"There's a story behind every person. There's a reason why they're the way they are. Think about that before you judge someone." - Unknown
It was with much chagrin that Lacey's mother consented to take her daughter to the outdoor Autumn Bazaar in town a couple weeks later. Lacey had practically begged her, aiming to keep her mind occupied so she wouldn't have to keep thinking about the blue pill dispenser sitting at the bottom of her T-shirt drawer. She knew she'd better figure out what to do with the medication, and soon, because one of her snooping sisters could easily come across it. If she wasn't going to give the Percocets back to Adam, she needed to flush them and be done.
But she couldn't quite do that yet. So her shaky strategy was to just continue deferring the decision and, instead, focus on the assignment Alice had given her-to find something new to experience.
"Mom, I've always wanted to go to this, but you've never taken me. They have all sorts of crafts! And face painting and…stuff…" She watched as her mom cut her eyes over to her.
"Do I look like I want a rainbow painted on my cheek?"
"No, but I might like to have one of those fairy masks painted on." Lacey hoped to at least evoke a chuckle, but her mom just shook her head.
"Overpriced crap made by rich women who get to sit home and use their glue guns all day. Lacey, really, why did you want me to go to this thing so much? You could have taken my car yourself." Her mom finally found a space after having circled the designated parking area about four times.
"I mean, I thought we might have some time together," Lacey shrugged. "It's never that much fun to go to these things alone."
Darlene shook her head before applying a shade of pink, nearly nude lipstick in the rearview mirror before they got out. "You really owe me. That's all I'm saying." But despite her mom's demeanor, Lacey knew she was secretly flattered she had been asked on a mother-daughter outing, despite it being to something like this.
The Bazaar displays were decorated beautifully with warm-hued string lights crisscrossing the rows of craft tables, handmade soap displays (which her mom seemed particularly interested in), and gifts-in-a-jar selections. The air smelled of caramel and vanilla. Lacey and her mom picked a starting point and began to slowly make their way through a section of handmade jewelry and leather-crafted items. Most of the price tags emitted a smart remark or two from Darlene, though thankfully whispered beyond earshot of the seller.
After about an hour of browsing, the two of them succumbed to the cotton candy stand. "Mom, I think you should go back and get that lotion," Lacey prompted her mother. "You keep talking about it, so I think that means you really want it. Here, do you want me to pay half?"
"No!" her mom shot back. "Keep your money, Lacey. And I have plenty of lotion at home."
"But the smell! That's what you keep mentioning. You don't think Stuart might appreciate a little something new?" She gave her mom a playful nudge as they walked.
"Pfft. Stuart only likes vanilla." But her mom kept glancing backward. "You know, if you'll hold this for me…," she held out her cloud of pink cotton candy.
"You're going to get it?! Really?" Lacey beamed, taking her mom's cotton candy and trying not to get it stuck to her own.
"I guess I might," she sighed. "It wasn't too much, and I did promise Stuart I'd get just one thing to prove I made it through here." Her mom fished in her bag for her wallet.
Lacey laughed. "Stuart probably finds this as hard to believe as the rest of us do. Okay, I've got the cotton candy, you go ahead. I'll be over on the next row when you're done."
After asking for directions, her mom strode with purpose back toward the Lavish Lathers booth. Lacey smiled after her before turning the corner, her breath stopping short.
The rows in front of her appeared to house the higher-end creations. On either side of her stood beautifully decorated booths donning sculptures, glazed pottery, and lifelike paintings that Lacey figured must cost in the triple digits.
But they were absolutely stunning. The work people could create with their minds and hands truly astounded her. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering if it would ever be possible for her to learn to paint, draw, sculpt, even knit the colorful ponchos and thick winter afghans that hung from sturdy wooden hangers hooked to a lattice board behind one young woman's booth.
This was a wonderland. Lacey couldn't decide which side to start on, but she knew she had to get rid of the cotton candy, so she dumped both cones into a nearby trash can. She could always buy her mom more later, but she might not be welcome to touch anything here as long as she was holding two gobs of sticky candy.
Undecided on where to start, Lacey finally just picked a side and began walking, taking in all the colors and painted scenes of the artwork represented, even sounds - one booth sold bamboo wind chimes that produced some of the most haunting melodies she'd ever heard when the cold breeze stirred them - and ran her fingertips over the cable stitches of the knitted blankets. How much she wanted to be talented enough to make things like this.
