by L. E. DeLano
Today is my final day of this idiocy and she’s got a mani-pedi and a haircut, then a sales strategy meeting with her ‘top motivators,’ followed by a home party this evening. I get to chill out for a good, long time.
I have to say I’m kind of liking the laying on the couch and watching Netflix aspect of a five-day suspension, but I also wonder if this is going to show somewhere when it comes time for my college applications to go in. I’ve never been suspended before. Is it an addendum onto your transcript? Do college admission counselors call and talk to your high school counselor to get the real deal on you?
My logical mind tells me that’s probably not how it is, but if you ask either of my parents, it is absolute Armageddon and I have officially thrown my life away. I’m going to end up in a gutter with a needle in my arm after a hard night’s work of prostitution, begging passers-by for their pocket change all because I was clumsy enough to fall into someone.
My stomach clenches as I wallow in the misery of it all. What good is a five-day suspension anyway? I still have to do all my homework while I put up with my mother. I guess that’s the point. It’s supposed to feel like hell on earth.
Mom actually asked me last night if I want to maybe do a cyber-school. Because being home with her every single day packing boxes full of leggings and protein shakes is exactly what I want to be doing in between bouts of homework. I’d rather eat broken glass.
My phone lights up and it’s Jules.
“You know you’re livin’ the life?” She asks after I answer.
“You know it. Netflix and snack food,” I reply.
“At least Maya got suspended too.”
“She should have gotten longer. She started it.”
“Yeah, but you sent her to the emergency room.”
“Oh please,” I say. “I don’t even think she’s hurt.”
“Word around school is you guys were beating on each other with your fists and now Maya might need surgery on her foot,” she tells me. “They’re saying that you were trying to crush any hope she has of a college basketball scholarship.”
“What?”
“Somebody even said you punched Ramsey in the face.”
“Seriously? Oh my God!”
“They’re saying that new guy—”
“His name is Devon,” I interject.
“I know, I know. Everyone is saying he’s skipping school to be with you. Is he there?”
“No, he isn’t here. He’s skipping school?”
“Nobody’s seen him all week.” Jules points out. “You in at four or five tonight?”
“Neither one,” I say in a disgusted tone. “Mom says if I can’t go to school, I can’t go to work this week, either.”
“Hank’s going to have a cow.”
“He already had one, ground it up, fried it on the grill, and shoved it down my throat,” I grumble. “I’ll be lucky if I have a job when this is over.”
“You can always sell those stupid aromatherapy necklaces in your upstairs closet,” Jules adds helpfully. “Doesn’t your mom still have like, sixty boxes of them?”
“That’s an idea,” I tell her. “If I end up having to live on the streets, at least I have an income stream. Any other news?”
“That guy Josh is trying to talk to Allie B about prom.” Jules is now eating something. I can hear her mouth slurping and crunching.
“It’s not even February,” I point out.
“I know, right?”
“And Allie is a lesbian,” I add, a fact everybody in school is aware of.
“She told him that,” Jules says. “He keeps telling her she just hasn’t met the right guy.”
We say those last five words in unison.
“Men.” I say.
“So you’re back on Monday?” Jules asks around another mouthful of whatever.
“I think I could be truly happy sitting in pajama pants on a couch for the next year-and-a-half. We just need to find someplace else for my mother to live.” I answer.
“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Jules says. “It’s boring here without you.”
“I’m bored, too,” I say. “It’s like peak pandemic days all over again. Only without the paranoia.”
“If you had another week, your mom would come up with something. Remember how she was?”
I shudder at the memory of essential oils in diffusers all over the house, of forty flavors of hand sanitizer clipped to purses and shoved in pockets, and the daily handful of vitamin supplements she forced us all to choke down, thinking it would bolster our immune systems.
“Please don’t remind me,” I beg. “I used to throw all those vitamins in that shoe box under my bed.”
“Right next to the french fry stash.”
Jack used to sneak in chicken nuggets and burgers from his after-dinner junk food raids. Mom thought he was out running. He kept me stocked with french fries and I helped him by writing a couple of essays for him.
“Fun times,” I say in a flat voice. But I’m smiling at the memory.
“I gotta go pee before fourth block,” she says unceremoniously. “Later.”
“Later,” I repeat. I end the call and look at the time. What to do with the rest of my day? Despite what I told Jules, Netflix is losing its charm.
I grab my coat and fish my car keys out of my pocket. Ugh. If I drive anywhere, Mom’s going to accuse me of going to the mall or something. I leave the car keys on the counter and go for a walk instead, which is a healthy step to a radiant new me, so she can’t complain if she comes home early for some bizarre reason.
The playground is deserted, of course. I don’t know why I came over here. I guess I thought if Devon was skipping school maybe this was where he would be. But who lives their life at a playground? Me and him, but not today.
