“You’re both sick. There was no demented plan to nail her.” I pause because I very distinctly remember saying those words to her just before I felt for a condom in my back pocket. “Shit, I’m a douchebag, aren’t I?” I shake my head as if struggling to wake from a bad dream. “Wait, that’s not right. Heather wanted it. She was throwing out the bait. We were headed down that track long before we said those words. But I’m glad we said them first. I don’t want to be the guy who bangs some chick, then looks her in the eye and says I love you for the very first time. That’s not me.”
Joel makes a face. “How many girls have you banged?”
“I don’t know, four, maybe five.”
“Okay, how many girls have you said the L word to?”
“One, and that was last night.” I pause a moment. “Okay, I see your point. It wasn’t something that necessarily needed to happen—but with Heather it did. With Heather, it’s different. I’m done banging chicks for the hell of it.”
“Glad to hear it.” Dad walks in and shakes his head at the three of us. He’s decked out in his suit, his pager clipped to his belt loop, looking sharp as usual. “What I wasn’t glad to hear was that nasty message left on my answering machine from Mr. Helle. Property damage? Public nuisance? He said the police showed up and an ambulance. You mind telling me what this is about?”
“I got in a fight. I’ll pay you back for the window.”
“Not to worry. You okay?” He tilts my chin up, and for the first time in a long time, I see Wayne James as my father, not some secondhand imposter who’s pretending to fill the role. This man, right here, cares for me.
“Just a few cuts and bruises. I’m fine, Dad.”
“Good, now all of you get to school. Joel, shouldn’t you be on campus? What are you studying over at SC?”
“Pre-law. And you’re right. I’ve got an eleven o’clock class. I’d better hurry.” He slaps his thighs before getting up. “It’s Mel’s birthday, so as soon as I’m done, I’m turning right back around. Remember what I said, no breaking her best friend’s heart.”
“Got it.” I give Dad a sheepish grin.
Jessie pulls me up and offers a high five. “I’ll see you at school. I still say stay away from chicks with psychotic brothers.”
They take off, and soon it’s just Dad and me as the cool morning air seeps in through the back door.
“I know I don’t say this often enough, but I’m glad you’re my dad.”
He takes a dancing step back before breaking out in a smile. “What brought this on?”
“Mom mentioned she’d take me to see Russell in a couple weeks.” It feels strange saying his name, my name, out loud.
“So I heard.” He grimaces before ruffling my hair up a bit. “It’s okay. You can call him Dad, too. I won’t be offended.”
“Thanks.”
“He’s a good guy, your dad.”
My heart warms just hearing him say that. “I’m looking forward to getting to know him.”
“You know he’s innocent, right?”
“What?” He couldn’t have shocked me more if he had pummeled me in the chest. I had hoped it were true. My mother mentioned it in passing, but, in all honesty, I thought deep down those were just things she needed to say to quell me.
“He took a plea deal. He was in a shit situation, and his crooked partners left him holding the bag. They went to the Bahamas, and he went to the pen.” He shakes his head.
I’ve always felt a powerful need to see my father, to speak with him myself, but now the urge to see him, to let him know that I’m here for him, that I’m really fucking sorry he’s had such a shit ride is powerfully overwhelming. That visit is going to mean everything to me.
“I’ll see you later.” He drops a kiss to the top of my head as he jets out the door.
The cotillion floats through my mind. Just another week to go and that entire nightmare is over. I can honestly say I can’t wait to take Amanda Prescott to that overpriced dance. And once that’s through, I never want to see her face again. More importantly, once that’s through, I get to take that long drive to the prison that’s housing Russell Gates, my namesake, my very much loved, innocent father.
Even though my back is killing me, and I’m running on almost zero sleep, school is pretty much pumped up like a party. Like Joel mentioned, it’s Melissa’s birthday, so all afternoon people have showered her with gifts and roses. Heather and Jennifer even gave her a Mylar balloon with a picture of Matt Dillon’s face on it, which has made all the girls insane for obvious reasons.
