None of the Above(56)

“I know you’re trying to come up with a reason not to. But let me tell you from personal experience: it’s exhausting to always have to come up with new excuses. Trust me, you’re not going to be able to think of one that sticks.”

I believed her. I penciled the date into my calendar, otherwise empty except for doctor’s appointments. Then, after Gretchen had hung up, I did something more daring: I traced over it in pen.





CHAPTER 32


The next day, my caller ID brought up an unfamiliar number. A few weeks earlier, maybe I would’ve let it go to voice mail. But that day, I took a deep breath and answered. It was Darren, asking for a ride to the clinic. Jessica would be missing the next few weeks because she was the lead in Much Ado About Nothing.

“I’d drive myself,” he said apologetically, “but we only have one car and Tuesdays are my sister’s Zumba class. I’d probably end up as body parts in our deep freezer if she can’t go. It’s her only form of relaxation since Leighton was born, and my mom’s looking forward to some quality grandma time.” Darren’s sister Wendy had gotten pregnant right before graduating.

“Bet your mom’s an amazing grandmother.”

“Let’s just say, if Iron Chef ever held a gourmet puree competition, she’d win hands down.”

“Should I pick you up at your house?”

“It’s in the wrong direction. It’s easier to pick me up from school. Say, three o’clock in the east lot?”

I almost said no. I hadn’t been on campus in weeks, and the east lot was the parking area closest to the football field. The team had made the playoffs, so they’d still be practicing. But as my mind contorted, sorting through different options and twisting through a maze of ways to explain to Darren why I wanted to pick him up at a different time and place, I realized that Gretchen had been right. Making excuses took way too much energy. So I said, “Three o’clock. East lot. I’ll be there.”


Before I picked Darren up, I emptied my car of all my old drugstore receipts and put up a new air freshener. Not that guys usually cared about things like that, but what did I know? I’d never driven a boy around before. Whenever we went anywhere, Sam would pick me up in his Scion so I wouldn’t have to drive my twelve-year-old Honda Civic, which had been my mom’s.

When I pulled into school, I breathed easier when I saw that the football team was safely assembled on the far side of the field, so far away they looked like little blots of orange and blue. The parking lot had pretty much cleared out, too, and Darren sat alone on one of the benches with a book and a pad of sticky notes.

“Sorry about the sardine-can car,” I said as he squeezed in. Even with the passenger seat pushed back all the way, Darren’s knees were almost up to his chin.

“Hey, I’m just glad that I didn’t have to hitchhike my way to the clinic. I would’ve had to borrow my sister’s rape whistle.”

“Yeah, doesn’t she need it for her Zumba class?”

Darren snorted. It was lovely to make someone laugh.

I turned the radio on as I navigated through town. “You care what we listen to?”

“Anything, as long as it’s not by someone who rose to fame on a Disney Channel show.”

“Please.” I gave him the stink eye. “Give me some credit.”

“No judgment. I’m just giving you my trigger warnings, that’s all.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been relaxed enough with a person to actually banter. Even conversations with Faith were awkward—she skirted the big issues like they were land mines, and I fell all over myself to not seem like a pathetic depressive.

With Darren, though, it was as if the undercurrent of our past history as almost siblings smoothed everything over. Or maybe it was just that I knew that he carried as much baggage as I did. The funny thing was, because our families had spent so much time together, I knew stuff like Darren’s favorite soda (Dr Pepper) and way to eat eggs (poached, with A.1. sauce), but I didn’t know a lot of nonsuperficial stuff, like where he really wanted to go to college (Columbia).

“Wow, Ivy League,” I said.

“It all depends on whether I get good financial aid. Though my dad said he’d help.”

“How’s he doing, anyway?”

“He’s fine,” Darren said in that automatic tone that you used when people asked questions you didn’t really want to answer. I knew that tone well.

“My dad is starting to go back to his bachelor ways,” I said, to fill up the space in our conversation. “He hasn’t seen anyone practically since your mom. Every weekend night is a date with the La-Z-Boy. If he’s lucky, he’ll go out for a poker night with his buddies, but lately he hasn’t even been doing that. I don’t know what he’s going to do when I go to college. Start eating frozen dinners every night, probably.”

“Hey, my mom has a healthy-frozen-dinner service.”

“Yes, better that than condemn him to Aunt Carla’s casseroles.”

There was only so much you could say about casseroles, and Darren changed the subject. “So, you’ve been running again?”

“Yeah. I liked your trail. Is that your usual run?”

“Yup. Every day except Wednesdays.”