Effortless With You (22 page)

And I cracked.

Evil.

I let out my breath. I need to get away. The house is quiet except for the occasional snore from Dad down the hall. I tiptoe around my room, digging through my drawers and closet for an old running tank and pair of running shoes. I throw my hair into a ponytail, creep down the stairs and out the front door.

My feet hit the driveway and I transition into a jog. I turn onto the running path that links a chain of parks, winding around a chain of ponds. The running-way is empty this morning, the pavement mine. My feet fall into a rhythm along with my breaths, four seconds in and four seconds out. Each breath of the morning air seems to launch my body into further hypnosis with its jogging rhythm. My body is in sync, now it's time to address my mind.

Evil. Wow. Did I really try to hurt my mom by hurting Eric? And why was I trying to hurt Mom?

The dark corner of my mind answers: Because she wants to control you.

I rebuke: But isn’t she my mother? Doesn’t that give her the responsibility to parent me?

I run faster. That answer is clear.

But I’m still evil. What about when I hid in the bathroom stall and listened to Marissa degrade Sally? When did I become the type of person who would stand by when someone hurts another?

Mom has reason for her need to control. Even if I don’t like how she delivers it.

I sprint.

I used to be the one telling off my teammates the moment they started talking smack about a player on the other team. Now, I'm too weak to stand up for anyone, even myself. Why couldn’t I see Marissa for what she really is? A selfish and manipulative person.

She is everything I have become.

I've adopted her way of life, using cruelty to control others. I intentionally hurt Mom, while Mom has never intentionally hurt me. Eric, another victim of my assault. Mom looks like she is going to break again. Do I really want to watch Mom suffer through more depression? My gut twists. No. I need her.

My feet fly beneath me. I need to run away from my guilt. I can’t be cruel anymore.

I am different from Marissa. I have to be. I'm done following. And I'm not going to be afraid of her. It is time to face her. Matt’s party provides the perfect opportunity. I have to show myself how she is the weak one.

That I am different.

Mom’s constant reminder echoes in my mind, “You always have a choice, Lucy.” I can choose to be strong again. I can choose to have values and stand for them. I can choose to be kind and loving.

I can choose to be different.

I stop running, panting alone on the path. I am going to try, for real this time. I can’t be perfect but at least I can be me, the real me.

I hear the patter of feet behind me. I move off the path into a bordering garden as a group of women jog past. The smell of the daisies and sunflowers are overwhelmingly sweet. I inhale the smell over and over, hoping it'll help me remember this moment. I need its strength.

I feel lighter as I jog home. The heat from the rising sun beats down on my back. My favorite clouds, small white wisps, seem delicately placed in patches in the bright blue sky. I run past a man cutting his grass, the smell fresh to my senses. The neighborhood has come alive. People walking their dogs around the block, loading their cars for a day trip to the lake, or just laying out on their lawn and enjoying the sun before the heat index soars.

I arrive home filled with a strange combination of remorseful yet positive energy. I sit down on the front step, slowly taking off my shoes, hesitating to enter. I don’t know where to begin. Should I pretend that nothing happened? Should I apologize? Say thank you?

Do I even acknowledge that I still need Mom to put me back together again?

I pull off my sweaty socks. No. I'm not going to allow pride to stand in the way of having a good relationship with Mom. I don’t want any more fake relationships in my life. I rise to my feet and turn around to enter the house.

The door flings open, startling me. Mom stands behind it, wet streaks down her cheeks. We look at one another for a brief second. I decide to leap, without hesitation.

I rush into her arms.

Mom trembles as she hugs me, “Lucy,” she begins. “I thought, I thought …”

I pull away from her gently and look her in the eye, “What? It’s okay.”

She nods, more tears. “When I woke up and you were gone, I thought that you were really gone. I thought I had lost you forever.” I don’t know if she’s talking about me literally leaving or just our relationship but it doesn’t matter. It is true. She nearly lost me forever. In fact, I nearly lost myself forever.

“Well, you didn’t. Don’t worry.”

“I’m so sorry, baby. I know I have been horrid. I just don’t know what I’m doing. No one prepares you for the day everything changes, and you don’t know your daughter anymore.”

