by Tracy Bilen
“Glad to hear it. And just so you know, Mr. Maloy, I have a blank e-mail open on my computer already addressed to your coach.”
Robertson starts his lecture. Alex inches closer to me until our desks are nearly touching. He appears to be paying attention and taking good notes. What he’s actually doing is writing me notes. He writes a sentence or two, then rests his pencil on his chin and slides the notebook toward me. He also volunteers to answer approximately every fifth question and gets most of them right, so I think that’s why Robertson doesn’t say anything about our desks. I don’t learn a thing about World War I that period, but I do learn a lot about Alex, such as the name of his pet iguana (Fred), his favorite foods (chicken pot pie, Cool Ranch Doritos, and Mr. Goodbar), and his greatest fear (quicksand).
That last one I don’t quite believe.
“Quicksand?” I say once Robertson stops talking and tells us to start on our homework.
“Okay, so I made that one up. But wouldn’t it be cool to actually see quicksand?”
“Try floating.”
“Huh?”
“If you’re ever trapped in quicksand, try floating on your back. That’s what it says in my Worst-Case Scenario guidebook.”
Alex laughs. “And why, exactly, do you have a copy of that?”
“Remember when that woman drove her car into the Detroit River? On the news afterward, they showed how to get out of a sinking car, only I couldn’t remember everything they said, so I got the book.”
“We’re kind of far from the Detroit River, if you haven’t noticed.”
“But not that far from the Au Sable.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that one. Still—”
“Be sure to roll your windows down as soon as you hit the water.”
He snorts. “Thanks for the advice. I think you’ve been reading a little too much Stephen King.”
If only he knew. There’s nothing in my guidebook that can help me find my mother.
When the bell rings, Alex reaches over and picks up my backpack. “Allow me,” he says.
I’m about to object, but I then I see that all he brought to class was his notebook and pen. “Thanks.”
Alex walks me to the front door of the school, then hands me my backpack and says, “Pick you up at the Dairy Dream.” He tears off down the hall before I can answer.
I don’t really think my mom will be at the Dairy Dream today, but I decide to be there anyhow, just in case. Zach offered to bring me lunch again.
I push open the outside door of the school and follow the procession to the Dairy Dream.
“Hey, Sara.”
I turn around. It’s Lauren. I wait for her to catch up. “Everything go okay with that phone call?”
“Yeah, thanks a lot.”
“No problem.” She smiles. “By the way, there’s a Keith Urban concert next month by Detroit. Jay said he’d take us if you want to go.”
“I didn’t know your brother likes country music,” I say, shaking my head in surprise.
“Oh, he doesn’t. But he owes me one.”
“That poor boy is always owing you one.”
“And that’s exactly the way I like it.” We both laugh.
“Well in that case, sure. It sounds great. Look, I know I’ve been kind of in my own little world lately—”
Lauren puts her arm around me. “No explanation necessary.” Her voice wavers. “I thought maybe you blamed me. You know. For Matt.”
“What? No, of course not.”
“I mean, if you had gone home instead of—”
“That’s my fault, Lauren, not yours.” I shake my head to chase away the memories. “So, where are you off to?”
“The minimart.” She lowers her voice. “Womanly needs. I forgot to put something in my purse this morning. I can be kind of absentminded sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
She gives me a little shove. “And where are you off to?”
“The Dairy Dream.”
“Alone?” She gets little worry wrinkles on her forehead.
“No, I’m meeting Zach.”
“Oh. Are you guys dating?” she asks.
“No, we’ve just been hanging out a lot since—”
“Oh, good.” She seems flustered. “What I meant was, I know someone who’s kind of interested in Zach, so I was just wondering.”
“Really? Who is it?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything. I mean, I don’t know if she wants anyone to know.”
“Yeah, sure,” I say. “No problem.”
“Well, see you around. Give me a call.”
“Will do.” I wave as she veers off toward the minimart.
Although Mom’s car isn’t in the parking lot at the Dairy Dream, I’m feeling slightly less depressed thanks to Lauren and Alex and the sunny weather, so I get in the line for a cone. It seems as though half the high school is there, so it takes a while to get to the front of the line. Just as I’m about to place my order, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Having dessert first? I’ve got a tasty chicken sandwich here for you.”
I spin around. It’s Alex. I crinkle my eyebrows in confusion.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” he says to the Dairy Dream girl, handing her a five.
“Two chocolate cones, then, please.”
“Ooh, I see we’re living wildly. Are you sure you can trust me not to crash into you with it?”
“I have more important things to worry about,” I say, doing a bad job of sounding light-hearted.
“Hmm. Is that why Zach said, ‘She told you about it?’ when I said I’d bring you lunch?”
The Dairy Dream girl hands us our cones, which we take over to “our” picnic bench. I sit first, facing the street. Alex sits on the same side, close enough so that his elbow sometimes brushes my arm as he eats. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I kind of like it.
“You’ve been doing that a lot, you know.”
“What’s that?”
“Twirling your ponytail. Don’t worry. It’s part of what makes you attractive.”
Great. My nervous habit is part of my charm. What will happen when my life is back in control?
“That splash of freckles on your nose is cute too.”
