“You did?” I lean in to catch her downcast gaze.
“Yes. I did. And then Wayne came with me for a while. I think it’s been three years since I’ve seen him.”
“It’s been almost eleven for me.” My chest quivers with my next breath. I promised myself I wouldn’t lose it like some pussy, but now that we’re here, my emotions are right on the cuff.
“There he is!” She waves off in the distance, and I turn to find a guard leading in a man who—holy crap—is wearing my face. My chest bucks a moment. All of those early memories I have of him—of me on the bike and him letting go for the very first time, the glee in his voice when he sees I’ve got it. The time we spent chasing my dog that got loose and how he held me and told me he wouldn’t stop until we found him. We found him. My dad was very damn good at keeping his promises. Like the last one he made that night he tucked me into bed, only I didn’t know it would be the very last time. He said, “We’ll see each other again one day. You’ll know it’s me.” And here it is. One day showed up out of nowhere, and I darn well know it’s him.
I head over and wrap my arms around his strong frame without hesitation. He feels solid, real. Tears come, and I can’t fight them.
“Son,” he whispers as he wets my shirt with his own grief.
The security guard plucks us apart, and we sit at a metal picnic table with the words 18th Street etched into the top.
“Look at you.” He gently socks my chin. A smile takes over his face, and I can’t help but mirror him. He’s beautiful. Can I say that about my own father? He is in every way, and not just because he looks like an older version of me. He’s alive. He’s real. He is most definitely a sight for my sore eyes.
“My God, you are a handsome devil.” He gives a quick wink before acknowledging my mother with a kiss on the cheek. “And you are ever the beauty. I’d ask if you think of me, but looking at Junior here, I know you can’t help it.”
Junior. A dry laugh thumps through me when he says it. I do remember him calling me that.
“It’s true,” Mom sings. “He’s a real lady killer. He’s smart like you, too.”
The thought of me being a lady killer sours both my stomach and my mood.
Russell—Dad leans in with a great intensity, just drinking me in, tears still warbling in his eyes. We talk about school—about football—about where I sent my college apps.
“Now to the important stuff”—he gives a spontaneous grin—“girls.”
“Girls.” Mom gives an exasperated sigh. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a quick break to the ladies’ room.” She winks my way. “I’ll let you two hash this one out, man-to-man.”
“What’s going on?” Dad tilts his head, suddenly heavy with concern. “You like girls, right?”
“Yes.” I’m quick to answer. “I love girls.” I frown at him as if what’s become of me were somehow his fault. It isn’t. I take one hundred percent ownership of my douchebag moves.
“Then why the puss? With a face like that, you can land any girl you want.” He gives a dry chuckle.
“Maybe so.” I tap my fingers over the table in a quickened rhythm until the drumming causes the security guard to nod over at me, and I stop. “I love one girl in particular.”
This man who wears my face, whom I’ve missed more than he could ever know, leans in with a depth of anguish in his eyes for me. “Tell me everything.”
And I do. In the span of minutes, I’ve laid it all out for him, from that day in the shopping mall to last week in class.
“Geez.” He wipes his face down and comes up smiling. “I do miss you.” He laughs a bit. “You’ve fucked up.”
“Yes, I have.”
“So, you know what you have to do.”
“No.” I shake my head, incredulous. “I do not know what I have to do. And if you have any idea of what comes next, please spit it out. I can’t take another second of this.”
“You have to make her listen. Tell her everything, and once you start, don’t stop. You don’t get too many chances. And if you let too much time drift by, you might find her in someone else’s arms, and by then…” His voice trails off as he searches the concrete floor for what comes next.
“And then she’s remarried, and someone else is raising your kid.” I say it low, mostly to myself. Who knew my father’s own life story would prove to be a cautionary tale for mine?
Mom comes back, and we finish up our visit.
“I’ll come back, I promise,” I say as we engage in a lengthy, much overdue hug. “I’ll be eighteen next January. I can come on my own.”