At one point she glanced behind her to the other side of the row and saw a masterfully painted wave so captivating she had to cross over to look at it more closely. She weaved in and out of the steady stream of passersby and came to stand eye level with the painting, tilting her head as she took in all the short, choppy brush strokes in every color of blue imaginable. There even existed some pink, yellow, and white around the edges that gave the impression the sun was reflecting off the water.
Lacey smiled, bringing a finger up to trace over the various ridges and nuances of the dried paint, then continued to look at the other works of art there in the booth. Displayed prominently in the center was a series of paintings of various American cities and landmarks. She recognized New York Harbor, the Capitol building overlooking a gorgeous green landscape, and the Golden Gate Bridge from her beloved San Francisco. Lacey instinctively brought her hand up again to run over the texture, but drew back quickly when she heard a woman's voice:
"Do you paint?"
Lacey looked over and saw a smiling woman sitting on a stool in the corner of the booth with a book in hand. "It's okay, you can touch it. I just wondered if you paint, too."
"Oh." Lacey swallowed, always anxious when addressed by people she didn't know. "No, I don't. I just really love that wave. And I love San Francisco."
"Have you been?" The woman stood, setting her book down on her stool as she approached. Probably in her forties, she had a very youthful and easy manner about her. She was donned in a colorful bohemian peasant top, flared jeans, and royal blue leather clogs. Around her hair was a scarf, tied underneath with the tails resting on her shoulders, and her pleasant face was framed beautifully by big, dangly earrings.
"Oh, I haven't traveled outside of Minnesota yet," Lacey chuckled nervously. "But one day I hope to make it there." She turned back to the painting. "These are all really beautiful."
"Thank you!" The woman replied sincerely without a hint of arrogance. "My art is my life. Always has been. I'd wondered if you were a painter because of the way you really study my paintings. It's as though you recognize all the details artists do."
"This is impressionism, isn't it?" Lacey inquired shyly.
"It is based on impressionism, yes."
"I took an Intro to Art History class last year. That's one of the styles I do still remember," Lacey smiled, trying to ease the tension out of her shoulders. "I love the different locations you painted," she gestured to the paintings she'd just been looking at. "Is there personal significance to them?"
"Oh, not necessarily. But I have to admit, it's been one of my favorite collections. I got the idea after looking at postage stamps from the post office." She gave an airy laugh. "I had to write it down in my memo pad while the notion was fresh. My husband loves to make fun of me whipping out this ratty little notebook at random places and jotting away. But I tell him art takes at least some planning."
"I'm sure it does. And it really pays off," Lacey continued to stare around her at the other various pieces the lady had done. "It's all so perfect."
The woman laughed again. "Oh I assure you, it isn't. You wouldn't believe how many brushstrokes I consider to be errors when they first happen. But in the end, you don't panic or try to change it, you just flow with it, work around it, you know? Kind of how we have to live life."
Lacey nodded, looking back at the rusty red hue of the Golden Gate Bridge. "I think that's a good way to look at things."
"Lacey? I'm up here!"
Lacey turned quickly to see her mother, several feet away at the end of the row, waving at her. Clearly, visiting this row wasn't her mother's cup of tea.
"That's my mom. I told her I'd meet up with her after she finished buying something," Lacey explained. "But thank you."
She wasn't sure what she was thanking the lady for, but the sentiment felt appropriate somehow after the warmth she'd felt conversing with her.
The artist went over to her information table and picked up two things before coming back. "Here you go. My card - I'm Yvette, by the way, and you're Lacey I assume?
She nearly asked the woman how she knew her name, but then remembered that her mom had just yelled it down the row.
"Oh… yeah."
"Lacey. That's very pretty. Well, Lacey, this is for you, too."
The woman handed her an eight-by-ten print of her Golden Gate Bridge rendition. Lacey could see from the corner that the price for the print was twenty dollars. She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped as Yvette pulled it back from her grasp slightly.
"Only if you promise me you'll chase the dream and go see it in person someday."
Lacey chuckled. "I promise."
"Alright then." Yvette reached to grab a plastic sleeve, sliding the print into it and handing it to Lacey. "It's all yours."
"Thank you…so much, f-for this," Lacey stammered, hoping her gratitude showed through in her voice.
"The pleasure's all mine, Lacey. Go have fun with your mom." she smiled, the corners of her wide blue eyes crinkling.
Lacey gave a final smile before heading off to rejoin her mother.
