Past Perfect Life Page 5

  She pauses so Neil and I can congratulate her. We both oblige, albeit unenthusiastically.

  “Thanks. We’re undefeated this year.”

  Another pause from Dana, but Neil and I both remain silent this time. “Yes. Then yesterday morning I volunteered at the nursing home.”

  Pause.

  Good Lord. Don’t people volunteer to do something good for other people instead of waiting to be congratulated? Although I doubt Dana would even wake up in the morning without praise or a filtered selfie.

  “After that I applied to a few more schools. I’ve got ten applications down. Only five more to go.”

  Fifteen schools? How does she have the energy? Or the time with all her debate team wins and volunteering and apparently saving the world? Or the money? You have to pay to even apply. And if you get accepted …

  “Did you apply to any UW schools?” I ask, wondering if it was, in fact, an issue with the university system.

  “Of course. Madison is on the top of my list. Why?” She flips her hair.

  “Only curious.” I start walking faster to the school and wave them goodbye. As much as I hate leaving her alone with Neil, just in case, I need to get to Ms. Pieper’s office stat.

  “Come on in, Allison,” Ms. Pieper calls to me from inside her office.

  The cinder-block walls behind her desk are covered with inspirational posters, and there’s an overstuffed floral couch that lines the opposite wall. As usual, I make myself comfortable on the couch as she sits in the red armchair next to it.

  “How’s the application process going?” she asks with her usual quiet, soothing voice. “Still focused on the UW system?”

  “Yes. It was going well until I decided to submit last night. My applications were immediately rejected because they say there’s an issue with my social security number.”

  “Oh.” She looks surprised, which suddenly worries me. Ms. Pieper has been at this school for over twenty years. She’s had to come across every issue possible when it comes to college applications.

  “I got this automatic e-mail from all three schools.” I hand her the e-mails I printed out this morning, along with a folder that has all my application information.

  Ms. Pieper puts on her reading glasses as she examines the letters. She looks up and gives me a reassuring smile. “Well, let’s see what we have.”

  She gets up from the chair and sits at her desk. She types into the computer for a few minutes. Her eyes go back between her computer screen and my folder, her frown lines deepening.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  She takes off her glasses and leans back in her chair. “I think I found the issue. You have a different social security number on your college applications than what we have in your school records.”

  I can only nod since I’m not exactly sure what that means or how that even happened.

  “Where did you get this?” She holds out my college application and points to the number I’d used.

  “It’s what I had from when I got my driver’s license. Oh wait.” A memory starts to resurface in my head. “There was something with my number back then. Dad told me that I had to get a new number, which is why I had to wait a month to take my test.” That must be it. But why the new number doesn’t work now still doesn’t make sense.

  “You mean you had to get a new card, not number.”

  I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure I had to get a new number.”

  Ms. Pieper looks blankly at me. I can’t read what she’s thinking, which makes me feel worse.

  “Isn’t that what happens when you lose your social security number?” I ask, because frankly I have no clue how it all works. I’ve only needed that number to get a driver’s license and apply to college. Dad always handles that stuff.

  After a few uncomfortable seconds, Ms. Pieper stands up. “Well, I’m sure this is nothing. There has to be an explanation. I’ll call up admissions offices at the campuses and figure it out.”

  I bite my lip. “Because I’m not sure if this means I have to start over. Or if I can continue to apply for scholarships if I don’t know where I’ll even be going.”

  She gives me that smile that she reserves for the most troubled students. “Allison, this is my job. You shouldn’t be stressing over it. Why don’t you take a few days off from college and scholarships while I figure this out?”

  It was the same thing Dad said to me yesterday: take a break.

  He was right. Ms. Pieper is right. I’m becoming unraveled. For the next week, I’ll be mellow and chill. All the other things can wait.

  “Sounds good?” she asks.

  I stand up and nod. “It sounds great.”

