Ten Things We Did (And Probably Shouldn't Have) (2 page)

“We’re going to have a blast,” she continued.

We would have a blast. Living with Vi and Suzanne would not be like living with my dad and Penny.

Let’s take a second to compare, shall we?

Every bed in our house was required to have hospital corners. I was told to please use a pillow if I was going to lean against my linen headboard. Vi and her mom, on the other hand, both had water beds. I’d never seen Suzanne’s water bed made. Vi’s house smelled like cinnamon incense. Mine smelled like hand wipes with a splash of Lysol. Due to The Incident, my curfew was ten
P.M.
Suzanne did not believe in curfews. Anyway, they’d be tough to enforce since her shows usually went until eleven and she herself was never home before one at the earliest.

One more Suzanne/my dad comparison: Suzanne was spontaneous. She had last-minute potluck dinners and marathon movie nights. My dad and Penny scheduled sex. Every Tuesday and Saturday at eleven. I tried to be asleep. It wasn’t like it was on the calendar, but I could hear the Barry Manilow playing like clockwork. Can you imagine . . . scheduling sex? Could anything be less romantic?

Okay, so Noah and I were trying to schedule sex— tonight?!—but clearly, that was for a different reason. We couldn’t spontaneously get a place to ourselves.

“This is perfect,” Vi continued. “You have no idea how perfect. My mother was just offered the lead role in the traveling production of
Mary Poppins
.”

I laughed. “Your mother is playing Mary Poppins?”

“Yes. I see the irony.”

“For how long?”

“It’s a six-month contract. The show starts in Chicago for six weeks and then moves around the country. She’ll be relieved if I have someone to hang out with.”

Holy crap. “The two of us . . . in your house?” The two of us. In her beach house. With no parents.

“Hells yeah! Isn’t that perfect?”

“Your mom is fine with leaving you alone?”

“Darling. Finding work is tough these days, and my mom’s not getting any younger or any thinner. She’s twice the size she used to be. If she’s offered Traveling
Mary Poppins
, she’s taking Traveling
Mary Poppins
.”

Suzanne had been a midlevel Broadway star. Then she’d gotten knocked up by a cute Brit. Then, cute Brit dumped her for a cute Australian. Suzanne moved back home to Westport so her mom could help with baby Violet, and Suzanne became a waitress and did community theater. When Vi started high school, Suzanne started acting again in the city. The roles hadn’t been great. A lead role was huge. So I should have been happy for Suzanne—and I was—but if she was going to be Mary Poppins in Chicago . . . then I was going to be Le Misérable in Ohio.

I fell back on my bed. “Vi, my dad is not going to let me stay at your house without your mom there.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Why not?”

“My father is a big believer in supervision.”

“But we’d have so much fun.”

“So much fun,” I answered forlornly. “Oh God, I’m going to have to move to Ohio.” The black spots were returning. I covered my eyes with my hands. “Why is my father ruining my life? Whose parents get up and move to another city?”

“Mine.”

Right. “Why don’t we have normal parents?”

Another pause. “Maybe my mom can convince your dad to let us try it out.”

“Vi, my dad is never going to let me stay with just you. He won’t let me live without a responsible adult on the premises. I don’t even think it’s legal.”

“I would hardly call my mother a responsible adult. Last night she had at least thirty actors over, all drunk and singing show tunes.”

“Telling my dad that
will not help my case either. I’m screwed.”

“No, come on. Just explain that it’s not a big deal. My mother will call him when she wakes up.”

“It’s eleven.”

“She went to bed late.” She let out a long, pondering sigh. “Perhaps putting my mom and your dad on the phone together is not our best move. My mom tends to overshare. So here’s what we’re going to do: Let me talk to him.”

“You’re not going to be able to talk him into this, Vi.” She was good, but not that good. Last year, she’d won the school’s public-speaking competition. Her topic had been “how to win a public-speaking competition.” She was very convincing.

“What if he thinks I’m my mother?”

“Scusies?” My toes curled in my socks.

“He calls the house phone. He thinks I’m her. I tell him that I’m delighted to have you live with us, and I just don’t mention the traveling-around-the-country bit.”

Huh. “We just don’t tell him?”

