acting weird all day.” Cherry tosses the notebook back down, takes a toke, and passes the bowl to me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Rennie pretends to be very absorbed with arranging her hair. “I just had a few things to go over with Mr. Schafer.”
“A few things? Till six o’clock?” Cherry picks up the notebook again and sketches out the weekly questionnaire in a chart on a new page.
“What, have you been body-snatched and your brain replaced by Kelly’s?” Rennie takes herself another hit, the bud glowing orange to red as she inhales. “I have a mom,” she chokes out. “I don’t need you to step in.” She can’t hold in the smoke anymore and lets it creep out.
Cherry and I exchange a glance. It’s not like Rennie to be so defensive. “All right, moving on,” says Cherry, dropping the subject. “No poems, no stories, only empty pages to fill. Extra work for us all tonight.” She draws some flowers around the chart. “So who got laid this weekend, let’s see, Cherry did. . . . ” She spirals the pen around her name with a flourish. “How about you, Aim?”
I sigh, not really wanting to share the fact that after Brandon and I drank most of the vodka I stole from home on Friday, he fell asleep on my shoulder. We just slept in my car in the parking lot for a few hours, my top off and my jeans half-unzipped, until I felt well enough to drive him home. Anyway, the true purpose of the evening was to blot out Callie from my head, which it did, despite a headache that lasted till Saturday afternoon. And now I’m thinking of Callie again, I’d rather just think of getting laid, and I pull in some more smoke and push her away from my mind. “Put it this way, it’s closer than we’ve gotten in a long time.”
Cherry gives a flat-lipped smile. “That would be a no from the lovely Amy Linnet.” I poke her and she pokes me back, the pot’s gotten into my head now and I can’t help giggling. Leaning over to the stereo, I pick up a cassette by a new band called They Might Be Giants. Cherry says,
These guys are like the Beatles, they’ll be around for years.
I fast-forward to my favorite song, “She’s an Angel,” and hum along,since I’m following an angel too. I only need about one or two more tokes, and I make this one nice and long. When I look up again Rennie and Cherry are giving each other a hard stare. “So who’s still the most beautiful virgin east of the Mississippi?” says Cherry as she does every week. We never give Rennie a hard time about being a virgin. I think we respect that she’s waiting for someone special. Anyway, it’s her body, hell, isn’t that what abortion rights are all about?
Rennie doesn’t answer and the music keeps playing in the background. Her cheeks are so flushed I can see the blood vessels, matching the tiny red glass beads of the necklace around her neck, the one I made for her that goes with my blue one and Cherry’s green one. My Christmas gift for all of us.
“Rennie?” I take one last hit, and that’s the one that gets me there. The air’s breathing around me and, mesmerized by Rennie’s glass beads that seem like they’re on fire, for a minute I forget why I’m here and what we’re talking about. All I know is I’m in a room where I’ve been since the beginning of time, with my two girls, my best friends, the sisters I never had, for always.
A circle’s round, it has no end.
. . . I can read Rennie’s mind, I really can. I’m about three thoughts ahead of her, and anyway, the truth is painted in her eyes.
“What, Aim?”
I can’t remember what I was talking about. “Crap.”
“Tell the truth, Rennie. You got laid, didn’t you?” Cherry asks. Rennie hates being questioned. I watch her fidgeting fingers, her eyes that float everywhere except to ours. I hate being questioned too, it’s like Dad on one of his drunks, everything’s up for debate, my clothes, my report card, even the way I’m looking at him. The most
“Nothing.” Rennie pretends to be very absorbed with arranging her hair. “I just had a few things to go over with Mr. Schafer.”
“A few things? Till six o’clock?” Cherry picks up the notebook again and sketches out the weekly questionnaire in a chart on a new page.
“What, have you been body-snatched and your brain replaced by Kelly’s?” Rennie takes herself another hit, the bud glowing orange to red as she inhales. “I have a mom,” she chokes out. “I don’t need you to step in.” She can’t hold in the smoke anymore and lets it creep out.
Cherry and I exchange a glance. It’s not like Rennie to be so defensive. “All right, moving on,” says Cherry, dropping the subject. “No poems, no stories, only empty pages to fill. Extra work for us all tonight.” She draws some flowers around the chart. “So who got laid this weekend, let’s see, Cherry did. . . . ” She spirals the pen around her name with a flourish. “How about you, Aim?”
I sigh, not really wanting to share the fact that after Brandon and I drank most of the vodka I stole from home on Friday, he fell asleep on my shoulder. We just slept in my car in the parking lot for a few hours, my top off and my jeans half-unzipped, until I felt well enough to drive him home. Anyway, the true purpose of the evening was to blot out Callie from my head, which it did, despite a headache that lasted till Saturday afternoon. And now I’m thinking of Callie again, I’d rather just think of getting laid, and I pull in some more smoke and push her away from my mind. “Put it this way, it’s closer than we’ve gotten in a long time.”
Cherry gives a flat-lipped smile. “That would be a no from the lovely Amy Linnet.” I poke her and she pokes me back, the pot’s gotten into my head now and I can’t help giggling. Leaning over to the stereo, I pick up a cassette by a new band called They Might Be Giants. Cherry says,
These guys are like the Beatles, they’ll be around for years.
I fast-forward to my favorite song, “She’s an Angel,” and hum along,since I’m following an angel too. I only need about one or two more tokes, and I make this one nice and long. When I look up again Rennie and Cherry are giving each other a hard stare. “So who’s still the most beautiful virgin east of the Mississippi?” says Cherry as she does every week. We never give Rennie a hard time about being a virgin. I think we respect that she’s waiting for someone special. Anyway, it’s her body, hell, isn’t that what abortion rights are all about?
Rennie doesn’t answer and the music keeps playing in the background. Her cheeks are so flushed I can see the blood vessels, matching the tiny red glass beads of the necklace around her neck, the one I made for her that goes with my blue one and Cherry’s green one. My Christmas gift for all of us.
“Rennie?” I take one last hit, and that’s the one that gets me there. The air’s breathing around me and, mesmerized by Rennie’s glass beads that seem like they’re on fire, for a minute I forget why I’m here and what we’re talking about. All I know is I’m in a room where I’ve been since the beginning of time, with my two girls, my best friends, the sisters I never had, for always.
A circle’s round, it has no end.
. . . I can read Rennie’s mind, I really can. I’m about three thoughts ahead of her, and anyway, the truth is painted in her eyes.
“What, Aim?”
I can’t remember what I was talking about. “Crap.”
“Tell the truth, Rennie. You got laid, didn’t you?” Cherry asks. Rennie hates being questioned. I watch her fidgeting fingers, her eyes that float everywhere except to ours. I hate being questioned too, it’s like Dad on one of his drunks, everything’s up for debate, my clothes, my report card, even the way I’m looking at him. The most
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