  Chapter

  SEVEN

  Since my meeting with Ms. Pieper yesterday, I’ve been walking around with a considerable weight off my shoulders. I’m going to enjoy the next few days of not having to worry about anything but my homework. And, well, the whole Neil situation.

  But I’m slowing my roll when it comes to college. There’s a part of me that hopes it’ll take her even longer to straighten everything out. I didn’t realize how much I needed a break until I was given permission to take one.

  Even last night with my dad (and some chicken with broccoli and an old black-and-white movie) was relaxing. He and I are back to normal. Instead of fretting over every little thing, I’m going to appreciate all that I have.

  Which is a lot.

  We’ll see how long this mellow version of me lasts.

  “Morning,” Neil greets me as I step outside my house to go to school.

  “Hi,” I say with an extra bat of my eyelashes. Way to be subtle, Ally.

  “So, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Neil says.

  “Oh, okay,” I say coolly, because this can only mean one thing.

  He gives me a weird glance. “Yeah, listen.”

  I find myself holding my breath. Maybe this is it. He’s going to confess his love to me. Or he’s going to tell me he likes someone else. That I must have a really high opinion of myself to automatically assume it’s me he likes. Or, you know, I could woman up and ask him out. But if he does like someone else, I’d feel like an idiot.

  So five minutes. Super-Chill Ally lasted all of five minutes.

  “I heard a rumor about you,” he states with a crooked smile.

  Oh God. What did he hear about me? I haven’t told anybody about my feelings for him. But he probably figured it out. He’s going to tell me he’s asking Dana out and he just wants to be friends.

  I’m going to die.

  Yeah, Super-Chill Ally has completely exited the solar system.

  “Did you really tell Rob to shut his big mouth in English yesterday?”

  Oh that. “Well, he was being Rob and went into this long explanation that made anybody with a brain realize he hadn’t read any of Fahrenheit 451. Ms. Reali couldn’t get a word in edgewise, so I’d kind of had it.” Oddly enough, I didn’t get in trouble at all. Probably because I said what a teacher probably shouldn’t. I even got some applause from my classmates.

  “Nice!” He held out his hand for a high five. “Besides, you didn’t really need to have a reason. I’m sorry I missed it, especially since you’re supposed to be the nice one of our group.”

  “Really,” I say with a laugh, and tilt my head back. Isn’t this how being flirty works? “So if I’m the nice one, what’s your role?”

  The cute one, I want to add. The sweet one who brings me brownies when I’m babysitting. The one who remembers when I have a test and checks on me. The one who cares.

  “The sole male Gleason cousin still in school? That’s easy: the manly one.”

  I’m going to be real for a hot second: if Neil ever had to draw a self-portrait, he could get away with doing a stick figure. The guy is tall and skinny. But it suits him.

  And I like it. I like him.

  I do my best to give him a come-hither smile, but it probably looks like I’m about to have a st
roke. “Yes, of course. You’re a very manly man.”

  He cocks his eyebrow. “So you noticed.”

  “Kind of hard with those muscles.” I reach out and grab his arm and give a squeeze.

  “Ha ha,” Neil replies with a grimace.

  He thinks I’m making a joke. I guess I am because Neil’s not some bulky guy. But …

  I scramble trying to think of what I can do to turn this back around. I thought we were being all cute and flirty, and then I had to make him self-conscious.

  “I’m glad everything’s cool with your applications,” he says as we round the corner to school.

  “Me too. And hey.” I nudge him, looking for any excuse to touch him lately. “Thanks for being so great with everything.”

  “Of course.”

  “And bringing brownies.”

  “Ah, I see how it is.” He nudges me back. “You just want more brownies.”

  “Oh, I’m always going to want your brownies.”

  Oh my God. What did I just say? I’m always going to want your brownies. You’d think with all the telenovelas I watch, I’d be able to come up with better lines than that.

  “That can be arranged,” Neil replies with a shy smile.

  What is even happening right now?

  Neil takes a deep breath. “So you have the weekend free of applications?”

