TWENTY
The most I ever got in trouble was when I was in fourth grade. I had my friend Rebecca over after school one day and decided we should have an “adult tea party.”
By which I meant a tea party for ad ults.
Obviously.
I can’t remember what movie I or Rebecca had seen that inspired that particular combination of words. It could have been Alice in Wonderland. Rebecca had the idea that we should drink from fancy glasses, and it was my idea that we should have something the color of tea in those fancy glasses. And I knew just the thing! A bottle in the cabinet of the living room that had the cut-glass surface I prized and often ran my fingers over.
The liquid in the bottle was brown, like tea. Seemed like a solid connection to me. It also, tantalizingly, smelled like almonds.
And, okay, in my defense, I wasn’t supposed to use the stove when my moms weren’t home and so I thought having what turned out to be amaretto from the cabinet, instead of anything that involved boiling water, was a safe and suitable substitution.
Until a few glasses later when Rebecca barfed on the couch.
In that order.
I, upset, also barfed on the couch.
(Wow this story has way more mention of barfing than I was expecting. Anyway. . .)
At which point Millie opened the door to the sight of two innocent little girls sitting on the couch covered in barf and crying. I immediately confessed once I’d stopped barfing (not that I could hide what had happened because I was literally sitting in it).
Rebecca moved to Maine the next year. To this day I can’t drink tea or smell almonds without feeling a little sick.
In that particular example, Lucy wasn’t the new vice principal of my school. And no one’s backyard was on fire. Also, in that example, I did the thing I was in trouble for.
On the night that I returned home from possibly the worst party ever, I could see as soon as I set eyes on her that Lucy was not up to hearing my side of the story. She stalked back and forth across the carpet, making this gesture that involved holding out and stretching her fingers, like she was trying to grab something very big that was hovering in front of her. Millie, meanwhile, sat in her robe, on the couch with a nervous-looking Monty in her lap.
When Lucy finally stopped pacing, I thought she might puke, she was so mad. “Why were you at Tanner Spencer’s house?”
“I was invited to a party by one of his friends,” I said. “It’s not like I broke in.”
Lucy folded her arms over her chest suggesting she might think that was exactly what I did.
“Tell us what happened,” Millie said.
“Berry and I went to the party. It was at Tanner’s house, which you know. They were all drinking. We were not. We hung out for a bit. I tried to talk to Sarah about the play. She did not want to hear anything I said. She like reverse-racism-ed me. Tanner asked us to go. Berry went to the bathroom. We heard people screaming. We came out and the grass was on fire. Berry got a shovel and we helped them put the fire out.” I looked from Millie to Lucy. “That’s it.”
I couldn’t tell if Lucy was listening. She’d started pacing again halfway through my riveting but succinct story.
“Lucy,” Millie said quietly, over the sound of Monty whining.
“Tanner Spencer’s father just called.” Lucy spun around to look at me, her hands on her hips. “He said that you and Berry came to the party uninvited and yelled at Tanner and his friends and when they asked you to leave you pushed over one of the firepits.”
“I did what?” My stomach landed with a splat on the floor.
Millie pressed her lips together.
“Why would I do that?!”
Lucy’s phone pinged from the couch. She walked over to the coffee table and picked it up. “Well,” she said, swiping her screen. “Michael Spencer just followed up with an email. And there’s an email from Principal Lynde. And the school board.”
I could hear all the electricity running through the house. Every buzz coming out of every lamp. I could hear the wind outside. The crickets. The tap of Lucy’s fingers on her screen.
“According to Mr. Spencer’s message,” Lucy said, “Tanner, a girl named Sarah, a boy named John, and a girl named Gilly all saw you start the fire. Resulting in several hundred dollars’ worth of damage to his property.”
“Gilly said that?”
Was that her plan the whole time? To lure me out to Tanner’s house? To make everything worse?
“Why?” Millie looked at me. “Who is Gilly?”
I seethed. “Okay, all the witnesses are Tanner’s friends, Mom. They all hate me, so of course they’re all going to lie.”
Lucy was still looking at her phone. “Mr. Spencer said he is considering suing me or the school for damages.”
“But I didn’t do anything! Berry was there. Berry saw it.”
“Well, they’re accusing Berry as well,” Lucy said, dropping her phone onto the couch. “So, you’re both in trouble.”
“I’m in trouble,” I seethed. “Why am I trouble? I just told you, I didn’t do anything.”
“You didn’t go over there knowing you were going to get in some sort of conflict with those kids?” Lucy asked, her eyes searching my face.
“No.” I mean, I did. Ish. But then I believed the person whose idea it was to go over there. I believed it was at least possible that things wouldn’t end up a mess.
“I told you to leave it alone. I told you.” Lucy looked at the ground. “No one wins this fight, Anne. Not this way. Michael Spencer is not going to back down from this. You already have a recorded incident of assaulting Tanner at school.”
“With PIZZA!”
“No yelling,” Millie snapped.
“You don’t even care about my side of the story,” I fumed. “You just care about your job.”
“I care about your decisions.” Lucy’s eyes got wide.
