Butterflies in May Page 17

  Then one day, from a distance, I see him in the school parking lot, and we make eye contact. I decide to be completely, totally cool. Not that it works. My knees go weak, my palms get clammy, and my heart starts pounding. I must be an idiot to feel this way.

  I stay home from school the next day. I need a mental health day. My mother understands. She calls in and tells the school secretary that I have diarrhea. At first, I want to kill her, but then we both crack up. We’re getting along better these days.

  The yearbooks arrive at the beginning of May. Everyone on the yearbook committee distributes them at a table in front of the principal’s office. The first dozen pages are all impromptu shots of (surprise, surprise) the cheerleaders and jocks and everyone on the yearbook committee. Monica goes through it page by page, looking for her picture, the way she does every year. But once again, she’s been snubbed. There’s one small photo of me working on The Voice. Fortunately, I’m behind my desk, so you can’t tell I’m pregnant. The only picture of Monica is her class photo, and she looks really great, except for the fact that someone blacked out her front teeth and inserted a birthmark on her cheek. Monica slams her yearbook shut. Those bitches.

  The prom is next week. The theme is “Starlight,” and the decorating committee plans to transform the cafeteria into paradise with white Christmas lights and two hundred gold and silver stars—one representing each high school senior. Because it’s such a major job, they’ve already started hanging stars from the ceiling.

  Everyone’s talking about who bought dresses in Chicago, where to meet for pre-prom drinks, and the best restaurants to go for dinner. The school board arranged for an after-prom party at the mall, but I don’t think anyone’s planning to show up. Sarah Vogel (head cheerleader, queen bee) scores a prom date with Austin Geery, captain of the football team (cute, muscular, but not too bright). The date’s all she talks about in Carrot Top’s class. The way she keeps going on, you’d think she was planning her wedding. I can’t believe it’s taken them four years to find each other.

  Like me, Monica’s never really been into the prom thing. But now that she’s with Kyle, she’s become sickeningly romantic and is seriously considering asking Kyle to prom. I’m her sounding board for three days and listen to all the pros and cons ad nauseam, but in the end, Monica decides against it for two reasons. A.) She’s fairly certain a college freshman wouldn’t be caught dead at a high school prom. And B.) This would send her mother—who pretends to understand about Monica’s “special friendship” with Kyle—completely over the edge.

  School’s a waste of time. No one’s paying attention in class or turning in homework. The girls keep cutting classes for appointments at the tanning salon, and the boys are rowdier than usual. The Wednesday before prom, some guys—mostly Jocks and Stoners—start a food fight in the cafeteria and knock down fifty-two “Starlight” stars from the ceiling with mashed potatoes. I think the authorities should cancel school the week before prom.

  In response to a request by Student Council for a scheduled Senior Skip Day, the principal announces over the intercom on Monday that “while the request was taken under consideration, it was deemed inappropriate.” The seniors take matters into their own hands, and by Wednesday that week the unofficial “Senior Skip Day” is set for Friday at Willow Lake. Personally, I could use another day off, but I don’t feel up to a day at the beach. I would rather stay home and rearrange my comb drawer. But on Friday morning, Monica shows up at 10:30, wearing a pink T-shirt and cutoffs, her sunglasses parked on her head. She insists we go to the lake because she wants to work on her tan. My mother is happy to see her maladjusted daughter finally get out of the house. She packs us lunch in a picnic basket and practically pushes me out the door.

  As soon as we get to the lake, Monica puts on her bikini and pops open a beer. She hands me a bottle of sparkling water, cherry flavored. “For you and the baby,” she says. Then she slathers Banana Boat suntan lotion all over her body, pulls on her cat-eyed sunglasses with pink rhinestones, and lays back to catch the rays. She takes tanning very seriously. I sip my water, wearing my maternity shorts and t-shirt. Looking like Buddha with my stomach on my lap, I wonder if I’ll ever be skinny again.

