How My Summer Went Up in Flames (3 page)

“I can’t go out. I’m grounded, remember?” I say. “It’s bad enough I’m sneaking out to do this.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t go,” Marissa says.

“Don’t be such a wuss,” Lilliana snaps.

“A restraining order is serious. Rosie can get in legal trouble if someone sees her near his house,” Marissa pleads.

I feel bad for making her nervous. I’m a good girl at heart. A few months ago, I would have felt the same way. Joey cheating on me has caused me to undergo some kind of psychological shift. Sure, I can be loud and dramatic, but flat-out rebellion was never my thing.

“No one will see me. I’ll hide back here, I promise,” I say, slouching down in the backseat.

I sound confident, but I know I can’t keep doing stuff like this. Do I really want to turn out like one of those reality-show freaks? My dad said he doesn’t know me anymore. That makes two of us.

We take Farms Road, which starts on my end of town where the older-style homes are only a driveway’s width apart, and wind through the small downtown area. We pass the corner deli where the skate kids are hanging out and continue on Farms until it brings us to Joey’s neighborhood, where the houses are newer and larger but more cookie cutter, right down to the identical play sets in nearly every yard. A month ago, this was my favorite route. Tonight, it makes me anxious and sick. When we pull into Elm Court, I duck.

“Tell me if you see him,” I say. “Is there anyone outside?”

“Nope,” Lilliana says.

“Is his car there? Does it look damaged?”

“No cars in the driveway,” Lilliana says. “No lights on either. It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

“He’s probably at work. Let’s drive by ShopRite next,” I say.

My phone rings while I’m still crouching down in the backseat. Shit! It’s my mother. She knows I left the house. She knows I’m up to something. She knows everything. Damn the Catalano sixth sense.

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Lilliana’s car.” This is not a lie.

“And where is Lilliana’s car, Rosie?”

“It’s at the diner. We’re about to go inside.” Of course, that is a lie.

“That’s it,” Mom snaps. “You’re coming home right now! Your father is furious.”

“I know I shouldn’t have left the house, but it’s just the diner and—”

“Look out the back window,” Mom says. I can hear her clenching her teeth.

“Uh-oh,” Lilliana says, glancing in her rearview mirror.

Slowly, I rise up off the floor and look out the back car window. Yep. There’s my mom in her SUV.

“You followed me?” I shriek into the phone, which is still at my ear.

“I didn’t need to. I knew where to find you.”

I squint in the low, dusk light. There’s someone in the passenger’s seat. Dad? Eddie? No effin’ way.

“Is that Matty?” It is. Traitor.

“He talked your father into staying home,” Mom says. “You should be happy you’ve got a friend like him.”

I should be, but at the moment, I’m not.

I’m leaving for Arizona on Saturday. I could go
into the details of the Catalano Monday Night Smackdown that led to their decision to send their only daughter on a nine-day cross-county road trip, but it’s too exhausting. Suffice it to say, Mom’s Ecuadorian temper, I mean passion, trumps Dad’s Italian brand. Dad is loud all the time. Mom is loud when she needs to be. We never say it, but we all know Mom wears the pants in this family.

“Call your goofball friends and tell them I’m in,” I say when Matty answers the phone. It’s late, but I knew he’d still be up.

“Cool. I’m sorry if I got you into trouble, Rosie. I was just trying—”

“No, no. I’m the one who should be sorry. I screwed up. Again. Thanks for having my back.”

“Anytime,” Matty says. He sounds relieved. We should all aspire to be Mattys.

“But I need my space until Saturday, got it?”

“Got it.”

“No watching
The View
on our couch.”

“I got it. I got it. You’re gonna thank me for this.”

“Don’t get carried away.” I hang up.

I’m drained from the family drama, but I still can’t sleep. Pony is sacked out on my twin bed anyway. He has his head on my pillow and he’s making these cute mini-yelp noises while his feet twitch. Aw, poor guy. Doggy nightmare. I gently stroke the top of his head between his ears until he settles into a quiet slumber. I sigh. Maybe my dog-walking business will still work out when I get back, but who knows what will happen when I call the bridal shop tomorrow. I can’t expect them to hold my job.

