Crescendo

“Does it matter?”

Marcie scowled. “You know what? If you’re not going to talk, you can forget coming to my party.”

“I wasn’t going anyway.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you mad because I was with Patch at the Z last night? Because he doesn’t mean anything to me. We’re just having fun. It’s nothing serious.”

“Yeah, it really looked that way,” I said, letting just enough cynicism seep into my tone.

“Don’t be jealous, Nora. Patch and I are just really, really good friends. But in case you’re interested, my mom knows a really good relationship therapist. Let me know if you need a referral. On second thought, she’s pretty pricey. I mean, I know your mom has this stellar job and all—”

“Question for you, Marcie.” My voice was a cool warning, but my hands were shaking in my lap. “What would you do if you woke up tomorrow to find your dad had been murdered? Do you think your mom’s part-time job at JC Penney would pay the bills? Next time, before you bring up my family situation, put yourself in my shoes for a minute. One teeny tiny minute.”

She held my gaze a long moment, but her expression was so impassive I doubted I’d made her think twice. The only person Marcie could ever empathize with was herself.

After class, I found Vee in the parking lot. She was splayed across the hood of the Neon, sleeves rolled above her shoulders, tanning. “We need to talk,” she said as I approached. She pulled herself up to sitting and lowered her sunglasses down her nose far enough to make eye contact. “You and Patch are Splitsville, aren’t you?”

I climbed onto the hood beside her. “Who told?”

“Rixon. For the record, that hurt. I’m your best friend, and I shouldn’t have to find these things out through the friend of a friend. Or through the friend of an ex-boyfriend,” she added, after thinking it all through. She laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “How are you holding up?”

Not especially well. But it was one of those things I was trying to bury at the bottom of my heart, and I couldn’t keep it buried if I talked about it. I eased back against the windshield, raising my notebook to shield the sun. “You know what the worst part is?”

“That I was right all along and now you have to suffer through hearing me say, ‘I told you so’?”

“Funny.”

“It’s no secret Patch is trouble. He’s got the whole bad-boy-in-need-of-redemption thing going on, but the catch is, most bad boys don’t want redemption. They like being bad. They like the power they get from striking fear and panic into the hearts of mothers everywhere.”

“That was … insightful.”

“Anytime, babe. And what’s more—”

“Vee.”

She flapped her arms. “Hear me out. I’m saving the best for last. I think this is the time to rethink your priorities when it comes to guys. What we need is to find you a nice Boy Scout who’ll make you appreciate the value of having a good man in your life. Take Rixon, for example.”

I nailed her with a You’ve got to be kidding look.

“I resent that look,” Vee said. “Rixon happens to be a really decent guy.”

We stared at each other for three more counts.

“Okay, so maybe Boy Scout is stretching it,” Vee said. “But the point of all this is that you could benefit from a nice guy, a guy whose closet isn’t solely black. What’s up with that, anyway? Does Patch think he’s a commando?”

“I saw Marcie and Patch together last night,” I said on a sigh. There. It was out.

Vee blinked a few times, digesting this. “What?” she said, her jaw going slack.

I nodded. “I saw them. She had her arms wrapped around him. They were together at a pool hall in Springvale.”

“You followed them?”

I wanted to say, Give me some credit, but managed only a flat, “Scott invited me to play pool. I went with him, and we ran into them there.” I wanted to tell Vee everything that had happened after that moment, but as with Marcie, there were some things I couldn’t explain to her. How was I supposed to tell her about the Nephil in the red shirt, or how he’d rammed a pool stick through the table?

Vee looked like she was scrambling for a response. “Well. Like I was saying, once you see the light, you’ll never turn back. Maybe Rixon has a friend. Other than Patch, that is …” She trailed off awkwardly.

“I don’t need a boyfriend. I need a job.”

Vee did a full-on grimace. “More job talk, ugh. I just don’t get the allure.”

“I need a car, and in order to get one, I need money. Hence the job.” I had a running list of reasons to buy the Volkswagen Cabriolet lined up in my mind: The car was small, and therefore easy to park, and it was fuel efficient—a bonus, considering I wasn’t going to have much money for gas after forking over a thousand dollars for the car itself. And while I knew it was ridiculous to feel a connection to something as inanimate and practical as a car, I was beginning to view it as a metaphor of change in my life. Freedom to go wherever I wanted, whenever. Freedom to start fresh. Freedom from Patch, and all the memories we shared that I hadn’t yet figured out how to slam the door on.

“My mom is friends with one of the night managers at Enzo’s, and they’re looking for baristas,” Vee suggested.

“I don’t know anything about being a barista.”

Vee shrugged. “You make coffee. You pour it. You carry it to the eager little customers. How hard could it be?”

Forty-five minutes later, Vee and I were at the shore, walking the boardwalk, putting off our homework and noncommittally glancing in storefront windows. Since neither of us had a job, and consequently no money, we were brushing up on our window-shopping skills. We reached the end of the walk and our eyes fell on a bakery. I could practically hear Vee’s mouth watering as she pressed her face to the glass and gazed in at the doughnut case.

“I think it’s been a whole hour since I last ate,” she said. “Glazed doughnuts, here we come, my treat.” She was four steps ahead, tugging on the doors.

“I thought you were trying to lose weight for swimsuit season. I thought you were big-boned and wanted to even things out with Rixon.”

“You sure know how to ruin the mood. Anyway, how’s one little doughnut going to hurt?”

I had never seen Vee eat just one doughnut, but I kept my mouth shut.

We placed an order for a half-dozen glazed and had just taken a seat at a table near the windows, when I saw Scott on the other side of the glass. He had his forehead mashed against the window and he was smiling. At me. Startled, I jumped an inch. He crooked a finger, beckoning me outside.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Vee.

She followed my gaze. “Isn’t that Scotty the Hottie?”

“Stop calling him that. What happened to Scotty the Potty?”

“He grew up. What does he want to talk to you for?” Something of a revelation crossed her face. “Oh, no you don’t. You are not allowed to play rebound with him. He’s trouble—you said so yourself. We’re going to find you a nice Boy Scout, remember?”

I hooked my handbag over my shoulder. “I’m not playing rebound. What?” I said in response to the look she was giving me. “You expect me to just sit here and ignore him?”

She flipped her palms up. “Just hurry up or your doughnut is going to make the endangered species list.”

Outside, I rounded the corner and walked back to where I’d last seen Scott. He was lounging against the seat back of a sidewalk bench, thumbs slung in his pockets. “You survive last night?” he asked.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He smiled. “A little more excitement than you’re used to?”

I didn’t remind him that he was the one who’d been stretched out on the pool table with a pool stick drilled