The Truth about Us (3 page)

“Oh God. I totally want this!” I hold up my phone to Nance and point, but she's making prune lips at Bryan and ignores me. Ugh.

“Gross,” I say and look down at the dress, really stare at it. “It is an important year,” I say out loud to it in my snooty lady voice. “Everyone says so.” I giggle some more. I've definitely had too many coolers. I imagine pirouetting in the dress. Maybe Josh is my date for prom. Ew. No. The Flynn guy! Taking a boy like him would get lots more attention. Not positive attention, but still. I laugh to myself and wonder how much the limit on my mom's credit card is. I glance down at the auction button. The Buy It Now button says it's $9,999. It's regularly $15,000. It's actually a total bargain.

I deserve something fun. There's so little fun in my life these days. My house is like a morgue most of the time. And okay, I won't wear it to school the first day, and definitely not on a college interview, but I could totally pull it off for prom.

I clap my hands together, imitating Nance, pull out my mom's credit card again, then click the Buy It Now button. I fill in the payment information with the credit card number and my home address.

“Whoo-hoo!” I yell to Nance when the payment goes through.

She takes her eyes off her phone for two seconds to look at me. “I bought it!” I tell her.

“Of course you did,” she says and goes back to her phone.

I grab another cooler and move to sit beside her and stick my face into her phone screen. “She's not going to sleep with you, Bryan,” I tell him. “Not this summer. You have too much money.”

He smirks at me. “Yeah? Well, least you can do is show me your boobs.”

Nance grabs my hand and swings it in the air.

“Oh no,” I say. After a few drinks, the girl does love to show off her boobs. “You asked for it, Bryan,” I say as Nance turns to me, a devilish twinkle in her eyes.

“Hold this.” She puts her phone in my hand. I make a face at Bryan.

“No. Point it at me!” she shouts, so I turn the phone so the camera faces her. “The sun's going down soon and the girls need some sunshine.” In a flash, she's undone her bikini top and tosses it down beside her.

I hear Bryan whoop and she flips her hair back, plucks my cooler from my hand, takes a sip, and wiggles around. The girl has great boobs, but God compensated by giving her no rhythm at all. That is for shizzle. I try to ignore her gigantic breasts bouncing up and down in the sun, though I should be used to her flashing them around.

I turn the phone toward me. “Okay, Bryan. You've had enough of a show. Bye.” I click off her phone and Nance yells at me. “You're lucky he was too busy gawking to snap a photo of you. He'd post it everywhere. And that is
not
what you need to start your senior year. You have to stop doing that on the phone.”

She laughs. “Yeah. Fair enough. Okay. No more phone flashing. But this is fun. Join me. Be free!”

“Me?” I laugh at the absurdity and put her phone down.

“Yes. Otherwise you'll have weird tan lines that will mess up your hot new dress.”

I giggle and jump up and down, and in a sane part of my mind, I sense it's a little manic but don't even care. “I bought it!” I scream again. “Oh my God. I bought it.”

“Come on, Jess. Show me your boobies!”

Can I do that? Can I? I suck in a breath as if I'm eight and have just been caught with chocolate stains all over my fingers after being told to stay out of the chocolate chip bag. “But what if your brother comes back?”

“He's at work,” she says dismissively, lifts her hands, and twirls around on the deck. “It's so American to be repressed about topless sunbathing.”

“Yeah. But we are American!” I shout.

“It's no big deal. I was half-naked the whole time I went to Saint Martin.”

“Because you have great boobs,” I say. I've hated my boobs since eighth grade when Johnny Ryan announced to everyone that my boobs were saggy. I've worn a padded bra ever since. Preferably a push-up one.

“Don't be ridiculous. Your boobs are fabulous,” she says. “They don't have to be big to be beautiful.” Nance twirls again. “Don't leave me topless all alone. It's more fun with someone else.”

“You always do it,” I remind her. “Last night, you were all party of one while you were flashing those boys.”

“Boring,” she says. “You are boring.”

“Not boring,” I tell her and sit up straighter. I take another swig of my cooler. What's the big deal? I mean besides baring my boobs to the entire world. Well. Nance's backyard.

“Jess-I-cup,” she sings.

“No,” I tell her.

“You're not scared, are you?”

Grr. Nance knows the buttons to push.

“Bock, bock, bock,” she says, imitating a chicken.

“Not scared.” I reach around my back, then I pull my fingers back away. “No. I can't!”

“Free yourself!” she chants. “Lose your inhibitions.”

I shake my head. “I can't.”

“You can! Free those boobies!”

