The Summer I Turned Pretty
Page 9

I think he would have stayed with her forever, trying to figure out the mystery. He was a puzzle solver, the kind of person who likes theorems, theories. X always had to equal something. It couldn't just be X.
To me, my mother wasn't that mysterious. She was my mother. Always reasonable, always sure of herself. To me, she was about as mysterious as a glass of water. She knew what she wanted; she knew what she didn't want. And that was to be married to my father. I wasn't sure if it was that she fell out of love or if it was that she just never was. In love, I mean.
When we were at Granna's, my mother took off on one of her trips. She'd go to far-off places like Hungary or Alaska. She always went alone. She took pictures, but I never asked to look at them, and she never asked if I wanted to.
Chapter thirteen
I was sitting in an Adirondack chair eating toast and reading a magazine when my mother came out and joined me. She had that serious look on her face, her look of purpose, the one she got when she wanted to have one of her mother-daughter talks. I dreaded those talks the same way I dreaded my period.
"What are you doing today?" she asked me casually.
I stuffed the rest of my toast into my mouth. "This?"
"Maybe you could get started on your summer reading for AP English," she said, reaching over and brushing some crumbs off my chin.
"Yeah, I was planning on it," I said, even though I hadn't been.
My mother cleared her throat. "Is Conrad doing drugs?" she asked me.
"What?"
"Is Conrad doing drugs?"
I almost choked. "No! Why are you asking me anyway? Conrad doesn't talk to me. Ask Steven."
"I already did. He doesn't know. He wouldn't lie," she said, peering at me.
"Well, I wouldn't either!"
My mother sighed. "I know. Beck's worried. He's been acting differently.
He quit football ..."
"I quit dance," I said, rolling my eyes. "And you don't see me running around with a crack pipe."
She pursed her lips. "Will you promise to tell me if you hear something?"
"I don't know . . . ," I said teasingly. I didn't need to promise her. I knew Conrad wasn't doing drugs. A beer was one thing, but he would never do drugs. I would bet my life on it.
"Belly, this is serious."
"Mom, chill. He's not doing drugs. When'd you turn into such a narc, anyway? You're one to talk." I elbowed her playfully.
She bit back a smile and shook her head. "Don't start."
Chapter fourteen
AGE 13
The first time they did it, they thought we didn't know. It was actually pretty stupid of them, because it was one of those rare nights when we were all at home. We were in the living room. Conrad was listening to music with his headphones on, and Jeremiah and Steven were playing a video game. I was sitting on the La-Z-Boy reading Emma --mostly because I thought it made me look smart, not really because I enjoyed it. If I was reading for real, I would be locked in my room with Flowers in the Attic or something and not Jane Austen.
I think Steven smelled it first. He looked around, sniffed like a dog, and then said, "Do you guys smell that?"
"I told you not to eat all those baked beans, Steven," Jeremiah said, his eyes focused on the TV screen.
I snickered. But it wasn't gas; I smelled it too. It was pot. "It's pot," I said, loudly. I wanted to be the one who said it first, to prove how sophisticated and knowledgeable I was.
"No way," said Jeremiah.
Conrad took off his headphones and said, "Belly's right. It's pot."
Steven paused the game and turned to look at me. "How do you know what pot smells like, Belly?" he asked me suspiciously.
"Because, Steven, I get high all the time. I'm a burn-out. You didn't know?" I hated it when Steven pulled the big brother routine, especially in front of Conrad and Jeremiah. It was like he was trying to make me feel small on purpose.
He ignored me. "Is that coming from upstairs?"
"It's my mom's," Conrad said, putting his headphones back on again. "For her chemo."
Jeremiah didn't know, I could tell. He didn't say anything, but he looked confused and even hurt, the way he scratched the back of his neck and looked off into space for a minute. Steven and I exchanged a look. It was awkward, whenever Susannah's cancer came up, the two of us being outsiders and all. We never knew what to say, so we didn't say anything. We mostly pretended it wasn't happening, the way Jeremiah did.
My mother didn't, though. She was matter-of-fact, >calm, the way she is about everything. Susannah said my mother made her feel normal. My mother was good at that, making people feel normal. Safe. Like as long as she was there, nothing truly bad could happen.
When they came downstairs a little while later, they were giggling like two teenagers who had snuck into their parents' liquor cabinet. Clearly my mother had partaken in Susannah's stash as well.
Steven and I exchanged another look, this time a horrified one. My mother was probably the last person on earth who would smoke pot, with the exception of our grandmother Gran, her mother.
"Did you kids eat all the Cheetos?" my mother asked, rummaging through a cabinet. "I'm starving."
"Yes," Steven said. He couldn't even look at her.
"What about that bag of Fritos? Get those," Susannah ordered, coming up behind my La-Z-Boy. She touched my hair lightly, which I loved. Susannah was much more affectionate than my mother in those kinds of ways, and she was always calling me the daughter she never had. She loved sharing me with my mother, and my mother didn't mind. Neither did I.
"How are you liking Emma so far?" she asked me. Susannah had a way of focusing on you that made you feel like the most interesting person in the room.
I opened my mouth to lie and tell her how great I thought it was, but before I could, Conrad said very loudly, "She hasn't turned a page in over an hour." He was still wearing his headphones.
I glared at him, but inside I was thrilled that he had noticed. For once, he had been watching me. But of course he'd noticed--Conrad noticed everything. Conrad would notice if the neighbor's dog had more crust in its right eye than its left, or if the pizza delivery guy was driving a different car. It wasn't really a compliment to be noticed by Conrad. It was a matter of fact.
"You'll love it once it gets going," Susannah assured me, sweeping my bangs across my forehead.
"It always takes me a while to get into a book," I said, in a way that sounded like I was saying sorry. I didn't want her to feel bad, seeing as how she was the one who'd recommended it to me.