Wednesday afternoon is sunny with a slight breeze, strange for mid-October. After school, my friends and I meet in the performing arts center - Kristy, Greer, Abby, and I...with Sally White tagging along, hanging over the seat beside mine, snapping her gum in my ear. I'm seated in the front row. Greer and Kristy are on stage with Karl Schmauder, and Abby's backstage readying the props for our sound effects. It's our final rehearsal before Saturday night's performance at the Creative Arts Faire. A lot of art projects are already on display - paintings, sculptures, models. Tiffany and her friend, Frannie, created a collage of pressed flowers. It turned out quite lovely.
Sally snaps her gum in my ear. "So, is this an autobiographical play?" she asks. Her breath smells like watermelon.
"No," I reply, not glancing up from my notes. "It's just a play."
"That's not what Greer thinks," Sally says with another snap.
I ignore her. She's baiting me. Greer would never say that. Especially not to Sally White. Besides, Greer doesn't know much about my private family life.
I push away the doubt. I have work to do. "Karl, can you move back a little? You're sort of blocking Kristy," I call out. Karl takes a step back. "Perfect!" I shout, giving him the a-ok sign. "Now, from the beginning...action!"
Greer, Karl, and Kristy remain frozen a moment. Kristy's seated center stage on an old over-stuffed sofa with Karl standing to her right, holding his head in his hands, wearing an old smoking jacket of his grandfather's. Greer's on Kristy's left with a hand on her hip, back swayed slightly, an unlit cigarette between her fingers. After a moments pause, Greer and Karl spring into action. Greer removes a gold lighter from her pocket and with a flick of her wrist, lights the cigarette. We were surprised when Dr. Patek gave permission for Greer to smoke on stage, especially since she refused permission for Kristy to smash a real hour-glass. Instead, we recorded Kristy breaking a mirror with a hammer in her garage. Abby will play the recording while on stage Kristy throws down a wood and plastic hour-glass we got from Greer's mother's antique shop.
The Broken Hour-Glass is about a married couple, Greer and Karl, who are splitting up. They spend the play fighting over who keeps their prized possession, an antique hour-glass while their daughter, Kristy, sits on the sofa, watching. In the end, she breaks the hour-glass and only then do her parents notice she's in the room.
It takes several run-throughs for Abby to get all the sound effects on cue. By four o' clock, everything's tight and smooth. We're ready for Saturday night.
"Fantastic," I tell Kristy, Greer, and Abby when they come down the stage steps. Greer's smoking her third cigarette.
Kristy looks doubtful. "I'm sorry, Shannon, but I still feel like a total idiot just sitting on that couch. Why can't I say something?"
"Your character speaks without words," I answer, hoisting my messenger bag onto my shoulder. It's loaded with books. I can't believe how much homework I already have mid-week. "Have you spoken to Anna?" I ask Abby. I want Anna to come for our big premiere. I was unable to successfully convince her over the weekend.
"I called yesterday, but she was practicing with some violin group. She never called back," Abby replies, as we step outside into the bright sun. "Don't count on her, Shannon," she warns.
"Call again this afternoon. I'll call, too. Everyone should call. Tell her that tomorrow night we're all going to the SHS Homecoming game to see Mary Anne. Then Saturday, we'll have the Creative Arts Faire. It'll be a lot of fun. She shouldn't miss out."
Sally slips on her sunglasses. "Are you, like, in love with this Anna girl, or something?" she asks.
I look at her in disbelief. "No, I'm not in love with her," I snap. "She's my friend and I miss her." And I worry about her, especially now. But I won't tell Sally that.
"You certainly are concerned about where she is and what she's doing at any given moment," Sally tells me.
"I am not," I retort, turning away from her.
"I think you have some control issues," Sally continues.
I ignore her. When is she going to leave us alone and find her own friends? "Does anyone need a ride?" I ask, directing my question at Kristy and Abby. "I'm supposed to go over to Lindsey's."
Kristy looks at her watch and shakes her head. "No. Al's supposed to be in the newspaper office until five. I need to talk to him about that boring story he has me writing about the boys' golf team."
"I have a bunch of research to do in the library," Abby says. I notice her backpack is even more stuffed than my bag. It won't even zip all the way.
"I'm going to the mall," Sally announces, importantly. "Who would like to come? It will certainly be a lot more interesting than golf or hanging out with Lindsey." I can't see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but I'm sure she's giving me a pointed look.
