since . . . well . . . for a while.
During lunch yesterday Rennie noticed me smiling to myself and asked, “What’re you all smiley about?” I almost choked on my chicken wrap. I’ve never had to keep a secret this big before. When my mom planned a surprise fiftieth birthday party for my dad, I worried so much I’d spill the beans that I had a stomachache for two weeks. When my dad tucked me in at night, I would be thinking, Don’t say anything, Don’t say anything. I had this fear that it would just come out because I was concentrating so hard on keeping it to myself.
But I managed to pull it off. I told Rennie I was thinking about where we’d take our graduation trip to in May. That’s always been our plan. Go somewhere together, just her and me. I said, “Fiji could be awesome. Or the Maldives.”
I’m never going to look at Rennie the same way again, but in a way I’m glad not to have to do anything about that just yet. My true beef is with Alex, and that’s where I’m focusing all my attention.
Part of me—the nostalgic part, I guess—wishes I could tellRennie what I’m up to. She’d get a big kick out of what we’re doing. I bet she’d think of lots of sick, twisted things we could do to Alex, things I’d never come up with in a million years. But of course I can’t say anything. Because when we’re done with Alex, Rennie’s next.
For now I just need to keep playing it cool. The more normal I seem to everyone, the less they’ll suspect that I’m behind anything. That is essential. No one can find out. Ever.
Rennie asks, “You want to come eat dinner over at my house, and we can figure it out there?”
I smile and say, “Totally.”
I leave my car in the school parking lot, and Rennie drives us to her condo in the Jeep. Her complex is called The Gulls, and the sign is lit up by spotlights. The front entrance is nicely manicured, with flowers and some big bushes of sea grass. But when you pass that and get to the gate, it’s a lot less nice. You used to have to punch a code to get in, but the gate has been broken all summer. It’s tied open with rope. Ever since there were a few break-ins at The Gulls last spring, my dad doesn’t like me coming here.
“Someone should fix that gate,” I say as we drive through. I dig a grape lollipop out of my purse and unwrap it. Then I offerit to Rennie for first lick. She shakes her head and I add, “It’s not safe. Anyone could just come in.”
Rennie shrugs. “The management here sucks. Remember how long it took us to get the shower fixed? Mom’s been talking about moving off island again once this year is over.”
I stop sucking on my lollipop. “Seriously?”
“Hello! She wanted to move us last spring, when they raised our rent.”
I remember. We cried and begged Ms. Holtz to change her mind. We even came up with a plan for Rennie to live with me for senior year. Ms. Holtz finally gave in when she saw how dead set Rennie was on staying.
“Anyway, now she’s dating some guy on the mainland. Rick the restauranteur.” Rennie makes a face. “He owns a sub shop or something tacky like that. My mom’s there, like, every weekend, and she’s spending a fortune on ferry tickets. And she’s been looking into a real estate class. I bet she breaks her lease on the gallery before June.”
“Your mom loves the gallery too much to let it go.”
“She does love it, but things have been super-tight lately,” Rennie says. “Don’t forget I just turned eighteen. That was the end of child support checks from my DBD.”
I stay quiet. I never quite know what to say when Rennie brings up her dad. He left when she was three, and she’s only seen him twice since then. He used to call on her birthday, but not since he got remarried and had kids. Now he’s out in Arizona someplace. Rennie hardly ever talks about him, and when she does, she calls him her DBD—deadbeat dad.
She sighs. “It’s just crazy that when we’re both on
During lunch yesterday Rennie noticed me smiling to myself and asked, “What’re you all smiley about?” I almost choked on my chicken wrap. I’ve never had to keep a secret this big before. When my mom planned a surprise fiftieth birthday party for my dad, I worried so much I’d spill the beans that I had a stomachache for two weeks. When my dad tucked me in at night, I would be thinking, Don’t say anything, Don’t say anything. I had this fear that it would just come out because I was concentrating so hard on keeping it to myself.
But I managed to pull it off. I told Rennie I was thinking about where we’d take our graduation trip to in May. That’s always been our plan. Go somewhere together, just her and me. I said, “Fiji could be awesome. Or the Maldives.”
I’m never going to look at Rennie the same way again, but in a way I’m glad not to have to do anything about that just yet. My true beef is with Alex, and that’s where I’m focusing all my attention.
Part of me—the nostalgic part, I guess—wishes I could tellRennie what I’m up to. She’d get a big kick out of what we’re doing. I bet she’d think of lots of sick, twisted things we could do to Alex, things I’d never come up with in a million years. But of course I can’t say anything. Because when we’re done with Alex, Rennie’s next.
For now I just need to keep playing it cool. The more normal I seem to everyone, the less they’ll suspect that I’m behind anything. That is essential. No one can find out. Ever.
Rennie asks, “You want to come eat dinner over at my house, and we can figure it out there?”
I smile and say, “Totally.”
I leave my car in the school parking lot, and Rennie drives us to her condo in the Jeep. Her complex is called The Gulls, and the sign is lit up by spotlights. The front entrance is nicely manicured, with flowers and some big bushes of sea grass. But when you pass that and get to the gate, it’s a lot less nice. You used to have to punch a code to get in, but the gate has been broken all summer. It’s tied open with rope. Ever since there were a few break-ins at The Gulls last spring, my dad doesn’t like me coming here.
“Someone should fix that gate,” I say as we drive through. I dig a grape lollipop out of my purse and unwrap it. Then I offerit to Rennie for first lick. She shakes her head and I add, “It’s not safe. Anyone could just come in.”
Rennie shrugs. “The management here sucks. Remember how long it took us to get the shower fixed? Mom’s been talking about moving off island again once this year is over.”
I stop sucking on my lollipop. “Seriously?”
“Hello! She wanted to move us last spring, when they raised our rent.”
I remember. We cried and begged Ms. Holtz to change her mind. We even came up with a plan for Rennie to live with me for senior year. Ms. Holtz finally gave in when she saw how dead set Rennie was on staying.
“Anyway, now she’s dating some guy on the mainland. Rick the restauranteur.” Rennie makes a face. “He owns a sub shop or something tacky like that. My mom’s there, like, every weekend, and she’s spending a fortune on ferry tickets. And she’s been looking into a real estate class. I bet she breaks her lease on the gallery before June.”
“Your mom loves the gallery too much to let it go.”
“She does love it, but things have been super-tight lately,” Rennie says. “Don’t forget I just turned eighteen. That was the end of child support checks from my DBD.”
I stay quiet. I never quite know what to say when Rennie brings up her dad. He left when she was three, and she’s only seen him twice since then. He used to call on her birthday, but not since he got remarried and had kids. Now he’s out in Arizona someplace. Rennie hardly ever talks about him, and when she does, she calls him her DBD—deadbeat dad.
She sighs. “It’s just crazy that when we’re both on
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