Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [20]
“Who says I’ve been seeing him?”
Mom takes a deep breath, smoothes her clothes and sets a stool under the cupboard over the stove. “Why don’t I get the vase and we put those flowers in some water?”
“You’re going to be late for work.”
“This is more important.”
Out comes my great-grandmother’s crystal vase and we’re cutting the ends of the stems with a kitchen knife, arranging the roses, starting to have a good time, even. Half of me feels wonderful, and the other half wants to gag.
“They’re beautiful.” Mom smiles.
“Yeah.” I want to shut up now, but I have this sudden, overwhelming need to say his name. “Jason’s great. The other girls are really jealous.” Saying his name out loud felt good. So good, I forget Mom only acts nice when she wants something. She doesn’t let me forget for long.
“Why don’t you invite him over?”
Thunk. “Here?”
“What’s the matter with here?”
“Mother, please. Are you trying to humiliate me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
I roll my eyes. And—bang—it’s like the last five minutes never existed.
“Don’t tell me you’re ashamed of your own home,” Mom says.
“Aren’t you?”
Mom kind of slumps. She puts the stool away, folds the fancy wrapping paper and drops the stem ends in the garbage. I feel horrible.
“It’s nothing personal, Mom,” I say. “It’s just, well, Jason’s parents are important, like his dad does big business deals and everything, and they live in this enormous house and everything’s new and expensive.”
She gives me her Mom-on-a-Cross face. “You know, Leslie, it takes more than money to make a home.”
Pass me the barf bag. “I never said a home is only money,” I shoot back. “A home’s also supposed to be a place where people love each other. But I don’t see a lot of that around here either.”
I want Mom to say something. I want her to yell at me, even. But she doesn’t. She just puts her coat on slowly and heads out to work.
Twelve
When I get to school, Jason’s at my locker waiting for me. Leaning on the lockers opposite mine, actually, in his leather jacket and shades. It’s like he’s sunning himself indoors.
“Thanks for the roses,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear.
He drapes over me, his hands on my bum, and gives me a kiss. I feel self-conscious but also proud: the girls will know we’re together.
“Came to walk you to class. Get your stuff. We’ll be late.”
Everyone’s looking at us, and my head bobs like one of Aunt Betty’s knick-knack china Dutch girls. I can’t help myself. I scramble my books out of my locker with a wink at Katie. Then, without looking where I’m going, I bump right into him.
“Hey, if it isn’t the Leslie doll,” he laughs. “Wind her up, she walks into a wall.” I hear a few titters and just about die, but not for long. In one smooth move, he slides his arm across my shoulder. I put my free hand into his back pocket—up yours, Ashley—and together we float off to class.
We’re together at lunch, too, just us on the bleachers. I tell him about the grilling I got from Mom, and how he’s lucky to have a mother who minds her own business.
Jason cocks his head. “Actually, I think meeting your mom is a good idea.”
“What?”
“It’ll help keep her onside.”
Onside. How did Jason get so smart at psychology?
But he has more surprises. First, he asks if I’d like to see Pigjam next Friday.
“Aren’t they sold out?”
“No sweat, I got contacts. The show’s at eight, I’ll pick you up around seven. That way I can meet your mom and we’ll have an excuse to split quick.”
“You’re brilliant!”
Then the best surprise of all. He reaches into his knapsack and pulls out a box, all gift-wrapped. “For you,” he smiles.
Inside is a brand-new cell phone, just like his. It can take photos and videos, and I can program a different ring depending on who’s calling. Plus it lets me online to text. There’s even a GPS chip so if I want to find out how to get someplace, I just type in the address and a map pops up with a route for how to get there. I mean, this cell does everything but homework.
I want it so bad, but I hand it back. “I can’t afford to pay the bills.”
He laughs.