“Exactly. What he doesn’t know . . .”

“Omigod, that’s insane. I can’t do that.” My breath grew shallow. I wasn’t the kind of person who did something like that.

“Then move to Cleveland.”

I could not move to Cleveland. Not now. Not eight days after I was about to do it with my boyfriend. Not in the middle of the year. Not ever.

I heard myself say, “What number should he call you on?”

THE INCIDENT

It was the beginning of sophomore year.

I was not yet aware how strong wine coolers were. Sure, they tasted like lemonade but before you knew it you were on the sand doing mermaid impressions.

Me, Vi, Marissa, and Vi’s friend Joanna had gotten drunk on Compo Beach. Lucy Michaels had videotaped us with her iPhone, and shared the video with her mom.

Unfortunately, Lucy’s mother was the new school guidance counselor.

After Mrs. Michaels told all of our parents—and showed them the video—here’s what happened:

Joanna went to Andersen High School, so it didn’t matter.

Marissa was grounded for a week.

Vi’s mother said, “So? They didn’t drive home afterward, did they?” (We didn’t. Vi’s friend Dean had picked us up.)

But me? I was grounded for two weeks, plus I got a ten
P.M
. curfew—indefinitely.

Yes, I’d been the one rolling around in the sand declaring I was a mermaid. I was also the one who’d asked Dean to pull over so I could throw up, but my dad didn’t have video evidence of that tidbit.

It probably hadn’t helped that I had only moved into my dad’s place six days earlier.

He and Penny had many closed-door conversations and then, eventually, it was decided that I would have to be home by ten
P.M
. every night, even on weekends, so I would not get into any more trouble. As if trouble only happened after ten
P.M
.

“Don’t you realize how dangerous it is for a girl to be roaming around drunk?” my father asked, shaking his head. “I thought you had better judgment.”

“I did,” I said. “I do.” I hugged my knees into my chest and tried to disappear into my bed.

His voice was spiked with disappointment. “I don’t understand
why
. I know you didn’t act out like this when you lived with your mother. At least I hope you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” I said, which was true. I had always been good. Sure, I’d had a few sips of alcohol before, but that night on Compo Beach was the first time I’d gotten plastered.

“Then why now?”

Because it had seemed like a fun idea? Beach! Wine coolers! Mermaid! Also, I was pissed at Noah (because of The Corinne Situation) and wanted to show him I could have a crazy, fun night without him. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“Penny thinks you’re acting out because you’re mad at your mother for moving away.”

I shook my head, but I didn’t actually answer the question.

WHY LUCY MICHAELS RATTED US OUT

Who knows? She was always walking by herself, staring at people. She had big navy eyes that never blinked. You could watch her in class for fifteen minutes and those eyelids would not flutter. At the time of The Incident she’d been a sophomore like me, although she’d just moved to Westport and I’d lived there my whole life.

Ratting us out the first week she started at Hillsdale was not a brilliant strategy for making friends.

BACK TO CLEVELAND

My dad and I were sitting in the living room, on opposite sides of the suede couch, when he called “Suzanne.”

I was dying to scoot closer to him so I could possibly hear what Vi was saying, but I decided that listening to the full conversation might spark cardiac arrest.

“Hello, Suzanne, this is Jake Berman, April’s father. How are you?” my dad boomed.

I had a mini–heart attack even without hearing Vi’s response.

“Great, great, so nice to hear . . .” he continued. “Yes, thank you. Now about April coming to stay with you—”

My hands started shaking, like I had overdosed on coffee. When I couldn’t steady them, I decided I was better off leaving the room than giving myself away. If my dad suspected he was talking to Vi instead of Suzanne, it was over.

I hurried over to the kitchen and tried to shut out his voice.

“—inconvenienced in any way—”

La, la, la.

“—she’ll have an allowance for food—”

Sounded promising . . .

“—Yes, responsibility—”

Don’t listen. Pace instead. Yes, I told myself. Pace. Up and down the kitchen. But not too loudly. Sound busy. Very busy opening and closing the fridge. Hello, fridge. Hello, apples. Hello, grapes. Hello, low-fat mozzarella. Maybe I should wash my hands. Drown out the sound. I turned on the water, nice and loud, then lathered and rinsed. Then lathered and rinsed again. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Lying to my dad. Living with Vi was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? What if my dad said no? What if he said yes? When I turned off the water, there was silence. I wanted to run back into the living room but refrained.

