Playing Nice (28 page)

I walk down the hall and greet people after the final performance of
Grease
. My heart swells with pride at all the compliments.
You were great! I couldn't even believe it was you up there!
And I deserve them, not because I was acting, but because I left my heart and soul on the stage with every word Rizzo said.

I see Alex and Sarah talking with my parents and smile. He's wearing a sleeveless undershirt with the words
Rizzo's Boyfriend
written across the front.

"Nice shirt," I say as I poke him in the side.

"Thought I'd wear your favorite outfit." He smiles and I melt inside. A gooey, warm, confident-he-wants-me melt. I'm not sure if I love Alex or like him, but that's okay. I've got time to figure it out. I know he's not going anywhere.

"You were wonderful, honey." My dad kisses me on the forehead.

"I'm just glad they didn't make you wear a hideous curly black wig like the chick in the movie." Sarah gags herself. "I mean, am I supposed to believe John Travolta, pre-fat and old, would ever date that person?"

I giggle. "Some things never change," I say.

Sarah looks at me with raised eyebrows. "What? It's the truth."

I roll my eyes. She still puts on lip gloss and makes shallow comments, but then again, I'm not sure I could imagine Sarah being any deeper than a baby pool. And that's okay, too.

"Can I have a minute with the star?" Alex asks.

"We'll see you at home." My mom kisses me on the forehead and they head for the door.

Alex pulls me over to a corner of the hallway. "What is it?" I ask.

"You just look so cute in that costume."

"You look terrible in that shirt, country boy," I say.

"It's all for you, baby," Alex says in a terrible Southern twang. And then he bends down to kiss me. His lips are warm and kind and his arms hold me tight, like he might never let go. I fall into him and think I might never let go either. My body tingles from head to toe, the kind of tingles I've waited seventeen years to have.

"Someone else came to see you tonight," he says as he pulls back.

"Who?"

"I never asked you what happened and I promised I won't, but I can tell you miss her. Just give her a chance," Alex whispers in my ear before walking away.

I turn and see Lil propped up against the wall, holding the playbill for
Grease
. She's wearing her leather jacket over a long black dress that hangs to the floor, but her face is clear of anything dark. She doesn't even have on her red lipstick.

"Why would they name that character Rizzo? She's way cooler than that suggests."

My breath catches at the sound of her voice. Alex is right. I have missed her. I shrug my shoulders and walk to meet her.

"So you and Jock Strap? Are you guys doin' it?" Lil raises one eyebrow.

"Do I smell different?" I ask.

She leans in and takes a whiff, then shakes her head. She pauses and her eyes get soft around the edges. The blue clears of any darkness to reveal the color of the sky on a clear summer day. "Do you love him?"

"I don't know," I say. "I like him. Maybe that's better than love."

"Marty, about that night," Lil starts, but I cut her off.

"It's over. I think we both did things we regret that night."

It's what I realized when the smoke and anger cleared. I forgot about what I said, about how I exposed Lil's soul when she didn't want that. I may have wanted her to scream, for her to show the world who she is, but I should've waited for her to find her own voice.

"I told you I wasn't a Juliet," Lil says, and pulls a cigarette from her bag.

"Who wants to be Juliet? She's an idiot." Lil laughs and lights the cigarette. It takes a second to register that we're in the school and not on her grandpa's barn in the open air. My mouth falls open. "What are you doing?"

"You're such a Pollyanna," she smiles and exhales a cloud of smoke into my face. "Maggie and I are finally leaving this town. She got a job in California."

My brain takes a second to comprehend what Lil just said. How in one fell swoop, she's pulled herself out of my life and I didn't even have the opportunity to grab hold of her or try to make her stay. My knees buckle and sink and every part of me wants to cry at the same time.

"You're leaving?" I whisper. I never imagined she'd go. I knew our friendship would never be the same, but I always thought she'd be there to remind me of who I am, of what I want my life to be. To scream with me.

Lil takes a long drag of her cigarette, but I can see the corners of her mouth pull down. She can't hide from me.

"We've outgrown the trailer. I need my own room. How am I supposed to get laid with my mom right next to me?"

I grab her in a hug, one I should have given her months ago, one she's needed since the day her father walked out and her grandpa walked away. I know I did the same thing. I told her I would never leave and that's exactly what I did.

"I'm so sorry," I say in her ear. I won't let go now. My soul sings because she showed me the power I could find in being myself.

Lil whispers, "You were the best part of this place. The best part of me."

And then she turns and walks down the hallway, a trail of smoke following behind her.

***

***

Alex drives me home as I cry in the front seat. Tear after tear streams down my face like rain on the windshield. My heart is heavy with so many words I want to say to Lil, with months of wasted time, with love for her and Maggie and their trailer.

I go up to my room and pull out my box of poetry. The notebook Lil gave me sits on top. I haven't written much lately. I've been saying my words instead of writing them, but even still, almost every page is full. I don't have time to give Lil everything that I want, but maybe, just maybe, she can take me with her.

***

I drive over to her house, my hand clutching Lil's gift. I even wrapped it in black paper with a red bow. It took days to make, the cutting and pasting and constant glue on my fingers that stuck to everything. I practically bought out Hobby Lobby. But now it's done.

I knock on the trailer door and Maggie opens it.

"Marty!" she yells, and throws her arms around me. "I was afraid I wouldn't see you before we left."

I'm afraid of what life will be without you. I'm afraid I won't be able to breathe knowing you're so far away
.

"Never," I smile. "Is Lil here?"

