Saint Anything(15)

The expression on Rosie’s face was not exactly welcoming. Mrs. Chatham said, “How wonderful! Were you working with Arthur?”

“No, Wendy Loomis. And I was just taking lessons, not competing.” She looked at Rosie again. “I just have to tell you . . . you were amazing. Where are you skating now?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh.” Heather blushed. “I didn’t realize. I’m—”

“She got injured,” Mrs. Chatham told her. “Knee issues. But before that, she did two years with the Mariposa touring show.”

“Wow! That’s amazing! So you were, like, one of the characters?”

“I need something to drink,” Rosie announced, pushing out her chair. Then, as we all watched, she just walked away, leaving the poor girl standing there, watching her go.

“It’s a sensitive issue,” Mrs. Chatham said in the awkward silence that followed. “You understand, I’m sure.”

“Oh, totally!” Heather said. “I, um, just wanted to say hello. You all have a good night.”

“You too, honey,” Mrs. Chatham replied. Once the girl was gone, she looked over at the bar, where Rosie was talking to Mac. Now that I looked at her, I realized she did have a skater’s body: small, muscular, and compact. She kind of reminded me of Meredith, although older and with a rougher look to her.

“Rosie has issues,” Layla explained to me.

“Everyone has issues,” her mother said. “Now, go see if she’s okay.”

Making a face, Layla got to her feet, leaving the table. I wondered if I should follow her, but that meant leaving Mrs. Chatham alone. So I stayed put. After a moment of silence, she said, “It’s good that you came.”

I wasn’t sure if this was her reading my mind or she meant from her point of view. I said, “I was nervous. Not knowing anyone and everything.”

“But now you do.” She smiled at me. “And I’m glad to see Layla making a new friend. She’s had a tough time lately.”

“I heard she and her boyfriend just broke up?”

“Second one in three months.” She shook her head. “Boys this age, they can be brutal. But they’re not all bad. At least, that’s what I keep telling her.”

Just then, Mac appeared, carrying a fresh can of Pepsi. He was in jeans and a faded SEASIDE PIZZA T-shirt, and looked like he’d broken a sweat playing. Not that I was looking closely or anything.

“That’s my boy,” said his mom as he popped the tab and refilled her glass. “Thank you.”

“You need anything else?”

“Not a thing. Sit down.”

He did, right next to me, which was slightly unnerving. At the pizza place, there had been distance between us most of the time: the door, the counter, or him standing while I sat. Proximity let me notice things I had not before, like his long lashes and the slight freckling across his nose, as well as the thin silver chain I could just see peeking out from the neck of his T-shirt.

“Cheese puff?” Mrs. Chatham asked Mac, holding out the can.

“Really, Mom?”

“What? It’s calcium!”

Mac rolled his eyes, looking up at the stage. To me Mrs. Chatham said, “He’s so healthy these days. It’s no fun whatsoever.”

“Neither is early-onset diabetes,” he told her.

His mother sighed, then held the can out to me. When I hesitated, she said, “See what you’ve done? She can’t even bring herself to take one. You’ve given the girl a complex.”

Mac looked at me. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I felt my face get hot. Which made sense, as he was better looking than Logan Oxford at his peak and Dave! at Frazier combined. “I’m not, um, much of a puff fan anyway.”

God, I was an idiot. I didn’t even know what I was saying. Thank God Layla picked that moment to return to the table.

“Eric’s looking for you,” she informed her brother. “He has, and I quote, ‘notes and feedback for you vis-à-vis your performance.’”

“Great,” Mac said flatly, getting to his feet. The silver chain disappeared again, out of sight. “Mom, you staying for the next set?”

“Oh, honey, I’m pretty tired,” Mrs. Chatham said. “And my show comes on at ten, so . . .”

“I told you,” said Rosie, who had rejoined us. “I set the DVR.”

Hearing this, I suddenly remembered that I was also supposed to be somewhere at a certain time. I looked at my watch: it was just after nine. “I should go, too, actually.”

“Let me guess,” Layla said. “You’re addicted to Status: Mystery, too, and do not trust entirely reliable technology to function properly in your absence.”

Rosie snorted. I said, “Um, not exactly. Usually I can stay out later, but there’s been some stuff going on. My mom kind of wants me to stick close. So I told her I’d be home early tonight.”

It wasn’t until I finished this monologue that I realized how long and unnecessary it was. I had no idea why I’d felt the need to explain myself quite so much to people I had only just met, and by the way they stood there looking at me when I concluded, they didn’t, either. Whoops.

“Well, you go, then,” said Mrs. Chatham finally, saving me. “But don’t be a stranger, okay? Come by the house anytime.”