I sat on my couch next to Claire in silence, staring into space. She ran her fingers through my hair and watched me, a harmonious smile on her face. I just looked away, wishing Miranda and Lizzie would hurry up and get there. It was Wednesday, and we were supposed to meet to put together our Greek Mythology project.
The doorbell rang, and I jumped to get it. Claire held onto my hand, letting it linger before finally letting go as I walked away. I opened the door and saw Lizzie and Miranda on my front porch, weighed down with books, art supplies, and tupperware.
"Hey, Kate," said Lizzie, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. I nodded in response with equal indifference and motioned for them to come inside. Miranda gave me a look of pure, icy hatred as she walked through the door, and I returned it.
"We brought cookies," Lizzie said as she walked into the living room.
"Well, super, Suzy Homemaker," Claire said with a chortle from the couch. She crossed her legs and ran her hands through her flowing hair, glaring at the two of them with intimidation.
"We're working in the sunroom," I announced to all of them. "There's enough room back there." I turned and walked towards the back of the house, and the others followed me awkwardly. I could tell it was going to be a long afternoon.
We spread out our poster board on the floor of the sunroom. We laid out our collective research and rubrics and got to work making the presentation. We avoided speaking to one another. Any attempt at conversation would only turn into ruthless name-calling and bickering, and there was a sort of silent agreement between us that none of us were in the mood for that.
The autumn sun poured through the glass walls as we cut, paste, and colored. As we worked, it gradually fell lower into the sky, marking time with its changing hues. When the skies melted into layers of dark blue, magenta, and orange, and the sun was slumped over the horizon's edge, we were nearly finished with our work. I was grateful for the relative ease with which we'd completed our task. Sure, Sanchez and I had thrown a few icy comments around, but fortunately nothing had escalated to an all-out war.
I reached for the red marker to finish the robes on my portrait of Aphrodite. Lizzie reached for it, too, and for a moment our hands touched.
"Buzz off, McGuire, I was here first," I said, ignoring the softness of her skin. I looked up at her, expecting to see a scowl on her face. Instead, our eyes met, and she gave me what was almost a smile. Not the kind of smile I always longed for, but a smile nonetheless.
The gaze was broken as quickly as it was made, and I wondered if maybe I had imagined the whole thing. Lizzie sighed. "Whatever, Kate," she said simply. I snatched up the red marker quickly and went back to my poster, fighting any urge I had to take another glance at her.
It was a few minutes later, when we were cleaning up our materials, that we heard Amy's voice yelling from the living room. "Lizzie!" she screamed, clearly too lazy to walk back to the sunroom. "Your ride's here!"
"Okay," Lizzie called back. She picked up her book bag from the floor and slung it over her shoulder. "I guess I'll see you guys in Mythology tomorrow." Miranda bid her goodbye, Claire rolled her eyes and said nothing, and I nodded vaguely. Then it happened again. Her gaze met with mine for an immeasurable moment, something well hidden in them though I couldn't tell what.
Don't look at me like that, I thought coldly to myself even after she had gone. Don't mess with my head like that. It sent my mind spinning. It forced me to swim through the thoughts I always tried to push to the back of mind. It made me want more, and that was a painful thing to want. I wanted Lizzie. I wanted to know her, to be her friend again, to be something far more than a friend. But these feelings only made me hurt, because giving into that want was something I could never do.
I loved her. I suddenly remembered that only a few days ago I had admitted it out loud. The secret within me that had given me such hell for so long only grew worse when uttered in words. Because of it I was now in this mess with Claire. Even deeper than that, I now had to deal with the reality of it. At first, I was never able to explain or even understand my feelings. Speaking those words out loud made me face up to what those feelings really meant. Like always, I tried to push all emotions to the back of my head and not worry about them, but my feelings for Lizzie still lurked stealthily through my thoughts. I knew I would have to deal with them sooner or later.
Miranda's ride was late. She sat in a plush, dark green chair as she waited, avoiding eye-contact with Claire and I. Claire eventually disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a sandwich in one hand and a bottle of peach schnapps in the other. She ate and drank silently, while Miranda waited uncomfortably, Amy played video games, and I sat on the couch, distracted by thoughts of Lizzie.
A car horn honked outside, and Miranda stood up. "Don't forget to bring our project tomorrow," she said, finally looking me in the eyes.
I was dragged out of my thoughts, and I rolled my eyes. "As if I would forget, Sanchez. Remember, I'm the one with the 4.0, and you're the one with a tutor." I gave her one of my most evil, conceited faces.
