The Princesses of Iowa Page 8

  We nodded, shuffling notebooks and pens.

  “Cool,” he said. “Specific details, somewhere you know well. Beyond that, don’t think too hard. Just write.”

  A place I know well . . . I wrote, then paused. Should I write about my bedroom, or was that too easy? I could write about my secret place in the woods. But what if he made us read them out loud?

  “Don’t think, Paige,” Mr. Tremont said. “Just write.”

  I looked up guiltily and he smiled, making a writing gesture with his pen. I started again.

  A place I know well . . .

  A place I know well is my locker. It’s mostly bare now, chipping green paint and the numbers on the lock so faded you can hardly see them, but I know them by feel. It used to be decorated, like in the movies, full of cute pictures of Lacey and Nikki and Jake and me, and inspiring words cut out from magazines, tickets from school dances and notes from Jake and little drawings Nikki doodled in the margins of my homework and reminders about student council meetings and parties and papers due. I remember kneeling on the cool tiles in front of my locker at the end of last year, doing one final sweep to make sure nothing important would be thrown away when the janitors came through and cleaned over the summer, when suddenly Lacey appeared, holding up her cell phone like a winning lottery ticket. “You love me!” she announced, and I looked up from the year’s worth of junk, debating whether I should bother trashing it myself or whether I should just let the janitors take care of it. “What?”

  “Seriously, you should just get down on your knees and kiss my feet.”

  “I am on my knees,” I said. “And kinky.”

  She laughed and swatted at my head. “Shut up. You know what I mean. Worship the ground I walk on, my friend. You’ll never guess what I got.”

  I stood and looked at her, trying to determine whether she was bluffing. “No you didn’t.”

  “YES I DID!” she cried. “I got us invites to the Sigma party.”

  “Through Prescott?”

  “Please. Through my own amazingness.”

  I crossed my arms. “What do you owe him?”

  “What? Nothing.” She fixed her eyes at a point above my head. I waited. Lacey sighed. “Fine! I said we’d wash his car.”

  “We’d?”

  “Well, you. I mean, Nikki and I will help. . . .” She shrugged. “You know he has a thing for you.”

  Nikki appeared behind us, bouncing like a little girl. “Omigod you guys, hi! We’re seniors! Did you tell her, Lacey?”

  “Yep,” Lacey said, and Nikki squealed, grabbing my arm.

  “Isn’t it so exciting? The Sigma party is like THE biggest party of the summer!”

  A pair of sophomores strolled down the hallway, hand in hand, with moony kissy faces, like they didn’t even notice the sagging Yearbook Dance posters and lemon-yellow cinderblock walls around them. He leaned over and whispered something in her ear, and she turned pink and broke into a run, dragging him down the hallway, giggling. I wondered where Jake was, whether he was already at the visitation, and what that was like. I wondered if he was wearing the same suit he wore to prom a few weeks earlier, and then I wondered if I’d left anything in the pockets of his jacket to remind him of me. We used to do it all the time, leave little notes or tiny paper hearts for each other in surprising places: the pocket of a winter coat, between the folds of a wallet, behind the sun visor in the car.

  “I don’t know,” I said suddenly, my voice too loud in the mostly empty hallways.

  Lacey and Nikki spoke in unison. “What?”

  “I don’t know if I should go. To the party.”

  Lacey looked at me like I was speaking Chinese. “WHAT? Why not?”

  I fiddled with the dial on my locker. “It’s just, you know, Jake’s out of town, at a funeral, and you know. It doesn’t seem right.”

  “Oh, Paige,” Nikki said. “You have to! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

  Lacey said, “Jake would want you to go. He worries that you don’t have enough fun, Paige. He told me.”

  I looked up. “He did? When?”

  “In study hall last week. He’s worried you’ve been spending too much time studying lately.”

  “I have to keep my 4.0,” I said defensively. “My parents will kill me if my grades drop. You know that. If I don’t do well on the precalc final, I’m totally screwed.”

  “Whatever. You’ll get straight As like always and make the rest of us look bad! Paige, you’ve studied enough. You seriously cannot miss this party.”

