I'm halfway down the escalator when I hear Kristy calling my name. I stay focused straight ahead, staring at the blue perm of the old lady in front of me. Kristy's voice nears, still calling to me, and I realize she's running down the stairs between the up and down escalators. She reaches me and stops running, instead taking the remaining steps slowly, so we are side by side. I can't move. I can't run away. I'm stuck.
"I'm sorry," Kristy says. "I was trying to help."
"You didn't."
"I was sticking up for you because you're my friend," Kristy tells me. "And because you won't stick up for yourself. Have you even spoken to Mick since he dumped you like garbage into the can? You let him get away with being a jerk. I didn't."
"If I needed your help, I would have asked for it," I snap.
"No, you wouldn't."
I step off the escalator and attempt to disappear into the crowd. I don't know where I'm going without my purse and jacket. I just go. I don't lose Kristy though. She's little and squeezes through the crowd effortlessly. She catches me outside Power Records and shoves me inside. I stumble backward and almost fall into a Great Blue Whales display.
"What's wrong with you, Kristy?"
"What's wrong with you?" Kristy counters, angrily. "What's wrong with everyone? I've tried to be a good friend to you, Shannon. And you've treated me horrible for weeks. I don't know what I've done to you. But it doesn't even feel like we're friends anymore. Everyone's falling apart. Greer and Meg turned out to be jerks. Lindsey's a total wacko. Abby has me as confused as you do. It's like I don't even have friends anymore."
"You have Mary Anne," I point out. My voice has a nasty edge to it. I know Kristy is right.
"Mary Anne is only hanging around because she's mad at Stacey McGill!" Kristy replies, furrowing her brow and frowning. "I'm a back up friend because Mary Anne's not speaking to pretty much anyone at SHS. She's mad at all her friends there, so she runs to good old Kristy. We're replacements, that's all. I'm a poor man's Stacey McGill! You can be Grace Blume. Congratulations on that accomplishment!" Kristy spins around and runs out of the store. She disappears into the crowd.
A couple kids nearby stare at me, but they glance quickly away when they notice me noticing them. I square my shoulders and walk out of the store, stride confidently into the sea of people, in the opposite direction Kristy ran. I keep my head held high and my face impassive. Maybe Kristy's anger is justified. Maybe I am a horrible friend. But I have bigger things weighing on me now. Things Kristy would not understand. So any guilt and remorse I feel for Kristy, I push it down and lock it away in that special dark place within myself.
My confidence rattles briefly as I approach the Washington Mall front entrance. I see Claudia Kishi at a pay phone with Erica Blumberg. They're wrestling over the phone, laughing, while simultaneously shouting into the receiver. Their blonde friend, Lauren, is with them, leaning on her elbow against the pay phone, talking to a blonde ponytailed girl on the other side. I pause for a moment, freezing in place, wondering if I should go over there and demand she keep her mouth shut. She doesn't realize what she could do to my life. Or maybe she does. I don't know which is more dangerous.
Someone knocks into me hard and rubbing my shoulder, I continue on. The girls at the pay phone don't see me. They pass the phone around, still laughing and shouting at whomever's on the other end. I lift my head again, high, and breeze through the entrance doors, the chilly evening air shocking me straight in the face. I breathe in, deeply, cooling inside and out. I sit down on a bench, take another deep breath, and hug myself. I shouldn't have worn such a thin sweater. What was I thinking? What am I ever thinking these days?
One of the doors swings open and Mary Anne comes through. She's holding my purse and jacket.
"You forgot these," she says, setting them beside me. She sits down, the purse and jacket between us. "I figured you'd want some fresh air. It's so cold out here." Mary Anne flips up her hood. "Kristy's really upset."
"Well, so am I," I reply, testily.
"I know," Mary Anne says, "and you don't have to worry. Pete can handle Lauren. They're really good friends."
My head snaps up. "What?"
Mary Anne looks surprised. "Oh..." she says, her surprise turning quickly to discomfort. "I thought you realized."
"Realized what?" I demand and my stomach sinks because I think I know. I'm not very smart, am I? Not lately. Not anymore.
"I thought you heard what Pete said. I thought you figured it out."
"Everyone's already talking about me," I say, quietly. How stupid I am. I hear no one but myself. "You know."
"Pete told me earlier today."
I stare at Mary Anne, fighting hard to reign in the emotions fast rising within me, threatening to break their lock, break free to be released into the light of the world. Into the dim light of the mall overhang. But I keep them down, fighting them and pushing and they do not escape. I keep my face impassive, my voice calm and measured. "So, that's why you called me," I say.
