Remember When (Remember Trilogy #1) (20 page)

   He was sitting at the kitchen table, making smalltalk with Dad when I walked in casually, as if I hadn’t just been caught half-naked only five minutes before. “Hey, Trip. ‘Morning, Dad.”

   I gave my father a kiss on the cheek and poured myself a cup of coffee as Dad excused himself to the garage.

   Before I could even take a seat, Trip asked, “How’s the hangover?”

   I just about dropped the sugar onto the floor. “Oh, God, Trip. Was I a completely wasted mess last night?”

   He sat back and smirked at me, this gorgeous boy sitting in my kitchen. “Nah. But you were definitely in rare form.”

   I brought my mug over to the table and sat down. But before the coffee had even hit my lips, he said, “Hey. Slam that thing down, we’ve got somewhere to be at twelve.”

   I lowered my mug just enough to give him a perplexed look over the top of it. “Where’re we going?”

   He grinned and said, “Just shut up and finish getting yourself ready. I’ll meet you out front when you’re done.”

* * *

   I sank back into my chair and crossed my feet at the ankles, fitting them between two of the seats in front of me. The Loews Theatre had just undergone a major renovation, turning its three screen, rinkydink movie house into a massive, sprawling ten-plex. Trip and I were in one of the newer theatres on the second floor, and I was enjoying the new, reclining seats they’d upgraded with plush leatherette and cupholders.

   I grabbed the Diet Coke from mine and took a big sip from the straw. I was still feeling a tad dehydrated, and the soda was ice-cold and hitting just the right spot.

   Trip had dragged me there to catch a matinee. Loews always reserved one theatre to show classic movies on Saturday and Sunday afternoons; I’d seen
Sound of Music
on this same screen over the holidays, trying to get my mind off Trip at the time by losing myself in one of my all-time, favorite flicks. I thought it was fate or irony or whatever that I was sitting there at that moment not only with him, but while watching Franco Zeffirelli’s
Romeo and Juliet
.

  
Mrs. Mason had originally intended to show it to us during class, but the nuns in the library had “lost” the video. Rumor had it that some scenes were pretty racy, and we figured the sisters had tossed it on a bonfire during a book-burning ceremony or something.

   The movie turned out to be really interesting. I’d never seen it before. It was probably the first film that I didn’t get to say smugly, “The book was better”, as I’d started to share Trip’s opinion of Shakespeare and realized that a lot of his writing was tedious, boring and hard to understand in its outdated speech.

   But seeing his words play out onscreen was an entirely different animal. The visuals were beautiful, the costumes were gorgeous. The guy who played Romeo was pretty cute, too, so that was simply a bonus.

   When it got to our scene, Trip gave me a nudge, saying, “Here we go
,” and I laughed while trying to concentrate on the screen.

   Watching a movie with Trip wasn’t like watching it with a normal person. He kept talking through the whole scene, pointing out how we should have done ours differently, gone with our original costume idea, changed the dialogue, filmed it in another location, etc. I was trying to tune him out. Up until that point, I’d just been content to watch a
professional director’s
version of the film, without even thinking to compare it to ours. There was Trip, criticizing almost every decision we’d made. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.

   “Trip, I happen to
like
our film. I thought it was great and everyone else did, too.” I lowered my voice and added, “
Obv
iously, it’s not as good as this, but can you please just shut up and let me watch the movie?”

   I gave a huff, crossed my arms and turned my attention back to the screen.

   And that’s when a handful of popcorn bounced off my face and scattered across my lap.

Chapter 25

CLASS ACTION

   Trip and I didn’t have much time to spend together over the following couple of weeks. After the prom- which Trip refused to attend for reasons unbeknownst to me- the partying had been put on hold as everyone readied for final exams. Everyone was hit with a case of senioritis, just riding out the minutes until graduation. The days seemed to be flying by so fast at a time I would have rather had everything come to a standstill.
  

  
It was scary to think that those were the official final days of my childhood, that I was going to be expected to grow up, go off to school and figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I was pretty stressed out about the whole thing, but did my best to push all those thoughts to the back of my mind for the time being.

   Graduation was the first week in June and the weather that Tuesday was looking pretty iffy. No one wanted it to rain, forcing the ceremony inside. Everyone kept their fingers crossed that the weather would hold out just long enough for us to get our diplomas and get to Rymer’s afterparty without getting drenched.

   Thankfully, aside from a few drizzly raindrops, our commencement ceremony went off without a hitch, and by the time it was over, the sun had actually peeked through for a brief instance before nightfall.

   Kuman Royal was our salutatorian and he managed to bore everyone with an uninspiring speech. The boy had been a robot from the time that he was born, so I guessed all that studying didn’t allow him to hone his people skills to the hilt.

   But then Heather Ferrante took the podium as valedictorian and just rocked the place.

   She spoke a lot about “who we were”, ticking off our collective memories about talent shows and sporting events and favorite teachers, her mention of Mrs. Catannia bringing a few hoots and wolf whistles from the male members of the audience (as she was the original cougar/TILF/thing-we-had-no-official-name-for at the time), and her reference to the day when Rymer downed a record-setting fourteen frenchbread pizzas in the cafeteria brought about a collective laughing fit, while Rymer stood up and took a bow.

