Pretty Amy (10 page)

My father must have sensed my confusion because he said, “I don’t know, for your arraignment. I get a new tie. Don’t let her buy anything with yellow. She’s been trying to convince me all morning that yellow is calming.” He shook his head. “Well, not to me.”

I got up and looked at the calendar that sat on the desk next to the kitchen phone. Sure enough,
Amy’s Arraignment
was written in my mother’s script in the square two days from now. It was written no differently than
Marilyn’s Birthday
, which was three days after my arraignment and
Amy’s Graduation
, which was written two Sundays after that.

Who the hell was Marilyn?

“You’d better get ready,” he said. I knew he couldn’t care less if I wore a burlap sack, but if I wasn’t ready and my mom came down, she would blame him for not making me get dressed.

“Great, this is just what I want to do today,” I said, slamming down the calendar.

“You had other plans?” he asked, giving me a cream-cheesy kiss on the cheek as he made his way upstairs.

I guess he had a point.

…

My mother spun around, trying to get her bearings. This was how she always looked when she entered a department store. Like she was playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey and someone had just put the blindfold on her and spun her around, dizzying her beyond all hope of rational thought. That was what clothes did to her.

I looked through the store, searching for a red ponytail. Maybe Aaron was there. I knew it was about as likely as Lila or Cassie showing up, but it didn’t hurt to daydream.

I hadn’t had the nerve to send him a friend request, so I wasn’t sure what I would do if I actually ever did see him in person. Probably nothing. Especially that day, considering I was at the mall with my mother buying a freaking suit.

“How about Smart Separates? Or, no, Working Woman,” she said, snapping her fingers. My mother believed in the power of shopping and therefore she believed in the vocabulary of it. If there were an area of the store called
Amazing Arraignment,
we would definitely be looking there.

“These are perfect,” she said, handing me a stack of suits, which she slung over my arm like a huge, unwieldy coat.

“Yuck,” I said.

“Stop complaining. Debra Lippitz and her daughter go shopping together all the time,” she said.

“Debra Lippitz’s daughter has crabs,” I said. I wasn’t trying to be snarky—she really did.

“Go try those, and I’ll find some more,” she said, ignoring me and darting off into the racks.

I ran toward the solitude of the dressing room. Of course, the full-length mirror inside would have its own disappoint-ments, but I would take dealing with a fat ass over dealing with my mother any day. At least you can do something about a fat ass, in theory.

I came out in the first suit, a navy-blue pinstripe, to find my mother sitting on one of the chairs provided for waiting mothers, her ankles crossed, rubbing at some dirt on her pants.

“That is just darling,” she said, standing and fussing with the collar. And I could see in her eyes the hope that I would wear this to a job interview someday. I decided not to remind her that the only place I would be wearing this suit was to court. That afterward it would sit in my closet gathering dust, just like all the other lame clothes she bought me.

An elderly saleswoman with white-blond hair like cotton candy poked her head in. “So, what’s the occasion?”

“Possession with intent to sell,” I said under my breath.

My mother glared at me. “No occasion,” she said. “It never hurts to have a good suit in your wardrobe.”

“Absolutely,” the saleswoman said, nodding. “How can I help?”

“Maybe something a little brighter. It is almost summer, after all,” my mother said.

“Do you have anything that screams, ‘I’m innocent’?” I asked.

“You know, to match her age,” my mother said, glaring at me again.

“I think we have something in peach. I’ll just go get it,” the woman said, shuffling out onto the sales floor, her hair leading the way.

“Peach? What am I, a cruise director?”

“You’ll try on what she brings because it’s polite. Trying something on doesn’t hurt anyone,” she said, crunching on her index finger.

I decided not to respond. There was really no rational way to discuss the color peach.

“And stop talking about your problem,” she whispered.

My problem, like it was an oozing growth or a sexually transmitted disease. Truthfully, either one would have been preferable to what was awaiting me.

“What do you think of this?” she asked, pulling at the sleeves.

“I hate it,” I said.

“I suppose, dear, you’d rather wear something lying on your floor right now, maybe your jeans with the hole in the crotch? That will really make a good impression.”
Dear
was not a term of endearment for my mother. She used it the way a fairy-tale witch would.

The saleswoman came back and handed me a pile of peach fabric and pearl buttons. “We also have one in sea-foam green, which I thought would be just beautiful with your eyes,” she said, handing me another pile that was the color of Comet.

To think that after all those years of searching, the perfect thing to accentuate my beauty was right under our sink.

I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t figure out what, so instead I went back into the dressing room and sat on the floor, my knees up to my chest, my arms crossed over them. It was as much energy as I could expend on a tantrum.

“Get up,” my mother hissed through the curtain.

“No,” I said, not because I didn’t want to get up, but because I didn’t want to do anything she told me to at that moment. I didn’t want to do anything anyone told me to at that moment. I was tired of this, and it was only just beginning.

“Please, Amy, not now, okay? Just one more,” she said, poking her head through the curtain, trying to sound like she was offering me a compromise.

How had it come to
this
? To my mother begging me to try on suits for my first appearance in court? I felt nauseous.

“Fine,” she said, walking into the room, “get up. We’ll just buy this one.”

“Does that mean we can go home now?” I said, looking forward to spending the afternoon smoking cigarettes in my new room with AJ.