I shake my hands. Breathe in and out, in and out quickly.

“You can do it!” she says. “Go, Jess!” she cheers. “Go!”

I can't. I have saggy boobs. But also, I'm kinda drunk.

“Free them!” she squeals.

It makes me laugh. I'm tired of myself. I don't want to be like the little girl next door, clutching my chalk and trying to hide my feelings. I squeeze my eyes closed, pump my fists in the air, and try hard to rock my inner
Girls
Gone
Wild
vibe. “Okay, okay!” I squeal as my fingers fumble over a knot. “Oh my God!” I say. “What is wrong with me?”

“Show me your boobies,” Nance chants.

There's a weird humming noise coming from my throat as I struggle to undo the knot, and then it gives and I pull off my bathing suit top and fling it for good luck. It flies through the air, and I watch in horror as it lands way too far away, in the middle of the yard on the grass.

“Oops!” I say and stare at it, covering my boobs with my hands.

Nance is laughing so hard, tears drip from her eyes. “I can't believe you did it!” she yells.

Actually, neither can I.

“Girls?”

I blink. Holy crap.

“Nance,” says Mrs. Green. “What the
hell
is going on here?”

As if she's got magical powers, Nance's mom is suddenly standing on the deck. She's wearing her real estate agent costume. Power suit. Tight short skirt, low-cut blouse, a fitted blazer, and mile-high heels. My mom used to wear the same thing. When she worked.

She's glaring at us, and my face heats up. I wrap my arms tighter in front of myself and stumble. I have had way too much to drink to deal with this right now.

“Jesus, girls,” Nance's mom sputters, glancing around at the coolers and cigarettes, her mouth open, her eyes shooting sparks. “This isn't a nude beach. The neighbors can see you. Put your clothes back on.” She looks around, horrified someone might be peering over the fence, witnessing the debauchery in her backyard.

“What will the neighbors think?” I shout with glee, but my giggle dies quickly in my throat when I see the look from Nance's mom.

Nance nonchalantly grabs her top and slides it over her head and hooks the back together with one hand. She rolls her eyes and inhales her cigarette and exhales smoke that travels toward her mom's face.

I'm frozen to the spot, my arms wrapped over my boobs, watching Nance's mom cough and wave her hands in the air. Her eyes are bulging, which is kind of a feat with the amount of Botox she's got injected in her face. Her eyes get even wider and her lips turn down. “Put that cigarette out. Now.” She turns her attention to me. “Jess! Put your top back on!” She looks about to commit murder. “Right now.”

I'm too shocked and kind of looped to do anything but stand there staring at her, my hands over my boobs. I glance at my bathing suit top in the grass about thirty feet away, but I can't make myself move to get it.

“We didn't expect you for a while,” Nance says and then glances at my face and bursts into laughter.

“Jess.” Her mom's voice is pitchy and high. “What's wrong with you? Put your top back on. Immediately.”

My face burns brighter, and with my arms still crossed in front, I run off the deck like a spaz and trip on the stairs. Nance laughs even harder as I scramble up and over to the spot on the grass where I threw my suit. I bend, trying to pick it up and keep myself covered. I finally manage to pull the top on and then clumsily tie up the strings in the back. Oh God. Nance's mom saw my boobs. My mom hasn't even seen my bare boobs in years.

“I thought you girls had more sense,” Nance's mom says.

“So did I,” I tell her as honestly as I can, digging my toes into the grass, looking around the yard and not at her.

Nance snorts though, and the absurdity and the heat get to me. A laugh starts to build. It's so ridiculous. And inappropriate and disrespectful. The more I try to stop the gigantic giggle that's building, the worse it gets. I cover my mouth, but I can't stop the laughter from spilling out of me. For a moment, I kind of lose my shit.

When I can finally breathe again, I inhale gulps of air and stand straighter. They're both staring at me. Even Nance has a look that could almost pass for concern.

“Jess!” Nance's mom says. “You need to go home. Are you okay to drive?”

I don't think I am. But I don't want to admit it. I bite my lip and stare at the grass, wiggling my toes around.

“For God's sake, get dressed. I'll take you home.”

Nance's mom starts digging around her purse.

“Martin,” she says into her phone after she's found it and dialed. “It's Carol. Jess is here. She and Nance have been drinking. I'll bring her home. No. She can't drive herself. She's had too much.”

She turns her back on me, and I can only imagine what my dad is saying in the silence that follows. “No. It's fine. I don't mind. Yes. I'm sure. I'll take her straightaway.” She listens for another moment and then hangs up.

