Incense and Peppermints Read online

  Exuberant heads bobbed. Everybody had already known, except me.

  Candy rifled in her shoulder bag for a pen and wrote on her napkin. “Here’s my phone number. Tell your mom to call my mom to make sure it’s on the level. I know how parents think, as if we’re trying to pull one over on them. Which…we are.”

  The girls snickered.

  “Will your mom let us go to the party?” I sounded like a pitiful little girl asking permission.

  “Of course, stupid,” she scoffed. “My mom’s motto is live free, be happy, and have fun.”

  They slapped hands as if the party had already begun. Now I knew why my brother liked dating Candy—no limits.

  As the girls had predicted, Mom called Mrs. Bradford. And, during dinner, she raved about how Candy’s mom had a dignified personality.

  “See, Willard,” she addressed Dad, “there’s still some decent parents left in the world.”

  Dad’s lips pinched in response before cramming a forkful of corn into his mouth. The disruption of a ring-a-ling telephone had him banging his fist on the table. He chewed with a vengeance as if it was taboo to get a call during dinner. He refused to answer, even though he sat within inches of the phone.

  Mom darted to the ringing nuisance before Dad’s fuming got out of hand.

  After answering, she hugged the receiver to her over-endowed bosom. “It’s for Mary,” she said in a hushed whisper. Then she mouthed to me, “It’s a boy.”

  My stunned eyes settled on Dad’s twisting mouth. In a hissy fit, he dropped his fork, and it clattered to his plate. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the interruption or because it was a boy. My fingers circled the receiver, stretched the cord as far as possible from spying ears until it resembled a straight line, and braced my shoulder on the wall.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Bambi.”

  The one and only person who had ever called me Bambi was Michael Covington, and I was a bit disappointed that the voice on the phone was not his. “Who is this?”

  “It’s me,” he said assertively, as if I should’ve known exactly who it was, which I didn’t. Then said, “Jesse.”

  “Oh, yeah. Hi, Jesse.” The line seemed to go dead, and I heard my father muttering a curse under his breath and his chair scuffing on the linoleum. Why would Jesse call then not say anything? I had to hurry this up before Dad made a vocal scene. “What’s up?”

  “Umm, just wondering if you’ll be at Putnam’s party tomorrow night?”

  “Yep. That’s the plan.”

  “Great. See you there.”

  “‘Kay.” End of conversation and my first phone call from a boy.

  CHAPTER 4

  I’d been excited and nervous the entire day. Nervous that my parents would find out the sleepover was a sham, and excited because it was my first real party. After throwing a few things into a sack, I asked Dad for a ride. He’d been complaining about having a migraine, but I knew better. He’d gone out the night before, and it’d been a late one. Through an indecisive grimace, he said he’d be gracious enough to drive me.

  Our Oldsmobile parked in Candy’s driveway, and I didn’t consider his migraine as I slammed the door. His eyes crinkled as he rubbed his temples.

  Hangovers are a bitch.

  When he got out of the car, it was a no-brainer. He’d planned to check up on the whole sleepover thingy.

  As Mrs. Bradford swung open her side door, she wore an easy smile. “You must be, Mary.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Bradford.”

  “Go right in. Candy’s waiting for you.”

  Not offering Dad a second glance, I walked in and left him alone to grill Mrs. Bradford.

  Candy’s bedroom was a riotous nightmare of color and clutter. The walls were smothered with painted blossoms of vibrant poppies, happy-faced daisies, and hydrangeas. Square, five-inch mirrors had been dispersed randomly from floor to ceiling, and I could see myself coming and going.

  In the corner, butted against the wall, a crumpled patchwork quilt covered a twin mattress without its frame. A desk, chair, and bureau had been coated with psychedelic designs, and a doorless closet vomited volumes of hipster dresses, mini-skirts, and cotton and knit sweaters of every shade imaginable.

  A disordered mess of jars and make-up were strewn atop the bureau that supported an expansive mirror. Besides snapshots wedged into the frame of the mirror, Candy had written passages and proverbs in differing shades of lipstick. It was a wonder that I could still see my reflection in the whorl of words.