“Mom, don’t worry about it. I don’t even know me anymore.”

“That’s the worst part. I let you lose yourself. If I would have paid more attention …”

“No, Mom. There was nothing you could have done. This was all me. And, trust me, more attention would have made it worse.” I take a seat on the bench on our front porch.

“All the books say to fight to know what’s happening. I’m fighting, I’m trying.” She sits down next to me, her words so honest and full of exhaustion.

“Please know that I appreciate that you try. I know it’s a good thing.” I take a deep breath. I need to be honest. If this is going to be real, if this is going to be me, I need to tell the truth. “But, sometimes, you do overreact. Or you react in the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

“Like the party …” She folds my hand into hers.

I nod.

“I’m sorry. I just lost it. I snapped. You weren’t in your room. You left, snuck out. Not only was it disobedient, it was dangerous! What if something happened to you? We wouldn’t have known you were gone until morning. I called everyone I knew to find you. My brain felt like it exploded. In that moment, I feared everything horrible had happened to you. When I found you had snuck out to go to a party, I lost it. And then, I got angry. More angry then I’ve ever felt before. You snuck out. You disobeyed your father and I. It was a punishment you deserved. I know you knew it, I could tell when we grounded you that night. But then you still left? All I could think was ‘What’s become of my girl?’”

Tears stream down my cheeks now. I never thought about how terrifying it must have been to find my room empty. It’s not like I left a note. I wonder how long she looked for me.

“And then when I realized Marissa was involved, I was ashamed. Ashamed that I let you lose yourself to such a weak bully.”

“Don’t worry. I’m done being a Marissa clone. Trust me. It’s way too much work. Much easier to be me, once I figure out who that is. I’m sorry I disappointed you, Mom.” I reach, offering her a hug.

“I’m sorry I disappointed you too. Let’s communicate more, and hopefully I can be a more reasonable parent. Deal?”

“Deal.” She wipes a tear off my cheek. Her eyes are so blue and beautiful. She could have been a model. How have I never noticed her beauty before?

“You look pretty, Mom.”

Mom’s face breaks into a large smile. “Stop, please. You aren’t grounded for yesterday.” Ah, a joke. My heart relaxes, thankful for the transition. “No compliments needed.”

“No, really, Mom. You’re beautiful.”

“Eh.” She drops my hand. “You’re crazy.” I watch her face drop. She really doesn’t believe me. I’ve been such a neglectful daughter. I swear to tell her she is beautiful more often.

“Oh, Justin’s inside waiting for you,” she says. I bite my lip as she studies my reaction.

What is he doing here? It's seven thirty in the morning. And during our breakdown? Crap.

“Uh, isn’t it kind of early for visitors?”

“I don’t think that can keep him away.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that. Trust me. With Justin, there’s always a business agenda. Don’t even go there.” I sit down on the front porch. “Can you just send him out here? I don’t really want to deal with him inside. Not after last night.” My home is for once cleansed of emotional confusion. I want to keep it that way.

The door squeaks. I don’t turn around. Justin can do the talking, if he finally wants to.

“Hey, Lady.”

“Isn’t it a bit early for this?”

“For what?”

“I don’t know, whatever you’re here for.” Of course, after days of shutting me out, he chooses now to talk. Puffy red eyes, no makeup, emotionally drained, and my sweaty running glow. Awesome. He sits down next to me. I pray that the tears I’ve just cried are the healthy, non-blotching sort. “Well?” I want to get this over with.

“Well?” His knee bumps mine. I can feel his crooked smile but I refuse to look. What is he doing?

“What do you want?”

“Come play ball with me.”

“Now?” My heart does back flips.

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t believe it.”

“It?”

“You.”

“Well, you already saw it. Believe it.”

Was I just some game to him?

He grabs my hand. “Come on.”

I didn’t know basketball could be so frustrating. We move in sync and everything feels so electrified. Justin’s hand on my shoulder or the small of my back, my skin tingling out of control. My heart freaking out when he smiles at me.
Swish
, each time I shoot. My game is on. I couldn’t miss a shot if I tried. Justin, on the other hand, is not trying at all.

It pisses me off.

