Sticky Fingers (6 page)

I mean, if her parents are dealing with a divorce and lawyers, and her dad is paying the mortgage on their monster house in Framingham and the rent on some pricey place in Brookline (’cause Brookline ain’t cheap, and no way is Mr. Delahunt going to live low-end), how are they going to pay for Courtney to go to BU next year? And for Anne’s tuition the year after that? Even though he’s a partner at some big law firm in Boston, I can’t imagine Mr. Delahunt makes
that
much money.

“Well, there is another plus to all of this,” Courtney says. “At least when I move out next year.”

I frown while I rearrange my stapler and paper clip holder. Has it been that bad in her house and I just haven’t noticed? “What do you mean?”

“My dad’s new place is only a few blocks from the
BU dorms on Commonwealth Ave. Not so close that he can spy on me or anything, but he’ll be right there if I need to mooch food or just get away from people. He has a washer and dryer, too, so I won’t have to pay to use the one in the dorm.”

“I guess that’s one upside.” Pretty damned pathetic one.

She’s quiet for a sec, then says, “I know it sounds awful, but seeing my parents acting all nice is making me think it’s going to be the right thing for them. And now that I’ve had a couple days to absorb it, and I’ve been able to talk to Mat and to you, I’m actually okay with the whole thing.”

I don’t know what to say to this. My parents have always been really good together, so I can’t imagine being in her place. But I don’t see how it can possibly be
okay.

“Just let me know if I can do anything.” I can’t resist the e-mail flag waving to me from my computer, so I click on it and scan the e-mails in my in-box. It’s most of the usual stuff: spam asking me if I want to increase the size of my portfolio (among other things), my daily horoscope, my soap opera
update, and an e-mail from my cool cousin Mark in DC. He just turned twenty and goes to Georgetown, so he’s my source for what college is really like.

“You have so many good things going on for you right now, I mean with Harvard and all. I don’t want to drag you down.”

“Courtney, this has nothing to do with—”

“Okay, okay, Harvard Girl. I know what you can do,” she says. “Let’s go shopping tomorrow afternoon, before we meet the guys. I talked to Scott about it when I was getting off work at Stop & Shop yesterday, and he thought we should all meet at five for dinner, then catch a movie. So we could go shopping around two? Since it’s Saturday, I only have to do setup and then work through noon at the deli counter.”

I have zero desire—and zero funds—for shopping, but I click on to my calendar. “You’ll be done before me. I’m babysitting for the Eversons from nine thirty to one thirty. How ’bout if I call you as soon as I get home?” Maybe by then she’ll have lost interest.

“Perfect!” She starts to say something else, but there’s a click on the line as her call-waiting beeps at
her. “Oops … I think that’s Mat. Hold on a sec.”

“Nah, go ahead and talk to Mat. I stayed up late studying for advanced bio last night, so I’m going to crash early.”

“Okay.”

She says good-bye, but only sort of. She’s clicking over to Mat before the whole word gets out of her mouth. And even though it’s her parents who are getting divorced, somehow I’m the one who feels hollow inside as I hang up the phone.

And I’m getting totally sick of everyone’s reaction to the H word.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Today’s Horoscope

Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22)

Life feels out of balance today, Libra. Instead of trying to reason out the motives of others, take time to focus on yourself. Unexpected communication from a loved one could give perspective.

Your Leo Partner (July 23-Aug. 22)

Leo can be aggressive and impulsive, but if anyone can bring equilibrium to a Leo, it’s you, Libra.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Harvard vs. G’Town

So. Harvard. Early. You’ve said it now, don’t say it again or I’ll have to kill you. You know they rejected me not once, but twice. I’m sure my wasted application fees went to a good cause, like paying for the solvent they use when buffing the library floors.

Seriously, though, good for you, Jenna. I am still of the opinion you should come to Georgetown so I can hook you up with some of my (smarter) friends, and because DC is infinitely more fun than Cambridge, Massachusetts. But I’ll forgive you if you promise to come here for spring break. Tell your parents you’re staying with me (for some reason, they
think I’m trustworthy), and that I’m going to take you to the art museums and on a tour of the Supreme Court. They’ll let you. Flights from Boston are cheap.

And don’t worry about Scott. You shouldn’t feel guilty about getting into Harvard ahead of him. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you’ll discover that relationships go through a huge transition between your senior year of high school and your freshman year of college. Not that I’m saying you two will break up after high school—it’s more that, even when those relationships from high school do last, they’re different. Something to keep in mind.

Let me know about spring break. It’s a serious invitation. And I promise you’ll have some serious fun.

Mark

Freaky, freaky horoscope yesterday. All morning with the Everson kids and I’m still thinking about it. I’m totally out of balance, and even though I’m not sure
about the impulsive part, Scott is definitely being aggressive. (I like that about him most of the time.)

And Mark has to be the “unexpected communication from a loved one.” After all, he did try to offer me some perspective on the Scott situation.

Of course, the horoscope didn’t say whether the loved one would offer the
correct
perspective, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t believe in horoscopes. The fine print even says that it’s for entertainment purposes only. But still …

“Wanna run upstairs to The Body Shop?” Courtney asks as we walk through the first floor of the Natick Mall. “I want to get some of that Nut Body Butter. My skin’s totally dry with all the cold weather.”

It’s crowded, since it’s Saturday and Christmas is almost here, and I’m getting to the limit of my patience with people bumping into me with their bags. But it’s Courtney’s shopping trip, and with everything going on at her house, I figure I’ll just roll with whatever she wants today.

“My skin’s pretty dry too,” I tell her, but since I always get sucked into buying way too much stuff at The Body Shop, I ask her if we can duck into CVS
first since it’s right in front of us. If I spend my money in here—on stuff I really need—I won’t be as tempted when we get upstairs.

