The Truth About Alice(44)

The laugh was what hurt the most.

I attempted to ignore the sting of it and the obvious implication that the you Alice was referring to—that, of course, would be me—was nothing more than parasitic scum. But it was impossible. I tried to tell myself that Alice’s words were coming from a place of hurt, but I was angry with her. I wanted to shrug off how I felt, but I couldn’t.

Because for the first time ever when it came to Alice, I felt something I hadn’t felt before.

Used.

“How can you say that to me?” I heard myself asking, voice quaking. “How? How could you ever question that I don’t feel terrible about this? That I wouldn’t do anything for you? After all these months? After everything?”

Alice just sat there at the kitchen table with the chipped yellow Formica and the two cans of Lone Star beer in front of her. She wouldn’t look at me. She wouldn’t acknowledge me at all. All she did was roll her eyes.

I reached for my bag and my car keys.

“Alice,” I said, taking a deep breath, “I know that you, of all people, recognize that life isn’t fair. That life can be cruel, arbitrary even. So maybe it’s wrong for me to ask you to recognize the unfairness of this situation. Because this isn’t fair, the way you’re treating me right now. This isn’t right.”

In a sharp voice she snapped, “Why don’t you get out?”

“I was already leaving,” I told her.

And I did.





Elaine

Misty has been doing my hair since I was in fifth grade, and she’s only ever screwed up once. And that was technically my fault since I told her to give me bangs and I look absurd with bangs. Anyway, Misty’s been doing my hair since I cared about having my hair done, so when I needed it done for the last dance of the year, of course I booked her early. And of course I expected to have to sit around at the salon because Misty is always running at least thirty minutes behind.

What I didn’t expect when I showed up on the Saturday of the dance was Alice Franklin sitting in the waiting area of the Curl Up and Dye, flipping through some ancient copy of Teen Vogue.

I don’t know why. I mean, Alice still had hair after everything that happened. She still needed to get it cut, obviously. But all I could think of when I walked in was, okay, this is random and awkward.

She looked up when she heard the jangle of the bells hanging off the door handle and then looked back down at the Teen Vogue super fast like she was oblivious to my presence. But her cheeks reddened a little, and she was doing that thing where you act like you’re reading but you’re so clearly not. I could hear Misty in the back room, chatting away with somebody. There wasn’t anyone at the front desk. It was just me and Alice. I picked up a copy of Cosmo and started turning pages.

After about two minutes I just couldn’t stand the silence anymore. Frankly, it was too weird. Maybe it was all the chemicals Misty uses. Maybe it was the fact that I’d already read that issue of Cosmo which I was holding in my hands. But all of a sudden, I was talking to Alice Franklin. For the very first time since my party almost a year ago.

“Do you have a one o’clock?” I asked.

Alice brought her gaze up over the top of the Teen Vogue and I know I saw her eyebrows jump up a bit like she was surprised I’d said anything. To be honest, I was surprised myself. Alice looked back down at the magazine and said, “Try twelve-thirty.”

“Oh my God, seriously?”

“Yes.”

“God.”

Total silence.

I put down my Cosmo and crossed my arms over my chest. Alice still wouldn’t look at me.

“Who’s back there taking so long anyway?” I asked.

Alice waited a second before responding. “Ms. Cooper.”

“Oh God,” I groaned. “We’ll be here all day.” Ms. Cooper was the Healy High secretary, and she was always trying to get us to believe she was a real redhead. She so wasn’t.

Alice snapped her magazine shut and stared at me. “Why are you talking to me?”

I shrugged my shoulders a little. Maybe I was talking to her because I knew I could. I could talk to her because I was Elaine O’Dea, and I could decide to talk to anybody I wanted to whenever I wanted to talk to them. But I didn’t say that out loud.

“In a few weeks we’re going to be seniors,” I told her. “I think maybe we’re getting too old for this shit.”

As soon as I said it, I realized I believed every word of what I’d just said.

Alice rolled her eyes and laughed a little, but not a funny ha-ha laugh. More like an I-can’t-believe-you-would-say-that laugh. “Easy for you to say,” she huffed.

She had a point, and I didn’t say anything for a minute or so. I heard the tock of Misty’s clock and the laughter between her and Ms. Cooper. I stared at the faded pink linoleum under my new strappy sandals.

We were going to be seniors. And maybe she had texted Brandon while he was driving, but that didn’t mean that Brandon had to answer his phone. And maybe she did have sex with two guys in the same night, but hadn’t Brandon probably had sex with five times that number of girls the summer before junior year alone? And maybe she had made out with him in the coat closet during the eighth grade dance when he and I were totally and completely on again, but hadn’t Brandon been the one to choose to make out in the coat closet in the first place? And wasn’t the eighth grade graduation dance pretty damn far away from senior year?