She looked at me in disbelief. “Shoes,” she said. “Of course, navy is a hard color to match and with a navy suit, you really need navy pumps. Finding the right color could take some time.”

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that the first and only suit I tried on basically shackled me to my mother for the rest of the day. I hoped the shoe store had a smoking section
.

Eleven

I guess you could say I met Lila and Cassie because of a cigarette. And I’d rather say that, because then I don’t have to admit I was hiding.

It was the first football game of my sophomore year and I’d done what I thought I was supposed to. I’d helped put streamers on the float and had painted my face half blue, but my school spirit was low. I was tired of acting like I was friends with all the people around me, and I was tired of them acting like it, too; at least the ones who were desperate enough to bother.

When our float rode onto the field pulled by an old pickup truck, we were supposed to scream
Sophomores!
over and over
until our throats burned, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend anymore.

I just wanted to get
away
. The faces around me were half blue like mine, but their mouths were open and I could tell they were feeling something I wasn’t—like they belonged. Something I didn’t know if I would ever feel.

Instead of watching the game in a line of half-blue faces like I was supposed to, I ducked under the bleachers on the visitors’ side of the field. I walked to the far corner, the game noise and lights far away as I sat on the cold ground against a metal beam. I rubbed at the blue side of my face with my sweater while I tried to figure out how long I had to wait before it would seem normal for me to go home and be with AJ.

I saw a lighter spark at the other end of the bleachers. Two girls stood there, one tall, one short, neither with their faces painted half blue like mine.

I scooted up against the metal beam and tried not to breathe.

“We see you,” the tall girl said. I knew her name was Cassie, but I didn’t really know her. She scared me. I think she scared everyone.

I didn’t respond. Just sat there hoping that if I didn’t talk or move, they would go away. Ignore me like everyone else did so I could sit there until the game was over, and then go home and act like I was supposed to act again, so at least my parents would think I was normal.

“Hello?” Cassie said with an exaggerated wave. “Maybe she’s deaf.” I heard her laugh.

I still didn’t answer. I was invisible to everyone else, so why not to them?

“Hello?” she said again.

“Leave her alone,” the short girl said. I knew her name was Lila, but I didn’t really know her, either. She was in my English class and all the boys liked her a lot, even though she acted like she didn’t care.

“No,” Cassie said, “she’s weirding me out sitting over there all alone. Yoo-hoo, Earth to freak girl sitting in the dark.”

“What?” I said, not moving. I
was
a freak girl sitting in the dark, but I guess I didn’t want her to think that I was.

“What the hell are you doing over there?” Cassie asked.

“Sitting,” I said. “Waiting, hating,” I mumbled.

“You want one?” Lila said, showing me her cigarette.

“You look like you need one, Smurfette,” Cassie said.

“No thanks,” I said, touching my face. My fingers came away blue. I’d never smoked before. I didn’t want to look like an idiot. Well, like more of an idiot.

“Hey, aren’t you in my English class?” Lila asked.

“Yeah,” I said, feeling weirdly happy that she’d realized it, too.

“Mr. Rudolph is such a skeeve,” she said.

She wasn’t just saying that; it was true. We were reading
Romeo and Juliet
and he always read the part of Romeo, but he was no Romeo. He was a gross old man. He said the boys in class were too immature to understand the complexity of tone in Shakespeare, but it seemed to me and anyone else with eyes that it was because he was a total perv.

“He’s sick,” I agreed.

“There’s probably, like, a whole course English teachers take on how to flirt with their students without getting sued,” Lila said.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s called
Adolescent Ass-Chasing 101
.” It wasn’t my line; it was Joe’s. We’d had this conversation before. He had Mr. Rudolph fourth period.

Lila laughed. “You’re funny,” she said.

“Um, hello, I’m
not
in your English class,” Cassie said. “So either come over here and smoke with us, or shut the fuck up.”

“Cassie, jeez.” Lila giggled.

“What? She keeps yelling like that, someone is going to come down here and bust us.”

“Sorry,” I said, walking over.

“Why did you do that shit to your face?” Cassie asked, handing me a cigarette. I held it, not ready to put it in my mouth yet.

“School spirit,” I said. I knew I sounded like a total dork, but it was better than the real answer. Because I was a minion, because I did what I thought I was supposed to do to fit in. It was obvious these girls did not.

“You shouldn’t let them do that to you,” Lila said, as if she could read my mind.

“I did it,” I said. I had put it on in my bathroom. Wiping the blue makeup on my sad face, like a disillusioned clown.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lila said. She sucked on her cigarette.

It was easy for her to say—the way she looked, no one could make her do anything. But she didn’t have to say it to me, either.

“You look dumb,” Cassie said.

“I know.” I felt my stomach braid up like pretzel dough.

“She just looks like the rest of them,” Lila said. It made me hate that I had ever wanted to.

“Yeah,” Cassie said. “Dumb.”

“You going to light that?” Lila asked, passing me a lighter.

I lit it and immediately started coughing like something had gone down the wrong tube.

“Not so much,” Lila said, rubbing my back. She was so pretty. “Don’t inhale at first.”

“Thanks,” I said. I could feel my eyes watering, probably making trails down the blue side of my face. I heard the crowd erupt into cheers. Our team had scored.

“So, you got any cute older brothers?” Lila asked.

“No,” I said, “just me.”

“Figures,” Cassie said. “That’s a minus one for you.” She pointed at me with her cigarette. “How much money do you have?”