Allegra (14 page)

“Yeah,” Molly answers. “Par-tay!”

Sophie rolls her eyes but smiles too.

“Tally's parents are away for the weekend,” Molly continues, “at her brother's soccer tournament, so she figured, why not? C'mon,” she says. “I'm starving.”

Sophie smiles like we're coconspirators or something and follows Molly to the counter. Loud laughter breaks out across the room. I'm feeling dizzy, and just like in my dream last night, my feet are stuck fast. I'm that ten-year-old girl at the birthday party again, and I simply can't do this.

For what seems an eternity, I stand frozen to the spot, just watching, and then my feet are released and I turn and scurry back to the front hallway. I grab my bag and slip outside, unnoticed.

I have to transfer buses three times to get back to my neighborhood. It takes most of that time for my heart to return to a regular beat and my breathing to go back to normal. Walking the last stretch, I look around at the familiar houses, noticing for the first time how tired-looking some of them are. All the yards are pathetically puny, and there are no swimming pools or expansive lawns. The gardens, even the ones that have been lovingly tended, would take up only a fraction of the space in the gardens in Talia's neighborhood.

It's too late to go to dance class. I consider doing homework or working on my music composition, but I'm just not in the mood. I flop down on the couch and stare out the window at the darkening evening. What is the matter with me? Why can't I just relax and enjoy parties like everyone else? I really like Talia, Sophie and Molly, and now I've blown it. How hard would it have been to stay, to pretend to have fun?

I sigh and sink deeper into the couch. It would have been impossible. The familiar symptoms would have gone from bad to worse. Excessive sweating would have been next, then shortness of breath. I might even have felt faint. It's impossible to hide these things and pretend to have fun, no matter how many slow, deep breaths I take.

I grab a cushion and chuck it, hard. It hits the wall and falls softly to the carpet. I throw a second one, a third. A growing rage fuels me. Jumping to my feet, I turn and kick the couch, over and over. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

One last kick, and my second toe connects with the wood base of the couch and bends back at an awkward angle. I flop back down in agony, massaging my aching toe.

The ringing of my cell phone snaps me back to the present. I check the caller
ID
. Molly. I just stare at it. After a moment the phone beeps to tell me there is a voice message.

“Allegra? Are you there? We're worried about you.” Molly's voice is soft. “You just up and disappeared. If you get this message, call us, okay?” Reaching for the
TV
remote, I click it on and begin channel surfing. I stare at the screen, but nothing really registers.

My phone rings again. Molly leaves another message, shorter this time. “Allegra, call Tally's house.”

I flick through some more stations.

The house has grown completely dark. I wander through it, turning on the odd light. It's eleven o'clock. Mom will be home soon. What will I tell her?

I sigh, realizing I won't have to tell her anything. She'll know exactly what happened. I can already see the look of disappointment on her face.

The next time the phone rings, the caller doesn't leave a message.

Hands shake my shoulders. “Allegra, wake up.”

My eyes blink open and I look up. Mom's leaning over me. She's still wearing her performance gown.

“I didn't know you were home,” she says. “Spencer's at the door. He says no one could find you. That's why I checked your bedroom, and—”

“What time is it?”

“One o'clock.”

“Why would Spencer be here? Is something wrong?”

“I'm assuming. Why else would he be here in the middle of the night?”

I pull on tights and a sweatshirt and run my fingers through my hair. In the hall, I pass the living room and notice candlelight. I jump, startled to see someone sitting in the semidarkness. Marcus. Two half-empty glasses of wine stand on the coffee table.

I glance back at Mom, who is following me down the hall.

“We're having a nightcap,” she says quietly.

The truth of it hits me hard. She thought I was out for the entire night…that she had the house to herself. With lover boy.

Anger once again bubbles up, but I ignore it and continue to the back door, where Spencer is waiting.

“You
are
home,” he says accusingly.

I hear my mom retreat to the living room and speak to Marcus in a soft voice.

“What's the matter?” I ask Spencer. I hear the irritation in my voice. It's not him I'm annoyed with, it's my mother, but he doesn't know that.

“That's what I came here to find out,” he answers, sounding equally pissed off. “Talia says you left her party without saying goodbye or anything. They've been phoning you, but you didn't pick up. They asked me to come by to see if you're okay.”

I think about this. “Why did they get you involved?”

“They'd been drinking. No one wanted to drive.”

“So they phoned you in the middle of the night?”

“They were worried, Allegra.”

I sigh, and some of the anger escapes with my breath. “I'm sorry. Please let them know I'm fine. And I'm sorry you had to get involved.”

Spencer peers over my shoulder. “Can I come in for a few minutes?”

