it.
Babysitting is a horror show. Vivian is in the worst mood possible, constantly chewing on her hand, and just looking at her makes my teeth hurt. She won’t let me put her down so I don’t have any time atall to fix my hair or do my makeup or eat or anything. Finally, she falls asleep on my lap in the glider in her room and I’m able to transfer her into her crib. But her parents come home five minutes later and Mark is already waiting, his car idling in front of the house.
“Your mother know about this?” Mrs. Schroeder asks.
“Yes,” I lie.
My mother is out on another date with the man she thinks is married. I’m not supposed to know that but I do. I figure that makes us a little bit even.
When I get to the car, a guy gets out of the passenger seat. “Mark told me you’ve got shotgun,” he says, and then he shakes my hand and adds, “I’m Vic.”
“Elizabeth,” I say, leaving out EB again; then we both climb in.
Mark says, “Hey,” and glances in his rearview mirror. “That’s Emily.”
I turn to the girl in the backseat, with her super-tight purple tank dress and black nail polish, and think I couldn’t look more boring in my denim skirt and black tank top if I tried. “Hey,” I say, and she says, “We better motor, Mark. We’re already way late.”
Whatever , I think. Bitch.
Why are so many people so hard to get to know? And what if Lauren dresses like that ?
Mark pulls out into the street and we drive for a while—windows down and wind whipping through the car over the sounds of a song I’ve never heard before. It’s one of those songs that’s sort of sad but also full of something like promise and I almost feel a lump in my throat. My phone buzzes and I look down and see a text from Justine that says, Sorry about the other night. Hope ur on ur way?
Her birthday party. Which I completely blanked on when agreeing to babysit, and when saying yes to Mark.
There’s nothing I can say in a text that will improve this situation and anyway I don’t feel like dealing, not with this song playing and doing strange things to my heart.
I look over at Mark and think about Alex’s hot breath on my ear, and my mom on her date with some random married guy, and Justine thinking about losing it after her party, and I wish I’d written back to Lauren already so that I’d have an e-mail to look forward to—something that involves the future and not the past—even if it takes weeks or months. Then Mark smiles at me and I wonder if he could’ve been the future, too, if I weren’t leaving.
We wind through some woods after we get off the highway, then pull off onto a gravel road and park. Behind a bunch of cars all facing this one house, the bay is a big black void. Mark gets out of the car and Vic and Emily do, too, but I find my phone and start typing.
Sorry for not writing back sooner. I had a huge fight with my best friend last weekend, mostly because she seems to be turning into this lush who is hell-bent on losing her virginity. I am out right now with this guy, and we’re at this big party with some of his friends and I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into. Did you go to that party? Wait. It’s this weekend. Are you going? If so, have fun! More soon.
EB
Mark is at my window, knocking with his index finger, and when I look up from my phone he says, “You coming?”
“Yeah,” I say, opening the door. “Sorry.” And as I follow him upthe front lawn to the house, I hit Send and put my phone away. “I’ve been e-mailing with my roommate for fall,” I say.
“Yeah? What’s she like?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say. “It’s weird. You know. E-mail.”
“Yeah. I think I got an e-mail about mine but I haven’t reached out. You know. Guys.”
I smile. “Yeah.” After a pause I ask, “Where are you going?”
“Northwestern,” he says. “In Chicago?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know it.” It’s a good school; I’m impressed.
“My older brother just
Babysitting is a horror show. Vivian is in the worst mood possible, constantly chewing on her hand, and just looking at her makes my teeth hurt. She won’t let me put her down so I don’t have any time atall to fix my hair or do my makeup or eat or anything. Finally, she falls asleep on my lap in the glider in her room and I’m able to transfer her into her crib. But her parents come home five minutes later and Mark is already waiting, his car idling in front of the house.
“Your mother know about this?” Mrs. Schroeder asks.
“Yes,” I lie.
My mother is out on another date with the man she thinks is married. I’m not supposed to know that but I do. I figure that makes us a little bit even.
When I get to the car, a guy gets out of the passenger seat. “Mark told me you’ve got shotgun,” he says, and then he shakes my hand and adds, “I’m Vic.”
“Elizabeth,” I say, leaving out EB again; then we both climb in.
Mark says, “Hey,” and glances in his rearview mirror. “That’s Emily.”
I turn to the girl in the backseat, with her super-tight purple tank dress and black nail polish, and think I couldn’t look more boring in my denim skirt and black tank top if I tried. “Hey,” I say, and she says, “We better motor, Mark. We’re already way late.”
Whatever , I think. Bitch.
Why are so many people so hard to get to know? And what if Lauren dresses like that ?
Mark pulls out into the street and we drive for a while—windows down and wind whipping through the car over the sounds of a song I’ve never heard before. It’s one of those songs that’s sort of sad but also full of something like promise and I almost feel a lump in my throat. My phone buzzes and I look down and see a text from Justine that says, Sorry about the other night. Hope ur on ur way?
Her birthday party. Which I completely blanked on when agreeing to babysit, and when saying yes to Mark.
There’s nothing I can say in a text that will improve this situation and anyway I don’t feel like dealing, not with this song playing and doing strange things to my heart.
I look over at Mark and think about Alex’s hot breath on my ear, and my mom on her date with some random married guy, and Justine thinking about losing it after her party, and I wish I’d written back to Lauren already so that I’d have an e-mail to look forward to—something that involves the future and not the past—even if it takes weeks or months. Then Mark smiles at me and I wonder if he could’ve been the future, too, if I weren’t leaving.
We wind through some woods after we get off the highway, then pull off onto a gravel road and park. Behind a bunch of cars all facing this one house, the bay is a big black void. Mark gets out of the car and Vic and Emily do, too, but I find my phone and start typing.
Sorry for not writing back sooner. I had a huge fight with my best friend last weekend, mostly because she seems to be turning into this lush who is hell-bent on losing her virginity. I am out right now with this guy, and we’re at this big party with some of his friends and I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into. Did you go to that party? Wait. It’s this weekend. Are you going? If so, have fun! More soon.
EB
Mark is at my window, knocking with his index finger, and when I look up from my phone he says, “You coming?”
“Yeah,” I say, opening the door. “Sorry.” And as I follow him upthe front lawn to the house, I hit Send and put my phone away. “I’ve been e-mailing with my roommate for fall,” I say.
“Yeah? What’s she like?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say. “It’s weird. You know. E-mail.”
“Yeah. I think I got an e-mail about mine but I haven’t reached out. You know. Guys.”
I smile. “Yeah.” After a pause I ask, “Where are you going?”
“Northwestern,” he says. “In Chicago?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know it.” It’s a good school; I’m impressed.
“My older brother just
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