The Take-Over Friend, page 14
“Sonja, I have a sister.”
“But we’re the same age.”
I fell quiet.
“I hate when you do this,” she said. “Disappear.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m right here.”
She glanced at the photos on my wall. “I just wish you could understand. I’m the pawn in my parents’ marriage.”
Later, I found Mom unloading the dishwasher and setting glasses on the shelf. Hearing me descend the stairs, she looked up. “What happened with Sonja’s father?”
“Alicia is pregnant. Mr. Marcus plans to marry her as soon as the divorce goes through. He wants Sonja to come live with them in Geneva.”
“Really?” Mom looked surprised. “Switch schools midyear?”
“Sonja told him she could live with us instead.”
“Us!” Mom’s eyes widened. “Where did she get that idea?”
I nodded toward Dad’s study where he was practicing his guitar. “Dad probably. She makes him tea and chats with him every afternoon.”
Mom’s voice turned cool. “This was always meant to be a temporary situation, not long term.”
27
We headed into the third week of January, and Sonja’s mother still hadn’t returned from Florida.
Each day Sonja stayed with us, I grew more irritated. She thanked my parents for everything—delicious dinners, interesting conversations, peanut butter sandwiches. The thing I noticed most? She didn’t seem at all concerned about her mother.
“When is she coming back from Florida?” I asked.
“Friday. Aunt Tessa’s coming with her.” She heaved a big sigh. “Dad wants the divorce papers signed before he goes back to Geneva. Baby Whore left yesterday. He still wants me to live with him.” Sonja exhaled, her shoulders lifting and falling. “At least I have your family. You’re my safe place right now.”
I knew what she wanted me to say, but I couldn’t say it. Silence was my protective gear.
Now that she was living with us and dating my brother, I was beginning to think she had too much of my life.
I created space between us. I studied more, just to have my door closed, to have my separate space. I snuck outside to walk the dogs even when the wind chill was minus ten. I could hear her next door, talking on the phone to her aunt or mother or father, and I could always tell who was on the other end by the sound of her voice.
She felt my distance. “You seem preoccupied,” she told me. “You’ve changed.”
“The play,” I said. “It’s a lot of work.” But inside, I knew it was payback for her relationship with my brother—their closeness had usurped our friendship.
I worried Sonja might sneak into my room while I was at rehearsals and try to read my journal, so I carved out an old atlas and hid my journal inside, sprinkling poppy seeds in the pages. Clever me, I thought. If she tried to read my journal, the poppy seeds would fall out.
The only time Sonja reverted back to her old snarly self was when her father called. “It’s the groomed poodle,” she said, closing the door behind her. I listened to her side of the conversation through the wall. “Yes, I’m sure. They don’t mind at all.”
One afternoon, I distinctly heard her say, “I suppose it will depend on when her sister comes home.”
I knew. Of course I knew. She was hoping to live with us until summer!
The play saved me.
Each afternoon, I sat on the edge of the stage with the other nymphs. Most of them were sophomores and juniors, and they were all theater people, which meant they took being nymphs seriously. They talked about “stage presence,” offering advice to us younger nymphs. “Slower, Fran. Pretend your arms are moving through fog.” Patty, especially, doled out advice. “So, Fran,” she spoke gently, “your voice has to blend with ours. You need to hum more softly, so you don’t drown us out.”
I smiled. You’re a senior and only a nymph, Patty, because Mr. Grady has no place else to put you. I wasn’t a kind person anymore.
Two weeks into practice, Mr. Grady told the other nymphs, “Let Frances lead with a louder hum. Her voice carries. The rest of you stay on key, but back off on the volume.”
Every time the queen went on stage, I was supposed to watch and listen. But I still had plenty of time to sit on the edge of the stage, talking to Josh.
“We’re Thevals,” Josh said. “A sub-group of weirdo magnets. Theater Environmentalist Vegetarian Animal Lovers.”