Maggie motions inside and I walk in. Everything's packed up, all Lil's records and blankets and clothes, but the walls feel the same, like I'm cradled and safe. I swallow the lump in my throat and twist the skull ring on my finger. This is the last time I'll stand here. This is the last time I'll be alive in this moment with Lil.

"Hey, Pollyanna," she says. "I wasn't sure I'd see you."

"I wanted to give you this." I hold out the gift and Lil takes it.

"You didn't need to," she says.

"Yes, I did."
I needed to give you so much more
. "Open it."

She looks at me with apprehension in her eyes. She knows this is goodbye and part of me thinks she hoped I wouldn't come, that I would walk out on her without saying a word. But she means more to me than that. She means more to me than every word I've ever written.

Lil pulls the paper back corner by corner, and reveals the book I made. The title sparkles in gold and silver sequins on the cover. "We Are Dancer". She opens it up and starts to read.

"Your poems?" she asks. I nod. "I can't." She tries to shove the book back into my arms, but I won't take it. I don't need them. Those words live inside me and around me, like the bits of my grandma I find sparkling in my soul.

"Yes, you can."

Lil's flips through the pages of every poem I've ever written, every word I locked in the box in the bottom drawer of my desk.

"I have something for you, too." She moves over to a stack of papers sitting on top of her record player. "Here."

She hands me a heavy folder and I open it. University of California, Berkeley is written across the top. "A college application?"

"Don't stay here. Be a writer, Marty."

I look up at Lil, at her eyes as clear as the sky. Eyes that altered me before I knew I needed it. She deserves the moon and stars and a wild heart-pounding-love-filled life. We should be dancing in a universe filled with music and words and friendship, not saying goodbye.

"Please don't leave," I say and grab her in another hug, squeezing until our bodies are so close together I feel like we could mesh into one.

"Everyone leaves," Lil's quivering voice whispers in my ear.

"I love you," I say.

Lil takes a breath. Time stops and the trailer is filled with the memories of the past and the weight of the present and the brightness, like sunrise over a barren field, of the future.

"I love you, too, Pollyanna."

***

I get in my car after saying goodbye to Maggie and toss the folder with the application Lil gave me on the front seat. As I pull away from Addison Farm, away from Lil and her mom and all my soul-consuming, painfully alive moments of the past year, I smile. Rolling down the windows, I turn on the stereo. Only one song can be played right now. One song to remember I'm breathing and feeling and screaming with every bit of my life. As the summer sun starts to fade over the horizon, I turn up "Human" as loud as it will go and swerve my car until the road is marked with so many curved lines the next person to travel down it will have to make their own path.

When I get home, I toss the University of Michigan application that's been on my desk for two years into the garbage and replace it with Lil's gift.

California doesn't sound so bad. I hear it's summer there all year round.

THE END

First, I want to thank my husband, Kyle. Without his grace, dedication, and utter belief in me, this book would not have been possible. Thank you for letting me read you page after page of the manuscript. For being my cheerleader. For being the love of my life. For being a father and a mother at times to our two girls. For believing in me. It's easy to write about love because I have you.

I want to thank Saira Rao and Carey Albertine for reading
Playing Nice
in its infancy and loving it. For believing Marty and Lil had a story to tell. For constantly coming back to the words on the page and loving them more and more. Thank you for your guidance and laughter. You never doubted that this book was meant to be shared with people. I hope I've made you proud.

Thank you, Anna Weber, for sending me an email demanding I make the phone call that changed my life.

Thank you to Allison Williams and Julie O'Connell for watching my kids so I could pursue a dream.

Thank you to Genevieve Gagne-Hawes for reading
Playing Nice
, loving it, and then telling me how to make it better. Your guidance made Marty and Lil soar. (And your copy edits corrected my terrible habit of forgetting commas.)

Thank you to all the great musical influences in my life: The Avett Brothers, The Decemberists, Cat Stevens, Bob Seger, Simon and Garfunkel. Every musical ever written. Music is pure joy. Life cannot be experienced unless a great soundtrack accompanies it.

To all the teachers from my past who molded who I am. To all the teachers I worked with in the schools I called home: New York City, Boston, Columbus. To all the teachers who stood up and said they'd read my book. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I took a class in college called Young Adult Literature with a professor named Dr. Jackie Glasgow and I fell in love with books all over again. But it wasn't the genre that changed my life; it was the teacher who exposed it to me.

Thank you to my daughters, Drew and Hazel. I wrote this for you. I hope you see the true potential of life. That you can drive with the windows down, screaming at the top of your lungs, blaring music, and think life doesn't get any better than this. Then know that it does. I am because you are.

Thank you, Susan— for answering my phone calls at 2am, for loving me from the day my family became yours. You inspired this story. I never met your mom, but I hope you see her in the pages of this book.

From the time I was small, my parents taught me that dreams matter. That if I wanted to sing on stage or write a book or be CEO, I could. I've had many dreams in my life, some came true, others not so much. I'm still waiting for the day I'm called on stage to play Eponine in Les Miserables. Because of my parents, I never stopped wondering what might come next. Thank you, Russ and Sydney Schnurr, for raising a dreamer.

Words matter, from the dark to the funny. Marty believed that if she chose the right words, they could heal. I hope
Playing Nice
heals. That people read this book and share the power of healing with others, through words on a page or words out of your mouth. This book is me hanging out the car window and screaming at the top of my lungs for everyone to hear. Thank you, reader, for joining in the chaos.