My Best Friend's Exorcism(30)

Now, sitting in front of the auditorium, late for class, they did the Cyndi Lauper part, and the Bob Dylan part, and by the time they’d re-created the Stevie Wonder/Bruce Springsteen duet, Gretchen was dry-eyed enough to clean up her face.

Abby got them both into their next classes with late notes from Miss Toné, and at lunch she bought Diet Cokes for Margaret and Glee and used everything she had to convince them to sit with her and Gretchen.

“She’s totally sick,” Abby told them. “She wants to apologize, but she feels awful.”

Margaret remained unconvinced. Gretchen had made her look bad in front of her senior boyfriend, and she’d never forgive her. But Glee dreaded any kind of unpleasantness.

“It’s supposed to be gross all week,” Glee said. “Let’s sit outside while we can.”

“Exactly!” Abby agreed.

Together, they bullied Margaret into going, and for the rest of lunch they all huddled together on the Lawn, under gray skies, and the entire time Abby told herself that it wasn’t so bad. But it was. The wind was freezing. Margaret sat on the bench, not talking. Gretchen sat on the grass, not talking. Margaret barely ate. Gretchen barely ate. Abby and Glee had to do enough talking and eating for all four of them.

“Did you do your notecards for The Scarlet Letter?” Abby asked Glee.

“Oh my God, it’s so boring,” Glee said. “And why are we supposed to feel sorry for Hester? She’s a tramp.”

Abby and Glee talked about the homecoming dance and PSATs and Spirit Week while Gretchen and Margaret stared into space. The conversation limped along until the bell rang and Margaret bolted without a glance back. Glee followed.

Gretchen stayed seated. Abby sat beside her as the Lawn emptied and everyone headed to class. The wind started up again, whipping their hair around. “Margaret’s just being Margaret,” Abby said. “Let’s go.”

“I hope she dies,” Gretchen said in a low voice. “I hope Wallace gives her AIDS and she dies a slow, miserable death.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Abby said.

“I need you to buy me a phone,” Gretchen said, getting up and brushing off her butt.

“Like, a phone phone?” Abby asked, not following.

“Go to a thrift store. You can get one for ten bucks,” Gretchen said. “I’ll pay you back.”

She grabbed her bookbag, hefted its strap over one shoulder, and started walking. Abby tried to keep up. “I’ve got TCBY tonight,” she said. “I don’t get off until nine.”

“My mom’s having book club at our house,” Gretchen said. “Just come over. She’ll be drunk.”

Abby was about to ask why she needed a phone when Gretchen suddenly leaned over and gave her a hug. Abby caught a whiff of something sour.

“No matter what happens,” she said. “I’ll never hurt you.”

For the rest of the day, Abby wondered why Gretchen thought she needed to say that.





Broken Wings


Mom cars spilled out of the Langs’ driveway and lined Pierates Cruze—Volvos and Mercedes and Jeep Grand Cherokees parked fender to fender in front of the neighbors’ houses. Abby spotted a space in front of Dr. Bennett’s and pulled the Bunny onto his grass. Before she even turned off her ignition, the front porch lights came on and Dr. Bennett was standing outside, shaking his finger at her. Embarrassed, Abby drove around the block and parked in the Hunts’ front yard instead.

The Cruze was dark. The air was heavy and the wind was wet. The bamboo grove next to Gretchen’s house rustled and sighed. Abby was always welcome to walk into Margaret’s and Glee’s houses, but she had to ring the doorbell at Gretchen’s. Because tonight was book club, she didn’t know whether she should ring or just slip inside, but as she came up the walkway the sound of women laughing got louder and Mr. Lang came out the door.





“Hey, Mr. Lang,” Abby said.

“Oh, Abby,” he said, closing the door and muffling the raucous lady laughter. “That’s a wild bunch.”

“Yes, sir,” Abby said.

They stood there. The wind changed direction. Another peal of laughter erupted inside.

“Can I go see Gretchen?” Abby asked.

“Is Gretchen all right?” Mr. Lang asked at the same time.

They both paused, caught off guard by their accidental jinx.

“Um, yes, sir,” Abby said.

Over the years, Abby had engaged in very few adult conversations with Gretchen’s dad, mostly because she’d learned to be wary of them. Usually they involved her being led through a series of rhetorical questions that ended with a lecture on trickle-down economics, the Evil Empire, or the real solution to the homeless problem.

“You can talk to me, Abby,” Mr. Lang said. “Right? We understand each other?”

She thought about Mr. Lang looking through Gretchen’s notebooks to see if she’d been doodling boys’ names in the margins. She thought about the doctor telling him that his daughter’s virginity was intact.

“We understand each other perfectly,” Abby said.

“If something is happening with Gretchen, I’d like to think you’d tell me.”

Behind him, heat lightning flickered on the horizon.