“Dad?” I said tentatively.

No answer. Oh God. He’d figured it out. Vi had cracked. I was dead. I braced myself before entering the living room.

He was typing into his BlackBerry, but he stopped when I came in. “Well, Princess”—he exhaled as if he was slightly astonished—“looks like you can do it if you want to. You can stay with them to finish out the year. Suzanne said the best way to reach her is via email, so I’m sending her my contact details.”

She did? You were?

“She’s going to be in a production of
Chicago
this spring—she offered to get us tickets when we’re back in town.”

“How generous,” I sputtered.

“Are you sure this is what you want to do?” he asked, looking up at me.

As our eyes met, I realized that now it would be me and him that would have to
keep in touch.

Oh.

But I couldn’t move to Cleveland. I just couldn’t. Sure, I was bummed my dad was leaving but what I felt was mostly relief. I was staying. I looked at my hands and said, “Yes.”

THE RULES

I reread Noah’s IM
—Can’t wait for tonight. . . . What time should I come over?—
before replying:
Don’t come over. I’m so sorry, but we have to postpone. Again. Whole life in upheaval. Can we go somewhere easy? Burger Palace?
As I was typing the last word, my dad knocked, opened my door, and handed me a piece of paper.
THE RULES
was printed across the top.

I’ll explain later,
I quickly typed, then shut my laptop.

“One,” Dad said, reading from his own copy of “The Rules.” “You are to keep up your grades.”

“Grades,” I repeated, swiveling my chair to face him. “Keep up. Check.”

Of course I would keep my grades up. I had a 3.9. I wasn’t about to mess with that. Not this semester, when it mattered most.

“If your GPA drops
at all
, you’re on the next plane to Cleveland.”

“Absolutely, I understand,” I said.

“Next,” he continued. “No boys in the house.”

I batted my eyelashes. “Am I supposed to stop Vi—and Suzanne—from entertaining gentleman callers?”

He laughed. “Don’t be smart.”

“It’s hard to control.”

“No Noah in your room. No you and Noah alone in the house.” These were his house rules here too.

“So the rule is just for Noah. I can have as many other boys over as I want?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Dad, I’m joking. No boys. Especially Noah. Keep going.”

“Three. No drinking,” he said.

“No drinking,” I repeated, blushing. “I’m guessing mermaid impersonations are out too?”

He smiled. “Yes. Rule number four: Your curfew will remain intact.”

Was he kidding? He wanted me to keep my ten
P.M.
curfew even though he lived in another city? “Dad, come on—”

He shook his head, his expression stern. “I’m being serious. Your curfew stays. I discussed it with Suzanne.”

I was sure “Suzanne” would take my curfew enforcement very seriously. “Okay,” I relented.

“I trust you, April. You’ve definitely proven yourself in the last year and a half.”

I nodded and tried to ignore the guilt creeping in when I heard the word
trust
.

He put his arm on my shoulder and squeezed. “You can tell a lot about a person not just by their successes, but by how they deal with their setbacks, and, April, I’m very proud of how you complied with your curfew. I don’t think you’ve ever been late.”

“I haven’t,” I said truthfully. Well, except when I stayed over at Marissa’s. As long as she checked in via cell every few hours and kissed her parents good night when she got in, she didn’t have a curfew. Her parents trusted her—and kept her close. They kept all five of their kids close. They had dinner together every night. Friday night, Shabbat dinner, included grandparents, cousins, and close friends. I had a standing invitation, in addition to a mom-crush on Dana, Marissa’s mother.

So that was it? Keep up my grades, no drinking, no boys, and my curfew? Doable. Or at least fakeable.

“What should I do about buying things?” I asked. “Like when I need new clothes.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ll deposit money into an account for you at the beginning of every month. Two hundred will be for rent and an additional two hundred will be for groceries. You’ll give that money directly to Suzanne. Plus some extra for you.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised. “How much in total?”

“A thousand dollars a month.”