On my way to fourth period, a leather jacket clad dude steps in front of me.
Kurt.
I can see Heather there in his eyes. It’s weird how siblings can resemble one another so closely, even in the opposite gender.
I stick my hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, dude.” Not really, but what am I supposed to say? Damn right, I was sucking on your sister’s tits, and you’d better believe it’s going to happen again? I’m pretty sure that would only lead to more broken windows and perhaps progress to broken bones, namely mine.
“All right.” He rubs his palm in his eye as if he’s lacking a little sleep himself. “Just watch it with my sister. She’s a bit of a spitfire.”
What’s this? A warning? And here I thought I was about to face another pounding, courtesy of his steel-toed boot. I still think I cracked a rib no matter what that X-ray showed last night.
“Don’t mess with her. Got it?” He nods into me, serious as can be, and I’m not sure what to make of him anymore.
“I’m not messing with her, I promise. I’m going to be around for a good long while, so you better get used to me.”
He barks out a laugh as he heads in the opposite direction. “Suit yourself. Buckle up. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
Whatever. I head into yearbook and head straight for the prettiest girl in the class, prettiest girl on the planet, and land my lips to Heather’s red hot mouth. Music pumps through the room as Van Halen vibrates “You Really Got Me” over the walls. That’s one of the best parts about yearbook—Mr. Preston always has his boom box set to KLOS.
“You okay?” She pulls me into a strong hug.
“Better than okay, now.”
A scoff comes from behind. “Like I’d tell you to get a room, but knowing that skank, she’ll think I’m serious.” Amanda and Tess break out in titters.
“Ignore,” I say as we pull out our bloated file.
“What’s next?”
“The mixed tape is all that’s left for now, but we can get together this weekend and bang that out.” Her cheeks blush like pomegranates when she says it. “Mr. Preston is so impressed that we’re near completion on our task that he’s given us a new one.” She beams. Heather’s hair is stiff and wild, reminiscent of Madonna. She’s wearing an armful of colorful bangles, her skirt is a bright green tulle that fans straight out like one of my sister’s dance outfits, and I can’t help but smile. I love her. And I love that she’s different. I think it’s time my mother accepts her for who she is and what she means to me, too. As soon as I get on the other side of next Saturday, I plan on doing a proper introduction. Heather is my girlfriend and nothing, not even my mother’s most outlandish protest, is going to change how I feel about her.
“A new task?” I pull her in by the waist. “Does it have anything to do with sticking your brother’s boot up my—”
“No.” She buries her face in her hands a moment. “I almost killed Kurt last night.”
“Don’t worry. He’s a great brother.”
She shrugs. “He actually is most of the time.”
“I’m glad you’re surrounded with people who care about you. You should be. So, what’s the task?”
“We scored the Best Of pages!” Her face brightens with the idea. The Best Of pages are a pretty big deal. I can see why she’s so excited. “I happened to sneak a peek at the contenders. Best Eyes? You have my vote on that. Best Dressed? Jenni
fer and Jessie Fox, of course.” She averts her gaze as if there was anything to contest. “Cutest Couple?” She cuts a hard look to Amanda over her shoulder.
“You’re kidding, right?” I’ve had about enough of her manipulation. We haven’t even been seen together outside of that country club for Pete’s sake.
Her features soften. “I’m kidding.” She bites down on her lip with a nervous sense of excitement. “We’re in there.”
“Really?” My entire affect loosens. “I can’t believe it. That’s totally awesome.”
“I like totally know.” She jabs her finger in my chest. “Jennifer and Melissa nominated us, and, well, apparently ten other people because that’s the required cut-off.” She shrugs. “So, I guess that makes us official, right?”
“I guess so.” I give her a high five and don’t let go.
