The Grand Finale of Suzie, Divided

In shock, Bridget's parents drive us home. None of us say a thing – we're all to astounded, Bridget and Daisy Doe at Hugo's hitting Conrad, me at my own temporary insanity. I thank God in heaven for Miss Alvarez. I shudder to think what would have happened if I would have stayed in my Conrad-hypnotized state. It sounds like a bad B-movie horror film: Hypnotized Teenyboppers from Hell.

I tiptoe through my house, expecting my mom and so-called stepfather to be asleep. Well, he is, but she most certainly is not. "We saw what happened," she says. "I knew the Peabody boy would come to no good. His father's an alcoholic, you know."

I didn't know, actually, but I don't particularly care. My feet are killing me and I have a throbbing headache – no doubt from all the screaming. "Yes, it is a shame that Hugo's come unhinged. Now, excuse me, I'm going to take a bubble bath and go to bed."

I try to get past her, but she yanks my arm and turns me around. "Wait a minute, young lady." Her voice turns steely and cold. "So, I got a call from your father today. He said a young man named Smokey came around yesterday, looking for someone he called his 'beautiful Ava' and who bore a striking resemblance to you. Do you know what that might be about?"

Oh, Smokey, you fool. Why did you have to remember where I lived? Why did you have to call on my father? Luscious Smokey, you have just unknowingly ruined my life. I keep my mouth shut: no use spouting off incriminating information.

"Suzanne Elizabeth Sinclair, don't you think you can pull a fast one on me. This is the end, do you hear me? No more weekend jaunts to the city. You have lied to us for the very last time, young lady." She pauses to shake her head at my delinquency. "How could you be with anyone named Smokey? It isn't even a real name, for God's sake." Another pause while she brandishes a seafoam green diary. "And what in the world is this?"

"My journal!" I shriek, trying to snatch it from her hands. "Get your hands off of that! That's my journal! You stole my journal?"

She opens to a random page and begins to read. "'His hands have infinite depth. He wraps those arms around me. Paradise. I am drowning in his smoldering passion.'" The woman I used to acknowledge as my mother rips the page from my journal and waves it around angrily. "What the hell are you doing, Suzanne? Are you on drugs? Are you having sex? Am I such a bad mother that I've pushed my only daughter to become a nymphomaniacal drug addict? Am I really that bad?"

I've been trying to keep my cool, but this last remark pushes me over the edge. "I am NOT a nymphomaniacal drug addict? I haven't even lost my virginity! Good God, Mother, what do you think I am? A harlot?"

"These poems sound pretty sexual," she retorts. "Well, it doesn't matter. You are grounded, do you hear me? No more trips to the city, no more fan club meetings, nothing!"

"I DON'T CARE!" I shout. "I don't even like Conrad Birdie. You know where I'm meeting all those boys? Writing all this poetry? I'm going to beatnik cafes. At midnight. In the city. All by myself. Yes, that's right, I'm sneaking out and meeting boys. Hot, sexy beatnik boys. And you know what? After they buy me coffee and I read some poetry – yes, I'm a beatnik! – we go make out in an alleyway. Sometimes they even feel my breasts! What do you think about that, Mother? Your little baby girl's all grown up."

"You are grounded forEVER, missy. Do you hear me? FOREVER."

"I DON'T CARE! See if I do!" I scream, grabbing my journal from her and running to my room, slamming the door behind me. In a fit of teenage anger, I open the door again and yell, "FECK YOU!" before slamming it once more. She can't get mad at me because I didn't say the actual f-word. Besides, I don't care if she does get mad. I am never coming back. Stripping off my dress, I throw it on the bed and change into my pedal pushers, turquoise sweater, and saddle shoes. I take the rhinestone pin off of my pearls and brush my hair, re-tying my scarf. I adjust my glasses and look in the mirror. It's as if I'm looking at a new girl. None of this Sweet Apple/New York/Real nonsense. Just Suzie, united. And Whole Suzie is ready to take the world by storm. Oh, I can't believe she's even trying to do this to me. She violated my privacy, stole my stuff, and gave me the most ridiculous restrictions I think I've ever heard. She can't stop me from doing what I want. I'm a big girl now. I grab two fifty-dollar bills out of my bank and put one in my shoe and the other down my bra – just in case – then put another hundred dollars in my purse, along with my journal, a pen, and a couple of quarters in case some place doesn't take change.

I shove the window open and climb out, rustling through the bushes, careful not to snag my clothes. I may be running away, but I don't have to look like a street urchin. I walk down my block, past Nancy's house, past Charity's, past Freddie's. I'm furious with my mother but I feel liberated. I am no longer divided. No more lies. I am never going home again.