“Get dressed, Jess,” she commands. “Nance. You go and wait for me in your room.”

I silently find my shorts and shirt and pull them on. My face is hot and it's not only from the time in the sun. Nance is gone by the time I go to the front door to find my shoes.

Mrs. Green drives me home in silence. When we pull up to my house, she turns to look at me.

“You're not to wake your mom,” she says. “Your dad asked you not to. You're supposed to wait up for him.”

I nod, my head down, concentrating on my hands in my lap.

“Jess?” I hear concern in her voice. “Are you okay? Is there anything you'd like to talk about?”

“No. I'm fine. I'm very sorry,” I say. I can't look at her or I'll cry. Tears bunch up in the corners of my eyes. Nance and I were stupid. So stupid. I move my head so my hair falls in front of my face, hiding me.

“I hope so,” she says with a sigh.

I open the door. “I am sorry,” I say again.

“Good-bye, Jess,” she says right before I close the door behind me.

The house is quiet. There's no movement from Mom's room. Allie isn't home. I sit on the couch and stare at the floor. I don't have to wait long before my dad arrives.

He closes the door quietly behind him, but his face is white he's so angry. “I don't understand you, Jess,” he says.

I expect him to yell, but he doesn't.

“Not only were you drinking and sunbathing topless. MasterCard called me,” he says in a quiet voice. “You charged over ten thousand dollars to our account? For a dress?”

“It had ostrich feathers,” I tell him and close my eyes. It doesn't seem hilarious anymore. Or like the perfect prom dress. I don't tell him Mom gave me permission to buy a dress. I'm stupid but not that stupid.

I wait. But there's no yelling. Nothing.

Finally I open my eyes and what I see shocks me more than anything.

He's sitting on his leather chair. His favorite chair. Across the room. His head is in his hands. His shoulders are shaking.

He's crying?

I've never seen him cry in my life.

I feel even worse.

“She'll work here for the whole summer,” Dad says to the woman on the other side of the table. Stella is the volunteer coordinator at New Beginnings, the missionary shelter on Broad Street. For years I've been warned to stay away from Broad Street by the very man who dragged me here this morning.

Dad clears his throat, and I keep my head down since he's acting like I'm not there anyway. “Every day you need her, she's available,” he says to Stella.

His arms are crossed, and he's leaning back in his chair. His hair is slicked back, as if he's in a competition to keep every piece perfectly in place. He's ignoring me, his body tilted slightly away, his chin up. The problem is he's my dad, and I'm biologically programmed to want his approval. No matter how huge an asshole he is. Truthfully, I've been an asshole too. I think of what I did, and I'm hit by another tsunami of guilt. But this? He's taking the punishment a little bit overboard.

“We'll work her shifts out,” says Stella, watching me. She has potted plants on a ledge of wood by the tiny window in her office. Green leaves reach down to the floor like they're bowing to Stella. It's the only thing I like about the place.

“Well. Whenever you need her. She's available,” my dad tells her.

Stella tilts her head slightly, chewing a pen, studying me like I don't belong. I agree, but she looks out of place in the stale room too. She's colorful and vibrant. Everything in this multistoried building looks old and run-down. I pretended not to notice the people hanging around the building when we came inside. The tired-looking men with bad teeth and dirty backpacks. The weathered women with cynical slants to their bodies made me want to run. One lugged a suitcase behind her on wheels, probably with everything she owned in the world inside it. They robbed me of my voice and scared me a little.

“Don't hesitate to work her hard. She needs the discipline,” Dad says.

“All teenagers need discipline,” Stella says.

I squirm on my chair, the epitome of the privileged white girl. He's making sure it shows, but maybe he doesn't realize it exposes him for what he is too. He's intent on pretending he's not spoiling me and that he's in charge. In addition to working at New Beginnings for the rest of the summer, an idea I have no clue how he came up with, he also confiscated my phone. It's a toss-up which is worse, but he won't give it back. Not until the end of the summer. I feel almost violated. Sick to my stomach. I'm completely out of touch with everyone and everything. The loss makes me even more alone, if that's even possible at this point.

“We're short on servers right now. Or kitchen helpers.” Stella says it like it's a question.

“Server,” I immediately say.

“You'll work wherever they need you,” my dad snaps and then glances at his watch. “Speaking of, I have to get back to work soon.”

“Please. Go ahead,” Stella says. “I'll get the child started. Show her around.”

She says “child” and it makes me want to act like one. I want to yell and stomp my feet and have a temper tantrum. I've got so much anger inside and nowhere to put it, and I shiver, even though the office is warm and it's hotter than normal outside. A small fan whirrs on Stella's desk, but it barely stirs up the air.

