The Implosion Of Aggie Winchester Part 6

I nodded. My ears were starting to feel warm. I wished they would melt away so I didn't have to listen to any of this. I wanted to pretend my mom was fine.

I turned back to the bobbers. I closed my eyes against the vision of the doctors lopping off my mom's b.o.o.b if the lumpectomy didn't work.

"Your mom is putting on a brave face, but I know she's worried. And I know you guys fought today. About Sylvia."

My eyes snapped open. So my mom had told my dad about Sylvia, too. "I'm not taking sides here," my dad continued. "I'm just asking you to try and get along with your mom for a bit. Just to make this go a little easier. Okay?"

The red and white of the bobbers blurred together. I'd be a total b.i.t.c.h if I couldn't do that much. I told myself it wouldn't be that hard. I'd vacuum once or twice and bring her some soup in bed. And try not to snap at her. I supposed it was doable.

"Fine," I said. "I can try."

My dad squeezed my shoulder. "Thanks, Ag." His eyes were all soft-looking, his forehead creased. I s.h.i.+fted. I didn't want to have a warm fuzzy family moment right there in the hardware store. Come to think of it, I didn't want to have a warm fuzzy family moment period.

"Can we just get this stuff and go?" I asked.

My dad nodded and, much to my relief, we headed to the counter.

Chapter Nine.

SAt.u.r.dAY, APRIL 11 / 5:30 A.M.

The next morning, my alarm blasted me out from under the covers at five thirty. Once I'd rubbed the sleep from my eyes, I saw my cell phone light blinking. I had a missed text message. I checked it and saw it had been sent at three o'clock in the morning, and consisted of one word.

Hey.

It was from Neil.

A single thought went through my brain when I read it: Neil is fis.h.i.+ng, too. I wanted to kick myself for the way my heart sped up when I saw it, the way my skin started to warm. I still had to fight the urge to text him back, no matter how much he'd hurt me.

I spent the drive to the opener wondering how much more fight I had left in me. If he kept wanting me, I worried I might say okay again. And again. And then I'd never be over him. Ever.

I pushed the thoughts of Neil aside when Fitz Peterson headed my way. I was standing on the boat landing, waiting for my dad to check the bilge, when I spotted him.

"Hey," I said.

"You ready to get out on the water?" Fitz asked, jamming a gray wool cap on his head that by all accounts should have looked ridiculous, but was somehow almost cute. "I'm not sure if the ba.s.s are going to be biting, but I guess we'll see."

This was more than Fitz had said to me for weeks. Ever since he'd driven me home from Jefferson's party, he'd talked way less in study hall. I figured that either I'd done something stupid in his car and couldn't remember it or he was embarra.s.sed at having heard such a loaded conversation between Neil and me. I was certainly mortified he'd overheard it, that was for sure.

"My dad thinks there's going to be ba.s.s beds," I said, stamping my feet to keep my blood circulating in the earlymorning cold.

"This early in the season?" Fitz asked.

"I know, right? I told him he was crazy."

Fitz took his hat back off and turned it around in his hands. Even in the watery dawn light, I could see spots where the fabric was pilling. "I heard about Sylvia," he said after a moment. "About her being pregnant."

First my mom, now Fitz. Sylvia had told me her secret four weeks ago, and that whole time the information had been under wraps. But now it looked like the small dribble of gossip that had started with Ms. Rhone was about to flood the school. I was suddenly dreading Monday.

"So now you know," I said to Fitz. "Congrats."

"Who's the dad?"

In the distance, I heard the clicking and grinding sound of a boat being unhitched from a trailer. "You'll have to ask Sylvia that."

Fitz's mouth quirked. "Not likely," he said. "I was hoping you'd just tell me. But if not, that's cool. I get it. You're friends." Fitz's dark blue eyes looked almost black in the dim light.

"It's just not my news to tell, you know?" I said.

