“No, it’s fine,” I say, offering up an exaggerated sad face so she gets how fine it is—even if it isn’t. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”
“No, it’s no big deal,” she says, throwing back her bedspread and jumping out of bed, signaling the end of the conversation. “But I’m hungry. Let’s go make pancakes, okay?”
“Do you have chocolate chips?” I ask, quickly falling into our familiar script.
“Duh,” says Claudia.
I eat breakfast at Claudia’s house, dawdle a little, and then head home, walking at the pace of a snail. By the time I get there, there’s no sign of John. Just my mom reading in the den.
“Hey,” she says, when I walk in. A little too eager.
“Hey,” I say, wandering over to the refrigerator even though I just ate.
“Viv, can we talk?” she says.
Her simple question seems strange to me. My mother and I have always talked without having to say “Can we talk?” first. We just talk. There’s never any prologue.
“What’s up?” I say, shutting the fridge and leaning up against it.
“Well, come over here. You’re too far away.” She pats the couch next to her.
I give in and slide in next to her, trying to ignore the mental picture of her and John that keeps threatening my mind.
“Viv, I’m sorry about this morning,” she says, quietly. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you like that. It just … the situation was … unexpected.” She reaches out to touch my arm, but I shrink back a bit.
“It’s okay, Mom,” I say. “It’s fine.”
“But is it really fine?” she asks, her voice soft, her mouth a small frown.
“I mean … it’s…” I hesitate. What is there to say? How disgusting? What do you see in him? How could you do it in our house? But she’s looking at me with such sincere concern—I can’t be the brat who makes my mom miserable. “It’s weird, a little. But if he makes you happy…”
“He’s a really nice guy, Viv,” my mom says. “I wish you’d give him more of a chance.”
I can be nice, but I can’t be her BFF who acts all giddy over John. “I am giving him a chance,” I say.
“Yeah?” she asks. Her voice is hopeful but her eyes seem skeptical.
“Yes,” I say. “Now I’m super tired because Claudia and I stayed up too late, so I’m going to lie down, okay?”
My mom nods, but she doesn’t smile. Just shifts a bit in her seat as I get up off the couch and walk toward my room.
“Hey,” she says when I reach my bedroom door, “we never even talked about that Seth guy. He came around a few weeks ago and I never saw him again.”
Oh God, now? Really?
“We’re just friends, Mom,” I say, my hand on my doorknob. “It’s nothing.”
My mom’s eyes go wide. I know my voice sounds harsher than necessary, but I don’t care. She doesn’t say anything else. I try to block out her hurt expression as I fling myself on my bed and pull out my phone.
Without really deciding to, I find myself texting Lucy.
I’m in a crap mood
She writes back immediately.
Why?
My mom had her boyfriend spend the night last night—I wasn’t here or anything … but she told me about it and it’s just gross.
Is this that super conservative dude you told us about at lunch? Who basically like told your mom what book to read that one time?
Yeah
Grooooooosssssss
I knoooooow
I smile and keep going.
Then she asked me about seth … like two weeks after our “date” or whatever …
Damn … knife in the heart
Seriously
I’m sorry that didn’t work out …
I kick my shoes off and settle in for a nice long back and forth with Lucy.
I mean … he hasn’t been an ass to me or anything … since we hung out that one time he says hi to me in the hallway and we talk about music sometimes in English …
Ugh. Cold comfort.
Seriously. I didn’t want a study buddy … I wanted more.
The heart wants what it fucking wants
I almost think it would have been better if he’d ignored me from the start …
After more back and forth about Seth, Lucy texts me, I can cheer you up … I have a secret
My eyebrows pop up.
What??? Is it about a boy?
Blerg no. No dude at East Rockport has caught my eye … but it’s something pretty kick ass
I’m finally genuinely smiling for the first time all morning.
WHAT IS IT?
WAIT UNTIL TOMORROW AND YOU’LL FIND OUT
I try wheedling it out of her for a few more minutes, but Lucy resists and finally says she has to go. After our last text, I toss my phone aside and grin at the ceiling. For the first time in ages, I find myself wishing for Monday to come.
*
When Monday does arrive, it arrives cold and wet. I’m simultaneously thinking about Lucy’s secret and counting the days until winter break when I spot it. Taped to one of the side door entrances.
I read it once. Then read it again. First I’m confused—for a split second I wonder if I’ve had some sort of short-term memory loss and I actually made and taped Moxie flyers up while I was in a trance or something—but as I peer at it, reading the words over and over, a sense of glee settles over me.
Because I’m pretty sure I know what’s really going on.
Inside, I spot more flyers on lockers and by water fountains, pinned up on message boards with brightly colored pushpins. When I get to my locker, I find one taped to the door.
Just then my phone buzzes.
I look down. It’s a text from Lucy.
Okay I was going to wait till English to tell you but what do you think of the flyers?!
My hands jump, ready to text right back, but then I have the foresight to use the situation to provide myself with some cover.
WAIT—YOU started Moxie?!?!?
I grin as I hit send.
No! I still don’t know who did the newsletters … but I figured whoever it was wouldn’t care if I added to the ranks … like adopted the brand, right?
Students push past me, heading to first period. Shoes squeak on wet, tiled floors and voices holler from one end of the hallway to the next, demanding answers to last night’s homework or securing a promise to meet somewhere after class. Standing there, staring at Lucy’s message, I realize Moxie doesn’t belong to me anymore. It belongs to every girl at East Rockport High who wants to be part of it. I text Lucy back.
I totally love it and I know whoever started Moxie is going to love it too
But if Lucy is aiming for anonymity with this soccer team fund-raising bake sale, she’s going about it all wrong. In English class she tells me about making the flyer last night at home and then coming to school early to copy it in the library, but she whispers so loudly she might as well be talking at normal volume, and I’m pretty sure people around her hear. Then at lunch in the cafeteria, she goes ahead and dishes when the topic comes up.
“Okay, so, Viv already knows, but … I did it!” She squeals a little and covers her face with her hands, then peeks through her fingers. “I really did.”
“Wait,” Sara starts, her eyes wide, “you mean you made the newsletters? You organized the bathrobe thing?”
“No, I swear I didn’t do that,” Lucy insists. “But I just wanted to, I don’t know, like, take on the whole vibe.”