Mourning Becomes Cassandra by Christina Dudley Page A

mysterious “other stuff” Kyle had dabbled in, to get kicked out of Bellevue? Armed robbery?!
    I was dying for more details but forced myself to change the subject. If Kyle wanted to tell me his story, he would. “Anyhow, where can I find Nadina?” The other three girls backed away, giggling, leaving Nadina and me to stare at each other.
    She was tall, taller than I was, and a little on the heavier side, though it was hard to get a clear idea of her figure because she was buried in an oversized barn jacket of brown corduroy. Pale blue eyes inspected me, framed by highlighted blonde hair, cropped short. “Henneman said your name was Cassandra.”
    “It is, but no one calls me that. Do you have a nickname, or is it always Nadina?”
    “Always Nadina. My mom was watching TV when she was in the hospital to deliver me, and there was a soap character with that name. Before that I was going to be Brittany. Lucky she changed, though. I know about infinity Brittanys my age.”
    “Yeah, and I know about infinity Jennifers and Amys my age,” I agreed. “You want to get a coffee or hot chocolate or something?”
    She nodded, and we started walking. Nervously, I said, “So Mark Henneman said you’re new to Camden School this year. How do you like it so far?”
    I could tell by her expression that this was exactly the kind of question grown-ups ask and kids have to endure. “It’s fine. The teachers are nice. Some of the kids are cool. I dropped out of my old high school.”
    “Which high school was that?”
    “Winslow Homer.” Winslow Homer was about twenty minutes south of Bellevue. “I dropped out because I got pregnant. I was doing lots of drugs, and my boyfriend told me the baby would be retarded or deformed or something, so I got rid of it.”
    Nadina had lapsed into a matter-of-fact, flat voice that I later learned was a product of having told her story so many times. Camden School relied on donations, so most students who were at all presentable were used to giving their personal histories at the drop of a hat. Nadina didn’t seem embarrassed either. These were the facts.
    “Then I just lost interest in school. My boyfriend thinks I should work.” The knight in shining armor was still in the picture, then.
    “Then how did you get here?” I prompted.
    “My mom. She agreed not to hassle me about living with my boyfriend if I would go back to school. Not that I have to do what she says because she couldn’t stop me, but it makes things easier if she’s not pissed off at me.”
    That made sense to me at least, even if the choices didn’t. “Do you have brothers or sisters?”
    Nadina shook her head. “Nope. Just me and mom.”
    “She must miss you, then, if you moved out.”
    “I come by a lot, especially if I’m fighting with Mike.”
    By the time we got to Tully’s, I learned that Mike was her 20-year-old boyfriend who didn’t have a job at the moment and who spent a lot of his time with friends Nadina wasn’t too crazy about, but she claimed they had some good times together. She and Mike were living in Mike’s dad’s basement, not too far from the apartment Nadina used to share with her mom. Although Mike was unemployed, he didn’t seem to have any objection to Nadina working, and she had gotten a part-time job cleaning out cages and sweeping the grooming floor at a local Petco. Mike had bigger ambitions, though. “He wants to be like a music producer. He’s totally into music, and he spends a lot of time in Seattle researching bands and stuff.” I wondered how he supported this exploratory phase of his life but decided not to ask yet.
    “How did you meet?” I said instead, stirring my tea to melt the honey. Nadina had ordered a complex, postdoc-level coffee concoction, caffeine being the licit, Northwest drug of choice for all walks of life.
    “My girlfriend and I went to a party her brother was throwing. Mike and his buddies were doing some heavy shit that they shared with us. I totally