I’m going to walk around the neighborhood. Mom can’t give me too much grief over physical activity out in the sun, soaking up the Vitamin D that I didn’t get because of my refusal to drink a metaphysical mango shake this morning.
I find Willow Court, but have no idea which house. His car should be easy enough to find if I walk around the cul-de-sac. Maybe his last name is on the mailbox and I can leave him a note if he isn't there. Or not. That sounds stupid. Besides, I’d have to go home and get paper.
No car, no last name on the mailbox. I finish my tour of the street and head for home, deciding to walk the long way back by the playground again—partly because I’m kind-of looking for Devon but mostly because I really don’t want to go home yet.
I’m just about to turn the corner when a familiar powder blue Volkswagen Bug pulls up next to me.
“You ditching school?” Devon asks through the open window.
“No. Are you? They tell me you weren’t at school today. Or all week.”
“Oh they do, do they? You really shouldn’t be getting your news from They. Why weren’t you at school?”
“I’m suspended. How don’t you know that?”
“Hop in,” is all he says.
“Where are we going?”
“Does it matter?”
I checked the time on my phone. Mom has that home party to attend tonight—something about making customizable charm bracelets with empowering catchwords on artisanal clay beads. She won’t be back until at least nine or maybe even ten if they’re serving wine. Dad is on a business trip and won’t be home until the middle of next week. And I am sick of sitting around watching TV.
I open the door and slide into the seat next to him. “Any ideas?” I ask as I fasten my seat belt.
“Well,” he says thoughtfully, as if chewing the idea over in his mind. “You’ve been suspended and I’ve been out all week shoveling a steaming load of my own life. I think we can both use a break.”
“Is everything okay?”
He shrugs
. “I’m dealing.”
I want to ask him what in his life is keeping him out of school, but I get the feeling he would have told me more if he wanted me to know.
“You’re not going to ask me about the suspension?” I give him a look of mild surprise. I’m not one to pry, but he is.
“When we’re talking about you and Maya, any idiot can know that putting the two of you in a room after school and making you talk to each other is going to end badly. At least right now.”
I slump down into the seat. “Tell that to Mrs. Ramsey.”
“Nope. She has to slog through it for herself.”
He puts the car in gear and I glance across at him, remembering how he looked that day on the playground. His hand is out of the bandage now, but he still has scabs and bruises on his knuckles. His face looks drawn, and there are shadows under his eyes.
He’s a mystery and I don’t know him well enough to know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Today, I’m going to figure that out. I’m tired of talking about me.
14
"The movies? Really?" I raise my brows as Devon pulls into a parking space in front of the movie theater.
“Don’t you like movies?”
“I like them fine. But in the middle of the day? On a weekday?”
“I didn’t realize there was a social rule about appropriate times for movie viewing,” he says with a shrug. “I guess things are done differently in Pennsylvania than in the rest of the world.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I just don’t go to movies in the middle of the day on a weekday.”
“Because you’re in school,” he reminds me.
“Because I’m in school.”
“So this will be a whole new experience for you.” He rubs his hands together with over-exaggerated glee. “How exciting!”
“It’s not a new experience for you?”
He waves me off. “Nah. Been there done that, bought the popcorn. It’s a great little getaway.”
“You’ve spent the whole week going to movies?”
“Of course not. I also started online guitar lessons, went sledding for the first time on that hill behind the playground—hella fun—and I learned how to bake my own pita bread from a gif tutorial.”
“You did all that?”
“Yeah.”
“This week?”
“Yeah. Come on.”
What the hell, I’m still watching movies but at least I’m off the couch. “So what are we seeing?” I ask.
He holds the door open for me as we walk into the foyer and then he points up at the marquee behind the box office worker in the booth.
“Take your pick,” he says. “Doesn’t really matter.”
I give him a mildly annoyed look. “There’s nothing really good out right now.”
“Don’t I know it,” he says. “When every choice is a bad choice then one of them must be better, comparatively speaking.”
“Don’t try to share pearls of wisdom,” I advise. “You’re really not good at it.”
“Noted.”
I shake my head as I peruse the titles. “Slash and Burn doesn’t look too bad,” I say.
“Hmmm. What’s your backup?”
“Her Majesty’s Assassin might be interesting. That’s a spy movie with that chick from the superhero thing.”
“Sounds vaguely appealing,” Devon nods sagely and my face cracks into a grin. “Let’s do it.’
He pulls a wallet out and steps forward before I can reach into my coat pocket for my own wallet.
“You don’t have to—”
He waves his hand as if to tell me it’s no big deal. The girl in the ticket booth barely even looks up at him. Devon scoops up the tickets and holds the door into the concessions lobby for me.
“I can get the popcorn since you got the tickets,” I tell him.
“Damn right you’ll get the popcorn,” he replies. “It’s a lot more expensive than a couple of tickets. I’m going to want Milk Duds, too. You look like a Junior Mints kind of girl.”
