Shattered (2 page)

“Well, excuse me for trying to help you. I just thought that—”

“I wanted to do this with Lola. She thought she could drive, but her mom needs the car and—”

“Now there is a blessing in disguise! Young girls should not be driving into the city at night. And like I said, I’m perfectly happy to accompany you—”

“This was going to be a special thing for Lola and me,” I say firmly. “Lola won the tickets on the radio, and it seemed like a God-thing—”

“Are you saying God wants you and Lola to drive into the city at night, all by yourselves?” She looks at me like I’m still seven, like she’s imagining a little girl behind the wheel of a car, driving off to what will be certain death.

“I’m not a child, Mom.”

“Yes... I know, Cleo. But you’re not an experienced driver, either.”

“I’m a good driver!”

“Maybe so, but you’ve never driven in the city, dear.”

“And whose fault is that?”

She shrugs. “Look, sweetie, I said I would go with you. Isn’t that good enough? And if it makes you feel better, I don’t even have to sit with you girls.”

“We don’t need a chaperone, Mom.” Still standing, I pick up a glass of already poured orange juice. “But if you want to drop us off and pick us up, maybe that would be okay.”

“Fine.” She nods in a way that convinces me she still plans on actually attending the concert with us. “So the concert’s Saturday night, right?”

“No, Mom.” I take several gulps of juice, then reach for a piece of raisin-bread toast. As usual, despite that Dad’s on a business trip and it’s just Mom and me, she’s made enough breakfast to feed a family of six. “I told you the concert’s
tonight.
Lola just won the tickets yesterday and—”

“Is that all you’re eating?”

Ignoring this, I point at today’s date on the calendar on the fridge. “And you know as well as I do that it’s your friend’s bach-elorette party tonight.”

Mom frowns. “I thought you might want to come with me.”

“I don’t even know her.”

“But she’d love to meet you, Cleo.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah right, Mom. I’m sure on the eve of her wedding, she is dying to meet your teenage daughter.”

“But she was one of my best friends in college.”

“Which is exactly why you don’t want to miss her party and why you should let me use Dad’s car. In fact, if you’re that worried about me driving in the city, maybe Lola could drive.”

Mom’s look is all the answer I need. No way is she going to let Lola drive Dad’s beamer into the city.

I take a bite of toast, then nod to the clock. “I gotta go, Mom.”

“Take this too.” Before I can leave, she grabs a carton of yogurt from the fridge and pushes it at me.

“No, I’m fine with juice and toast.”

“Oh, Cleo.” She frowns, as if I might expire from hunger before lunch.

“Later, Mom.” I hook the strap of my bag over one shoulder, blow her a kiss, and zip out the door.

Feeling slightly defeated, I hurry toward Lola’s house. I hadn’t expected Mom to roll over on this, but I had hoped for some sort of compromise. Maybe after school I can talk her into dropping us off before the party and picking us up afterward. I’ll play the sympathy card, reminding her that this is the last night for me to be with my best friend.

As I get closer to Lola’s house, just six houses down from mine, I feel excruciatingly sad. I can’t believe this is Lola’s last day at school. We’ve been best friends since eighth grade, and in less than three months we would’ve been graduating together. But Lola’s world got turned upside down last summer when her parents divorced. And then Lola’s mom, Vera, lost her job shortly before Christmas. She got herself a headhunter and was finally offered a position in San Diego a few weeks ago—and they are moving tomorrow.

Now I realize Vera desperately needs this job, but I still don’t get why she wouldn’t let Lola stay behind and live with me until graduation. Well, aside from the fact that Lola helps to babysit her twin brothers after school, which in my opinion is totally unfair. In fact, I was so upset when Vera put her foot down, saying there was no way Lola would get to stay with me, that I told her so.

“I don’t understand how you can be so selfish,” I told Vera after she’d shot down my idea.

Okay, I wasn’t exactly being respectful, but I was too exasperated to care. Plus, Vera is the kind of person who speaks her mind and usually encourages others to do so too. And I was fed up. I’d witnessed Vera taking unfair advantage of Lola for years. Like when the twins were born seven years ago, Lola automatically turned into a live-in nanny. And after Lola’s dad left, things only got worse.

“That’s just because you’re an only child,” Vera told me after I’d calmed down from having a small hissy fit. “And because you’re spoiled.”

“I am not spoiled.”

She just laughed at me. “Your mother does everything for you, Cleo. I’ll bet she even makes your bed.”

“She does not!” Okay, the truth is she does sometimes, but I was not going to let that cat out of the bag.

“And she chauffeurs you to ballet like you’re a prima donna. And she probably still cuts the crusts off your bread—”

“You’re nuts!”

She sighed. “I know you love Lola and you want her to be a spoiled prima donna just like you, but that’s just not going to happen.”

I tried other tactics, but Vera was not backing down. And then I realized Lola seemed to be resigned to her fate... or else she was actually looking forward to relocating to San Diego. Come to think of it, it doesn’t sound half bad, considering our so-called spring weather has been nothing but gray clouds and rain. Not that I’m admitting this.

Now Lola opens her front door. “Hey, there you are.”

“What a mess.” I stare at the stacks of boxes and piles of junk and what looks like total chaos behind her.

“The moving van is supposed to be here any minute.” She jingles her keys. “I have to get the car out of the driveway.”

“Ready when you are.”

“And we don’t want to be late.”

“That shouldn’t matter to you since it’s your last day anyway,” I say glumly, following her out to the Subaru wagon.

Vera has been letting Lola use her car to drive us to school. That might seem generous at first glance, but it’s only to ensure that Lola gets home in time to watch the twins after school. Why Vera can’t watch her own kids is a mystery. But Lola is too nice to complain. Oh, that’s right; she’s not spoiled... like me.

