Confessions of an Almost-Girlfriend by Louise Rozett Read Free Book Online Page A

school?” Tracy gets up, disappears into
the bathroom, and comes back with the leave-in conditioner I
forgot to put in my hair.
I nod.
“Back to what’s-her-name? That rich pot freak?”
Tracy—who has had a crush on my brother for most of her
life—knows what Peter’s girlfriend’s name is. She just can’t bring
herself to say it. I get it. Sometimes I can’t bear to say that girl’s
name, either.
“Yup, back to Amanda. ” I take the bottle from Tracy and
squeeze some of the conditioner into my hands. It smells like
tomatoes fresh off the vine. “And I’m sure she just couldn’t wait
to get him high,” I add, the words sounding funny—for a whole
bunch of reasons—as they come out of my mouth.
It’s hard for me to think about Peter getting high. I never
thought that my brother would be one of those guys who would
get into drugs just because his girlfriend liked them.
Caron says that people’s reasons for using drugs are “often
very complex.” It’s the one thing she says that doesn’t get an instant nod of agreement from my mother. Mom and Caron know
each other really well—they used to be in the same practice
together—so I usually feel ganged up on when Caron is talking
and Mom is just nodding at everything like a bobblehead. But
when Caron talks about Peter’s “complexity of motivation for
using,” Mom gets very quiet and looks at the floor.
I don’t think there’s anything complex about it. I think he’s
doing it because Amanda wants him to, and he’s desperate to
impress her because he’s never had such a beautiful girlfriend
in his life. He’s never really had a girlfriend at all, now that I
think about it.
“So how is Peter doing?” Tracy asks after a pause that is meant
to make the question seem way more casual than it really is.
“Have you talked to him?”
I shake my head.
“Well, you’re going to call him, aren’t you? To check on him?”
“At some point.”
“You’re still mad.”
I nod.
“Maybe you should be worried, not mad.”
“And maybe you should just call him yourself if you want to
talk to him so badly,” I tease.
“It’s not that I want to talk to him,” she says too quickly,
though we both know she does. “It’s just that I’m worried.” She
fixes me with her most serious stare. “And you should be, too.”
About a week before they had to go back to school, Peter and
Amanda came to visit. They’d been working in a hotel on Martha’s Vineyard for the summer, and the first thing I noticed was
that they looked like they hadn’t been in the sun the entire time.
What’s the point of dealing with snotty, demanding hotel guests
on Martha’s Vineyard if you’re not going to go to the beach?
Then I thought maybe they were just being really conscientious about sunscreen. Amanda definitely seemed like the type
to want her pale skin to stay as pale as possible.
But that didn’t explain the bags under their eyes.
It was the first time my mom and I met Amanda, and I hadn’t
been looking forward to it. I was still pissed that she’d invited
Peter to go to her house last Thanksgiving, even though she knew
it was our first Thanksgiving without Dad. When Peter had called
to tell me he wasn’t coming home, I’d actually hung up on him.
So Amanda and Peter drove up in her hand-me-down silver
Mercedes convertible that her father—who is also a shrink, by
the way—gave her when he upgraded, and they looked like they
hadn’t showered in weeks. When I said something about it to my
mom, she said that that’s what college students do. Something
about rebelling against their parents’ enforced hygiene rules once
they finally get out of the house.
Amanda is definitely pretty—there’s no getting around that,
no matter what Tracy says about how she’s so super skinny that
her head looks too big for her body. She wears baggy clothes
that are supposed to make her look like she doesn’t have any
money, but they’re so nice that you know she totally does.