  “Your dad’s a nice guy,” Candy said.

  I thought she was being facetious and gave her a wrinkled, enquiring brow. How she’d determined my father’s quality with a transitory glimpse was beyond me.

  “He walked you to the door to meet my mom.”

  “He was checking,” I assured her, “to see if the sleepover is on the level. That’s all.”

  “I think it’s kind of cool that he cares.” Candy dropped her hard chick masquerade. Clean faced, devoid of her mask of make-up, she appeared young and vulnerable. She dive-bombed onto the mattress and flung the quilt over her. “It’s always so cold in this house.”

  I figured it was her manner of changing the topic and avoiding unpleasant conversation. And I remembered Gwen advising me never to broach the issue of Candy’s father. In Gwen’s own words, she’d said, “The cheating bastard ran off with some skank when Candy was a baby. End of story.”

  Flinging off the quilt, Candy rolled off the mattress. “Dee and Gwen should be here any minute,” she said. “We’d better get started on your hair.”

  “I already ironed it at home.” I combed my fingers through the satiny length, liking the texture.

  “Did you happen to see the back?” Her sarcastic lilt was undeniable. “It’s nasty.”

  “Oh?” I veered sideways to examine my reflection in the mirror and detected an ocean of waves.

  I never imagined the abuse involved in having Candy iron my hair to perfection. She tugged, pulled, and whipped my head of hair into submission. After Gwen and Dee’s arrival, I planted my rear on Candy’s bedroom chair for a lesson in make-up, and she painstakingly applied foundation to the surface of my face.

  “This stuff is the best. Cool, huh?” she said while dabbing the liquid on my nose.

  I shifted and tried to lean to catch a glimpse in the mirror.

  “Don’t move,” she instructed and clamped hold of my chin. She withdrew a wandful of black mascara and coated my lashes. “Jeez, your eyelashes are long. Try not to open your eyes too wide or it’ll smudge.” She then applied lipstick. “There.”

  The girls crossed their arms over their chests, judging her handiwork. Heads wavered from side to side like scrutinizing a piece of artwork.

  Is that a good sign or a bad one?

  “Turn around and look,” said Gwen.

  My intake of breath created quite a stir. They chuckled at my reaction, and Candy wore a pleased expression as she admired her creation. The girl reflected in the mirror wasn’t me. Candy had transformed dowdy, freckle-faced Mary into a facade of vividness.

  “I can’t see my freckles.” Astonished, I moved in for a closer look. “I like it, but my nose itches.” I brought a finger up to scratch.

  “Don’t touch.” Candy whacked my hand. “You’ll rub off the foundation.”

  Squinching my nose, I wondered if it was my imagination or were the pores on my face suffocating?

  “Don’t smear your makeup,” Candy berated for the hundredth time as we hustled into Mrs. Bradford’s Buick.

  Lancaster High was congested when the Buick wheeled into the school’s parking lot. “Girls, have a good time.” Mrs. Bradford smiled, peering at Candy. “Don’t be ignorant and get into a car with someone who’s been drinking. Call me and I’ll come get the lot of you,” Rainbow Bradford
stipulated to a sarcastic, head-wagging daughter.

  We slid from the car and into a gaggle of people before traipsing to the football field beneath a velveteen sky where twinkling stars popped like finely cut diamonds.

  The fluorescent lights washed the area in luminosity as we stood in line by the gate. A cold draft nipped my nose, and I was glad I’d worn a suede jacket over a long-sleeved sweater.

  Dee had vetoed the notion of wearing her winter coat. “It’s too soon in the season,” she’d said while standing in a modeling pose. “This is Irish wool,” she’d emphasized, insisting her sweater was warmth extraordinaire.

  When she shivered, I held on to a told ya so.

  Once inside, Candy immediately rummaged into her coat pocket and slid out a pack of smokes. “The one thing my mom hates.”

  She offered the pack, and each girl fingered out a cigarette.

