When Anna finishes crying, she sits up on the bed, her face red and puffy like her eyes. I hand her a tissue, still not sure what to say. I should speak words of comfort, but none come. This is so beyond anything I've ever known, beyond any problems with my own parents. I've often wondered about them, their faithfulness. I know they no longer love each other and spend all their time apart. I wonder if one cheated if the other would even care.
Anna blows her nose, then stands and slowly leaves the room. I follow behind her into the bathroom, where Anna stands at the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. I lower onto the toilet lid and watch Anna wet a washcloth and lather her face with a citrus-scented facial cleanser. She scrubs hard and furious at her skin, then splashes warm water on her face and wipes away the soap with the washcloth. Then Anna takes out a giant bottle of mint green mouthwash, gargles and spits.
"Feel better?" I ask as she wipes her mouth on a towel. I hope that's not insensitive. I don't know what else to say. I don't know how to fix this. I never thought there'd be anything I could not fix.
Anna nods. "Yes," she says, quietly, unzipping a red and yellow polka dot cosmetics bag. "Will you do my make-up? For the Creative Arts Faire?"
"Sure," I reply, jumping up and switching places with Anna. I spread Anna's cosmetics on the counter and select a light brown eyeshadow. "Close your eyes," I instruct.
Anna obeys, keeping her eyes shut while I spread the powder over her eyelids. "Shannon..." she begins when I give her permission to open her eyes again. "Why would my dad stay with Mom after what she did? How could he forgive her?"
"I don't know," I say, honestly, unscrewing the wand of her mascara tube. Anna needs to buy new mascara. Hers is getting thick and clumpy. I think I have a new tube at home. I'll give it to her tonight. "I guess they still loved each other."
"That shows Dad was a much better person than I. I will never forgive her," Anna tells me. "I can't believe she just gave the baby away. Like it was an unwanted kitten or puppy. I bet she never even thinks about it. She's probably forgotten she has another daughter out there in the world somewhere."
"I think it's very brave when women give up a baby. They want a better life for it because they love it so much," I reply, uncapping a lipstick. Too pink.
"My mother isn't brave. She's a coward," Anna says, bitterly. "A coward and a liar and a cheat."
I finally select the perfect lipstick, a soft rose pink. I glide it slowly onto her lips, as I think of Anna's father. He didn't want the baby either. If he did, wouldn't he have raised it as his own? Or maybe all the power in the decision lay with Mrs. Stevenson and the mysterious Michael Bergman. Maybe they simply did not wish for the inconvenience. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Anna will never know the truth as long as she remains silent.
"You should talk to your mom," I tell her, firmly, dusting blush onto her cheeks. "You can't keep this bottled up forever. She can tell you the truth and answer your questions."
"No," Anna says, hard and flat.
I watch her face a moment, considering what else I might say. No inspiration comes. Maybe it's not the time. Anna can brood on it awhile longer. I let the subject drop and die right there. "Have you decided what you're wearing tonight?" I ask, neatly putting away her cosmetics. I leave out the lipstick and face powder. She'll need them to touch up later.
"Yeah," she answers, admiring herself in the mirror. "Thanks, Shannon. I look nice. Come on, I'll show you what I picked out." Anna slips out of the bathroom and starts down the hallway. Downstairs, we hear the door to the garage swing open, banging against the wall. "Abby's home," Anna says, veering toward the stairs.
We're halfway down when Mrs. Stevenson appears in the foyer. She looks up at us and freezes, then drops her briefcase. It lands on the tile with a dull thud. "Anna!" Mrs. Stevenson exclaims. "What are you doing here?" she demands, her voice shaking with surprise.
Anna's frozen, too, in mid-step on a stair, arm resting on the banister. "What are you doing here?" she shoots back. "It's only three o' clock."
"I came home to attend the Creative Arts Faire with Abby. I promised her."
"Your promises don't mean much," Anna says, her voice resuming that hardness.
Mrs. Stevenson blinks up at Anna and despite all I know, I feel a bit sorry for her. "Anna, if I'd known you were coming home this weekend, I wouldn't have stayed at the office last night," she says.
