May 27, 1995
"She seemed quite intelligent herself. It was a very nice speech," Martha's father said as they walked down the residential street. "But finishing as the salutatorian is a... considerable accomplishment. He should be proud."
"I'm sure he is," Martha said. They'd just attended James' graduation ceremony and were now making their way to his house for a party to celebrate. As far as she was concerned, his academic achievements were about as meaningful as a preschool graduation – the boy with umpteen doctorate degrees learned his colors, yay!! But she followed James' lead. This was important to other people and he and Martha should respect that.
"I wonder how it happened," Steven said.
"How what happened?"
"What kept him from finishing as valedictorian? Which subject tripped him up?"
"Dad."
"...or maybe it was a spiteful teacher who gave him a bad grade because they were threatened by his intellect."
"What is the obsession?"
"I'm not obsessed. It's simply that he's the smartest, most knowledgeable young person I've ever met." He turned to Martha and smiled. "Aside from my daughter, of course."
"Of course." Martha knew the answer, in fact. James had taken a B in US History his sophomore year and another this past fall in Calculus – late in the game for dramatic effect. Theresa Ballard would hold the honor because she deserved it. She'd earned the grades 'without the answer key,' as he put it.
Martha felt a sting in the corner of her eye and wiped the sweat from her brow. The day was hot, but she didn't mind it. The humidity, however, was a phenomenon to which she had yet to acclimate.
They came to a gray ranch style house and didn't need to check the address. Cars were parked three deep in the driveway. Students and graduates mingled on the lawn and trickled in and out of the front door.
As Martha and Steven approached the house, a boy standing with a group on the driveway saw them and said, "Yo, it's Mad Martha. Whattup, Mad Martha?"
The other boys echoed the first and greeted Martha with her new moniker.
"Hey guys," she replied.
"Mad... what was that?" Steven asked.
"Long story," she said. "It's nothing."
"It doesn't sound like nothing."
"It's friendly. I promise. Like, uh... the local tribe has accepted me and given me a name."
Steven was predictably satisfied with her anthropological take and they continued to the door. In truth, calling the nickname 'friendly' was an understatement. Her demolition of Steph Jenkins at prom had become legend by the following Monday. A witness or not and no matter the grade, it seemed like every student in the school had heard the tale. Key to the frenzy was Steph's notoriety – Martha wasn't the only girl or boy she had intimidated. Now, when Martha walked down the school hallway with James, he was the afterthought.
But neither prom and its aftermath nor James' ranking in his graduating class were of concern to Martha at the moment. Her attention, rather, was on what lay directly ahead. She had been James' girlfriend for more than six months and had yet to step foot in his house or meet his mother and both were imminent.
They passed through the doorway and into the home. The carpet was silver and the walls were white, clean, and nearly bare. To their left was a living area with two couches and a coffee table and to their right, a hallway leading to what Martha assumed were bedrooms and bathrooms.
A boy stepped in front of them. "Hey, welcome to the Quinn home." He noticed Martha. "Oh, hey Martha. He'll be stoked to hear you're here, man." His name was Nathan. He was a junior and in Martha's civics class. "So everyone's pretty much in back. They got drinks and food." He pointed to the hallway. "Bathrooms through there on the left if you need it."
Over his shoulder, Martha saw James walking toward them from the kitchen.
"Hey, Jimmy," Nathan said. "Martha's here."
"Thanks Nate," James said. "Seriously, this is so cool of you. I'll get somebody to take over in a minute, okay?"
"No problem, man. Whatever you need, man."
James turned from Nathan. "Steven," he said and extended his hand. "Thank you so much for coming."
"Don't mention it," Steven said as he took the hand to shake. "My pleasure. And congratulations." He released James then handed him an envelope.
"Oh, that's not necessary."
"Nonsense. You're a college boy now, and all of those late night pizza runs are going to add up."
"You're probably right. Thank you." James turned his attention to Martha. "Well, hey there, Mad-"
"Don't," she interrupted.
"-dame... Madame. Just calling you 'madame' because..."
"...because I'm a married French woman?"
"Exactly."
"Right," Martha said, nodding skeptically.
James made a face to Steven – boy, am I in trouble!!
Steven chuckled then asked, "Is your mother here?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I think she's out back. We can go-"
"Hey Jimmy!" someone called from the front door.
"Hold on one second," James said to Martha and Steven. He looked to the boy at the door. "Sup, Andy?"
"I got the ice and the pop and the hamburger buns and the napkins," Andy said. He was sweating and breathing heavily but appeared excited about the report. "Where do you want 'em?"
