"You should come over."
That's how Sally White greets me when I answer the phone Saturday morning, still half-asleep, still dressed in yesterday's clothes.
"What time is it?" I ask, groggily.
"It's nine o' clock. Why? Aren't you awake yet?"
"No. I'm not."
"Get up then."
I roll over onto my side and check the alarm clock. Sally lied. It's eight fifty-five. My head hurts. It's pounding violently. I hurt all over. I'm surprised I still feel anything at all.
"Well?"
"I have to take a shower," I tell her. "And get dressed and ready."
"Why? Do you really think any of those things will improve your current appearance?"
Sally White is utterly detestable.
But I go anyway.
What else do I have to do?
It occurs to me as I turn onto Green House Drive that I've never been to Sally's house. I didn't even know which house is hers. I knew she lived on Green House like Meg, but that is it. I pass Meg's house. Her younger brother, Penn, is standing in the front yard, shouting at the workers putting up the Jardins' Christmas lights. Sally lives far down at the end of the block. Her house isn't visible from the street. It's surrounded by a low brick wall and masked by a forest of pine trees. I pull up the long drive until the gabled house comes into view. It's a greenish color. It doesn't look like Sally White's house.
A maid lets me in and points me in the direction of a large parlor. From the foyer, I hear Sally at the piano, banging out another funeral march. I follow the sound. Sally's seated at a grand piano looking not quite like Sally White. Her blunt-cut blonde hair's tucked behind her ears and she isn't wearing any make-up. She looks at least five years younger than usual. She's dressed in black sweat shorts and a striped tank top. She glances up when I enter the room, but continues banging on the piano keys.
"Is that your Summer Awakening ode to your lost virginity?" I ask, stopping beside the piano.
Sally sort of scowls. "No. It's a completely different piece," she replies. "I began composing it last night. It's about you. I'm calling it Good Morning, Starshine. Of course, that's a real song title, but it doesn't matter. That's what I'm calling it."
Just what I always wanted – a funeral march in my honor.
"Why do you insist on calling me Starshine?" I ask.
"Because you twinkle above us," Sally answers without hesitation.
It's my turn to scowl. Why can't she simply answer questions directly? Doesn't she realize my life is in disrepair? I really don't need her further aggravating it.
"It's good that you came over," Sally tells me, fingers gliding over the piano keys. "You still don't look too fabulous, but that's understandable. Greer was worried about you, so I promised I'd force you out of the house today. Greer's up at Yale with that dorky brother of hers. Something about end of the term parties. Searching for the next conquest, I suspect."
Of course. Greer never stops. Even when my life is in shambles, she chases after boys and beer.
"Did I ever tell you about the Italian Riviera, Starshine?" Sally asks in this perfectly normal conversational tone.
"You've mentioned it about a million times."
"But that isn't the story," Sally replies. She hits a low, deep note. "You aren't as special as you like to pretend, Starshine. You aren't the first person to fall in love and screw it up. Would you like to hear the story? I hope so because I'm telling it anyway. So, two summers ago, my parents and I were living on the Riviera and I met this boy. Jarkko. That was his name. He was from Finland and he and his parents were visiting for the summer. I fell in love with him. Then one day, we had a horrible fight. It was about something petty that escalated into something bigger. I wouldn't forgive him. I was very nasty and cruel. So, to get back at me, he slept with some girl from the village. When I found out, I decided to do the same back. I went to a bar and got drunk on tequila and gave my virginity to the guy who picked up the tab. He gave me a lovely burning sensation in return. By the time it was all over, Jarkko and I were so infuriated with each other that we never spoke again. He went back to Finland and my parents and I moved to South Africa for two months."
"What does this have to do with me?" I ask with a sigh.
Sally looks up. "Not everything's about you," she says. "Nevertheless, like me, you have broken your own heart. You created your heartache with your lies and deceptions, just like I created mine with my pettiness and cruelty. I've accepted that and someday you will, too."
I open my mouth to protest, but Sally cuts me off before I can speak.
"You can blame everyone else as much as you want, but it won't change things or make you feel any better. Not really. This isn't Kat's fault. This isn't Kat's mom's fault. This isn't Wes' fault. I know you feel awful right now. And you probably will for a long time. You're humiliated and heartbroken. I will allow you to grieve for this relationship and for the apparent loss of your good sense, but I do ask of you, please start eating and stop stalking." Sally presses her fingers down on the keys for the final note and her song ends.
"You aren't my friend, you know," I inform her, coldly.
"Aren't I? It doesn't seem that many people are fighting for that privilege these days."
Sally is unbelievable. She shows up one day, slides into our group like we've been saving her place all these years, proceeds to annoy and insult us, and now here she is declaring that this makes her my friend.