  “Yes, thank God.” And thank Neil for preventing me from making any more horrendous sugar/hookup analogies. I’m probably five seconds away from saying something like, I’m getting a cavity being around someone as sweet as you. For real. I need help. “A weekend of freedom.”

  A whole weekend. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with myself.

  “And your birthday’s on Thursday.”

  I smile that he remembers. “Indeed it is.”

  “So I feel like this should call for some sort of celebration. We should do something this weekend.”

  “Yeah.” Then I stop in my tracks. Wait. Who does he mean by “we”? Is he talking about just him and me or the group? The group usually figures out our weekend plans at lunch on Friday if there aren’t any Gleason events. If he’s going to be vague, then so will I. “Sounds good.”

  “Saturday?” he asks as he opens the front door of the school for me.

  “Okay,” I reply. “I’m babysitting during the day.”

  “Saturday night, then?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great!” He’s nodding to himself. “Okay. We’ll figure it out. I should head to my locker.” He gives me one final look, but he lingers for a small beat. “Okay, Ally. It’s a date.”

  I try to not burst into a full-on song-and-dance number in the hallway. Because that’s it. It’s settled.

  Best. Week. Ever.

  Chapter

  EIGHT

  Something’s happening.

  Two days later my Gleason shenanigan radar is starting to go off because Marian is stalling before heading into the cafeteria for lunch.

  “It’s just, do I want to keep working at the grocery store or should I get a job somewhere else?” Marian asks as she makes herself comfortable leaning against my locker.

  This is exactly the kind of stuff we talk about on our way to lunch or at lunch, but she hasn’t moved an inch toward the cafeteria. This isn’t normal. And today of all days, I’ve got to have my defenses up.

  “I mean, I like working there. But will it look bad on my future job applications that I’ve only worked for my uncle? It’s not like I can’t deny there’s a family connection; my last name is on the sign. I guess it’s better than working for my dad at the gas station.”

  I take a step closer to the cafeteria, but Marian remains glued to my locker.

  “You work really hard,” I say, because it’s true and just in case she is having some kind of work-related crisis. Anytime I’m at Gleason’s Grocer when Marian’s working, she’s always unpacking boxes or putting labels on food. Sometimes she’s at the register or slicing meat and cheese at the deli counter. “I guess it depends on if there’s another job you want to do.”

  “There aren’t a lot of options here,” she states.

  “Yeah, but you’re a Gleason.” Pretty much anybody would hire her. Her father is the mayor.

  She looks thoughtful for a moment, while my stomach grumbles.

  Her phone buzzes in her jeans pocket. After glancing at it, she pushes off the locker. “Well, anyway, let’s go eat.”

  “Do you want me to recommend you for babysitting gigs?” I offer.

  “Huh?” She looks at me as if we didn’t just talk about jobs. “Oh, no. That’s okay.”

  It’s official: I’m walking into a trap. Before I couldn’t wait to get to the cafeteria because I’m hungry, but now I’m thinking I’ll skip it.

  All becomes clear as we turn the corner to the cafeteria. There it is. A huge sign on the back wall.

  Marian starts to cheer as Neil, Rob, Jan, and Julia join her.

  I am going to straight up murder each and every one of them.

  And what a surprise, it’s Rob’s loud mouth that kicks them off. “Happy birthday to you …”

  I hide my face in my hands as one by one, my fellow classmates in the cafeteria join them, like people who feel obligated at restaurants when someone has a birthday.

  This morning, Marian gave me a birthday muffin and a very cute beaded bracelet, so I thought that was it. But clearly, I’m not so lucky.

  While it’s a wonderful, sweet gesture, everybody and I mean everybody in the cafeteria is looking at me. I try as discreetly as possible to walk over to the table, even though every fiber in my body is telling me to run out of the building and head to Canada.

  I finally slink down in my seat as they end the song and there’s a smattering of applause throughout the cafeteria.

