Imagining elsewhere, p.14
Imagining Elsewhere, page 14
Astrid was depleted.
She sat at the bar at the Sweet Shop, nursing an egg cream, a drink Candi had ordered for her. She found it repulsive but felt compelled to finish it anyway.1 She wondered, not for the first time, if somehow her mother had invented a time machine and had transported them back to the 1950s; it wasn’t hard to believe, given the décor of the Sweet Shoppe, all sock-hop schtick.
“Hey.” Milo was beside her, his wry smile disappearing when he saw her face. “Yikes. You all right?”
Astrid grimaced and looked over her shoulder. Vince and Candi sat farther down the bar, basically making out. One of the girls from cheer was on Astrid’s other side, deeply engaged in a conversation with Chrissy. Astrid felt safe to talk.
She shook her head. There was no way to articulate the increasingly intense waves of guilt and shame she was experiencing. She had been right, in the hot tub, when she realized that, although it hadn’t hurt to tell Candi the story in the moment, the pain would come later. She was at once fascinated by what she’d said and disgusted by herself. Was what she did to Evie really about control? Was it all really about her dumb dad leaving? And, although she felt more miserable than she’d ever felt before, she couldn’t help but wonder if Candi had somehow done her a favor in forcing her to confront the depths of her own dysfunction.
Milo waited for an answer. “The short version is that I think I may have almost died,” Astrid said at last.
Milo widened his eyes. “Yeah, you look kind of pale,” he said. He reached out gently and tucked a rogue curl behind her ear. “Although for someone who almost died, I have to say your hair looks really nice like that.”
Astrid’s hand went to the messy bun piled on her head.
“Like this?” she said weakly. “I probably look like a bag lady.”
Milo shrugged. “You look pretty. But you were saying? You almost died?”
Astrid was about to begin a whispered version of her tale when Gene, the guy who worked behind the counter, approached to take Milo’s order. He asked for a coke and Gene said, “Seven bucks.”
“Seven bucks for a coke?” Astrid asked when Gene turned away. “Does it have actual cocaine in it?”
Milo gave her an inscrutable look. “Things are expensive here,” he said. “Didn’t you know that?”
Astrid sighed into her egg cream. “Well, Candi usually pays for things,” she said softly.
“Careful,” Milo whispered. “She’s been known to send a bill.” Before Astrid could respond, he asked, “So, what exactly happened at her house?”
Astrid shook her head and began again to tell Milo about the hot tub and not being able to get out. And the dry-heaving. She left out the part about her confession.
As she was wrapping up, a hush fell on the room and Astrid, along with everyone else, turned to see that someone had entered. By the way everyone was acting, it was clear something had happened, something that Astrid didn’t yet know about.
“Uh oh,” Milo said under his breath.
“What’s going on?” Astrid whispered.
“Candi’s been busy today,” Milo said.
“What do you mean? What happened?”
Milo shook his head and turned away.
“Marcel’s here,” Candi called playfully. “She’s come to confront me,” she said fake-ominously. Astrid noted, with disgust, that Jason was already apparently back in Candi’s good graces and was strategically positioned next to Vince. As usual, he had a big, gross smile plastered across his thin, mean face.
The crowd of assembled teenagers parted and, with a jolt, Astrid recognized Marcel. Her head had been shaved down to a buzz cut.
Marcel walked, slowly and with, Astrid thought, dignity, to where Candi sat, Vince standing beside her.
“Is something the matter, Marcel?” Candi asked, coyly.
“That was rotten, Candi.”
Milo sucked in his breath.
“What are you talking about?”
“Look at me,” Marcel said.
“You mean your new do?” Candi laughed. “Very punk rock.”
Marcel turned to the other students. “She made my mother do this to me.”
People gasped. Astrid noticed that a few kids near the door slipped out. How she wished she could join them.
“Your mother is the psycho,” Candi said. “She should probably be arrested for child abuse. Cause you’re right, Marcel. You look totally gnarly.”