There’s a light breeze. A strand of hair that had come loose from my ponytail falls across my cheek.
“Do you ever wear your hair down?”
I think about it. My ponytail has become a bit of a security blanket. “No, I guess not.” I crunch my last bit of cone. “But I can.” I reach up and pull out the hair band.
“Nice,” says Alex.
I try to focus on the street. Where is she?
“Now that we’ve finished dessert, would you like to try the main course?” He pulls chicken sandwiches and chocolate milk from his backpack.
“Chocolate milk?” I laugh. “I haven’t had that in ages.”
Alex looks sheepish. “I have it at least once a week. If you don’t like it, though, I can get you something from here.”
“No, no. It’s great. When we were kids, every time we used to visit our grandparents in Delaware, they would buy chocolate milk for us. The first thing Matt would do when he got out of the car was give Grandma a hug and ask if she had bought chocolate milk.”
“You must miss him a lot.” Alex traces a finger through my hair.
“Yeah, I do.” I take a swig of the milk. “You’re right. This stuff is pretty good.”
After we finish our sandwiches and milk, Alex and I take our wrappers over to the trash can. “So, ready for math?”
“What about that bike ride?”
Alex takes an exaggerated step backward. “What? You’re going to skip algebra for something as frivolous as biking with a guy who thinks you’re more fascinating than a geometry proof?”
“I’m thinking I might have liked the jock version of that compliment better than the nerd version. Let’s go.”
Alex takes my hand and we walk to the sidewalk.
“That wouldn’t happen to be your car parked there on the street, would it?”
“Why, yes it is. Don’t worry. I cleaned it this time.”
Alex holds the door open for me.
“Ooh. Air freshener. Nice touch.”
“Watch my next trick as I adhere to the speed limit in downtown Scottsfield.”
Shit. I’d forgotten to look around to see if wolf-eyed Jack Reynolds was lurking about. All I need is for him to see me in a car with Alex during school hours. I quickly lean over and pretend to tie my shoe.
At Alex’s house, he produces two mountain bikes in excellent condition. “This one’s my mom’s,” he says, handing me a purple bike and a helmet. Alex’s house is even more remote than mine. At least there won’t be anyone to notice a couple of teenagers who should be in school. We pedal down the driveway and onto a dirt road. Since there’s no traffic, we ride next to each other.
“Your mom won’t mind that I’m borrowing her bike?”
“Oh no, my mom won’t mind at all about the bike. It’s the skipping classes that she has a problem with.”
“So why do you do it? You never used to cut classes. Not that I noticed.” I switch gears as we come to a hill.
Alex stares straight ahead. “What did Zach mean when he asked if you’d told me what’s going on?”
“Do you always answer a question with a question?” I’m really starting to fall hard for Alex but I don’t want to drag him into the mess I’m in. I also can’t say much without bursting into tears. “It’s no big deal. Just something I have to take care of.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with that little bruise on the side of your face, would it?”
I thought that I had covered that with makeup.
“No, of course not,” I say too quickly. That’s just from when Dad pushed me into a wall because I’d taken his cigarettes. I try to laugh. It sounds more like a hyena. Alex looks at me and frowns but doesn’t say anything more.
We pass my favorite kind of tree, a weeping willow. I like it because it makes me feel both sad and happy at the same time. At my grandparents’ house, Matt was always climbing their weeping willow. On the days that I believe in heaven I imagine him lying on a branch near the top with one knee bent, arms under his head. I’m always on the ground, looking up, wishing I had the courage to climb. And the courage to stand up to Dad.
“I lied,” Alex says as he looks at the pictures on the wall of our living room.
“What?”
“About the Smooth Seventies CD. It’s mine, not my mom’s.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you just say so?”
He shrugs, looking sheepish. “I guess I was trying to impress you.”
“You should have admitted it, then. I learned to play piano with seventies music. It kind of grows on you. Thanks for driving me home. And for the bike ride. It felt good to get away from things.”
“No problem. You sure have a lot of train pictures around this place. Kind of cool.”
“Yeah, well, my dad’s really into trains.”
“Play me something?” he asks, gesturing at our piano.
“Don’t you have football practice?”
“I can be a little late,” he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
I play “Wildfire.” When I finish, Alex comes up behind me and rubs my shoulders. He plays with my hair, which is still free from its ponytail. Then he sits down next to me on the piano bench.
“You look really pretty today,” he says. My heart taps happily, like a snare drum.
Alex moves his face closer to mine. His lips brush my lips ever so slightly. What am I doing? I’m going to be leaving any day now. I shouldn’t be leading him on, I should be finding my mom. I make up my mind to walk him to the door. Then Alex rubs his face gently against mine. I like the rough feel of his stubble and the musky smell of his aftershave. He kisses me longer and deeper. I want more.
I’m not quite sure how it happens, but we end up facing each other, chest to chest, pressed tightly together, my legs on top of his, kissing intensely, my whole body tingling. The piano bench is uncomfortable but I don’t want to move, because I don’t want this to stop. Not now. Not ever.