Courtney leads the way inside, past a group of teenagers who are hanging out by the huge theft detectors in the doorway, talking about what their plans are for winter break while they suck down their milk shakes from the Friendly’s that’s opposite the CVS. Of course, they stop talking to eye Courtney for a moment, and I can tell by the little smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth as we hit the magazine aisle that she noticed them noticing her too.

When she bends down to snag a copy of
Teen People
off one of the lower racks, I notice that her jeans are hanging pretty loose. “Courtney, how much weight have you lost? And don’t say you haven’t lost any. I was with you when you bought those jeans a couple months ago.”

She flips past the pictures of some boy band singer and his girlfriend of the moment (because who really cares?) and looks over her shoulder at me. “Not much—I’m not trying or anything. Why? Do you think it’s noticeable?”

“Um, yeah!” She’s always been a stick, but this is even skinnier than her usual self, and I know she knows it. “Are you doing South Beach again or something?”

“No. But Dad told Mom he wants to take the treadmill with him to his new place, so I’ve been using it a ton.” She shrugs. “I figure he might leave it if he thinks I’m using it. And if he ends up taking it anyway, well, I should probably get in as many workouts as I can before he goes. Christmas is going to be horrid enough with them getting divorced. It’d be worse if I gained a pile of weight from all of Mom’s sugar cookies too.”

Now that she’s saying this, I realize it doesn’t look like she’s had a cookie in a couple months. She’s been doing low-fat or low-carb or low-something-or-other and not telling me, because she hates for anyone—even me—to know she’s trying to lose weight. Mostly because everyone—even me—always tells her she’s being insane, because she doesn’t have to lose weight.

Since she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, I tell her I’m going over to the aisle with the lotion. As I scan the prices, I decide that if I go supercheap
here, I might be able to afford something for Scott up at The Body Shop. I grab a bottle of the CVS brand, drop it in my red plastic basket, then walk back over to the aisle where Courtney was reading. She’s not there, so I backtrack a couple aisles. I finally see her, crouched down to look at the bottles of nail polish. She’s holding one up in the air and looking at the bottom, reading the name of the color.

And at the same time, I see her use her other hand to knock a bottle of the exact same shade into her open purse.

“Hey, Jen. You surprised me. So, uh, whaddya think of this one?”

Courtney’s still holding up the bottle. For a second, I think she must have knocked the other bottle into her purse accidentally, but then I realize I just wish she had. Because her cheeks are slowly turning pink and she’s talking awfully fast, like she’s nervous about what she’s doing and that maybe I saw her.

“I’m not sure,” I say, trying to think of a way to call her on the bottle in her purse without either pissing her off or completely embarrassing her. “You
don’t usually go orangey. Aren’t you more of a red or pink kind of person?”

She makes a face. “Usually. It’s the blond thing. But maybe I should try this one, just to shake things up. I like it.”

“Up to you. How much is it?”

Turns out it’s pricier than I would have thought, given that we’re shopping in CVS rather than at the makeup counter in Lord & Taylor. Not that I’d be obsessed with the price if she wasn’t freaking
stealing
the bottle. Despite the fact I’m cash-poor, I’m not the type to judge others by what they spend, though it’s getting difficult with Courtney lately. It’s just that I remember hearing once that stealing something over a certain price is considered a felony, instead of a misdemeanor. As in, Courtney can get actual jail time.

I don’t think the bottle would constitute a felony, but still. Why is she even risking it?

And why am I not doing anything about it? What’s wrong with
me?
I mean, I can’t even open my mouth. It’s all surreal, because this is so not Courtney. I quickly send a mental prayer up to God,
asking him to please, please, let her look down at her purse, see the bottle, and then flip out and say it fell in there accidentally.

She stares at the bottle in her hand a little while longer, then sets it back down and picks up another that’s even more orange. She holds it out in front of her, comparing it to the skin tone on the back of her hand, then nods toward my basket. “You buying that lotion?”

“Yeah.” You buying that polish?

“Well, if we want enough time to hit The Body Shop, you should get in line. I’ll meet you outside.”

I say okay and walk to the front of the store like nothing happened. I just don’t know what to do. As long as I’ve known her, she’s never so much as taken a sheet of notebook paper from me without asking first, and I’ve told her over and over to just take whatever she needs. But she still asks. She’s that honest.

I glance back toward the nail polishes, but I can’t see Courtney. She’s moved farther back, in the direction of the Revlon display.

When it’s my turn, I hand the guy at the cash
register a five for the lotion, then take the little white and red plastic CVS bag and pocket my change, all the time trying to ignore the horrid sick feeling in my stomach.

I tell myself that this should not be a big deal. But it is. Not so much because of the polish, but because I’m suddenly wondering if the person I thought I knew best in the whole world is really someone I’ve never known at all.

I turn around to go find Courtney, but she’s already standing behind me. “Ready?”

I nod, then gesture that she should lead the way out of the store.

If the theft alarms go off, I want to make sure I’m still standing inside, plastic bag and receipt safely in hand.

She shrugs and starts walking, saying something about the essential oils they sell at The Body Shop and whether they actually do anything, but I’m hardly listening. My eyes are riveted on her funky black purse, which is now latched shut—meaning she either saw the polish and put it back, or else she’s really stealing it on purpose. No way could she have
closed the purse without noticing the bright orange beacon she knocked in there.

I flinch as she passes the theft alarms. Then … nothing.

She’s a few steps out into the mall before she realizes I’m not right with her. She rolls her eyes at me. “C’mon, Jenna. I need to go home before the movies so I can change clothes, remember?”