“And then you . . .” Marcel spluttered. “You . . . kicked Scooter. She kicked my dog. He’s all right, but he—”
Candi cut her off. “I went over there to talk to your psycho mom about Earth Science and she totally wigged out. Your mother better start cooperating,” Candi glowered, “Or Scooter might get more than a kick next time.” Marcel looked stunned, but then took another step closer to Candi; despite her slight build, Marcel was positively menacing. She looked as though she would like to throttle Candi. Suddenly, both Jason and Vince rose and flanked Marcel on either side, like bouncers at a club ready to dispatch a trouble-maker.
“Put yourself in the trash,” Candi said, bored.
“What?” Marcel’s eyes widened.
“Get in the garbage, Marcel,” Candi repeated, nodding at the large, almost-overflowing trash can near the entry to the Sweet Shoppe.
Marcel inhaled sharply, seeming to swallow her tears, and walked to the front of the store. She put a hand on either side of the rim of the garbage can and then, without tipping it over, put one leg and then another, inside. Astrid watched in horror as her friend scootched around a bit to make room for herself among the empty soda bottles, leftover French fries, discarded cotton candy, and sticky wrappers.
“You stay right there, where you belong.” Candi said, smirking. She turned back to the counter. “Another vanilla milkshake please, Gene.”
Astrid looked at Milo, asking him with her eyes what they should do. He shook his head, ever so slightly and turned away from her.
Astrid looked back at Marcel. Jason was taunting her and, as she watched, he took what looked like egg cream and poured it slowly over Marcel’s head before throwing the empty cup at her.
“Candi,” Astrid said, unable to help herself.
“Shut it,” Candi hissed. And Astrid did.
1 A drink that combines milk and soda. Blech.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Astrid had never dreamed she would feel such comfort returning home, to the big old house that she had so resisted. But climbing her porch steps felt like a relief; it was liberating to be away from other people, to be free at last of acting and pretending that everything was normal.
“I started the rock tumbler,” Cecile announced when Astrid walked in the door. “Is that okay or did you want to add more?”
“It’s fine,” Astrid told her sister as she slid off her backpack and stepped out of her shoes.
“I took the moonstone from your dresser and threw it in,” Cecile continued. Looking at Astrid’s face, Cecile said, “Whoa.”
“What?”
“I’m just surprised that huge storm cloud over your head was able to fit through the
door.”
Astrid regarded her sister from under heavy brows. “I’m fine,” she said. “Mom home?”
“No,” Cecile answered. “She’s gonna be late tonight.” She paused, waiting for Astrid’s joke and then pursed her lips when there was none forthcoming. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not really,” Astrid said. “Maybe later. I’ll make dinner.”
She and Cecile ate pasta in front of the television, watching a ridiculous sitcom about an alien life-form called “Alf” who lived with a suburban family.1
When The Hogan Family came on, Astrid retreated to her room, where she lay on her bed and reviewed the events of the day. She could hear the comforting sound of the rock-tumbler softly thumping in the basement. Even if everything else was terrible, at least there was one positive from today. The rocks were being polished.
Back at the Sweet Shoppe, Candi had eventually told Marcel she could get out of the trash, but only when Vince had finally cajoled her into leaving. Marcel, liberated, had run from the shop and then everyone else had filtered out in groups of one or two, trying to act casual. Astrid had left as soon as she could.
Alone, Astrid continued to puzzle over the events of the day, cursing herself for her inaction. Why had she let her supposed friend just stand there in the trash? Why hadn’t she slapped Jason when he’d poured the egg cream on Marcel’s head? Why hadn’t she left, walked out, said she didn’t want any part of what was happening?
She hadn’t because she couldn’t. But had she even really tried?