The phone rings. Maybe it’s my mom. We keep kissing. It rings again. I have to get it. I kiss him one more time, then I get up and answer the phone. Alex follows me and winds his arms around my waist.
It’s my dad. Oh God. He doesn’t know that Alex is here, does he? I feel ice-cold. I look up at Alex and put my finger to my lips.
“Is your brother home?”
What is the right answer? What if I say yes and then he wants me to put Matt on the line? What then? Can he hear Alex’s breathing?
“I think he’s outside.”
“Tell him to sweep the garage.”
“Okay, Dad.” I hang up and rest my head on Alex’s shoulder. “I’ve got to sweep the garage. What’s your stance on manual labor?”
“If it involves seeing you sweat, I’m in.”
When we get to the garage Alex says, “You’re kidding, right? The floor in this place is already clean enough to eat off. Why are we sweeping it?”
“Just following orders,” I say. “My dad likes to have the garage swept out every week whether it needs it or not.”
We finish sweeping and go back to the living room, picking up where we left off. I want to take him to my room, but then I would have to explain about the stuffed dog on my bed. Besides, I’m not that kind of girl, even if I want to be right now. After five minutes, or maybe thirty, the bird in our cuckoo clock sings five. Normally I like the bird, although today I’m mad at it for interrupting. Alex pulls away.
“I suppose I should be going,” he says.
“Right.” My lips still tingle. “My dad will be home soon. I take it you missed football practice.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll probably have to do wind sprints for a week. Maybe two. But it was worth it.” He kisses me on the nose.
I walk him to the door but I don’t watch as he drives away. I don’t want to see him go. It would make me feel even more alone. I sit down on the piano bench, blushing as I think about what we did here. I pick out the notes to “Wildfire,” close my eyes, and try to imagine that Alex is still here with me.
I get a carrot for Chester, wondering how many more times I’ll be able to do this.
“Hey there, little—”
Chester limps toward me from across the field. As he reaches the fence I see that his leg is swollen.
“It’s not getting any better, is it?” I say, rubbing the side of his head. I offer him my carrot. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get to a vet,” I promise. “Once you get some medicine, I bet you’ll be as good as new.”
Chester nudges my shoulder.
I pull out my cell. Even though I’m sure that Mr. Jenkins is home by now, he doesn’t pick up. I leave a message.
“Hi, Mr. Jenkins? This is Sara, your neighbor. I just wanted to let you know that Chester’s been limping pretty badly. I really think you should—you really need to get a vet out here to take a look at him. And get him some medicine.”
I rub Chester on the nose and feed him another carrot. “Well, I did it. I called.” I wish I could say I thought it was going to do any good.
Chester crunches the last bit of his carrot and limps away.
I go back inside, my heart heavy.
In the living room, I turn on The Winds of Change.
Julia starts to remember her real husband, Robert. This is it! She’s going to break free from Ramón! I give a cheer. A quiet one, so as not to disturb my dad. Only instead of escaping, instead of running far, far away, Julia tells Ramón about the memory. He just laughs and says she’s thinking about an old movie they once saw together. Somehow she believes him and she stays.
I wonder how long it will take for Julia to figure out that she needs to go. To get away from Ramón. I hope it doesn’t take her as long as it took my mom. Because if it does �
�
It might turn out to be too late.
CHAPTER 7
Friday
The next morning the birds wake me up before my alarm. I open my closet and look through my clothes until I find the two shirts that still have tags on them. I bought them a few weeks before, at the Brookton Mall. It’s not much of a mall. It’s got a Sears and a Dollar Store and a dozen or so stores in between, including Zone, the only clothing store that carries anything remotely interesting. This is Mom and me at the mall:
Mom: “This would look cute on you.”
Me: “It’s a turtleneck.”
Mom: “It’ll keep you warm.”
Me: “I’ll feel like I’m choking.” Translation: I’ll never get another date.
Me (again): “Check out this purple one.”
Mom: [Face all scrunched up.] Translation: It’ll show off too much of your boobs.
Me: [Twirling my ponytail.] Exactly. I can wear the turtleneck under it. Kind of a layered look. Then I can take the turtleneck off in the bathroom when I get to school.
Mom: [Big smile.] “Perfect!”
I have these weird thoughts, like maybe if I wear that turtleneck, my mom will know and she’ll come back to get me.
I have the shirt partway off the hanger, then I stop. I will not succumb to superstition. Mom’s finding us a new place to live. She’ll be back as soon as she can. No gimmick is going to bring her home any faster. Meanwhile, Alex would definitely prefer the purple one. I yank the tags off and pull it over my head.
Down in the kitchen, my dad is eating his cereal and reading a book called Surviving Alaska. Dad loves wilderness adventure stories. I pretend to read The Catcher in the Rye for English class. I’ve been meaning to read it for a while now. Today I get as far as the dedication page. Then I give up, open to a random page, and daydream.
Okay, I think about Alex. About passing notes, eating ice cream, and kissing in the living room. Mainly about kissing in the living room.
Then my dad’s voice interrupts: “He should have lost that weight. Ten pounds doesn’t seem like much, but pretty soon it can turn into twenty.”
Not again. Dad looks to me to absolve him of what he said to Matt the week before he died.