Anna tightens her grip on the banister, staring down at her mother, hard. "Why? No one wants you here," she says, then turns and rushes back up the stairs.
Mrs. Stevenson's face goes slack, becoming unreadable like Anna's often does. I turn quickly away and run up the stairs after Anna. She's pacing her room, back and forth across the floor.
"Let's choose your outfit," I say, shutting the door, and crossing to the closet.
"I already chose my brown dress."
I slide open the closet door. A lot of Anna's clothes still hang there. "We'll find something better than that," I reply, pushing aside hangers draped with pants. It always helps me to feel put-together, at least on the outside. Clean and collected, despite what's happening inside, under the well-crafted façade. It will help Anna, too. At the back of the closet, I find a turquoise, white, and seafoam green plaid skirt. I remove it from its hanger, then thumb through the sweaters on the closet shelf. I pull out a turquoise cardigan, then buried beneath some t-shirts, a white spaghetti strap tank top. I lay them out on the bed, then set a pair of round-toe shoes with low heels on the carpet in front of the bed.
"That's too summery," Anna protests.
"I'll wear something summery, too," I reply, even though I've already set out my gray skirt and ivory sweater at home. "Get dressed."
"We're not leaving for another three hours," Anna points out.
"Oh."
"You don't have to stay with me," Anna says. "I'd like to take a nap, actually. Don't worry, I'll lay on my back, so I don't mess up my make-up."
I nod, slowly. "Okay. Yes, you should rest. I'll go home and work on my homework. Do you still want to ride with me? Or will you go with your mom?"
Anna frowns. "What do you think?" she replies.
"We're meeting at Kristy's at six," I tell her with another nod. I fold her clothes and move them to the chair. "I'll see you then." I slip out the door, closing it quietly behind me. I stand in the hallway, listening for Mrs. Stevenson. I lean over the staircase railing, but there's no sound from downstairs. I creep slowly down the hallway toward her bedroom. The door is shut. Anna and I left it open. I stop in front of the door, holding my breath, as if Mrs. Stevenson may hear it escaping in and out of my lungs. On the other side of the door, I hear muffled sobs. Part of me feels sorry for her. And part of me does not.
I wear something summery, as promised. I put away my plain gray skirt and ivory sweater and instead wear my violet silk floral-print dress, the one I wore the night I met Wes. I wear a white cardigan over it, but Tiffany still gives me an Are you crazy? look when I come downstairs. She and Maria are both dressed in dark, autumn-ish clothes. Tiffany in a burnt-orange dress, showing far too much cleavage, and Maria in black pants and a black sweater.
"You aren't supposed to wear white after Labor Day," Tiffany informs me. "Mrs. Jardin will dock you social points for that."
"Shut up, Tiffany," I snap. My stomach is fluttering with nervous butterflies. I don't need Tiffany's catty sarcasm at the moment.
The three of us get in my Explorer and drive across the street to Kristy's, parking in the driveway beside Janet's car. We walk into the house without knocking, knowing the usual amount of pandemonium that will be raging inside. The foyer is empty, but the house is far from silent. At the top of the staircase, Kristy and Anna are wrestling Emily Michelle into a pair of lacy white tights. Or at least attempting to. Emily Michelle's flailing, trying to claw at Anna's eyes. Elizabeth rushes passed then, up the stairs, scooping up Emily Michelle as she goes by. She isn't even dressed yet. I take one step into the living room and quickly double back. Rick Jones and Cokie Mason are on the couch, making out, in full view of all the Thomas-Brewers rushing passed. Maria's disappeared when I turn back into the foyer, replaced by Kristy and Anna, who is rubbing her shoulder where Emily Michelle must have slugged her.
"Do you know what's happening in your living room?" I ask Kristy.
Kristy scowls. "Yes! We're going to have to burn that couch. I'm never sitting on it again," she exclaims in disgust. "Her parents are having a cocktail party or something. I already locked my bedroom door. No way am I giving Cokie Mason the opportunity to do the nasty on my bed."