The incident in the hot tub had been scary. Astrid felt her heart rate increase recalling the sensations, how hot and dizzy and weak she’d been. She couldn’t stop going back to the moment when she’d finally been able to heave herself out. She believed she would have lost consciousness if Candi hadn’t released her when she did. And what was sick was that she felt almost grateful to Candi for letting her get out, as though the whole thing wasn’t Candi’s fault in the first place.
She thought, too, about what she’d told Candi, as well as about what she’d done to Evie. Unable to sit still as she reviewed the conversation, Astrid paced in her room, clenching and unclenching her fists, lost in her own pain. She thought of Evie’s face when she’d made the joke about the fat fingers: Evie had looked somewhat startled and had even laughed a little, a good sport to the end. The end. That had only been the beginning. Evie’s pixie cut had followed, as well as all the jokes about what a cute little boy she was. Astrid remembered thinking, with satisfaction, that Patrick would definitely break up with Evie after the haircut.
What she had done to Evie was miserable. It was wrong. It was evil. She knew that now.
She didn’t want to make any more excuses. She wished, desperately she wished, that she could hit pause, rewind, go back to that scene, go back to the ice cream thing, and do it all so differently. She wished she had just left that girl alone.
She was still pacing when she noticed a distinct “clink” at her bedroom
window. She would have ignored it—she had learned much about the settling noises of old houses in the previous months—but it happened again and then a third time. She wondered if, like in an old movie, there was someone throwing rocks at her window.
She turned off the lamp before pulling back the curtain; she didn’t want to be seen. And sure enough, just as she peered through the glass, another pebble struck, making her step back and cry out. Feeling foolish, she returned to the window and saw Vince standing down below. He waved at her and she nodded.
She padded past Cecile in the living room, into the kitchen, and then opened the back door.
“Hey,” she whispered, looking around, as if someone was watching the back of her house. She knew it was ridiculous. But still. “You can come in. My mom’s not home.”
“Great,” Vince said, sliding in past her before she had a chance to get out of the way. “Your sister is here?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Astrid said. “But she doesn’t care.” She could tell he was nervous, too, and he glanced at the kitchen windows where there were no blinds or curtains, saying, “Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Let’s go to my room,” Astrid said.
Cecile looked up as they passed her on the couch. “Hey!” she called. On screen, a woman in a bathtub begged, “Calgon, take me away!”
“Vince was never here, Cecile,” Astrid called back. She walked up the steps two at a time.
Once in her room, Astrid wished she’d put away her clothes. She wished she’d showered. She wished she’d done something with her hair, although Milo had said that he liked it up.
Astrid turned on her stereo and Erasure filled the room. She sat cross-legged on her bed. Vince took off his varsity jacket and hung it on the back of the desk chair, which he turned to face Astrid before sitting on it.
“Pretty intense today, huh?” Vince asked.
“Um, I’d say,” Astrid said.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You looked pretty bad at the hot tub.” Vince made a wincing face.
“Gee, that’s what every girl wants to hear when someone sees her in a bathing suit.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I also know that when I was, like, passing out, you didn’t help me.”
“If things had gotten worse, I would have. But I didn’t want to, you know . . .”
“Put down your lollipop?”
“Yeah, that,” Vince laughed, embarrassed. “And if I had paid too much attention to you . . .”
“Your monster, I mean your girlfriend, would have gotten jealous?”
Vince rolled his eyes and lowered his voice. “Yes.” He sighed. “But Candi isn’t that bad. She isn’t a monster.”
“She almost killed me,” Astrid said. “And she humiliated Marcel. When she made her stand in the garbage . . .”
“Coulda been worse,” Vince said, looking at his sneakers.
“Why are you defending her? Do you actually like her?”
“The answer to that . . .” Vince trailed off.
“What?” Astrid prompted.
“The answer to that is . . . complicated.”
“I can handle complicated. Let me give it a shot,” Astrid said petulantly. “Candi is hot. Oh, and she’s in charge. And you are in love with her.”
“That’s not entirely wrong,” Vince said.