  I try to relax and enjoy the sun. I lean back on Monica’s pink-and-yellow striped blanket, trying to find a position that’s comfortable, and together we watch the sunlight glitter across the water like diamonds. She turns to me and asks, “Are your breasts still getting bigger?”

  “I think so,” I say.

  “Wow, I didn’t think that was possible.”

  Her cell phone rings three times in an hour. I know it’s Kyle. Every time he calls, she lowers her voice, grins stupidly, and sighs. They’ve been seeing each other exclusively since spring break, and Monica is on the pill. I miss the old Monica—the one who went out with someone new every few weeks.

  “I’m starving,” Monica says after the last call and starts rummaging through the picnic basket. “Wow, is that chicken salad?” She pulls off the wax paper and starts to chow down. Then she finds a container my mother packed. “Is this your mom’s guacamole?”

  “I think so.”

  She pops off the lid, and uses corn chips to scoop up the guacamole. She’s about halfway through her sandwich, and most of the way through the guacamole, when she looks up at me and says, “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “I’m not really hungry,” I say, but I grab a sandwich anyway and take a small bite.

  She studies me for a moment. “What’s wrong with you?” she asks, popping open another beer.

  “Nothing.” I take another bite of my sandwich. A few other people from school show up. Someone starts a volleyball game, and I start scanning the beach for Matt. “Have you seen Matt lately?” I ask Monica, as if he hasn’t been on my mind all day.

  Monica pulls off her sunglasses and looks at me. “Aren’t you over him yet?”

  I choose not to respond. Responding will only get me into trouble. I shrug and look away.

  “I don’t know why you waste your time thinking about him,” she says. “He’s not worth it.”

  By late afternoon, half the senior class is on the beach. Sarah Vogel is there with her entourage and all the jocks. Robin Evans, Amy Kassin, and the rest of the burnouts smoke dope at the picnic tables. Andy and Natalie sit on a blanket, looking like they’ve been married for ten years. Sarah keeps following Austin Geery around like a puppy, and he keeps trying to lose her. Poor Sarah— she doesn’t get it.

  Just before we leave, Monica uses the bathroom to change back into her clothes, and Niles shows up with Nick Pedraza, who immediately heads over to the picnic tables to get stoned. Niles waves when he sees me, then walks over and sits on the blanket next to me while I scoop up handfuls of sand and pour them into a pile.

  “So how’s it going?”

  “Okay.”

  He looks at me for a minute, then away. “I heard about you and Matt. . . Sorry. . . That’s tough.” He downs the last of Monica’s beer. “What you’re doing, though,” he says, “having this baby. . . is very cool. You’re the bravest chick I know.” Then he raises his arm to give me a high five, but instead of slapping my hand, he squeezes it. The star is still there on his wrist—with Tory’s name right next to it.

  He’s already gone when Monica gets back from the restroom. She tosses me her keys. “I’m so buzzed,” she says. “You drive.”

  I scan the beach one more time before we leave. Matt never shows up, but Lauren Thompson does. We walk right past her when we pack up to leave. She got her nose pierced. There’s a pink stone on the left side of her nose, which I know Matt would hate. “I can see getting your belly button pierced,” he said once, after doing a sketch of Robin Evans, who wears one, “but your nose? I don’t get it.” Just thinking about it makes me smile.

  Finally, it’s the last week of school. The entire photography class is outside shooting pictures of the school and each other. I’m sitting on the grass, my stomach in m
y lap, taking a break, when Mr. G. picks up my camera and takes a shot of me, looking like a beached whale.

  “What are you doing?” I say.

  “Capturing this moment on film. Believe me, you’ll appreciate it someday. You can look back and remember what you looked like.”

  “Thanks,” I say, but it’s hard to imagine wanting to remember this moment. Afterward, Ms. Connor walks by, calling out to me, waving, then talking with Mr. G. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but you can tell they’re really into each other. There’s something about the way he looks at her, and the way she smiles and touches his arm before leaving. I like the idea of the two of them together.