My dad stands, pulls his fancy car keys from his pocket, and jangles them on his finger. “I'm heading to Houston today, but I'll see if Allie will pick you up.” He glances at Stella. “She'll be done around six?”

Stella raises an eyebrow. “Day staff and volunteers usually clock out at two or three. She won't be needed for the dinner service.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief.

“You're sure? That's not even a full day.”

“We don't want to burn our volunteers out,” she tells him. “She can stay late some days if she wants to, but it's not an obligation.”

He makes a sound in his throat. It's not directed at her, but she sits up a little straighter in her seat. “Allie can't make it at that time,” he says to me. “She's working.” My sister has a summer job with an engineering firm. She needs work experience to go along with her university degree, but she doesn't have to do her work for free.

“I'll take the bus,” I tell him and lift my chin. Pretend it doesn't make me nervous to be taking a bus from this part of town. I can't even remember the last time I used public transportation.

He jangles his keys and glances at Stella, and I can almost read his thoughts. He doesn't want me taking a bus from this neighborhood either, but he doesn't want to tell her that.

“She'll be fine,” Stella says. “We can have someone walk her to the bus stop if you want.”

That might be even worse. Dad nods and presses his lips tight. He stares out the door and briefly squeezes my shoulder. I pull away, and he frowns and spins, walking out of the room without a good-bye.

The air in the office lightens. Some of the chill leaves my skin, and the warmth of the building seeps in. I wrinkle my nose. It smells moldy. Stale. I imagine Nance. At home. Still asleep. With nothing pressing planned for her day except maybe shopping. For clothes and boys. I frown. Angry to be stuck here. Knowing I don't belong.

Stella leans back in her chair. “So,” she says. “You're here because you're dad's making you work?”

I shrug instead of answering.

She laughs as if this pleases her. “Maybe we'll grow on you, sourpuss. Come on. I'll give you the tour,” she says.

• • •

Stella takes me from her office into a room with three exits. “Lockers are right there,” she says, gesturing, and then she points at a basket of locks. “Use one of those to put away any valuables you bring.” A tiny ripple of fear sticks in my gut. Locks mean people steal. What else do they do?

Signs are posted on a billboard over the basket.
Thanks
for
volunteering.

Women's Outreach Program, Wednesday Nights at 7 p.m. in the Arts and Crafts Room.

Stella shows me where to sign in and out and points to the kitchen, which goes off in the direction ahead. “We'll go there last. That's where you'll be working.”

I follow her slowly, my shoulders scrunched up tight, trying not to touch anything or breathe too deeply because of the musty smell. She leads me down another narrow hallway. “Volunteers sort donations over there,” she says. I see piles of T-shirts and plastic containers full of socks.

“Our guests can get clothes and necessities here once a week. We serve lunch and dinner every day of the week, and we offer overnight shelter in emergency situations.”

We walk past bins of deodorant and soap and a room filled with racks of boots and jackets. They're out of style. “They pay for this stuff?” I ask, my eyes wide.

“No.” She turns to me. “It's a shelter, hon. It's free. They're donations. You'll learn. Anyway, serving in the dining room is where we need your help, so don't worry too much right now.”

At the back of the building there's a loading dock. “This was a warehouse?” I ask.

Stella nods, but my gaze goes to someone walking toward us, pushing a cart. The cart is loaded up with potted plants. I perk up as I recognize them. The dock door opens, and the cart is pushed outside into the sunny midmorning air.

“What are they doing with those plants?” I ask.

Stella points to a building outside. “That's our greenhouse over there. Donated by a longtime patron. Wilf MacDonald. He paid for the greenhouse in his wife's name. She volunteered here for years, but she passed on a while ago. He's with us now.”

“There's a greenhouse?”

“You like plants?” Stella asks, staring at me, her hands on her hips. Noticing too many things.

I shrug again.

“You can check the place out on your own after the lunch service if you like. Wilf will be around somewhere. He locks the place up. You'll need to talk to him if you want to help out.”

“They're just plants,” I say and bite my lip.

Stella starts walking again, explaining a couple of other rooms and what happens in them, and then we find ourselves back on the main floor, in the volunteer center.

“Okay,” she says, leading me through the kitchen to the dining room. “I'll introduce you to Sunny. She's in charge of the servers. Where's Sunny?” Stella asks a white-haired man when we walk into the dining room. He's got a stack of place mats draped over an arm. “Wilf, this is Jess. She's a new server. She's going to be here all summer.”

