Of All the Stupid Things (18 page)

“Thank you, girls,” Mrs. Hopkins says when we get into the house, legally this time, through the front door, and set down the bags. “Tara, you want to put the kettle on?”

Tara does that while Whitney Blaire and I just stand around waiting.

“We ran into Tara’s father while we were hiking,” Mrs. Hopkins explains.

I gasp. “Oh, Mrs. Hopkins, that must have been horrible.”

“It was. And Pinkie, if you insist on not calling me Linda, I would appreciate it if you used my maiden name from now on. De Paul.”

“Yes, Ms. De Paul.”

She nods, then looks from Whitney Blaire and me to Tara, who has her back to us while waiting for the kettle to boil. “Thank you, girls, for being here. Tara can use good friends right now.”

Tara

I WANT THEM TO LEAVE. I WANT THEM TO GO SO THAT I can be alone. I’ve barely run in the last few days; my body feels anemic. I need to get it back into shape. But I can’t. Mom is telling Whitney Blaire and Pinkie everything that happened in the last few days. She mentions how good it is that they are here to support me during this hard time.

But I don’t need them. I just want to be alone.

But I can’t.

So I sit down at the kitchen table with my tea and bear it. Whitney Blaire puts three spoons of raw sugar in her tea but doesn’t drink any of it. Pinkie finishes hers quickly and at one point during the story puts the kettle back on the stove. When it whistles, she pours Mom a new cup. Mom is still talking. Going on about how we spent the last few days sulking in a motel, which we had to smuggle Sherman in and out of because we couldn’t afford the extra pet fee. Then she tells them about going to the government offices to see how she can officially file for a divorce without his signature or proof that he’s legally married in another country.

“But Ms. De Paul,” Pinkie says, “there has to be a way. Why don’t you talk to Whitney Blaire’s father? He must know of some loophole you can work around.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Whitney Blaire nods. “Father isn’t a divorce lawyer, but he can still offer advice.”

Mom rubs Whitney Blaire’s shoulder. “That’s very kind, but on the way home I thought up a new plan.”

Mom stands up and goes upstairs. I want to join her. I want to go to my room and close the door. I want to run out the back door and keep on running. I want to be anywhere but here with Whitney Blaire sending sympathetic looks my way and Pinkie with her arm around me. But I stay where I am and nurse my cold tea.

Mom comes down holding a piece of paper. Whitney Blaire sits up to see what it is.

“This is a copy of my marriage certificate,” Mom explains. She goes to the burner and turns it on. The gas flame catches the paper and sets it alight. Mom turns off the burner and rotates the paper as it burns. She walks to the sink and holds it until the last second. It falls into the sink, sizzling as it meets water. Instead of scooping out the ashes, Mom turns on the tap. She lets it run until everything goes down the drain.

“There,” she says. “I’m divorced.”

The phone rings and everyone except Whitney Blaire jumps. No one moves to answer it, although I can tell Pinkie is really fighting with herself not to. The answering machine clicks on.

“Tara, it’s Riley…”

I’m out of my seat in an instant. At last, I can get away.

PART TWO

Tara

SINCE MOM AND I SAW DAD AND HIS NEW FAMILY BY the lake almost two weeks ago, I’ve been avoiding my friends. I tell them I need to focus more than ever on my training, which is true. The marathon is just under a month away, and with my inconsistent training I don’t know how I will ever run twenty-six miles. But really, I just don’t want to be around Pinkie and Whitney Blaire at the moment.

Pinkie is being more overprotective than normal, which just makes me want to push her away more. I know she means well, but it’s getting to be too much. She’s trying to get me to call her every morning at five thirty before my run and tell her exactly where I’m going and how long I think it will take. Then she wants another call to make sure I make it home; she won’t even wait to see me at school. I’m not having it. I guess she thinks that with all that’s happened in the last weeks, I’m emotionally disturbed and maybe even suicidal. I am not emotionally disturbed. Who cares that my ex-boyfriend is a horny bastard and my dad is a two-faced jackass? I don’t need them. I have more important things in my life going for me. I’m totally fine and in control. And I’m not suicidal.

But Pinkie still nags me to be careful crossing streets and has suddenly become this fitness guru, reminding me to take vitamins and keep hydrated. I know she likes keeping her chicks in order, but I’m ready to leave the nest.

And Whitney Blaire, forget it. I am avoiding her too, but for different reasons. Riley told me about their fight and I think Whitney Blaire’s being more shallow and jealous than usual. Every time she passes Riley in the hallways, she claws the air, hisses, or calls her some version of “whore.” It’s like being in junior high again. I usually don’t remember that I’m almost a year older, but by the way she’s acting, I feel decades beyond her.

So now I’m spending most of my time with Riley. She’s eighteen and a jock, and she doesn’t ask me how I am holding up every time I see her. Although I’d be lying if I say I need an excuse to be with her. I don’t know what it is, but she makes me happy and nervous in a good way. When I’m with Riley, I don’t think about everything that’s happened.