Greer hesitates, shifting her messenger bag strap on her shoulder. She bites her lip and glances quickly at me, then averts her eyes before making contact. I know what she is thinking. And I can't believe it. "I'll go with you," Greer says finally. "I'm supposed to work on a paper for American Lit, but I can do it this weekend."
"Fabulous. We'll take your car. I can't drive."
Kristy rolls her eyes. "So, basically, you just need someone to drive you to the mall," she comments.
Sally ignores her, stepping forward and linking arms with Greer. "Have fun with your homework," she says, coolly, then steers Greer toward the parking lot.
Kristy, Abby, and I watch them walk away. Greer looks over her shoulder once, looking a bit guilty. No one smiles or waves. It's an effort on my part not to curse and throw something. Didn't Greer learn the last time? You don't trust Sally White!
I part ways with Kristy and Abby, stalking out to my Explorer, fuming silently. Sometimes I don't even know Greer anymore. I don't recognize her. We've known each other all our lives, always have been best friends. And now she is someone new, someone who may not always be my friend. The possibility never occurred to me, that Greer and I might not be close forever. I guess I see it now. It's more than a possibility. It's a reality. Maybe I've changed, too.
Lindsey lives farther from SDS than any of us, out of the rolling neighborhoods of mansions with swimming pools and tennis courts and outdoor saunas. She and her grandparents live a couple blocks from Stoneybrook University in an upper-middle class neighborhood more typical of Stoneybrook. Their house is a large white two-story with three front dormer windows and a yard full of overgrown crape myrtles that bloom vibrant pink, red, and purple in the springtime. I love visiting Lindsey's house.
Lindsey must be hovering at the front window, waiting for me, because the front door swings open as soon as I pull up to the curb. She hurries down the walk toward me. I know she's going stir-crazy and she still has two weeks left of her grounding.
"Sadie's home," is the first thing out of her mouth. "I honestly didn't expect her to be here. I'm sorry!"
I admit I have an ulterior motive for coming to Lindsey's house. Wes is picking me up here for our third date. I knew I couldn't meet him outside the Stoneybrook U. library forever without raising his suspicions. But he can't come to my house either. So, I told him to pick me up at Lindsey's. Lindsey knows I have a date and that it's a secret, although I've remained vague on the details. Lindsey doesn't seem to mind the secrecy. She thinks it's exciting.
I hoist my messenger bag onto my shoulder and shut the passenger side door. I frown at Lindsey, turning things over in my mind. "She won't mind my meeting my date here, will she?" I ask, although I'm really worrying that Dr. Dupree will want to meet him. She could ruin everything. "Or that I have to leave my car here?"
Lindsey shakes her head. "No, she won't mind," she assures me, as we walk up the front steps. "She's in her office. We'll ask her now. Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll leave!" Lindsey picks up her pace when we enter the house, jogging across the living room to the open door of Dr. Dupree's office. "Sadie!" she shouts, swinging around the doorframe.
Dr. Dupree jumps, startled, and holds her hand to her chest. "Don't scare me like that!" she scolds Lindsey. She's sitting at her computer with several books open on the desk. She's wearing a pair of glasses with large purple frames. A second pair, green ones, are sitting on her head. I wish Sally was here to see that Dr. Dupree is not an old woman. Of course, if Sally was here, she'd only say something nasty. Probably about the glasses.
"Sor-ry," Lindsey answers, irritably, then thinks better of putting her grandmother in a poor mood. "I'm sorry," she says more pleasantly. "I didn't mean to scare you. Now! Shannon's here and we're going to work on layout for the yearbook. That is okay, isn't it?" The last sentence comes out a bit tightly.
"Hello, Dr. Dupree," I greet her, leaning against the other side of the doorframe.
Dr. Dupree smiles at me. "Hello, Shannon. It's lovely to see you," she says, then looks at Lindsey. "Yes, Shannon may work on homework with you. There's lemon poppy seed cake in the kitchen, if you'd like a snack." She looks down at one of the books and resumes her typing.
Lindsey and I exchange a quick glance. "Sadie," Lindsey starts. "Shannon has a date and he's going to pick her up here. Is that all right?"
"Didn't you just break up with someone?" Dr. Dupree asks not glancing away from the computer.
"Yeah, he dumped her. The tulips, remember?" Lindsey confirms, causing me to groan, inwardly. Is there anyone who doesn't know about my break-up? "She's on the rebound," Lindsey continues.
"I am not."
"Who is this boy?" Dr. Dupree inquires, fingers still flying swiftly over the keys.
