Black Tuesday (21 page)

Jayne smiled. “I don't smoke, but I'll keep you company.”

“Only if you don't give me any lectures about cancer.”

Jayne solemnly crossed her heart. “I promise there won't be any lectures.”

As they walked to the back door of the building, Jayne saw Meadow and Darian had already left their cubicles for the day.

Ryan saw where she was looking. “Yeah, those two are still solitaire king and queen at this place. They always end up leaving fifteen minutes early.”

Outside, the door jammed. Jayne leaned against the door and finally got it closed.

“That door likes to stick. One of the many things around here that needs to get fixed one day.” Ryan lit a cigarette. “So what's your deal, pr—Jayne. Sorry. Old habits and all.”

“What do you mean by ‘deal'?” Jayne moved upwind of the cigarette and sat on the curb. The rear of the building had no shade and overlooked the back of a strip mall. Not the prettiest place in the world, but as a cigarette spot, it'd do.

“I mean Meadow and Darian. Why'd you decide to hang out with those two boneheads?”

Jayne shaded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at Ryan. She gave up. The sun was still pretty high and bright. “Meadow's a little boneheadish, I guess, but we're not that close. And Darian . . . I'm still test-driving him.”

“Test-driving?” Ryan choked a little on the words as she sat down next to her. “Didn't think I'd hear that coming out of a mouth attached to a person like you.”

Jayne rethought the word. Then she realized what Ryan was imagining. “Oh. Oh! No, I don't mean driving as in . . . as in sex.” She said the word low and fast. “I mean dating. We're just dating.”

They were both silent while Ryan worked on the cigarette. It was a natural, almost relaxing silence.

“Be careful around him, okay?” Ryan stubbed out her cigarette on the curb and got up, putting the butt in the trash next to the door.

“Why is that?”

Ryan shook her head and lit up another cigarette. “I've just heard rumors. I don't want to spread them. But if they're true . . . just watch yourself.”

Jayne nodded, absorbing the information. “You know, six out of ten people die of lung cancer in the first year it's detected.”

“You promised no lectures, Thompkins.” Ryan inhaled long and hard.

“No lecture. Just a factoid. I didn't tell you to quit.
That
would be a lecture.”

34

I CAN'T BELIEVE I got stuck in Derby's class.” Ellie turned around and started walking backward. Which was brave, considering she was in three-inch platforms walking on one of Palm Desert High's slick floors. Then again, it was only school registration and there was no one to really bump into. “Derby. The guy who always talks to the chalkboard and never to the class.”

Jayne started walking faster. So far, she hadn't seen anyone from her grade. She hadn't really expected to, since she'd made Ellie come here at seven.

In the morning.

Then again, Ellie had managed to put on heels and makeup. And had drunk a Red Bull on the way over.

“Jayne.”

So much for having any luck. The distance to the door looked about five yards away.

She'd ignored Miss Challen last semester, at the Fourth of July party, even earlier today when the adviser had stopped her blue Volvo to let Jayne and Ellie cross the street.

The time had come, though. That inevitable conversation. It was either going to happen now, a week from now, or a month from now.

It might as well be now. She turned, a fake Gen smile in place.

“Hey, Miss Challen.”

The adviser wore white sweatpants and a “I'd Rather Be Kayaking” shirt with a coffee stain splattered on her left boob. “I'm glad I was a klutz with my coffee. If I wasn't forced to get up from my desk, I might've missed you.”

If only
, Jayne thought to herself.

“Have you registered for classes yet?”

Jayne nodded and looked over the woman's shoulder. She so didn't want to be here making small talk with Miss Challen. Especially small talk about classes.

Because she was going to be lying through her teeth.

“I heard honors calculus is going to give everyone a great foundation for college math. Be it at Arizona State or Harvard”—she gave Jayne a wink—“for a girl like you, Jayne.”