I shake my head. “Sour Patch Kids.”
He points off toward a stand of candy at the far register. “They’re down there. Want to share a soda? They’re like a half gallon here.”
“I only drink diet,” I warn.
“Why?” He gives me a look up and down.
“Because all that sugar is bad for you.”
“So are all those chemicals,” he says. “That’s what diet soda is—a cup of chemicals.”
“You want water instead?”
“I’m thinking . . . slushy.”
“Sugar.” I remind him.
He puts his hands on his hips, exasperated. “I thought we were living a little today.”
He’s right. I sound like my mother. “Can we get cherry?”
“I knew we’d get along,” he says, smiling wide. “Cherry is vastly superior to Blue Raspberry.”
“It’s not even a natural flavor. There are no blue raspberries.”
“Unnatural.” He gives a mock shudder. “An abomination of a flavor.”
“It should be punishable by law.” I grin. I’m loving the banter.
I head down toward the other register to get my candy and as I’m walking back I realize he’s already ordered the popcorn and slushy and he’s telling the girl at the counter to add in my Sour Patch Kids and his Milk Duds.
I push up next to him and pull out my wallet. His hand comes over and pushes my wallet away. I put my hand on top of his to remove it from my wallet.
“I’ve got this, remember?” I tell him.
“I invited you, remember?”
“If we fight about this I will win,” I tell him. “And I will make a scene.”
He takes a step back, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. “All right, all right, you’ve got this one.”
We scoop up the popcorn and slushy, pocket our candy and make our way into the darkened interior of the theater. They haven’t started the previews yet so the typical movie ads are blaring, begging us to download apps or sign up for rewards memberships. After a few moments our eyes adjust and it’s clear that we are the only ones in the theater.
We pick seats right in the center and settle in. Devon shifts the popcorn over so that I can reach into it.
“So . . . what were you doing out and about in the neighborhood?” he asks
“I was just looking for something to do this afternoon.”
“You were looking for me.”
“I was walking.”
“You were walking around the neighborhood looking for me. Or do you always take a stroll around my cul-de-sac?”
“It’s a big neighborhood. I can walk wherever I want to walk.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
I make a face. “Okay, I was looking for you but only because Jules told me you haven’t been in school all week.”
“Hmmmm,” is all he says.
I still remember how he looked on the playground the other night and I haven’t asked him a thing about it or about himself. I feel small and petty and selfish. He’s listened to me day after day and I’ve used him shamelessly as a sounding board without giving him a chance to do the same.
“Do you—do you want to talk about it?”
He stares ahead and reaches for the popcorn again, shoving some in his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.
“I’m not sure how much to tell you.”
“It’s okay,” I say carefully. “I mean, it’s probably hard moving to a new place right in the middle of the school year. You must miss your friends a lot.”
“Yeah, I miss them.”
“And you probably had a girlfriend there, right?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Like, somebody I would take to the movies? In the
middle of the day? On a weekday?”
He caught me and I fumble to recover. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“Sure you did. And no, I didn’t leave a girl behind. I can’t imagine you’d go out with me next time if I told you I had a girlfriend in Florida.”
“Next time?”
“Do you think I’m going to leave it at one date?”
“So this is a date?”
“You don’t think it’s a date?” He’s still playful, but his eyes are wary.
“I like to be asked first.”
“I did ask. And you said yes and got in the car and here we are.”
“Here we are.”
“We’ve got six minutes until the movie starts,” he says. “That’ll give you time to decide whether this is a date or not.”
I give a nervous little laugh. “No pressure, right?”
He turns in his seat so he can face me more fully. “So you decided to come with me today—why, exactly?” He asks. “Are you completely against this being the start of something? Maybe something great for both of us?”
I stare at him like a deer in headlights.
“It’s okay,” he says, sitting back and taking a drink of slushy. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You don’t have to give me an answer. Let’s just enjoy the movie.”
“I’m not trying to say I wouldn’t date you,” I tell him. “It’s just—with everything going on at school and all—”
“I know what it’s like to have a complicated life.” He takes another long pull of the slushy. “Maybe a complicated life is easier when you’ve got somebody you can escape with.”
I hold his gaze. “Maybe it is.”
“I want you to know—aaaugh!” He suddenly grabs his head in both hands, crunching his palms into his temples as his eyes screw up tight.
“Devon! Are you okay?”
“Brain freeze,” he grinds out, rocking back and forth in his chair.
I sock him on the shoulder. “Jerk! I thought you were going to tell me you had a brain tumor or something.”
“I might have one after that,” he says, rubbing gingerly at his temples. “That was a bad one.”
He reaches for the slushy again and I shake my head as he takes another pull.
“The trick is—” He hands me the popcorn and sets his drink in the cup holder. Then he shoves both thumbs into his mouth and presses them up, behind his front teeth. “To warm up the roofth of your moufth.”