I grab my stuffed Clydesdale that I got from Busch Gardens when I was seven and give it a squeeze. When I was little, I had these dreams of learning to ride and begged my parents for a horse every year until my thirteenth birthday, when I got Pony. Luckily, that ten-pound bundle of
chocolate-colored fur grew into his name. He was, and is, the best birthday gift ever. Still, I didn’t abandon my first “horse,” Clyde. How could I? I logged a lot of cuddle time with him before Pony arrived. I’ve still never been on a horse.

I settle into a spot on the floor between my bed and the open window and sift through my Joey Box outtakes. I didn’t burn everything in the fire. There’s some stuff I can’t part with, like the first card he gave me and the dried, pressed rose from our one-month anniversary. Every month he gave me another. Guess I’ll never get my dozen.

Then there’s the picture Lilliana took of us at the winter semiformal. We’re slow dancing. Joey is in a suit and tie, looking all male-model-ish with his ice-blue eyes and black hair. I look good too, not that I like to brag. It was just one of those nights when everything fell into place. Perfect hair. No zits or bloating, and I found this amazing metallic silver eyeliner that really made my brown eyes pop. I wore a black lace strapless dress that showed off my cleavage but was classy at the same time. Every inch of me felt good.

What happened to us? That was the night Joey told me he loved me for the first time. He swore I was the first girl he spoke those words to. I believed him. Still do. The
Joey Marconi in this photo picked me up every day after school and almost always brought me something that he knew I’d like—an iced coffee, Swedish fish, a Big Gulp. We spent every day together. And he told me everything. Like how he cried in first grade because the kids used to call him Joey Macaroni, how he felt like his older brothers outshined him in everything, from high school sports to the rivalry for their father’s attention. My Joey said he’d never push me to take our relationship to the next level. He said he’d wait forever.

When did things change between us, and why didn’t I notice? Joey cheats. We break up. He calls the cops. Maybe it was his mom’s idea. She never liked me that much. Even after Joey and I had been dating for nine months, she always acted surprised to see me. She was all, “Oh, Rosie. I didn’t know you were here.” Or, “Oh, Rosie, I didn’t realize you and Joey were going to the movies tonight.” No one is good enough for her baby boy. Between Joey and his two older brothers, it’s like Oedipal overload in that house.

And yet, all I want is to see Joey again. The more I’m told I can’t, the more convinced I am that everything will be okay if I can just see his face and tell him why I did what I did. And give him a chance to apologize for being
a two-timing snake. Everyone makes mistakes. I can forgive him, right? Then he can forgive me. I never meant for things to go so, so wrong.

I know I can fix this. So that’s why, for the second time in one day, I violate the terms of my TRO. The acronym sounds better. In my head, at least. I keep my text short:
CALL ME. R.
An hour later, I’m ashamed to admit, I send another.
WE NEED TO TALK. PLEASE?
I fall asleep sometime after three in the morning, still clutching my phone, my heart breaking all over again.

His silence hurts more than his cheating.

 • • •

The smell of bacon and coffee wakes me early the next morning, despite the fact that I hardly slept, and I feel even more depressed. All I want to do is stay in bed until my court date is over. But my stomach growls. Is there any better smell? There’s no real cure for heartache, but bacon comes close. My body feels heavy and my pillow is winning the tug-of-war against those crispy strips until I reach for my phone. It isn’t on my comforter. I kick off the covers and search the tangle of sheets and then under my bed. Gone. Stealth mom strikes again. I haul my groggy butt downstairs in my cotton pajamas shorts and matching tee with
a picture that looks like a little Pony and says
PUPPY LOVE
. I’m embarrassed about those messages to Joey and afraid of Mom’s reaction.

I stop abruptly at the kitchen doorway when I hear my mom talking on the phone. I know it’s Dad. He calls her every morning when he gets to work, even though he left less than an hour ago. I usually admire my parents’ close relationship, but this morning, I know they’re talking about me. I’m hoping Dad changed his mind and doesn’t want me to go to Arizona. I have to admit, the trip might help me get my mind off Joey, but does it have to be so far and with two guys I don’t really know?

“Agreed,” Mom says just as I step into the kitchen. “Matty’s in charge.” She’s holding my cell. I’m totally screwed yet feeling oddly self-righteous and confrontational. I stand in front of Mom, arms crossed with my grouch face on. She gives me the “one second” motion with her pointer finger. “Uh-huh, yes. Me too. I’ll talk to her when she gets up. Love you.” Mom clicks off and I start in before she has a chance to.