Watson comes down the stairs, dragging a screaming Emily Michelle by the hand. Honestly, you'd think she was three, not six. Nannie's behind him, carrying Amy. "Your mother's finally getting dressed," Watson tells Kristy. He's dressed in a gray suit with a gray and lilac tie. "Where's David Michael?"
"I saw him run into the game room with Maria. Sam's up there, too," Kristy answers.
Watson and Nannie turn around and walk back up the stairs. "We're leaving in five minutes," Watson calls out. "Everyone better be in the foyer and ready!"
"Why don't Sam and Janet just move in?" I ask Kristy. "They're always here."
Kristy rolls her eyes. "Please don't give them any ideas!" she cries. "They're here enough as it is. Can you blame Sam? When Janet's not riding him, her parents are. He has to get away sometimes. Then she follows him."
Yes, poor misunderstood Sam. I resist the urge to roll my eyes back at her. Instead, I turn to Anna. "Where's Abby?" I ask.
"Riding with Mom," Anna answers, dully.
"And where's Tiffany?" I ask, suddenly realizing she's disappeared too.
"Where's Charlie?" Kristy adds, spinning in a circle, like Charlie may be hiding behind her.
I sigh. "I'll check the kitchen. Anna, check upstairs. Kristy, have fun in the living room."
"Thanks," Kristy says to my retreating back.
Ignoring her, I stride swiftly toward the kitchen. And stop dead in my tracks, not venturing further than the doorway. I stand very still, staring, seeing something I know I'm not supposed to see.
Janet's leaning back against the doorway to the laundry room, hands behind her back. Charlie is leaning forward, an arm resting against the doorframe above her head. She's looking up and he's looking down, their faces very close. They're speaking very lowly, so I can't make out a word. Janet giggles and Charlie smiles at her. They aren't doing anything outright inappropriate, aren't even touching, but it gives me a strange turn in my stomach. The way they're leaning and looking at each other, something isn't right.
I whirl around, quickly, and walk away. Outside the formal dining room, where I can't be seen, I call out, "Charlie! Janet! Where are you?" then return to the foyer, swallowing hard on the lump forming in my throat.
Kristy and Anna are waiting in the foyer with Tiffany, Maria, and David Michael. Sam's just coming down the stairs, holding Amy rather limply in his arms. He passes her off to Anna as soon as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Then he sidles up to Tiffany and whispers in her ear. Kristy's too busy tickling Amy to notice. I step in between Sam and Tiffany, elbowing Sam hard in the stomach. Whatever weirdness is going on in his and Janet's marriage needs to be kept to consenting adults.
"Where's Charlie?" Kristy asks me.
"He's coming," I reply. "Do you have your costume?"
Kristy points to a garment bag draped over the banister. "Hey, let's go!" she shouts up the stairs.
Watson, Elizabeth, Nannie, and Emily Michelle appear at the top of the stairs. Elizabeth looks frazzled. From the other side of the house, Charlie and Janet come strolling out of the kitchen, completely casual and unruffled, like they haven't been up to anything. I narrow my eyes at Janet, who rolls hers at me, obviously assuming I'm still upset about last night.
Janet takes Amy from Anna. "Charlie and I are going in my car to drop Amy off at Leslie's. She said she'd watch Amy for a couple hours."
Kristy snorts. "Make sure she doesn't let Amy out in the street without a coat and hat."
Janet glares at her. "I suppose I'd worry about that if we were still in eighth grade," she snaps.
Elizabeth rubs her temples. "Cut it out! Both of you. God, I'm not listening to any childish bickering tonight."
"Yeah, Janet," Sam says, sassily, making me want to punch him in the face. "I'm riding with Mom."
"You ride with your mom," Janet replies.
"Enough!" Elizabeth shouts.
Two minutes later, Anna, Kristy, Tiffany, Maria, and I are sitting in my car. Beside us, I watch Charlie strap Amy into her car seat while Janet starts the car. I throw my car into reverse and back down the drive. I wait at the curb for Watson to back the Suburban out of the garage, then follow behind him toward Stoneybrook Day. We have to park on the street because the parking lot is already packed. Kristy takes my hand as we walk toward the auditorium, obviously feeling the same nervous fluttering that I do.