“Sounds good.” Jayne shuffled her feet and kept avoiding the redhead's eyes. Today Miss Challen wore her hair in a low ponytail, with flyaway tendrils sprouting out around her head.

“You're on track with all your honors work, right, Jayne?” She waved a hand in front of her. “Last quarter was just a glitch. Your GPA is still healthy and Harvard-ready.”

Jayne looked at Miss Challen, searching for the lie. “Really?”

“Really.” Miss Challen leaned closer. “Do you want me to tell you what your standing is?”

Knowing Miss Challen and her respect for people's privacy, she probably wanted to make sure Jayne was okay with Ellie overhearing her.

“Yes.” She braced herself. “What's my number?”

Miss Challen leaned closer. “Six.”

Six? “Do you mean sixty?”

“No, number six. You're in the top one percent, Jayne. Which is a great place to be.”

She was that high up, after that many B's and C's?

Jayne wondered briefly what kinds of grades everyone else got at Palm Desert. And how much worse she could do and still get in the top five percent of the class.

She snapped out of her calculations when she realized the counselor was still talking to her. “Now, are you all set with your classes? Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I'm on track. No worries here.” Jayne hooked her arm through Ellie's. “I have to get Ellie home. I'll talk to you later.”

And with that, she guided her sister through the double doors and into the 120-degree weather outside. Out here, Jayne felt she could breathe again.

“Why'd you lie to Challen? Especially when you found out your GPA?” Ellie was tiptoeing through the gravel parking lot in her three-inch platforms. Jayne dropped her arm from around Ellie's.

“I didn't lie. I just didn't tell her I was on the non-honors track.”

“Are you going to change your schedule, now that you know your GPA?”

Jayne shrugged. “We'll see.”

She was excited about her GPA. But she was also excited about having a life with a boyfriend and having a schedule that wouldn't compete with that.

Jayne looked over at the spot where she used to park the Jetta. A four-door sedan from the eighties was parked there. Someone had written CLEAN ME in the dust on its back window. They passed the car as they headed toward the bus stop another block away.

In the distance, Jayne made out a familiar brown head. She was about to call out to Tom when she saw him laughing.

And who he was laughing with.

Lori.

35

JAYNE PUT A LEASH on Britney and put the dog's collapsible water bowl in her bag. She also collected a couple of plastic bags for Britney's poop.

They were going to go for a very, very long walk. So long a walk, Britney would probably have to be carried home.

But Jayne didn't mind carrying her. She had so much rage over the whole Lori/Tom thing, she could've walked to Washington and back. (Okay, maybe Washington Street and back. But that was still a good fifteen miles away.)

She had her baseball cap, sunscreen, and two liters of water. She was ready.

“Hey, hon. You want company?” Her dad walked from behind his desk, a jaunt in his step. “I was trying to solve a problem with that skin-care line and I just really need a break. Do you mind?”

Did she mind? Well, Britney didn't. She was already pawing at the door, trying to get out, her little tongue hanging to the side and dripping on the floor.

Jayne didn't know how to turn him down without hurting his feelings. She shook her head. “No, I'd love the company.”

“Great. Give me a minute to put on my shoes.”

As she watched him go upstairs, she thought,
We'll walk and do small talk. It's not like I'm going to talk to him about anything big, anyway
.

 

“And the blog had me in an electric chair, my head . . . smoking, I guess.”

It had been two hours and about two miles of walking. After the first mile of Jayne talking about Brenda Deavers having been Jenna Deavers's sister, Lori flirting with Tom, and Meadow trying to get her to shoplift, her dad made her stop at the first outdoor café with a misting system outside.

Britney had a bowl of water and shade. Her dad had a glass of wine and a lot of questions.

Jayne was glad she didn't bring up Ellie's drinking or Darian being a pot dealer. Her dad seemed to have enough information to deal with.

“And this is on a blog. One of those online things everyone can see?”

She nodded. Shrugged. What else was there to do?

