"I shouldn't have said that," she said, noticing how small her voice sounded beneath the enormous star-spangled sky.
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Tully watched the girl walk away.
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And the girl next door had seen this. Tully felt a hot wave of shame. No doubt rumors would be all over school by Monday. Tully Hart has a pothead mom.
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She wasn't even sure why she'd said it, why she'd suddenly felt the need to make fun of the next-door neighbor. With a sigh, she went back into the house. The moment she stepped into the room, the smell of pot overwhelmed her, stung her eyes. On the sofa, her mom lay spread-eagled, one leg on the coffee table, one on the back cushions. Her mouth hung open; drool sparkled the corners of her lips.
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She would have given anything to have the kind of mom who made dinner for strangers. Maybe that was why she'd made fun of the girl's name. The thought pissed her off and she slammed the door shut behind her. "Cloud. Wake up."
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This was why she never invited anyone over to her house. When you were keeping secrets, you needed to do it alone, in the dark.
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Mom drew in a sharp, snorting breath and sat up. "Whass the matter?"
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"It's dinnertime."
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Mom pushed the gob of hair out of her eyes and worked to focus on the wall clock. "What are we -- in a nursing home? Iss five o'clock."
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Tully was surprised her mom could still tell time. She went into the kitchen, served the casserole onto two white CorningWare plates, and returned to the living room. "Here." She handed her mother a plate and fork.
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"Where'd we get this? Did you cook?"
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Cloud looked blearily around. "We have neighbors?"
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"Hardly. The neighbor brought it over."
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Tully didn't bother answering. Her mother always forgot what they were talking about anyway. It made any real conversation impossible, and usually Tully didn't care -- she wanted to talk to Cloud like she wanted to watch black and white movies -- but now, since that girl's visit, Tully felt her differentness keenly. If she had a real family -- a mom who made casseroles and sent them as gifts to new neighbors -- she wouldn't feel so alone. She sat down in one of the mustard-colored beanbag chairs that flanked the sofa and said cautiously, "I wonder what Gran's doing right now."
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"Pro'ly making one of those god-awful PRAISE JESUS samplers. As if that'll save her soul. Ha. How's school?"
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Tully's head snapped up. She couldn't believe her mom had just asked about her life. "Lots of kids hang around with me, but…" She frowned. How could she put her dissatisfaction into words? All she really knew was that she was lonely here, even among her new friends. "I keep waiting for…"
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"Do we have ketchup?" her mother said, frowning down at her heap of Hamburger Helper, poking at it with her fork. She was swaying to the music.
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Tully hated the disappointment she felt. She knew better than to expect anything from her mother. "I'm going to my room," she said, climbing out of the beanbag chair.
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Late that night, long after everyone else had gone to bed, Kate crept down the stairs, put on her dad's huge rubber boots, and went outside. It was becoming a habit lately, going outside when she couldn't sleep. Overhead, the huge black sky was splattered with stars. It made her feel small and unimportant, that sky. A lonely girl looking down at an empty street that went nowhere.
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The last thing she heard before she slammed her bedroom door was her mother saying, "Maybe it needs cheese."
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She glanced over at the house across the street. The lights were still on at midnight. No doubt Tully was having a party with all the popular kids. They were probably laughing and dancing and talking about how cool they were.
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Kate would give everything she owned to be invited to just one party like that.
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She climbed up onto the top rail of the fence. "Hey there, girl," she said, pulling a carrot out of her parka's pocket.
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Sweetpea nickered and trotted toward her.
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"I know. I'm dreaming." Sighing, she slid off the fence, petted Sweetpea one last time, and then went back to bed.
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Sweetpea nudged her knee, snorted.