"I didn't think so many people would come," she tells me.
"You won't even notice when you're on stage. You'll get in the zone and tune everyone out," Anna assures her. "And since when do you have stage fright?"
"I don't have stage fright. I'm worried about everyone laughing at our play."
"Thanks a lot," I snap.
"Should we wait outside for Mom and Dad?" Maria asks.
"Why? They aren't coming," Tiffany replies, then rushes up the auditorium steps to where Tyler Austen waits for her. She throws her arms around his neck and promptly begins sucking his face off. I'm torn between horror and smug satisfaction. The latter wins out. I look over my shoulder and smirk at the stunned expression on Sam Thomas's face.
"Food!" David Michael shouts the moment we walk through the auditorium doors.
Maria shoves her small duffel bag into my arms. "Here, Shanny, hold my shoes and costume!" she orders then races after David Michael toward the buffet. Several of her friends are already over there. She immediately begins introducing David Michael to all of them. I think I may hear the words "my boyfriend" but I hope I'm mistaken.
Kristy, Anna, and I begin searching the crowd for Abby, even though Kristy swears she's starving and must eat. Anna and I promise we'll eat as soon as we find Abby. We link arms and push through the sea of people. Most aren't really here for the Creative Arts Faire. That is, they don't really care about what we've all accomplished. Instead, this is a prime social event, full of networking possibilities, along with the opportunity to brag and show off, yourself and your family. The first people we run into are the Jardins. Meg in her floor-length black skirt, white blouse, and pearls, hair piled on top of her head, wearing a strained, plastic smile. Mrs. Jardin's draped in diamonds, wearing a dress with a full skirt. Meg's fourteen year old brother, Penn, is dressed in a suit and tie, standing very stiffly with his usual arrogant expression. Mr. Jardin is nowhere in sight. I have a sinking feeling he's still at the Greenvale Country Club with Dad, drinking bourbon and harassing the waitresses.
Next we meet the Duprees. Lindsey's standing between her grandparents dressed exactly like Meg, only she's not hiding her misery. At least the Drs. Dupree are dressed like normal people. Dr. Dupree in a black pantsuit and chunky, bright-colored jewelry and Mister Dr. Dupree in a brown sports coat with no tie.
"I'm not allowed to eat," Lindsey says, furiously, without greeting us. "Mrs. Jardin promised to throttle me if I spill anything on my outfit."
"If you're hungry, eat," Dr. Dupree says. She's holding a plate of half-eaten food. Stuffed mushrooms, pâté, and a scoop of tuna salad on a lettuce leaf.
Kristy's eyes widen. "That's what they're serving?" she demands in disgust. "Gross!"
"It looks good when you're famished," Lindsey snaps, making her sour lemon face.
"I told you to eat before we left," Mister Dr. Dupree tells her. That's what everyone calls him. He seems to like it. "But if you want to eat, I'll act as a human shield between you and Paula Jardin."
Lindsey grunts. "No, thanks. My money's on Mrs. Jardin. I had to spend all last night and all today with that woman. If you ever go out of town again and make me stay with her, I swear, I'll smother you both in your sleep."
Mister Dr. Dupree laughs, but Dr. Dupree looks slightly disturbed.
Kristy, Anna, and I excuse ourselves and continue our search for Abby. Instead, we find Greer and her family. Greer's already in costume - high-waisted beige slacks and a delicate white silk blouse and brown heels with long, pointy toes. If she spills anything on herself, I'll kill her. Greer's straightened her usually curly auburn hair and it falls in loose waves around her shoulders. She's also already in character, one hand on her hip, sway-backed. She's laughing loud and breathlessly. Several heads are turned toward her, watching in admiration. Her brother is on her left. His name is Bertram, but when he was twelve he nicknamed himself Beer because it rhymes with Greer. He's a senior at Yale, studying Journalism. On Greer's other side, to my displeasure is Sally White, looking at Greer in that cool, bored way of hers. I'm surprised that amidst all the diamonds and glitter Sally's in tight dark blue jeans and her black stilettos. She's also wearing a black and white-striped off-the-shoulder sweater I recognize as Greer's. And she isn't wearing a bra. It's quite obvious.
