Mom invites Mr. Prezzioso to dinner Thursday night. It's been a week since the shocking and slightly terrifying revelation of their relationship. Mom acts like it's been longer, like it's normal for Mr. Prezzioso to be apart of our lives. Mom's wrong. It's not normal. Maybe Mom thinks it's easier this way, that if she doesn't make a big deal of it, then I won't either. Mom's wrong again. There's nothing easier about any of it. I'm so tired of pretending everything's normal.
Normal is how I act at school. I smile in the hallways and raise my hand in class and dress up every day according to the Homecoming schedule. And inside I'm screaming and crying and thinking how fake it all is. This must be how Emily Bernstein feels, like the world's spinning out of control and she's juggling all these balls and if she drops them, that's it, everything's over. So she keeps juggling and smiling in a silent panic. That's how I feel. I'm juggling all these emotions and worries and secrets and if they come out into the open...what? I guess I understand Emily a little better now. I know why she needs to maintain some semblance of control. I should be nicer to her.
I keep saying to myself, things can't get worse, but a nagging voice in my head just whispers back, yes, they can. As much as I hate to admit it, I know the voice is right. There's a sort of fog settling over Stoneybrook, darkening it and our lives. Maybe the fog's always been there and I was just too naive to notice. However long it's been there, I suspect it's hiding other things, secrets that are slowly rising to the surface, threatening to break free.
I haven't said anything to Mom. What am I supposed to say? Hey, Mom, Mallory Pike says you screwed her dad, what do you have to say for yourself? I don't think there's proper etiquette for informing someone they've been accused of adultery. After her shouting match with Mrs. Pike ("It's your daughter's fault!" "No, it's yours!"), Mom wanted to know what the fight was really about. Of course, I couldn't tell her. Finally, she accepted "Mallory's crazy" as an explanation. I should have told her the truth. A good daughter would have. Half of me knows Mom's innocent. My mother would never do such a thing. Mallory Pike is a liar. But then...the other half of me worries that perhaps Mom isn't the person I thought. She kept Mr. Prezzioso a secret. What else is she hiding? It's awful and horrible and disloyal. I shouldn't doubt her. She shouldn't have made me doubt her.
I'm not a very good daughter.
All these things rush through my mind as I mash the potatoes for dinner. Mom and Mr. Prezzioso are in the dining room, setting the table and laughing. They like each other a lot. I can tell. That doesn't make it right. It's still creepy and awkward and...wrong. At least Mom hasn't had him stay overnight. Talk about creepy and awkward.
"Nick and I are ready to eat," Mom says, walking into the kitchen.
"Okay," I reply, scraping the mashed potatoes into a glass bowl. I carry it into the dining room and set it on the table. Mom and Mr. Prezzioso are already seated at the table. We pass around the meatloaf, the rolls, the mashed potatoes and it's all as awkward as the last time. Mom brought Mr. Prezzioso to my math competition (the one we lost in a terrible, embarrassing defeat) on Saturday. Afterward we went to lunch and it was just like now. Uncomfortable with long silences broken up by pointless small talk. I guess I make Mr. Prezzioso as uncomfortable as he makes me.
"How was school?" Mr. Prezzioso asks me after another long silence.
I shrug. "All right. We had club sales at lunch. Mary Anne and I rolled crepes for French Club. Tomorrow I'm selling apple cider for Math Club. Oh, and Julie Stern tried to start a rumor that Cokie Mason was flashing boys behind the gym in exchange for Homecoming votes,"
Mr. Prezzioso chokes on his mashed potatoes.
"Stacey!" Mom cries, dropping her fork.
"What? He asked about school and that's the most exciting thing that happened today,"
"Well, I don't think it's appropriate dinner conversation,"
And what is, I almost say, your affair with Mr. Pike? Alleged affair, alleged affair. I have to keep reminding myself.
I take another stab at small talk and recount the second most exciting thing that happened today. Julie and the rest of the varsity volleyball team walked in on Margie Greene and Darcy Redmond attempting to tear Mary Anne's banner off the gym wall. So the entire team pelted them with volleyballs and locked them out of the gym. Then they threw Margie's and Darcy's backpacks in the dumpster behind the cafeteria, which is particularly disgusting since today the cafeteria served spaghetti and meatballs. Mr. Prezzioso sees the humor in the story, even though Mom doesn't.
"I'm not sure Julie Stern's such a good influence," Mom says.
"There's nothing wrong with Julie Stern," I reply, testily. "She was just standing up for Mary Anne."
Mom gives me a reproachful look, then directs her attention to Mr. Prezzioso. "How was work today?" she asks him.
Before Mr. Prezzioso can answer, the phone rings. "Excuse me," says Mom, pushing back her chair. "I'm expecting a call." Mom disappears into the kitchen. She's back less than a minute later. "Stacey, phone. Don't be long,"
I walk into the kitchen and pick up the phone from the counter. "Hello, this is Stacey," I say into the receiver.