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A few nights later, after a dinner of Pop-Tarts and Alpha-Bits cereal, Tully took a long, hot shower, shaved her legs and underarms carefully, and dried her hair until it fell straight from her center part without a single crease or curl. Then she went to her closet and stood there, trying to figure out what to wear. This was her first high school party. She needed to look just right. None of the other girls from the junior high had been invited. She was The One. Pat Richmond, the best-looking guy on the football team, had chosen Tully for his date. They'd been at the local hamburger hangout last Wednesday night, his group of friends and hers. All it had taken was one look between them. Pat had broken free of the crowd of huge guys and walked right over to Tully.
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She'd seen him heading her way and practically fainted. On the jukebox, "Stairway to Heaven" had been playing. Talk about romantic.
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He smiled again. "I'm Pat, by the way."
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"I could get in trouble just for talking to you," he said.
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"I'm Tully."
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She tried to look mature and worldly as she said, "I like trouble."
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"I could make that work," she said. It was a phrase she'd heard Erica Kane use on All My Children.
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"Seventeen Firefly Lane. And I don't have a curfew."
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Tully still couldn't believe it. For the past forty-eight hours she'd obsessed over this first real date. All the other times she'd gone out with boys it was in a group or to a school dance. This was totally different, and Pat was practically a man.
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"You wanna come to the party with me on Friday?"
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The smile he gave her was like nothing she'd ever seen before. For the first time in her life, she felt as beautiful as people always said she was.
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"Well, Tully, I'll see you at ten."
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"I'll pick you up at ten." He leaned closer. "Unless that's past your curfew, little girl?"
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Outside, it was dark and cold. The Milky Way stretched across the sky in a path of starlight.
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"I won't."
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In the living room, Mom looked up blearily from her magazine. "Hey, iss almos' ten o'clock. Where are you going?"
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"Oh. Cool. Don't wake me up when you get home."
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She waited by her mailbox on the main road, moving from foot to foot to keep warm. Goose bumps pebbled her bare arms. The mood ring on her middle finger changed from green to purple. She tried to remember what that meant.
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Right. Like Tully would invite anyone to come in. "I'm meeting him on the road."
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She finally made her clothes choice.
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They could fall in love; she knew it. And then, with him holding her hand, she'd stop feeling so alone.
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"Is he here?"
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"This guy invited me to a party."
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She grabbed a pack of her mom's cigarettes and left her bedroom.
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Low-rise, three-button bell-bottom jeans, a pink scoop-necked knit top that showed off her cleavage, and her favorite cork platforms. She spent almost an hour on her makeup, layering more and more on until she looked foxy. She couldn't wait to show Pat how pretty she could be.
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His green Dodge Charger came to a stop beside her; the car seemed to pulse with sound, vibrate. She slid into the passenger seat. The music was so loud she knew he couldn't hear what she said.
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Across the street and up the hill, the pretty little farmhouse glowed against the darkness. Each window was like a pat of warm, melting butter. They were probably all at home, clustered around a big table, playing Risk. She wondered what they'd do if she just visited one day, showed up on the porch and said hey.
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She heard Pat's car before she saw the headlights. At the roar of the engine, she forgot all about the family across the street and stepped into the road, waving.
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Grinning at her, Pat hit the gas and they were off like a rocket, blasting down the quiet country lane.
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As they turned onto a gravel road, she could see the party going on below. Dozens of cars were parked in a huge circle in a pasture, with their headlights on. Bachman-Turner Overdrive's "Taking Care of Business" blared from someone's car radio. Pat parked over in the stand of trees along the fence line.
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Pat held her hand tightly, leading her through the crowd of couples toward the keg, where he poured two cups full.
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There were kids everywhere, gathered around the flames of the bonfire, standing beside the kegs of beer set up in the grass. Clear plastic cups littered the ground. Down by the barn, a group of guys were playing touch football. It was late in May, and summer was still a ways away, so most people were wearing coats. She wished she hadn't forgotten hers.
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He took a big drink of his beer, practically finishing it, then he set it down and kissed her.
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"But you got me," she said, smiling at him. It felt as if she were falling into his dark eyes.