"I didn't know we could wear jeans," Kristy whispers, angrily.
Before we can veer in another direction, Greer spots us and waves. "There's my daughter now!" she shrieks, flagging us down.
Reluctantly, we walk over to them. After hellos are exchanged, Mr. and Mrs. Carson leave to find more interesting people. Beer hangs around though, which is odd because he's been avoiding Greer and I since we were four years old. Then he gazes sort of wistfully at Sally and I understand. Sally's angled her body away from him, obviously uninterested.
Sally nudges me in the shoulder. "Are those Lindsey's grandparents?" she asks, gesturing toward the Duprees with her punch.
"Yes, and as you can see, they aren't old," I reply, testily.
Sally takes a long sip of her punch. "Yeah, but they dress like old people," she says.
I huff and turn away from her, but she nudges me again.
"What?"
This time Sally gestures across the room toward the Jardins. "That Mrs. Jardin has been telling everyone all about how your boyfriend dumped you." Sally takes another sip of her punch, allowing the horror to sink in. Her lips are stained bright red. "Your pal Meg just stood there and let her mother tell the whole world your business."
"So?" I ask, like I absolutely don't care.
"So, I think you should go over to Mrs. Jardin and pour the punch bowl over her head. That'd give her a new story to tell about you. And at least in that one you'd be doing something."
I fix her with a steely glare. "Why are you talking to me?"
Sally shrugs. "I thought you'd like to know. I mean, when an entire room's mocking me, I like to know." Sally takes another sip of punch and shrugs again. "You have really weak friends. Meg and that weird Lindsey girl. I think you like that about them."
I narrow my eyes. "You follow my friends and I around for two weeks and think you know us? Well, you don't know anything." I whirl around, hooking arms with Kristy and Anna, forcibly removing them from their conversation with Greer.
We finally find Abby standing near the entrance with Mrs. Stevenson and the Thomas-Brewers. Abby's wearing the brown dress Anna had intended to wear tonight. Her hair's more out-of-control than usual. I realize it does sort of resemble an electrocuted mop like Sally White suggested.
"Who is that blonde girl you were talking to?" Mrs. Stevenson asks us, although the question appears to be more directed at Anna than at Kristy or me.
Anna moves closer to me, slipping an arm around my waist and turning her head to stare at the buffet. Mrs. Stevenson's question hangs in the air in the center of us all, unanswered and lingering. I look at Mrs. Stevenson in her tan business suit and all I see is adulteress stamped over her face, like she's some modern-day Hester Prynne. "Sally White," I answer, filling the awkward silence. "She just moved here from Santa Fe. She lived in Rome before that. Her mother's some kind of movie star."
The adults look slightly impressed. Apparently, Kristy hasn't shared that particular piece of information with her family.
"Who is her mother?" Nannie asks.
I pause to think. Sally has said her name a couple times. "Lisanne Faulkner?" I say, not sure if that's correct.
Mrs. Stevenson laughs, loudly. "Lisanne Faulkner? She's not a movie star!"
Kristy gives me a pointed look. "Figures," she says.
"She told you her mother's a movie star?" Mrs. Stevenson asks, still laughing. She looks over at Elizabeth. "Do you remember Lisanne Faulkner? From about twenty years ago? She was on the cover of all those entertainment magazines?"
Elizabeth shakes her head. "I never paid much attention to that stuff."
Mrs. Stevenson turns back to us. "Your friend's mother was nothing more than a movie extra. She had one line in the movie Tahitian Orchid and then ran off with one of the producers. He was married to a rock star, who was pregnant at the time. She miscarried, he divorced her, and married Lisanne Faulkner. It was a huge scandal back then."
"Too bad Sally's mom isn't here tonight," Anna comments, finally looking away from the buffet. "You two would be great friends."
The smile drops from Mrs. Stevenson, replaced with a perplexed expression. In fact, everyone looks confused. Everyone except Anna and I.