“You may not have to.” He pulls back and looks to Mom. “You didn’t tell him?”
“I thought I’d let you do the honors. That’s why I brought him in the first place.”
“I’m up for parole next week. If all goes well, I’ll be back in your neck of the woods before Christmas.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” He offers up a firm pat to my back, his dimples dipping in much like my own. “I’ve got a friend in San Ramos who’s taking me in until I can pull myself up by my boot straps.”
Mom nods. “Wayne is determined to get you some work. You’ll be up again in no time.” She pats his shirt as if she were dusting him off. “And you’ll be a success, too!”
He looks my way with a wistful smile. “I’m already a success. I’ve got you two in my corner.”
Corey Hart’s “Never Surrender” comes over the speakers, and he points up and gives a dull laugh. “You know sometimes in life the right song comes on at just the right time.”
“You think it’s a sign?”
“I know it is, kid.” He pulls me in once again. “Never surrender.”
Once we get back in Glen Heights, I’m so hopped up I jump into my car and head for Heather’s. There’s not a lot that can keep me from talking to her now. I have to let her know how I feel. How I royally fucked things up for the two of us. I drive straight over to her house and willingly take my life and the safety of my nose in my hands as I walk up her porch. I’d be lying if I didn’t say her brothers scared me just a little.
After a few brisk knocks, Ms. Knowles answers, and I’m relieved to see her friendly face.
“Hi, Russell.” Her voice pulls in a downward drawl as her eyes fill with grief for me and all the trouble I’ve caused. I’ve already personally apologized to Ms. Knowles last week when she showed up at the house. I didn’t feel right going into detail. I thought, in the least, Heather should hear those terrible details first.
“She’s not here,” she says before I can ask. “She’s at Dancing Waters watching Seth’s band.”
“Thank you.” I jog backward, nearly eating it in her flower garden. “I really appreciate you telling me this!”
“I hope you find her. I hope you can clear the air!” She gives a brief wave as I speed all the way down to Dancing Waters.
Dancing Waters is loud, buzzing with energy, and is packed with people. The Sex Machine is up on stage doing their thing while a sea of bodies down below thrash and pump their fists in the air. They’re doing a cover of The Ramones’ “Beat on the Brat,” and I can’t help but feel as if it’s prophetic—me being the brat, of course.
I spot Heather in the corner with Kurt on one side and Jennifer Barkley on the other. Heather is so beautiful. She literally knocks the air from my lungs. Here it is, my big moment. Why do I get the feeling I should prepare to have my ass handed to me again by her brothers?
Jennifer whispers something into Heather’s ear, and she cranes her neck until she spots me. Crap. I give a little wave, and Heather corks up and makes a beeline for the stage. Only she’s not getting on it. She grips a familiar looking tall dude by the T-shirt and pulls him in—for a second I think she’s going to drag him over to beat the shit out of me, or in the least start thrashing around with him in an effort to make me jealous, but she does one better, something that in my wildest dreams I wouldn’t have imagined, something I n
ever wanted to see. Heather presses his head to hers until they’re engaged in a never-ending lip lock. There she is, the girl of my dreams, kissing some other dude. For all I know, that’s her new boyfriend.
My adrenaline kicks in, and instantly I want to jet over and kick the living crap out of him, but that kiss doesn’t seem to end. In fact, it only grows with intensity. My feet pivot, and I take off back to Glen Heights.
Joe Jackson’s “Is She Really Going Out with Him?” comes on over the radio, and I shake my head.
“That’s what I’d like to know, Joe. That is what I would like to know.”
8
You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)
Heather
I can only remember one time when somebody called me at work, and that was last year, when Grant, my day manager, was still groping my behind, while I worked at the Orange Julius. Honestly, when they said the phone was for me this afternoon, for a fleeting moment, I thought it might be Russell. Something in me craves to hear his voice, to see his lips move. Sometimes I just plain miss his lips. But it wasn’t Russell waiting for me on the other end, it wasn’t my sister Jill like it was last summer when she needed me to buy some more of those “maxi pads with wings,” and thankfully, it wasn’t Slam. It was Jennifer.
