But don’t be an idiot about it. Don’t do it on school property. And not during school hours. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Done. Easy.
The radio goes back on and I turn to the window, relieved she isn’t going to make a big deal about it. I have bigger things to worry about than my mother being mad at me. Freestyle will kill me for getting busted and losing the weed, even if he is my uncle. I owe him a lot of money now since I can’t sell it, so I’ll have to pick up extra shifts during my suspension to pay him back.
“She said you have leadership potential,” my mom comments when we pull into the underground garage.
“What?” I ask, distracted. My mind is still focused on my plans to pay back Freestyle.
“Your vice-principal said you have leadership potential,” she repeats with a smile, like she’s all proud of me.
“Oh,” I answer. Maybe coming from a normal parent this compliment would be nice, but I just can’t help but be annoyed that she has found a way to make my suspension a positive thing.
Six
My boyfriend, Michael, thinks I have potential too. He gets really upset when I tell him two nights later about the suspension. He thinks I’m better than that and it’s my bad choice in friends that is holding me back.
After I explain what happened, Michael sits me down across from him at his kitchen table and tells me I have to make a ten-year plan. Sometimes he acts like he’s my father that way, all protective and serious. We go over how many school credits I need to graduate. We look at the university requirements for veterinary college. He even says he’ll call to make an appointment for a campus tour. He makes me write down my entire school timetable and commit to a final grade for each course. As I’m doing his “assignment,” I start to feel excited about my future. I can actually do this! Actually, since I met him, I feel like I can almost do anything.
A thought occurs to me. I put down my pen and look at him. “What about your ten-year plan?”
“I did it ten years ago.”
“Did it work?”
“No,” he says. “Unfortunately, life gets in the way of those plans sometimes.”
And he doesn’t have to explain. I know he’s talking about his depression. He’s already told me about being a keener university student who had it all—the perfect girlfriend, perfect grades, perfect family. And when depression hit him, it knocked him completely off his feet, because it was like the first obstacle that ever stood in his way. He said he just stood there, stunned, staring at this ugly monster that jumped onto his path, and he froze in fear.
“So then, why am I doing it if it doesn’t work?” I ask.
“Because sometimes life doesn’t get in the way,” he says with regret, as if there’s still hope for me but it’s all over for him. It breaks my heart to see him so down. He isn’t that bad. I know some people would think he’s a loser to be with a sixteen-yearold. They’d think he has some kind of problem and can’t get a girl his own age. But other than being a little quiet and boring, he’s totally normal.
I get up out of my chair, lean far across the table on my elbows, and kiss him hard. Then I crawl up over the table all sexy, like I’m in a music video, finagle my way down onto his chair, and straddle his lap, all the while kissing. I’m still wearing my school uniform—I know it’s something Michael just can’t resist.
After fooling around all over the kitchen, we end up lying on the bed just holding each other, naked only down to our waists. I rest my head on top of his heart and fan my hair out over his chest. His arms tightly wrap around me, not hairless and scentless boyish arms but real man’s arms. And I’m not thinking about my bad breath or getting high or about what to say. Instead, we just are. I just am. And my life is perfect.
I don’t know why he makes me so happy. We don’t do much. Sometimes we drive to the mall. Not the closest one—too many people he might bump into there. Sometimes we go to movies or have breakfast at this diner in the east end. But usually we are in his apartment, watching TV or making dinner or just