  Next period, Mrs. Danker tells me she’d like my last column to be “something more personal,” which is her way of saying that my last four columns have really sucked. They read like news articles. I try two or three different ideas, but they’re all disasters. Then one day, I’m on my way to the parking lot with Monica, and I see Niles in the parking lot with Nick Pedraza and a few other guys. Niles is leaning against the hood of this guy’s car, and someone says something to him that makes him throw back his head and laugh out loud. I haven’t seen him like that since before the accident, which I still can’t forget about.

  That night, I start writing, and for the first time in months, the words start flowing. I write about senior year and staring our future in the face. I write about how everything changes: how each of us has us a story to tell; how we’re always forming new relationships and altering existing ones; how we’re in a constant state of revision, turning everything inside out. It’s the first thing I’ve written all year that I’m really proud of. I try a few different headlines, but nothing works. Then, in the middle of the night, one comes to me: “Inside Out.”

  Chapter 22

  Graduation Day is sunny and hot. And though it’s 92 degrees, with humidity of 72 percent, it practically takes an act of Congress to get my father to turn on the air conditioner. The baby was due last week. I’m beginning to think it’s never going to come out. But on Graduation Day, I wake up feeling charged. I clean my room, start a load of laundry, and make lemon bars from scratch. I’m on a roll.

  My mother hasn’t exactly been enthusiastic about setting up a nursery in our house. Instead, she borrows a portable crib from the hospital and tells me we can set it up in my room to start. She doesn’t say so, but I know she’s hoping I’ll change my mind and give the baby up. “Keep your options open” is how she likes to put it.

  Later that morning, I’m standing in the laundry room folding clothes when Mom comes in from her morning walk.

  “Mmm. What smells so good?” she asks.

  “Lemon bars.” I feel this menstrual-like cramp, and put my hand on my stomach, but it’s gone a minute later.

  “Are you okay?” Mom asks. She’s frowning.

  I nod. “It was just a twinge—same as I’ve been having off and on for weeks.”

  “You may be in labor, Ali. Maybe you should take it easy and rest.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I keep busy the rest of the day. For a while, I work with Mom in the garden, planting a border of lavender and watching a yellow butterfly.

  I’d swear that butterfly was following me. It flutters from plant to plant, but stays close to me the entire time. It lands once directly on my arm and stays there for a long while, as if it’s watching me. Later that afternoon, I run errands. I’m at a store buying shampoo when I feel this pressure in my stomach, and have to stop to catch my breath. When I get home, I take out my notes from childbirth class that describe the first phase of labor, but I have only one symptom.

  “Are you sure you want to go to graduation?” Mom asks.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  I could have had my diploma mailed to me, and I seriously considered it, but Monica talked me into going to graduation. “Who cares what other people think?” she said. It isn’t like I have anything better to do. Besides, the gown I have to wear is as big as a tent. You can hardly tell I’m pregnant in it. But the real reason I want to go is that Matt will be there. The pathetic truth is I want to see him, even if it’s only from a distance. I still think about him all the time.

  Monica is stopping by at 5:00 to pick me up. Mom, Dad, and Aunt Laura are planning to leave a little later. So I take a shower and wash my hair, but twice I have to sit down. By 4:00, the contractions are coming regularly, but I still don’t believe they’re for real. I go to my room and put on the cream-colored maternity dress Mom bought me.

  When I finally come downstairs, Aunt Laura is already there. She brought Peter, the new guy she’s dating. He’s tan and blonde and has an earring in one ear. He takes my hand and says, “So you’re Allison. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Mom sets out a plate of cheese and crackers, and Dad uncorks a bottle of sparkling cider. They make a toast and then let me open my presents. Mom and Dad, who give me a new watch, take pictures. Aunt Laura gives me a leather backpack. Then they convince me to put on my cap and gown for more pictures. I don’t feel like it, but they insist. So there I am, standing next to the fireplace saying “cheese” for the umpteenth time when I have a contraction so strong I have to sit down. Fifteen minutes later, I have another one that takes my breath away.

  There’s no way I’m going to graduation.

