one pops up—the one I don't want to have to take. I can tell my father. I discard it like a bad taste in my mouth. Having Laurie hang around might work for me.
Before I can speak, she adds,
“Exclusive
item.”
“For how long?”
“Until you graduate.”
Six months.
“Okay,” I say, thinking I'm getting off easy.
She exits the car. “Then pick me up tomorrow morning for school.”
“Hey, wait. I've got—”
She leans in the window. “You've got me first.”
D ECEMBER 12
“Did Quin Palmer bring you home?”
Mom's waiting for me, ready to pounce, when I walk into the house.
“Yes,” I say.
She smiles so big, all her teeth show. “Tell me more.”
“We've worked out some problems we've had, and he wants me to be his exclusive girlfriend.”
“I just
knew
you could work it out with him!”
My insides are churning like boiling soup. She follows me into the kitchen, where I drop my books and take a cola out of the fridge. “You were right,” I say. “We worked it out.”
For a second, I think she's going to jump up and down and clap.
“I've got homework,” I tell her.
She looks disappointed, like she was expecting me to tell her all the juicy details of my wonderfulreunion with Quin. I want to run upstairs and call Judie. She foresaw this ending days ago: Quin caved. I pulled it off! I kept my cool and made my deal, just like playing a hand of poker.
I take my cola and my books and go upstairs. In the quiet of my room, I begin to shake. I conjure up the expression on his face when I announced my terms. First relief, then the look of a cornered animal. I see myself as rich and famous one day and able to get away with anything. I picture a reporter shoving a mike under my nose.
“So, Ms. Stark, tell us about your first boyfriend. Wasn't he baseball great Quin Palmer?”
“He was.”
“Isn't it true that you bought him with a threat to ruin his life?”
“It worked like a charm. He was mine for six whole months.”
“How clever of you. How unprincipled.”
Who am I? What have I become?
I search for my cell because I know Judie is waiting for my call. My hands are shaking so badly, I can't punch in a text message. My stomach heaves. I run to the bathroom, I lean over the bowl and I throw up.
D ECEMBER 15
When school's out for the holidays, I visit Analise one Monday morning at the facility. This is Analise's home now. I know all the employees, the caregivers who make sure the brain-injured residents are fed, bathed, groomed and stimulated. The desk nurse waves to me and I nod to her.
I go directly to Analise's room and see her sitting up in a chair. My heart leaps, but then I notice that she's propped in the chair, secured with a belt and surrounded by pillows. Sonya is reading to Analise from a stack of cards and letters in her lap. When Sonya sees me, she smiles and says to Analise, “Oh, look, honey! Look who's come to visit. It's Jeremy.” I hate the way Sonya talks to Analise, like a mother with a not-too-bright child.
“She's not an imbecile,”
I want to say. “
Her mind's just in lockdown.”
I crouch in front of thechair, take her hand and kiss it. “Hi, baby,” I say in my softest, most adult voice.
Her eyes are open and her gaze is darting, but we know she's seeing nothing.
I ask Sonya, “Why is she in the chair?”
Her face gets red. “The nurses are humoring me. I—I just wanted to see if … if it might make a difference.”
I can tell by her expression that there's been no change. I ask, “What are you reading?”
“Christmas cards, get-well cards.” Sonya points to a cardboard box in a corner. “She gets so many. I had no idea she had so many friends. I—I thought if she can hear me, she'll be happy knowing so many people are thinking about her, praying for her.” She looks at me. “I'm thinking of letting a few of her closest friends come in and visit.” Up until now, Sonya and Jack have shielded Analise, watched over her as fiercely as guard
Before I can speak, she adds,
“Exclusive
item.”
“For how long?”
“Until you graduate.”
Six months.
“Okay,” I say, thinking I'm getting off easy.
She exits the car. “Then pick me up tomorrow morning for school.”
“Hey, wait. I've got—”
She leans in the window. “You've got me first.”
D ECEMBER 12
“Did Quin Palmer bring you home?”
Mom's waiting for me, ready to pounce, when I walk into the house.
“Yes,” I say.
She smiles so big, all her teeth show. “Tell me more.”
“We've worked out some problems we've had, and he wants me to be his exclusive girlfriend.”
“I just
knew
you could work it out with him!”
My insides are churning like boiling soup. She follows me into the kitchen, where I drop my books and take a cola out of the fridge. “You were right,” I say. “We worked it out.”
For a second, I think she's going to jump up and down and clap.
“I've got homework,” I tell her.
She looks disappointed, like she was expecting me to tell her all the juicy details of my wonderfulreunion with Quin. I want to run upstairs and call Judie. She foresaw this ending days ago: Quin caved. I pulled it off! I kept my cool and made my deal, just like playing a hand of poker.
I take my cola and my books and go upstairs. In the quiet of my room, I begin to shake. I conjure up the expression on his face when I announced my terms. First relief, then the look of a cornered animal. I see myself as rich and famous one day and able to get away with anything. I picture a reporter shoving a mike under my nose.
“So, Ms. Stark, tell us about your first boyfriend. Wasn't he baseball great Quin Palmer?”
“He was.”
“Isn't it true that you bought him with a threat to ruin his life?”
“It worked like a charm. He was mine for six whole months.”
“How clever of you. How unprincipled.”
Who am I? What have I become?
I search for my cell because I know Judie is waiting for my call. My hands are shaking so badly, I can't punch in a text message. My stomach heaves. I run to the bathroom, I lean over the bowl and I throw up.
D ECEMBER 15
When school's out for the holidays, I visit Analise one Monday morning at the facility. This is Analise's home now. I know all the employees, the caregivers who make sure the brain-injured residents are fed, bathed, groomed and stimulated. The desk nurse waves to me and I nod to her.
I go directly to Analise's room and see her sitting up in a chair. My heart leaps, but then I notice that she's propped in the chair, secured with a belt and surrounded by pillows. Sonya is reading to Analise from a stack of cards and letters in her lap. When Sonya sees me, she smiles and says to Analise, “Oh, look, honey! Look who's come to visit. It's Jeremy.” I hate the way Sonya talks to Analise, like a mother with a not-too-bright child.
“She's not an imbecile,”
I want to say. “
Her mind's just in lockdown.”
I crouch in front of thechair, take her hand and kiss it. “Hi, baby,” I say in my softest, most adult voice.
Her eyes are open and her gaze is darting, but we know she's seeing nothing.
I ask Sonya, “Why is she in the chair?”
Her face gets red. “The nurses are humoring me. I—I just wanted to see if … if it might make a difference.”
I can tell by her expression that there's been no change. I ask, “What are you reading?”
“Christmas cards, get-well cards.” Sonya points to a cardboard box in a corner. “She gets so many. I had no idea she had so many friends. I—I thought if she can hear me, she'll be happy knowing so many people are thinking about her, praying for her.” She looks at me. “I'm thinking of letting a few of her closest friends come in and visit.” Up until now, Sonya and Jack have shielded Analise, watched over her as fiercely as guard
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