Ryan catches up with Whitney in the halls at North High. "Who do we have for biology?"
"Did you seriously lose your schedule?" Whitney says. "It's the first freakin' day. You have one piece of paper to keep track of!" She holds up a finger for effect. "One! The school year only gets harder from here!"
"Cmon. Don't get bitchy."
Whitney sighs until the sigh turns into a raspberry that makes her lips undulate, as she pulls her backpack around to her side and fishes through the mess of loose papers in there for her schedule. When she has it, she pulls the sheet taut with such force that it makes a snapping sound. She imperiously clears her throat -- "ah-hem-hem-hem..." -- before announcing: "Fifth period... room S209, remedial biology -- Dr. Cartay."
"I don't know Dr. Cartay. Is he new?"
"Guess so. When I signed up for classes this summer, they had Mr. White listed as the teacher."
"Oh shit. That must be why they got a new guy. Didn't Mr. White die?"
"I don't fucking know, Ryan. Where did you hear that he died?"
Ryan shrugs.
Whitney puts the schedule back in her backpack and loops her other arm through the shoulder strap again. "You are such a dumbass. I swear to God." Ryan giggles, but Whitney isn't having it. "This is senior year, Ryan. Get your shit together or you'll end up working at Mickey D's until you're 70."
"We'll be coworkers."
"You fucking wish," she grunts, but secretly she thinks he's probably right.
---
In room S209, rumors of Mr. White's death prove greatly exaggerated when Whitney discovers him at the head of the class rather than this mysterious newcomer Dr. Cartay. "Heard you were dead," she tells him as she passes by on her way to find a seat.
"What? Where did you hear that?"
She jabs a thumb in Ryan's direction behind her.
Mr. White sounds a little saddened. "I didn't die, Ryan."
He bows his head in embarrassed contrition. "Sorry."
As the class grumbles and trudges their way into chairs at the rows of blacktop benches, one inquisitive student asks where the new teacher is.
Mr. White nods. "Dr. Carte. Yes. I'm subbing for her today."
Ryan whispers to Whitney, "Cart? Like a food cart?"
"Shh," Whitney hisses back.
"I thought he was named Cardi."
"Shh."
"She'll be back tomorrow," Mr. White explains.
"Soooo... you aren't gonna be our teacher?" Another student asks.
"No. I'm a substitute now. Part time. Easing my way into retirement. And -- since I'm not obligated to care anymore -- and since this is only the first day of class anyway..." he trails off as he retrieves a TV on a rolling cart from a side-room. The class murmurs in excitement.
Mr. White puts a DVD on and cues up an episode of Bill Nye the Science Guy. For high schoolers it's a little below the level of even a remedial class, but no one's going to complain. It beats actually having to learn anything. Whitney herself is unabashedly happy enough at this surprise movie day to pump her fists and shout-sing along to the opening: "Bill! Bill! Bill! B--"
"Whitney Price, please report to the registrar's office. Whitney Price, registrar's office."
"...Damn it," Whitney groans, deflating. "Why couldn't that have happened in math."
"Oooh, you're in trouble," Ryan croons, imitating a young kid.
In one fluid motion, Whitney rises to her feet, grabs her bookbag, spins on one heel, flips Ryan off, continues spinning until she's facing towards the exit, and heads out. Her sneakers squeak on the tile underneath her.
---
Whitney is wide-eyed as the guidance counselor explains it to her. "This is a highly unusual situation, of course," Mr. Platt says. "But I like to think North High supports its students domestically as well as academically, so I wanted to ease you into the transition."
Whitney raises a flattened palm. "Hold up. Just hold up a sec. WHY is it important for me to meet Dr. Carte before I have class with her? Like, why me specifically? You're not making Ryan meet her. You're not making Tongtong meet her. Tongtong sets things on fire with Bunsen burners. She went to juvie. Dr. Carte probably ought to know about that... right? So what's so important about me?"
Mr. Platt idly rearranges a couple items on his desk. He checks his wristwatch. He's clearly not happy with something. Sighing, he comes out with it: "I was really hoping to involve your father with this meeting, but it doesn't look like--"
"My dad?" Whitney sputters. "Look, if I'm in trouble for something, I-- I, like, I've got rights. I'm basically almost 18. I want a lawyer."
"You're not in trouble, Whitney. I told you."
