mother.
There it was, the truth of the matter, the pea under her mattress. She’d felt alone for so long, and now—irrationally—she felt as if she belonged somewhere.
Even if it was a lie, which it certainly was, it felt better than the cold emptiness that was the truth.
She tried to stop thinking about it, to stop playing and replaying their conversations in her mind, but she couldn’t let it go. At the end of the night, when they’d all been crowded around the fireplace, talking and laughing, Lauren had loosened up enough to tell the one joke she knew. Mira and Angie had laughed long and hard; Maria had said, “This make no sense. Why would the man say such a thing?” The question had made them all laugh harder, and Lauren most of all.
Remembering it made her want to cry.
THIRTEEN
October rushed past, but in November, life seemed to move slowly again. One day bled into the next. It rained constantly, sometimes in howling, sheeting storms that turned the ocean into a whirlpool of sound and fury. More often than not, though, the moisture fell in beaded drops from a bloated, tired-looking sky.
For the past two weeks Lauren had been home as little as possible. That man was always there, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes and stinking up the air with his loserdom. Of course Mom was in love with him. He was precisely her type.
Lauren made a point of working at the restaurant almost every night and all day on weekends. Even though they’d hired another waitress, Lauren tried to keep her hours steady. When she wasn’t working, she was at the school library or hanging out with David.
The only downside to earning all this money and improving her already stellar grades was that she was exhausted. Right now it was taking every scrap of her determination to stay awake in class. In the front of the room, Mr. Goldman was waxing poetic about the way Jackson Pollock used color.
To Lauren, the painting looked like something an angry child would make if handed a box of paints.
Electives.
That was practically all she was taking this year. She hadn’t realized earlier, when she’d poured the heat on her accelerated studies, that by her senior year she’d have almost all of her requirements out of the way. As it was, she could technically graduate at the end of this semester. Trigonometry was the only class she had that mattered, and it wasn’t even required for graduation.
When the bell rang, she slapped her book shut and shot out of her seat, moving into the laughing, shoving, talking crowd of students around her.
At the flagpole, she found David playing hacky sack with the guys. When he saw her, his face lit up. He reached for her and pulled her into his arms. For the first time all day she wasn’t tired.
“I’m starving,” someone said.
“Me, too.”
Lauren looped an arm around David as he followed the crowd down the street to the Hamburger Haven that was their regular hangout.
Marci Morford dropped some money in the jukebox. Afroman’s “Crazy Rap” immediately started to play.
Everyone groaned, and then laughed. Anna Lyons launched into a story about Mrs. Fiore, the home economics teacher, which got everyone arguing about how sucky it was to have to do actual homework in a skate class.
Lauren ordered a strawberry milkshake, a bacon burger, and fries.
It felt good to have money in her pocket. For years she’d pretended never to be hungry. Now she ate all the time.
“Jeez, Lo,” Irene Herman laughed. “Way to pack it down. Do you have a buck I can borrow?”
“No problem.” Lauren pulled a few dollars out of her jeans and handed it to her friend. “I know you want a milkshake, too.”
That got everyone talking about how much they could eat.
“Hey,” Kim said after a while, “did you guys get the notice about the California schools?”
Lauren looked up. “What notice?”
“They’re having a big thing in Portland this weekend.”
Portland. An hour and a half away. Lauren’s heartbeat picked up. “That’s cool.” She slipped her hand into David’s, squeezing gently. “We can go together,” she said, looking at him.
David looked crestfallen. “I’m going to my grandma’s this weekend,” he said. “In Indiana. There’s no way I can cancel. It’s their anniversary party.” He looked around the table. “Can one of you guys give Lauren a ride?”
One by one they all made their excuses.
Crap. Now she’d have to ride the bus. And as if that weren’t bad enough, she’d have to go to yet another college fair as the only kid without a parent.
When the food was gone, the crowd drifted away, leaving Lauren and David alone at the table.
“Can you get there by yourself? Maybe I could fake a cold—”