the guard. Miss D gathers her stuff. The new monitor waddles in. We luck out: Sister Dolores, old and enormous. Swathed in traditional black and white, she looks like a penguin that’s turned the tables, swallowed a leopard seal. Lex always says Sister’s bosom’s large enough to support the original cross. Obviously, that’s sacrilegious, but I can’t help laughing.
Old Dolores strains into the creaking desk chair, closes her eyes. Uncorking a Wonder Ear, she deposits it on the blotter. For her, it truly will be a silent study. We’re home free.
Lex clears her throat extra-loud and repeats her question full volume. “SO, WHAT DO YOU THINK IT MEANS, EV?”
Sister doesn’t budge, but the three cheerleaders in the front row turn and bad-eye us.
“Ooh, Evan! I’ve disturbed the Ambers. Mea culpa, ladies! That means ‘sorry.’ Really though, keep up the good work. You inspire me. Rah rah, now!”
They perform a perfectly synchronized hand gesture that’d never fly at a Catholic pep rally. Lex feigns horror. Sneering, the three collect their matching designer backpacks and, risking detention, cut out of study hall early.
“Thought they’d never leave. So, now that we’re alone … ”
Sister Dolores sleep-grunts loud enough to startle us both.
“Well, almost alone,” Lex smirks.
“Yeah, about my dad’s journal. I don’t know what to think.”
Lex’s eyes take on that laser focus she gets when really concentrating. “It’s wild, Evan. I mean, Pettafordi and your dad all buddy-buddy — so what happened to bust it up?”
“No idea.”
“Well, what’s his journal say?”
“I haven’t read anymore since yesterday. I just got freaked out, you know?”
“I guess, kind of like being in the confessional with my mom. She used to do that when I was little, bring me in with her. I had to listen to her sins. Truly creepy. So, do you have it?”
“The journal? Obviously. I can’t leave it home. Mom would root it out. She grilled me about drug use yesterday. If she found his journal, she’d pull a Krakatoa.”
Slipping the journal from my binder, I half-expect an alarm to blare. I picture Sister Dolores in a warden’s uniform. Screaming: “LOCKDOWN! GALLOWAY’S GOT EMOTIONAL CONTRABAND!”
I hand Dad’s chronicle to Alexis. She holds it with such care, reverence almost. It’s a relief knowing she’s here to share the weight.
“Are you scared, Evan?”
“Yeah. So I want us to read it together. Let’s start where I left off, February 20th.”
February 20, 1976
Hey Journal —
This Tony thing’s really bumming me out. He ignored me in art again today. And when Father Fran called my watercolor “luminous,” Tony looked like he’d puke .
“I didn’t know your father was an artist … Evan?”
“Me neither. He was never interested in my painting, that’s for sure.”
“Well, that’s his loss. You’re really talented, you know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ev?”
“Hmm?”
“Turn the page.”
February 21, 1976
Journal,
Today was bad. Definitely not how I planned to spend Saturday. Tony said some stuff .
I cornered him yesterday. He promised to meet today at Shoppers’ Plaza. We dropped a pile on art supplies at Koenig’s, had patty melts and Cokes at Burger Shack .
Tony was real quiet. When I finally asked what’s bothering him, he said he’s trying to figure stuff out — like our friendship .
Then he said sometimes he hates me. I have it so easy. I’m great at sports, the perfect student, good-looking. He just went on and on, getting redder .
He’s tired of hearing about Melody, too. Said I don’t give a shit about him anymore, that she’s taken me away from him. I told him that’s nuts, he’s still my best friend. Then he started crying. I felt like decking him, so I went to the john .
When I got back, Tony was on a bench outside. He apologized, said he’s just a stupid, jealous dork .
I said, “Quit being such a spaz. You’re good at lots of
Old Dolores strains into the creaking desk chair, closes her eyes. Uncorking a Wonder Ear, she deposits it on the blotter. For her, it truly will be a silent study. We’re home free.
Lex clears her throat extra-loud and repeats her question full volume. “SO, WHAT DO YOU THINK IT MEANS, EV?”
Sister doesn’t budge, but the three cheerleaders in the front row turn and bad-eye us.
“Ooh, Evan! I’ve disturbed the Ambers. Mea culpa, ladies! That means ‘sorry.’ Really though, keep up the good work. You inspire me. Rah rah, now!”
They perform a perfectly synchronized hand gesture that’d never fly at a Catholic pep rally. Lex feigns horror. Sneering, the three collect their matching designer backpacks and, risking detention, cut out of study hall early.
“Thought they’d never leave. So, now that we’re alone … ”
Sister Dolores sleep-grunts loud enough to startle us both.
“Well, almost alone,” Lex smirks.
“Yeah, about my dad’s journal. I don’t know what to think.”
Lex’s eyes take on that laser focus she gets when really concentrating. “It’s wild, Evan. I mean, Pettafordi and your dad all buddy-buddy — so what happened to bust it up?”
“No idea.”
“Well, what’s his journal say?”
“I haven’t read anymore since yesterday. I just got freaked out, you know?”
“I guess, kind of like being in the confessional with my mom. She used to do that when I was little, bring me in with her. I had to listen to her sins. Truly creepy. So, do you have it?”
“The journal? Obviously. I can’t leave it home. Mom would root it out. She grilled me about drug use yesterday. If she found his journal, she’d pull a Krakatoa.”
Slipping the journal from my binder, I half-expect an alarm to blare. I picture Sister Dolores in a warden’s uniform. Screaming: “LOCKDOWN! GALLOWAY’S GOT EMOTIONAL CONTRABAND!”
I hand Dad’s chronicle to Alexis. She holds it with such care, reverence almost. It’s a relief knowing she’s here to share the weight.
“Are you scared, Evan?”
“Yeah. So I want us to read it together. Let’s start where I left off, February 20th.”
February 20, 1976
Hey Journal —
This Tony thing’s really bumming me out. He ignored me in art again today. And when Father Fran called my watercolor “luminous,” Tony looked like he’d puke .
“I didn’t know your father was an artist … Evan?”
“Me neither. He was never interested in my painting, that’s for sure.”
“Well, that’s his loss. You’re really talented, you know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ev?”
“Hmm?”
“Turn the page.”
February 21, 1976
Journal,
Today was bad. Definitely not how I planned to spend Saturday. Tony said some stuff .
I cornered him yesterday. He promised to meet today at Shoppers’ Plaza. We dropped a pile on art supplies at Koenig’s, had patty melts and Cokes at Burger Shack .
Tony was real quiet. When I finally asked what’s bothering him, he said he’s trying to figure stuff out — like our friendship .
Then he said sometimes he hates me. I have it so easy. I’m great at sports, the perfect student, good-looking. He just went on and on, getting redder .
He’s tired of hearing about Melody, too. Said I don’t give a shit about him anymore, that she’s taken me away from him. I told him that’s nuts, he’s still my best friend. Then he started crying. I felt like decking him, so I went to the john .
When I got back, Tony was on a bench outside. He apologized, said he’s just a stupid, jealous dork .
I said, “Quit being such a spaz. You’re good at lots of
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