The People We Keep(51)

Bodie and Carly laugh.

“That’s what you get when you love ’em and leave ’em, Bodes,” Carly says, smacking Bodie on the back when she gets up. She stomps out her cigarette and goes inside.

“People pierce lots of things, Pilgrim,” Bodie says as I walk past him, and I wonder if he has any rings in strange places. “You’d be surprised. That girl, nutty as a fruitcake, but wow. Crazy, crazy in bed.”

When I get behind the register again, Carly is taking an order from some girl who looks like the picture of normal. Shiny brown hair in one of those perfect ponytails without any flyaways, an Ithaca College sweatshirt, and a plain old pair of jeans. Carly raises her eyebrows to me to let me know it’s the girl. It’s so weird, the way that even the most ordinary looking people can hide things.

When the girl leaves, Carly calls Bodie out of the kitchen and makes him swear on a stack of supply catalogs and sign an oath on a napkin to promise that he’ll stop being a manwhore. We pin the napkin to the corkboard by the phone, laughing so hard we’re crying.

I, Bodie,

will curb my general whoritude

and work to cultivate better taste in romantic partners

and better common sense overall.



It’s also weird, the way you can go from just working someplace to feeling like you really belong.



* * *



A few days later, Adam says he knows a guy who has a vacant studio up by the college, and he coaches Carly on how to get out of paying the security deposit. Over pancakes again, because that’s like our thing now. This time, Carly brought home a bag of chocolate chips.

“Buddy’s tenant failed out of school and left him in the lurch,” Adam tells her. “He’s already got a security deposit from that guy that he doesn’t have to give back; he shouldn’t need one from you. If you move in, he won’t even miss a month of rent. There aren’t enough new students second semester. He’s not going to rent it otherwise and he knows it.” He scribbles Buddy’s number on an old receipt and hands it to Carly. “If he gives you a problem, let me know. I’ll call.”

As much as part of me wants Adam all to myself again, I feel like grabbing the number away from Carly. Having her stay with us has been like how I always thought having a sister would feel.



* * *



I go with Carly when she packs up her stuff. It’s this place up by the college. Half a ranch house. Jock boys next door and very un-Carly. I figured she’d live in one of the cool old houses on East State Street or College Avenue, someplace with character.

Rosemary is perched on a chair at the kitchen table. Long flowy skirt, bare feet; she hugs her knees, smoking as she watches us. She’s thin with dark hair cut in an angled bob. I’ve seen her before at the cafe. I thought she was just Carly’s roommate. And even then I didn’t understand how Carly could stand to live with her. She’s exactly the kind of rich bitch Carly is always complaining about. Or maybe she is the rich bitch Carly was complaining about. She has this look on her face like she’s just too cool to care for any of it.

Rosemary doesn’t try to hide that she’s watching us. She stares, but she doesn’t say anything until we’ve taken eight trips out to Carly’s rusty, orange Pacer, and we’re grabbing the last few boxes. Finally she says, “You’re not going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

My face gets hot and I know it’s red and I feel so awful, because the last thing Carly needs is me acting like being her girlfriend is some kind of terrible thing. So I rest the box of cassette tapes on a chair and offer my hand to Rosemary to shake. “April,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

Rosemary ignores my hand and gives Carly a death stare. “She’s perfect for you,” she says, and I know it’s an insult, even though I’m not sure why.

“Let’s go, hon,” I say to Carly, picking up the box again. It’s funny how two seconds ago I was embarrassed she thought I was Carly’s girlfriend and now I’m pissed that she thinks I’m not good enough to be.

When we get in the car, Carly bursts out laughing. “?‘Hon’? Really?”

“Too much?” I say.

“You rock,” Carly says, and really smiles, not just the smug tight-lipped deal she pretends is a smile.





— Chapter 25 —


Carly said that even though she has her own place, she’d still come by every week for 90210 and pizza, but she calls ten minutes before the show starts to say she can’t make it because of a psych paper and we’ll have to catch her up next week.

“We ordered a large and everything,” I say to Adam when I hang up the phone. I’d even run to the convenience store to pick up a six-pack of Dr Pepper, because Carly likes that more than Coke.

“It’s fine,” Adam says, handing me a plate with two slices. “I’ll bring leftovers for lunch tomorrow.”

“She’s not going to know what’s happening next week,” I say. “Even if we explain.”

Adam laughs like I told a joke.

When we get settled on the couch he says, “It sucks to be an undergrad. There’s so much busywork.” And it makes me feel far away from both of them. I barely even did my homework in high school.