home.”
Corrigan comes back to the kitchen, takes his pizza out of the oven, and grabs Simon by the elbow. “Shooting pool,” he says. “You versus me.”
Simon follows him.
He actually leaves me standing there.
I take deep breaths. I could stay; hang with Mandy. But the world is spinning. Simon’s not with me. I feel like I’m falling.
I slip out the garage door and start walking. Carefully.
Chapter Fifteen
•
•
•
Saturday I hear the chimes above the front door when my parents leave for a brunch date with Dad’s old colleagues. I stay in bed until one.
They know. When I got home last night they were waiting in the kitchen. I was as quick as possible about saying good night but I’m sure they could tell that I wasn’t my sober self.
I’ve never disappointed them like this before. Or myself.
I sit up in bed and look at my Dove Girl.
It’s almost like she’s sending me a message, instead of our usual thing, which is all about me asking her for help.
I get out of bed and grab my sketchbook from the floor. I sit on the bed. Close my eyes.
Her face is calmness. She’s only a few lines and circles. She’s barely even there. Nothing weighs her down. She’s light. She can fly.
Pencil to paper, I open my eyes and start with the bird, her wings. The angles of the feathers are so simple, but I’ve never been able to do them exactly before.
Just breathe
, I tell myself. Pencil up and pencil down. Just shapes.
Then I get to the eyes—curved lines with three-quarter circles underneath. The nose, long with only a slight bend. The lips, a straight line surrounded by a heart.
Pencil up, pencil down. Simple.
I’ve done it. I’ve copied her.
And I think she’s starting to rub off on me.
I need to find my own peace.
Talking to a poster is so not enough.
I need to concentrate on friends who talk back.
The rest of Saturday is filled with cable television and a Nancy Drew book that I found under my bed. Mysteries solved in the span of about two hours. I wish.
Then I lounge on the couch watching guys who remind me of Simon’s friends try to win a date by bench-pressing the girl, who wears a bikini and doesn’t have tan lines.
The phone rings as contestant number three lifts the girl. Maybe it’s Jewel calling to … what? Apologize for leaving me to the wolves?
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Not Jewel. But I feel a flutter in my middle.
“Hi.”
“You said that already.” Simon sounds nervous.
“Did I?”
“So, I’m just calling to say I had a good time at the party.”
I did too. But I have a hangover.
And what about the way the night ended? That was so
not
fun. Are we going to talk about it? About Simon’s being too wasted to take me home? My face feels hot.
“Yeah,” I say.
“You left early.”
“You remember?” I am harsher than I want to be.
“Of course,” he says. “I looked all over for you.”
How can I explain the way I felt at that party without him? “Yeah.”
Maybe he’ll invite me out and we can talk somewhere. I think there’s a good band at the Showbox tonight. I could invite him.
“Hey,” I say. “Let’s get a
Stranger
from the newsstand and check out the shows tonight.”
He breathes. Then I hear Corrigan in the background. He’s saying something like “Tell your woman you’ve gotta go!”
Simon coughs. “Actually, I gotta go.”
“Oh.”
“I’m at Corrigan’s still. Crashed here. We’re going for burritos.”
I picture them, surrounded by empty bottles and who knows what else. “Sounds good.”
“Talk to you later.”
Somehow that sounds even less promising than
“See ya.”
Most people would be getting grounded right about now.
Maybe a break from Simon would be the right thing.
At dinner, my parents bring it up. Dad looks at me over his pasta and says, “We need to talk about last night.”
“I know,” I say. I might cry if I say more, and I really don’t want to do that right now.
“No more drinking,” Mom says.
Corrigan comes back to the kitchen, takes his pizza out of the oven, and grabs Simon by the elbow. “Shooting pool,” he says. “You versus me.”
Simon follows him.
He actually leaves me standing there.
I take deep breaths. I could stay; hang with Mandy. But the world is spinning. Simon’s not with me. I feel like I’m falling.
I slip out the garage door and start walking. Carefully.
Chapter Fifteen
•
•
•
Saturday I hear the chimes above the front door when my parents leave for a brunch date with Dad’s old colleagues. I stay in bed until one.
They know. When I got home last night they were waiting in the kitchen. I was as quick as possible about saying good night but I’m sure they could tell that I wasn’t my sober self.
I’ve never disappointed them like this before. Or myself.
I sit up in bed and look at my Dove Girl.
It’s almost like she’s sending me a message, instead of our usual thing, which is all about me asking her for help.
I get out of bed and grab my sketchbook from the floor. I sit on the bed. Close my eyes.
Her face is calmness. She’s only a few lines and circles. She’s barely even there. Nothing weighs her down. She’s light. She can fly.
Pencil to paper, I open my eyes and start with the bird, her wings. The angles of the feathers are so simple, but I’ve never been able to do them exactly before.
Just breathe
, I tell myself. Pencil up and pencil down. Just shapes.
Then I get to the eyes—curved lines with three-quarter circles underneath. The nose, long with only a slight bend. The lips, a straight line surrounded by a heart.
Pencil up, pencil down. Simple.
I’ve done it. I’ve copied her.
And I think she’s starting to rub off on me.
I need to find my own peace.
Talking to a poster is so not enough.
I need to concentrate on friends who talk back.
The rest of Saturday is filled with cable television and a Nancy Drew book that I found under my bed. Mysteries solved in the span of about two hours. I wish.
Then I lounge on the couch watching guys who remind me of Simon’s friends try to win a date by bench-pressing the girl, who wears a bikini and doesn’t have tan lines.
The phone rings as contestant number three lifts the girl. Maybe it’s Jewel calling to … what? Apologize for leaving me to the wolves?
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Not Jewel. But I feel a flutter in my middle.
“Hi.”
“You said that already.” Simon sounds nervous.
“Did I?”
“So, I’m just calling to say I had a good time at the party.”
I did too. But I have a hangover.
And what about the way the night ended? That was so
not
fun. Are we going to talk about it? About Simon’s being too wasted to take me home? My face feels hot.
“Yeah,” I say.
“You left early.”
“You remember?” I am harsher than I want to be.
“Of course,” he says. “I looked all over for you.”
How can I explain the way I felt at that party without him? “Yeah.”
Maybe he’ll invite me out and we can talk somewhere. I think there’s a good band at the Showbox tonight. I could invite him.
“Hey,” I say. “Let’s get a
Stranger
from the newsstand and check out the shows tonight.”
He breathes. Then I hear Corrigan in the background. He’s saying something like “Tell your woman you’ve gotta go!”
Simon coughs. “Actually, I gotta go.”
“Oh.”
“I’m at Corrigan’s still. Crashed here. We’re going for burritos.”
I picture them, surrounded by empty bottles and who knows what else. “Sounds good.”
“Talk to you later.”
Somehow that sounds even less promising than
“See ya.”
Most people would be getting grounded right about now.
Maybe a break from Simon would be the right thing.
At dinner, my parents bring it up. Dad looks at me over his pasta and says, “We need to talk about last night.”
“I know,” I say. I might cry if I say more, and I really don’t want to do that right now.
“No more drinking,” Mom says.
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