Then I Met My Sister by Christine Hurley Deriso Page A

ninety-fourth percentile nationwide on the verbal section. The ninety-fourth percentile, Summer!”
    Dad and I exchange confused glances.
    “That’s good, right?” I ask cautiously.
    “Yes, it’s good!” Mom snaps.
    Okay, now I’m seriously confused.
    “It’s better than good, Summer. It’s exceptional. You’re exceptionally smart. Do you get that?”
    Oh. I’m starting to get it.
    “So there are no excuses whatsoever for a young lady who scores in the ninety-fourth percentile nationwide to be squeaking by in school with barely a C average!”
    Dad taps the computer keyboard idly. “Let’s not talk about Summer’s grades right now,” he says quietly. “Let’s just enjoy how well she did on the SATs.”
    “I will never understand,” Mom continues, her voice fairly booming, “how mediocrity became an acceptable standard for you, Summer!”
    “Susanne … ” Dad says softly.
    “Because it’s not acceptable to me! It’s not acceptable to your father! It certainly won’t be acceptable to the colleges you’re applying to next fall! Do you get that, Summer? Do you get how you’re narrowing your options? How you have the intelligence to go to an Ivy League school, yet your laziness is dooming you to … to … I shudder to think what schools would accept you with your GPA. Perhaps Morton Community College ?”
    Even amid my irritation at Mom’s tirade, the irony is not lost on me. The summer before her senior year, Shannon was crossing Harvard out of her future and penciling Morton Community College in so that she could stay close to Chris. God. If Mom only knew.
    “And with all of your potential …”
    As Mom rambles on, I realize that Dad is sidling inconspicuously out of his seat and heading toward the kitchen. It’s dinner time.
    Mom doesn’t notice. She’s still yammering.
    I think about the church secretary. I hate Dad for having an affair, but I can’t help wondering how good it must have felt for him to stop feeling invisible for a while.

Seventeen
Sunday, June 13, 1993
Eve called me tonight after dinner. She said my mom had called her mom to tell her she was so glad we ran into each other at the gas station last night. Except that Eve was home all night watching a movie with her mom and sister.
Eve said she was sorry she’d blown my alibi, but I told her it was okay. Mom hadn’t believed me anyway. Then Eve wanted to know why I’d needed an excuse in the first place, and she got really quiet when I told her I’d met Chris at the park.
I felt like screaming, “Please stop judging me, Evie!”
Our friendship has been pretty much over since Spring Fling. Eve was stunned—STUNNED!—that Chris invited me. “You two have nothing in common!” she told me. Like it made no sense that someone as cute and cool as Chris could ever possibly be interested in me. Thanks, “friend.”
Eve didn’t get invited, so I asked her to come over and help me with my hair and nails before Chris picked me up. I wasn’t trying to rub it in that she didn’t have a date. I thought it would make her feel included. Anyway … she dissed me, and things have been awkward ever since. I started sitting with Jamie in the lunchroom while Eve sat at our old table reading a book. I keep telling myself it’s no biggie. Just because someone’s been your best friend for umpteen years doesn’t mean she needs to be your best friend the rest of your life, especially if she can’t even be happy for you during the most exciting time in your life. And Jamie’s so much fun! She never makes me feel judged.
Still …
I don’t know. It just felt really good to hear Eve’s voice when she called.
    I set the journal aside, pick up the cell phone from my bedside table, and call Gibs.
    “I know my dad’s secret,” I say, as soon as he answers.
    He pauses.
    “Yeah,” I say wearily. “It’s what you think it is. God. Men are so predictable.”
    Gibs is still silent.
    “An affair,” I clarify.
    “Oh,” he says.