"Pete, Ross, and I, we didn't know what to do."
Ross knows? Does everyone know? Something swells inside me, burning on fire. Everyone's already talking about me. Everyone. "So, you brought me out," I say, voice still calm, "to parade around like a circus freak."
"Of course not!" Mary Anne protests, voice ringing high in the chilled air. "We didn't know what to believe! We didn't know...we thought..."
"Get away from me, Mary Anne. Go inside with your real friends. I saw them by the pay phone. You can all have a good laugh at my expense. Laugh at what you don't understand. You're just jealous because you're miserable and I'm happy and in love."
Mary Anne stands and slides her hands into the pockets of her parka. "You don't look very happy," she observes. "And no one's laughing at you. We all feel sorry for you." Mary Anne turns and pushes back through the front doors. I see her through the glass, walking away in her white parka with its hood still pulled up. Then she's swept into the crowd and she's gone.
The bus comes then and pulls up to the curb. I've never ridden the bus, but the sign lit up over the windshield reads "Stoneybrook", so I gather my purse and jacket and sprint toward it. I deposit the fare as I climb the steps, then find a seat in the back, far from everyone else. I watch out the window as we pull away. Outside, the windows of all five stories of Washington Mall burn bright. I stare out at them until the bus turns a corner and the light vanishes into the night.
I am alone.
The house is empty and dark. And cold. I walk through the ground floor, through all the rooms, holding myself, listening to the silence. I've forgotten about Tiffany. I've forgotten about Maria. How will Tiffany get home? Where is Maria? Why am I always the one to worry? It isn't fair. And I don't know where my parents are.
It's nine o' clock.
Maybe I should look for Maria.
I grab my purse off the coffee table and cross the foyer to the front door. I lock it behind me. McLelland Road is empty and dark and cold like my house. I walk over to the Papadakises, but their house is as dark as mine. The Kormans live on our other side, but their house is just as dark. Isn't anyone home anymore? But I bet they're all out together as a family. I bet their parents care about them.
I stand on the curb outside my house and stare across the street at Kristy's. I wonder if Kristy's there, or if she and Mary Anne and Pete and Ross saw the movie after all. Did they move past me, brush me aside like my parents do? They think they can judge me. Who needs them? I don't. I have Wes. For now. For now I have Wes.
I'm stepping off the curb to cross the street to Kristy's when I look across the street, straight across. A window on the second floor of the Stevenson's house is illuminated, bright, cutting into the night. Mrs. Stevenson's minivan isn't in the driveway. There's just that lone light, calling for me like a beacon. I hurry across the street and up the Stevenson's circular driveway. The front porch is dark and I trip over one of Abby's muddy sneakers, laying forgotten on a step. I start to press the doorbell, but reconsider and try the doorknob. It's unlocked.
No lights are lit on the ground floor, which I already knew. I would have seen them from the street. I stand at the bottom of the stairs and look up. The upstairs hallway is dark, as well, but to the left, I see a dim light spilling out. Slow and quiet, I walk up the stairs and on the landing, turn left toward the light coming from Anna's room. Her door is wide open.
Anna's on the bed, laying face down, arms hanging off the end. I almost scream, thinking she is dead. Then I see Abby, sitting in the corner beneath the window, knees folded to her chest, staring at Anna, then at me.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
Abby shrugs. Anna says nothing. She doesn't acknowledge my presence in any way, instead remaining face down on the bed.
There are a million questions I want to ask. A million answers I need to hear.
"Where's your mom?" I ask. "How did you get home?"
"We drove," Anna answers, voice muffled by the comforter.
"Mom went for take-out," Abby says.
"Where's Adelaide?"
"Danbury."
We're getting nowhere.
"Just ask what you want to ask," Anna tells me. "Abby knows everything. Mom told her."
"Oh," I say, even though I already knew. I glance over at Abby, who's now refusing to meet my gaze.
"Are you okay, Abby?" I ask. "I'm really sorry."
Abby shrugs, still not looking at me. She concentrates on Anna's music stand. "I'm more forgiving than Anna," she says, simply. "And I'm tired of discussing it."
I shift from one foot to the other, suddenly sorry I came over at all. The discomfort is thick, suffocating, pulling all the oxygen from the room.
"I found Michael Bergman," Anna tells me.
"You actually went?" I gasp, covering my mouth. I didn't think she'd do it. Not Anna. Not sensible, reasonable Anna. "What happened?"