Her dad wiped a hand over his face. “Jayne, Jayne, Jayne. What has been going on in this life of yours? I feel like I'm totally out of the loop.”

Jayne fiddled with the straw in her glass of Diet Pepsi. “It's not like I'm twelve anymore, you know? Where you have to fix my problems because I'm not smart enough to figure them out.”

“Jaynie.” Her dad leaned over and put a hand on hers. “Do you really think handling problems is about being able to fix them yourself? At, what, sixteen years old? I'm forty-five and I'm always turning to people to help me out.”

“Yeah?” She'd never thought about that. Then again, she'd never seen her dad ask for help.

“Yeah. Like the dean of the department down at U of A, or the chemist at the lab, or your mom.”

“Mom?” Now she knew he was lying.

“Your mom's always been a great problem solver. An amazing problem solver. That was one of the things that attracted me to her.”

Jayne pulled her hand away and sat back. “But didn't her walking all over you and everyone else in her life turn you off?”

There. She said what she'd been thinking since she was thirteen and started noticing things.

Her mom never hugging her dad when he got home.

Her mom never asking how his day was.

“How do I put this.” He wiped his brow with the moist napkin under his glass. “I'm the sensitive one in this relationship. I make sure you girls have your birthday presents and the I love you's. But your mom is missing, as someone I don't remember once said, that sensitivity chip. So she doesn't do that.”

“How do you put up with her treating you like . . . like dirt?”

“For example . . . ?”

“For example, when she comes home and doesn't hug you. Or ask how your day was.”

“She doesn't hug because she's not so good at displays of affection. And the ‘how's the day going' thing . . . she calls me at work and we discuss it then. Never at home. We don't want to bring our work home.” In a lower voice, he added, “She's especially tense nowadays because she's getting older. And older is not good in her industry.”

“So is her childhood responsible for all her crap?” Jayne rolled her eyes. She couldn't help it.

“No. Her adulthood. You've probably figured out that she's still regretting ending up at a state school over an Ivy League.”

“Which I don't get. She's a journalist. ASU has a good journalism department.”

“You know that. I know that. All your mother sees is how her best friend from high school got into an Ivy League and is now at CNN.”

This was news to Jayne. She'd never heard that, ever. “Who?”

Her dad said the name, and Jayne knew the name. Almost everyone did. She was big. Huge.

And looked almost exactly like her mother.

36

JAYNE. LEE. THOMPKINS. What is that on your back?” Gen was livid.

At the end of their walk, Jayne had told her dad about the belly-button piercing and the tattoo. He told her that he couldn't keep those two things from her mother. “A lot of the things you told me today can be kept between us, Jayne. Your mom knowing one way or another won't matter. But you putting a hole and permanent ink onto the body that she gave birth to . . . she needs to know.”

Now she knew.

“Well, you'll be getting that lasered off next week. End of discussion.”

They were back home, and everyone was in the study. Jayne, Gen, Dad. The only one missing was Ellie.

She was at the mall with her credit card. A working credit card. A reward for never having yelled at Gen.

“And don't think it's going to be that easy, young lady. Your allowance is going to pay for this little adventure of yours. As it is, you'll never see a red cent from us ever again.” Her mom seemed to be building steam.

Jayne didn't say anything. She was staring at one of her mom's local Emmys. She wondered if she walked over to the shelf, grabbed that Emmy, and smashed it on the floor, if that would be the last straw.

Would Gen disown her? Or would she be threatened with yet another weekly visit with Larry?

“What exactly is on your back, anyway?” Jayne's dad asked.

“Who the hell cares, Sean? Does it matter?”

“It does to Jayne.” He gestured for her to come to him. “C'mon, let's take a look.”

Jayne went over and pulled her shirt high enough so he could see the line of words curlicued over the waistband of her mid-rise jeans.

“‘What does not destroy us—we destroy, and it makes us stronger.'”