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humiliated in front of half of Union High, but that’s no reason
for him to take it out on me, especially after I just dove, fully
clothed, into a pool for him. Well, okay, I was pushed. But the
whole reason I was close enough to get pushed was because I
was going to dive in.
Snark doesn’t come naturally to me, but I just happen to have
some deep inside. I take a breath and let it fly. “I have no clue
what’s going on with Jamie because we haven’t talked since your
batshit-crazy sister had him arrested for committing the apparently horrific felony of attempting to take someone like me to the
prom.”
Tracy takes her eyes off the road to look at me. She stops just
short of giving me a thumbs-up. I feel Conrad’s knees in my
back again.
“So, Jamie didn’t call you once this whole summer? After
standing you up for the prom?” He lets out that angry laugh
again that sounds like it should come from someone a lot older.
“Wow, that is cold . Well, he was busy chasing after ’Gina in summer school.” Conrad pauses, knowing full well that this is information I didn’t have. “Of course, she was busy throwing herself at
that puck-head Anthony, just to drive Jamie crazy. And it worked.
He totally wants her back. ‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave.’
Is that Shakespeare? I think that’s Shakespeare.”
“Sir Walter Scott,” I correct, trying to sound unfazed although
my brain is reeling.
So Jamie was avoiding me all summer and hanging out with
Regina. That’s fantastic. Well, at least now I know why he doesn’t
want anything to do with me. Apparently, the way to Jamie’s heart
is to have him arrested. I’ll have to remember that.
But what about Anthony Parrina? If Regina just wanted Jamie
back and now Jamie wants Regina back, what is Regina still
doing with Anthony?
This is all so far over my head it’s not even funny.
“Where am I going?” Tracy asks Conrad impatiently.
“Take Hill to Barry and turn left. My house is halfway down
the block. Next to the Fortas,” Conrad says pointedly.
All three of us fall silent, which is kind of a relief. We leave
the fancy part of Union, where all the houses are huge with perfectly edged bright green lawns, and we drive into the next neighborhood, where the houses are smaller—some nice, some not
so nice. We pass one with dark metal siding and an American
flag hanging over the front door, with a “Support Our Troops”
banner tacked up beneath the windows, practically glowing in
the dark because of all the floodlights trained on it. If Conrad
weren’t here, I’d ask Tracy to stop so I could take a picture for
Vicky, who likes to post photos of troop-support banners from
all over the country on her son’s memorial site.
Kathleen hates it when I say it, but Vicky is my friend. Her
son, Sergeant Travis Ramos, was one of the people who died
with my dad when the convoy they were traveling in blew up. I
discovered Travis’s memorial site last fall, and it inspired me—
eventually—to start designing the one for my dad. One night
when I couldn’t sleep, I posted a comment on Travis’s site, explaining who I was and asking for advice about how to—and
whether I should—launch my site. And that’s how I met Vicky.
She emailed back right away, full of reasons why a memorial site is a great way to honor someone. It was Vicky who suggested I launch the site on the first anniversary of the explosion,
and Vicky who later contacted everyone on her mailing list to
let them know that there was finally a site up for Alfonso Zarelli, which is how I ended up getting tons of posts on the anniversary. And how I learned that my dad had decided to stay
in Iraq for a year, when he’d promised me that he was coming
home after six months.
I kind of got a little obsessed with the posts for a few days, but
Vicky and I emailed a lot, and she helped me. She understood
what I was going through.
The day after the anniversary, my mother came to my