The first person I see is Harvey, sitting forlornly on a bench in the park, all by himself. Those glasses of his actually don't make him look too bad. If only he'd lose the bow tie and the odd sticky-outty thing at the back of his hair. "Hey, Harvey," I say, plopping down next to him. "I'm leaving home. Want to join me?"

He looks at me like I'm crazy. "What are you talking about?"

"I only mean what I say. I'm leaving home. Do you want to come with me?" I say this flippantly, sure, but I mean every word. "I can tell that you want to."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because you're miserable. Everyone thinks you're a geek. Your mother's a controlling witch." I pause, collect my thoughts, and continue sincerely. "But you, Harvey, you are not a geek. Don't think I can't see you for what you are."

"What am I, then?"

"You're a sweet, caring, intelligent guy, and I bet that somewhere inside of you, you're cool."

"Cool?" He says this like he'd never even dreamed of being it.

"Yes. Cool." I pause. "What do you think of me, Harvey?" He looks doubtful. "There's no right answer."

"Well," he begins nervously, "I think you're pretty... and smart... and..."

"Do you think I'm sexy, Harvey? Do I make you hot?"

He turns a furious shade of crimson, probably never having had the word 'sexy' uttered in his presence ever, especially by a girl, let alone the phrase 'do I make you hot?'. "Mmmmmm," he mumbles.

"Well? Do I?"

"Mm-hmm," he nods, looking down. I pick up his chin and stare into his eyes, a luscious brown color behind the glasses.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of. I think you're cute too. But I don't want this to be purely physical. Tell me about yourself. What do you want to do with your life? What are your secret, dark desires?"

"To be honest? I want to be a psychiatrist," he says. "I want to have a girlfriend."

"Hey, now that's cool," I encourage him. "Psychiatry is fascinating. Do you know what I want to do?"

"What do you want to do?" he asks me, his blush finally fading a little bit.

"I want to be a poet. A beatnik poet. I want to go to New York City and be a beatnik poet."

"Recite some poetry, then." Normally I wouldn't perform on command, but I feel this is as close to flirting as he gets.

"Okay. 'More than he seems. Eyes full of mystery. Dark, sumptuous. Fallacies evaporate and we are left alone.'" I smile at him a little bit. "It's all right if you don't get it. A lot of people don't at first."

"No, I understand perfectly," he says slowly. "Did you just make that up?"

"Yeah."

"It's really good."

"Thanks." Before I can think better of it, I lean in and press my lips to his. I see his eyes go wide in shock and surprise.

"Wow," he breathes, once I stop kissing him. "Wow."

"You like that?" He nods fervently, the blush creeping back into his cheeks. "Me too." I kiss him again, deeper and longer, and when I come up for air, I take him by the hand and pull him up. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

We are off on a mystical journey, Harvey and I don't let go of his hand as we walk. Maybe we won't stay together forever (probably we won't) but I am very conscious of my status as Harvey's First Girlfriend. I am preparing him for life, when he will have other girlfriends, and I want him to know how it is. Besides, the more I look at him the cuter he gets.

"Why are you running away from home?" he asks me abruptly.

"My mother found out that I was sneaking out of my dad's apartment in the city and then she stole my journal and read my poetry and called me a nymphomaniacal drug addict."

"Oh." He pauses for a minute, then asks me, "What's nymphomaniacal mean?"

"Addicted to sex."

"Oh. Are you?"

"No," I laugh. "I've never even done it. I mean, I've done lots of stuff, but no… I'm a virgin. I'm not a drug addict, either." We walk in silence for a minute, and then I ask him, "What about you? Why are you running away?"

"Because you asked me to."

I look at his face and say, "No, why are you really? I'm sure you have a reason."

"Well, with my mother and my reputation..." He trails off. "You said you were sneaking out of your dad's apartment in the city? I thought he lived here."

"Oh yeah. My real dad lives in New York."

"Your real dad?"

"My parents were never married. My mom married my so-called 'father' to save face. Heaven forbid she have a kid out of wedlock."

"Oh. You know, I don't even know my dad," Harvey offers quietly. "I don't know where he lives. I don't even know his name."

"I guess that we both have pretty dysfunctional families, then," I say softly, squeezing his hand. "It's all right, though. We can brave the world together, yeah?"

"Yeah." He leans in and kisses me long and hard. For someone who's just now beginning to kiss, he's very good at it. "You know what, Suzie? You're the best girl I think I've ever met."

"I like you a lot too, Harvey."