"Sadie," Lindsey whines.
Dr. Dupree finally looks up. "What?" she says, eyes sweeping over Lindsey and me. She stares at us a moment, then goes back to her typing. "It's fine with me. I trust Shannon to make responsible choices." Her eyes momentarily shift back to give Lindsey a pointed look.
"Thanks, Dr. Dupree," I reply, uneasily.
Lindsey huffs and grabs my hand, pulling me away from Dr. Dupree's office. She stomps up the staircase, her long blonde braid swinging side to side. It hangs passed her rear end. Lindsey hasn't cut her hair since second grade, which she's very proud of. "She is so embarrassing," Lindsey grumbles, as we reach the landing.
"She's not so bad," I disagree. Personally, I think it's nice to have someone concerned about what I am doing. No one has noticed in such a long time.
"Not so bad!" Lindsey repeats, throwing herself down on her bed. "No wonder my mother ran away when she was sixteen." Lindsey glances over at the framed photo on her desk. It's Lindsey as a baby on her mother's hip, her father standing beside them. Lindsey's mother looks a lot like Dr. Dupree with the same shoulder-length brown hair and friendly smile. Lindsey's father shares Lindsey's pinched face, the one that goes so well with that sour lemon look she often wears. This is the only photo I've ever seen of Lindsey's mother. It may be the only one that still exists. Nowhere else in the Dupree's house is there any suggestion that they have a daughter. All the photos are of Lindsey, starting from age two, nothing before, as if she suddenly materialized out of this air without a past.
We know the truth about Lindsey's parents because of Greer's mother. The Duprees moved to Stoneybrook from Hartford halfway through our kindergarten year. Lindsey was already telling her lie then, about her parents dying in a train wreck. Then Mrs. Carson went to a party out of town and met someone who knew the Duprees in Hartford. She told Mrs. Carson the truth, that Lindsey's mother reappeared one Saturday morning after no word for years with a husband and a two year old the Drs. Dupree didn't know existed. Her parents left Lindsey with the Drs. Dupree while they went to the supermarket for milk. They never came back.
"Wait until you hear their new punishment for me," Lindsey says, rolling onto her stomach, so she faces where I'm sitting at her desk. "George is speaking at some college in Pennsylvania tomorrow night. They're leaving in the morning and won't be back until Saturday afternoon. Do I get to stay home alone? No! I have to stay with the Jardins!" Lindsey makes her sour lemon expression.
"You could have stayed at my house," I tell her, taking my Italian book out of my messenger bag. We don't really have any layout to work on for the yearbook. Lindsey just told her grandmother that so I could come over.
"I asked. George and Sadie didn't think it was a good idea," Lindsey replies, then seeing my puzzled expression, plunges on. "Oh, they think you're great. But they said your parents wouldn't notice if you and your sisters ran naked through the streets of Stoneybrook. They don't trust me at your house with no supervision."
"Oh," I say, simply, looking down at my open book. I didn't realize other people knew.
Lindsey watches me a moment, then jumps up. "Want to see my new sunglasses?" she asks. Lindsey talks when she's nervous or uncomfortable, rattles on and on, filling up all possible space. She thinks she made a misstep with me. Lindsey slides a pair of enormous green and beige-striped sunglasses onto her face.
They're so ridiculous, I laugh. "Where did you get those?" I ask.
"Bellair's. Sadie and I went last night to get my outfit for the Creative Arts Faire. Mrs. Jardin picked it out," she says, gagging. Lindsey and Meg are performing a flute duet for the Creative Arts Faire. They'll perform Saturday night, too. "Mrs. Jardin is making us wearing floor-length black skirts with ivory-white blouses and pearls. And we have to wear our hair up. We're going to look so dumb. Sadie said to wear these sunglasses and maybe no one will recognize me." Lindsey laughs, then stops abruptly, remembering that she's angry at her grandmother.
"You won't look dumb," I promise.
"Maybe," Lindsey replies, unsurely. It matters a lot to her how she looks. "How was your rehearsal?"
I tell her about Sally White, both during the rehearsal and after, and how she and Greer walked away arm-in-arm, like old friends.
"So, she's chosen Greer again," Lindsey says, glumly, resting her chin in her hand. "I still don't understand why she never chose me."