“Oh!” She glances up at the clock. “I told Jennifer I’d meet her at Melissa’s locker at ten after, sharp. We’re sort of surprising her with a total locker makeover. Plus, Jennifer is stuffing it with tons of gifts. Be back in a few.” She takes off, and I linger in the sweet scent of her perfume.
My girlfriend. There I go with that unstoppable grin once again.
A body plops down in Heather’s seat, and I don’t need to look over to see that it’s Amanda. The caustic scent of her overly sweet perfume alerts me first.
“What?” I pull out my ruler and trace out lines with a grease pencil.
She flattens her hand over my project, smearing her fingers across the page.
“Nice. Real classy.” I take a step back and marvel at the mess. “What’s going on? We’ve known each other since we were kids. What has you so knotted up in anger lately?” I cast my gaze her way and note her eyes are red with rage, wet with tears, and I can’t help but feel sorry for her. It must have been pretty embarrassing to be kicked out of Milton that way—to have me ditch her on stage at homecoming. Maybe I should have been a little nicer to her right from the get-go this year.
“Like you’re right. We have totally known each other since we were little, and, if you were more in tune to your childhood friend, you might have noticed that I’ve always had a crazy mad crush on you.”
“What?” I scoot back a notch, trying to assess whether or not she’s kidding. This is Amanda. She only projects what she wants you to feel, tells you what she wants you to believe, and the end results usually benefit her most. That much I know is true.
“It was supposed to be me and you, Russell. Not you and some nitwit Cyndi Lauper wannabe. Why do you think I had my mother drag me all the way from Encino?”
“Because the department head of the Milton Academy asked you to leave.” I know that for a fact.
Her head tips up as she takes a mean breath. “Regardless, I’m here for you, Russell. I had a nice long talk with your mother the other day, and she’s in agreement with me. Like we were totally meant to be together since birth. Do you realize our mothers took pictures of us in formal wear when we were six so that we could one day include it in our wedding invitation?”
Crap. I know the exact picture my mother must have shown her, the one in the hallway with Amanda and me walking down the aisle together at some friend-of-the-family’s wedding. I was the ring bearer, and she was the flower girl.
“I’ve seen it. Look, my mother is lost in her own delusions.”
“Like, no, she’s totally not.” She jumps up from the stool as she works herself into a frenzy. “She’s right. If I want you, I have to fight for you. And don’t think for a minute that I’m not pulling out all the stops. That little white trash call girl you’re playing with? She won’t know what hit her.” She scoops up her three hundred dollar designer tote bag and bolts out the door.
My mother. Shit. She’s just inadvertently started a war she has no business getting into. What’s it going to take to convince both Amanda and my mom that I’m not interested in what they’re selling?
My heart belongs to someone else.
It always will.
6
Here Comes the Rain Again
Heather
Heaven. That’s what falling in love feels like. I stare at my little sister, Julie, in the face upon her inquiry and smirk.
“Who wants to know? And, by the way, you’re too young to fall in love. You’re like in seventh grade for goodness’ sake.” I wouldn’t dare tell her that’s exactly when my crush on John Wilton, aka Slam began. He was older, and my brother’s quasi-buddy, so, of course, it was a natural progression. But Julie and Jill are way too young for love. The fact they both wear tennis shoelaces with rainbow hearts stamped across them is a dead giveaway. The only things they should be in love with are troll dolls and Smurfs.
“That’s what I said.” Jill points to the plaza where the Goodwill store is tucked in the back, and I pull in. “But she says she’s in love with Christopher Sangrino, and now he’s all she ever talks about. Chris, this—Chris, that.”
Julie’s face turns a slap-cheek red, and I can see how embarrassed this is making her.
“Enough,” I reprimand. “I don’t want to talk about Chris. But, just for the record, it is totally natural to fall for somebody, and, yes, even at your age, just keep your emotions in check. And for God’s sake, don’t do a thing with a guy until you’re sure he’s the one.” I pause a moment as I Think I Can sputters into a parking space. I once actually believed Slam was the one, and look how wrong that turned out to be? “On second thought, completely ignore what I just said. Don’t let a guy touch you, period.”