  My virgin smoke. Treading into new territory, I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t feel cool or popular in the least. Determining how to hold the cigarette and not appear like a doofus, I copied Candy’s two-finger scissor grip. I stuck the filter between my lips, feeling somewhat badass. We shared the same match, and I sucked in. Smoke collected behind my teeth. Blowing out, I smacked my tongue to the roof of my mouth, disgusted.

  Candy rounded her mouth and blew fluffy rings that deformed in the air. This time around, I drew harder and smoke trampled down my throat. A true amateur, I hacked in a humiliating coughing fit and water sprang to my eyes.

  Gwen clapped my back while Candy reminded me, “Don’t touch your eyes. You’ll get mascara all over your face.”

  I spit the putrid taste from my mouth, and after dropping the cigarette, the toe of my sneaker mulched the tobacco.

  Ample lines of people poured into the stands as we picked our way to the top bleachers. On the opposite side of the field, the marching band, and especially the trumpets were blaring a version of “Aquarius”. On the sidelines, and brandishing pom-poms, cheerleaders in scanty red, white, and black uniforms strutted their stuff. We sat on the wooden bleachers, and cold soaked into my rump. Shimming around, I hoped the friction would warm the bench and me.

  Stevie had left the house earlier, and I anticipated the influx of his friends any minute. Distinguishing his thick head of hair would be a cinch. While perusing the multitude I turned to Candy.

  “Is Steve meeting you here?”

  “Didn’t he tell you?” She looked at the girl’s before answering. “We broke up.”

  “What?” I said, truly shocked.

  “He didn’t say anything to you?” asked Dee as if she assumed I was lying.

  “No. I really didn’t know.” Their cold glares chilled my bones, and digging in my pockets, I retrieved a pair of mittens.

  “I found out your brother cheated on Candy a few weeks ago with a girl from Alden,” said Gwen. Her steely eyes fastened on me while she shoved her hair into a knit cap.

  Flabbergasted, I didn’t know what to say. And why didn’t they mention this earlier? I wasn’t my brother’s keeper. Far from it. He did whatever his hormonal brain told him to do, no matter what the consequences.

  “Steve doesn’t talk to me about those things.” I admitted. “He said something about a fight and that was all.”

  Candy and Gwen barricaded me with their constricting hips.

  “You didn’t ask any details?” Dee slanted over Gwen’s shoulder, shooting me squinty eyes. “I’d be asking questions if my brother came home and said he had a fight with his girlfriend.”

  “Nope,” I said a tad snippily, not liking the way they were ganging up on me.

  “All right, Mary.” Gwen’s lips meshed into a straight line. “We were just wondering if you knew anything.” She gave my shoulder a genial pat.

  “But...” Dee blurted, getting my attention. Her brows collected over demanding eyes. “...If you hear anything, you’ll tell us.”

  Not a question, but a statement that I’d better adhere to or else. Or else what? Lose my status as part of the clique. Did I care? Probably.

  I rotated from Dee and sought Candy, whose downcast face was disturbing. Perceiving her glossy eyes, I felt like a heel for not sympathizing with her. Stevie, a hell-raiser, wasn’t about to settle for one girl. I’d expected him to cheat on her sooner. I did what any good friend should do and wrapped my arms over her shoulders, pulling her close while she wept.

  The first half of the game was a nail-biter. The Cougars were ahead seven to zip, running ram shod over the Redskins. With seconds to spare, Michael snagged a pass from Pender for a Lancaster touchdown. We had twenty minutes to spare during intermission, and I had hot chocolate on the brain. We traversed down the bleachers and collected below the stands. I foraged in my pocket for the two dollars Dad had slipped me earlier.

  Candy was busy surveying the accumulation of people. She looked glum with mascara staining the skin below her eyes. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” she said.

  “The game’s not over.” My voice issued a vaporous cloud that whirled into the ether as my eyes sought the concession booth.

  Dee, who’d refused to bundle, pouted. Chafing her hands and getting them warm, she tented them over her red nose. “If they hadn’t scored, I’d be with you.” Her voice was muffled behind her hands. “But Michael made a touchdown, and we’re in the game. I’d like to stay for a while.”

