The Taming of the Drew

by Gurley, Jan

  “Well, Kate,” said the mom, “Can I call you Kate?” I nodded dumbly. “I want to tell you that I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with such natural style at this school. Well, certainly not at this pod.”

  There was a titter of laughter that dwindled away, like a sink draining. For a moment, my eyes again threatened to fill with tears before I realized the mom wasn’t being sarcastic. She wasn’t mocking me. She was actually serious.

  She reached out and rubbed a finger over the shoulder of my dress, “You know that’s a Chanel, right?”

  “It didn’t have a tag,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

  A gasp behind me — I couldn’t tell if it was horror at the fact that I had a Chanel, or disbelief that I admitted to having no tag in my dress.

  But the woman continued, like it was just the two of us talking. “I’m not a bit surprised. Vintage couture often doesn’t. You’re just supposed to know.” She leaned forward to stare at my scuffed Kmart striped ballet flats, waving a heavy-ringed index finger at them. “And that’s a great touch. Updates the whole outfit, and gives it a bit of teenage fun.” There was a warm, raspy quality to her voice that sharpened at her next words, “Andrew, aren’t you going to buy your friend a drink? I know she’s thirsty.”

  Squirming, indignant anger hung in the air, frustrated and growing. When the Dog didn’t answer the question, tense silence stretched and stretched until I swear I could hear my own heart beat in my ears. Or maybe that was the da-dum of the music's bass beat, pounding from the gym full of Uni students behind us. I didn’t dare turn around and look at him. Or the others.

  “We’re leaving for a party at Steve’s, Mrs. Snyder,” he said.

  The news hit me like a punch to the gut. The “spontaneous” University after-parties were known school-wide as the place where true badness occurred. If the Dog went to this party, there was a good chance I’d fail at my job, almost the minute I started. Parties usually were located at a neglectful or absent parent’s home. Booze flowed, drugs were often present, and all too often the police arrived before the party was over — if not for the noise, then for the property damage.

  “Oh, well then,” Mrs. Snyder said as she shoved and stacked three chilled four-packs of natural-pear-flavored sodas into my arms. “Take these along and Steve’s mom can settle up later.”

  “But…” I didn’t know what to say. A silent chill from the crowd pushed against me until I’d have sworn the cold glass bottles felt warm in comparison.

  She peered, not at me, but in the Dog’s direction, behind my right shoulder, “Surely you’re all going, aren’t you?” Tio let out a high and nearly inaudible bat-frequency squeak.

  Mrs. Snyder popped open her iPhone and seemed oblivious to the stunned circle of teen faces above her as she said, “I’ll text all your moms to let them know what’s up. Except yours, Kate, and…who are you?” she asked Tio.

  “Tio,” he blurted, as if that said it all.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll both have to contact your parents yourself. Probably you two aren’t on —” she peered again in the Dog’s direction, “— as short a leash as some people. Oh, and I heard some of you might not have cars this evening. I’ll get Victor to bring the school van around front.” She twinkled in my direction. “Besides, who wants to risk failing a breathalyzer pop-quiz?”

  By the time Mrs. Snyder herded us to the front parking lot, I knew I was in trouble. The Uni crowd around the Dog made comments and guffawed at me, even with me standing right there. To give him credit, Drew wasn’t laughing along. He walked slower and got more and more quiet — sullen or angry, I couldn’t tell which, but he obviously didn't want me along. He gave the girl on his arm a gentle push forward with his hand at the small of her back. Tottering on heels, she waved a pale-spaghetti arm at her friends ahead, stumbled, then sped up to catch them.

  I had to think of something.

  I stopped at a hall corner, blocking the way, and Tio and Drew came to a halt behind me. I said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Listen, I’m not going.”

  The Uni-kids’ conversation dwindled. One guy took the sodas without saying a word and headed to the van, popping one open and drinking it along the way. Another, the thin guy from the game who had carried the sloshing water bucket, shouted from the van, one foot inside the door, “Hey, Pit-Bull! C’mon, we don’t have all night!”

  The Dog folded his cashmere biceps and eyed me. “You don’t want to come to our party? That sounds great.” Two of the guys nearest us huh-huhhed embarrassed laughs. The girl standing with them gave a slow smile full of malice.