"Where's the cotton candy?" her mom inquired, hands on her hips, Lavish Lathers bag around her wrist. "And what did you get?"
"I, um, kind of had to throw it away in order to touch things back there. But I'll buy more! Oh, and Mom, look!" Lacey held out the clear plastic sleeve. "It's the Golden Gate Bridge!"
"What is that, a painting?" Darlene took the picture.
"It's the print of a painting. The artist gave it to me," she beamed, and pointed back where Yvette Landon, as her card stated, stood talking with the woman working the next booth over.
Darlene's brow furrowed. "She gave you this?" She looked back down, and Lacey knew she was looking at the $20 price sticker in the corner. "That was awfully nice. You didn't ask for it, did you?"
Lacey made a face. "Mom, do you really think I'd do that? Actually we were having a conversation about San Francisco and art, and she just handed it to me. Well, after I promised her I'd go there one day, and of course I'm going to. You should go look at her other paintings! She did a whole series on U.S. landmarks, and there's a wave-"
"No thanks, honey, art isn't my thing. But hey, looks like you lucked out there. Maybe we can get a frame for it and Stuart can hang it on your wall." Her mom handed the print back to her.
"Did you get your lotion?"
"Yeah, and two soaps."
"Oooh, look at you, big spender," Lacey hip bumped her mom. "And to think you were sooo dreading this thing."
"Oh hush," Darlene bumped her back. "They're for your sisters. Are you ready to go yet?"
"I guess so," Lacey looked back once more. "Are you really sure you don't want to go through there? There are so many beautiful things. And I get to tell Alice I've experienced something new - examining real artwork."
"No. We can't afford that stuff, Lacey. Come on, let's head back. Looks like we've pretty much reached the end." Her mom began walking toward the parking area, to which they'd circled back.
Lacey walked alongside, waiting until they were in the car to ask what she'd wanted to for so long:
"Mom, why do you hate rich people so much?"
Her mom turned to her, wide-eyed. "Lacey, why'd you ask a thing like that? I don't hate them just because I don't want to associate with them." She clicked on the headlights as they made their way slowly through the parking lot, as it had grown dark while they were roaming the bazaar.
"Well, it's just that you make comments about them a lot," Lacey shrugged. "Remember years ago when we were talking to Phil Banks in the parking lot of the Hawks' rink after a game? You said we should never trust people who are wealthy."
"That was Phil, Lacey. Is it any wonder? If I had a nickel for every time he threatened eviction-"
"Yet we've been living there all these years. He hasn't ever actually done it, Mom, and I know we've been late on rent more than once. I'm just asking if, like…you have some reason to mistrust people who have more than we do?" Lacey asked carefully.
She hoped her mom's silence didn't mean she'd made her angry, thereby ruining the whole evening. But after a moment, Darlene spoke.
"Your aunt Rachel and I grew up with nothing. And I know I've not been able to give you and the girls much over the years, but I assure you, you have no idea just what it's like to go without, the way we did. Our parents were divorced, and that wasn't common back then. It was just Rachel, me, and Mom, and she worked hard, but couldn't manage to do much more than put food on the table."
Lacey glanced over, surprised. Her mom had never wanted to talk much about her childhood.
"We either got clothes from thrift stores or from Grandmom, who sewed and would occasionally make us new dresses. Anyway, I grew up that way and didn't think that much about it, until I was sixteen. And this boy - I still remember him, his name was Steven Sigmon - asked me to go to prom." She chuckled. "He had green eyes and auburn hair. I'm telling you, this guy. I had been mooning over him since junior high. And the fact that he noticed me and asked me to prom, I mean, it was everything. So I found a pattern for a dress I loved, had Grandmom make it for me, and when he showed up at my front door, I was ready to go. So after he picked me up, the plan was for us to go back to his parents' for pictures. That's when…," Darlene trailed off.
"When what?" Lacey forged ahead. "What happened?"
Her mom was quiet for a moment, then continued. "When his mom invited me into her nice house and took one look at my dress."
"What did she say?" Lacey turned slightly in her seat to face her mom.
Darlene shook her head. "She asked him to have a quick word with her, and they left the room. They came back a minute later, and Steven told me he had a headache. He'd have to take me back home."
Lacey was unable to speak, and just sat staring at her mother.
"And that was that. I went back home and sat on my front porch crying for three hours, not knowing what I'd done wrong, and he never spoke to me again. But now, when I look back at the picture I have of that dress…then remember what his house looked like…I understand plenty."
