“I told you what you needed to know to get the job done. You should see Steve. I’ve never seen a kid so happy. You did the right thing.”
I think of Huxley, who I doubt is as happy. And for what? So Coach Latham can get a nice Christmas bonus? “He was already happy with his girlfriend.”
“Are you sure about that? When I spoke to him at the press conference, that was not the case. If they were really in love—” he laughs at the thought “—they would still be together.”
I don’t think any relationship could withstand the lies and manipulation I used to break them up. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t interfered? What would have happened to all the other couples?
“I’m going to tell,” I say.
“Who’s going to believe you? You’ve been talking to Mr. Towne.”
“I can track your IP address, too.”
“I wouldn’t tell anyone about our agreement if I were you.” He lowers his voice, and a chill passes through the phone into my body. That wasn’t some friendly advice. “I think it would mostly hurt you. Nobody will appreciate the sick after-school job you have going on.”
“They already know.”
“The damage has already been done, then,” he says. “Trust me. You don’t want this story leaving your school and becoming actual news. Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll get me fired. But my coaching record, while not stellar, is still good. Another college will hire me once this blows over. The first win of the season will make this story ancient history. But you...”
I swallow hard and clutch the phone closer to my ear.
“This will follow you around forever. In college admissions, in job interviews, in relationships, in perpetuity. Everywhere. Do you want it to be the first thing people learn about you? Are you ready to be the Break-Up Artist for the rest of your life?”
I try to be strong and cold, but tears are running down my face. I want to scream at him that he is so wrong, that I can’t wait to expose him for the scum he is. But sadly, he’s right.
“Forget it, Becca. It’s high school.”
37
After three days of sleeping in, I am up for no reason by seven-thirty on a Saturday morning. I check Facebook and take a good gander at what people are saying about me. My classmates have a very limited vocabulary, but they know how to use it. I see an update from Aimee. She posted a picture of herself holding an infant boy, her new son. He’s so peaceful, and smaller than a watermelon. I’ve never had the baby gene, but marveling at his big eyes and teeny fingers instantly makes me happier. I wonder if I’ll ever have a friend who I’ll know from singledom through motherhood. Maybe Val was supposed to be that friend.
That’s not something you just throw away.
I barge into Diane’s room. She’s flopped on her bed like a corpse.
“Wake up.” I slap her legs under the blankets.
“What? Becca, what’s wrong?”
“We’re going on a road trip.”
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you yet. Get dressed. And put on something nice.”
“I’m going to pass.” She falls back into bed.
I yank the blanket and top sheet off. She struggles to hold on to them, but I have better leverage.
“Be downstairs in half an hour.”
“No!”
“Diane, trust me on this one.” I drag her blankets out with me.
I drive past the endless strip malls and actual malls of Route 4. Only a handful of cars dot the road. Who in their right mind would be driving at eight-thirty in the morning besides us? Once we near the George Washington Bridge, she asks again where we’re going.
I turn to her, a sly smile on my lips. “We’re going to visit Henry Walter.”
“Who?”
“Aimee’s new son.”
Diane perks up from her stupor. “She gave birth already?” She seems sad that I knew before her, but she reaps what she sows. “She’s probably sleeping.”
“That baby only sleeps in two-hour increments. I’m sure she’s up.”
“Becca, please turn around.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to go.”
Somehow, we hit traffic. At eight-thirty on a Saturday. Cars cram into E-ZPass lanes. We crawl past a shady motel that’s probably been home to millions of extramarital affairs. Frustration builds within me, ready to shoot out at Diane. I keep the picture of Henry Walter in my head to stay centered.
“You’re jealous. And angry.”
“Excuse me?” Diane says.
“I’m your sister. If you can’t admit that to me, then whom can you say it to? That’s why you’ve cut off contact with your friends.”
“I haven’t cut off contact with them. That sounds so harsh.”
“But it’s the truth.”
“It’s not fair,” Diane says, and I’m glad she won’t fight me on this conversation. The words come easily for her. I wonder how long she’s been wanting to say them. “If it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t have met their husbands. I almost had that.”
“But you don’t.” I have to be blunt. She has to take this needle. “You have to move on, or else you’re never going to have a chance at it in the future.”
Diane throws herself back in her seat and lets out a huge sigh. “Will this be my legacy? Diane Williamson, the girl who got dumped on her wedding day. Oh, and she also cured cancer. But more importantly, she got dumped on her wedding day.”
“It will only be your legacy if you let it. You’re frozen in time. What happened sucks, but you can’t let it define you.”
“When did you get so mature?”
“Getting ostracized from your entire school will do that to a person.” I laugh it off. That stuff doesn’t even seem important anymore. The cars unclog, and the steel archway of the GW Bridge towers in front of me.
“So why are you dragging me to see this baby?”
“Because you’re lucky. Despite everything, you have three awesome people who still want to be your friend. Barely.” I think of Val, and how my life feels empty now. I didn’t realize it was full before. “You’re going to have to do a shitload of apologizing, but they still love you deep down. You really don’t want to give that up. Not over what happened with some stupid guy.”
Diane gently touches my shoulder. “Thank you.” Then she proceeds to wipe her nose on my sleeve.
When we get to Aimee and Bill’s apartment, Diane does a shitload of apologizing. They call up Marian and Erin and that gives way to tears all around. They won’t get back to full-strength maxipad friendship overnight, but some of the vibrancy that I remember from Diane returns. It’s possible to see the girl who brought together three married couples lurking under the current Diane.
“You want to hold the baby, Two-point-oh?” Aimee asks me.
I get nervous, knowing I’m making myself responsible for a human being, but this isn’t an offer a normal person would turn down. So I hold out my arms. “So is Henry technically Three-point-oh?”
“Three-point-oh. I like that,” Diane says.
“Actually, wait a second,” Bill says. He runs over and pulls out a bottle of mini hand sanitizer. “For the baby, Becca.”
I squirt out some sanitizer and wipe it on my hands. I stare at the bottle a few seconds more than anyone needs to look at one. The wheels have begun turning, and I know I must make things right. “Is something wrong?” Aimee asks.
“No.” She hands over Henry, and he’s even more precious in person. I don’t know the kid, but I’m already in love.
“How are you doing?” Diane asks.
“So far, so good,” I say. “Hey, can we stop at CVS on the way home? I have a plan.”
“Sure. For what?”
“For getting Steve and Huxley back together.”