"It's okay," Fitz said. "It must be a lot of pressure. For both of you guys. I mean, she's going to have this kid, and you're her best friend, so you want to support her. But that's gotta be weird, I imagine. Because how do you do that. You know? It's a kid."

I stared at Fitz. Exactly, was what I wanted to say. Fitz was the only one who seemed to have half a clue about what I was feeling. And somehow, he'd been able to cut through all the babble and articulate it.

"You're pretty smart for a guy who never shuts up," I said.

"I choose my words when it's important," Fitz said. "When it matters."

"Well, nice job just then."

"So, you want to fish sometime?" Fitz asked, putting his cap back on his head. "You and me? My dad got one of those Tritons I was telling you about. We're breaking it in today."

"Hang out in a boat with you while you point out all its bells and whistles?" I asked. "No, thanks."

Fitz stepped closer. I smelled dryer sheets and warm blankets. "Come on. We'd fish. It would be fun. And I wouldn't blab about the boat. I told you, I choose my words when it's important."

"Oh, so fis.h.i.+ng with me is important?" I asked, thinking I sounded like I was flirting.

Fitz gave me a small smile. "It could be. My cell's on the Ba.s.s Masters roster, you know."

"Yeah, well, so's mine."

Fitz shoved his hands into his pockets. "I know," he replied. "Your number's already in my phone."

Before I could think about why Fitz already had me in his list of contacts, my dad called to me from the bow of our boat.

"Aggie-we're up and running. I need you to direct me while I get the boat down the launch and into the water."

"Okay," I said, "I'm coming." Fitz was still standing there. "Good luck today," I said.

He nodded. "You too. See you in study hall."

Thirty minutes later, my dad and I were out on the water. The foamy chop rocked the boat, and the wind whipped through every layer of clothing on my body. But even in the biting cold, instead of hunkering down over my pole, I sat up and scanned the horizon, trying to catch a glimpse of Fitz.

Chapter Ten.

MONDAY, APRIL 13 7:48 A.M.

"So how was the boat on Sat.u.r.day?" Sylvia asked on Monday. We'd texted each other that morning, then met in the parking lot so we could walk into school together.

"Stupid," I lied. "We froze, and the fish weren't really biting."

"That sucks," Sylvia said.

Before we hit the double doors, I grabbed her arm. "Fitz knows about you," I said, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. "He told me Sat.u.r.day. So that means it's not just the teachers. I'm going to guess word's gotten out."

Sylvia readjusted her army bag so it was covering more of her belly. She took a breath. "Well, once you told me Ms. Rhone let the cat out of the bag to the other teachers, I figured it was only a matter of time. Thanks for the heads-up, but it is what it is."

Sylvia's face looked less sure than her words sounded. "I'll beat up anyone who gives you s.h.i.+t," I said.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "Please. You have a hard time hurting centipedes."

She pulled open the doors and I followed her, thinking that I could always glare at and threaten people, even if I didn't actually hit them.

"Prom tickets!" called a cheerleader as we walked in. She was sitting at a table near the door. "Court nominations are today, so you'd better get your prom ti-" She stopped in midsentence when she spotted Sylvia and me. Her eyes slid to Sylvia's belly.

"Hold on a sec," I said, thinking I'd prove to Sylvia I could defend her. I walked over to the cheerleader, put both my hands on the table, and leaned in. The cheerleader's freckled face, framed by wavy red hair, was suddenly pale.

"You have a problem?" I asked. I picked up one of the tickets she was selling-a heavy cream cardstock with embossed silver lettering-and tossed it to the floor. I put the heel of my black boot on it and pressed.

"Y-you have to pay for that," the cheerleader whispered. She was starting to tremble. I glared at her while my heart shriveled inside my chest. She was just a freshman, and I was scaring the s.h.i.+t out of her. G.o.d, what was I doing? There had to be a better way to get people to stop staring at Sylvia. I just had no idea what it was.

"Your dance is a f.u.c.king waste of time," I said, "and so are you."

I turned and walked back to Sylvia, leaving the prom ticket where it was-scuffed and torn.