  Mom calls Dr. Bishop, who says we can stay home until the contractions are seven minutes apart. When Monica stops by to pick me up, I’m in the driveway with Aunt Laura and Peter. I’ve already changed into my maternity jeans and one of my dad’s white, V-neck tshirts. They’re going to walk with me for a while to help move the labor along.

  Monica can’t believe that it’s actually happening—that I’m going into labor and missing graduation because of it. Before she leaves, Monica asks, “Do you want me to tell Matt?” which kind of surprises me because whenever she refers to Matt lately, the word “jerk” usually follows.

  “Sure.” We haven’t talked since the day we broke up. He doesn’t even look my way when we pass each other in the hall at school. Once, I sort of waved, but he turned the other way, as if he didn’t see me, but I know he did. I hate that. Still, he has a right to know. He’s the baby’s father.

  One hour passes, then another, and I’m tired of walking. My contractions are coming eight minutes apart.

  “We’re going to the hospital,” Dad says.

  I’m about to tell him I can wait, but then I get another contraction, and this time it’s more intense. I grab Dad’s hand and squeeze it hard.

  Dad drops Mom and me off at the emergency entrance to St. Mary’s Hospital, then goes to park the car. After we register, an attendant appears with a wheelchair and insists I sit in it, even though I can walk. He takes Mom and me to the maternity ward, where a nurse with dark brown hair meets us.

  “I’m Erin,” she says, flashing a smile. She’s wearing bright purple scrubs and a sweater. Erin wheels me into a birthing room, and she mentions on the way that she has five children of her own. This puts me at ease right away because I figure if she’s been through this five times, she’s something of an expert. Erin hands me a gown. “You’ll need to put this on. Then I’ll be back to check on you.”

  When Erin comes back, she pulls on rubber gloves. “I just want to see how far your cervix is dilated,” she says. “Lie back and try to relax.” Afterward, she pulls off her gloves and says, “Three centimeters.” She smiles as if this is good news.

  “Three centimeters? Is that all?” I was sure I’d be farther along than that.

  “You can try walking if you like. That may help speed things along,” she suggests.

  When Dad finally gets there, we walk the maternity floor halls together. We keep it up for more than an hour. Whenever we turn the corner by the elevators, and the doors open, I half expect to see Matt. If there’s anyone in the entire universe I want to see now, it’s him. If he knows I’m in labor, he’ll come. I’m certain of it. But every time the doors sl
ide open, no Matt. Maybe Monica hasn’t had a chance to tell him yet.

  When my water breaks, it comes out in one big gush, drenching my slippers and splashing Dad’s new shoes. We both laugh, though Dad looks as nervous as I suddenly feel. He walks me back to my room and makes a coffee run.

  “I think we should call the Ryans and let them know you’re here,” he says before leaving. “Is that okay with you?”

  My eyes fill with tears, my throat gets all tight, and all I can do is nod.

  I get in the bed and try to get comfortable. Mom takes my hand and squeezes it. “You’re doing great, sweetheart,” she says. We don’t talk much, but just having her there makes me feel better. I try to sleep, but I can’t. I’m a little scared, and I keep thinking of Matt. Monica must have told him by now—it’s after midnight. For a crazy minute, I wonder if he’s with Lauren. Could he be that big of a jerk? I imagine Lauren and Matt, laughing together at a graduation party, holding hands and kissing. This isn’t helping at all. Just thinking of them together makes me nervous and jumpy inside. I close my eyes. Think beach. Think sand. Think warm sunny day.

  Mom is still holding my hand when I feel a wave of pain invade my body. It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. “Breathe,” Mom says. “In three seconds, out three seconds.” She demonstrates. I focus on her and follow her instructions. Breathe in, one, two, three. Breathe out, one, two, three. I’ve forgotten everything I learned in childbirth class.

  Dad walks in carrying two cups of coffee. “No one answered, so I left the Ryans a message on the machine,” he announces. He hands one cup to Mom, sits in a chair next to the bed, and does the breathing exercises with us. They both look ridiculous.