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Taking hers, she let him lead her down to a quiet spot just beyond the perimeter of cars. There, he spread his letterman's jacket down on the ground and motioned for her to sit down.
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Other guys had kissed her before; mostly they were fumbling, nervous attempts made during a slow dance. This was different. Pat's mouth was like magic. She sighed happily, whispering his name. When he drew back, he was staring at her with pure, sunshiny love in his eyes. "I'm glad you're here."
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"I couldn't believe it when I first saw you," Pat said, sitting close to her, sipping his beer. "You're the prettiest girl ever to live in this town. All the guys want you."
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"I am." She smiled nervously. She'd never really drank before, but he wouldn't like her if she acted like a nerd, and she was desperate for him to want her. "Bottoms up," she said, tilting the plastic tumbler to her lips and drinking the whole amount without stopping. When she finished, she couldn't help burping and giggling.
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They were in line at the keg when he frowned at her. "Hey, you aren't drinking. I thought you were cool with partying."
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"Me, too."
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The second one wasn't so bad, and by the third beer Tully had completely lost her sense of taste. When Pat brought out a bottle of Annie Green Springs wine, she guzzled some of that, too. For almost an hour, they sat on his jacket, tucked close together, drinking and talking. She didn't know any of the people he talked about, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the way he looked at her, the way he held her hand.
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He finished off his beer and got up. "I need more brew."
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"Far out," he said, nodding, pouring two more beers.
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"Come on," he whispered, "let's dance."
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Maybe Tully would even call him preppie when she said it back to him. Their song would be "Stairway to Heaven." They'd tell people they met while --
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She felt woozy when she stood up. Her balance was off and she kept stumbling during their dance. Finally, she fell down altogether. Pat laughed, took her hand to pull her up, and led her to a dark, romantic spot in the trees. Giggling, she hobbled awkwardly behind him, gasping when he took her in his arms and kissed her.
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His tongue slipped into her mouth, pressing hard, sweeping around like some kind of alien probe. Suddenly it didn't feel good anymore, didn't feel right. She tried to say, Stop, but her voice had no sound; he was sucking up all her air.
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It felt so good; made her blood feel tingly and hot. She pressed up against him like a cat, loving the way he was making her feel. Any minute he was going to draw back and look down at her and say, I love you, just like Ryan O'Neal in Love Story.
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His hands were everywhere: up her back, around her side, plucking at her bra, trying to undo it. She felt it come free with a sickening little pop. And then he was touching her boob.
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"No…" she whimpered, trying to push his hands away. This wasn't what she wanted. She wanted love, romance, magic. Someone to love her. Not… this. "No, Pat, don't --"
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Shoving her top up, he stared down at her naked chest. "Oh, yeah…" He cupped one breast, tweaked her nipple hard. His other hand slipped into her pants, beneath her underwear.
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She felt herself starting to cry. "Don't --"
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"Come on, Tully. You know you want it." He pushed her back and she stumbled, fell to the ground hard, hitting her head. For a second, her vision blurred. When it cleared, he was on his knees, between her legs. He held both her hands in one of his, pinning her to the ground.
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"That's what I like," he said, pushing her legs apart.
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"Stop. Please…" Tully tried desperately to get free, but her wriggling only seemed to excite him.
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Between her legs, his fingers probed her hard, moving inside her. "Come on, baby, let yourself like it."
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She was crying so hard now she could taste her own tears, but he didn't seem to care. His kisses were something else now -- slobbering, sucking, biting; it hurt, but not as much as his belt, hitting her stomach when he pulled it off, or his penis, ramming --
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"Oh, yeah…" He covered her body with his, pressed her into the wet grass.
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She squeezed her eyes shut as pain ripped between her legs, scraped her insides.
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"Hey, you're crying." He gently smoothed the hair away from her face. "What's the matter? I thought you wanted it."
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Then, suddenly, it was over. He rolled off her, lay beside her, holding her close, kissing her cheek as if what he'd just done to her had been love.