“Thevals,” I pronounced, with a French accent, like cheval, the word for horse.
“Politicized weirdo magnets.” Josh nodded.
“What’s the Theval manifesto?”
“No meat, obviously. Subversive drama.” Josh glanced at all the actors around us, and we both burst out laughing. Practically the whole cast was female, and mostly girls who didn’t do sports. “Well, not that subversive.”
Stevie carried around a large sketchbook, each page with a sketch of the character’s costume, arrows pointing to the margin where she wrote down possible materials, colors, and makeup ideas. As if to demonstrate her prowess, she wore little skirts and tall boots, scarves, belts, hats, and costume jewelry to accessorize. “I always choose my accessories first,” she told me one day after I’d complimented her fake pearls. “They tell me what mood I’m in—beads or pearls?” Then, glancing at my jeans and T-shirt, she said, “Want to come with me on Saturday? I’m going around to secondhand stores to look for costume pieces. We could find you some accessories.”
“Sure.” I imagined telling Sonja, Stevie and I went to vintage stores. We had a great time. Because Sonja was my litmus test—I still compared my life to hers.
By the end of the second week of rehearsals, Josh had already fulfilled his role as sound technician. He’d recorded horse sounds, wind sounds, and footsteps. He’d found the theme songs, to be played at various points in the play. All of it was keyed into the system. He still had to come to rehearsals, but mostly he sat on the floor finishing his homework. Fortunately for me, the nymphs were often excused early from rehearsals, so Josh and I waited for Stevie in the school library.
“Why’d you decide to do sound?” I asked him one afternoon.
“Stevie told me it would balance out my college application. Sierra Club. Cross-country skiing. Sound engineer for school plays.” He leaned closer. “Basically she wanted us on the same schedule.”
“Understandable.” I pulled out my lab notebook, and Josh smiled at the page covered with red marks. “I’ll help you redo it.”
As he leaned close, I noticed Josh had become handsomer under Stevie’s tutelage. He wore his pants longer, and he’d acquired (or she’d acquired for him) some beautiful hand-knit sweaters. I also noticed his orange fingertips. “Your fingers are orange.”
“Stevie painted them.”
I knew the bitter orange liquid was meant to deter nail biting. My sister had had orange fingertips.
We sat in the school library by large windows. Outside, snow fell. It was only four-thirty, but the sky was dark. There was a lamp on our table, and it burned a circle of light around us, our heads casting shadows that overlapped. As we worked, leaning toward each other, I felt Josh’s sleeve brush mine, and I was startled at how close I felt to him.
He laid out each equation, drawing on the experiments we did that week in class.
“See? Easy. Now it’s your turn.” He pushed my notebook back toward me, waiting while I redid the calculations correctly. We were quiet together, both of us concentrating. When I shoved the paper toward him, he leaned over, reviewing my results. Then he patted me on my back. “Congratulations, Hair. You just aced the exam.”
When Stevie arrived, we bundled up and walked toward my house. “Yay, it’s Friday,” Stevie said, snuggling closer to Josh. “Fridays we always go to Mesa’s in Uptown. Want to come?”
I was grateful to be included.
After we devoured our pizzas, they walked me home. It had rained the night before, and now the temperatures had dropped, leaving a layer of ice on all the trees and bushes. We could hear the trucks scattering salt and sand, moving systematically down each street. In the distance, planes were descending through clouds toward the airport.
“Isn’t this great?” Stevie took a step and slid. “The whole world is frozen.” She took another step and slid. “It’s like we’re the only ones out here.” She planted a kiss on Josh’s cheek. “We have the whole weekend.”
Josh didn’t say anything, even as Stevie kept slipping into him, forcing him to catch her. I think he was embarrassed. It felt like Stevie was marking turf, just like dogs do.
“You’re going to pull me down,” Josh said, slightly irritated.