"Hi, Stacey?" replies a boy's voice. "This is Price Irving...from French class."
"Hello, Price Irving from French class," I laugh. "Thanks for identifying yourself so specifically. I might have confused you with one of the many other Prices I know."
"What? Oh," Price chuckles, nervously. "So, Stacey, I know this is kind of short notice, but I heard you don't have a date for Homecoming. Do you want to go with me?"
"With you?" I repeat, surprised. Price has never seemed particularly interested in me. Even after four years of French class together, he's never been very friendly. Could he have harbored a secret crush on me all these years? "Sorry, Price, but I'm going with Mary Anne and Julie." I don't need a boy further complicating my already complicated life. Especially one I'm not the least bit interested in.
"I understand, Stacey," Price says, sounding disappointed.
"Thanks for asking. Maybe next time. Um...I'll see you tomorrow,"
Price and I say goodbye and hang up.
"Who was that?" Mom asks when I sit down at the table.
"Just a kid from French class," I reply.
After dinner Mom and Mr. Prezzioso decide to go to Bellair's to buy Mr. Prezzioso new jogging shoes. (Their relationship really is exciting, isn't it?) Mom's thrilled when I decide to go too. I guess she sees it as an important step that I'm willing to be seen in public with her and Mr. Prezzioso (and if anyone does see us I'll die) and not as the truth, which is that I need new shoes for Homecoming and Mom's less likely to say no if Mr. Prezzioso's there.
---
Friday morning, the day of Homecoming, starts off with a pep rally. I remember being really into pep rallies freshman year. Now they all seem the same. Emily, Julie, Erica, and I sit in the fifth row where we'll have the best view of Mary Anne and Grace during the King and Queen candidate presentations. On the other side of the gym in the sophomore section, Mallory Pike and Ben Hobart are in the top row making out. I roll my eyes. The rally starts off like all the others, mostly cheerleaders and boring speeches and Lauren Hoffman summarizing Homecoming Week, like anyone needs reminding that Wednesday was Twin Day or that Alan Gray accidentally set himself on fire at the Art Club's burrito sale.
After her speech, Lauren announces the winners of Homecoming Prince and Princess. We voted for Prince and Princess yesterday during sixth period. I don't even remember who I voted for. Our new Homecoming Prince is a football player and the Homecoming Princess is a cheerleader named Anne Kennedy. I know her. Sort of. She's the kind of girl who deserves to win. Everyone stands and applauds as Pete Black and Dorianne Wallingford, last year's Prince and Princess, crown what's-his-name and Anne. Anne cries and Dorianne looks as if she might, too. I doubt from happiness. A disgraced cheerleader is a sad sight.
Next Lauren brings out the King and Queen candidates. They line up in pairs. Mary Anne and Alan are at the end of the line, the farthest from where we're sitting. Even from a distance I can see that Mary Anne's struggling to mask her misery as she stands arm in arm with Alan. Her smile wavers slightly and her cheeks slowly turn pink. I'm not sure if it's the eyes of the crowd or the fact that Alan Gray's wearing a gray derby hat and a kilt.
"I think Mary Anne's going to faint," whispers Erica.
"She's fine. This is good for her," I assure Erica. I hope I'm right.
Lauren introduces each pair starting with Margie and Logan. Each pair walks out onto the gym floor, smiling and waving, while Lauren reads a brief bio about them. Grace and Pete are second to last. When Lauren calls their names, Grace strides forward confidently, smiling brightly and looking absolutely natural like every day of her life people cheer and applaud for her. The contrast to Mary Anne is unbelievable. When Mary Anne and Alan step forward, Mary Anne looks as if she's either going to throw up or collapse into tears. She keeps a smile plastered on her face and waves like she's supposed, but I know her well enough to see the panic subtly etched on her face. It doesn't help when Alan drops her arm and begins spinning around, pointing to kids in the bleachers, then sashays back into line without her. Mary Anne's face flushes bright pink as she hurries to her spot in line. Emily and Julie exchange a nervous glance, finally realizing why nominating Mary Anne was not a good idea.
"Did I look like a complete idiot?" Mary Anne asks me after the rally. We're standing beside my locker, collecting my journalism binder before second period.
"No one can look like an idiot when Alan Gray's around," I reply.
"That was so embarrassing," Mary Anne groans. "Do you think anyone will notice if I just don't show up tonight?"
"I think Alan would prefer if you didn't," I laugh. "Come on, Mary Anne," I say when she doesn't even crack a smile. "You did fine. And tonight will be fine."
Mary Anne sighs and leans back against the lockers. She looks unconvinced.
"Don't worry so much, Mary Anne,"
"Brian Hall asked me to the dance," she says, so suddenly I wonder how it fits with our current conversation. "You know, from the boys' swim team,"
"I know who he is. What did you say?"
"I said no. He's the fifth guy I turned down this week. The only reason anyone's even asked me is because I'm running for Homecoming Queen. Isn't that shallow?" Mary Anne sighs again. She's holding something back. I hate when she does this, forces me to pry things out of her.
