Outcast (23 page)

“You’re hair is so straight. It would look so much cuter if—” She cut herself off. She knew she’d said too much, but it was too late.

“I better study. I have some catching up to do.”

I left her alone with her thoughts and her regrets.

Until opening night, all of us continued to attend rehearsals. Trina treated Grace with a sheer sickening sweetness. If it weren’t for Grace’s gullibility and desperate need to believe that Trina accepted her for who she was, she would have seen her true colors, yellowed with artifice. I hated Trina for being so cruel, and Grace for being so naïve.

Nick Taylor was Lorenzo in the play, Jessica’s love. He was a hot senior. He had hair the color of
Florida
sand, and his eyes were green Peridot. Though he was attractive, I wasn’t attracted to him. Nonetheless,
Chad
was jealous. I read it in his face. Maybe it was Nick’s looks or maybe it was the fact that Nick and I were lovers in the play. Whatever the reason,
Chad
didn’t like it and he didn’t like Nick.

“Playing Jessica isn’t much of stretch for you, is it?”

I told him he was seeing things that weren’t there. I had no interest in Nick. It was merely a part that I played. He still came across as suspicious and jealous.

The day of the performance of
The Merchant of Venice
, the poster campaign proved successful. Trina’s party was supposed to take place after the play, but it never happened. Trina was pulled out of Drama and called to the office. I envisioned a huge interrogation by Mr. Pace and the rest of the clergy and administrative staff that included bright lamps, in-your-face hostility, and even a little bit of torture. I watched and waited, but Trina never returned to class. She also never showed up at the play. Her unauthorized party was reported to her parents. I assumed she was grounded. All Father Dodd told us was that the role of Nerissa would be played by Julie Campner.

I felt giddy as I made my entrance onstage.
Chad
stopped me by resting his hand on my arm. His touch still sent a current through me. “Break a leg.”

Figuratively, I believed I already did—Trina’s. I felt triumphant. Trina finally received some overdue payback for painting my locker and attempting to steal my friend. The play was successful; her party was a bust.
A pound of flesh
, and what a pound it was!

Becca had the abortion. Despite my mother’s insistence that she choose adoption as an alternative, she did what she wanted to do. My mother was devastated. It went against everything she believed.

The fighting between the two of them grew worse with the passage of time. My father mourned alone. He took frequent trips to places like Home Depot and Lowe’s. As often as he went to those stores, one would have believed we had an endless list of home improvements. But what we really needed was a family makeover. Whether it was the loss of the baby or the destruction of his family, my father wanted to suffer by himself.

My mother stayed home, tormenting Becca with what she had done. Her words became more toxic than they were before the abortion. “You’re a murderer. You know that? You’re going to hell.”

“Hell will be a step up from this place,” Becca retorted.

My mother received back what she shoveled out. She was so consumed by the
act of violence
Becca had committed that she refused to have Thanksgiving that year. My grandparents postponed their yearly trip to
Arizona
, unable to face the horror of what happened in the family.

On my sixteenth birthday, Christmas Eve, I received a bonus round of fighting between Becca and my mom. My dad left, not even bothering to take me with him. He must have been so stressed by the tension in the house that he forgot it was my birthday. My gift was ringside seats to a blowout.

Pillows and books flew through the air. The house became a war zone. Things turned destructive when picture frames and dinnerware were broken. Becca shattered all the pieces to my mother’s Precious Moments nativity scene. She told my mother that they meant more to her than we ever did. That was the breaking point for my mom. On Christmas Eve, she threw Becca out. 

With tears streaming down her eyes and snot dribbling out of her nose, Becca packed as much as she could into a small suitcase and walked to the front door. Before she left, she said, “Noelle, I hope you’re smart enough to get the hell out of here before she destroys you, too.” They were her final words to my mother. She never even wished me a happy birthday. Why should she? It wasn’t all that happy.

Grace didn’t bother to call either. The only one who seemed to care was
Chad
.

“I got you something,”
Chad
said as we walked through downtown
Scottsdale
hand-in-hand. The shops were lit up like jack-o-lanterns, the trees strewn with lights. Water arced into the fountain nearby, drumming into the pool below.

“You did?” I smiled over at him.

“Of course.” He pecked me on the lips as we stopped in front of the fountain with its statues of wild mustangs frozen in mid-stride. He released my hand to fish something from his pocket, pulling out a box, which he handed to me.

I could feel his gaze as he watched me unearth what was inside. I pulled out an agate and sterling silver pendant in the shape of a triangle. “It’s—”

“A piece of my heart,” he said, watching my reaction.

I stared up at him, knowing I was supposed to stay angry and make him pay for what he did. But those five words—
a piece of my heart
—along with the lilt of his smile made me soften.

“Or a piece of pizza,” he said with an apprehensive smile. I know he wanted me to say something. Anything so he could let go of his anticipation. “Pizza fixes everything.”

But I was so in awe of his gift and his words that I didn’t know what to say. Nothing that formed in my brain felt like it would do the moment justice. I glanced at the necklace held in my palms, then let my eyes rise to meet his. In that moment, I forgave him.

“I love it,” I finally said.

“You do?”

I nodded.

I stared at the necklace. A piece of his heart. I so wanted that. But I also wanted more. I wanted his whole heart.

Since I was officially sixteen, I didn’t hide the fact that I had a boyfriend any longer. Our first official date was on New Year’s Eve. My parents briefly met
Chad
when he came to the door. Before we left, my mother pulled me aside.

