The Spring Girls

What? “What does that mean? Who would ask?” I stood up from the bed. It usually felt like the perfect size for us, but it felt so tiny now.

Laurie hesitated. “I just mean my friends, female friends, too. I’m not saying what you think I’m saying, but, yes, girls will ask me, Jo.”

Of course they would. Look at him.

This irritated me beyond belief. Was dating Laurie always going to be like this? Girls ready to pounce on him the moment he didn’t have someone?

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal to you to say we’re together. If you are so unsure about it, what are we doing?”

I got defensive. “If you have so many options lined up back home, what are we doing?”

He shook his head. “You’re being such a hypocrite. You know that, right?” His hands were in the air in front of him.

“Yeah. I do know. And you’re a fucking player. I get it.”

Laurie’s mouth fell open and he moved off the bed and walked toward the door. He opened it, and I expected him to kick me out, but instead he just left. I waited less than a minute before I grabbed my phone and key chain and took off. His stairs creaked when you walked on them, and I usually loved the bit of personality it gave the house, but each squeak made me want to scream as I rushed down. The air was sticky and smelled like it might rain. I thought about taking a walk, but I really wanted to go home and lie in my bed.

When I got home, the house was quiet. The living-room light was off. but the big-screen TV was on, lighting up the room pretty well. My dad was sitting in his wheelchair next to his recliner, and Amy was lying on the couch, staring at the TV. Meg’s Prius was in the driveway when I came inside, so I knew she was here somewhere.

“Meredith’s not back yet?” I asked whoever was going to answer me.

“Not yet. They should be back any minute,” my dad responded. Meg came walking out of the hallway and looked around the room.

“Oh, it’s you,” Meg sighed when she saw me in the television glow.

I told her I needed to talk to her. Now. I wasn’t going to fight with her; that seemed like old drama. I needed to tell her about Amy sending the emails.

“Come with me upstairs for a minute,” I said quietly.

My dad didn’t respond, just kept his eyes on the show he was watching.

Meg agreed, and, of course, Amy whined that she wanted to come upstairs with us. I tried to remember back when I was twelve; was I as obnoxious as she is now?

“No,” I snapped. No way was she coming.

Meg looked at me and I shook my head no.

“I’ll come back and lay with you on the couch and brush your hair when I’m done talking to Jo. Deal?” Meg cooed.

Cooed to the twelve-year-old who tried to sabotage her relationship with John Brooke through sending false emails. If only Meg knew.

Amy agreed like the spoiled little lizard she was, and I followed Meg back upstairs.

“This better be good,” Meg threatened me. She was wearing pajamas and a face full of makeup. Of course she was. “I just got home from an entire day at Mrs. King’s house, fuck off,” she said against my judging eyes.

She walked into our bedroom, and I followed, closing the door.

“I need to tell you something about someone close to us.”

Meg looked beyond skeptical. I was so annoyed about my fight with Laurie and my family imploding. I was over it all and wanted to tell Meg to cut off the dumb-pretty-girl act.

“Cut the drama, what are you talking about?”

“I’m being serious. It’s about those emails from John Brooke. The ones when—”

She cut me off with a wave of her hand through the air. “Like I don’t know what emails you’re talking about! Move on,” she snapped.

“When Amy trashed the computer earlier, Laurie was checking it out and found an email address that Amy was logged in to . . .”

“What?” Meg looked at the door behind me and back to me.

I lowered my voice. “Yes. Amy was signed into the email address that sent you the emails from a fake-John email. I don’t know why she would do that. But we have to tell Mom and Dad and say something to her, like now. How fucked-up is that?”

I expected a response, but Meg just stood there processing it all, so I paced around the room because someone had to be doing something.

“Amy? You’re sure?” Her eyes were getting all red. I should’ve yelled for Amy to come up here and just put it all on the table.

“Yeah. I can say something to her if you want.”

“No.” Meg shook her head. Her brown waves touched her shoulders as she moved. Her hair was styled and her eyelashes were so long. She always looked ready for a camera or something. Even now. “I don’t want to say anything to her.”

What?

“Yes, you do.”

“No.” She just kept shaking her head. “No, I don’t, Jo. What good will that do? She obviously did it for a reason.”

“Because she’s an evil little—”

“No, Jo. Because she’s twelve and her dad got injured in Iraq, her two oldest sisters have boyfriends and are never around, her mom is drinking and barely notices when she’s around. She’s calling for attention.”

“She’s seeking attention.”

“Even so. Think about why she would be? And why I can’t just give her that attention and hope she never does it again? We have to think about how she’s feeling, too. She’s twelve and going through a lot. Think about how hard Dad coming home like this would have been for you at that age.”

“Why are you so . . . so . . . I don’t know. You’re right about some of it, but why let her get away with it?”

“It’s not really about getting away with it. She’s my baby sister,” Meg calmly explained.

She had too much patience. I was more of a revenge kind of girl.

“Let me handle it, Josephine.” Meg plopped down on her bed. She picked up the little book I got her for Christmas and scrolled through the pages.

“Fine, Margaret.”

It was quiet for a minute while I sat on my bed and Meg sat on hers. I remembered when we were little, she would talk to me sometimes and have me tell her my stories about Jack Smead. She would laugh and laugh until Meredith would come in and shhh us, threatening to take our internet away if we weren’t quiet. Those days were so simple. Before boys and sex and money.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Meg finally said. “I was pissed at Shia and myself and took it out on you.”

I looked at her and she half smiled; she was so pretty. She was a little wilted tonight, like a flower that needed a kiss from the sun, but she was still so pretty. Like Amy would be when she was older.

“I’m sorry, too. I really didn’t think it would have made a difference. I didn’t think about it, and I’m sorry.”

She smiled. “Thank you. See, that’s not so hard?”

“Ha, ha.” I groaned at her. “What’s going on with Shia?” I didn’t think she would want to talk about it, especially not to me, but I asked anyway. It kept my mind off Laurie.

“I don’t know.” She touched her fingers to her lips. “He’s leaving Tuesday.”

“This Tuesday?”

She nodded.

So soon. “Oh, wow.”

“I know.” She looked away. “I’m breaking up with John Brooke. He’s going to be stationed so far away and he’s barely texted me the last few days and—”

“And you want Shia.”

She nodded. “I think I do?” She looked terrified.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I’m so tired of the long-distance relationships.”

Yikes. Another strike against Laurie’s and my epic saga.

“So, go with him,” I suggested. Meg could use some time out of this town. “How long will he be gone?”

“September.” She paused. “I couldn’t go. No way. I can’t leave you guys here.”

So she had the same worries as

I did. “We would be fine. We’d figure it out. You should go.” The idea of Meg leaving town was abstract. It didn’t seem like something that would actually happen, but I hoped for it still. It would be thrilling. A change in the Spring house. A shake-up.

“I couldn’t.” She chewed at her bottom lip. “Could I?”

I nodded. “You can. Ask him.”

“It seems so irresponsible. I’m not like you, Jo. I don’t like surprises, and I don’t like life on the road.”

I shrugged. “How do you even know that? You’ve never tried it. You say you aren’t like me, but that to me means you’re scared.”

Her face twisted. “I don’t care if you think I’m scared, Jo. You don’t know anything about life. You think you do because you sit around and watch documentaries all day? You’ve had a pretty cushioned life.”

I was baffled. She couldn’t be serious. “Me? So have you, Princess Meg. Sorry that I care about the world and you only care about fucking guys into marrying you to feed your crazy obsession. Good for you—go be a housewife, Meg, but don’t give me shit because I don’t want to be!”