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She didn't know what to say. Like every girl, she'd imagined losing her virginity, but it had never felt like this in her dreams. She stared at him in disbelief. "Wanted that?"
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He stared at her for a minute longer, then stood up and pulled his pants up. "Whatever. I need another drink. Let's go."
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An irritated frown creased his forehead. "Come on, Tully, let's dance."
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The way he said it, so quietly, as if he were actually confused by her reaction, only made it worse. She'd done something wrong, obviously, been a prick tease, and this was what happened to girls who played at it.
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She rolled onto her side. "Go away."
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She felt him beside her, knew he was staring down at her. "You acted like you wanted it, damn it. You can't lead a guy on and then just go cold. Grow up, little girl. This is your fault."
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And still she lay there, unable to make herself move. This was all her fault; he was right about that. She was stupid and young. All she'd wanted was someone to love her.
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She closed her eyes and ignored him, thankful when he finally left her. For once she was glad to be alone.
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Moving slowly, she got dressed and tried to stand. At the movement, she felt sick to her stomach and immediately puked all over her favorite shoes. When it was over, she bent down for her purse, clutched it to her chest, and made her long, painful way back up to the road.
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She lay there, feeling broken and hurt and, worst of all, stupid. After an hour or so, she heard the party break up, heard the car engines start, and the tires pealing through loose gravel as they drove away.
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"Stupid," she hissed, finally sitting up.
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All the way home she relived what had happened -- the way Pat had smiled at her when he asked her to the party; the gentle first kiss he'd given her; the way he talked to her as if she mattered; then the other Pat, with his harsh hands and his probing tongue and fingers, with his hard cock and how roughly he'd stuck it up inside her.
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There were no cars out this late at night, and she was glad for that. She didn't want to have to explain to anyone why her hair was full of pine needles and her shoes were stained with vomit.
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The neighbors' old gray horse trotted up to the fence line and nickered at her.
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As she neared her driveway, she walked a little more slowly. The thought of going home, of feeling alone in a place that should be a refuge for her, with a woman who was supposed to love her, was suddenly unbearable.
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The more she replayed it in her mind, the lonelier and more desolate she felt.
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Tully crossed the street and walked up the hill. At the fence, she yanked up a handful of grass and held it out to him. "Hey there, boy."
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This was another secret she'd have to keep, like her weirdo mother and unknown father. People would say she had it coming, a junior high girl at a high school party.
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If only she had someone she trusted to talk to. Maybe that would ease a little of this pain. But, of course, there was no one.
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The horse sniffed the handful of grass, snorted wetly, and trotted away.
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"She likes carrots."
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Long minutes passed in silence between them; the only noise was the horse's quiet nickering.
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Tully looked up sharply and saw her neighbor sitting on the top rail of the fence.
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"I love it out here at night. The stars are so bright. Sometimes, if you stare up at the sky long enough, you'll swear tiny white dots are falling all around you, like fireflies. Maybe that's how this street got its name. You probably think I'm a nerd for even saying that."
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"Yeah."
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Tully wanted to answer but couldn't. Deep, deep inside she'd started to shake and it took all her concentration just to stand still.
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"It's late," the neighbor girl said.
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"I'm fine," she said, stiffening as Kate drew close.
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The girl -- Kate, Tully remembered -- slipped down from her perch. She was wearing an oversized T-shirt with a Partridge Family decal on the front that was peeling off. As she moved forward, her boots made a sucking noise in the mud. "Hey, you don't look so good." A retainer drew the s into a long lisp. "And you reek like puke."
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To Tully's complete horror, she started to cry.
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Kate stood there a moment, staring at her from behind those dork-o-rama glasses. Then, without saying anything, she hugged Tully.
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"Are you okay? Really?"
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Tully drew back, frowning. It took her a second to understand.
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The cancer. Kate thought she was worried about her mom.