  I knew Drew’s comment pissed off Tio. When he gets angry, Tio vibrates in place, shifting from one foot to the other like he has to pee. “I can’t believe you said that,” Tio said, speaking from somewhere around the Dog’s waist, “There’s such a thing as having a little class, you know. Being a gentleman.” Tio turned to me, sputtering, unable to stop himself. “Why he’s a devil, a devil, a very fiend.”

  I didn’t want to risk telling Tio, in front of these Hostiles, to stop with ‘Spears. “That’s okay, Tio,” I said instead, “Maybe I’m a devil too.”

  Tio muttered, unable, in his agitation, to stop quoting, “A devil’s dam.”

  “Yeah, right,” the Dog snorted, giving Tio the ultimate guy-diss by acting like Tio didn’t even exist, like he hadn’t even said anything. “You’re a high school girl. That means whining, sneaky, manipulative.” I felt a red haze of anger color the fluorescent glare of the hallway. How dare he? And how come these girls around him didn’t say anything? Who gave him the right to spout this kind of crap, unchallenged? The Dog continued, stepping closer, “You want a fight? All I’ve seen so far is a lot of bark and no bite.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “First, it’s within my job description to remind you when you’re failing your responsibilities.” The two guys and the girl near us edged closer, faces suddenly lit with curiosity.

  Drew looked back at them and said, quiet and low, “Go on. Get in the van.” They left. Reluctantly, but they left.

  I waited until they were out of earshot to continue, “You forgot about your sister.”

  “Who the hell do you think your are, dragging Bianca into -”

  “Unh. Unh. Unh.” I interrupted, shaking an index finger no at him and then placing it against his mouth, which startled him into silence. I ignored the shaking of my stomach and the feel of his lips against the pad of my finger. Don’t show fear.

  He clenched his jaw and I removed my finger and continued. “We agreed that I may be many things, but I am not a liar. Bianca, in case you haven’t noticed — which, by the way, you haven’t — ditched her friends as soon as she got here and has been having a great time with two guys who seem pretty interested in her. She’s not my sister, but fourteen is a little young — and she’s awful pretty — to be left behind without a ride home, don’t you think?”

  He looked like my information shook him a little. But then he glanced back at the waiting van. The guys, who were watching us with interest, started chanting a “Woof! Woof! Woof!” dog-chant that got louder and louder.

  I could see the van start to rock. Mr. Snyder, at the wheel, looked a bit panicked.

  The Dog glared at me. “Don’t you worry about my sister. All I have to do is call, and mom’ll pick up Bianca.”

  I got out my cell. “Speaking of your mother, Drew.”

  He interrupted, “I said, my name is not Drew.”

  I kept going. “I owe your mom today’s report. Just so we’re clear, I intend to provide much more information than her minimum requirement. See, I’ve decided to use my twitter account to post my texts. That way she'll have an on-going record to track. It’s open to the school, or really, anyone — like, say college administrators or football recruiters — but people will only find it through word of mouth. Which means, as you can guess, since you’re something of minor local football celebrity, that it could get to be huge. Or it coul
d be a boring little navel-gazing series of tweets that no one reads. Totally depends on the content. Your choice.”

  The Dog stared at me. “You’re serious.”

  The door to the gym opened and Bianca stepped out, holding on to the arm of the old guy and laughing up at him. It was hard to tell whose head — Tio’s or the Dog’s — would blow steam out the top first.

  Tio, the Dog and I stood in a triangle, glares darted back and forth between 1) each other, 2) the van (which was now woofing, howling and rocking even harder, until Mr. Snyder appeared to be strangling the steering wheel), and 3) the gym door (where the young guy joined Bianca and the old guy). The young guy grabbed Bianca’s arm and started pulling her toward a Porsche Carrera convertible parked in the handicap spot out front. If that guy had more than a learner’s permit, I’d eat my belt.

  I flipped open my phone and Tio zoomed into trotting mode, heading for Bianca and the guys. “Who does that twerp think he is,” the Dog said, taking giant steps toward them, fist bunched.

  “Her tutor,” I said, busy typing.

