The Best Kind of People (26 page)

She felt harsh as she said that.

She was still struggling with the feeling that she was letting him down, that she was abandoning her husband at his lowest point. Compassion — it has its limits, she supposed. “You’re allowed to be pissed off,”
said Clara, said Sadie. Even Andrew, in his way, had said it. “Don’t be a doormat, Mom.”

TWENTY-THREE

ANDREW WAS STANDING
in the lobby of the Vivian Beaumont Theater, holding two glasses of wine, when Jared arrived a few minutes late. Jared regarded him with caution, and Andrew realized he was probably scowling. Jared cocked his head to the side in a gesture of concern, accepting the small plastic cup from Andrew’s outstretched hand.

“I’m fine,” Andrew said by way of a greeting.

“You don’t look fine, you look exhausted.”

“That’s because I
am
exhausted,” Andrew said. “Can I be tired without you acting like I have cancer?”

The crowd grew around them, necessitating that they stand closer. Jared put his hand on Andrew’s arm and gave it a comforting squeeze that prompted Andrew to bristle just as an older woman with an oversized designer purse knocked into his arm, spilling his wine on the sleeve of his suit jacket, the Valentino he’d worn for an important meeting at work. He hissed at the woman.

“Well, don’t stand in the doorway if you don’t want to get pushed around,” she said with a thick New York accent. Andrew grew livid, felt Jared moving him away towards the last-minute pre-show lineup at the bar.

“We don’t have to be here, you know. We can just tell Evan we saw the play and he wouldn’t know the difference. I sent flowers to the dressing room,” Jared said, taking a sip of his wine and waving his Visa card at the server for two more.

“Why would we waste the money?” Andrew said, scanning his ticket, trying to understand where their seats were situated inside the auditorium.

“It’s not a waste of money if we’re supporting the theatre. It’s no use being here if you could use the time to rest, to catch up on some sleep. We could spend some time together at home, you know.”

“Maybe you’re the one who needs some rest.”

Jared exhaled slowly. Andrew didn’t want to be taken care of, and he didn’t
want
to stop being stressed out. It filled him with a sense of active purpose, kept him from a restless sadness. He was tired of spending time with Jared that was fraught with tension.

Every meal Jared prepared, every solution to a problem he came up with, wasn’t the right one. Andrew knew that Jared was becoming a punching bag for his own anger and helplessness about his father, and for the subsequent fallout of the stress on his career, his time, the things he enjoyed about life.

The lights flickered for the final call.

“My mom wants to spend Christmas with us here, in the city,” Andrew said. “Would that be okay?”

“Of course, that would be amazing!”

Jared got really excited about Christmas every year, even though he was Jewish. Andrew always wished they could just order takeout and go to the movies, but he usually invited Jared to Avalon Hills, where Jared was the most excited about the rituals. They holed up at the Woodbury estate, seeing very little of the outside world. Jared had never even seen the town, or any of the local sites.

“I don’t know if it will be
amazing
,” he said, leading Jared into the darkened theatre, “but at least we’ll be together.”

TWENTY-FOUR

ONCE SADIE DECIDED
to move home again, something she was preparing to tell Jimmy about later that night, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. Why was she suddenly an ineffective layabout? Why should she let the haters win? She was the school’s top student. She had papers to write, a student council meeting to chair.

She drove back to Jimmy’s during her free period, straightened her hair, layered on some mascara, and threw the grey sweatshirt in the hamper. She showed up last to the weekly student council meeting. Cheryl was visibly less than pleased to give up her seat at the head of the table. The afternoon sun was sliding across the long oak table, illuminating the dust on all the leather-bound books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves. Sadie shut the door and the din fell silent. Sadie smiled at Cheryl, a customer service–style smile, brimming with teeth.

I dare you
, said Sadie’s smile.
Basic bitch, just try me.

“Hello, Cheryl, nice barrettes,” she said.