I don't understand why Lindsey still cares. That was four years ago and Sally White is, quite obviously, a jerk. I was angry with Sally back then too, but I got over it and accepted that's how she is. She's someone who can't keep a friend, who must move from person to person. It isn't personal. The problem isn't with anyone but Sally. It bothers me that Lindsey hasn't realized this as well, that after all these years she's still brooding and picking herself apart.
"Who cares what Sally White thinks?" I ask, flipping to a fresh page in my notebook.
"That's easy for you to say. She likes you."
I laugh.
"No, she does. She likes you and Kristy. I can tell. She hates me. I don't know what she thinks of Greer, Meg, and Abby. She can't seem to make up her mind about them. I think she like respects you or something. You and Kristy don't give her a free pass to do and say whatever she wants. Kristy and I have her in our economics class. Every day, she steals my seat next to Kristy and every day, Kristy makes her move in back of us. They waste like five minutes of class time bickering every single day. I think Sally enjoys it."
I shrug and start writing out the first translation for my Italian homework. I'm tired of talking about Sally White and of thinking about her. Lindsey isn't. She twists her braid around her hand, wearing her sour lemon expression again. Pretty soon, the end of her braid is in her mouth. She takes out her economics book, opens it on her lap, and sits there on the bed, cross-legged, chewing on her hair. I don't say anything. I pretend not to notice.
Lindsey and I work on our homework until a quarter til seven, occasionally chatting and discussing our assignments. At some point, Lindsey stops chewing on her hair. Wes is coming for me at seven-twenty. Our movie's at seven forty-five. We're going to such a late movie because of all my homework. My mind will be at ease knowing I've completed everything that's due tomorrow. Otherwise, I couldn't enjoy the movie and our date. Plus...the later the movie, the less likely I'll see anyone I know.
"Are you hungry?" Lindsey asks, slamming her sociology book shut.
I shrug. "A little. I'm eating later tonight though."
"We'll see what's in the kitchen," Lindsey says, hopping off the bed. I follow her out of the room, throwing with my messenger bag over my shoulder. On the first floor, Dr. Dupree's still in her office, typing on the computer, most likely oblivious to the time. Lindsey's grandfather isn't home yet. The house is very quiet except for the clicking of Dr. Dupree's keyboard. In the kitchen, Lindsey and I eat the lemon poppy seed cake right off the platter. It momentarily occurs to me to call home and ask if Tiffany and Maria ate a balanced dinner. Then I remember that Tiffany has a date with Tyler Austen (despite my disapproval. She should be doing her homework) and Maria's eating over at a friend's house.
"It's almost seven-twenty," I tell Lindsey, glancing at the clock on the microwave.
Lindsey smiles. "Can I meet him?" She has a poppy seed stuck in her teeth.
"Uh...not yet. I don't want to freak him out by introducing him to all my friends," I explain, feeling that pang of guilt again. "He might think I'm getting too serious."
Lindsey nods. "I understand. I'll watch from my bedroom window. Very discreetly, I promise."
I hesitate. That's not so bad. It's dark out. She won't see him clearly and no way will she be able to guess at his age. Lindsey leaves me to wait in the living room while she runs upstairs. I peek through the curtains. Behind me, I hear the clicking off Dr. Dupree's keyboard. I set my messenger bag on the armchair and hurry to the door of her office, which is still open. I knock lightly on the doorframe. She holds up a finger and keeps typing with one hand, then hits a key very hard and turns to face me.
"Are you leaving, Shannon?" she asks, smiling. She's now wearing the glasses with the green frames. The purple ones are sitting on top of the computer.
"Soon," I answer, then hesitate, gathering my thoughts and words. "Dr. Dupree, I thought you should know, Lindsey's chewing her hair again."
The smile disappears from her face. "Oh," she says. "I hadn't noticed. Thank you for telling me." A worried frown crosses her face. She spins around in her chair and pulls a book off the shelf. She doesn't turn around again.
The doorbell rings. I rush to answer it, grabbing my bag off the armchair. I hadn't intended for Wes to come to the door. I was going to watch out the window and meet him on the porch. I open the door and slip outside. "Hi Wes," I greet him, smiling.
He smiles back. "Hi Shannon. Is this your house?" he asks.
"No, my friend's house. We've been studying," I explain, closing the front door.
"It looks like you have quite a load there. Do you want me to carry your bag?"
"No. It's okay. Just let me put my books in my car."
Wes waits for me beside the Volvo, holding open the passenger side door. I try to hurry, knowing Lindsey's staring at us and that any minute, her grandfather could drive up or her grandmother pass by a window. They would know Wes is too old. They would put a stop to this.