  Silence made me look up. The Dog had turned. His teeth were bared and he spoke in a quiet, eerie voice. “Her what?”

  I took a step back, lowering my phone to my chest like a shield, and pushed send.

  The Dog flicked a glance down at my phone and said, with that same alien calm, “Did you just tweet about me?”

  He shoved his hands in his hair, like he had to do something to keep from exploding, turned to look at the van, then turned and looked at his sister, then turned the rest of the full circle to me. He gave a growl of frustration and I could feel my heart thumping the seconds out. One more minute, that’s all it would take. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon..

  I must have muttered it without realizing, because when Mr. Snyder snapped under the pressure (as I knew he would) and threw the van into drive, peeling out of the parking lot, taking the Dog’s posse with him, the Dog turned back to glare at me, like everything was my fault.

  You know how it’s somehow worse when your mom doesn’t actually get angry. When she, instead, has that cold, calm tone and you know she’s going to say she’s “disappointed” — and she really means it? That’s what it was like when the Dog spoke.

  “My life has gone to hell ever since you pointed that stupid camera at me. Don’t look so surprised. You can bet your Chanel ass I haven’t forgotten you broke into my locker room to take pictures of me. Oh you’re a devil’s dam, all right,” he said, mocking Tio as he repeated his words. “And now I’m the damned devil.”

  ***

  Half an hour later, Tio said, “They’re gone. Lean on my shoulder — ow — until we get to the brick wall. Now slide down and put your head between your knees.”

  I know in my heart of hearts that Tio helps me when my head gets woozy with relief because he is a true friend, but sometimes, I think he’s only doing this because his biggest fear is that I’ll topple over and crush him.

  Like a falling redwood.

  “Oh God,” I said, speaking to the concrete underneath me, “This is doomed. I’m never going to make it.”

  When I looked up at the semi-circle of Greenbacks standing over me, I could see the truth in their eyes. Mrs. Bullard had just driven off with Drew and Bianca arguing.

  I had texted Mrs. Bullard that 1) Drew was being tempted, 2) Bianca needed a ride and a guy was hitting on her, and 3) she should wait fifteen minutes before leaving to come pick them both up. And yes, everything I sent her was auto-tweeted to my twitter account.

  Thankfully, Mrs. Bullard did what I asked her to do, down to the (text) letter without asking questions.

  Which meant that Drew had no choice but to wait around for his mom, standing beside Bianca and glaring at the (now — counting Tio — three) guys drooling over her. Once his mother arrived, Drew, without a car, had no easy way to beg off and go to Steve's. All his friends had already left while Bianca's guys were drooling.

  Now, the Greenbacks were finally alone. “Without Mrs. Snyder's accidental help tonight,” I wailed, “this would've gone down in history as one enormous, gigantic, huge failure.

  “That's true,” said Tio.

  “Hey! You don't have to agree so fast.” I held my head in my hands. “Sorry. I'm just depressed. One little me — okay one tall me — cannot possibly do this. I can't even hold my own around those kids, much less somehow…I don't know…undo everything that happens around the Dog. He's like a magnet for trouble. Everyone wants to drag him away, to show him something that'll impress him. It's like a cult. The Cult of the Dog. There's no way I can fight that.”

  Helena sat down gingerly beside me.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t think you can pull this off. You can’t pull the same stunt over and over. And you can’t afford to pay both your tickets into every University function. He’s too proud to ask, but sooner or later one of the Dog’s pals is going to notice and offer to loan him money. That’s when he’ll leave you in the dust. Even more than tonight.”

  There was a long, painful silence. It was hard to hear, even though I knew it was true. And it sounded even more hopeless, when you said it out loud. I swallowed past tears. “The trees,” I said.

  “Oh no,” wailed Gonzo. “Don’t cry. I can’t stand it if you cry. Not after everything — the bruises you covered with make-up, the way you got all dressed up and no one noticed, and the way you walked right up in front of all those horrible people and faced him down.” Gonzo’s voice shook. “You can’t give up now.”

  In the silence, Phoebe said, “I could smack him around, you know.”

  We all looked at her. Robin said, “You weigh — what? — a hundred pounds?”

  Phoebe said, “Just leave me alone for a couple of months and I’ll be like a cocked and loaded gun. With the safety off.”