“What do you mean, ‘Matty’s in charge’? I seriously hope you’re not talking about me!”

“Calm down. Your father and I just don’t want to see
you get into any more trouble.” Mom points my phone at me while she speaks. “Your father is contacting a lawyer today. We need to find out what has to be done before this court date and make sure it’s okay for you to leave the state. He’s stressed enough about his business; we can’t have you calling and texting Joey from here to Arizona.”

“So you mean Matty is getting control of my phone?”

“Sweetie, it’s for the best. We love you.”

“So I’m going to be on house arrest, except in a car.” I give Mom my pout face. “Keep my phone. I’ll just borrow Matty’s.”

“You know how much I text you and your brother. I don’t want to run up Matty’s bill. And anyway—” Mom shakes her head.

“What?”

Her shoulders slump in resignation. “There’s a GPS in your phone. Your father will feel better if we track you during this trip.”

“Holy mother of . . . are you kidding me? A GPS? Since when?”

“Since always. From the time we got you your first phone.”

“Eddie better have one too.”

“Watch your tone, young lady. He does. He just doesn’t know about it.”

I’m certainly not going to tell him. Let him find out the hard way. Then I begin inventorying any other lies I may have told over the years regarding my physical location. It’s all too much. My head is spinning.

“I can’t take this. I don’t want to go. Please don’t make me go. Who’s gonna walk Pony? You know he only likes to sleep with me.”

“The dog will be fine, and you don’t have a choice. Look, this isn’t easy for us, either, but it’s clear that you’re not thinking about the consequences of your actions.” Mom massages her temple and I can tell she’s not done talking. “Believe it or not, I know what it’s like to be obsessed with a boy. Sometimes the best cure is distance. It gives you perspective. Besides, you may even have fun. Did you ever consider that?”

Obsessed? I’m not obsessed.
All I can do is scowl as I grab for my Hello Kitty mug. Kitty’s polka-dotted purse is fading from too many dishwasher runs, but I still love it. I fix my coffee the way I like it: First, I put in three teaspoons of sugar. Next, a splash of hot coffee to melt the sugar. Then, lots of half-and-half. Finally, I pour the coffee until it’s the exact mocha shade that I like. Light and sweet. I help myself
to a big plate of bacon and scrambled eggs before thinking twice about it and sliding some back onto the griddle. I’m a big eater and I’ve been blessed with a metabolism that keeps up, but I’ve been overdoing it lately. There’s a delicate balance between “curvy” and “chubby.”

I slip Pony a bacon strip and he gobbles it without even chewing. I’m just about to take a bite of my eggs when Matty taps on the back door and lets himself in.

“Space, remember?” I say.

“Take it easy. I’m just dropping off the revised itinerary and then I’m gone,” he says. “I printed an extra copy for your parents, too.”

“What a good boy.” Mom gives him a hug. Inside, I’m rolling my eyes.

I’m about to say something snarky, but I just can’t. With his cropped hair and perpetually flushed cheeks, no matter how old Matty gets, he’s still the little boy next door.

“Thanks, Matty,” I say instead.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “It’s going to be an adventure.”

I don’t want an adventure. I want Joey and my old life back. But Mom and Matty are both looking at me, so I give them my best attempt at a sincere smile. I’m tired of letting people down.

 • • •

The next day, I’m more shocked than anyone when my parents allow me to go to the mall with Lilliana to buy a few things for my trip. Inside, they’re softies. Not that I’m gonna point this out or anything. I have to call them from the house phone both before I leave and as soon as I return. I have exactly two hours. Mom takes my cell to work with her. She considered letting Lilliana carry it—the GPS would allow her to track me all day—but she decided against it. My parents are softies, not stupid. Anyway, they don’t have anything to worry about. I want to earn back their trust.

“What are you complaining about?” Lilliana asks. We’re at Macy’s and she’s trying on sunglasses. She has an adorable button nose, the kind you’d ask for if you were getting a nose job. All styles of shades look good on her. “Three guys, the open road, Arizona. And time away from that tool. It’s like a country song.”

“I hate country music.”

“The crossover stuff is okay.”

I shrug. “I guess, but that straight-up cowboy music gets on my nerves.”