"We aren't friends. You're just a pest."
"Then why are you standing in my piano parlor?"
Because I have no one else.
I don't answer.
"Have you ever been the new girl, Starshine?" Sally asks. Her fingers glide over the piano keys once more, playing something light and airy. "I've spent my entire life as the new girl. Kids don't like new girls. We are suspicious. We are curiosities who break up the routine. We cause a disturbance in the social structure. I am a perpetual new girl, Starshine. All my life, I've lived in two or three different cities a year. Cities all over the world. My mother's searching for herself. She hasn't found herself yet. My father wants her to be happy, but she never is. Never satisfied with anything. There is always something better somewhere else. We move for her. She is my father's greatest prize. There is no benefit in making friends, Starshine, when you might pack up and leave the next day. The only reason kids have ever liked me is because I tell them my mother is a movie star and I own horses and attend premieres and big concerts. Kids use me just as I use them. You and your friends did that in the eighth grade. Don't deny it. None of you liked me. You liked what I had to offer."
"Your life is so tragic."
"I detect sarcasm in your voice, Starshine. I never claimed to be a tragedy. That claim is all yours."
"I'm leaving," I announce. I don't need to take this from her. I don't need her flippancy and condescension. She really knows nothing about me or my life. She makes assumptions and calls them fact.
"I won't beg you to stay," Sally replies in her cool, smooth voice. "Isn't that what you want?"
"I don't want anything from you," I snap and spin around. I begin to stride away, fast leaving her behind. The piano continues, filling all the space in the room. It swells around me. I pause and sway. Then I fall.
When I open my eyes, Sally's staring down at me, along with a tall, curly haired blonde woman and an elderly man with snow white hair. I'm on the parlor floor. The back of my head is sore.
"Greer and I told you to eat," Sally says and holds out her hand.
I take it, reluctantly, and she pulls me to my feet.
I dust myself off, embarrassed, feeling a blush spread over my skin.
"Are you all right?" asks Sally's mother, the infamous Lisanne Faulkner.
My blush burns hotter, remembering all I've seen of Sally White's mother.
"I'm fine," I mumble.
"She doesn't eat," Sally tells her mother. She turns to me. "When did you last eat?"
I shrug. I honestly don't remember. Maybe three days ago. Maybe more. Maybe less.
Sally's mother arches an eyebrow. "I'll call for the cook," she says and leaves the room.
"That's my mother," Sally says, as if I couldn't figure that out myself. "And this is my father."
Sally's father smiles and extends his hand. I take it and grip it loosely. Sally's father is at least seventy years old. He looks like her grandfather! If I weren't so lightheaded, I'd point out to Sally what a hypocrite she is, always teasing Lindsey about the Dr. Duprees.
"Starving yourself won't solve anything," Sally says. She actually sounds slightly irritated, some real emotion slipping into that dull monotone. "Come on. I'll show you my bedroom. The cook will send up some food. Bye, Dad."
Sally takes my elbow and leads me into the hallway, then up a twisting staircase. The steps creak beneath our feet. Sally's bedroom is all the way down at the end of the west wing. Even through the fogginess of my thinking, I am surprised when we enter her bedroom. It is not as expected. It looks like a spare bedroom, forgotten and unused in the basement of someone's home. The walls are white and bare. The desk and dresser and night table are also bare of anything but lamps and a stack of books. Several unpacked boxes are shoved into a corner beneath a window. The room is void of any indication that anyone actually lives here.
"You may lie on my bed, if you wish," Sally says.
I sit down in a gray floral-print armchair beside the largest window. I look out. Trees block the view. Sally throws herself on her bed and lies on her stomach, kicking her feet into the air.
"We're all worried about you, Starshine," she informs me.
"I saw Wes," I blurt out. I don't intend to. I have no control over myself. And I have no one else to tell.
Sally frowns. "I guess it didn't go so well?"
I shake my head. "I went to see him at Stoneybrook Middle School. I went to his classroom after school yesterday. He wasn't happy to see me at all." I start to cry. That's all I do these days. Where do all the tears come from? "I don't understand. He admitted he had really loved me and that he had loved being with me. But he wouldn't give me another chance! And he refused to tell me that he didn't love me anymore!"
Sally's frown deepens. "I hope that doesn't make you think he'll eventually take you back," she says. "Of course he still loves you. If he was actually in love with you before that's not going to stop right away. I think we've already established that you've devastated him and crushed his heart into a million pieces. God, Starshine, he spent almost an entire week hiding out at his parents' house. I don't think it was a mini-vacation from his thrilling existence as a middle school math teacher. He probably cried in Mommy's arms the whole time."
I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. "He said I've made him feel like a creep and a pervert."