  “You just want to score with Michael Covington,” Candy said. “You’re so hot and bothered for the guy.”

  “Yeah,” Dee said, “who isn’t hot and bothered for Michael?”

  A girl walking by with a crowd of her giggling friends overheard our conversation and shouted, “I plan on scoring with Covington!”

  “Freshmen.” Gwen shot them her evil eye. “I’m glad we weren’t like that.” She squashed the knitted hat farther over her ears and slouched inward for warmth. “Look toward the gate. Jesse and Tom are coming in.”

  Candy’s head reeled toward the entrance, perhaps in hopes of seeing Stevie. I’d never considered my brother as anyone’s heartthrob.

  “We’ll stay for a while,” Candy said. She rummaged in her duffle-like purse and retrieved a compact with a tiny mirror. Gazing at her appearance, she groaned.

  With that settled, I cringed at the growing line at the concession stand. They might run out of my tasty treat. “I’m going for hot chocolate.”

  “Mary,” Gwen said to my receding backside. “Look for us under the bleachers.”

  Snaking among the throngs, I raised my hand in confirmation that I’d heard her. When I finally placed my order with the he lady behind the stand, they were in the process of tipping the vast container of hot chocolate. I was in luck to buy the final cup. Carefully carrying the chocolaty hotness, I wandered where even the teachers were tentative to tread. The spicy smell of weed filled the air. Here and there, teenagers gelled into groups, inhaling reefer and gulping cans of beer. My sneaker punted a drained Pabst Blue Ribbon, and it connected with a variety of cans.

  Warmer, despite a swift gust that churned the cloudy grayness into a swirling derby, I scouted for my friends. Peering from group to group, my pulse skipped a beat. Did they leave me behind? Retreating into the openness, I hiked the four stairs to the walkway. Inflamed football fans engulfed me as I weaved in and out.

  I found Dee seated next to a rail, her legs dangling off the edge of the walkway.

  “Hey,” I shouted over the racket.

  When she noticed me, her mouth curled into a grin. Apparently, I wasn’t on her shit list anymore. Finishing the remnants of the rich, chocolaty goo, I licked my lips, savoring every drop.

  “Let’s go, Redskins!” she cheered, holding her hands on either side of her mouth. “C’mon, Michael!”

  I reckoned my prospects had been nil with Michael Covington, and now, more than ever. Dee was beautiful. The last time
I’d seen Michael, she’d been nipping his earlobe like a piranha.

  Connecting with the fervor of the game, I shoved the scene of them on the park bench to the nether region of my mind.

  “Where’d Gwen and Candy go?” I shrugged an arm out of my jacket, moved closer, and draped it over our backs.

  “They’ll be back.” She regarded me from the corner of her eye. “Candy’s on a mission. Getting high with Jesse and Tom. They had some quality weed in their car.” Dee twined my jacket sleeve around her neck like a scarf.

  “You didn’t want to go?”

  “I have a sore throat,” she said, “and that stuff makes it burn.”

  I nodded as if I thoroughly understood.

  The game was winding down, and Michael, who’d just been creamed, was on his feet. Lancaster’s offense juggled into formation with less than a minute on the clock. Pender snapped the ball, and it sailed through the hands of two defensemen before landing soundly in Covington’s arms

  Touchdown!

  Lancaster Redskins won the game by a score of twenty-one to twenty, creating a major shift in victory from last year’s defeat.

  Jubilant mayhem prevailed as we tumbled from the walkway and looped around the school to the farthest parking lot.

  “This is hopeless.” Dee stuck her hands beneath her armpits to keep warm. “We’re never going to find them in this mess.”

  We headed for the sidewalk. Car horns beeped and Redskin fans screamed from windows as they sped along the streets.

  “Let’s start walking to Putnam’s house.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “Not exactly. Somewhere over on Iroquois.” Dee lowered her head into the wind and trudged on. “We’ll follow the cars. Everybody’s going there.”

  A rusty green Mustang swerved to the shoulder of the road, and raging music burst from an open window. Next, Candy climbed out and balanced her butt on the window frame, flagging us down.