Anna turns her head, so she's no longer talking into the comforter. She stares at me, unblinking, face expressionless. "He was very surprised to see me," she says.
Well, obviously. What did Anna expect?
"He's remarried. He has two little kids. Lucas and Ginny. They're cute," Anna says, dully, still not blinking. "Mom was right. He's a very nice man. He confirmed her story. Then he called Mom and told her to come get me." Anna finally blinks. It's a long blink and for a second, I think she's fallen asleep. Her eyes open again. They're drooped and bleary. "My father was an awful man," she says. "He left us."
I look over at Abby to check her reaction. There isn't one. She's still concentrating on the music stand, mouth set in a firm line.
"He wasn't awful," I assure Anna. "Whatever happened between your dad and mom had nothing to do with you. He left her, not you. And he came back."
"He made her give our sister away," Anna says. "And she did it. She's just as awful as him."
"Shut up!" Abby shrieks, finally tearing her eyes from the music stand. "Just shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"Don't tell me to shut up," Anna snaps, although her voice doesn't rise. "Stop defending her. How can you? After all she's done? Shannon doesn't know everything. She doesn't know - "
"No, no, no!" Abby screams and drowns out whatever Anna has to say.
I shift, uncomfortably, again, glancing from sister to sister. Anna, pale as a corpse, and Abby, wild-eyed and furious.
"I'm your twin," Anna says. "You should be on my side. I've never hurt you. I've never lied or cheated. I'm not the reason you aren't - "
Abby leaps to her feet. "Shut up!" she screeches and hurls a plastic pencil box at Anna, hitting her on the shoulder. "Just stop."
And Anna is silent.
"I'm sorry, Shannon, but you need to leave," Abby informs me, striding briskly toward me, and hooking her arm through mine. She drags me out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
"Is Anna all right?" I ask, which is such a dumb question. Obviously, she's not all right.
"She isn't thinking clearly," Abby says, curtly. "We think Gram Elsie put something in her tea. She wasn't being very cooperative when it came time to leave Long Island."
The front door opens just as Abby and I reach the bottom of the stairs. Mrs. Stevenson walks in with a large brown bag in her arms. The foyer fills with the scent of chinese food.
"Oh!" Mrs. Stevenson says when she sees me. She's flicked on the foyer light, so the pink flushing her cheeks is visible. "Hello, Shannon," she says, sort of tight and strained. Her tan pantsuit is wrinkled.
I can't quite meet her eyes, like she can't meet mine. "Hello, Mrs. Stevenson," I reply, edging toward the door. "Bye, Abby. I hope Anna feels better." Then Mrs. Stevenson moves aside so I can rush out the door and down the drive. The door shuts behind me. I hear the deadbolt turn.
The lights are on at my house. When I go inside, I hear music drifting down from Maria's bedroom. I take the stairs and walk through her open bedroom door.
"Where have you been?" I ask, irritably. "You're supposed to leave a note."
Maria's stretched across her bed, the newspaper spread open in front of her. "I was at David Michael Thomas'," she tells me, simply, like that makes it all right. "You should have known."
"Well, I didn't," I snap and whirl around and stomp into my own bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I throw myself down on the bed. I have three new messages. I press play and listen, face down in the pillow. All three are from Wes. He loves me and misses me. I don't have the will to pick up the phone and call him back.
Downstairs, the front door opens and swings against the wall. The door slams and feet thunder up the stairs. I roll over onto my back, although I'm not interested enough to get up and investigate. But I don't need to. Tiffany flies into my bedroom, face twisted in fury. My first thought is, Dear Lord, she knows. My second thought is, I will kill Mary Anne Spier.
"Thanks so much, Shannon!" Tiffany shouts. "I had to take a cab home!"
I sit up and check my watch. "I thought you didn't get off until ten," I reply.
"Marsha let me off early. Kristy told me you left. She said not to expect you to come back. What the hell, Shannon? You just leave me at the mall?"
"I'm sorry."
"That's helpful," Tiffany replies, nastily, then spins around and storms out of my room. Across the hall, her bedroom door slams.
I lay back down. She'll get over it. I have worse problems than Tiffany having to take a cab. Like that my entire life could fall apart at any moment. It's already falling apart. All my lies slowly unraveling. Uncoiling like rope to hang me.
I close my eyes and time passes. I don't know how much. I've fallen into a half-sleep, partially aware and partially not. I'm jarred out of it by a fist pounding on the front door.
"Who is it?" Maria yells, running into my bedroom.
