by Sheri Duff
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The buzzer on my phone jolts me awake. It’s dark but warm. I grab my phone and look at the time. I don’t need to look to see who’s texting me, since I changed my father’s ring tone to an alarm sound.
Text from my father, 7:14: Where are you?
Not telling.
Text from my father, 7:29: I’m not mad anymore
Good for you.
I fall back to sleep.
The wind wakes me several times throughout the night. Each time I want to go back to my dad’s house but I don’t. I will not be the one to give in. Not this time.
The sun wakes me this time and I look at the clock, realizing that I’ve more than overslept. Shit! Wash face, brush hair and teeth at the same time with two different brushes. Shit! At the same time I slap foundation on my face, I search in my closet for something to wear. Mascara is applied in front of the mirror only because my mother would kill me if I applied it while driving. I don’t care that she’s in London, she’ll find out somehow if I do it.
My car is parked in a two-car garage that is missing all traces of a man’s presence. Which means the tools and random beer signs are gone. My mother has replaced them with personalized signs. One has a pig in the middle of a circle with a slash through it. Another sign states, “MY GARAGE, MY RULES!” And the last sign reads, “I want my own personal space.” This is where my mom shows her passive-aggressive hate toward my father. I love the garage.
I’ve missed too much of my first class to try and get to school without taking a hit on my attendance. There’s no way my mom will excuse this, and I won’t ask my dad for anything. At least I can still hit Pollywog’s and buy a latte without arriving late to my second class. I tap the garage door opener in my car. Nothing. The garage won’t open. I push it harder. Sting. It’s my father’s garage opener.
I pull out the correct device from my glove box and push the button. The garage opens easily. I release the brake and let gravity roll the car out slowly.
I don’t count on Lily. She’s sitting on the stairs of my front porch wearing flared jeans with peach flats that match her faux cardigan. The scarf that’s looped around her neck ties the colors of her jeans, the sweater, and the white cami underneath with a splash of red. She’s skimming through something on her e-reader. The sun shines and the south wind brings in the warmth to the morning. I roll down my window. Lily doesn’t look up. Instead she lifts her mug and sips her coffee while reading.
My choices: I can take off and pretend I don’t see her, or I can stop and step out of the car. I choose the latter. Not that I have a choice. My mom always gives me choices, or what she calls choices: choice A, clean your room, or choice B, she’d clean my room. This would mean that she would decide what stayed and what went. I chose A. Choice A, you can complete your homework, or choice B, my mom would take my phone away. That was a no brainer. I chose A. Choice A, you can find a job over the summer, or choice B, she would find fun and exciting work for me to do around the house. Her idea of fun would include cleaning tile with a toothbrush, pulling weeds, deep-cleaning the kitchen. I chose A, which also gave me Gaby. Choice B is never really a choice—not a good choice anyway.
So seeing Lily sitting on my porch made my decision/choice obvious. I put the car in park and walk over to her. Lily still doesn’t look up from the tablet. She hands me the extra cup that hides behind her. She pats her hand on the cement. What she means is: Choice A, you can sit next to me, or choice B, you can sit next to me. I sit. My mom would love Lily.
“Everyone’s worried about you,” Lily says.
“Doubt that.” I sip the latte. It’s perfect. I can tell Josh made it and it’s made with whole milk.
“Your dad is, but I told Alicia to let him stew for a while. He probably deserves it.” She closes the cover on her tablet and looks at me. His smile is contagious and I can’t help but relax. Yet I wonder…is this a trick?
Lily looks at her watch, “I gotta run. Have a good day at school.” Just like her brother. There one minute, gone the next.
After a grueling day at school because I didn’t get much sleep, because the wind kept me up all night, I swore I heard the front door open and I worried about my dog; I’m ready to take on my father. I work my way down the steps toward the commons.
“Good luck.” Natalie stops and hugs me through the railing that divides us. Then she shoves her way up the stairs through the thick crowd. “Call me.”
It’s a maze trying to find a way out of school at the end of the day. Freshman hurry toward their lockers to get to the bus in time. It’s nice having a car and not having to worry about the bus thing. I scan the area for my father. My predictable father is MIA. He’s always at the bottom of the stairs at three p.m. sharp, hurrying the players to the weight room military style. I step off to the side and set my books down and retie my shoes.
Andrew pretends to trip over me.
“So how’s the thing with the redhead?” I ask.
“Gingers.” He shakes his head. “They’re complicated.”
“Did you break up?” I ask.
“No, we’re good. She’s just…” He pulls his Mesa University cap off and places it back onto his head backwards. “A pain in my shitake sometimes.”
“Have you seen my dad?” I look around.
“No, but his truck’s here, which means I better get my shitake in gear. I don’t need extra laps today.” Andrew head tilts back. “See ya.”
“Hey, can I have the top off your tea?” Andrew tosses it back my way without looking.
Fact: “Porcupines float in water.”
That’s stupid. I plant my butt on the stairs. I can feel the aquatics forcing their way out and my throat feels like I’ve got strep. I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I’m supposed to not care, remember? My father may not like public conformations unless it’s football related—but he always makes an appearance to show that he’s in control of the situation. He really doesn’t give a shit.
“Hey,” a voice says in that sweet drawl. I look up and of course it’s Jack. I finally see him and the waterworks have started again and I’m sure the mascara has started to run. He probably thinks I’m a complete drama queen since he always catches me crying.
“Are you okay?” He leans down and is about to sit next to me. God, I love the way he smells. I never thought cinnamon and coconut would smell so good together.
I can’t let him sit down. He can’t be late for practice because of me. “Go.” I point. “You’ll get extra laps.”
He hesitates at first, but I keep my finger pointed toward the weight room.
I stand and walk toward the student parking lot. I give up on my dad. He’s probably already inside the gym blowing that stupid whistle.
And when I think the day can’t get any worse, Sidney finds me in the parking lot. “So you know, we’re talking more,” she says, keeping her pace so she is right next to me. Gone are the tiny steps, gone are the tiny shakes. Her only goal is to make her point, even if it means losing what she thinks is her signature walk. The guys like it because her boobs jiggle but they also make fun of her when she does it. I keep moving.
“Jack and I. We’re talking more. Rumor has it he’s going to ask me to homecoming. So you know.”
I yank open the door to my car, pitch my pack onto the passenger’s seat, and climb in. I slam the door. She stands outside my window. What does she think, I’ll roll it down? I need air. I shove my key in the ignition and rev the engine. This frightens her and she steps back. I look at her and smile—okay, I smirk, snicker, and leer. She’s not amused and I don’t care. I rev the engine one last time, then put it in drive and slowly drive away. I’m not stupid. The security guard is sitting at the end of the lot in his car. A ticket from him would get me front-row seating on the bus with the loud freshman. No thank you.