“Oh, like you don’t make bad decisions? Like your decision to come to Greenvill e? To move us to a place where you knew people would basically hate us? Where there’s basically only white people?”
“Anne.” Millie held out a hand toward me.
“Anne, look. I. . .I know you’re having trouble here,” Lucy stammered. “This isn’t like other places we’ve lived before. Okay? That’s true. I’m having trouble. Millie is having trouble. We’re all having to deal with conflict right now. But it’s how we all deal with that conflict.” She held out her hand, ticking off my offenses. “Getting in fights. Yelling at students.”
“Yelling?” I screeched. “You mean defending myself?”
Millie got between Lucy and me. “That’s it. TIME! Everyone needs to take a breath. Right now.”
My body was a bomb. “All I do is go to this stupid school and deal with their shit. And every day they figure out another way to make things worse. For ME. That’s MY trouble. And now you’re helping them.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.” Lucy’s voice hummed with fury. “I’m trying to find a way to make things better.”
“We are,” Millie added quietly, in what I’m sure was a quiet-voice attempt to get us to stop yelling.
It didn’t work.
“Well, it’s WORSE now. For me, at least. So, thanks.” I turned. “Good night.” As I walked away, I tossed a stick of dynamite over my shoulder. A quiet but definitive, “Fucking stupid.”
“Fucking stupid?” Lucy’s voice boiled. “You think being accountable for your actions is FUCKING STUPID? You think what Millie and I have to say is fucking stupid?”
“Yeah.” I spun around. “I do.”
“Well, then.” Lucy crossed her arms over her chest. “Then you can pay for the Spencers’ lawn. You can pay for the damages, not Berry. YOU! And until you do, no school play, no school activities. You go to class and you come right home.”
“WHAT??”
Lucy shook her head. “Until we can manage this, until I know YOU can manage this, you are taking a step back. Because right now we are just—”
“I’m THE LEAD in the PLAY,” I screamed. “This play is the ONLY THING I have in Greenville that’s mine!”
Lucy pounded her fist in her palm. “This is all TOO much and it is affecting your judgment and your actions and your behavior in destructive ways.”
“Lucy,” Millie said quietly. “Let’s just wait and talk about this tomorrow.”
“THIS IS THE ONLY THING I HAVE in this WHOLE HORRIBLE PLACE!” My entire face was a scream. “YOU get to have your job and MILLIE gets her art and I get NOTHING!”
“ANNE!” Lucy’s voice hit final warning.
My voice filled the room. “FUCK YOUR JOB. FUCK GREENVILLE. And FUCK! YOU!”
The word you, as in you, my parents, was the main bit. Fuck was not as much of a problem in my house. I mean, see above, it’s a problem, but it’s not a fireable offense. Because Millie believes, or believed, in the freedom of self-expression. But fuck you has never been okay.
“GO TO YOUR ROOM!” Lucy screamed.
So, I did.
I slammed the door so hard my corkboard fell off the wall. I put my headphones on, but I couldn’t even bring myself to play any music. Because who would want to bring the happiest music in the world into this moment?
I was crying on my bed in Greenville, my clothes still smelling of smoke and dirt.
I texted Berry a hand-waving emoji, but she didn’t answer.
ANNE
Hey. Tanner messaged my mom and said we started the fire.
What if Berry’s parents were giving her shit because the Spencers were trying to get her to pay for a lawn she did nothing but save with her hard work after all Tanner’s friends could think to do was pour their beers on it? Maybe Berry wasn’t texting me because she was in trouble because I dragged her to a party because I told her it might be fun and it was the opposite of fun.
ANNE
I really hope they didn’t call your parents too. If they did I’m sorry. I am going to pay for the whole thing. OK?
There was a familiar whining at the door, which I cracked open so Monty could come inside. Downstairs I could hear a back-and-forth of angry whispers. Both Millie and Lucy came from families where their parents yelled at each other. So, with the exception of what had just gone down, both of them almost never raised their voices at each other, at least not when I’m in the house. It should be some sort of signal to them that whenever they do this harsh-whisper routine it drives Monty crazy and she ends up hiding under my bed.
I dragged Monty up on the bed with me because what good is a golden retriever if not to comfort you in a moment where everything is terrible?
My phone buzzed.
GILLY
I’m so sorry.
Monty whined.
ANNE
K
GILLY
Really I am!!!
ANNE
Well Tanner just messaged my mom and the rest of Greenville to say that me and Berry set his lawn on fire and you were a witness so maybe I don’t want to talk to you right now
I waited for a response. Of course she knew about Tanner. Why wouldn’t she? She was his friend.
ANNE
Goodnight.
A set of dots appeared next to Gilly’s name.
Then they disappeared.
Then they appeared again.
And disappeared.
GILLY
I’m really REALLY sorry.
ANNE
Ok
I curled up on my side. I could hear Millie stomping around in the kitchen. Pots and dishes clattering. Time for a late-night stress snack.
GILLY
I don’t know if that meant go look at the moon, but I did. Even though I was mad at her. It was outside my window like a spotlight. Downstairs I heard Millie humming and burning toast, my second waft of smoke on another horrible day in Greenville.