I don’t move.

“Annemarie, I said look at me.” Her tone doesn’t leave room for argument.

Heaving a great sigh, I turn and look at her. My mother’s face is grave, and I see that I’ve hurt her. For once I’m the one doing the hurting, and I’d thought that was Daddy’s job.

“Is that what you think?”

I shrug.

“You have been special your entire life. You were born that way. They put you in my arms, and you were already your own person, and I knew it. I knew you were somethin’ special.” Her gaze is soft on me for a moment, then it turns back to hard emerald, and I wonder if I imagined it. “Shug, if you can’t see your own worth, you sure as hell can’t expect someone else to.”

“I know what I’m worth.”

“No, I’m not sure you do.” She pauses. “People are gonna disappoint you sometimes. We’re flawed creatures. Not one of us is perfect, not even you, and you’ve gotta let people mess up and then you’ve gotta forgive them. That’s just life.”

“I know all about people disappointing me. You do it all the time.”

Mama flinches, and part of me is sorry, but the other part is glad. Glad that I’ve hurt her. “How do I disappoint you?” she asks. Mama looks so small, and for the first time, I feel powerful. I feel like I could hurt her some more.

“You disappoint me when you drink. You disappoint me when you drink so much you forget about Celia and me. You disappoint me when you drink so much you embarrass me in front of my friends or when you forget to pick me up places because you’re too drunk or too hungover.” Every word feels like a dart in my hand, and I hit the bull’s-eye each time.

She closes her eyes briefly, and I know her pain is real. It’s one of the realest things about her. “I’m the only mother you’ve got, so I guess we’re just gonna have to make the best of it.”

I know that this is the closest she will ever come to saying sorry, and I know that things aren’t going to change. That’s just life. My life, anyway.

“I’m sorry.” And I am. Not sorry for what I said, but sorry for why. Having my feelings hurt by Mark Findley isn’t a good enough reason for being mean on purpose.

“Hush.” Mama leans close and kisses my wet cheeks. “You were lovely tonight. There just aren’t enough words, Shug.”

Then she says what she’s said to me ever since I was a baby. “You’re my sweet Shug, my little bowl of sugar.”

Tears spring to my eyes again. I haven’t heard Mama say that in a very long time. Maybe because I haven’t been her little bowl of sugar lately. I haven’t been very sweet at all. I’d forgotten how special it made me feel whenever she said it.

Then Mama leaves and closes the door, and I can still smell her perfume.

Chapter 43

When something that terrible, that horrible happens to you, you don’t want to talk about it with anyone. You want to bury it deep inside you and let it rest in peace. You want to forget it ever happened. You want to stay home from school.

Come Monday morning I tell Mama that I have a stomachache, and she says people who don’t face their problems head-on are the worst kind of cowards. I say that I really do feel sick, and I even manage a tear or two. She sighs and says oh, go back to bed. I practically sprint up the stairs.

I spend the morning watching trashy TV, and then I fall back to sleep.

When I wake up later that afternoon, my eyes are swollen and Elaine is sitting on the edge of my bed shaking my shoulders. “Wake up, Annemarie!”

“Elaine, what are you doing here?” I sit up and she releases me.

“Are you okay?” She peers at me closely, like she’s looking for bruises, for any sign of permanent damage. I’m afraid I’m already damaged for life.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” I pull the covers up to my chin.

“Everybody’s talking about it.”

Everybody knows? Dread seeps into my bones. “Talking about what?”

“How Jack pushed Mark into the bleachers over something he said about you.”

WHAT? “WHAT? Jack did what?”

“He shoved Mark, and then Mark shoved him, and then Mark was lying flat on his back.” A giggle escapes from her pink lips. “It was kind of funny.”

I lean back against my pillows, and a smile sneaks across my lips. Mama and I were watching an old movie once, and the two guys fought over the girl. They threw punches and everything, and Mama said there’s nothing quite like having two boys fight over silly little you, is there? At the time, I agreed, but I didn’t really understand what she meant. Now I know, a little. The warm feeling spreads across my chest like a sunburn: two boys fought over silly little me. Well, maybe not over me, but because of me, and that’s better than nothing.

“He got out-of-school suspension.”

“WHAT?”

“Yeah, for starting the fight. God, he’s so immature. Even the other guys say so. He likes you, you know.”

“Who?”

“‘Who?’” she mimics, grinning. “You know who. Jack.”

“You’re crazy. We’re barely even friends. Why do you always have to turn everything into a teen drama? It’s not always about that.”

Elaine looks taken aback. “But he does like you, Annemarie. It’s not just me. Hugh thinks so too—”

“Oh, and if Hugh says so, then I guess it must be true, right?”

“Well, yeah, in this case.” She stares at me. “What’s your problem?”

“This isn’t an after-school special, Elaine. I’m not gonna pair off with that idiot Jack Connelly just because everyone in Clementon has to be boyfriend-girlfriend all of a sudden.”

She narrows her eyes. “Everyone, or me?”

“Just forget it.”

“No, I don’t want to forget it. I want to know what you meant by that.”

“Fine!” I burst out. The words erupt out of me like hot fizzy soda spilling all over the place. “Hugh’s all you ever talk about! You used to be interesting! Now you’re so wrapped up in your little ‘relationship’ you can’t even think about anyone else.”

Elaine stands up jerkily. “I came over here because I was worried about you.”

“Yeah, right. You just wanted to have something to report back to your queen, Mairi. All you think about is yourself.”

“You’re the one who can’t think about anyone else! You’re the one who’s selfish. You think you’re the only one with problems? You need to grow up, Annemarie. We’re not in elementary school anymore.”

