down in my seat and flipped on the seat warmer. “Sorry.”
“If we do go to Vermont, which will be MY decision, I will expect you to behave yourself.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“You sound like . . . never mind.” She took a few deep breaths.
We drove along in silence for a while. I got to picturing how it would be in Vermont, spending the week there with Kevin and his family—skiing together, eating together, waiting for each other to finish in the bathroom. No way. How could she do this to me? What if she really does make me do this? How could I survive it? So I asked, “Can I bring a friend?” I was just thinking Tess always eases the tension, like when I drag her down to the Cape sometimes for my weekends with Dad. But then I immediately thought, well, maybe not Tess. Maybe Jennifer would be better. Or does that make me an evil person?
But anyway, Mom said, “I don’t think so, Charlie. There isn’t room and—Charlie, listen. I think the idea Joe had, and I had, that we had, is to spend some time, the five of us.”
That took my breath away, and not just the admission that Kevin was right, that this idea had been discussed already and hatched between my mother and his father. It was the other part—what that meant, spend some time, the five of us. Why? Oh, no. “Really?”
“Really,” she said, her eyes still fixed straight ahead, into the darkness.
nineteen
“HELLO?”
“Hi,” I said. “Tess.”
“Charlie! I am so glad you called. You weren’t online last night and I tried to call your cell but I think it was dead or something.”
I looked out the kitchen window toward the lake. Rain was coming down hard on a slant. “Tess, last night . . .”
“I was thinking I won’t ride today because of the rain. Do you want to do something after school? You could, like, wait for me while I do chorus and we could take the late bus home together? Maybe to your house, and I could flirt with Kevin a little and you could tell me what you think.”
“About what?”
“If you think I’m doing it well. Because I think I might be messing it up.”
“I’m sure you’re not messing it up.”
“I don’t know how to do it like the Pop-Tarts.”
“You’re better than they are,” I assured her. “The Pop-Tarts wish they could be you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You’re smarter than they are, more talented, prettier, and more confident. Everybody wants to be you.”
“That’s just because everybody wants to be going out with Kevin lately.”
“True,” I admitted. “No, I mean, that’s not the only reason . . .”
“Right.” Tess grunted. “Don’t you hate sweaters with too-small head holes? Do I have a grotesquely large head?”
“No.” I grabbed my jacket off the hook.
“Do you think me and Kevin will last as long as you and George will?”
Oops, another thing I’d forgotten to tell her. I honestly used to be a good friend. I sat down on the bench and said, “He dumped me.”
“Who?”
“George.”
“No way.”
“Yup,” I said. “On the phone.”
Tess gasped. “When?”
“Last night.” Close enough.
“You didn’t even call me?”
“It was . . . late, and I . . .” am a lousy friend . . .
“Oh, man! That’s why you weren’t picking up? Charlie, you need to lean on your friends, not go sulk by yourself! Is that what you were trying to tell me before? I am so sorry, Charlie. I’m so selfish. Can you forgive me?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s not . . .”
“Wait—is this like New Hampshire?”
“You mean cold?”
“I mean a joke. Are you just joking? About George?”
“No,” I said. “He said it wasn’t working out. What do you think that means?”
“It means he’s hooking up with somebody else.”
“You think?”
“I’ll kill her,” Tess said. “The little tart. Is it a Pop-Tart? I can’t believe George Jacobson is such a shallow pig!”
“I think he just stopped liking me.”
“That can’t be it,” Tess
“If we do go to Vermont, which will be MY decision, I will expect you to behave yourself.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“You sound like . . . never mind.” She took a few deep breaths.
We drove along in silence for a while. I got to picturing how it would be in Vermont, spending the week there with Kevin and his family—skiing together, eating together, waiting for each other to finish in the bathroom. No way. How could she do this to me? What if she really does make me do this? How could I survive it? So I asked, “Can I bring a friend?” I was just thinking Tess always eases the tension, like when I drag her down to the Cape sometimes for my weekends with Dad. But then I immediately thought, well, maybe not Tess. Maybe Jennifer would be better. Or does that make me an evil person?
But anyway, Mom said, “I don’t think so, Charlie. There isn’t room and—Charlie, listen. I think the idea Joe had, and I had, that we had, is to spend some time, the five of us.”
That took my breath away, and not just the admission that Kevin was right, that this idea had been discussed already and hatched between my mother and his father. It was the other part—what that meant, spend some time, the five of us. Why? Oh, no. “Really?”
“Really,” she said, her eyes still fixed straight ahead, into the darkness.
nineteen
“HELLO?”
“Hi,” I said. “Tess.”
“Charlie! I am so glad you called. You weren’t online last night and I tried to call your cell but I think it was dead or something.”
I looked out the kitchen window toward the lake. Rain was coming down hard on a slant. “Tess, last night . . .”
“I was thinking I won’t ride today because of the rain. Do you want to do something after school? You could, like, wait for me while I do chorus and we could take the late bus home together? Maybe to your house, and I could flirt with Kevin a little and you could tell me what you think.”
“About what?”
“If you think I’m doing it well. Because I think I might be messing it up.”
“I’m sure you’re not messing it up.”
“I don’t know how to do it like the Pop-Tarts.”
“You’re better than they are,” I assured her. “The Pop-Tarts wish they could be you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You’re smarter than they are, more talented, prettier, and more confident. Everybody wants to be you.”
“That’s just because everybody wants to be going out with Kevin lately.”
“True,” I admitted. “No, I mean, that’s not the only reason . . .”
“Right.” Tess grunted. “Don’t you hate sweaters with too-small head holes? Do I have a grotesquely large head?”
“No.” I grabbed my jacket off the hook.
“Do you think me and Kevin will last as long as you and George will?”
Oops, another thing I’d forgotten to tell her. I honestly used to be a good friend. I sat down on the bench and said, “He dumped me.”
“Who?”
“George.”
“No way.”
“Yup,” I said. “On the phone.”
Tess gasped. “When?”
“Last night.” Close enough.
“You didn’t even call me?”
“It was . . . late, and I . . .” am a lousy friend . . .
“Oh, man! That’s why you weren’t picking up? Charlie, you need to lean on your friends, not go sulk by yourself! Is that what you were trying to tell me before? I am so sorry, Charlie. I’m so selfish. Can you forgive me?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s not . . .”
“Wait—is this like New Hampshire?”
“You mean cold?”
“I mean a joke. Are you just joking? About George?”
“No,” I said. “He said it wasn’t working out. What do you think that means?”
“It means he’s hooking up with somebody else.”
“You think?”
“I’ll kill her,” Tess said. “The little tart. Is it a Pop-Tart? I can’t believe George Jacobson is such a shallow pig!”
“I think he just stopped liking me.”
“That can’t be it,” Tess
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