"Mom, I'm… I'm really sorry. I didn't have any idea. I mean, you've never talked about your childhood, or anything about your life, actually. Why haven't you told me that before?" Lacey asked gently.
Her mom shook her head. "Because it makes no difference now; it's old news. Other than the fact that I know how rich people can be, Lacey. They look down on people like us, and I don't want that for you. Or for your sisters. It's just better to stick with your own kind, and keep your guard up when you encounter people who are…like that."
Lacey didn't know what to say. But more than anything, she wanted to comfort her mom even if her mother would say she didn't need comforting. She wanted to let her know that she wasn't "less than," and that she had given them a good childhood - her and Stuart together.
Even what her dad had done wasn't her mom's fault.
Lacey swallowed hard. "Mom, you've always been great. It doesn't matter that we haven't had much. I mean, we've at least had what we needed."
But that's not any reason to mistrust all wealthy people, she wanted to add, but thought better of it.
Her mom turned to her for a moment and gave Lacey a half-smile. "Well…momming isn't easy, but I like to think you turned out all right. Now with Ariel, it remains to be seen."
Lacey laughed. "You can say that again."
But suddenly, as they turned down their street, her mom's smile disappeared. She leaned forward, slowing down.
"What, what is it?" Lacey turned to look at what her mom was looking at.
Toilet paper. Wrapped around the trees, across the porch, draped over bushes and her mom's empty flower beds.
"What the-?!" Darlene started, accelerating before swerving into the driveway.
"Mom, be careful!" Lacey grabbed onto the side bar.
The car had barely come to a stop before her mom threw it in park and jumped out, holding her arms out as she surveyed the mess, then brought them to her head. "What the f-"
"What 'appened?!" Stuart threw open the front door, striding right through a big string of toilet paper and looking back, confused. He made his way quickly across the yard to her mother.
Lacey jumped out of the car, staring up at the trees.
Darlene opened her mouth to speak, but just shook her head. "How long have you been here, Stuart?!"
Stuart stared back at the house, taking a deep breath. "...Well, the girls an'I jus' got 'ome from my bowlin' league tournament, I don't… When did this even 'appen?"
"You tell me! How could you not have heard this?!" her mom yelled, slapping Stuart in the chest. "Look at the trees! My porch!"
"Now 'old on jus' a minute, calm down!" Stuart took her hands. "It 'ad t'be kids, jus' out makin' mischief. It'll be okay! I'll 'ave it all down in a 'alf hour in the morn."
"Oh no you won't!" Darlene commanded heatedly. "Phil Banks is taking care of this. I'm calling him right now. If he can't ensure his neighborhoods are safe enough for this crap not to happen-"
"Mom!" Lacey cut in, carrying the things they got at the Bazaar with her. "Nothing like this has ever happened before. It is a safe neighborhood."
But her mom just shook her head stubbornly and marched into the house.
Stuart heaved a big sigh, then looked back at Lacey, who remained in shock. "Supposin' we 'ave t'wait fer the storm t'pass us over, eh? So show me what ye got at the craft show."
Lacey melted into a smile. Stuart's calm serenity never failed to make her mother's tempests bearable. She set her mom's Lavish Lathers bag down and handed him the plastic sleeve she'd gotten from Ms. Landon. Then she recounted the story behind the Golden Gate Bridge print while her mom's angry voice could be heard from inside as she paced with the cordless phone.
"Darlene, I- Yes, I understand that, but- Darlene, please calm down."
Phil Banks shook his head and rubbed his temples while cradling the phone between his shoulder and neck.
Adam was passing by his dad's office with a big bottle of Gatorade, sweaty from a particularly grueling - and painful - session with his trainer when he overheard the phone call taking place. He paused just after passing the doorway, retracing his steps and entering the office to listen in.
There was only one tenant of his dad's named Darlene who he could be trying to deal with. Darlene Primmer. Lacey's mom.
"Yes, well that's not my fault, Darlene. Kids make mischief sometimes, and whether you're renting or owning, things happen. There's no way I'm going to send my maintenance man over to- Yes, yes I know. Well, but you have to understand-"
Adam could tell his dad was getting angrier by the minute.
"It doesn't take that long to unravel toilet paper. I'm telling you, my maintenance man is backed up with work orders- I know that, Darlene, but this isn't a maintenance issue!" Phil slapped his hand on his desk, closing his eyes.
