I unfold it carefully in my lap and peer down. Diane’s script is schoolteacher perfect.
I wish I knew how we could help Johnny. Could you please meet me after school at the tree and we’ll walk home together? I want to come up with something. Please don’t tell the other girls. xoxoxo Diane
I fold the note back up as tight as I can and slip it into my pocket as I nod yes at Diane. She offers me a smile of gratefulness, and her eyes glass over again, but she simply turns her focus forward before she lets tears fall. I look down again, Miss Odeen’s exercises on semicolons and adverbial clauses floating like jellyfish before me. I can’t concentrate. At last the bell rings, and Diane and I file out.
‘Girls, can I see you a moment?’ Miss Odeen asks as we pass her desk. She stands and tucks a loose curl behind her right ear, and I notice red smears of ink on her fingers from marking our papers.
‘Yes, Miss Odeen?’ Diane says, somehow managing to turn on her Miss America pageant grin she uses with adults. But I know her well enough by now that I can tell it’s not her best performance.
‘Well, you were both absent yesterday,’ she says, tilting her head and frowning just a bit. But it’s an I’m worried frown, not an I’m angry one. She waits a beat but neither of us responds, and I sense Diane tense up with nerves. She isn’t used to this sort of interrogation from a teacher, I know, but I am. Sometimes you can play dumb and they just give up. Even though I feel sort of lousy doing that to Miss Odeen.
‘Were you two cutting class together?’ she asks, softening her voice just so, almost conspiratorially. I like Miss Odeen, but I know this trick. Get the kids to believe you’re just wanting gossip, that you’re all on the same side, and maybe they’ll spill the beans.
‘No, ma’am, we weren’t together,’ I offer, which isn’t really a lie. Diane was at home, and I was at the park with Sunny and Juanita. I flash a weak smile.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Odeen,’ says Diane, her voice suddenly crisp and together. ‘It won’t happen again. Not with either of us.’ She looks over at me and nods. ‘Right, Evie?’
‘It won’t,’ I say. Now this is a lie. The odds of me never cutting class again, even English, are not low at all. But at least Diane can get us out of here.
‘Girls, listen,’ says Miss Odeen, leaning against her desk, crossing her feet at the ankles. ‘I know I’m just an old lady English teacher, but if something is wrong … if you need help …’ At this she pauses, and I wonder if she’s thinking back to teacher school and what she learned there to deal with unruly girls like me. Like us. ‘Listen,’ she says, starting again, ‘I’m not an old lady English teacher, so let’s not pretend. I’m a grown-up, yes, but it wasn’t that long ago that I was around your age, and … anyway, I just want you to know if you ever need to talk … I’m here.’ She smiles, her pink lipstick perfect as ever. I wonder for a moment what Miss Odeen was like in high school and how long ago it was.
‘Yes, ma’am, thank you,’ says Diane, and I offer my thanks, too.
‘All right, you’re excused,’ she says, and as soon as Diane and I are out in the hallway, Diane takes a deep breath.
‘I don’t like lying to Miss Odeen,’ she says, ‘but I couldn’t have come to class yesterday. Or to school at all. Not with everything going on.’
‘I know it,’ I say as we make it down the hallway. ‘I’m surprised you’re here today.’
‘If I didn’t come,’ says Diane, ‘I’d be trapped at home all day with my thoughts. It’s too much. Plus, I wanted to talk to you.’
I touch my pocket where Diane’s note is hidden. ‘I want to help you, but what can we do?’
Diane’s shoulders slump. ‘I don’t know. But we have to do something.’ We’re making our way through the crowd, getting closer to where we’ll have to head our separate ways to fourth period. ‘Please promise me you’ll help me.’
‘Of course I promise,’ I say. ‘You know that.’
Diane smiles, then tips her head onto my left shoulder for just a moment. ‘I know,’ she says. ‘Of course I know.’
After school, I show up at our regular meeting place, the big oak tree on the front lawn, but I don’t spy Diane. I do spot Sunny and Ray Swanson, smoking and waiting for me.
‘Hey,’ says Sunny, ‘how are you?’ Ray ignores me.
‘I’m all right,’ I say. ‘Any word from Connie?’
‘That’s why we’re here,’ says Sunny. ‘Let’s not let her be alone, okay? My stepdad isn’t around and my mom is working, and Ray thought we could all head over to my place and hang out or something. And get Connie to join us. You know, to distract us.’
‘I lifted some whiskey, and Sunny can get something from her stepfather’s stash,’ Ray says, barely looking at me. ‘Butch and Dwight can score something, too.’ I wonder if he’s even upset his friend is locked up or if he just sees it as an excuse to get blitzed.
‘Well,’ I start, thinking of Diane, who just then approaches us on the lawn.
‘What’s going on with this girl anyway?’ Ray says, scowling. ‘Suddenly she’s your little mascot. She’s not even from around here.’
Sunny protests, ‘She’s really sweet, Ray. I swear.’ But Ray just frowns as Diane draws nearer.
‘Hey, Evie,’ she says. ‘Hey, Sunny … and Ray.’
Ray grunts.
‘Diane, come with us, please,’ Sunny says, grabbing Diane’s hand and tugging it toward her. ‘Just for a little bit. Juanita’s joining us later, and Connie, and some of the boys. I know we’re all miserable about Johnny, but it’s Friday. Let’s hang out for a while and forget about everything for a little bit.’ She waggles an eyebrow and whispers conspiratorially, ‘We have booze.’
‘I was …’ Diane starts, making eye contact with me. I don’t know what to do. I know Diane wanted to spend time with me alone. Should I make an excuse so Diane can come with me? Say I can’t go to Sunny’s because my grandmother is expecting me? Not that I’ve ever acted like I’m worried about a curfew or anything in front of the girls – even if secretly sometimes I am.
‘Diane and I were …’ I start, waiting for my mouth to make up the best excuse. But then Diane surprises me.
‘We’ll go,’ she says with a nod.
I eye her, surprised.
‘Maybe I want to forget,’ she says as we follow Sunny and Ray off campus toward Sunny’s house on Leeland.
‘All right,’ I say, leaning closer and lowering my voice. ‘But what about coming up with some plan?’
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ she says, then reaches out to give me a squeeze. ‘Right now let’s just escape.’
It’s good to feel the warmth of the liquor spread out in my cheeks and my chest. To feel the edges soften.
‘Hold it, little sister,’ Connie says, sliding the bottle of Four Roses out of my hand. But she’s been drinking, too, and her fingers slip reaching for the bottle. She laughs a classic Connie laugh – loud and honking – but it’s forced, too, somehow. Her eyes are bleary. Her face is tired. A week or two ago, Connie Treadway referring to me as her little sister would have sent a thrill of belonging down my spine. Now, I’m so foggy with sadness it barely registers.