"But you're trying to get my dad down here."
"It's important. But it's nothing bad."
Whitney narrows her eyes. "That sounds like BS. Pardon my French."
"Pardoned. Look, I don't want to tell you too much more because this is a family matter. And it's not my place to tell you. I think Dr. Carte should explain it. Keep an open mind. Listen to what she has to say. The only other thing I want you to remember is that I'm here if you need someone outside of your family to talk to. If things feel weird -- if for any reason you want to transfer to another class -- if you want an objective view. Just ask. My door is open."
"I am wigging the fuck out right now. Pardon my French."
"Pardoned." He motions at the door. "Just go talk with Dr. Carte. She's in the meeting room across from us there. She'll clear things up for you."
---
Before stepping in, Whitney peeks through the little vertical window above the door handle to see who this uber-important person she's supposed to meet with is. Turns out she's just some lady, wearing a white coat, dorky brown vest, and matching brown slacks. Not some cop or secret agent or Presidential... dude... or anything. That only makes Whitney wig out even worse. She has no way to guess what to expect. "What the fuck," she whispers to herself.
Well, at least she isn't the only one wigging out. Dr. Carte, seated beside the conference table in there, chews her fingernails and flares her nostrils and jostles her legs and stares wild-eyed at the floor like she's strung out on meth.
Whitney decides this woman is kinda like a black widow: more scared of you than you are of it. That self-directed pep talk doesn't help calm her down. She takes a deep breath to gather her courage, and enters the room.
"You, uh, wanted to see me?"
Dr. Carte's hand falls away from her mouth and her legs go still. Her whole body goes still. She doesn't even breathe. Her face twitches, though, flipping from smile to frown and back again, unable to settle on one emotion. Tears well up and spill out before she can stop the deluge, and she's left wiping clumsily at her cheeks to mop them up, visibly embarrassed. She swallows hard before speaking, but her voice still croaks: "Whitney..."
Whitney looks all around, so weirdened out by all of this that there isn't even a word to describe it. She tries to sound chipper. "One and only."
Dr. Carte doesn't fully stand, rather adopts a sort of hunchbacked stooping thing as she gets onto her feet and reaches across the gap between them to take Whitney's hand, uninvited, and pull her closer. Her voice is still all froggy. "Come here-- come sit... please..." Whitney allows herself to pulled, but wrenches her hand free as soon as she settles into a chair facing this strange woman. Dr. Carte registers a flash of dejection at that, but powers through it. "I guess no one's told you yet."
"...No."
Dr. Carte worries her hands in her lap. Here come the tears again. "Whitney... I--" she looks down, unable to maintain eye contact. "This shouldn't be some... big... process. You should have known about me years ago. I'm so sorry I wasn't there."
"Wasn't there? Th-- Dr. Carte, no offense, but I don't know you from Bob. What is going on? I have no clue what you're even talking about."
"I'm your mother."
Whitney's reaction to this bombshell is a quick and clear rejection of its premise: "my mom's name is Lilly. She died from cancer when I was three."
"I gave you up for adoption because I was so young when I had you. Lilly and Carl are the ones who adopted you." She hasn't been able to reestablish eye contact and her voice has the tone of a guilty kid. "I know Lilly was your mother, but... I gave birth to you... I'm your biological mother."
Whitney turns that idea over in her mind. All the strangeness of the past half hour makes sense if she lets it in. And some gut reaction tells her that this news jibes with a lot more than just the last 30 minutes of her life. She tries out how it feels coming from her own lips:
"I'm adopted?"
Dr. Carte nods.
"You're my mother?"
She nods again.
It's real. Whitney knows it. Her eyes dart side to side as she processes the new reality she's just tumbled into. "They didn't tell me," is all she can come up with, quietly. Almost to herself more than to Dr. Carte.
Dr. Carte reaches for Whitney's hand again. Whitney jerks it away. The dejection on Dr. Carte's face comes as more than a flash this time. It lingers. She winces with it. Her lower lip trembles with it. Her eyes threaten to spill again with it.
"Why didn't you come to me sooner?" Whitney says. "I'm almost an adult now."
Dr. Carte doesn't find an adequate answer. She responds with silence.
"Carl's not my dad either?"
"Not biologically."