“This is so sad.” Lola starts the car. “The only thing that’ll get me through this day is the concert tonight.” She turns and grins. “This is going to be an awesome night, Cleo!”

I don’t have the heart to admit that my mom is balking at letting me use Dad’s car. Yesterday I assured Lola I could pull this off. But after this morning’s conversation, I’m not so sure.

“You still want to go, don’t you?” she asks after I don’t respond.

“Of course.”

“And your mom’s letting you use the car?”

I take in a deep breath. “Well... we’re still discussing it.”

“Oh...” Her smile fades.

“You know how she is,” I say lightly. “She’s all freaked about me driving in the city at night.”

“Right...”

“But I plan to work on her more after school.” “Uh-huh.”

“If all else fails, I’m going to guilt her into it,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

“That should totally work.” Lola’s tone is sarcastic now. She knows my mom too well to believe me.

“Somehow we’re going to that concert.”

“I offered to drop Mom and the boys off at their gig tonight, but she said no way was she going to be stuck at a kiddie birthday party at Fun Town until the concert ends.” She sighs. “I kinda see her point.”

“Yeah, that does seem a little torturous.”

“And if they don’t get to go, the boys will throw a fit. And really, it’s only fair since this is their last night with their friends, too.”

“I’ll just have to get my mom to drop us off and pick us up,” I tell her.

“She won’t mind?”

“I don’t think so. Like I said, if necessary, I’ll guilt her into it.”

“Don’t make her feel too bad,” Lola says. “I mean, it’s not like we
have
to go. We can always just hang at home for our last night. If I hadn’t won those tickets, we wouldn’t be doing much anyway.”

I turn and study my friend. How is it that she’s both nice
and
pretty? I can’t even imagine how much I’m going to miss this girl! And no way am I going to be the reason her last night here is a washout.

Somehow I have to make my mom understand how important tonight is because more than ever I am determined—
Lola and I are going to that concert!

L
ola and I have never been part of the “it” clique, as they like to call themselves. Our rationalization is that we wouldn’t want to be as shallow and selfish and mean as those girls anyway. Mostly we keep to ourselves. But we do have a small circle of acquaintances—a combination of some youth group kids, a girl who takes ballet with me, a few “academics,” and a couple of Lola’s jazz band friends. We’re not exactly geeks, but I’m sure the “it” clique likes to think we are. It probably makes them feel more important about themselves. Like they need that.

But one cool thing about our group of friends is they all seem to love Lola nearly as much as I do. And realizing that she won’t be around much longer, they’re all surprisingly sweet today. At lunchtime we all make a big deal about saying goodbye to her. And Leo Simmons, who I’m sure has been crushing on her for years, buys everyone ice cream in Lola’s honor. I think she is touched.

“This was a great day,” she tells me as she drives us home.

“Great and getting greater.” I smile.

“Maybe for you, Cleo. I have to go home and help Mom clean up our house. That should be fun.”

“Do you want help?” I offer halfheartedly.

“No, that’s okay.”

“Yeah, I should probably focus my energy on my mom.”

“Do you really think she’ll agree to drive us?”

“I’m 99 percent sure.” That’s an exaggeration, but I’m trying to think positively.

“Cool.” Lola is all smiles as she stops in front of my house. “I can’t wait.”

“I’ll call you later.” I reach for my bag. “That way we can coordinate what we’re wearing to the concert. And maybe you can spend the night at my house, too.”

“Sounds good. Especially considering we were going to sleep on the floor tonight anyway.”

So I wave and get out of the car. I’m sure I can convince Mom to taxi us tonight. I will begin with sweet talk, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll move into guilting mode.

“Hi, Mom,” I say cheerfully as I come into the kitchen. “Did you have a good day?”

She looks up from where she’s writing something in a card. “I did. And how about you?”

“It was kind of rough seeing Lola’s last day at school.” Then I tell her about how we had an impromptu party for her at lunch.

“That must’ve been nice.” She slips the card into the envelope.

“But Lola’s still feeling pretty bummed. It’s so hard for her to leave all her friends and everything... so close to graduation.”

My mom nods with a sympathetic expression. “It’s too bad for Lola. But I know Vera feels fortunate to have gotten such a great job. She was telling me a little about it today. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity for her.”

“Anyway, I told Lola that you could probably drop us off at the concert tonight and pick us—”

“Why did you tell her that?” Mom’s brow creases.

“Because we talked about it this morning,
remember?”

“
You mentioned it, Cleo, but I never agreed to anything.”

“But you could drop us off before you go to your party. You could just go into the city and—”

“Except that Trina’s bachelorette party is in Riverside.”

“Couldn’t you drive us to the city and then go to Riverside?” I plead.

Her mouth twists to one side in a way that makes me brace myself. This is her
sarcastic
expression. Like she’s about to say something in jest. “Well, let’s see, Cleo. It’s almost an hour to get into the city, longer during rush hour.” She holds up one finger. “And it’s an hour to get back here.” She holds up two fingers. “Then it’s another hour to get to Riverside and an hour to get back.” She now has four fingers up. “And then it’s another hour to get back into the city again.” She looks at her five splayed fingers and just shakes her head. “Five hours so far. What do
you
think?”

“I think you should let me drive Dad’s car.”

“You know that’s not going to happen.”

“But I’m almost eighteen.” I’m trying to keep my voice even. “You have to let me grow up sometime.”

She smiles a bit smugly. “Yes, dear. And that’s exactly why I’m saying no to driving your dad’s car into the city tonight. Because I want you to grow up and live to a nice ripe old age.” She picks up the newspaper and holds it up, as if it holds some mysterious kind of explanation.