Before another word is said, the auditorium doors open and people begin filing inside. Kristy and Abby run off to find Greer before going backstage. I decided earlier to watch the performance from the audience. Anna needs me more than I am needed backstage. I point out Tiffany's pressed flower collage when we pass. It's hanging on the wall by the auditorium entrance.
Janet sidles up to me as we're walking down the ramp to the lower part of the auditorium. "Your sister's out front practically having sex in a planter," she informs me.
"Who are you to judge?" I snap, although it's difficult to resist turning around and storming outside. What is Tiffany thinking? She's dated this boy for a week.
"I just thought you'd like to know."
I make a point to not sit beside Janet. Instead, I sit between Anna and Charlie with Janet on his other side. Mrs. Stevenson sits down next to Anna, causing Anna to stiffen and scoot closer to me. I'm not sure what she thinks will happen if they touch. It's not like lies or compromised morals are contagious.
I lean over Anna. "Mrs. Stevenson, make sure you save those two end seats for my parents," I tell her.
"Look, Shannon, your play got half a page in the program," Anna says, pushing me away from her mother and showing me the program. "The Broken Hour-Glass - written and directed by Shannon Louisa Kilbourne." Anna laughs. "Daughter played by Kristin Amanda Thomas. Did you put that in? Kristy's going to kill you!"
"Well, it's her name," I reply.
"And here's Meg and Lindsey's flute duet. Hans Kohler, good pick," Anna says, thumbing through the program. "And here's that odd Sally girl. The one whose mother is not a movie star."
I lean over and look at where she's pointing. I wasn't aware Sally was performing. She's only been at SDS for two weeks. Dr. Patek surely would have excused her from the Creative Arts Faire. "What's she doing? Flinging insults at the audience?" I ask, scanning Sally's listing. But no, she's playing the piano. "An original song composed by Sally White?" I read aloud. Yeah right.
The lights begin to lower and Dr. Patek steps onto the stage. She's wearing a long black velvet dress. She removes the microphone from the stand, but I miss what she says because Tiffany and Tyler come in, sneaking down the aisle, and flop into the seats beside Mrs. Stevenson.
"Those seats are for Mom and Dad," I hiss, leaning over Anna and her mother.
Tiffany scowls. "They aren't coming," she snaps and turns toward Tyler, messing with his tie.
I sit back, frowning, as the performances begin. All the younger kids go first and their performances are...unusual. Half an hour into the show, Maria and two of her friends perform their tap dance. Mariatook five tap lessons when she was eight. She wasn't very good.She's wearing my old shoes and one of my old costumes. Her friend, who is practically a professional tap dancer (at least according to her mother) choreographed the dance herself. It's interesting. But I think it's best that Maria's interest lies in swimming, math, and entomology and not dance. Meg and Lindsey perform not long after Maria. Their duet is almost flawless, save for a couple missed notes by Meg. I remind myself to lie about them not looking ridiculous in those outfits. Sally is on right after them. Dr. Patek announces her piece as an original called 'Summer Awakening'. The curtain rises and Sally's seated at the piano, wearing the exact same outfit she wore earlier, jeans and Greer's striped sweater. Only now she's wearing her mirrored sunglasses too.
Tiffany leans across Mrs. Stevenson and Anna. "Does she think she's Stevie frickin' Wonder?" Tiffany asks.
I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. Although a short snort escapes. Sally's piece sounds nothing like something called 'Summer Awakening'. It sounds more like a funeral march. To my dismay, Anna appears quite impressed. She actually leaps to her feet when Sally finishes and applauds, enthusiastically. Inwardly, I groan.
My play is the second to last performance. The nervous fluttering returns to my stomach as Dr. Patek announces the name of the play and all our names. I glance behind me toward the auditorium doors. Maybe my parents slipped in and decided to stay in the back instead of hunting me down. Even as I search, I know the truth. They aren't here. Tonight wasn't important enough for them to come.