Odd, I know. She wouldn’t tell me what she wanted specifically, just that there was an emergency meeting at Melissa’s as soon as I got off work, and that there was no way in hell I was getting out of it. I thought it was strange for several reasons. One, I had just spent the night at her house, so what more could there be to say? And two, Jennifer rarely peppers her words with expletives. At the most, she spells out that infernal location by way of H-E-double hockey sticks, so already I know this is something big.
Seth’s buddy managed an early Christmas miracle for me and got some giddy up back in I Think I Can, so at least my December is off to a decent start. As I sputter my way to Melissa’s, a million horrid thoughts run through my mind.
“So, what do you think is going on?” I ask as Melissa and we settle ourselves on her bed.
“No clue.” She turns on the boom box Joel gave her for her birthday last year. Joel is sweet and kind and would never in a million years take Amanda Prescott to the video store, let alone a cotillion.
Melissa tunes the radio to KROQ, and the Pet Shop Boys “Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots of Money)” warbles through the speakers while we cherry pick through the latest issues of Tiger Beat, Teen, Young Miss, and Seventeen.
“Do you think Russ knocked up Amanda Prescott?” That would be my most horrific nightmare, I’ll admit.
“What?” Melissa smacks my arm for even saying those words out loud.
“It’s probably something ridiculously not serious like the fact Express is having a two-for-one sweater sale.”
“True.” My entire body relaxes. “Jennifer does like to shop. But she’s usually not this dramatic. She called me at work.” It’s unprecedented behavior even for our shared best friend.
“So like I heard about the kiss with Slam.” Melissa’s expression sours. “Like what’s up with that?”
Melissa has her hair up in a high ponytail with three different scrunchies—purple, pink, and blue. It’s a cute look on her, but then, most looks are.
“It was stupid.” I cringe at the memory. “I apologized to him afterwards and explained that I was trying to make someone else insane. He said he figured it was something like that. He did say he enjoyed it, though, and that he’d be happy to oblige anytime. I thanked him for all the flowers he’s sent, and told him that I think we’re better off as friends. He and every other male I ever meet.” Tears cloud my vision, and I’m quick to blink them away.
Alison Moyet’s “Invisible” comes on, and I strum a weak laugh.
“That pretty much sums up how I feel these days.”
Jennifer pops in like a bolt of lightning. A thick layer of Poison perfume, or at least a knock-off version, encapsulates us in its thick sweat tea scent. It’s nice to know she’s giving Babe a break.
“What is it?” Melissa pulls her to the bed and seals the door behind her.
“You okay?” Jennifer asks sternly, still out of breath.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just telling Melissa that I feel invisible myself these days, but, like hey, that’s my life, right?”
“Not for long.” Her eyes round out in horror.
“What?” I snip at her. “You’re killing me here. Did Russell take off and marry Amanda? Wait, don’t tell me—his mother is hosting some big engagement shindig down at the country club, and they’d like me to bus their dishes.” I smirk at the idea, even though I was pretty darn good at it—and had I stuck around, the tips would have been great. Although, Mom did mention that Mrs. James was kind enough to include it in her next paycheck. At least Christmas won’t suck as bad now.
“You really don’t know?” The heartbreak on Jennifer’s face is enough to clue me in on the fact this is going to be bad. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to break it to you, but my brother sort of brought this to my attention.”
“Your brother?” Jennifer’s brother Mark is a total degenerate-stoner-cokehead who was held back a year, and now he’s a senior just like his little sis with the exception he’s attending Cooperton, a reform school in south San Ramos. I take a deep breath. “Okay, what lies has Amanda spread about me now? They have to be pretty bad if they’ve infiltrated Cooper.”
