Part 16 (1/2)
”Business? But last night you two ...” My voice trailed off as I tried to find the politically correct term to recap Mom's rage and his attempts to calm her down.
”Yeah, well, she and I talked a few times today about refinancing the mortgage. Seems to make the most sense right now.”
Relief overshadowed my shock. ”Great,” I said- and meant it. While I'd been totally ready to step up with the mortgage thing, I was more than happy to ”be the kid again” and hand this responsibility to Dad. Besides, he'd be likely to make things better, unlike moi.
I got off the phone and helped Mom stir-fry some veggies. I kept thinking Alison would call ... surely Jared had told her about my nose disaster? But after dinner, I couldn't wait any longer, so I decided to pick up the phone myself.
Jared answered.
Crazy as it seemed, my heart went all erratic.
”Hey, it's Nic,” I managed.
”How's your nose?”
”Not as bad as Rascal's.”
He laughed.
My accusations about the digital photo seemed to fly out the window. It was like they'd never happened. And it was no longer like talking to my best friend's older brother. Or a friend, even. Somehow, while I hadn't been looking, he'd stepped up to the role he'd once teased me about. He'd become an Extra-Hot Senior. And I was a lowly junior, trying to catch my shallow breath.
”Thanks for the sign today,” I told him after a silence. ”It was great.”
”You're welcome. I'd originally planned to do something with bright colors at the print shop, but then suddenly I didn't have a car.”
”I loved it just the way it was,” I gushed.
Then I realized I'd said ”loved.” Not ”liked” or ”really liked.” Did he notice, too?
”So,” I said, and swallowed hard. ”I was wondering if Alison was home?”
”She's in the shower. But I'll tell her you called.”
”Okay, thanks.” I bit my lip, giving him ample opportunity to take charge of the conversation-tell me stuff, ask me stuff (like out).
But again, no dice. He just said he'd see me tomorrow, and we disconnected.
”Yeah,” I said. Then held the receiver against my cheek and let out a sigh.
Alison didn't call back. All night.
I tried not to keep looking at the clock. (How long could a shower take?) I tried not to overa.n.a.lyze every aspect of our friends.h.i.+p-what I might have done to make her mad. I tried not to worry and/or care. But I failed on every point.
Taking gel and a brush to my hair the next morning, I ran through can-we-talk scenarios with Alison in my head. But since I didn't know what she would come back at me with, it was pretty hard to bring them to hug-and-make-up endings.
Alison didn't stop by my locker before first period. When I spotted her by a junk machine later, she suddenly got very busy studying her choices. I imagined her thinking: Hmmm ... M&M's or Skittles? Say hi to Nic or pretend not to see her?
My head told me to catch a clue and walk on by. But my gut wouldn't give up that easily. This was Alison- who knew me better than anyone in the world, who knew that in my weakest moments I zipped inside The Dress and sang old Beatles songs. Alison, who'd seen me through so many tough days before.
”You'll be proud of me,” I said, trying to break the ice.
After a silence so long I wondered if I'd celebrated a birthday, she looked up. Her expression flat, nonread-able. ”Oh, and why is that?”
No! No, no, no. no. She was supposed to guess. But like a meteor had fallen from the sky and thunked my head, I realized that of course, she hadn't forgotten. She just wasn't playing.
I worked fast for something neutral so I could go off and regroup before I did something goofy like tear up. ”I tackled my hair today instead of just throwing it back.”
”Your hair? I thought you said you were over Rascal.”
”I am.”
”Oh, you're telling me your sudden interest in your hair isn't totally guy-related?”
I had thick skin for slams from girls like Kylie. But not from Alison. ”Okay, fine, I was up early, worried about seeing you today. It's like you're avoiding me. You didn't come to my game yesterday. You didn't call me, even after I left a message. I did my hair this morning just to keep my hands busy while I thought about what to say to you.”
There: the truth.
She grabbed a Snickers bar from the well of the machine and tore open the wrapper. ”You're right,” she said, and shrugged. ”Jared did tell me, but I didn't call you back.”
My heart jumped to my throat. No ”I'm sorry”? Who was this redheaded girl? ”We need to talk.”
”About what? You and my brother?”
”Actually, about what's happening between you and me. I mean, Jared and I-”
”Spare me.”
”Alison! It's not what you think.”
”How would you know what I think? When practically the only McCreary you talk to these days is Jared?”
Hey-that wasn't fair. ”It's not my fault you hide from me and don't call me back.”
”Look,” she said, ”I'd love to stay and chat, but really, I think we're done here.”
My mouth dropped open.
She turned and walked away. So very civilized. So in control.
Leaving me so incredibly heartbroken that I couldn't even stand to think about it. More heartbroken than any guy could possibly make me feel.
Hang much-loved dress above Alison's locker with the words ”Best Friends Forever” spray-painted on the fabric
That evening, Alison didn't call-again. Not that I really expected her to any more than I expected to wake up the next morning two inches taller or with a perfectly coiffed 'do. (But hey a girl could dream.) In fact, not only did I wake up still short and best-friend-challenged, but as I shuffled into the kitchen, I patted down what felt like Shredded Mini-Wheats on my head.