Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,115
when I answered. “Hello?” I croaked.
“Hello. May I speak to Susan Klintock, please?”
His voice was unmistakable. I started to hang up.
“Wait,” he said. “Susan?”
“Yeah.” Whatever, Bobby, I thought. Did you get older and wiser today, or are you still going to fuck Jacqueline for money tonight?
“Look . . .” I heard voices behind him, and he was almost whispering. He must have been in the athletic office already.
“I saw,” I said harshly.
He ignored my remark, or maybe let it sink in. I could see him in his algebra teacher clothes, hunched toward the phone in the corner of his desk. “I know that situation was . . . strange,” he said. “But the team’s wondering about you. And so am I.”
Hearing him still had an effect on me; the slight rumble underneath his voice, especially over the phone like this, made me shiver. I knew I could never see him again or I’d have to fight off the attraction that I wanted not to feel.
I needed to end this, cut it cleanly, the way a smoker who wanted to quit had to flush cigarettes down the toilet because she was afraid the trash can wasn’t going far enough. “You can tell them that I’m done.”
I hung up. I stood next to the phone, staring at it, wondering if he’d call again, wondering if I could keep my resolve. But nothing happened.
Finally, I picked it up and dialed the attendance office. I tried not to cry as I pretended to be my mom and said, “Susan Klintock won’t be at school today.”
Thirty-One
After the call from Bobby, I went from sad to angry to deflated. I didn’t even have the energy to turn on the TV. Candace was right. I did live in a fantasy land, and I’d let it wreck my reality.
Mom called at ten. I must have sounded really bad when I answered, because the first words out of her mouth were, “Do you need me to come home?”
“No, Mom, I’m fine,” I said. “Or feeling better. I’ll be able to go back tomorrow.” I had to. Now that I’d told Bobby I was done, I could be done. He’d tell the team and I’d go back to Regularly Scheduled Susan.
I only had a little more than a month until midterms and winter break, and then maybe I could convince my mom to let me get a GED instead of returning to Powell Park for the rest of junior and senior years. Who was I kidding, thinking college was a real possibility?
“Okay, well, I told Polly she could swing by,” Mom said. “She wanted to drop off something you apparently left at the wedding.”
Oh no. What could I have left at the wedding? My dignity? My father’s love, or at least any chance of his approval? Joe? No, he’d left me.
I didn’t want to see her, but I owed it to her to be here so she could tell me in person how awful I was. I deserved the punishment.
I got dressed, in a newish pair of jeans and an actual blouse that I ironed. I looked like someone who was capital G, capital P Going Places—that would be the title of the photo spread in Seventeen. But Polly would see through my lousy disguise.
When the bell rang, I went to answer it like I had no idea who I’d see on the other side. Polly wore a crisp blouse, too, pink, with fuchsia slacks. Her version of put-together so exceeded mine, it felt like a slap in the face.
“It looks like you’re feeling better,” Polly said in her usual voice. Her tone contained not one iota of malice. “I thought we could get a sandwich. If you’re up for it. Veli’s?”
My mouth watered. I hadn’t had a Veli’s patty melt since the summer. They were my favorite. “Okay,” I said.
We got in Polly’s maroon Caprice. A Road Runner air freshener dangled from the rearview. “This is a nice car,” I said.
“Don’t tell anyone, but it’s a bit of a clunker,” she said. “My dad couldn’t sell it, and so it’s my wedding present.” She put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, nodding her head to the Billy Joel album in the 8-track player. “I should have asked you if you wanted to drive.”
“It’s okay,” I said, listening to the crunch of the leaves under the tires.
At Veli’s we found a booth, and a waitress filled our water and took our order. Veli’s rushed everyone. “I