Adam rubbed his forehead. He'd gotten a phone call last night from Guy Germaine who'd also had his house TP'ed. Rumor was, the South Hennepin High Jets were on a rampage after having lost a series of games to most of the other teams in their conference. Spray painted on Guy's door was the exclamation "Ducks Suck!"
It had irritated Adam to no end. This was a classless way for a team to behave after a losing streak, and he felt the Jets should be forfeited for the season because of it. Apparently, though, the Rockets' players were facing a similar outcome. Why else would a handful of people he knew, all of whom were hockey players or associated with hockey players, be TP'ed for a couple of nights straight?
However, Max Shipley should have been the one whose house was hit. Not his girlfriend.
"Dad…" Adam wasn't sure why he spoke up just then. "I'll go do it. I'll take it down right after school tomorrow."
Phil looked up quickly, not usually happy for Adam to interrupt his phone calls. But he was clearly desperate to assuage Ms. Primmer.
"Uh, hang on Darlene. My son just offered to come help out, but it'll have to wait until he gets off school tomorrow. Can you hold on that long?" His words were painted with passive aggression.
His dad was quiet for a moment, rolling his eyes as Darlene answered.
"Yes, so that would be around three thirty tomorrow. Will anyone be home? Yes? Okay. He'll be over as soon as possible." Without waiting for a response, Phil disconnected the call with his finger before slamming the phone down.
"That woman. Holy Mary and Joseph." Phil let out a deep breath through his mouth, sitting back hard in his chair.
"A TP job?" Adam asked what he'd already deduced.
"Yeah. Can you believe it?" His dad threw his hands up. "That's not a true maintenance need. She could take care of that herself, or Stuart could. Why should I go out of my way to take care of it?"
"Well…" Adam began.
"Don't answer that," his dad put his hand up. "Maybe I could have been more helpful, but when she calls me at nine-thirty at night demanding I come take down toilet paper from her trees, what does she expect?" He glanced back over at Adam. "You really don't mind going over there tomorrow? Now I don't want to set a precedent for her that we're at her beck and call."
"I don't mind. Really. I'll go after last period." Adam turned to leave when his dad's words stopped him.
"You've been moving funny lately. They working you too hard at practice?"
Adam paused, not turning around. "Yeah, we're really hammering down to get ready for the season. But I'm okay."
His dad was quiet for an extra minute. "And you're sure that's all?"
"Yeah." He threw a reassuring smile over his shoulder. "I swear."
"All right. Well, goodnight, son. Thanks again."
"No problem."
Adam headed to his room, brain swirling. What the heck happened to his Percocets? He needed them right now more than ever, and he had a feeling he'd need them tomorrow after climbing a ladder to rip a bunch of toilet paper down, too.
"Ooooh, look who made homecoming court again. Congrats, babe."
Max gave Lacey a squeeze as they read, together, the list of homecoming candidates for Fall 1997.
"Yeah, cool," Lacey smiled, her mind immediately drifting to how she was going to find a dress that looked expensive enough to pass off as designer.
"Maybe you'll win this year, huh?" He kissed her cheek.
"It always goes to a cheerleader, Max, so I doubt it. But it'll be fun to be a part of it anyway, don't you think?"
After the final bell, the hallway was bustling with kids filing out of classrooms, laughing, throwing things, slamming lockers - all comforting sounds to Lacey. She always found it odd that she did seem to enjoy everything about school, despite her crippling anxiety. High school, as opposed to middle school, just felt like an extension of home to her.
"And we know what's happening after, right?" Max whispered, moving some blonde tresses away and kissing her ear.
The action caused her heart to pump harder as his breath tickled her. Max definitely was enticing, almost enough to make Lacey forgive him bringing up homecoming night for the sixteenth time in two weeks. She didn't reply, but squeezed him around the waist as she guided him toward the double doors.
"Wanna come over?" he asked as they wove their way in and out of the throngs of schoolmates. "My old man will be working late at the garage."
"No, I'd better go home. I'm supposed to be there when the maintenance guy comes to take care of the toilet paper wrapped around our whole house," she rolled her eyes.
"Damn, I still can't believe that. Our house was hit pretty bad too, though Dad's taking care of it. Not that I won't have to help," he gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh! And did you hear the Ducks had the same thing happen to their team?! Except for, you know, Banks, who lives in that untouchable part of town. I bet his parents have surveillance cameras, armed guards on the premises, a direct line to the police chief…"
Lacey chuckled. "Come on, Max. I'm sure they're not quite that pampered. But it would probably turn out to be more trouble than it was worth for them to even try to hit that house. Either way, Mr. Banks is sending someone over to help us, so that's something."