“Me? I’m not the one who’s playing house with Hugh. Yeah, sneaking around with your junior high boyfriend is real grown up. You wouldn’t know the first thing about growing up!” I’m yelling now. “You have no idea! You don’t even have your period!”

Elaine is trembling as she walks out the door. Breathing hard, I fall back onto my bed and lie there. I’m trembling, too. I’ve lost my last friend, my best friend.

I stay in my room for the rest of the afternoon. I just read.

Near dinnertime I look out my window and see Mark on his bike, circling the block slowly. Around sunset I look out again, and there he is, inspecting a bike tire in front of my yard. He’s waiting for me. But I won’t be coming out. Let him suffer out there in the cold. I hope his guilt gobbles him up. I hope he feels like a nothing the same way I do.

Chapter 44

When I get to school, Jack is leaning against my locker. “Hey, Einstein,” he says. He’s the last person I want to see. Besides Mark of course. Hate Mark.

“Hey.” I set my book bag on the floor, and then watch as he turns the combination on my lock. He opens the locker door, hands me my English notebook, and turns back to me.

“So look—”

“How—how’d you know my combination?”

He rolls his eyes. “I know I’m not a genius like you, but give me a little credit, Annemarie. I’ve seen you open your locker enough times to know your combination. So—”

“What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you got suspended.”

“Are you gonna let me finish a sentence?”

“Oh, sorry,” I say. “Well, what do you want then?”

Funny how I never noticed he has green eyes.

He says, “I’m here to pick up my assignments. Hey, are you mad at me or something?”

“Yup.” I slam my locker door shut and walk away. I don’t have to turn around to know that he’s watching me go.

Chapter 45

Losing a boy best friend is one thing, but losing a girl best friend, your true best friend, is a whole different story. It’s like losing a rib. There’s something missing inside of you that you didn’t even realize was there, and it makes it hard to breathe.

At school Elaine won’t even look at me. I keep thinking, if she’ll just look at me, everything will be okay. Our eyes will meet, and we’ll both smile sheepishly. But when we pass each other in the halls, she doesn’t look at me; she looks right through me. I eat lunch by myself in the girl’s bathroom. It’s the last day of school before Christmas break, and I should be happy. Instead, I’ve never felt so alone.

When I get on the bus at the end of the day, I’m not expecting to see Elaine, but there she is—sitting in our old seat. Alone, perched at the edge, as if to say Don’t sit by me, don’t even think it. When I walk by, she doesn’t look my way. I’m not brave enough to sit next to her. Instead I sit behind her.

The bus starts moving, and soon we’re riding along. I just sit there, staring at the back of her head.

To the back of her head, I say, “Where’s Hugh?”

Elaine doesn’t turn around. “Orthodontist appointment. He’s getting braces.”

“His teeth seem all right to me.”

“He has an underbite.” She turns around and looks at me then. “You know, he’s not the only thing I think about.”

Swallowing, I say, “I know.”

“What you said to me was mean.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

She nods and turns back around, and I feel like I could cry. Then, slowly, she scoots over, closer to the window. Making room for me.

I pick up my book bag and move up to her seat. Neither of us says anything at first, but then Elaine says, “Annemarie, my life’s not perfect either.”

“Sure it is,” I say. “Well, I mean, it’s not perfect, but it’s close. Your parents like each other. You’re pretty. Boys like you.”

Shaking her head, she says, “All of that isn’t as easy as you think. Being here, in Clementon, hasn’t been easy. Honestly, it sucks a lot of the time. It’s harder than I expected. … And, Annemarie, you are pretty. I wish you could see that.”

“Ha.”

“Do you know how many times I’ve wished I look like you?”

Bewildered, I say, “Why would you want to look like me?”

“Think about it, Annemarie. I’m the only Korean American at our school. I’m the only Asian at our school.”

“So?”

“So you have no idea how hard that is.”

“But you’re popular; everyone likes you.”

Elaine shrugs. “It doesn’t mean anything. They could have hated me just as easily. People will love you or hate you for being different, but who’s to say which way it’ll go? You never know. It’s completely arbitrary. And anyway, it’s not like no one’s ever called me names.”

I suck my breath in. “Like what?”

“Like ‘chink.’” She says this word like it is nothing, like it can’t hurt her, but I can see that it does, that it has.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” I am sorry too, sorry that my Clementon, the place I call home, could be as mean as people say. I knew it wasn’t perfect, but I guess I never dwelled too long on the why, or the how. I never thought how it must be for Elaine. Here I was thinking she had it so easy.

“Don’t be sorry. Don’t you get it? That’s why me and you are special.”

I don’t get it. “What do you mean?”

Elaine says, “We’re different. You like me for me, and I like you for you. The rest of it’s all a bunch of crap.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”

Walking home from the bus stop, I see Mrs. Findley picking up the mail. I feel a funny clutch in my stomach, and I’m hoping she won’t see me so I can go home without speaking to her. I keep my head low, walking fast.

But she does see me. “Annemarie!” she calls. She waves at me.

I look up like, who, me? “Hi, Mrs. Findley!” I call back, but I don’t slow down.

“Come over here a minute!”

I trudge over to their mailbox. It’s a good thing Mark had to stay after school for the Student Council Christmas party today. Otherwise I would have kept right on walking.

Mrs. Findley opens her arms and gives me a hug. She’s wearing her thick lumberman’s kind of coat, red plaid on the inside. She smells like cinnamon and wood chips. “How come I haven’t seen you in so long?” she says.

“Oh, you know. I’ve been busy with school and stuff.”

“Still, I wish I could’ve taken pictures of you and Mark for your first dance. I would have loved to have seen you all dressed up. I know you must have been so lovely,” she says, putting both hands on my cheeks. “Did you have a nice time?”