"You look great," Wes tells me when we're in the car. I changed in Lindsey's room. I'm wearing Anna's Shetland sweater with a mid-calf length black skirt, lightweight and flowing, perfect for autumn.
"Thanks! You look great, too," I reply, which probably sounds kind of lame. But he does look nice even if he is just wearing jeans and a gray pullover. He smells even better than he looks. Like rich and spicy aftershave. It makes me happy knowing it's all for me. "I was thinking about you last night," I tell him.
He raises an eyebrow. "Really? In what context?" He grins.
I laugh. "My little sister was watching television and this commercial came on for Ellenburg Marine Supply. Is that really your father?"
Wes groans. "In the skipper hat? Yes, that is my father, I am embarrassed to admit."
"Does he know that beard looks fake?" I ask, laughing. "And that the parrot is obviously not actually singing?"
Another groan. "I know, I know. I've told him a million times. He doesn't listen."
"Why aren't you in the commercials, too? You could be his first mate. Or the cabin boy."
"Would you want to be in one of those commercials?" Wes replies, which is a fair point. I wouldn't. "And I don't want to be on television. I'd be too embarrassed. I don't like the thought of everyone looking at me, even if it is only on television." Wes turns the Volvo onto Essex, one of the main streets in downtown Stoneybrook. "And actually, I was almost in a commercial once. I was sixteen and my parents forced me. I looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Needless to say, that footage was not used." Wes laughs.
"That's too bad. You'd probably sell a lot of boats," I tell him.
"Really? Thanks!"
When we step out of the car, I do a quick check of the street. It's deserted and inside Stoneybrook Cinema, there are only a few older people milling around. Wes buys our tickets, then slips an arm around my shoulders as we walk inside. He does it very casually, not gripping my shoulder hard or pulling me too tight against him. It's nice. Relaxed and comfortable.
"I'm buying the popcorn and soda," I tell him, as we cross the lobby toward the concession stand.
"If you insist."
There's only one register open with only one person in line. Wes and I wait patiently, chatting about our favorite movie theater candy. I like hot tamales. Wes like sno-caps, which are absolutely disgusting. Finally, the girl in front of us pays and it's our turn in line. The girl turns around and I gasp out loud.
It's Janet. I was so consumed with talking to Wes that I didn't even recognize her from the back, like I normally would. Her eyes flick from me to Wes, her already buggy eyes nearly popping out of her skull. She almost jams her soda straw up her nose.
"What are you doing here?" I exclaim.
Janet stares at me. "I'm seeing a movie," she answers. "My girlfriends are in town for Homecoming." Janet points to her left, where three girls with big hair and too much make-up are piling jalapenos on their nachos at the condiment station. "They just arrived this afternoon. They're ditching the rest of this week's classes." All of Janet's friends went away to the University of Bridgeport this year, leaving Janet behind to file and answer phones at her father's office and raise Amy.
An awkward silence falls between us. This is it. My lies are about to be exposed. Wes will never speak to me again. My heart starts pounding in my chest, so loud I can hear it. I wonder if Wes and Janet hear it too.
Wes sticks out his hand to Janet. "I'm Wes Ellenburg," he says.
Janet takes his hand and shakes it, limply. "I'm Janet Thomas," she replies, then shoots me a questioning look.
"Do you go to Stoneybrook University, too?" Wes asks.
"Oh, you go to Stoneybrook U.!" Janet says, sounding slightly relieved. Obviously, she suspects he's way too old for me.
"No, I graduated a few years ago. I meant, do you and Shannon go to Stoneybrook U. together?"
Janet's eyes sort of pop again. I hold my breath. It's coming. It's coming. Right here in the middle of Stoneybrook Cinema, in front of the concession worker and Janet's big haired friends.
Janet purses her lips and tilts her head to the side. "Um...no, I don't," she answers. "Shannon lives across the street from my mother-in-law."
And that's it.
She says nothing else.
Wes appears oblivious that anything unspoken has passed between Janet and I. He doesn't realize something is amiss or detect the discomfort. I'm certain my shoulders have tightened, how can he not feel that?
"Are you also seeing the Franz Ferdinand biopic?" Wes asks Janet.
Janet wrinkles her nose. "No. We're seeing the Carson Fraser musical," she replies, then turns toward me. "Well...I guess I better go. I'll see you tomorrow at Homecoming. I am really looking forward to talking to you." Janet smiles, tightly at me. "Nice meeting you, Wes." Then she turns and walks toward her friends yelling, "Michelle! Liz! Leslie! Wait for me!"