Whitney looks heavenward. "Thank fuck. Something good at least." Dr. Carte gives Whitney an odd look. But she'll understand Whitney's attitude with time. "Who's my real dad, then? Do you know?"
Dr. Carte doesn't blink at the implication of being asked "do you know." She just says, "His name is David. You'll meet him, too. We're not together anymore, but yes, I know him. And-- you even have a little sister... half sister. David's daughter, not mine. Vivian. She's in the 8th grade now."
"I have a sister too? Jesus. What's she like?"
"She's... you'll like her. She's a bit awkward, though. Brainy. But she has a good heart."
"Oh, I know awkward and brainy. Trust me." Whitney nods and counts off to herself as if taking an inventory. "David... Vivian... okay. What's your name?"
Dr. Carte physically recoils a bit, surprised, confused. And then after a beat she has to laugh, even through the tears, at the absurdity of it, of the realization that she hasn't actually told her daughter her name yet. "It's Renee. My name is Renee."
"Should I call you... Dr. Carte? Renee? Mom?"
"I'd like Mom. If that's all right with you."
"Sure." Whitney gives a little wave. "Hi, mom."
"Hi," Renee says, waving back, smile cracking on her tear-streaked face.
Neither is sure what to say next, though. Whitney may have softened to her a little, but there's still a vast gulf to bridge after 18 years of absence. Elbow on knee, Whitney tilts her head to scratch at a spot just behind her ear. "So... when do I meet David and Vivian?"
"As soon as you're comfortable--"
"I'm comfortable."
"--Good. We can see them today. Just so you know, though... this is, um, David Darkbloom we're talking about. You've heard of him?"
"I've never heard of the man in my life."
Renee waits a polite beat in case that's a joke. It's not a joke. "Oh."
Whitney stares.
"He's a big deal," Renee says to sum it up. "Rich, I mean."
"Are we talking like 'owns two houses' rich or Donald Trump rich?"
"He's a billionaire."
"So the former then. Nice."
"Latter?" Renee asks.
"Ladders?"
Renee shakes her head.
Whitney pushes on: "Are you -- saying I'm a billionaire now? Like with a B?"
Renee puts a hand on Whitney's knee. "You'll never have to worry about money ever again."
Whitney smiles broad and toothy. "Nice. Gotta say. That really helps the whole 'you're adopted' thing go over about 100% better." She thinks for a brief moment and adds, "did he cut you off, or what? Why are you teaching for some crappy public school?"
"I don't need the job. I'm here for you. I wanted to be a teacher so I could be closer with you." Renee keeps her hand on Whitney's knee and this time Whitney isn't balking at being touched.
Whitney gets a closer look at Renee's face, now that Renee is able to maintain prolonged eye contact. Whitney tilts her head to one side, considering her. She sees the resemblance. "You really are my Mom, huh?"
"I really am your Mom."
"Well then I'm feeling kinda gypped here."
"I know, baby. I'm so sorry that I wasn't--"
"No, I mean." Whitney cups her hands and swivels them underneath the air in front of her breasts to indicate the kind of proportions they don't have. "I mean, what the hell. Where's those genetics? I get your nose but not these too? You're a biology person, right? Can you explain that?"
Renee grins. "You're perfect just the way you are," she says.
"Oh, that's a very Mom thing to say, Mom. Thanks. But I still got gypped. I'd be even perfecter with Z cups like yours. All I'm saying."
"Can I hug you? Is that all right?" It comes out all at once like Renee had to gather serious courage just to spit it out. It catches Whitney off guard.
"Hm? Oh-- oh yeah. Yeah."
Permission enough. Renee lurches forward and draws Whitney into a constrictive embrace. It just about knocks the wind from the poor girl, but she gamely returns the gesture as best she can.
"You're perfect," Renee insists. "You really, really are. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise." She rocks a little, strokes the back of Whitney's head and kisses her on the crown. Again and again.
Whitney is fine letting this embrace linger on. Her scattered few memories of Lilly Price are happy ones but vague and receding -- she's never fully known what it was like to have a mother. In that quiet conference room, the two of them hug and enjoy each other's warmth for what feels like a couple aeons.
"I like your perfume," Whitney says into the crook between Renee's neck and shoulder.
"I'll get you a bottle," Renee promises into the top of Whitney's head.
"Am I Whitney Darkbloom now, or Whitney Carte, or what?"