I jump up and push her out of the room. "Go back to your room," I order. "I'll see who it is." I grab a badminton racket leaning against the wastebasket in Maria's room as I hurry passed. I pull her door shut.
The pounding continues as I creep down the stairs. I check my watch. It's after ten. Maybe it's just Dad, drunk and locked out. It's not too early for that, I don't think. Badminton racket raised, I peer through the peep hole. I scream and jump back. There's an eye pressed against it.
"Open this door!" Kristy shouts and pounds again.
I breathe a sigh of brief relief. It's only Kristy. My relief doesn't last long. It's quickly replaced by irritation. Who is she, pounding on my front door at ten o' clock at night, demanding to be let in? Hasn't she bothered me enough today? I don't need her heaping any more guilt on me.
I turn the lock and open the door a crack. "Kristy, can we talk tomorrow?" I ask, not hiding my irritation.
"I just came over," Kristy replies, "because I need help on my math homework and heard you know a helpful teacher."
I drop the badminton racket. It clinks softly on the tile. Kristy shoves her way through the front door, knocking me in the face. She doesn't apologize. I don't expect her to.
Kristy shuts the door and locks it, like I might try to escape.
"Mary Anne told you," I say. My voice shakes. I can't control it.
"No! Erica Blumberg did. In the bathroom at Cinema World. Apparently, she thought I already knew. Then Claudia came screeching out of a stall, yelling at Erica to shut up. Erica wanted to know if I'd like to be apart of the vote everyone's taking tonight on whether or not to call the cops!"
My hand flies to my mouth. Oh. Oh. Dear Lord. Dear Lord. I never expected this. The cops? The cops?
"This is a mistake, right?" Kristy demands. "Lauren Hoffman's just a big fat liar, right?"
I lower my hand. No more lies. "You don't understand," I whisper.
Kristy's head practically explodes. "It's true?" she shrieks. "All this time...all these weeks...after school and the weekends...oh my gosh - New York!" Kristy stares at me, expression flickering between rage and horror. "You lied to me! You lied to everyone! All this time...I've been wondering what I did to you and you've been...you've been...sweating up the sheets with some pervert!"
"Wes isn't a pervert!" I shout back, regaining my voice. "He doesn't...he doesn't know. He thinks I'm twenty. That's what I told him."
"What!" Kristy screams at me.
"Don't call the cops. Wes hasn't done anything wrong. He loves me. We're in love."
Kristy stares at me, glowering. Her nostrils flare. "You're an idiot, you know that, right?" she informs me. "Janet knows, doesn't she? Does my mom know, too? Did everyone know but me? Me, one of your best friends."
"I knew you wouldn't understand! I knew you'd do just this - yell at me and judge me! You don't understand!"
"You're right. I don't understand. I don't understand how you could be such a complete and utter moron. You're having sex with a teacher! And lying about it! To him, to everybody! Oh my gosh, Shannon. He's a teacher!"
"He isn't my teacher."
"Well!" Kristy scoffs. She sounds just like her mother. "I hope the sex was good. For both of you. I hope it was worth him losing his job and you losing your self-respect and your reputation!"
I don't say anything for a moment. I stare at Kristy as she glares at me. The air has grown hot and heavy. Suffocating. Like in Anna's room. Silence fills the space around us. I don't know what to say. I knew Kristy wouldn't understand. I may throw up. I may pass out.
"Don't call the cops," I say, voice lowering again. "Please. Kristy. Please."
Kristy doesn't soften. "You've run out of good will and favors with me," she says, coldly. "Go plead with Lauren. Go beg Pete."
"Kristy..." I whisper.
"Mom and Nannie took Emily Michelle up to visit my aunt and uncle. Otherwise, I'd go tell Mom right now. I may tell Watson. I'm putting a stop to this, Shannon. You're too stupid to do it yourself." Kristy pauses and bites her lip. "We were supposed to be friends," she says, then she starts to cry, slowly, tears breaking free and trickling down her cheeks. She turns and runs out the door, leaving it open behind her.
I don't call after her. I don't move. I stay planted where I am, rooted to the tile, weighted down by guilt and lies. In the distance, in the quiet of the night, I hear the front door of Kristy's house slam shut.
I turn then and see Tiffany and Maria standing at the top of the stairs. I'd forgotten them again. They stare down at me. Maria bursts into tears.
"How's that glass house holding up?" Tiffany asks, icily.
Maria races off down the hall. Her bedroom door slams. The lock turns. Tiffany stares at me a moment, then also turns. She disappears into the bathroom and locks the door behind her.
And I am alone.