Cheryl touched the tiny golden birds in her thin, greasy shoulder-length hair and whispered a thanks, though she knew Sadie’s comment was sarcastic. There was an uncomfortable pause before Cheryl realized Sadie was waiting for her to give up her seat; it was where the designated leadership sat. Sadie looked down at the fidgeting grade reps assembled, at Tony the aspiring
CFO
who wasn’t great at eye contact at the best of times, furiously tapping on his tablet device, then at Jimmy, who was giving her an encouraging smile that said,
Get back on the horse!
Even though things at Jimmy’s house had been strained, at school they put on a united front. And having sex with him had made him relax; he’d hovered less that day. Jimmy pushed back whenever anyone gave her cut-eye. It was the only thing that still ignited anything resembling passion in Sadie, and she appreciated it.

Cheryl handed out copies of the minutes from the last meeting, and the agenda for the hour ahead. Running meetings used to make her happy. They were so efficient. She got things done.

“First item,” Sadie said, wanting the meeting to go well, scanning the list, “is … the Teacher of the Year award.”

Some students snickered. Every year it went to her father.

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll need a volunteer to adjust the online survey from last year. Do we have a short list?”

“Uh …” Cheryl started, shifting in her seat. “I’m not sure you know this? But the site? Has been … hacked?”

“Oh yeah?” Sadie drew a lazy sunflower on her agenda.

Tony slid the tablet down towards her, set to the school’s homepage, where a black and red screen with a YouTube video had replaced the usual content. She clicked on the video. A seventies disco song started up, and the video of her father accepting the award last year appeared, with images from Girls Gone Wild crudely edited on around it. Sadie’s cheeks burned, but she took a deep breath, gripping the koala eraser in her pocket.

“Well, obviously this hacker is really … basic. I mean, if this is the best he could do. It’s the most predictable hack in the world.” She slid the tablet back to Tony and fixed him with a blasé stare. “So, uh, Tony,” she said, drawing petals on the flower, “take the site down, obvi. I’m surprised the school hasn’t done it already.”

“It just went live,” he said, shrugging and looking down again. Sadie knew at that moment that he was the lame hacker in question.

“Take it down. This school is just so … childish,” Sadie said. “How is anyone going to survive next year at college with so few … social skills?” She looked at Tony again, forcing eye contact, until he physically squirmed. She moved on to the next item on the agenda.

She went through the list of student concerns, things that Sadie used to care about and that now seemed incredibly silly, but she kept up the facade of being interested in things like the job fair, the holiday bake sale fundraiser, fixing the espresso machine in the student lounge, and telling the animals rights group to stop flinging paint at their parents when they arrived for the talent show. Sadie concluded the meeting with an extra-hard slam of the gavel, which was largely decorative but nevertheless made a satisfying bang. She had completed this very normal thing, running the meeting, and she hadn’t run out or gone home early.

“Going to the caf, want anything?” Jimmy asked, reaching out to grab her wrist as the group dispersed. She leaned in and kissed him, performing for the group a tableau of normalcy, the way things used to be.

“Chai tea?” she said.

He nodded, a smile breaking across his face. Her pretence wasn’t just working on the group, it was working on him. Was he dumb or did he just wish the appearances were reality? Sadie wondered: if she kept faking it, would she start to feel normal again too? Could she trick herself with muscle memory and routine?

She was trying to hide the fact that she was elsewhere, in her head mostly. She was trying to keep up with reading and homework, keep her eye on the prize even if actually attending class was a problem. She had developed strategies — such as using the third-floor bathroom, which was the least populated and where she would likely see Amanda. She went there after the meeting to crack the window and lean outside, get some air. She texted Amanda a bunny emoji, their code for her to join her, and she arrived promptly, thankfully without a cigarette this time.

“Miranda Steele told your dad all about her parents’ divorce, and she felt like he was her only confidant,
FYI
. Now she’s so pissed. Like he betrayed her.”

“Betrayed her how?” Sadie asked. “If he listened to her, how was that a betrayal?”

“You don’t want to know the details,” Amanda replied.

“C’mon, it can’t be true. Just tell me. I’ve read everything in the papers,” she said, trying to appear impenetrable.

“They would never be allowed to print these details in the paper,” she said, like a threat.

Sadie paled. Yesterday Amanda had hugged her and told her things would be okay soon and that she loved her. Today she seemed like one of the catty girls from the hallway.

