Amy Bryant - Polly (P.S.)

a novel

For Bruno

one

TOMMY

two

JASON

three

MIKE

four

JOEY

five

IAN

six

BRENDAN

seven

TODD

epilogue

POLLY

acknowledgments

about the author

cover

credits

copyright

about the publisher

MelissaSimpsonHeatherStoneTammyHardenStacyMetford

The front office secretary hadnt bothered to drum up any enthusiasm for the announcement of the drill team winners. The junior high school didnt have tryouts; instead all the girls who were interested put their names in a box by the gym. Only twenty names (plus ten alternates) were drawn. I didnt know any girls who hadnt put their name in the box. My classroom was quieter than it had ever been. Even the boys were interested.

AngelaDavenportChristySwansonPollyClark.

I thought maybe I had imagined the secretary had said Polly Clark, but then Mrs. Heath beamed at me. Mine was the last name called before the alternates, and the only name called in my classroom. I slipped out of my seat, suppressed a smile. I bent down and loaded my books into my backpack, conscious of my classmates stares. I had hoped Katies name would be called, too. Katie and I played soccer together. We went to the roller rink together. We hung around the mall together. But Katie didnt even make the alternates list.

The kitchen at the rear of the cafeteria was dark, and the lunch tables had been moved off to the side, the orange plastic chairs stacked on top of them. I perched on the edge of one of the tables, wondering if this was how the cafeteria always looked at the end of the day, or if it had been set up like this for the drill team meeting. All around me there were girls in bunches of three or four, but I didnt see anyone I knew well enough to go up to.

Mrs. Evans, who taught public speaking, was in charge of the drill team. She clapped her hands, and everyone quieted down. Mrs. Evans had big boobs and light, wavy blond hair that she kept off her face with large amounts of hair spray. She reminded me of a conservative Dolly Parton.

In the space of nine weeks you will be taught a routine by two cheerleaders from the high school, Mrs. Evans said. At the end of nine weeks you will perform this routine at a special assembly. There will be a second and final performance on the last day of school.

A few of the girls started to murmur and Mrs. Evans held up a hand.

Now, you ladies have been selected to represent this school, she said, and I expect you to take the work thats involved seriously, and to conduct yourselves with maturity.

She went on to lay out our drill team duties. We were expected to buy the uniform pattern and get it made, and to stay after school for two hours every day except Fridays to rehearse. I grabbed my lip gloss out of my Le Sports Sac and ran it over my lips as Mrs. Evans finished up.

The bell signaling the end of the day rang, and filed out of the cafeteria. Congratulations girls, Mrs. Evans called after us. Youre going to work hard and youre going to have fun!

I sent away for the fabric and the pattern for my uniform the next day. As soon as it came in the mail I begged Mom to sew it right away so I could wear it around the house. She had learned how to sew as a teenager before she had money to buy clothes off the rack. Mom made a lot of my clothes when I was little, but dropped off when I got older and made it clear Id rather wear clothes from a store. I wanted Jordache and Guess jeans. I wanted Izod shirts and button-down oxfords by Ralph Lauren. Mom indulged me sometimes, but I didnt have as many designer clothes as some of the other girls.

Mom didnt make clothes for herself anymore either. She loved to shop. She worked at a property management firm that was near the mall, and she spent her lunch hour looking for bargains. Once or twice a week Mom brought home bags of clothes that she tried on in her bedroom after work. She returned most of it. I liked to watch Mom try stuff on, guess at what shed decide to keep and what shed take back.

How about this? shed say, modeling a dress for me as I lay splayed out on her Navajo-style bedspread. Is this the right color for me?

Id wrinkle up my forehead like I was really studying her, but the truth was I liked almost everything. The stuff she decided to keep she hung up in the closet, and she draped the stuff she wanted to think about over the ironing board, which stayed unfolded in a corner of the bedroom. The clothes Mom didnt want went back in the bag. I felt sorry for the stuff she returned.

My mother was beautiful. Tall and curvy in all the right places, with the kind of coloring that people called striking. I inherited her pale skin but not her thick, black hair. Instead I got my fathers dull, light brown hair, along with his wide mouth. It was too soon to tell if I had her legs, but I had my hopes up. Mom had great legs. Everyone said so, especially my stepfather. William liked to tell Mom that she had the kind of legs that looked good in high heels.

I dont technically need my drill team uniform right away, I explained at dinner. But it would be very good if I could practice wearing it.

William peered at me over the top of his glasses. How does one practice wearing an outfit? he asked.

You just do. Its very important.

And why is it important?

William did this all the time. He said it kept me sharp. Mom said he had inherited his fathers taste for ridicule and his instinct for being hard on people. Mom didnt like Williams father, and I had the idea that he wasnt too thrilled about Mom and me either. Wed been living with William for six years, but when his parents came to visit each summer Mr. Hessler would act surprised to see us.

Well, look whos here, hed say.

I have news for you, I told my father on the phone. I kicked my leg up and rested it on the frame of my white iron bed. I got picked to be on the drill team at school!

Thats great, honey, he said. Can I drive up and see you perform?

I lowered my leg from the bed frame and kicked the other one up. I guess so. If you want to.

I wasnt sure parents would be invited to the drill team assembly. Even if they were, I thought I might tell Dad it was just for the students. I didnt want to be in the same room with Mom and Dad if I could help it. I had only a handful of memories from when they were together, and they mostly involved whispering and then shouting and then whispering again. When he came to visit me Dad didnt come inside, and Mom didnt go outside. And Dad hadnt met William. He didnt even act like he knew I had a stepfather.

Now, what are you going to be doing, exactly? Dad asked. Will you be marching with flags?

I snorted. No! Thats what a marching band does. Were going to be dancing in special outfits.

And you do this at halftime? I didnt know your school had a football team. Whatre they called?

No, its just us. Were inside. In the gym.

Dad cleared his throat. Well, I cant wait to see you in action, honey. Just get me the dates and Ill take it from there.

Theres only one date. Well, two. But the main things in April. Itll be at school during the day, so.

Oh. Youd think theyd hold it on the weekend, to make it easier for parents.

I balanced the phone on my shoulder and scratched at a scab on my elbow. Charlotte was a seven-hour drive. He would have to take a day off work. I thought of Dads hands on the steering wheel of his Mustang. Dad had long fingers and thick palms, and dark hairs that grew just below his knuckles. Sometimes I had trouble picturing him, so Id zero in on the parts of him that I remembered.