“You call that complicated?” Astrid realized that she’s been unconsciously squeezing her stuffed bunny, Ears, that she kept on her bed.2 Poor Ears was really getting worked over. She put him aside but then immediately picked him back up again. She needed something to occupy her hands.
“There’s more,” Vince said.
“Then tell me.”
“First of all, I wouldn’t say I’m in love with her. But she really isn’t as bad as you think. Sure, she can be mean and dangerous. But she can also be super nice. She can be funny and she’s really sensitive sometimes. Not everyone gets to see that side of her. We’ve been together, on and off, for a year now. And, if you know how to handle her . . . it’s like there’s a script. She broadcasts what she wants from you and if you play along, she doesn’t tell you what to do because she doesn’t have to. Does that makes sense?”
“It does,” Astrid said. Vince was so earnest; it was clear to Astrid that he was being honest with her. She couldn’t help but feel sad for him, that he had somehow convinced himself that his relationship with Candi really wasn’t all that bad.
“Vince,” Astrid said. “You’re afraid of her. You’re afraid of your girlfriend.”
Vince nodded and shrugged. “I am,” he admitted. “But most of the time I’m not, like, actively afraid because I never . . . I never challenge her. At least not anymore. I know how to act. I know how to keep her calm. And I wish that you would listen to me because if you did what I told you to do, you’d know how to act too.”
“What do you mean, not anymore?”
Vince blinked, seemingly unable to continue. He touched the scar that ran along his cheek, the scar that Astrid never even noticed anymore, because it didn’t so much mar his handsome face as enhance it somehow.
“Where do you think I got this?”
“Wait, she did that to you?” Astrid gaped.
“In a way. But I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about you. About how you can—"
Astrid cut him off. “I almost think it’s sweet that you’re offering me Candi-management lessons, but it’s also totally insane. Like, fine, you’re right, she’s terrifying. But I can’t stop being me.” Astrid knew she was being self-righteous. She knew, too, that she had, just hours ago, neglected to stand up to Candi after she publicly humiliated one of the few people in Elsewhere who had been nice to her. But she couldn’t help herself. She wouldn’t agree to become one of Candi’s whimpering, simpering sycophants.
Vince actually laughed. He ran his hand over his face. “I guess that’s what I like about you,” he said. “You’re ridiculous and infuriating, but you are totally yourself.” He sighed. “It doesn’t have to be so hard. There doesn’t have to be drama all the time. You need to learn to go along to get along, you know? Stop defending Marcel, for one thing. And once Candi trusts you, you can make the best of it. That’s what I do. I make the best of a . . .” he searched for the word, “an undesirable situation. And you know what? It’s not that bad. It’s not so bad to let Candi make your life . . . easier. She got my mom a good job at Town Hall and she makes sure we’re always taken care of. She bought me this,” he picked up his jacket. “Which, I know, maybe is weird, but whatever. It’s warm and it was expensive. And honestly, it’s not so bad to have everyone treat you like royalty. And Astrid,” he leaned toward her. “Maybe you can even do more good that way. That’s what I try to do, at least. I’ve tried to smooth things over between you and her. And when I’m the sheriff . . .”
“When you’re the sheriff?”
Vince titled his head, before remembering Astrid didn’t always have access to what was,
to others, common knowledge.
“Yeah, when we graduate. Sheriff Toomey will retire and I’ll take over.”
“As sheriff of Elsewhere. And you’re qualified to do this . . . how?”
“It’s an elected position.”
“That doesn’t clear things up for me.”
“Elected positions are really just appointed positions in Elsewhere.”
“Of course,” Astrid said. She shook her head, exasperated. “Do you even want to go into law enforcement?”
Again, Vince looked puzzled. “That really doesn’t have anything to do with it,” he said shortly.
Astrid marveled at the chasm between them.
“Are you going to, like, marry Candi?”
Vince shrugged. “That’s the plan. I suppose things might change. But for now, yeah. I mean, we’ll graduate. And then, probably, yeah, we’ll get married.”