"You're anyone you want to be."
"Okay."
"I like Whitney Carte," Renee whispers.
"It's nice." Whitney keeps it noncommittal -- but she's open to it. It has to be better than Whitney Price, anyway.
As the minutes drag on, Whitney finally does grow a bit antsy. "You can let go of me now."
"I don't think I can."
"Really. I'm not gonna float away."
Renee just squeezes tighter. "I won't ever leave you again. I promise. I promise."
"Good."
"I'm so sorry I left you the first time. I can't get back the years I missed. I wish I could. But I'm going to be there for every single step along the way now. You'll get sick of me. I won't care."
"Looking forward to it. Hey, you'll give me an A in bio, right?"
Renee pulls back from the hug, still holding Whitney by both shoulders.
"I really need good grades this year," Whitney adds, cringing. "I don't want to work at Mickey D's."
"You give me A quality work and I'll give you an A for it."
So she's going to be like that. Fantastic. "Uh, sure thing, Mom."
"I'm happy to tutor you, if you need it. I won't let you fail."
"I'd rather do mother-daughter stuff with you. I already have a tutor for doing tutor shit-- ahem. Tutor stuff."
"You have a tutor? That's great! Although -- I'll have to vet them, of course. If they aren't up to snuff, we'll get someone better to help you out. Only the best for you from now on."
Whitney brightens up. "Oh, no, you should totally vet the snot out of him! You just gotta meet him. He's my new boyfriend Alabaster."
Renee frowns. "You're really dating that boy now?"
"You -- know..." Whitney drawls, confused by the seeming recognition implied in the question. But she drops it, too excited to interrogate. She grins, holds her knuckles to her sternum and proudly preens: "I seduced him. He couldn't resist! Ally is a complete and utter nerd so he had absolutely no idea what was going on when I put the moves on him! You should have seen the look on his face!"
Renee masks her disapproval. "Of course he couldn't resist. No boy would be able to. I'm happy for you... just... remember you're young. It's always good to keep your options open."
Whitney's eyes pop open and she laughs loud enough to startle. She gestures as she speaks: "Oh, trust me, open options are the name of the game. My options are wiiiide open. They're so open I don't even know what do with all these options."
"That's... good. Just don't keep them too open, either."
"Oh, or I'll end up like you? You mean you don't want to be a grandma at 40?"
"What? 40? I'm not 40! I-- Jesus, Whitney! You mean you're..."
"Blah blah, condoms, yeah, cool. You missed the boat on the birds and bees talk. I know all about that stuff already."
"I'm serious. If you let this Alabaster kid get you pregnant, I am going to give you 18 years of missed spankings in one dose. Don't even try me."
"You don't have to worry about a thing. I'm careful as pie. Not until marriage, right?"
"Well -- yes -- but you'll marry someone better."
Whitney chuckles derisively. "You're, like, so totally biased against this guy and you haven't even meeten him yet."
"Mee...ten-- Whitney, I'm your mother. I'm supposed to be biased against the boys you date."
"Meet him first. Maybe you'll change your mind."
"I'll meet him," Renee says. "No promises beyond that."
This satisfies Whitney enough to move on. She checks over her shoulder, but doesn't find whatever it is she's looking for. "Do we need to be back in class? The bell's gonna ring soon."
"The sub has my sixth period covered. Your counselor said you could be exempt from your next class, too. We've got the rest of the day to ourselves. If -- if you want it."
"Awesome!"
Renee made the offer unsure that Whitney would take it up, and becomes visibly elated that Whitney wants to spend more time together -- dopey grin, brightening eyes.
"There's so freakin' much I want to ask, though... where do I start?" Whitney tries to think it through, but her head is spinning. "Okay, okay -- lightning round," she finally says.
"Lightning round?" Renee asks.
"There's too much to take it slow, so this is the only way! Right? We've got almost 18 whole entire years to catch up on. We gotta get started."
"Okay, but--"
"Favorite color?"
Renee understands now. Lightning rounds are her forte. "Orange," she says without hesitation.
"Weird!" Whitney points at herself. "Green."
"Not so weird!"
"Favorite food?"
"Sandwiches. All kinds. But banh mi or a good pastrami on rye are the tops. Or a sub with cold cuts -- a competently made sub -- not that Subway garbage. You have to dress the veggies with a good--" Whitney's eyes are starting to glaze over, so she stops.
