Part 19 (1/2)
”How long have you known?” he spat.
”Known what?” Mom said. ”Cara told me she got dressed up for an oral presentation as part of her French exam.”
Karl walked down the rest of the staircase with me fixed in his glare. ”So you lied to your mother. Very nice,” he said.
I could never be a criminal. The torture of waiting for Karl's revelation and everything that would come next was unbearable. Karl handed Mom the bill and watched my face as she read it.
”I don't understand...” Mom began.
”Of course you don't,” Karl said. ”Luckily, I'm smarter than the both of you, so I do. The biggest bill is the hair, which we knew about but which you never told us cost anywhere near this much. I'd expect more responsibility from you, Cara. At least I used to expect more responsibility from you.”
”Karl, I'm sorry. I-”
He held up a finger. ”Did I say I was done? Now, the second highest bill is from a store called Hot Topic. It's not one I frequent, so I used something called 'the Internet' and looked it up. Turns out the store has some very cute clothes. That made me think, 'If Cara bought some very cute clothes-even if she spent a little too much money on them-why wouldn't she show them to her mother and me? After all, she always shows us when she buys something she's excited about.' So I poked around the store's website a little more, and I realized that in addition to some very cute clothes, they also sell some very inappropriate clothes. Could Cara have bought these inappropriate clothes-a very sizable amount of these inappropriate clothes-and hidden the purchase from us?”
My mom's eyes were wide now. ”Cara?”
Karl shook his head. ”Not yet, Harriet.”
He turned back to me. ”So I went through your room. And sure enough, tucked away behind other things in your drawers and your closet was a whole other wardrobe of clothing. Clothing not dissimilar to what you're wearing now. Of course, not all of it was put away. Quite a bit of the clothing was balled up in your closet-dirty, one would imagine, from being worn. Now, until this moment, I haven't seen you wearing any of this clothing. Harriet, have you?”
”No,” my mom said, looking at me with a terrible mix of anger and brutal disappointment.
”Which can only lead me to believe that you've been fooling us, wearing one set of clothes when we've seen you and another when you get somewhere else. Presumably to school. Would that be correct?”
There was no point in saying otherwise. ”Yes,” I admitted.
Karl smiled, triumphant. Mom looked like I had punched her in the stomach.
”So our whole conversation ... you were lying to me? To my face?” she asked.
I couldn't answer out loud. I just nodded.
”Excellent.” Karl beamed at the confession. ”So here's what I've done so far: I've confiscated all your clothing and all your makeup.”
”You... what?”
”When you want to get dressed in the morning, you will ask your mother to pick you out an outfit. If you want makeup, your mother can apply it for you.”
”Karl-” Mom said, but Karl shut her up with a glare.
”Since you have proven you can't be trusted with privacy, you'll notice your room no longer has a door,” Karl said. ”Your bathroom does have a door, but that door no longer can lock. Both rooms are subject to spot checks at my discretion, and I reserve the right to confiscate whatever I see fit. For example, the pile of diaries under your bed is now mine, and I look forward to perusing them at my leisure.”
”You took my journals?”
”I don't see that I had a choice,” Karl said. ”I have a stranger in my house. That's a dangerous situation for me. The only way I can protect myself is to find out everything about her that I can.”
”Dangerous? Karl, you've known me since I was four.”
Karl shook his head sadly, but his voice remained impa.s.sive. ”The girl I knew-the girl I was willing to take on as my daughter-would never betray me the way you did. I've been breaking my back to try to get you into Northwestern. You think your teachers will recommend you now?”
”The way I dress shouldn't matter to them,” I said.
”But it does. You think they'll want you on a college campus looking like that?”
We were having the wrong conversation. I wasn't a real emo girl. I would never dress like this at college. But no explanation I could offer would make things any better.
”Maybe,” I said. ”Colleges love diversity.”
”Do they love drug addicts, Cara?” Karl asked. ”Do they love alcoholics? Do they love teen pregnancies?”
What?
”Karl, that's not what I-”
”How do I know? I don't know who you are anymore. I don't know what you're doing. I don't know what you've done. How long have you been sneaking around behind our backs, Cara? What else have you been lying about?”
”Nothing! I'm sorry-I made a terrible mistake. I shouldn't have lied to you, and I shouldn't have gone behind your backs. But I swear, I'm not leading some secret double life. I'm the same person I always was.”
”I don't believe you,” Karl said. ”But if-if-you're going to continue to live under my roof, here's what you will do: you will go to school, you will come home, you will do your homework. You will not have a credit card, a car, a phone, a television, a computer, or any life whatsoever outside of school. When you are in my house, I don't want to see you except for meals. You are to remain in your room and out of my sight.”
I couldn't believe this was happening. Had Karl really said ”if” I continue to live under his roof? Had I really messed things up that badly?
”For how long?” I asked.
”Lucky for me, you'll be out of the house in a year and a half, right? Now please go up to your room. After you give me your cell phone.”
My insides felt shredded, but Karl looked just fine. He almost seemed happy. A smug smile played on his face. I stared at him, then handed over my cell phone and went up to my room.
My doorless, journal-less, computer-less, TV-less room. I wanted to change out of my emo-garb, but oh yeah: no clothes. Every drawer and my closet had been emptied.
What could I do? I lay back on my bed and listened to Mom and Karl scream at each other downstairs. Or to be more accurate, I listened to Mom scream, plead, and cry while Karl gave her the same disinterested att.i.tude he had given me. At one point he even turned on the TV.
They both seemed to agree that I was horrible. It was the degree of horribleness and the extent of the consequences that had them banging heads. Mom thought stripping away every bit of choice in my life was a touch extreme. Karl thought it was the only sensible way to deal with a stranger in the house. Mom thought the demotion from ”daughter” to ”stranger” was also a touch extreme. Karl said if ”Harriet” didn't like it, then she and ”her daughter” could go live in someone else's house and leave him alone.
It went on for a really long time. At a certain point I crawled under the comforter, pulled it over my head so their voices were m.u.f.fled, and cried myself to sleep.
I woke up at two. Mom was sitting on the bed next to me, rubbing my arm. Her face was puffy from crying, but she laughed when I sat up to look at her.
”You really need to wash your face. Go take a shower. We'll talk afterward.”
I felt even fuzzier and drunker than when I'd had the beer with Nate, but I managed to get up and stagger into the hall. On the way, I noticed my computer was back on my desk, all my clothes were stacked on my dressers, and my door-while not reattached-was now leaning in the hallway next to the jamb. I cast my eyes under my bed and saw with relief that my giant plastic bin of journals was back in place. At least at first glance, they looked beautifully untouched.
I winced against the light in the bathroom as I peeked at my face. No wonder Mom had laughed: I looked like a badly beaten mime.
I took a long hot shower, then pulled on my favorite furry white robe that seemed to have magically reappeared on its usual hook. Mom wasn't in my room anymore, but I smelled something in the kitchen, so I padded down to find two spots set at the table: one with hot tea and one with warm milk and cinnamon, my favorite childhood drink when I couldn't sleep. I sat and sipped it gratefully.