"You're the best, Andy!" James said. "Do you think you can bring them around back?"
"Sure man!" he said enthusiastically then left.
"Sorry about that," James said to Martha and Steven then resumed leading them to the back of the house. They passed through a modest dining room and then the kitchen. The sink was filled with dishes and the countertops were cluttered with used paper plates, soda cans, and other debris from the party. Martha noticed the refrigerator door was as blank as the walls, however. Unlike her own, there was not one family photograph or report card or doodle... Past the kitchen was another set of couches with an entertainment center and a sliding glass door leading to the back yard.
They stepped out onto a wooden deck filled with students spilling onto the lawn. The yard had no trees or supplemental structures, but its grass was cut and a healthy green. James led Martha and Steven through the crowd, giving and receiving greetings to and from his guests. They passed Andy, emptying a bag of ice into a cooler and another boy tending the grill and then there was his mother, standing just off the edge of the crowd.
Her hair was blonde with salt and pepper roots. She smoked a cigarette with a tip stained red from her lips. The bags under her eyes made her look too old to be James' parent, but the resemblance was plain. She saw them coming and her posture straightened.
"Mom, I'd like you to meet my girlfriend Martha."
She switched the cigarette to her left hand and shook Martha's with her right. "Well, clearly I'd like to meet your girlfriend."
"Nice to meet you, Mrs Quinn," Martha said.
"And this is her father, Steven."
"My name is Ruth," she said and shook his hand.
The memory flashed – Hello, my name is Ruth Quinn...
"Wonderful to meet you. Just wonderful," Steven enthused. "Your son is a marvel. You must be so proud."
"Thank you, yes. I am proud," she said, straining to smile. "It's quite a thing. And here I was saving for his college. And so, clearly I'll throw a party."
There was a moment of awkward silence following the series of non sequiturs. Finally, James said to Martha and Steven, "That's right. Don't know if I mentioned it, but I'm going to Berkeley on a full ride."
"What?!" Steven said and turned to Martha. "You didn't tell me he was getting a full scholarship."
"He... didn't tell me either," Martha said, but then... of course he is.
"Yes, on top of everything else, he's modest. It's quite a thing," Ruth said, again attempting something like a smile.
"Thanks, Mom. The party is going well," James said, nodding slightly.
Ruth took a drag from her cigarette then tilted her head to blow the smoke upward. "Yes, well, it is isn't it?" she said. "But there will be a mess and yes, I think, yes I'll get started on the dishes so they won't pile up, I think."
"Good idea," James said. "But save some for me, okay?"
Ruth gave a quick, awkward smile then turned to leave.
Steven said, "Well, it was... very nice to meet you, Ruth."
She stopped and turned. "Yes. Yes, it was very nice." She looked at Martha. "And you."
"Yes... very nice," Martha blurted out.
Ruth gave the same smile then turned to leave for good. The three stood in silence while the chatter of the party around them continued. What was there to say? 'The apple doesn't fall far from the tree?' Not really. 'I can see where you get your good looks?' I guess.
Steven made the first attempt. "Well, she is... uh..."
"You should know," James interrupted calmly. "That my mother suffers from generalized anxiety disorder."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Steven said.
"It's okay, really. I'm used to it. And she does her best."
"Then my god, this party must be incredibly difficult for her," Steven said. "The fact that she would throw it for you..."
"Thank you. Thank you for understanding that," James said.
"Of course," Steven said. He looked across the party. "Well, it looks like I'm the only adult here not washing dishes."
"James will give me a ride home," Martha said.
"I will," James said. "But don't feel like you have to-"
"It's okay, I have to catch up on some work. Congrats again, Mr Full Ride." His face brightened. "Hey, that will be your new nickname – 'Mr Full Ride.'"
"No it won't," Martha said flatly as she gave her father a goodbye hug. "I'll see you later."
Steven smiled and nodded to the pair then left.
James took Martha's hands in his. "Burger or hotdog?"
He didn't want to talk about his mother. But why would he, here, in the middle of a crowded party? He'd already told Martha his mom was anxious and withdrawn and psychologically unstable in general. And now Martha had seen for herself.
"Hotdog," she said.
"Hotdog with mustard?"
"Ketchup," she corrected.
"So... mustard," he said and left for the grill.
"What?! No, I said..." But he was gone.
A few moments later, he came back with two hotdogs and handed Martha the one with ketchup. "I think it's adorable – putting ketchup on your hotdog... Really, I do," he said. "Do you still sleep with a binkie too?"