We head inside and begin our shopping adventure with the twins speeding toward the games in the back and me straight to the clothes. God knows I could use a few new stitches.
Mom is usually the one to take my sisters on this weekly adventure. She says shopping is a true bonding experience for women the world over, but she has a sore throat at the moment, so she begged me to take the helm. Not that I mind. I’m all for bonding with my baby sisters through the fine art of commerce. Besides, I just cashed my paycheck, and I don’t mind parting with a bit of it.
A ton of new clothes seems to have been added since the last time I was here. You never know with places like these—it can be slim pickings every now and again—since their supply solely relies on donations. That’s why I love the Goodwill in Lawrence that sits tucked right under the armpit of Glen Heights. They get all the rich people’s discards, and most of the clothes are good as new—I’ve even seen a few with the tags still on them.
Thou shalt not wear clothes out of season is like the eleventh commandment or something up there. You’re more likely to score a designer pair of anything at this store, and that makes this particular location the very best place to shop. Both Jennifer and Melissa know I frequent this place, but neither has taken me up on the offer to come with. I get it, there’s a total stigma attached because people are morons. I dream of a not-so-distant future where shopping at discount stores like these isn’t just necessary but cool for people of all socio-economic statuses. Although, a part of me might die laughing if I ever catch Amanda Prescott flaunting her brassy blonde hair and blow-up doll body in a place like this.
An hour later, I actually manage to mine the racks for some pretty rad stuff like a pair of Guess jeans in my size that are totally in cool condition. There’s a tiny rip near the inseam by the knee, but I think it works. If I’m going to stuff myself into a pair of jeans, they might as well be ripped a little to express my edgy appeal. Heck, I might even tear off the Guess triangle on the back pocket just so that no one accuses me of corporate conformity, but I’ll wait a month or two before that little cutting ceremony commences. Plus, I scored a totally cute pair of light pink Candie’s sneakers. Also, Mom asked me to pick up a pair of L’eggs Sheer Energy pantyhose in her favorite color, suntan, which they sell new. She’s been feeling pretty bad, so she’ll need all the energy she can get.
Mom has some bigwig event at the country club this weekend, and she doesn’t want to miss it
. It’s the event that Russell’s mom is orchestrating. In some faraway fairy-tale place in my brain, I still think the two of them can come out of this working relationship as genuine friends.
“Look what I got!” Julie holds up an old game of Jaws with a model of a plastic shark in the box along with a gaff and a few assorted pieces you’re supposed to fish out of its mouth without it biting over your hook.
“We used to have that, but the rubber band kept breaking.” I peer into the box to make sure all the pieces are present and accounted for. “It’s annoying. Are you sure you want it?”
“Yes. I brought my own cash, so you can’t say no. And I’m getting these, too.” She holds up a pack of root beer Scratch ’n Sniff stickers, a worn deck of Old Maid cards, and a Speak & Spell.
“No to the Speak & Spell. You’re well past that phonetic phase in your life.”
“Fine.” She reluctantly tosses it to the side just as Jill comes over with her own haul, a set of Chinese jacks—the cute kind with the tiny plastic rings clustered giving it a colorful sea urchin appeal—and a pair of pink Jellies that she swears she’ll grow into.
We pay and head out into the crisp, cool, November air as a set of storm clouds looms in the distance, but all I see in my life are blue skies—perfect boyfriend, great job, and a decent set of wheels.
It’s about time my life turned around.
Thursday at school, I Think I Can barely huffs and puffs its way into the parking lot. By the time I get out of the car, there’s bona fide smoke coming from the back.
Crap. I keep meaning to ask Russell to take a look at it, and now it’s gasping for its last dying breath. Oh, well. Russell has made it known on more than one occasion that he’d happily pick me up and bring me to and fro. Unfortunately, it’s looking like soon there will be no other option.