  Rob holds up his hands. “For the record, that was not my suggestion.”

  “True,” Marian says as she sits down next to him. “Rob did think you’d be horrified, but I wanted to do something special. You’re eighteen! It’s a big birthday and you’ve chosen to spend tonight hanging out with your dad instead of us. Now, let’s get to the presents.”

  “You guys didn’t need to get me anything,” I protest.

  “Wait until you open them,” Rob states.

  Fair point.

  “First, this is from Grandma.” Marian hands me a red envelope. Inside is a card with a fifty-dollar bill and a note that reads, I’m so proud of you and wish you nothing but happiness. Love, Grandma.

  Even though Grandma Gleason isn’t technically my grandmother, she’s always treated me like I’m one of the family. I even call her Grandma, which she loves.

  So do I.

  Marian pulls out a folder. “Now that you’re eighteen and an adult, there’s a whole new world open for you. Here are all the forms you can use to register to vote, open a bank account, get a credit card, or, you know … get married.”

  Good Lord. I haven’t been able to look at Neil since sitting, and I certainly can’t now. Although everybody else seems to be looking between us.

  Can you also have the power to turn invisible when you’re eighteen?

  “Maybe this is a good time to remind you that as an adult, you can also sue someone,” Neil offers.

  “Oh!” That perks me up. I look right at Rob. “Good to know. Yes. Good. To. Know.” I raise my eyebrows at him, to which he winks back.

  Ugh. Boys.

  Jan and Julia both hand me lottery tickets. “If you win, we want half,” Jan says with a nod from Julia.

  “You guys got it.”

  Rob cracks his knuckles. “Now that all the boring stuff about being an adult is out of the way”—I have to admit, there is a lot of paperwork—“let’s get to the fun stuff. You can skydive.”

  “I’m not jumping out of a plane.” I’ve never even been on a plane.

  Rob nods. “I had a feeling you’d say that. So you and me. Green Bay. Next weekend. Let’s do it.”


  “Do what?” I ask, even though I don’t want to know.

  He hands me his phone. There’s a tattoo parlor pulled up.

  “No.”

  “Oh, come on. It doesn’t have to be anything big,” Rob insists. “I’m thinking something along the lines of ‘Rob BFF forever,’ but with the number, like”—he holds up four fingers—“evaaaah.”

  Rob is laughing at himself, while the rest of the table groans loudly. Remind me why we put up with him again? Oh yeah, right, because Marian really likes Rob. And he has a car.

  “Rob.”

  “Ally.” He mimics my serious tone.

  “There’s no way I’m getting a tattoo with your name on it since I am going to do my best to forget you once I go away to college. It will probably take a team of shrinks, but by God, I will make it happen.”

  He gestures at his face. “You won’t ever be able to forget this.”

  “Yes, it will haunt my nightmares.”

  “Neil, you’re next!” Marian says with a wink.

  I finally get the courage to look at Neil. He’s smiling at me and there’s a small flutter in my heart. He looks down shyly. “I’m going to wait to give it to Ally on Saturday.”

  A chorus of oooohs erupts from the table.

  Rob makes a kissy face at us. Then starts singing, “Love, exci—” before Marian kicks him loudly under the table.

  So, yeah, I guess I can be more horrified.

  There really is only one thing that can save me now.

  “Is that cake?” I point at the box in the center of the table.

  “Of course,” Marian replies. She opens the box and there’s my favorite cake from Gleason’s Grocer: carrot cake. It has HAPPY 18TH BIRTHDAY, ALLY written in purple script that matches the ginormous sign taking up an entire wall in the cafeteria. “And we’re eating it the proper way.”

  Marian hands each of us a fork, no plates. We dive into the cake from outside and start eating. Marian and I used to do this when we’d have sleepovers. We’d get a sheet cake, sit on the floor of her bedroom, and eat while we watched a movie.

  I’m not a sweets person; I prefer cheese fries over chocolate, but damn, do I love a good grocery store sheet cake.