Page 14 of Pity Play

Behind us in the living room are Luke and my brother. They’re laughing at something, and the upturned expression on Luke’s face profile makes him look like a movie star. If you added up all the time I spent staring at this picture during my teen years, it would probably account for an entire month of my life. Thirty-one days, seven hundred and forty-four hours, forty-four thousand, six hundred and forty minutes … I’d do the seconds, but I’d need a calculator for that.

After putting the photo album down, I unearth my diary from the same year—the book I named “Luke” for obvious reasons.

Opening it to a random page, I read:

Dear Luke,

Today bit. Dillion McMillian (a stupid rhyming name fora stupid boy) called me Big Red in class. Big Red. I’m not even that tall! Then he asked me if I tasted like cinnamon like the gum. My face burned so hot I thought I was going to burst into flames. Of course, that made things worse, because Dillion asked if I wanted him to pour a bottle of water on me to put out the fire.

Boys suck monkey butts. I’m so sick of the immature losers in the eighth grade I could spit. Why can’t all boys be like you?

I skip down a couple of entries and read:

Dear Luke,

You came over to our house today and stayed for dinner! Mom made her tuna surprise and you and Noah talked about your latest basketball game. You even looked across the table at me and asked if I had a good day at school. I didn’t, but I told you it was fine. I didn’t want you to think I was a loser.

Then you and Noah started talking about some girl in your class and I got so mad I wanted to kick her. Why can’t you see how much I like you? Why can’t you stop looking at other girls until I’m old enough for you?

My stomach twists into the all-too-familiar knot it was tied in during my youth. I wish I could go back in time and be a different person. I wish I could tell myself not to pine for a boy that far out of my league. I wonder if I might have had a boyfriend in high school had I not compared every guy to Luke and then found him lacking. Having said that, I’ve mentioned my total absence offashion sense and lack of confidence, so the answer is probably still no. Whatever. I didn’t want them anyway.

I wish someone would write a book for teenage girls that encourages them to believe in their own worth. But the sad truth is that even if such a manual existed, it would be hard getting young girls to accept their own power.Why is that?

I pick up my diary and move over to my bed. Climbing on top of the covers, I lay down and close my eyes. It’s not so much that I need a nap as I’d like to discover the magic cure for adolescent angst. Instead of conjuring it, I fall into a deep sleep and don’t wake up until nearly five.

On my second hard wakeup of the day, I wonder what I’m doing in my own bed. Then I remember unearthing my teenage memories. Luke Phillips, the heartthrob of my younger life, is staying in my house and once again wreaking havoc with my emotions.

I genuinely thought I was over this man years ago. And while Ihavecyber stalked him, I’ve chalked that more up to curiosity than any tangible interest. But now that he’s here, I’m having second thoughts. It’s not that I’m drawn to his personality—who doesn’t love Toaster Strudel?—as much as I’m physically attracted to the guy. Tall, dark, and mega fine doesn’t begin to cover his more subtle attributes. Those dimples! That butt!

Sitting up, I sternly tell myself to get a grip. Luke is a big-time chef with a big-time life in Chicago. I’m his best friend’s little sister who still thinks knitting potholders is a great time. Not only are we in different leagues, but our lives are worlds apart. His is glamorous and mine is well—potholders.

I still want a Pop’s cheeseburger, so I force myself to get up and get ready to meet Allie. As I brush my hair and change into a more stylish top, I think about my friend. I wish there were something I could do to make her happier. Allie’s changed a lot since we were kids. She used to be vibrant and outgoing, funny and full of life. We weren’t exactly part of the popular crowd, buteveryone liked us—other than Dillion McMillian, that is. He was a turd through and through.

Allie got a scholarship to Michigan State which means she headed to a Big Ten school with all the opportunities that entailed. I was a B student, so I was going to the University of Wisconsin in Milwaukee. We stayed in touch the summer following our freshman year, but after that Allie remained at school and worked a summer job there instead of coming home.

I was thrilled when I ran into her at Rosemary’s a couple of months ago. But I was also surprised by the change in her. Instead of being confident and daring, she’s become introverted and borderline sad.

I vow that tonight I’m going to try to find out more about her story. I’ve been cautious up until now because she seems so jumpy anytime I ask a personal question. But we were once best friends which means that I have some rights. Tonight’s mission not only includes hopefully seeing Luke again, but also finding out how I can help my friend.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LUKE

After leaving the hospital, I drive around Elk Lake for a while. It’s strange being home without it really feeling like home. It’s like having someone else’s memories, or like I’ve read a book and I’m relating to the main character without actually being him.

After thirty minutes or so, I’ve driven past the bait shop I used to supply worms for when I was in elementary school and made my way through downtown. As I pass Rosemary’s, my mouth starts to water at the memory of their gingersnaps. When I was taking a pastry semester at culinary school, I based a recipe on them. I made a lemon tart with a gingersnap crust that has become a staple in every restaurant I’ve worked.

The old buildings along the brick streets look almost identical to how I remember them. I turn my car in the direction of the high school. Once I get there, I park in the senior parking lot before walking out onto the adjacent football field. School is in session but it’s March so nobody is playing outdoor sports. I sit on the bleachers for an hour thinking about my past before my butt goes numb from the freezing cold metal.

Once I get back into my car, I sit for a few minutes to warm up.Then I drive to my parents’ house. I don’t see my mom’s car, so I’m guessing she’s gone back to the hospital. I park in the driveway next to my dad’s truck before getting out and sitting on a rocking chair at the far end of the front porch.

My family home looks like it always has—two stories with a wraparound porch and delightful dormer over the front door. The house is white, and the shutters are navy blue. The window boxes are bare, but in a few short months they will be overflowing with whatever flower catches my mom’s fancy. If my memory serves, she’ll probably use a variety of pink double impatiens. The whole scene will look like it could be featured in one of the calendars that highlight the most appealing domestic scenes.

Unfortunately, the family that once lived here so happily—mine—no longer fits that picture perfect image. Somehow, that’s all thanks to me and the choices I’ve made in my life. Which is quite a burden, given that all I was doing was following my heart.

I stare out onto the front lawn and focus on the old oak tree. I used to climb that tree and swing from an old tire that hung from the largest branch. One summer I even tried to build a fort out there. I lost interest long before the project was complete, but I never stopped climbing that tree. Even in high school, I’d spend hours up there just thinking.

Sometimes I’d try to envision what I’d do when I grew up. Either that or I’d wonder where I was going to live. Would it be a big city or a smaller town like Elk Lake? I never saw myself in my hometown because I always dreamed of starting a brand-new chapter. I was drawn to a blank slate.

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