   But when she started talking about “who we are” and “who we will be”, the audience settled down in order to absorb every word. She talked about our hopes and our goals and about how scary it was going to be to start anew all over again. That we were, in fact, the future and that that responsibility shouldn’t be taken lightly. But it was when she was wrapping up her big speech and said- and these words have stayed with me throughout my life- “
We know what we are, but know not what we may be
” -that I noticed a lump in my throat. For the slightest moment, you could hear a pin drop, but then everyone got over their sappy sentimentality as the place erupted in applause.

   After the ceremony, we spent some time milling about, saying congratulations to one another and taking pictures. Lisa pointed out the shiny, black corvette in the parking lot sporting a big, red bow; a gift to some lucky, spoiled graduate being presented all showy like in some tacky movie.

   I gave Mrs. Mason a high-five on my way out to the oval lawn, who took the opportunity to offer some parting words of wisdom as she smiled, winked and said, “Give ‘em hell, Layla.”

   Trip was standing with his parents, so I went over to say hello. His face lit up when he saw me. “Layla! Hey, come meet my sister!”

   I was introduced to Claudia Wilmington, in town from San Diego for the auspicious occasion. I knew that she was twenty-three and had been living out in California since she was eighteen, never having moved back in with her nomadic family after college.

   I also knew that she was living with her girlfriend, and that her parents didn’t have any clue about it.

   I said hello to everyone, and Mrs. Wilmington was her usual chipper self, smoothing a hand over Trip’s hair, trying to ready him for a photo. His father was friendly enough, but he seemed distracted as if he had somewhere else more important to be instead of at his only son’s graduation. But they both said hello pleasantly, and Mr. Wilmington told me to get next to Trip for a picture, so I sidled up and threw my arm over his shoulder. Trip flashed me one of his evil grins and then scooped me up in his arms, the both of us cracking up as his father snapped the photo.

  
We said goodbye to his family and went to find my dad and Bruce. They were standing with Lisa, Pickford and the DeSantos, and we all said hello before the cameras came out. I managed to get a congratulations and a few snapshots out of my brother before he took off, but then my dad and Lisa’s dad used up like twelve more rolls of film taking pictures of the rest of us.

  
On the way out to the parking lot, Trip and I spotted Heather and I ran over to give her a big hug. “Heather! What an amazing speech!”

  
For all her beautiful words that night, she stood there at that moment practically speechless. Finally, she stammered out, “Th-thank you.”

   I saw Trip give her a wink as I asked, “Are you going to Rymer’s?”

   She looked over my shoulder for a quick second before answering, “Oh, no, no. I don’t think so.”

  
“Oh, come on. It’s going to be so much fun. He invited the whole class! You just have to be there, okay? Just grab a friend and go. I’m expecting to see you.” I took a look at Trip and added, “
We’re
expecting you. Please come.”

   Heather blew out the breath she’d been holding. “Yeah, okay. Maybe I’ll show up for a little while.”

   “Thatta girl,” Trip said, before we went our separate ways.

* * *

   I pit-stopped home to freshen up, ditch my graduation gown and touch up my hair and makeup. It was tradition for the grads at St. Norman’s to wear white on graduation day, and I loved the chiffon tank dress I’d found, the way the A-line skirt fanned out from hip to knee. Every step I took made me feel like a prima ballerina, the silky fabric floating around my legs.

   I’d blown my hair out straight so that my graduation cap would fit on my head, but mostly, I was trying to look more classic and natural, like Michelle Pfeiffer at the end of
Grease 2.
I changed out my silver hoops for my diamond studs, put my St. Christopher medal on and did one last mirror check before running downstairs to say goodbye to Dad and Bruce. My brother and all the other underclassmen still had three days of exams to look forward to, and the public schools weren’t due to let out for weeks. Seeing as it was a Tuesday, we knew that the town of Norman would belong exclusively to the senior Class of ’91 that night.

   I headed outside just as Trip was pulling in the driveway. On my way down to his truck, I could see him just sitting there behind the wheel smiling at me as I approached. By the time I opened the door, I realized the look I saw on his face could only be described as... proud.

   “Hey, Chester,” I offered by way of a greeting. I only called him that when we were alone; one, because I didn’t want to sell him out, and two, because I liked having a secret kept just between the two of us.

   “Hey there, Lay-Lay. Looking good, I see.”

   I smiled back in answer, caught off guard because I never knew what to say whenever he threw a compliment my way. He looked gorgeous in his dark blue jeans and white, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “You, too,” I said, trying to keep everything in perspective. I mean, we were still taking these little babysteps, still working on getting our friendship back on track. I had to remind myself of that.

   We got to Rymer’s where the party was already in full swing. We made our way out to the back deck together, and I couldn’t help but be reminded how it was Tess who’d been his date for the last deck party. And this time it was me. Well, sort of.

   Rymer was in rare form- the full keg he’d picked up hours before was his treat- filling up cups and passing them out like candy on Halloween. I grabbed my beer and headed into the kitchen, looking for some bowls to put snacks into. I saw Margie Caputo, and before I could even say hello or wish her congratulations, she snipped out, “
You
came here with Trip?”

   I was surprised by her tone and just answered, “Mmm hmm.”

   I went about my task, opening a bag of Ruffles and dumping them into one of the Tupperware bowls that was waiting on the table. Margie gave a snort and spat back, “So, what, are you guys like back together again or something?”

   I folded the empty bag and threw it in the trash as I shot a confused look her way. When I saw the snotty look on her face,
I decided to say, “Um, not that I owe you an explanation, but we’re just friends.”

   She crossed her arms and added, “Well, no wonder. I heard you wouldn’t give it up and that’s why he broke up with you.”

  
What?

  
I was stunned on about twenty different levels.