She countered the jab with a blank stare then took a bite. "Mmmmm," she gushed. "So sweet and tomatoey-"
"Hey."
Martha turned to see Teresa Ballard standing next to them.
"Hey, Teresa," James said.
"Hi," Martha said, covering her mouth as she continued chewing.
Teresa had black, curly hair and a broad face with strong cheekbones. She wore a white Cross Colours t-shirt loosely tucked into her blue jeans. "Great party. Thanks for throwing it, Jimmy," she said.
"Thanks for coming," he said. "Great speech, by the way."
"Yeah? Thanks." Though her conversation was with James, Teresa's eyes flashed to Martha every few seconds. "You didn't think it was too... JFK?"
"No, no," he said. "There was a clear homage, but how you applied it was clever and-"
"Yo Jimmy!" a boy called from the side of the house.
"Yeah?!"
"We got a situation in the front!"
James exhaled sharply. "Be back in a sec," he said to Martha and Teresa then left to follow the boy.
"I liked your speech too," Martha said. "And congratulations – the whole valedictorian... thing is pretty awesome."
"Oh thanks. Yeah, I... I'm still not sure how I beat Jimmy because... well, you know," Teresa said.
"Yeah, he's not bad," Martha joked. Teresa laughed disproportionately loud – in Martha's opinion – at her minor sarcasm. For someone who recently spoke to an audience of roughly two thousand, she appeared oddly nervous standing with Martha alone.
Martha took a bite of her hotdog as the girls stood in uncomfortable silence. Teresa looked away then said, "I just have to express that I..." She cleared her throat. "Because um... I was there. I mean, right there – the next table over – and I saw it all..." Her eyes welled and she laughed. She collected herself then said, "Maybe you realize. Maybe you don't. But Steph Jenkins has been... beyond cruel to me since like, the sixth grade and..." She blinked out a pair of tears and immediately wiped them aside with the back of her hand. "Oh my god, I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Martha said.
"I'm sorry, I don't even know why I'm... Oh my god, I look like such a weirdo." She continued to wipe away the tears that continued to escape.
Martha patted her shoulder. "No, you don't." But yeah, this is a little weird.
"I sound like a weirdo, too. God, some valedictorian... Can't even string together a complete thought." Teresa laughed at her self-deprecation and Martha followed. Teresa sniffled away the last of her tears then continued, "It's hard to describe. For so long, she's been... archetypal. Like Edmund from King Lear?"
Martha shrugged. She hadn't read the play.
"Sorry. He's the villain. It's not like I'm an expert – we just read it this semester. But Steph Jenkins has... defined my journey in... the worst way. No matter what I accomplish or how successful I am, she's always there to pull me down and make me feel... I don't know, worthless?"
Martha nodded. She understood.
Teresa continued. "I know she's just a girl. I know she's, like... flesh and bone. But I didn't think what you did at prom was possible and since then... It's like I got used to carrying around this weight in my stomach all those years and then it was suddenly gone." She rolled her eyes. "Sorry. You must think I'm insane."
"Swear to god, I don't," Martha said truthfully.
Just then, James returned from the front yard. "Sorry about that. Okay, what'd I miss?"
Martha and Teresa looked at each other and smiled. Martha said. "Nothing much."
"Yeah, just girl talk," Teresa added. "You know, makeup, fashion, boy bands..."
Martha coughed out a laugh. James sighed as he regarded their coordination. "Okay. All right. I see. Well Teresa, I must say I'm concerned. I think Martha may be a bad influence on you."
Teresa's smile widened. "Anyway, I just wanted to say 'hi,'" she said. She looked at Martha and mouthed 'thank you' then left to a group of girls on the other side of the deck.
James raised his eyebrows. "Girl talk?"
"Yep."
"That's it?"
Martha narrowed her eyes. "Wow, it really bothers you, doesn't it?"
"What really bothers me?"
"Not knowing."
"No, it doesn't."
"Yes, it does." Her eyes went wide. "It totally does. The All Knowing James Quinn actually doesn't know something."
"I never said-"
"I know you never said, but I don't care. Let me have this moment."
James sighed. He mimed wrapping a bow on a present which he then offered. "There. It's yours."
Author's note:
All in all, James is a big fat cheater. He's basically the Houston Astros of life. Not that he can help it... At least he let Teresa, who busted her ass for four years, take the glory she deserved.
Like, totally 90's detail: The brand of Teresa's shirt, Cross Colours, was a favorite of the African American youth as well as skinny, self-righteous white boys (no one you know).