Free Pretty Amy by Lisa Burstein Page B

Blotter. I read the following: Three local girls arrested in connection with area-wide drug-distribution ring, caught en route from the Collinsville South High Prom.
    “Your mother thinks we’ll have news crews camped out on our lawn,” he said.
    I was less concerned about that and more concerned that it was now forever in black and white that we had been dateless for the prom.
    “It doesn’t even use our names.”
    “She still thinks people will know,” he said.
    I guess that was how Joe had found out.
    But my mother wasn’t worried about Joe; she was worried about her supposed friends and acquaintances, who from what I could tell would corner her at the grocery store, their carts boxing her in at right angles, wedding rings tapping like timers on the hot-dog-colored hand-grips while they demanded information. Apparently the food she purchased to make dinner, perfect triangles of green, white, and brown on my plate, was supposed to be a pie chart illustrating her skill as a mother.
    This news would, as my mother would say, blow that out of the water .
    “You don’t have to stay down there,” he said, taking the paper from me.
    I shook my head. Moving back into my room would be as good as telling my mother she was right, not just about sleeping in the basement, but about all of it. I grabbed the other half of his bagel and took a huge bite.
    “Watch your right maxillary tooth,” he said.
    I closed my mouth and put my hand in front of it. I was at my father’s office every couple of months for a filling. It was lucky that he was a dentist, or my parents would be broke. It was like my teeth were made of talc. They were cavity prone, sensitive, and, before braces, had looked like fence posts put in by a blind man.
    “Where is she?” I asked, trying to gauge how much longer I had to drink my coffee before slipping back downstairs and locking the door.
    “She’s getting ready for your big shopping trip,” he said, grabbing the other half of his bagel.
    Were we going to buy my supplies for jail, like we had every year when I went to summer camp? Going down the list Camp Eagle Lake provided and buying a flashlight and bug spray and a rain poncho?
    My father must have sensed my confusion because he said, “I don’t know, for your arraignment. I get a new tie. Don’t let her buy anything with yellow. She’s been trying to convince me all morning that yellow is calming.” He shook his head. “Well, not to me.”
    I got up and looked at the calendar that sat on the desk next to the kitchen phone. Sure enough, Amy’s Arraignment was written in my mother’s script in the square two days from now. It was written no differently than Marilyn’s Birthday , which was three days after my arraignment and Amy’s Graduation , which was written two Sundays after that.
    Who the hell was Marilyn?
    “You’d better get ready,” he said. I knew he couldn’t care less if I wore a burlap sack, but if I wasn’t ready and my mom came down, she would blame him for not making me get dressed.
    “Great, this is just what I want to do today,” I said, slamming down the calendar.
    “You had other plans?” he asked, giving me a cream-cheesy kiss on the cheek as he made his way upstairs.
    I guess he had a point.
    …
    My mother spun around, trying to get her bearings. This was how she always looked when she entered a department store. Like she was playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey and someone had just put the blindfold on her and spun her around, dizzying her beyond all hope of rational thought. That was what clothes did to her.
    I looked through the store, searching for a red ponytail. Maybe Aaron was there. I knew it was about as likely as Lila or Cassie showing up, but it didn’t hurt to daydream.
    I hadn’t had the nerve to send him a friend request, so I wasn’t sure what I would do if I actually ever did see him in person. Probably nothing. Especially that day, considering I was at the mall with my mother buying a