"You gonna do that to everyone who looks at my stomach?" Sylvia asked as we made our way to her locker.

"No," I said under my breath, "because they're all staring." Every eyeball in the place was trained on Sylvia's midsection. The halls practically quieted as we walked through them.

"No s.h.i.+t, Sherlock," Sylvia said, twirling her locker combination. I thought maybe she'd start yelling at everyone, telling them to get a life and stop looking at her or she'd punch a few of them in the crotch. Maybe that's what everyone else thought she'd do, too, since none of them dared to utter a word or a comment. But instead, Sylvia just opened her locker like it was any other day.

"Aren't you freaked out?" I whispered.

Sylvia rounded on me. "Look, you need to relax, okay? Act like it's cool because if people in this school think for one second I'm ashamed of this kid, they'll think they own me. Everyone will try and use it to make me feel like I'm worthless." Sylvia grabbed a box of granola bars from the top shelf of her locker and stuffed one of them into her bag. "So do what we always do. Be cool. Act like we don't give a s.h.i.+t. It's just another day. You got it?"

I nodded. Sylvia always knew what to do. I reminded myself how lucky I was to have her as a friend. She plotted our course and kept everyone off our backs. I'd be lost without her. "Yeah. Okay."

She shut her locker, and we headed toward mine. "Dude," Sylvia said, "I forgot to ask. Did your mom get off to the hospital okay? For her lumber section or whatever?" My brain raced to catch up with her abrupt change of subject.

I nodded. "Lumpectomy. And yeah, she's fine. My dad took her in just as I was getting up."

Still half asleep, I had given my mom a hug before she'd headed out the door. "I'll be back by the time you get home from school," she said. I noticed she'd been wearing lipstick, like she was going out for drinks.

"So, when you were fis.h.i.+ng on Sat.u.r.day, I went to Tickywinn's," Sylvia said, switching subjects again, like her brain was ping-ponging around just so it didn't land on how everyone knew about her pregnancy, "and I met this new girl there. Beth. She moved from New York, like, last week."

"Oh," I said. "Is she cool?"

"Totally," Sylvia said as I opened my locker. "And she's Goth, if you can believe it. She says in New York, everyone looks like us."

I yanked off my coat and grabbed my chemistry book, thinking that there were millions of people in New York and they couldn't all be Goth. I was so lost in Beth's illogic that I didn't notice Sylvia's face right away.

I turned to see her glaring at me. "What the h.e.l.l are you wearing?" she asked.

I blinked, then remembered. "It's just a sweater," I said. "My clothes were all dirty." Which was the truth. I'd been so desperate for something to throw on that I'd delved into the stash of mom-approved clothes in my closet. I thought I'd picked the least offensive thing.

Sylvia looked me up and down. "It's turquoise."

"Like h.e.l.l it is," I said. "It's just blue. Normal, everyday blue." I was wearing the sweater with jeans and my black boots. A leather bracelet with studs was clamped around my right wrist. A heavy beaded black necklace was draped around my neck. My makeup was dark and heavy. Everything was the same except for the sweater.

"That is not normal blue," Sylvia argued.

I slammed my locker shut. "So what do you want me to do? Go around in my bra all day? It's just a stupid sweater."

"Your coat is at least black. Wear that."

"What? Why?"

"Because you look ridiculous."

Anger flared inside me. "And you sound ridiculous. You always say you don't care what people think."

"I don't care what people think. I care what I think. And I think you look stupid."

"Well, it's my wardrobe, and I think I look fine."

"Suit yourself," Sylvia replied, sounding p.i.s.sed.

"Are we seriously going to fight about my sweater? Can't we just talk about something else?"

"Okay. Here's some news. Beth is coming to lunch with us today."

I thought about how it wasn't a question. "Whatever," I said.

Sylvia grunted. "All right, look. Forget I said anything about the sweater. And Beth is legit. So be cool about her eating with us. Okay?"

"Fine," I said, glad she was letting the sweater issue go. "If you say so."