  Nikki nodded earnestly. “And plus? There will be so many hot guys there!”

  “Yeah, I have a boyfriend?”

  She shrugged happily. “I don’t!”

  Lacey grabbed my hand and locked her cornflower eyes with mine. “Seriously. This is not a choice. You must come.”

  The bell rang. I jumped in my seat, practically flinging my pen across the room. Thankfully no one seemed to notice, as they were all shoving their notebooks into bags, standing up, chatting about the weekend. Over the din, Mr. Tremont called, “Don’t forget Mrs. Mueller’s homework this weekend! Literary readings in the city!” Without meaning to, I looked over at Ethan, though I’d been actively avoiding his eyes all through class, irrationally worrying that someone would see and somehow know that we’d been semi–hanging out the day before. But he was engrossed in conversation with Shanti and Jeremy, and a moment later the three of them were through the door, laughing.

  I headed toward the parking lot in a fog. The writing thing was so intense, it was kind of freaking me out. When I’d managed to do as Mr. Tremont suggested and stop thinking too hard, it was like my hand took over, and once again I’d been surprised by what my hand had written, as if it had all kinds of things to say that my brain knew nothing about.

  As I cleared the lawn and stepped onto the cracked pavement of the student parking lot, I heard a voice behind me. “Paige! Paige, wait up!”

  Unmistakably Nikki. I had a sudden strange urge to run away, running like little kids do before they learn to worry about who’s watching. But I wasn’t a little kid anymore, and I was all too aware of being watched. So I took a deep breath and forced myself to smile even before I turned around. “Hey, Nikki.”

  She was breathing heavily. “Gotta quit . . . soon . . .” she panted.

  “No shit,” I agreed.

  After another moment or two she managed to collect herself. “What are you doing tonight?”

  Friday night. It took me an embarrassingly long time to remember. “Uh . . .” I squinted up at the vivid blue sky, so bright my sunglasses made little difference. “I guess there’s a game tonight.”

  She tugged at the hem of her little sundress. “Are you going to Lacey’s party afterward?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t know about it.”

  “Of course you did.”

  I lowered my sunglasses. “Actually, I didn’t. Lacey’s totally been avoiding me.”

  “No she hasn’t!” Nikki scanned the parking lot. “I’m sure she hasn’t. It’s just — she’s going through a hard time. . . .”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Anyway,” Nikki said, “you totally have to come tonight!”

  “Why?”

  She looked surprised. “Um, because we’re finally seniors? And we’re going to be princesses? And it wouldn’t exactly look good to miss a huge party this early in the year?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. “I’ll have to talk to Jake.”

  “Oh, he’s totally coming! He told me in fourth.” Her nose and cheeks were flecked with tiny brown freckles. “So that means you’re coming, right?”

  He told her in fourth, but he hadn’t said a word to me at lunch? Why? Because he just assumed I’d be there, Perfect Paige making a Perfect Party Appearance? Or because he and Lacey didn’t want me there? I bit my lip. “Maybe.”

  Nikki clapped. “Yay!”

  I lowered my sunglasses and raised an eyebrow warningl
y, a trick I’d learned from my grandmother. “Maybe.”

  “Okay, right,” she said, and held a hand to her mouth, as if to hide a secret. “See you then!”

  “Maybe!” I exclaimed, smiling in spite of myself.

  Abruptly, she changed the subject. “Have you seen Lacey?”

  “In the five minutes I’ve been talking to you?” I asked. “Uh, no.”

  Nikki pulled her cell phone out of her purse and checked the time. “Shit, I have a meeting with . . . I have to go!” She spun on her trendy heels and hurried toward the school. Halfway to the door, she turned and yelled back at me. “See you tonight!”

  I turned back toward the parking lot, shaking my head. She was a spaz, but I loved her.

  Lacey grabbed me just before I reached my car. “Have you seen Nikki? She was supposed to meet me out here.”

  “Oh, you’re talking to me now?”

  Lacey’s expression was blank.

  I sighed. “I just saw her. She was looking for you.”