"I make a PB&J that's to die for!" Whitney tells her. "How about this. You can make me your best bambi or whatever, and I'll make you my patent-pending PB&J. Deal?"
"Deal! ... It's -- banh mi, not bambi... what other kind of food do you like?"
"Edible food! Pizza. Nachos!"
"You're gonna have pizza and nachos coming out of your ears tonight."
"Gross! Favorite movie?"
"The Breakfast Club."
"Never heard of it. Have you seen Cars 2?"
"Uh."
"Are you married? Do you have any other kids?"
"No. And no."
"So I get single child privileges, then? Sweet. What kind of house do you live in?"
"I've got an apartment here in town now. Nothing special."
"I got you beat on nothing special." Whitney puts a hand to her heart and raises the other like taking an oath. "Trailer park! ... ooh! You're a biologist, so... favorite animal?"
"Bunnies. They're so cute. With their floppy ears and--"
"Scrunchy noses--" Whitney adds.
Renee nods. "And the way they nibble on their food--"
"Wild!" Even though bunnies are hardly wild, Whitney's just so excited about everything right now. "My favorite animal is shoebills. Ally showed me them in a book one time. You can see 'em on Google too. They look so fake! But they're real!"
"Shoebills are vicious jerks," Renee says.
"Right? So cool! Hey, are you a righty or a lefty?"
"Handedly or politically?"
"What?"
"Right handed."
"Me too! Wild! That's genetics I bet. Do you like sports? I'm a soccer player."
"I heard a rumor. I was never into sports. But I'll learn!"
"I play for the Bobcats -- girls' soccer. You gotta come to a game sometime!"
"A game? I'll be at every damn one!"
"What other hobbies? Do you do science experiments and stuff?"
"I like to read. Keep up on bioengineering research -- that's my specialty -- oh, I'm really into trivia games, too--"
Whitney lets out a high pitched squeal and rapidly stomps her feet. "Oh my GOD, Mom! You are going to LOVE my boyfriend! Guess what? He's captain of the trivia team!! You'll be like two geeks in a peapod!"
Renee politely smiles. "Oh... great..."
"Do you like the beach? We could have a weekend trip! Do some fishing, go swimming. Light a bonfire!"
"Strutting our beach bods around? We'll give every guy there an aneurysm."
"Ladies too!" Whitney adds. "We'll knock 'em out. Couple of knockouts, you and me."
"Of course, of course. Carte girls on patrol!--" Renee falters, leery at how Whitney will react to being called a "Carte girl" -- but Whitney just nods along. Renee is so excited she can hardly contain herself. Her eyes twinkle. "Oh! Do you like karaoke?"
"Absolutely not! I'd love to go with you! You into cars?"
Renee winks. "I drive a '97 Corvette. Torch red."
"Holy fuck-- uh." When Renee doesn't react badly to the F-bomb, Whitney resumes her hyperactive patter: "You'll let me drive it too, right? I've got a license."
"Do you know how to drive stick?"
"Of freakin' course I know how to drive stick! Geez." She gesticulates at Renee. "But seriously... how cool is that? My Mom drives a manual gear Corvette? Bet it's all pimped out too, huh?"
Renee giggles.
"Spinning rims?"
"No. God, no. Everything is factory. Like God intended."
"Hey," Whitney cuts in, "are you cool with sleepovers?"
"You mean-- like you, sleeping over at my place?"
"Yeah. Is... that okay? I don't want to invite myself over or anything."
Renee wildly waves both hands in front of her. "No, it's okay! It's more than okay! I'll just have to make sure that Carl's all right with it too--"
"Pfff. He'll be all right with it. Trust me."
"Then absolutely. I'll set you up with your own guest room. You'll have a key and everything -- my house is your house. You're always invited."
"Do you think Vivian could come over sometimes, too?"
"I think she'd love that. We could eat your PB&Js and watch bad movies together."
"I love bad movies! You know, where like, the dumb action hero just runs past a bunch of bullets because the bad guys can't aim?"
Renee points at her. "Yes! Exactly! We'll get Vivian over-- we'll wear pajamas, stuff ourselves with shitty food and make fun of shitty movies together until dawn!"
Whitney claps her hands together. "Heeeeeeeh."