“No, my mom, she's got…company.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Musicians?” he asks hopefully.

Right then it hits me. An epiphany. My life is a total mess. This stuff with my parents, with my anxieties… Spencer would never get it. I step outside and shut the door behind me. I notice Marcus's car parked at the curb.

“There's stuff going on in my life right now,” I tell him. “I need time. Alone.”

“What are you talking about?” He looks genuinely puzzled.

I fold my arms across my chest. “You need to go. Please tell the girls I'm sorry.”

He doesn't move. “Why don't you tell me what's going on?”

I shake my head. “I can't. It's not about you.”

He just stares at me. I look down at my feet.

“We had such a good time that night at the rehearsal,” he says softly. “What's changed since then?”

“You didn't do anything wrong, Spencer. It's other stuff.” I hear myself sigh again. “I can't talk about it.”

“Why not? That's what friends do.”

“Not this stuff.”

“Is it because of what happened…in the sound room?”

I notice he can't say the word
kiss
. “No, it's not about you. Honest.” I look in his eyes again, willing him to believe me, but I can see only questions there. “I've got to go in.” I push the door open with my shoulder.

“Allegra.” There's a catch in his voice. I spin around and notice his creased brow and the clenching movement of his jaw. He shoves his hands in his pockets. His eyes narrow. “What is with you? I don't get it. I've seen you dance…”

“You have?” That surprises me.

“Yeah, I've watched a couple of your classes.”

I think about the large glass window in the dance studio.

“I've never seen you.”

“No, because you were totally into it, and you're like…amazing. And your music…” He shakes his head. “My god, it's so awesome, yet you…” He doesn't complete the sentence.

“Yet I what?”

He shuffles his feet and looks away. “You're distant. You put up a wall and don't let anyone in. It's like you're… you're protecting yourself from…from I don't know what. You're nothing like the girl who dances and writes music. I just don't get it.” He turns and starts walking down the driveway. As he passes the mailbox, he kicks the post, but he doesn't turn back.

In the house, Marcus has put on a jacket and is clearly getting ready to leave. I guess I've spoiled their fun. I try to slip down the hall without being noticed, but Mom calls out my name. With a sigh I return to the kitchen.

“Allegra, I don't think you've met Marcus.”

“Hi, Allegra,” he says. “That's a lovely name.”

He looks totally uncomfortable. Good. I nod but can't find any words.

“Is everything okay with Spencer?” Mom asks.

“Yeah, just a…a misunderstanding. I'm going back to bed.” I turn to leave.

“Nice to meet you, Allegra,” Marcus says to my back.

I don't reply.

“Teenagers,” I hear my mom say apologetically. “You know how they are.”

If Marcus responds, I don't hear it. A few minutes later, I hear his car pull away from the curb.

I lie in bed on Saturday morning thinking about what Spencer said.
You don't let anyone in.

The counselor I went to as a kid had given me some suggestions for things to do when I was uncomfortable with other kids, but I'd always found it easier not to get into those situations in the first place. I still feel that way. Once again, I wonder how it is that I feel safe and confident performing, but put me in a social setting with kids my own age…

I should never have agreed to go to that sleepover.

When I finally get up, Mom is drinking coffee and reading the newspaper in the kitchen. I pull a loaf of bread out of the freezer and pop two slices into the toaster. I can feel her gaze on me as I rummage through the cupboard, looking for peanut butter. Finally she sighs, pulls off her reading glasses and pushes the paper aside. “Allegra, about last night…”

I don't let her finish the sentence and whirl about to face her. “You don't ask me about my evening, and I won't ask you why Marcus was here at one in the morning.”

Her eyes flash and she looks away. “It's not what you think…”

“Right, Mom.” I decide I'm not hungry after all. Stomping out of the kitchen, I head straight down to the studio. I pull all my old piano books out of the cupboard and play one piece after another. I force everything else out of my mind and just play.

When Dad calls, inviting me to have lunch with him, I tell him I'm not feeling well, which is only partly untrue. Being miserable counts as not feeling well, I figure. He suggests I invite my friends to that evening's rehearsal in our music studio. I tell him I'll think about it, which I do. In fact, I obsess over it; I want to call and apologize and invite them to the practice. But I'm afraid that they'll be too angry and will turn down my peace offering. Or, even worse, that they'll come and my anxiety will flare up again. Twice, I start to call them; twice, I don't follow through.

I spend the evening in my room, reading, while the band practices downstairs. I pretend to be asleep at the end of the session so that I don't have to watch my dad leave with the rest of the band.

I purposely arrive at my English class just as it's about to start. I slide into my desk beside Talia and open my books. I know she is staring at me, but I don't look at her. I can't.