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Kate said, "Come on," and led her up the hill to the slanted front porch of the farmhouse. There, she sat down, pulling her threadbare T-shirt over her bent knees. "My Aunt Georgia had cancer," she said. "It was grody. Lost all her hair. But she's fine now."
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"I'm sure she'll get better," Kate said when Tully's tears subsided.
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"Do you want to talk about it?" Kate said, taking out her retainer, putting it on the mossy top of a fence post.
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Tully stared at her. In the silvery light from a full moon, she saw nothing but compassion in Kate's magnified green eyes, and she wanted to talk, wanted it with a fierceness that made her feel sick. But she didn't know how to start.
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Tully flinched at the contact; it was foreign and unexpected. She started to pull away, but found that she couldn't move. She couldn't remember the last time someone had held her like this, and suddenly she was clinging to this weirdo girl, afraid to let go, afraid that without Kate, she'd float away like the S. S. Minnow and be lost at sea.
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"A high school party?" Kate sounded impressed.
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"She's not lame."
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"Pat Richmond asked me out."
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"The quarterback? Wow. My mom wouldn't let me stand in the same checkout line as a high school senior. She's so lame."
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"She thinks eighteen-year-old boys are dangerous. She calls them penises with hands and feet. Tell me that isn't lame."
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Tully glanced out over the field and took a deep, steadying breath. She couldn't believe she was going to tell this girl what happened tonight, but the truth was a fire inside her. If she didn't get rid of it, she'd burn up. "He raped me."
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Tully sat down beside her, put her purse on the ground. The smell of vomit was strong. She pulled out a cigarette and lit up to cover the stench. Before she knew it, she'd said, "I went to a party down by the river tonight."
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Kate turned to her. Tully felt those green eyes boring into her profile, but she didn't move, didn't turn. Her shame was so overwhelming that she couldn't stand to see it reflected in Kate's eyes. She waited for Kate to say something, to call her an idiot, but the silence just went on and on. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She looked sideways.
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"I'd take that."
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"Popular just means lots of people think they know you."
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Tully wiped her eyes and took another drag on her cigarette. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
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"No way. They'd say it was my fault. This is our secret, okay?"
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Tully relived it all in those few words. Tears stung her eyes, blurred her vision.
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"Okay." Kate frowned as she said it.
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"You do? But you have a family."
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"They have to like me." Kate sighed. "The kids at school treat me like I've got an infectious disease. I used to have friends, but… you probably don't know what in the heck I'm talking about. You're so popular."
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"Are you okay?" Kate asked quietly.
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Silence fell between them. Tully finished her cigarette and put it out. They were so different, she and Kate, as full of contrasts as this dark field bathed in moonlight, but it felt so completely easy to talk to her. Tully found herself almost smiling, and on this, the worst night of her life. That was something.
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Once again, Kate hugged her. Tully let herself be comforted for the first time since she was little. When she finally drew back, she tried to smile. "I'm drowning you."
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"We should tell someone."
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"You looked lonely. Believe me, I know how that feels."
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Finally, Kate yawned and Tully stood up. "I better book."
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For the next hour, they sat there, talking now and then and sometimes just sitting in silence. They didn't say anything really important or share any more secrets, they just talked.
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They got up and walked down to the road. At the mailboxes, Kate stopped. "Well. 'Bye."
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"'Bye." Tully stood there a moment, feeling awkward. She wanted to hug Kate, maybe even cling to her and tell her how much this night had been helped by her, but she didn't dare. She'd learned a thing or two about vulnerability from her mother, and she felt too fragile now to risk humiliation. Turning, she headed down to her house. Once inside, she went straight to the shower. There, with the hot water beating down on her, she thought about what had happened to her tonight -- what she'd let happen because she wanted to be cool -- and she cried. When she was done and the tears had turned into a hard little knot in her throat, she took the memory of this night and boxed it up. She shelved it in the back alongside memories of the times Cloud had abandoned her and immediately began working on forgetting it was there.
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