“Why did you drag me out here if you aren’t gonna play?” I ask after I reject a lazy lay-up. I sink a three pointer. “This isn’t even a game.”

He chuckles and my butterflies zoom.

“I’m just getting an idea of what you’re made of.”

“Oh?” I toss him the ball. He squares up, waiting for me to reject him. I do. “And what have you discovered?”

He steps closer to me.

Perfect jaw. Perfect shoulders. Perfect collarbone. Perfect everything.

“A lot,” he says with another step. We stand together then under the hoop, the ball bouncing away. I know I should look away but I can’t. I shiver. I can get lost in his green eyes forever.

Time stands still. My heart does not.

He leans in toward me.

Is he going to kiss me?

My whole world turns over.

Yes.

No, wait.

No.

Jennifer.

I eye Justin, he smiles playfully, brushing my side-swept bangs out of my eye.

No. I'm not evil. I won’t be a Marissa. He’s with Jennifer. I can’t let this happen.

He leans in closer.

I lean away.

“Your cross-over,” he says. Picking up the ball and showing me a cross-over dribble, low to the ground.

“What?”

“It’s sloppy.” He shrugs, tossing me the ball. “That’s what I learned.”

I stand frozen, ball in hand. What just happened? My face heats. He was only taunting me. I’d totally imagined that whole moment. Of course he wasn’t going to kiss me.

I fake confidence, “Shut up. My cross-over is solid.”

“Suit yourself.” He grabs the ball. “Well, I’ve got to run. Thanks for the game.”

“You call that a game?”

“Okay, insight then.” He waves, climbing into his truck.

Yes, wonderful insight into my heart.

A kiss? How stupid can I be?

I try to avoid myself all morning. I’m too embarrassed to live. Thankfully, no one else knows. I don’t even think Justin knew that I, for just a second, thought he was going to kiss me. The moment will go with me to my grave. He is so out of my league.

A text from Matt forces my head out from under my blanket.

Matt: Party tonight. You promised. 7.

Right. Birthday party. Matt. Marissa. Zach. Confrontation.

Am I ready?

No, but that doesn’t matter. If it was up to me, I’d never be ready. I’d be happy avoiding Marissa and Zach for the rest of my life. But realistically, that is impossible. I’m sick of being passive and part of people’s games. It is time to take control.

I’m going to that party. Marissa and Zach can shove it.

I’ll walk in confidently. They’ll never know what hit them.

I’m fine. No, I am terrified. I’ve never been to a party alone and without Marissa’s connections, I barely know anyone.

That needs to change. I glance toward
Pride and Prejudice
, my bookmarker almost three fourths of the way through. It’s time to make some real friends.

I empty my closet onto my bed, hoping to find something that will make me feel confident and real. Most of my dresses are earth tones with an empire waist. I put one on. It hangs loosely and gives me little shape. Yuck, ugly.

Marissa always disagreed with me, explaining how the style was perfect for hiding my curvy hips, which just weren’t fashionable. I turn around in front of the mirror. It looks like I'm wearing a peasant frock. I was crazy to listen to her.

I sort my clothes, throwing everything Marissa approved to the side. My remaining wardrobe is pathetic: a few pairs of yoga pants, my maxi skirt, some tank tops, a pair of leggings, and an old, favorite pair of jeans. I return to my closet, not willing to admit defeat. Even if I have to run out to buy something, I am going to this party. If I don’t, I fear I’ll live in a hole forever.

My eye falls on a dark plastic bag stuffed behind my shoe rack. I peer in, hoping for at least a fitted t-shirt to pair with my jeans. A green wad of gingham material is shoved inside.

I pull it out slowly, examining my discovery. A casual sun dress with a heart shaped neckline and halter ties. This is the dress I bought for my first high school party. Marissa’s opinion echoes in my ears, “Girl. Take that off. It makes you look ghastly.” She let me wear one of her strapless bubble dresses instead.

I iron the dress before trying it on. This better work.

The dress fits me perfectly. It hugs my chest without showing too much cleavage and accents the small size of my waist between my curves. I shift uncomfortably in the mirror, pulling my hands through my auburn hair. The dress color makes my hair look rich and dynamic. Also, with my curves highlighted, I don’t look so bulky. What was Marissa thinking?