Miranda drew her eyes away from me, shifting uncomfortably.
I laughed. "Oh, you thought no one knew? You thought it was just a big secret that you're a retard?" I laughed harder, and Miranda squirmed even more. "You're not fooling anyone, least of all me. Everyone knows you're just another failed original: thought you were being unique, when actually you were just hiding the fact that you could never fit in. You're nothing, so deal with it. And to think, I was trying to do you a favor by pushing you out of my radar, like the nothing you are. Yet you keep starting stuff up. Don't tangle with me, Sanchez. You'll lose."
She took in a deep breath, and stared at me with fiery eyes. She spoke fiercely. "Some day, Kate. Things are going to change. Some day it's all going to slip through your fingers. If you only knew..."
"Zip it, Sanchez," snapped Claire from where she was sitting. Both of us turned and stared at her. "Give it up already. Kate won, you lost, go home." She and Miranda's eyes were locked for a moment, Claire's being forceful and final. Finally, she mumbled a "whatever" and walked out the door.
Claire smiled sweetly at me once she was gone. "That was the longest two hours of my life," she said, shaking her head and sipping some more schnapps.
"Yeah," I said awkwardly. I didn't like the fact that she was looking at me that way, right in the open. I glanced quickly over at Amy, wondering what she thought about it. Luckily, Amy was lost in her video game as always, and was hardly aware of our presence.
"Let's go to your room," she said, noticing my discomfort. "We need to work on plans for your birthday party." I nodded vaguely, and the two of us walked upstairs, Claire still clutching the liquor bottle.
She set the bottle on the nightstand once we were in the safety of my room. She smiled at me again, which greatly unnerved me, and walked towards me. She wrapped her arms around my hips and pulled me to her, kissing me. Her silken lips and tongue pressed against mine, making me aware of a passion in Claire that I hadn't previously understood. It wasn't a completely unpleasant sensation, but I knew it was wrong, and that made me uneasy.
For the rest of the evening, while Claire and I hung out, I kept wishing I was somewhere else, or with someone else.
By the time she went home later that evening, we had finished all the flyers for the party and had drawn out the floor plan. We were making it an open party, but of course there would be someone at the door to give an ever so subtle hint to those who weren't welcome. There was still alot more to do throughout the week. Order the cake, buy supplies, and find something to wear. Despite my mother's eagerness to help with the planning, I knew I would be doing everything on my own. Give the woman a drink, and suddenly all promises are forgotten. And after the incident last year, I knew I definitely wasn't trusting Amy with any of the responsibilities.
As I was walking to the laundry room, I came across a bizarre sight: My mother was in the den, reading. I stepped inside with curiosity and found her curled up in a plush red chair, with a glass of liquor in one hand and a book in the other.
"Mom?" I asked in amazement. "What are you doing?"
She looked away from her book and up at me, her eyes cloudy and bloodshot. She smiled dreamily. "Hello there, precious. You're still awake?"
I rolled my eyes. "It's eight-thirty, Mom."
Her brow curled in confusion. She took another gulp of her drink.
"What in the world are you doing? I haven't seen you pick up a book since... ever."
She sighed heavily and slammed the book shut, tossing it onto the nearby sofa. "Oh, I don't know, button. I'm dreadfully bored. I thought I'd come in here and look through your father's books, but it's hurting my head."
Imagine that, I thought sarcastically. I figured she must have been having a pretty big pity-party this time, if she was desperate enough to read a book. Dad had left the day before for a business trip; he assured Mom that he would be fine without her so that she could stay for my party. She acted happy, but I knew she was actually hoping for an excuse to hop town.
"Oh. Okay," I said. I turned to leave. She reached out and touched my arm softly.
"Leaving already? Why don't you stay and talk?" She pouted. "We never talk any more."
I could not hide the disgust from my face. "We've never talked, Mom. Ever. I've got tons of stuff on my mind and I really don't feel like babysitting you right now. Have another drink and leave me alone."
She glared at me. "Don't speak to me like that, Katherine Sanders." She rose up the hand her wine glass was in and shook her index finger at me. The amber liquid swirled around in the glass. "I am your mother and you will respect me!"
I sighed. "Sure thing, Mom. I'll respect you from my bedroom then. Kisses." I marched out of the room. She got up to chase after me, but stumbled and spilled her drink. She growled and muttered profanities as she frantically attempted to clean it up.
I went to bed that night, like so many other nights, filled with thoughts of how much I hated my mother.