“Lucky you,” he says. “Sunny's in the supply room. A huge shipment of plastic cutlery came in, and she's not happy about it.” He glances at me. “We have our own cutlery, and Sunny hates environmental irresponsibility. Here.” He divides a stack of place mats and hands half to me. “Put these out on the tables. Four per table.”

I glance down at the stack in my hands. The place mats look homemade. Stamped with a company logo. Stade Golf Course Valentine Classic.

I frown at them.

“What are you frowning about?” Wilf asks.

“It's July. These are Valentine's place mats.”

“This ain't the Ritz, Chickadee,” Wilf says.

“Some of them are wrinkly and torn.” I hold them up to show him.

“They're clean. Suck it up,” he says.

I swallow a retort. I wasn't brought up to get snarky with old men. Of course, I wasn't brought up to do a lot of the things I've been doing lately.

“Be nice,” Stella says to him. “This is her first day. She's never been in a place like this before. I don't think you have much choice, being here? Punishment for your sins?” she asks.

I bite my lip harder and feel their judgment. The poor little rich girl.

The old guy stares at me. “She looks too young and fancy to get into trouble. What were your sins?” he asks.

I straighten my shoulders and stand taller. No way I'm going to tell this guy I got drunk, bought a ten-thousand-dollar dress, and flashed my boobs. “What are yours?” I ask instead.

Stella chuckles. “I'll leave you two to work this out. Wilf, introduce her to Sunny. She'll show you the ropes,” she adds for me. She shows me a long enough rope and I might try to hang myself with it.

“Not worth it, Mess,” the old guy says as if he read my mind. He winks.

“Jess,” I tell him.

“That's what I said.” He points at his ear and smiles a crooked old-man smile and starts to whistle. “Go on then. Start putting out those fancy place mats.”

Stella laughs and turns and flows back to the kitchen. For a big woman, she moves with lightness and grace.

Wilf and I work silently, putting down place mats, and then he grunts out instructions for setting out the plates and glasses. We set those out, and when we're done, a tall black girl walks through the kitchen into the dining room. She's not too much older than me, and she's skinny. She actually makes me look big.

She's holding a bin. “Damn plastic stuff,” she mumbles. She walks by, and I peer inside the bin and see rows of plastic cutlery wrapped in napkins and tied with ribbons. “You must be Jess?”

I nod.

“Sunny,” she says. “You ever served before?”

I shake my head. “Not really. No.”

She looks me up and down. My pants are expensive and my top is designer. I definitely don't shop at Target for clothes. “Yeah. You've never needed a part-time job, I'm guessing.”

I stand straighter and lift my chin. “I'm here and I'm working. So. Yeah. I guess I do.”

“Not the paid kind though.”

I don't have a ready argument, and Sunny mumbles something under her breath. I don't hear her and decide it's for the best. We obviously have an understanding. We don't like each other.

“You want us to put out this plastic cutlery?” Wilf interrupts.

“We have to use it sometime. Did you explain to her how this works?” She nods her head to me, as if she can't be bothered to remember or say my name out loud.

“I did. Why? Are you mad because I'm stepping on your toes?” Wilf asks.

“My feet are bigger than yours, Wilf. Worry about your own toes,” she tells him.

“I'm too much of a gentleman to point out your flaws,” he says. “Big feet being only one of them.”

I decide then that I might like the old guy better than I thought. Wilf and Sunny argue for a moment, and I look around, swallow, and take deep breaths.

“I have a million pages of paperwork to catch up on,” Sunny finally says and glances at the clock on the wall and then back at me. “Please try to get up to speed quickly.”

I want to point out that, in theory, I'm a volunteer. No one even seems to want me here. Not even me.

“Don't worry. She hates everybody, not just you,” Wilf says when she leaves the dining room. I hide a smile as we lay out plastic cutlery packages and he explains more about how the lunch service works. Go to the doorman, escort guests to a table. Repeat until the section is full. Pick up their meals, deliver them to tables. Clean up when they're done, set up new place settings, return to door for new guests.

“Most days in summer, we don't get huge crowds for lunch. The two of us can handle it. Dinner is another story.” He frowns at me. “We're done setting up, and our guests won't be here for another hour.” He glances around, as if he's looking for something for me to do. I feel kind of stupid and useless and wish I could go home. Even home is more comfortable than this place.

I lean against the table I finished setting. “I saw the marigolds and geraniums,” I say to fill up the awkward silence.

He cocks his head to the side. “The what?”

“Plants. Going to the greenhouse.” I wonder if he's always so grouchy.

“How do you know what plants are going to the greenhouse?” he asks.