"Your friend's a little odd," Wes comments, then says nothing more about Janet.
I worry all through the movie. What if Janet tells Sam? Or worse, Kristy? Everything will be ruined. And everyone will know about my lies. My soda tastes very flat, so I spend most of the movie chewing on the straw. Maybe this is why Lindsey chews her hair. It's something to do while thinking and fretting. Wes keeps his arm around my shoulders through the entire movie. I lean toward him a bit, as I gnaw on the straw, realizing that possibly we won't go out again. This could be it.
"Wasn't that great?" Wes asks me, as we file out of the theater. "Although, honestly, I think Cam Geary was miscast as the Black Hand assassin. He doesn't exactly look like a Serbian, does he?"
"Huh?" I reply, distractedly, checking out the lobby, as if I suspect Janet might pop out of nowhere, having decided to expose me. I shake back my hair. I have to snap out of it. She didn't say anything. I don't need to worry. "Yes, and his wig didn't fit too well, did it?"
"You noticed that, too!" Wes laughs, slipping his arm around my shoulders again.
"The actress playing Sophie was very beautiful. I've never seen her before."
"Oh, she was all right," Wes replies, grinning down at me. "Do you want to walk across the street to Thelma's Cafe? It's after ten. I'm not sure if anything else is still open.
I'm not very hungry and actually, I don't know if I can choke anything down. But I nod anyway. "Sure! My friends and I go there all the time. Thelma's has the best pie."
We don't order pie though. I order seasoned curly fries and a glass of water. Wes orders a chicken club with fries and coffee. "Isn't it a little late for coffee?" I ask him when the waitress leaves.
Wes shrugs. "It never keeps me up. I'm blessed. Hey, your friend from earlier mentioned the SHS Homecoming. You're going?"
The waitress brings our drinks and I wait for her to leave before answering. "Yes. My friends from the SDS volleyball team - remember them? - their friend is up for Homecoming Queen. They invited me to go along." I wonder if he thinks I'm weird, hanging around with high schoolers. "A bunch of people are going. My friend, Kristy, that's Janet's sister-in-law, her whole family is going. Her oldest brother's driving down from New Britain. I've never been to a Homecoming, that's why I'm going," I add.
"I went to the SHS Homecoming with my aunt and cousins last year. If I go again this year, I'll look for you. I can meet your friends."
Luckily, the waitress arrives with our food, so I don't have to respond right away. I have time to swallow the lump in my throat. When the waitress leaves, I pick up a fry and stare at it with no appetite. "That'd be great," I say, dully, then realizing how I sound attempt to perk up. "Maybe we could meet somewhere," I suggest. "The SHS stadium is huge. You'd never find me. We could meet at half-time before the floats and crownings."
Wes nods. "Good idea. I'll call you tomorrow afternoon about my plans," Wes says, then bites into his sandwich.
It's after eleven o' clock when Wes drives me back to Lindsey's house. He pulls up behind my Explorer and turns off the engine. Lights are still on in Lindsey's bedroom and downstairs. Her grandparents have left on the porch light, as well.
I unlatch my seatbelt. "Thanks, Wes, I had a really good time," I tell him. I wonder if it will be the last time. I hope not.
"I had fun, too," he agrees, then leans over and kisses me, softly. His lips linger on mine and I kiss him back, a bit harder than he kissed me. He slips his tongue into my mouth and his hand into my hair. There's a strange, fluttery feeling in my stomach. I feel very lightheaded. And still, despite the lightheaded feeling, it occurs to me that we're parked out on the street in front of the Duprees' house. Lindsey could be watching, or worse yet, her grandparents and at any moment they could pound on the windshield and ruin everything. And everything could be ruined soon enough, as it is.
I pull back. "I have to go home. Early class, you know," I say, opening my door. "Thanks again, Wes."
Wes smiles. "I'll call you tomorrow. Good night, Shannon!" he calls, as I shut the door.
My parents are actually home when I pull into the garage between their cars. The house itself is dark. No one thought to leave a light on for me. Maybe no one realizes I'm gone. I wouldn't expect anything less from my parents. I flick on the foyer light as I pass through and in the shadows see my father in his study, asleep in his leather armchair, a tumbler of amber liquid resting in his lap. I go into the study and remove the tumbler from his hand and the glasses from his face. Then I cover him with a yellow plaid blanket. I flick off the foyer light and go upstairs.