"Uh huh. Probably his plumber or somebody, and you'll have to stand there and stare at crack."
"Shut up!" Lacey laughed, slapping his shoulder. "Okay, well I have to go. Mom let me use the car today, so I've got to get it home." Just as she reached the parking lot, she turned to give him the usual hug and long kiss. She didn't mind the routine, except that lately, Max had been using way too much Axe body spray.
"I'll call you tonight after practice," Max promised.
Lacey smiled as she got into the car and pulled away, preparing to pick up the twins at the middle school. How glad she was that her sisters didn't face the persecution she'd always taken the brunt of in junior high. But the girls were naturally pretty in ways Lacey had to work hard at. They were curly-haired strawberry blondes with lots of friends - even if they navigated in two different social circles.
"This car's embarrassing," Ariel moaned as she got into the passenger side when Lacey reached them. "Mom needs something cooler."
"Hey," Lacey admonished. "Isn't it better than the station wagon? And let's just be glad she lets us use it sometimes. How was it today?"
Halen got in the back seat, which Ariel nearly always left for her, slamming the door. "I hate it," she sniffled. "Seventh grade is the worst EVER."
"Halen!" Lacey turned around. "What's wrong?"
Halen bent over and cried quietly into her jacket.
"Oh, it's just Dustin Reyford. He asked another girl to the Halloween Dance," Ariel informed Lacey matter-of-factly.
"Shut up, Ariel. I don't want to talk about it," Halen snapped.
"Okay, Halen doesn't want to talk, so just leave her alone. I do have some money to run you guys through McDonalds, though." Lacey smiled in the rearview mirror at Halen. "How's that sound?"
Halen sniffled again, sitting up and wiping her face with her arm. "I want to try one of those new things. A butterfinger McFlurry?"
"All right, well you can have one." Lacey soon pulled into the drive-thru line that was only an eighth of a mile down the road from school. "Ariel, what do you want?"
"A quarter-pounder with cheese, a strawberry shake, and a large fry."
"Whoa whoa whoa, you each get one treat. I'm by no means rich from working with cats," Lacey turned the radio down. "So pick one of those."
"The shake," Ariel grumbled. One could forget expecting twelve-year-olds to be grateful.
The trip to McDonalds was a success, however, along with Lacey turning up Halen's favorite song, the sappy "How Do I Live" by a young girl named LeAnn Rimes. By the time they all got home, her sullen sister was in much better spirits.
As Lacey pulled the Subaru into the driveway, though, she was surprised at the sight. Most of the toilet paper had already been taken down, strips of it shed on the grass as the maintenance worker stood on a ladder, working to disengage the cotton catastrophe from the trees.
Only that wasn't a maintenance worker.
"That's Adam Banks, the hockey player for the Ducks!" Ariel was up and out of the car as soon as Lacey put it in park.
"Hey!" Ariel called, slurping the last of her shake. Lacey got out a little more slowly, not wanting to overwhelm Adam while he was up on a ladder. It was quite a different sight to behold: instead of his preppy dark-wash jeans and khakis, he was dressed in a sweatshirt, a ballcap, and regular jeans.
"Isn't he cute?!" Halen whispered, getting out behind Lacey.
"Shhh, Halen. Go take your McFlurry inside, okay?" Lacey hurriedly grabbed the twins' abandoned backpacks.
Adam glanced down, spotting Ariel, and smiled. "Hey."
"How long have you been here?" Ariel drilled him. "Did your dad make you come? I thought maintenance people dealt with stuff like this."
"Ariel," Lacey called over. "Here's your backpack. Go on inside and get started on homework."
"You play hockey against Max, don't you?" Ariel continued to question the steadily working Adam even as she made her way backward toward the house.
"Yeah, I do. That okay with you?"
From what little Lacey could see of his eyes underneath the ballcap, they were twinkling with humor.
"Ooooh yeah. We don't like him, so kick his ass next game," Ariel smirked, grabbing her backpack from Lacey as she ran into the house. Lacey shook her head, embarrassed.
Adam laughed.
"Hi," she finally smiled up. "Thanks for doing this. Did your dad put you up to it?"