Stevie loosened her arm, talking about the opening night the following weekend. “You’ll finally get to meet my mom, Frances. She’s bringing practically everyone from her salon.” At the bottom of the driveway, Stevie hugged me. “We heard about Sonja’s mom. How’s she doing?”
“How’d you hear?” I asked.
“She posted it on Facebook. Photos of her mom. Something about your family saving her.” Stevie glanced at Josh. “You didn’t tell her?”
He shook his head, watching me.
I smiled, a pretend smile. “Have a good weekend.” I walked up the driveway, then turned and watched them walk toward the lake, holding hands. As I came into the kitchen, I glanced out the window and saw the poetry-mobile windows steamed over—Sonja and Will often went out there before dinner. I headed up to my room alone, glad to have the dogs following at my heels.
That night, Will surprised me. While Sonja was in the shower, he knocked and entered my room. Putting a finger to his lips, “Shhh,” he sat on the edge of my bed and frantically whispered, “She wants me to text all the time, and for our two-week anniversary, she covered my bed in Hershey’s kisses. She says she loves me.”
“Do you love her?”
“No!” He shook his head.
We heard the bathroom door open, Sonja padding across the hall. “Will?” She opened the door to my bedroom with only a towel wrapped around her torso, face flushed from steam and wet hair cascading over her shoulders, her coy smile aimed at Will. “I need to show you something in your room.”
Will stood up and brushed past her. “It’s almost eleven-thirty. I have practice tomorrow morning.”
She laughed, following him toward his room.
My brother hurried across the hallway and began to close the door, but she followed and pushed it open. “Just a goodnight kiss,” she said, kicking the door closed with her heel.
I was embarrassed for her—how hard she was trying to make him love her.
My mother must have heard their voices because five seconds later, she called up the stairs, “Everyone in for the night?”
Will’s door opened, and Sonja hurried into her room.
28
My brother was a coward. Instead of breaking up with Sonja, Will began avoiding her by staying away from the house as much as possible. He got busier, too busy to return her texts and phone messages. He skipped dinners with the family, and when he came home, announced he was exhausted and went to bed early, locking his door, turning off the light, and shutting Sonja out.
I came out of rehearsals one afternoon and found her message: Why isn’t your brother answering my calls?
After dinner that night, she settled on my bed. “Is Will talking to other girls?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You sure? He seems really distant.”
“School, practice.” I shrugged. “Soccer takes over his life. Just give him space. He’s super stressed because scouts are coming to the tournament games. It has nothing to do with you.”
She glanced toward his room at the end of the hall.
“I can’t wait until you see the costumes,” I told her. “Stevie’s a genius. She made them all from vintage clothing.”
“She does the sewing?”
“And the makeup. She’s really talented.” I wanted her to realize I had my own life and a new set of friends, separate from her. “The play is only two weeks away. I’m excited.”
She was busy scrolling Facebook sites of my brother’s friends for any secrets Will might have. When I sighed out loud, her eyes stayed on her phone even as she insisted, “I’m listening. Stevie’s costumes are great. Stevie’s makeup is great. It’s coming together.” She glanced up. “See? Heard it all.”
She hadn’t heard though. She hadn’t heard the part about me being excited.
“You’re coming opening night, right?” I said. “Only two weeks away.”
“Whichever night your brother wants to go.”
Two nights later, I walked out of rehearsal, surprised to see Will waiting to give me a ride home in the poetry-mobile. As I climbed into the passenger seat, he reached his cell toward me. “Seventeen texts from Sonja in the last two hours. She’s getting on my nerves.” Will stared off across the fields, shaking his head. “It’s getting really awkward. Can you talk to her?”
“Me!”
“You’re her best friend.”
I shook my head. “You need to talk to her.”
After we’d turned on to the street, I asked, “Which performance are you coming to? I need to reserve tickets.”
“Opening night?” He glanced sideways. “Isn’t that when you want us to come?”