"What? Do you want to go to the dance with Brian Hall?" I ask, slightly offended. Brian Hall is quiet and rather dull. I consider myself and Julie to be a lot more fun.
"It's not that. It's just...well, Sharon thinks it's weird that I'm the only Homecoming candidate without a date,"
"Since when do you care what Sharon thinks?" I ask.
"I don't! It's just...if Sharon thinks it's weird, then maybe other people do too. Like, maybe it looks like I can't get a date,"
Suddenly it all clicks and my jaw drops slightly. "Mary Anne! Is this about Pete Black going to the dance with Lauren Hoffman? I thought you were over this. It's not a competition to see who moves on first. Besides, Lauren told you they're going as friends. Not that you should care either way,"
Mary Anne looks embarrassed. "This isn't about Pete!" she protests.
"Honestly, Mary Anne, if you still like Pete tell him. Otherwise, it's time to move beyond this. You can't live your life based on what Pete Black happens to be doing at the moment,"
"This isn't about Pete Black!" Mary Anne cries. The few people left in the hallway turn to look at us. Mary Anne blushes.
"We're going to be late," I tell her, shutting my locker and heading down the hall.
I shouldn't feel betrayed that Mary Anne still likes Pete Black. I shouldn't feel jealous that my friendship isn't enough for her. I know that someday I have to allow myself to like boys again. But so much of me is still afraid of falling into old patterns. I don't want to be Boy-Crazy Stacey again. I don't want to lose myself in a boy again. And I don't know how to balance who I've become with who I once was.
And I shouldn't rely on Mary Anne to keep me grounded. It's not fair to her.
By the end of journalism, Mary Anne and I are speaking again, acting like everything's normal. That's a nice thing about having Mary Anne for a best friend. I don't always have to apologize. She knows when I'm sorry and forgives willingly.
Even so, our argument in the hallway nags at me as Julie and I walk to calculus. When Julie and I take our desks I can't keep silent any longer. "I think Mary Anne still likes Pete Black," I tell Julie.
Julie has her head inside her backpack, but removes it to give me a confused look. "Huh?"
"She's upset that he's going to the dance with Lauren," I explain.
The confusion doesn't leave Julie's face. "What does she care? They broke up last June,"
"Exactly!" I smile, smugly. It's nice to have someone agree with me.
"I don't know what's the big deal about Pete Black anyway," says Julie. "Sure, he's an awesome basketball player and a pretty nice guy, but half the girls in school are practically falling on their knees to blow him."
"Who's blowing who?" asks Grace, sliding into the seat in front of me.
"No one. Julie and I are just discussing the mysterious appeal of Pete Black and the girls willing to loosen their morals for him,"
Grace turns around in her chair, propping her elbows on my desk. She's wearing a pink ribbed sweater that somehow manages not to clash with her hair. I never thought redheads could wear pink. Mallory Pike certainly never could.
"Anyone who dates Mary Anne isn't interested in girls with loose morals," says Grace. "That's why I like Pete. He's not like all the other jerks at this school. I hope you're both voting for him for Homecoming King."
"I'm not comfortable discussing my vote with you," Julie replies.
Grace rolls her eyes. "I just hope Pete - who deserves to win - isn't defeated by Howie Johnson,"
It's my turn to roll my eyes.
"Don't roll your eyes at me, Stacey. You know I'm right. It's not fair if Howie wins. People just feel sorry for him because some drunk hit him with a car. Is that any reason to crown him Homecoming King? I think not," Grace huffs, turning back around in her chair.
"I don't know why you hate Howie so much," I say.
"In fourth grade, he blew his nose on my science homework and I haven't liked him since," Grace replies, crisply, still facing forward.
Class starts then and we concentrate on asking questions about last night's homework. Julie keeps looking at my paper, then erasing her answers and writing mine down. Twenty minutes into class, the door opens and Lauren walks in carrying a manila envelope. She hands it to Miss Everhart, smiles at the class, then leaves.
"Ah...the final ballots," says Miss Everhart with a grin. She removes the stack of yellow paper from the envelope and begins passing out the ballots.
Miss Everhart passes the ballots down our rows. I set mine in front of me, pen poised above it, and just stare. In front of me, Grace quickly marks her ballot and folds it in half. Beside me, Julie does the same. Earlier, I was so sure who I wanted to win. I press the pen down beside Howie Johnson's name, but before I circle it, Grace's words echo in my mind. Would I really vote for Howie if he didn't have a disability? I'd be a liar if I said I would. I circle Pete's name. Then I poise my pen beside Mary Anne's name. It shouldn't need any consideration. Mary Anne's my best friend. She's the only candidate who truly deserves to win. And yet, a nagging voice inside my head says not to vote for her. Mary Anne doesn't really want to win. The Homecoming Queen should want her title. Maybe deserving it doesn't factor in.
I circle Grace's name.