Sneak Preview of Life Before
The senior lot teems with overeager near-graduates crammed into cars of every vintage.
In the wild wind, Jill’s blond hair clings desperately to her scalp. “Come on, Xander! Do I need to light a fire under your skinny white ass?”
I pick up the pace. Jill’s ass is just as white and even skinnier than mine, but this is no time for fighting.
“Tucker called shotgun already, so you’re in the back.”
Damn. Any car with a back seat needs four doors, unless the passengers have four legs or are under four feet tall.Tucker is two whole inches shorter than I am, so he legally belongs in the back seat.
“Where is he?”
“Kissing the girlfriend good-bye, I imagine.” Jill lays on the horn and screams,“Tucker!”
We have left Tucker in the parking lot on more than one occasion. If he isn’t in our car in two minutes, Jill will leave.And I can ride shotgun. Perfect.
“Hey, guys!” Gretchen is right next to me.
I don’t know what to say to the girl who may have asked me out this morning.
“Happy last day of school,”she says. “See you atTucker’s.”
Jill and Gretchen kiss each other on the cheek. Is that a thing now? I’d take a kiss on the cheek.
Gretchen turns to me, but no kiss.“Xander, I saw your dad in the front office this morning?” Pulling her hair out of her face, she tries for a ponytail like we’re not hanging onto her every word.
Jill and I have one of those private conversations that involve eyebrows and foreheads. Maybe my father is cyberstalking me again and knows about last week’s senior prank. Neither Jill nor I can imagine what he wants now.
Gretchen isn’t privy to our silent conversation.“Why does he need two extra tickets for graduation? I mean, I get that divorced parents don’t necessarily share, but why would he need two tickets? Did he remarry?”
“Dunno.” I had no idea he would be at graduation! And, frankly, no matter how big the music hall is, his attendance doesn’t jive with my mom’s Order of Protection against him.
Gretchen doesn’t know about my family's situation, so I have to play it cool. Everyone knows my parents are divorced, but Gretchen believes that I broke my arm falling off my bike in sixth grade.And that the two-inch scar on my forehead is the result of playing too near our brick fireplace when I was four.
Gretchen has probably heard rumors of how my father treated my mom, because the Laurel Woods rumor mill never forgets its juiciest topics. But everything else is between me and Mom and Jill.Tucker knows not to ask, and no one else has ever been interested.
The senior lot teems with overeager near-graduates crammed into cars of every vintage.
In the wild wind, Jill’s blond hair clings desperately to her scalp. “Come on, Xander! Do I need to light a fire under your skinny white ass?”
I pick up the pace. Jill’s ass is just as white and even skinnier than mine, but this is no time for fighting.
“Tucker called shotgun already, so you’re in the back.”
Damn. Any car with a back seat needs four doors, unless the passengers have four legs or are under four feet tall.Tucker is two whole inches shorter than I am, so he legally belongs in the back seat.
“Where is he?”
“Kissing the girlfriend good-bye, I imagine.” Jill lays on the horn and screams,“Tucker!”
We have left Tucker in the parking lot on more than one occasion. If he isn’t in our car in two minutes, Jill will leave.And I can ride shotgun. Perfect.
“Hey, guys!” Gretchen is right next to me.
I don’t know what to say to the girl who may have asked me out this morning.
“Happy last day of school,”she says. “See you atTucker’s.”
Jill and Gretchen kiss each other on the cheek. Is that a thing now? I’d take a kiss on the cheek.
Gretchen turns to me, but no kiss.“Xander, I saw your dad in the front office this morning?” Pulling her hair out of her face, she tries for a ponytail like we’re not hanging onto her every word.
Jill and I have one of those private conversations that involve eyebrows and foreheads. Maybe my father is cyberstalking me again and knows about last week’s senior prank. Neither Jill nor I can imagine what he wants now.
Gretchen isn’t privy to our silent conversation.“Why does he need two extra tickets for graduation? I mean, I get that divorced parents don’t necessarily share, but why would he need two tickets? Did he remarry?”
“Dunno.” I had no idea he would be at graduation! And, frankly, no matter how big the music hall is, his attendance doesn’t jive with my mom’s Order of Protection against him.
Gretchen doesn’t know about my family's situation, so I have to play it cool. Everyone knows my parents are divorced, but Gretchen believes that I broke my arm falling off my bike in sixth grade.And that the two-inch scar on my forehead is the result of playing too near our brick fireplace when I was four.
Gretchen has probably heard rumors of how my father treated my mom, because the Laurel Woods rumor mill never forgets its juiciest topics. But everything else is between me and Mom and Jill.Tucker knows not to ask, and no one else has ever been interested.