His phone was sitting on the seat, and when it rang, Sonja’s number lit up on the screen. “It’s Sonja.”
He shook his head, and I clicked it off.
When we reached the house, he dropped me off at the end of the block. “Tell Mom I’ll be at Gravy’s.”
“Doesn’t help to avoid her,” I told him. “You’re never home anymore. That’s cruel.”
“She needs to be reassured constantly.”
“What did you expect?”
“Not this. It’s exhausting.”
In the kitchen, Mom was chopping parsley. Glancing up, she seemed surprised. “Where’s Will? Didn’t your brother give you a ride home?”
“He went to Gravy’s,” I told her. “Four nights this week he’s been gone.”
“Senioritis,” Mom said, stirring the lentil soup. “Your sister was the same way, remember?”
“I don’t see why I have to be here if he doesn’t.” What I didn’t say is that I couldn’t stand another dinner with Sonja’s chattiness, the way she moderated the conversation, plumbing Mom and Dad for stories about our family.
Mom tossed the sponge in the sink. “Sonja is your friend, Fran.”
I glared at her. “You never liked her.”
“Of course I liked her. I worry for her.”
“You’re on her side now?”
“Are there sides?” Mom searched my face.
At that moment, Ravyn came trotting in with a pair of my underwear in her mouth. I had my period and she had eaten the crotch. She trotted proudly up to my feet and looked at me, her mouth clenched around my undies. I felt entirely humiliated and grabbed the underwear. When I looked up, Mom was holding back laughter. I realized I could laugh, or I could stay angry. I had all the power right then; I could determine the moment—retreat or attack.
Mom wanted me to laugh. A month ago I would’ve laughed. But now my voice trembled. “Don’t you see what Sonja’s doing? She’s taking over.”
Mom looked surprised and reached out to hug me.
I pushed her hug away. “Ali’s right. You’re such a doormat.”
Mom’s eyes flinched, and she reached to slap me but stopped herself just in time. But I had seen it. It stunned us both. Mom had never once raised a hand to any of us. She was very pro-hug. Pro-kiss. Pro-love. She looked shocked. “Oh god, Franny. I’m so sorry.”
I slapped the air. “Now that’s mature!”
“Franny!”
I kept slapping the air, like I was beating it up, as I walked toward the stairs. I didn’t know what had just happened, but I felt powerful, like I’d just shifted who I was in the family. I’d made Mom wonder who I was becoming. I wanted her to wonder. I didn’t want her to just assume I’d always stay the same, the easy one. Because that’s not how I felt anymore. I felt like there was an explosion inside, and eventually it would make its way to the surface.
29
The following night, after Sonja left to have dinner with her mother and aunt who had arrived back in Minneapolis the day before, Mom commanded everyone into the kitchen for a discussion. “We need to talk—”
“Is this one of your meanings?” Dad asked, yawning.
Mom cut him off. “Now’s not the time. I met with Sonja’s mother and father this afternoon.”
“When was that planned?” I asked. “Sonja didn’t mention it.”
“She didn’t know. I called them this morning. I thought there might be some misunderstandings.”
Mom glanced around the table. “Apparently Sonja told her parents she can live here—”
Will’s mouth fell open.
“Why can’t she?” Dad asked.
Mom’s eyes narrowed. “Did you tell her she could live here?”
“She’s Fran’s best friend.” Dad shrugged. “I said she was always welcome. Isn’t she?”
“Did you ask your daughter what she wants?” Mom’s voice rose. “Or your son?”
“It’s not like she’s homeless,” Will said. “She has a mansion.”
Dad looked around the table as if he didn’t understand, his eyelids suddenly heavy with fatigue. He stared at me. “You don’t want her here?”
“It changes our friendship—”
“Me either,” Will said.
“She’s going through a very hard time,” Dad said, defending Sonja. “We’re her safe place. Doesn’t that mean something to you?” He kept his gaze on me. “Fran?”