"No," Adam shrugged, turning back to pull more long strips of toilet paper from the oak tree, allowing them to float to the ground. "I just offered. Hasn't taken me too long so far. Besides…" He was quiet for a moment. "I'm pretty sure I know who did it. The Jets. Sore losers."
Lacey nodded, as this confirmed the rumor she'd heard at school. Feeling like she needed to help somehow, she dumped the remaining backpacks onto the porch and came back on the lawn to pick up the discarded streamers of toilet paper, stuffing them in the garbage can.
"That was pretty nice of you and all. I mean, this is a serious mess." Lacey dusted her hands off, coming back over. "Do you need me to hold the ladder?"
"No, I'm good," Adam replied. "Actually, I think I've gotten it all off this tree. Just gotta do the bushes and your porch." He began to descend the ladder, and Lacey noticed how slowly and stiffly he seemed to move.
Her mind drifted back to the Percocets in her drawer, and she felt bad all over again. She'd been thinking for the last week how she could slip them back to him, but thus far had no good ideas. How could she manage it when she rarely ever saw him?
As soon as Adam was back on the ground, he reached a hand up to rub his other shoulder.
"Are you okay? Did you hurt your shoulder?" Lacey asked, concerned.
Adam shook his head. "No, just a little sore. Nothing I can't handle."
But the way he seemed to have difficulty bending down to pick up a couple more stray pieces of toilet paper told a different story.
She couldn't do this. Not when she knew how badly he needed his medicine.
"Um…," she hesitated for a moment, not knowing how to proceed.
Adam raised his eyebrows as he stood back up. "Yeah?"
They looked at one another for several seconds, Lacey trying to decide how to tell him she was the one who'd taken his pills.
"I'll be right back." She turned, heading into her house and jogging upstairs to her room, where she opened her T-shirt drawer. There, untouched for a couple of weeks, sat his blue pill dispenser. Before Lacey could change her mind, she took it out and opened it to count the pills, making sure no one had gotten ahold of them. Sure enough, five tiny blue tablets remained.
She took a deep breath, pocketed them, and headed back downstairs.
Adam was leaning on the ladder with his arms folded across his chest when she came out the front door, looking confused but curious.
"Adam, I... um...," she started. She wanted so badly to explain her motives for this beforehand. But instead she just reached into her jeans pocket and handed the pill dispenser over to him.
His eyes widened and he reached out quickly, taking it and opening it up. "These. Where'd you find them?" He questioned before unceremoniously taking one of them on the spot, dry swallow and all.
"Do you want some water?" Lacey asked first.
Adam shook his head. "No, I want to know where you found my pills."
Lacey swallowed hard, averting her eyes from his. "You dropped them the night I saw you after the scrimmage. You know, when I was waiting for Davy? I grabbed them up and was going to go after you, but Davy showed up, and I… I just kept them for you."
Adam's eyes narrowed slightly. "You 'kept them for me'? For two weeks? I'm pretty sure you know the way back to Eden Hall, maybe even to my house. Why wouldn't you bring these back? I've needed them." He reached behind him and slid them into his own back pocket, not once moving his suspicious gaze from her face.
Lacey took a deep breath, then flew headlong into an explanation. "Adam, it's just, I don't think you should be taking pills. I've already said that for you to do that without talking to a doctor first is dangerous. And it wasn't that I'd planned to never give them back, I just… Well, I was hoping that if I didn't, you may handle this the legitimate way and tell somebody you're hurting for some reason, and…" She trailed off, then quickly added, "but I didn't take any, I promise. You can count them. I just wanted to help..."
Adam looked at her incredulously for a moment, then shook his head, turning away from her before stating flatly, "I gotta finish this, then I'm heading home."
Lacey stood there awkwardly for a moment. "I'll help you."
"Nope," Adam replied. "I got it. Thanks."
But Lacey couldn't quite let the matter go. "I know I should've handled this differently, and I'm sorry. I just didn't know for sure what to do."
It disconcerted her that Adam didn't even respond, just walked wordlessly over to her porch and started unraveling the toilet paper from the banisters.
That's when it became clear that there was nothing else for Lacey to say. So she did all she could do for the moment - went into the house and left him alone. She shut the front door behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes and cursing herself.
Well, it was over. He had the pills again. No harm, no foul.
But that didn't stop Lacey from going over to the window and watching the boy who was taking care of their toilet papering situation, and didn't even have to.
She finally let go of the curtain and went upstairs to do her homework.