I turn back around and sit very straight in my seat, hands folded tightly in my lap. Anna squeezes my knee, excitedly and I manage to return a small smile. Then the play begins. Greer and Karl are amazing. Their voices project loud and clear, filling the auditorium. All the sound effects are right on cue. On the sofa, Kristy remains still and stoic, not once cracking a smile, like I secretly feared she would. She's wearing her yellow bridesmaid dress from Elizabeth and Watson's wedding. We argued over that, but she looks fantastic. The end comes and Kristy jumps off the sofa and flings the hour-glass to the ground. Backstage, Abby plays the recording. It really sounds like the hour-glass is breaking right there on stage.
I'm beaming as Greer, Karl, and Kristy take their bows. Abby pokes her head out from behind the curtain and waves. The Stevensons and Thomas-Brewers all lean over to me, grinning and offering congratulations. Charlie punches me in the shoulder and even though I don't currently know my feelings toward him, it's a nice, brotherly gesture. No one mentions that my parents did not come.
When the performances are complete and everyone's taken their final bows, our group files out of the auditorium and waits together in the lobby for Kristy, Abby, and Maria. Mrs. Jardin and Penn come by and congratulate me and Mrs. Jardin praises Kristy and Abby while pointing out to everyone that Meg made three mistakes during her duet and did anyone notice. There's an awkward silence and Mrs. Jardin breezes on. The Carsons also offer their congratulations, pausing in their search for Greer, as do Mr. and Mrs. Taylor and Polly Harper. I swell with pride each time someone smiles and shakes my hand. When Lindsey and her grandparents come up to us, her grandfather jokingly asks me to sign his program and I oblige. Then we all start passing around our programs, laughing and signing for each other.
Out of nowhere, Sally White appears beside me. "Interesting play," she says to me, like she hasn't plagued our practices, snapping her gum in my ear and making snide comments. "I'm wondering if Kristin Amanda Thomas would please sign my program?" she asks, voice full of fake sweetness. She holds her program out to Kristy, who glares at her, but takes the program. She signs Kristy Thomas in very large, loopy cursive across the front of the program. Sally makes a big show of admiring the signature and tucking the program safely away in her purse. Sally White is more than a super creep. She's a super freak, too.
"I thought your piece was lovely," Anna tells Sally. "You're very good."
"I know," Sally replies without an ounce of modesty. "The piece is about losing my virginity on the Italian Riviera last summer," Sally informs us. Anna's jaw drops, but I don't give Sally the satisfaction of shocking me. I am thankful, however, that the adults aren't listening. Sally continues, "I titled it after the play Spring Awakening. Have you read or seen it?"
"Yes," I answer. "I wasn't aware you were a fourteen year old girl who died during a botched abortion."
"I didn't say it was inspired by the play," Sally says, her voice losing its coolness. "Just the title."
Tiffany, Maria, and I leave a few minutes later. Elizabeth invites us out for dessert with them, but I'm not in the mood. The day has been an emotional roller coaster and when I come crashing down, I want it to be at home. I'm tired. I want to sleep.
When we're crossing through the parking lot, Tiffany loops her arm through mine. "They wouldn't have understood your play anyway," she tells me.
"There was nothing to understand about it," I reply. "It was just a play."
"Okay. It was just a play. But they wouldn't have gotten it."
"Thanks."
The house is dark when we pull into the garage. No parents with apologies,. No flowers and kisses of congratulations. Just a dark, empty house. My high from the performance wears off as quick as I step through the door into the house. Cold, dark, and empty. I shouldn't expect anything more. What's wrong with me that I do, even if it's a tiny foolishly hopeful piece of myself. At least your mother came, I should have told Anna. That is something more than nothing.
On the table in the foyer, there's a large piece of hot pink construction paper held down with a sweating glass of ice water. It isn't on a coaster. The table will be ruined. I slide the paper out from under the glass. A note from Mom. It's not an apology.
Shanny,
Pick up my dry-cleaning tomorrow by five.
A monster rises inside me, fiery hot and boiling, rises from the dark hidden place I bury my secret thoughts and feelings. My hand tightens around the note, crumpling it in my grip. I pick up the glass and hurl it across the room. It shatters against the wall, breaking and falling in a thousand splintered pieces.