"I think I predicted that one."
I remove a tissue from my pant pocket and blow my nose. "But he isn't! He's sweet and wonderful. He was the best thing in my life. He really loved me, Sally. He loved things about me that no one else sees. He loved me and overlooked my faults and downfalls. All he ever wanted was to make me happy. He remembered everything I liked and didn't like. He listened to me and cared about my problems. He worried about me."
"You talk about yourself a lot."
I wrinkle my nose at her. Well, of course. We're talking about the devastation of my life, aren't we?
"You know what your real problem is, Starshine?" Sally asks and not waiting for an answer, places her hands on either side of her face and makes a forward sweeping motion. "Tunnel vision," she says.
I sigh, exasperated. "What does that mean?" I inquire, warily.
"What's my least favorite sandwich to eat at lunch?"
I sigh again. "I don't know. Pastrami?"
"See? That's exactly my point."
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A couple hours later, I come home, still exasperated and cranky from too much time spent in the presence of Sally White. She's so obnoxious. She thinks she knows everything about everything. What a know-it-all.
I walk into the kitchen through the laundry room and discover Maria seated at the table, Astrid at her feet, eating cherry pie filling from a can. Again.
"That's gross, Maria," I inform her. "The grocery delivery came this morning. There's real food to eat."
Maria glares at me from over the can. She drops her spoon. "Mrs. Bryar called," she spits out. "She wants you to mail her her last check."
I pause beside the center island. I hadn't broken the news to Maria yet. I thought I'd do it…eventually. "Mrs. Bryar quit yesterday," I reply, casually with a wave of my hand, like it's no big deal.
Maria continues to glare at me. "Why do you ruin everything, Shanny?" she shouts. "Why does everyone in this house ruin everything?" Maria bursts into tears and jumps up, knocking over her chair and spooking Astrid. Maria races from the room.
I chase after her. "Maria!" I yell, dashing toward the foyer, where Maria's headed.
Maria doesn't listen. She runs out the front door with me in quick pursuit. She tears across our front lawn into the Papadakises yard and keeps going.
"Where are you going?" I call after her, trying to keep up. Maria's much faster than me.
Finally, Maria spins around. "Who cares?" she demands.
"I do!"
"I'm going to Lily's! Leave me alone!" Maria takes flight again, sprinting across the street and down the other side of McLelland Road. I stand in the gutter outside the Papadakises' house until she disappears around the corner. I wait for her to come back.
She doesn't.
When I turn around, Kristy's staring back at me, sitting astride her bicycle. David Michael, Emily Michelle, Karen, and Andrew are behind her, all on bicycles. It's nice she found a new group of friends. Little kids are used to being bossed and lectured.
"Is Maria all right?" Kristy asks.
"What does it look like?" I snap.
Kristy looks at me a moment, then turns to David Michael. "Go after, Maria," she tells him. "She's going to run in front of a car or something."
"She's twelve. She's not an idiot," I say, testily, as David Michael rides off.
The other kids follow him. When Karen passes she glances back at me. "I think Shannon's possessed by the crazy ghost of Ben Brewer," she cackles.
"Knock it off, Karen," Kristy snaps. "You're too old for that."
"Nice you still have someone to judge," I say, lightly, and begin walking away.
"Wait! I want to talk to you!" Kristy says and pedals slowly after me.
"Well, I don't want to talk to you."
"When did you become so nasty and self-centered?" Kristy demands. "All you care about is yourself. Other people have problems, you know. It's not all about Shannon."
I laugh, meanly and continue walking. "What problems do you have, Kristin Amanda Thomas? Other than deciding who to judge on any given day?"
"I never said I was perfect. I make mistakes, too. I have made mistakes. And I pay for them in my own way. At least I don't blame other people for what I've done. I try to be a good person. I try to do good things that matter. I'm not angry at the world because I got caught doing something stupid."
I spin around to face her. "You know what, Kristin Amanda Thomas? Why don't you go back from where you came from? You don't belong at SDS and you don't belong in this neighborhood. I knew that the moment I saw you." I turn and run up the walkway not waiting for Kristy's response.
Inside, I watch television, sipping a glass of apple juice. I am all alone. Even Astrid avoids me, choosing to climb the stairs and hide away in Maria's bedroom. Who cares? I don't need anyone. Not really. What has love gotten me? Absolutely nothing. I'm not self-centered. No one else thinks about me, so I have to. If Shannon doesn't do it, who will? No one. No one. No one.
The front door flies open, banging against the wall. I startle and spill my apple juice all over the carpet. I leap off the couch. Lindsey rushes into the foyer, wild-eyed and panicked.
"I stabbed Sadie!" she screams. "I stabbed Sadie with the kitchen scissors!"