudly so I can hear her. “Isn't there a rink out this way?”

“They did that last year. Cal Turman broke his ankle.”

“Oh, that's right. Maybe apple picking?”

“Wrong time of year.”

Lily is trying to guess where we're going for Senior Off-Campus Day. It's (yet again) one of our high school's traditions, but this is one I can get behind, because it means no classes for a day. In fact, that's apparently the reason it was invented a decade or so ago: to combat the previous tradition of Senior Skip Day. The only unfortunate part is that we have zero say in where we go. The administration plans it all and then we're surprised when we get there.

No one ever claimed that high school is a democracy.

As we find out when we arrive, this year's senior class of Robin High is going bowling. Wolverine Lanes has been rented out so we can bond over balls. I came here once as a kid, maybe for someone's birthday party, and it doesn't look like the decor has changed since then. Still the same spatter-printed carpet and lime-green walls and ancient arcade games. Still the lingering scent of greasy food and feet.

A teacher tells us to line up for shoes and explains that during our three hours of knocking pins down, we also get free sodas and hot dogs and hamburgers. Predictably, Darbs pitches a fit about the lack of vegan options and ends up with an extra bag of chips.

We accidentally get in line behind Theo, who hefts two bowling balls in front of his crotch. “Just like the real ones,” he tells me.

“Just like your brain,” I say. It's not a great comeback, but it's the first one I think of.

“I hate him so much,” Darbs says to me, and Theo swings his head (and his balls) in her direction.

“I can hear you.”

“Good.” She gives him the finger.

“Next!” says the woman at the counter, and Theo finally turns away from us.

“I hate him, too,” I tell Darbs.

Once we're all wearing red-and-blue shoes, we head to a lane, where Shaun is typing our names on the sticky keyboard attached to the ball return. “Do you want Darbs or Darby?” he asks as we arrive.

“Darbs, dumb-ass.” She flicks him in the head.

“Hey, this is a sporting event. Maybe you're formal at sporting events.”

“Speaking of formal, are any of you going to the prom?” Lily asks.

“A: it's like four months away,” I tell her. “And B: I wouldn't be caught dead.”

“I bought a dress,” Darbs says, then sees my look. “What? It's a big deal.”

“Whatever, I'm not going.”

“I'm with June,” says Lily.

Shaun taps a final key. “Darbs is first.”

We play our first ten frames, taking turns flinging a heavy ball down the lane. Shaun gets two strikes and a whole bunch of spares, so of course we tease him mercilessly. “This is terrible,” he moans. “I'm good at bowling!”

“You're going to get one of those shirts,” I tell him. “The ones with the collar and the embroidered name on the pocket.”

Oliver arrives at our lane and hears that last bit. “Ooh, what's Shaun's bowling name?”

“King of the Pins,” I tell him.

“The Strikemaster,” Oliver says.

“Holy Roller,” I shoot back.

“Ball Buster.”

“Gutter Guru.”

“Spare me,” Darbs groans.

“Good one!” Oliver tells her, and she rolls her eyes.

“No, I actually meant please spare me having to listen to the two of you play this game. Do you ever stop competing with each other?”

“We weren't competing,” I say. “We were—”

“Having fun,” Oliver says, and grins at me.

“Whatever,” says Darbs. “Are we going again?”

“I'm out.” Lily grabs her bag. “There's an arcade.”

“I will kick your ass in Pac-Man,” says Darbs.

“Bring it,” Lily tells her, and they take off.

Shaun looks back and forth between Oliver and me. “You guys play. I'm going to see if they'll give me an extra hot dog.”

Oliver and I almost knock each other down trying to get to the joke first. “That's what she said,” Oliver tells him.

At the same time, I say, “Kirk's not going to like that.”

Shaun shakes his head—“You two are predictable”—and walks away.

Oliver nudges me, motioning in the direction Shaun went. “Are he and Kirk still a thing?”

“Yes and no. I think they're in the Awkward Conversation section of the relationship, where things either get better or go downhill.”

Oliver nods and we both stand there for our very own Awkward Moment. Then he lifts his chin toward the pins. “Should we?”

I glance at the far lane, where I know Ainsley landed when we all came in. Sure enough, she's looking at us. At
me,
standing here with her boyfriend. I raise my hand toward her and flap it around a little, because maybe that'll make it less weird. She immediately flashes me a brilliant smile, waving in return…and then Theo leans over and whispers something to her. They both crack up—and look at me again before laughing even more.

I turn back to Oliver, who doesn't seem like he's noticed any of it. He has blinders on where Theo is concerned.

Well, screw Theo.

And screw my stupid caution where Oliver is concerned. There's a strong chance his perfect family life is going to explode around him any minute, and if I can give him a little fun before that happens, I'm doing it. I choose a glittery pink ball. “I'm warning you,” I tell Oliver. “I'm small but I'm feisty.”

“Just how I like 'em,” Oliver says, and then looks uncomfortable. “That came out weird.”

“It came out right.” I immediately feel the same way Oliver looks, and I shake it off by giving instructions. “Make yourself useful. Type in our names.”

He gets busy at the keyboard and I get busy looking anywhere besides at him. I know—I
know
—what's trying to happen in my heart, but I refuse it. I'm not going there. Oliver Flagg and I are just friends, and that is how it's going to stay. He has a wonderful girlfriend and I have a wonderfully uncomplicated life.

Even if I feel my insides tighten when he flashes a grin at me from behind the keyboard. He points up to the screen, at the names he's assigned us for everyone to see: Roller Rafferty and One-Ball Ollie.

I burst out laughing and Oliver looks confused. “What?” he asks. “They're our bowling names.”

“Some people might take yours wrong,” I manage to say before being overtaken by another gale of laughter.

Oliver squints at the screen and I see the look of comic horror wash over him. “Oh crap!” he says, and plops back down in front of the keyboard. “I meant the pins! I can knock down all the pins with one ball!” He taps at the keys. “How do I change this?”

“Too late,” I inform him, and sprint to the lane. Before he can figure out how to get back to the name screen, I chuck my glittery pink ball and watch it knock over two pins on the right side. “Already started!”

I look back at Oliver, who is shaking his head. “You're killing my rep, Rafferty.” But he has a big goofy grin plastered on his face.

Oliver and I end up playing only one game together (he wins, but not by much) before Shaun and Lily return to join us. The four of us play, and of course Shaun clobbers everyone again, and then Ainsley arrives to retrieve Oliver. She says she wants to get a picture with him in the photo booth. I try not to look at the curtained area where they're definitely
not
getting pictures, because they're in there way too long and Ainsley's feet are facing his.

Instead, I head to the arcade to beat Darbs at Dance Dance Revolution. We play Skee-Ball and Ms. Pac-Man, and then take turns trying to balance on the railing surrounding the snack area until we get yelled at by a food worker. At some point, the bowling people remember they have a sound system and start pumping really loud disco music, so Darbs and I find Lily and pull her onto the spatter-patterned carpet to dance. Ainsley pops out of the photo booth to see us leaping about and decides to join in with one of the cheerleaders. In a flash minute, a whole bunch of them are there and everyone is dancing and the teachers are trying to make us stop but they're not trying very hard. The day is silly and fun and crazy, and on the way home in the bus, someone starts up the Robin High fight song again.

This time, I sing along.