“Home by ten-thirty. And be careful.” Her voice was filled with implication. 

We went to
Chad
’s house. His parents had a party to attend and wouldn’t be home until after midnight. We watched MTV, which my mother considered poison for the mind, and then bits and pieces of
Napoleon Dynamite
on DVD. In between, we kissed.
Chad
slid his hands up my shirt, clumsy with the prongs of my bra. He unfastened it and brushed his hand over my breasts. I felt my nipples instantly harden and blood rushed to the forbidden recesses of my body. I thought of Becca and realized why she allowed men to touch her the way they did, and how easy it was for things to happen. When
Chad
pressed himself against me, it was a startling reminder of how effortless it was to become pregnant.
Chad
moved his hand down my torso and undid the top button of my jeans. I grabbed his wrists and stopped him. I didn’t want to end up like Becca, or anybody else for that matter. Everyone gave it away so easily. I wasn’t going to be another one of those statistics.

“I can’t.” I refastened my bra beneath my shirt.

Chad
’s face was flushed when he looked at me. I knew what he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It’s just that—”

“My sister just had an abortion.” I interrupted. It was like a cold shower without the water. I told him the whole story. He finally knew where I stood.

I tried calling Aunt P over the holidays, but she never picked up her phone. I wanted to wish her a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, even though she only celebrated one. I figured she must have taken one of her exotic vacations. Her answering machine never clicked on. I was finally able to reach her on New Year’s Day. She wasn’t gracious when she answered. The first words to escape from the receiver were
you’re not talking to her, so leave us alone!

“Aunt P?”

“Noelle?”

It turned out, Becca had been staying with P since Christmas Eve. She thought it was my mother, so she had screened calls. She apologized for missing my birthday and promised to make it up to me. Aunt P asked me to not say anything to my parents about Becca being with her. I wasn’t sure I could make a promise like that; I could tell my parents were extremely worried. My mother would have given anything to know Becca’s whereabouts; she was just too stubborn to admit it. 

“How’s she doing?” I finally asked.

“Fine, especially since she’s no longer exposed to all that Catholic guilt.”

“Is she coming back to school?” I figured that might be the only place I’d see my sister again. I fully expected a
yes
. I mean, even I wouldn’t forego the perks of being a senior.

“She’s decided that’s not the right choice for her. Being a Catholic school, and in light of what happened…” She didn’t finish her thought. “She’s going to beauty school instead. I enrolled her this week.”

Becca? In beauty school? I knew she liked makeup, clothes, and hair. But I never pictured her having a career as a makeup artist. I knew she didn’t either. She had always talked of becoming a nutritionist or owning a health spa. It wasn’t exactly the same thing.

“Let’s have lunch some time. School is starting soon and I know you’re well overdue for some good old fashioned sick time.”

The janitorial staff had four weeks over winter break to clean up my locker door or replace it. They didn’t.

Grace met me at my locker. Like a peace pipe, she offered me a gift—my belated birthday present.

“I’m sorry I missed your birthday.” She was almost flippant.

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically, taking it from her without opening it. I mean, I was such an afterthought. I returned to my defaced locker.

“You don’t have to be a jerk about it.” Her tone was confrontational.

I reeled around on her. “Here.” I shoved the present back at her.

Grace looked shocked. “You’ve changed, Noelle.”

Passersby stared at the impending blowup in the hallway on the first day back to school.

“That’s just great, Grace. You ignore me all winter break, then you come around to insult me and make accusations? What I wanted from you was friendship. You weren't there when I needed you.”

“What’d you need me for? To make you look good?” She cocked her head to one side, but this time she jutted her chin out stubbornly. 

I thought about spilling all the news of what happened to our family over the holidays just to make her feel guilty, but decided she wasn’t worth it.

“Forget it.”

Second semester. Cassie and I had lunch together again. I was glad because, next to
Chad
, she was my only rescue at school. She still had the Porsche. Even the richest of kids at the school looked at her with envy. She now had her license and drove us to some slum restaurant. We opted for outside dining so she could chain smoke her Camels, one of the perks to the restaurant. As usual, she offered them to me.
What the hell
, I thought. I was having a bad day.

Smoking was becoming easier all the time. Even though I hadn’t touched a cigarette in over four weeks, it felt natural to pick one up again. Cassie said it calmed the nerves. It seemed to do the trick for mine, so I had a second.

Cassie had gone to
California
over the holiday.

“Shane and I hung out at
Venice
Beach
the whole time. It was so awesome. Just the two of us alone. No parents. No hassles.”

“Your parents weren’t there?” I asked.

“They only had two weeks vacation before they had to come back here.” She ran a French fry through a smear of ketchup. “Shane and I had the whole house to ourselves,” she continued, obviously replaying the scene over again in her mind.

“Your parents didn’t care?”

“About what?” she asked, stuffing the fry in her mouth.

“That he stayed there?” My food went untouched. The burger was loaded with grease.

“Why would they?”

“Well, you know.”

Cassie’s eyes slanted. “Educate me.”

“Forget it,” I said, finally picking up a pickle and nibbling the end of it.

“Why are so interested in my sex life, Noelle?”

I didn’t know what to say. Usually people weren’t so confrontational when they caught you trying to tap them for information. I felt myself blush, so I reached for another cigarette thinking that somehow it would mask my embarrassment. She clasped her hand over the pack, not allowing me to take one until I answered.