  Oh, God.

  “You knew?” I said.

  She smiled. “You guys are sweet. And you’re right — I do feel a lot better if I blow off steam.”

  “Why did you let us think it was a secret?”

  “Where would I be without friends to keep me sane? Where would any of us be? Besides,” she pulled out her index card, “if I’d mentioned it before, we might not have played the Uni-watching game. Why would I open my mouth and miss out on forty bucks?”

  “Hey! That’s it!” I said, “That’s the key!”

  They all stared at me. “Forty bucks?” said Alex. “I don’t think you could get the Dog to cross the street for forty bucks.”

  “Friends!” I shouted it like a eureka. “It’s your friends that keep you sane — you said it yourself, Phoebes.”

  “No way you’re going to get the Dog a friend for forty bucks,” Viola said. “I’m pretty sure even prostitutes cost more.”

  Shocked silence.

  “Come on, give me a hand up,” I said, “I’ll explain on the way home.” The night had been a near-disaster, but we’d survived, barely, and now I had this idea, this ray of tiny hope. If I could somehow change the Dog’s pack, maybe he’d start to change too. Or maybe a change in his group would at least tone things down. We stood, dusting off, checking for wallets and bags, shaky but together. If I could just get all the pieces for my idea in place before Monday…

  That's when Celia stomped so hard toward us, it seemed like her stilettos ought to be puncturing the concrete. “I knew you were up to something.” Celia’s voice rang down the school's empty hallway. “I knew it.”

  She stopped in front of me, one hand on her hip, one palm flopped out. “I want my picture.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Of the Dog,” she said, her voice singsong, like I was an idiot.

  I so did not have time for this right now. “Look, Celia, if you're so desperately in love with the guy, sneak into the locker room to stare at him yourself.”

  “Ugh!” She reeled back in apparently genuine horror, as if I had suddenly pulled a big black bug out of my nose. “I don't like the Dog. Monosyllabic gor
illa. What’s to like?”

  Tio and I exchanged looks. “Are we talking about the same guy?” Tio asked.

  Celia bit at her cuticle, already bored with us. “Pay attention. He can’t string two words together.”

  “And you care about vocabulary because…why again?” Phoebe asked, mesmerized.

  Celia actually reached over and knocked on Phoebe’s head. “Hello in there? Me –“ Celia pointed at her semi-exposed chest, “family of lawyers. We don’t care much for Neanderthal cretins. Earning potential over and done before thirty,” She rolled her eyes, “and that’s best case scenario.”

  “Ooh,” said Robin, “harsh.”

  Celia narrowed her eyes at Tio and me like she'd just realized something. “Are you saying the Dog’s been droning on and on around you two? What’s he talking about, exactly?”

  “Celia, you need to get over this weird stalker thing you’ve got going with the Dog. Now that you mention it, you’re right — he doesn’t talk around his friends.”

  “He grunts,” she corrected me.

  “Whatever. The fact is, I snapped your photo, but I don’t have the picture.”

  “Well where is it?” It was like she thought I could pull an eight by ten of my bra.

  But she had a point. Tio and I looked at each other. So where was it?

  “I haven’t a clue. Probably Mrs. Bullard has it.”

  “Oh no she doesn’t. That woman wouldn’t know how to find a SIM card with a map in her hands and the entire Google staff shouting instructions. Besides, I know for a fact she didn’t leave the meeting with that camera in her possession.”

  Which meant the camera might still be in the Dean’s office, which meant that a cleaning lady or a secretary or an aide might have replaced it where it belonged without knowing what was in it.

  Oh. No. If those pictures were still in the school's digital camera…Tio and I realized it at the same time and he went “eep!”

  We were looking a Homeland Security Level Mega-Red disaster. Someone on the school news staff would walk in Monday morning and turn on the camera. The football team bare-from-the-waist up photos would, at minimum, be plastered all over the school paper. Even if a teacher stepped in and stopped that from happening, the files would be passed all over the world, and there would be an investigation about how the pictures had been taken, and — especially — who illegally snuck out the camera to take them, and then the lawsuits from parents would pile up until the thick envelopes of subpoenas jammed the old-fashioned mail slot on the central office door.