  “Well I don’t see her now, do you?” Lacey stamped her cane in irritation. It had been painted like a yellow-and-white candy cane, school colors, with girls’ names running up and down it. It looked like the work of the dance team, or maybe the juniors in student council.

  I looked around. “Uh, no.”

  When I turned back, she was studying me, her eyes pale blue in the afternoon sun. I noticed that she was wearing white eyeliner, and I wondered when that had started. Strange, how I could remember every detail of her so clearly from one day last spring — her outfit, her hair, every word she said — and put it all on paper, but now every detail of her face looked unfamiliar. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “Are you stoned?”

  My head was still in class. “We got this new creative writing teacher —”

  “Yeah, I heard he’s a real fag,” Lacey said, unwrapping a stick of gum.

  “What?” I asked, startled.

  “Randy says he’s the worst teacher he’s ever had.”

  “Randy’s just pissed because Mr. Tremont kicked him out of class.” My voice was much louder than I meant it to be. I looked away, embarrassed.

  “Whatever,” Lacey said, sounding bored. “Anyway, are you coming to my party tonight?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Maybe? It’s like, the biggest party of the year!”

  “No it’s not,” I said. “What about the post-homecoming party? Or the Halloween party? Or the luau in February? Or —”

  “Okay, okay.” She quickly checked the car beside mine for dirt before leaning her butt against it. “The point is, it will be big.”

  “Well, ask Nikki,” I said. “I just had this whole big conversation about it with her.”

  “Fine,” she said. We eyed each other warily. There was so much between us, so many years of friendship, and yet we had nothing to say to each other. What could I say, now that I knew how much she wasn’t telling me? Finally, I opened the door of my car and slid into the driver’s seat. “Well . . .”

  She grabbed the top of my door before I closed it, her perfectly manicured nails peeking over the edge. “Hey Paige?” Her voice was low, tinged with a warmth I’d nearly forgotten.

  “Yeah?” My heart got fluttery in a moment-of-truth kind of way. My script from earlier waited on my lips. I’m sorry, too. I know things have been hard —

  Lacey cocked her head to the side. “You’re not going to wear that tonight, are you?”

  I don’t know how long I sat in my car after that, but when I looked up again the student lot was mostly empty. My head was full of stuffing. I had a ton of homework and my parents were starting to harass me about my Northwestern application essay; I’d have to get something done if I was going out tonight. I needed to focus, and gas-station coffee wasn’t going to cut it — I needed the hard stuff. Just making a decision helped; my brain felt sharper already. I turned my car toward Starbucks, the only café in town.

  Inside, people were scattered at the tables in ones and twos, cups and napkins filling the space between them. I headed toward the counter and then stopped. Ethan was behind the cash register, making change for another customer. I considered backing away, ducking out of the café, but he looked up from his work and locked eyes with me. “Hey, Paige.”

  “Hey,” I said, feeling awkward.

  “What’re you drinking today?”

  I ordered my usual, which I’d inherited from my mother. “Grande skinny caramel latte, extra hot, please.” I expected him to smirk at the fussiness of my order, but he just punched it into the computer and asked, “Anything else?”

  “No thanks,” I said, swiping my credit card through the machine. “I, uh, didn’t know you worked here.”

  He grinned. “Now you do,” he said, “and knowing’s half the battle.”

  I looked at him blankly.

  “No? G.I. Joe? Eighties nostalgia?”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Kids these days.” He shook his head. “Are you here to write? Shanti’s here.” At her name, a dark head in the corner popped up and turned toward us. “Hi, Paige!” she called. She waved, and I instinctively glanced around to make sure no one I knew was in the café before I waved back.

  Ethan picked up a marker and scrawled on a cup. “So how’s it going?”

  “It’s . . . whatever.”

  “Ah,” he said. “I see you’re taking Mr. Tremont’s lesson about specific details to heart.”

  “Shut up,” I said. He grinned, then ducked behind the espresso machine.

  I leaned against the counter, feeling awkward. “So,” I said, “um, how long have you worked here?”