She’s been giving me rides on and off this week, so I’m not surprised when she pulls up after school in her fancy car.

“Fruit smoothies with energy boosts?” Riley flicks her hair out of her face.

I had told Pinkie a few minutes ago, when she offered me a ride, that I was busy getting more sponsors. Now, I can’t think of anyone to approach. “Sure, why not.”

Riley smiles and nods for me to get into her car. It’s the coldest day so far, nearly 35 degrees, but the sun is out and Riley has the top down. I sprint to the car and vault over the side without opening the door. Riley floors the gas and we peel off laughing. She takes the turns sharper and faster than normal. Part of me thinks I should ask her to slow down. The other part is enjoying it. After all, this is Riley. And when I’m with her, I feel safe.

I turn to look at her and see her hair streaming out behind her. It doesn’t matter how many times we’ve hung out, she always looks amazing with all that beautiful hair.

Riley glances my way as she drives. I can’t see her eyes because of the sunglasses, but I know they are smiling.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

I’m imagining how amazing she would look doing a routine on the uneven bars with her hair flying behind her like a superhero. But I can’t tell her that. I turn away instead and say the first thing I can think of. “The sky’s so blue, it’s such a nice day.”

Riley smiles even more. We’re at a red light and she gives me her full attention. “Yes, it’s very nice.”

I can feel her eyes on me, not the sky, as she says it. Keeping my face away, I hope she can’t see me blush. I don’t even know why I’m blushing. We’re talking about the weather. It’s supposed to be the neutral boring subject. But I’m blushing as if she had complimented me.

We don’t say anything else. At some point Riley starts whistling along with the radio. She’s still driving fast. She slides into a parking spot between two trucks and then slams on the brakes, leaving only a couple of inches between her car and the post. She closes the top by pressing a button and then turns to me. “Ready?”

We walk to the juice bar in silence. Before we get to the door, Riley suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me away.

“Don’t look now. Your little friend’s over there with her boy toy.”

Of course I turn around. Sure enough, Whitney Blaire is across the street with David. They are walking away eating ice cream, or probably frozen yogurt with extra fat-free caramel sauce in Whitney Blaire’s case. She’s pretending to laugh at whatever David’s saying, but I can tell her attention is on something else. I turn my head a bit to see what she’s looking at. There are a couple college guys goofing off in a parking lot right in front of her, and I bet anything that’s what Whitney Blaire’s really laughing at.

“She’s such a seductress.” Riley reads my mind, though I wasn’t thinking it so bluntly.

“I feel sorry for David,” I say. “He’s a nice guy.”

Riley puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head. “I don’t know what he sees in her. Sure she’s pretty, but she only pays attention to the poor boy when there isn’t anyone better around to seduce.”

This time I come to Whitney Blaire’s defense. “She might be a flirt, but she’s still a virgin.”

“Maybe that’s what she’s told you, but really watch her. She’s ready to jump on anything good looking that comes her way.”

I watch her pass the college boys. Although her back’s to me, I see her shift her head to the side as she checks them out. The boys stop what they’re doing to look at her. Then she shakes her head like she always does when she’s secretly laughing and amused, and keeps walking. Her head shifts again and this time I see a man jogging while pushing a stroller. Although he’s far away, I can tell he’s in his forties, and has the older man/James Bond appeal. Whitney Blaire stops and makes a point of leaning over to admire the baby. Whitney Blaire hates babies. It’s all show, but neither the dad nor David seem to notice her real motives. Every guy she passes, young or old, gets checked out. Then she turns the corner and I can’t see her anymore. How could I have known her for so long and have never noticed this about her?

Riley continues talking. “I wouldn’t be surprised if half the guys at school have gotten a piece of her.”

I don’t want to think of Whitney Blaire like that. On the other hand, it all makes sense. I wonder if Pinkie knows. Probably not, but I’m not going to tell her.

“Oh, great, what perfect timing.”

Riley hadn’t needed to say anything. I notice Brent’s car as soon as she does. I back up closer to the wall and stare at my fingernails. They are cut to the quick, yet there still seems to be some dirt caught in them.

I remember the message he left on the machine while Mom and I were away. About not being able to be without me. But when I got back to school, I heard he was already with some girl with dark hair.

Even with my head down, I know Riley is staring at Brent’s car. “Now there’s a car that must be full of her fingerprints.”

I look up. “Whose?”

Riley suddenly realizes what she said because she turns away from both the car driving up the street and me. “Sorry, nothing. I was just talking to myself.”

My mouth drops. No way. I glance in the direction Whitney Blaire and David left. No, Riley couldn’t have meant who I think she did. I step right in front of her, but she won’t look at me.

I lean over to try and meet her eyes. “Are you saying that Whitney Blaire was the one in the car with Brent?”

Riley shifts away and opens the door to the juice bar. “No. All I’m saying is that I saw her at the gym that day.”