“And it
sounded
true to me,” she said. “Plus, she’s more of a social pariah than you now.”

“No, she’s not.”

“Girl, you haven’t been around. Someone set her dad’s car on fire in their driveway, and Jonah Stewart was apparently
bragging
about it. The cops don’t even care — they all remember your dad as some hero who took down that gunman. They think the girls are all liars, especially Miranda, because she’s so pretty and because she’s had sex with so many guys.”

“How do you know how many guys she’s had sex with?”

“Everybody does.”

“I didn’t realize she was getting harassed too.”

“Some people might be giving your family side-eye and being assholes, but she’s getting it worse, believe me. She convinced all the other girls to come forward, so now that their lives are being scrutinized, they’re blaming her. And you know her parents — they’re, like, always travelling.”

“Wow, that’s terrible.”

“Anyway, gotta jet,” she said, leaving Sadie in the bathroom alone
.

Above the sink someone had written,
Sadie Woodbury sucks big dicks!

Sadie returned to the lounge, where Jimmy was waiting with her tea. She’d booked the couch room for their study period. Since she’d stopped attending class regularly, the school administrators were letting her use the room to study, especially if she told them she was too emotionally fragile to be in a classroom with other students. She took her tests in the student government room while Mrs. Caribou watched.

Sadie had been reading Kevin’s novels. She had decided to use one as an example of omniscient narration in an essay for her advanced English class. She described his second novel as “purposely tearing apart our expectations of narrative,” but in truth she thought he likely balked under the pressure of his first realist novel and went surreal because it was easier. That’s what Jimmy had hinted at, anyway.

Jimmy was hanging out with his friend Jason, who was so cute most girls couldn’t even speak around him.

“Why don’t you use Joyce instead? Or someone the teacher will be more impressed with?”

“Everyone will use Joyce. She seemed plenty impressed by the fact that I’m staying in the author’s house.”

He scoffed. “It’s my mom’s house. He’s not as cool as you think he is. He’s, like, a total slack-off. He doesn’t even pay bills. Before you came, he like hardly ever hung out with me. He just wrote and then smoked joints all night and sometimes hung out with my mom.”

“Well, maybe we strive too much, you and I? Like, how important is getting As, really?”

“You know I don’t care about grades.”

“That’s because you get As without even giving a shit. You’re just smart like that. But I bet if you started to get Bs, you would start to give a shit.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Jason and I are going to skip the afternoon, go to the park. Wanna come?”

“Well, it sounds … 
delightful
, but no.”

“What is with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just extra snotty today, like extra, extra superior.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I thought things were going to be okay again, because, you know, of last night. That was … beautiful.”

Beautiful? Ugh. There was a long pause. Jason spun the wheels of his skateboard over and over, obviously feeling awkward.

“You going to Amanda’s party tonight?” Jason asked. “Her folks are gone. Remember how fun it was last time?”

Sadie remembered watching the sunrise on the beach. It was when she and Jimmy had first got together. They’d kissed at the end of the night for the first time.

But she hadn’t been invited to Amanda’s party. No wonder Amanda had been weird with her in the bathroom.

“Nah, I don’t really feel like it. Just a bunch of kids getting trashed, kinda boring.”

Jimmy scoffed. “Uh, that last party was the best ever,” he said.

Sadie shrugged, opened her book again. “I don’t remember,” she mumbled.

Jimmy glared at her. “Maybe it’s not just that people are freaked out about your dad. Maybe it’s ’cause you’re acting like a total bitch.”

Jason laughed, covering his mouth in shock.

She frowned. She tried not to let the insult throw her, looked down at her fingernails and picked at the skin around her thumb. Jimmy had never said an unkind word to her before.

“Sorry, Sadie. Fuck, I didn’t mean that.”

Sadie turned away, pretending to gaze out the small window of the couch room, which looked out onto a sliver of the school’s roof. She was determined not to let him see her cry. She saw a fat squirrel with a full piece of bread in its mouth hopping along a drainpipe. She watched it until she heard him leave. When the door closed, the squirrel turned and locked eyes with her until it had swallowed the entire piece of bread.