  He spoke over the clanking and hissing of the machine. “Just a few weeks, but I worked at a Starbucks in Omaha, so when we moved here . . . It’s just like riding a bike, you know.”

  “Do you enjoy working here?”

  Ethan’s head popped up over the machine. “Oh, I get it. We never finished our interview in class. So it’s my turn, right?”

  “Uh, right,” I said, only then realizing that we’d never gotten around to talking about him.

  “Do I enjoy working here?” Ethan asked. “I mean, it’s a job. It has its moments.”

  “I’ve never had a real job.” The moment I said it, I knew it was a mistake.

  “Must be nice.”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I should get one.”

  He fitted a plastic lid over my drink. “Well, Freud said that you need a balance of both love and work in your life. Lieben und arbeiten.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “So . . . do you have to have a special work permit to work here?”

  He looked amused. “Are you thinking of applying?”

  “No,” I said. “No, I was just wondering . . . don’t you have to be sixteen to get a job?”

  Ethan squinted at me. “Technically, I think you can get a work permit at fourteen. But yeah, you have to be at least sixteen to work here.” He tilted his head the way my mother does when she’s trying to understand me. “Why? How old are you, seventeen?”

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m eighteen. This is an odd conversation we’re having.”

  “You’re eighteen?”

  “Yessss? Is that a problem?”

  “But you’re —” I felt my face get hot and looked down to hide it. “Are you a senior?”

  “Ohhhhhhh,” he said. “I get it. You thought I was a freshman.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Yes you did.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Yes you did.” He laughed. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Paige.”

  “I don’t,” I insisted. He laughed again, and I realized how ridiculous I sounded. I smiled tentatively.

  And then the door opened, and I stepped back automatically, looking away. Mrs. Austin strode in, covering the distance from the door to the counter in a breath, and by the time I look
ed back for Ethan, he was hidden behind the espresso machine.

  “Well hello there, dear,” Mrs. Austin said, and then to Ethan: “My usual.” He paused for a millisecond and she snapped, “Triple espresso with a shot of nonfat soy.”

  “Of course.” He passed my cup across the counter. I couldn’t look at him.

  “What does your mother drink, Paige?” Mrs. Austin asked. “I can never remember.” My mother had been working for Mrs. Austin for six years. They’d sat through countless client meetings together, nearly always anchored with Starbucks cups.

  “She —”

  “Oh well, just make two of the same,” Mrs. Austin said, then looked at me. “What are you doing this afternoon, dear? Waiting for Jake to get off practice?”

  “They have a game —” I started.

  Mrs. Austin pushed her credit card across the counter, and Ethan had to turn the card machine around in order to slide it himself. Mrs. Austin didn’t seem to notice. “Ah, young love. What I wouldn’t do to be back in your place, Paige. These are the best years of your life, you know. Enjoy them while they last.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Are you here studying?” she asked. “It’s a good thing that Jake’s naturally gifted, because between football and working at the law firm, I don’t know when he’d find time to study if he needed to. You’re lucky to have long afternoons stretched out in front of you, dear. Plenty of time to focus on your schoolwork.”

  My fingers wrapped around the cup more tightly. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “So you’re here alone?” Mrs. Austin asked, looking around the café. “I don’t see Lacey or Nikki anywhere.”

  I opened my mouth. “I’m —”

  Wordlessly, Ethan passed her cups across the counter to her and she grabbed them, winking at me. “Well, a woman’s work is never done. But you know that. Enjoy your luxurious solitary afternoon, my dear.”

  Without looking at Ethan, I hiked my bag up on my shoulder. “I should go,” I mumbled, and followed the trail of Mrs. Austin’s perfume all the way to the door.

  My mother scolded me into a dress for the party that night, a little black thing with white accents that I’d picked up on Michigan Avenue with her before school started. I tried to point out the obvious fact that before the party, I’d have to spend several hours freezing outside on the bleachers, but she was insistent. We had a week before the vote for court, and people would be paying attention. She pushed me into a chair and swept my hair into an elaborate updo. In the end, even I had to admit that the effect was good. I smiled at myself, tilting my head down slightly so my face was half in shadow.