She shakes her head just a little. Her eyes sparkle with fresh tears. From her jacket she pulls out a magazine. On the back there’s an ad of a guy on a bike smoking a cigarette.
“He like showed this to me right after you left.” She lands the December issue of Motor Grinder on my lap, and I know.
“What’s this?” Melissa attempts to pick it up, but I’m quick to snatch it away.
“Oh my God.” I close my eyes tight. “How is every facet of my senior year turning to shit so quickly?” A sharp wail comes from me.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jennifer clasps onto my wrist. “Just why?”
Melissa lets out a frenzied cry. “Why didn’t she tell us what? Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ll do you one better.” My chest rattles as I let out my next breath. “I’ll show you.” I flip it straight to the middle, and there I am, in all of my scantily clad glory for the free world to see.
“Oh, Heather!” Melissa grabs it from me and slaps it to her chest. “What in the world possessed you?”
“Why would you do this?” Jennifer shakes her head in distress. It’s clear I’ve disappointed everyone in the room, including myself.
“Please don’t tell anyone.” A lone tear sails down my cheek as I gingerly remove the magazine from Melissa’s grip. “I couldn’t afford that damn car. And when Dusty presented me with the opportunity—I thought it was a pretty good deal at the time.” I lay the picture out before us once again.
“If it’s any consolation, you look great.” Jennifer sniffs. “Mark even asked if he could put it up over his bed. Of course, I said hell no.”
We share a little laugh. Just hearing that word come from her innocent mouth sounds wrong.
“I should have said hell no.” I fold the magazine up again. “In fact, that should be my new mantra in life.”
“What are we going to do?” Melissa asks through tears of her own.
“The only thing we can do.” I shrug. “Hope to God no one notices.”
And no one does seem to notice. The next week at school the atmosphere is celebratory and totally laid-back as we head into Christmas break. The office is letting the seniors play DJ for the last few minutes of every period, two songs a piece per tradition at Glen Heights. I’ve managed to keep my nose in a book during each class that I have with Russell with the exception of a few whispery moments with Melissa in Mr. Sardona’s that I hinted at the unspeakable things I’m doing with Slam now that we’re back together. Of course, I’m not really with Slam. The whisper-f
est is purely for Russell’s insanity-making benefit. Just watching his ears peak red with what I’m hoping is rage is worth spilling a white lie or two.
Toward the end of yearbook, right in the middle of Jeff’s “totally tubular, rad” story—which he has an entire legion of, come to find out—Amanda struts over, bearing her cleavage in poor Jeff’s stoned face as if he cared. And judging by the way he’s perked right up, he might care a little.
“Tess and I have the turntable this hour.” She shrugs with a coy smile curling up her heavily frosted lips. “I like want to let you know I’ll be playing a song just for you.” She bops her finger in my direction before she and Tess head out, even though their time at the “turntable” doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes.
“Good riddance,” I whisper.
Mr. Preston comes over and lands a sheet of paper on my desk before motioning to someone in the back, and within a second I’m surrounded by Russell’s warm cologne. If it’s possible to bawl at the scent of a cologne, I think it’s an art I’m perfecting.
“The Best Of list from the class of 1986 has arrived.” He looks over the rim of his glasses at the two of us. “Congratulations, I see you’re the happy couple.”
I snatch the paper and turn it around. Sure enough, there it is in black and white.
“Best Couple, Russell James and Heather Knowles.” A feeble laugh rattles through me. “Well, there you go.” I push it away. “You and your girlfriend sure got me again. I’m just heartbroken over it.” I might be, but, for now, those words were dispensed with the aid of my sarcasm shield.
He picks up the paper and sighs. “I think our names look kind of nice together.”
My heart skips as the overhead speakers go off with a nauseating amount of feedback.
“As we head into Christmas break”—Amanda’s annoying voice comes over the mic while both she and Tess enter into a giggle fit—“we thought we’d give all of Glen Heights High a little early Christmas present. Especially you boys in yearbook.”