It’s touch-and-go as we pass the Bath & Body Works outlet, but I finally get our whole entourage on the move.
“Here we are.” I stop our little parade in front of the Waldenbooks.
“What, have you got a school project or something?” Shelby asks. “Can’t you just go to the library when we get home?”
“Actually, this is my stop,” says Kait. She pushes hair behind her ear but doesn’t go in.
Have none of them ever been in a bookstore before? Sheesh. I grab Hannah by the hand and lead her to the children’s section in the back. I find a Pat the Bunny, my personal all-time favorite, and set her on the brown carpet. “Cody, will you keep an eye on Hannah?”
“Sure. Maybe we’ll even have time for some Green Eggs and Ham.” He crouches down beside Hannah and shows her how to pat the bunny. “Gently,” he has to repeat several times before she stops trying to yank the fur out of the book.
When I get back to the front of the store, Kait and Shelby have advanced in as far as the magazines. “Come on,” I say to Kait. “What was that book you wanted to find?”
She whispers like we’re in a library. “Something about babies? You know, about getting ready?”
“Aren’t you a little far along for that kind of crap?” Shelby follows us as I pull Kait through the rows, looking for health care or self-help or something. Hey, it’s not like I’m the expert here.
Kait bites her lip, and it occurs to me maybe the whispering was because she didn’t want Shelby to hear. But if you want to keep a secret in this family, you should just keep your mouth shut. Like me. My secrets are hidden in my journal under my bed—a completely safe location since no one cleans under anything at our house.
“Like this?” We are in the medical section, and there’s this thick green reference book on pregnancy and birth.
Kait pulls it partially off the shelf and checks out the cover. “Maybe? I’m not sure.”
“Here you go.” Shelby’s facing the opposite shelf, filled with self-help books. “A Single Mom’s Survival Guide. God knows you’re going to need all the advice you can get.”
Kait’s brown eyes get watery and she wipes at her nose. “No,” she says. “That’s not it, either.” But she takes the book from Shelby and puts it on top of her medical tome. Then she has to dig around in her purse for a tissue. I kind of like it better when she’s mad.
“Can I help you?” says a semi-cute salesguy just as Kait lets out a horn-blast of nose-blowing. She starts crying in earnest.
“Jeez, Shel, now look what you’ve done.” I take the books from Kait and hold them for her.
Shelby holds up her hands in self-defense. “I’m just telling it like it is.”
“My sister—” I start to say, but then Kait sobs and I have to wait to be heard. “Actually, we’re looking for books about babies. For new moms. Like advice and stuff, I think. Right, Kait?”
Kait swallows. “I want to be a good mom. Maybe a book would help me know what to do.”
“You don’t need a book,” Shelby scoffs. “They pop out and ruin your life all on their own.”
“Shelby!” I jab a finger at her. “Remember you’re not supposed to talk like that where Hannah can hear you.”
“I’m not. It’s not like she understands what I’m saying anyway.”
“Hannah’s just a couple aisles away. And you don’t know what she does and doesn’t understand.” Although she probably understands her mom better than Shelby thinks. Which is why Hannah never puts up a fuss when she’s left with babysitters.
The poor bookstore guy clearly has no idea what to say. He stands there, face getting redder and redder, until I finally say, “So, is there a maternity section or something?”
“Right over here.” He takes a deep breath, clearly relieved. “There’s What to Expect When You’re Expecting, of course. Baby’s First Year. Is that what you’re looking for?”
Kait nods gratefully. Shelby snorts but stays with us. After flipping through a few books, Kait starts piling ’em up. Pregnancy, name choosing, parenting, nutrition, even an astrology guide. Finally, she scans the shelf one more time, looks over the books she’s chosen, puts all but two of them back, and says, “I’m ready to go.”
Cody meets us at the checkout counter, bag already in hand.
“You bought her something?” I ask. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Uh, actually I did. Pat had kind of a bad-hair day.” He pulls out Pat the Bunny. The fuzzy parts are gone. He reaches in the bag again and pulls them out.
Shelby grabs Hannah by the arm and yanks her out of the store. “You bad, bad girl!”
Cody sweeps up Hannah from behind, dislodging Shelby’s grip. “She didn’t know what she was doing. She’s only three.”
“She has to learn.” Shelby holds out her arms and narrows her deadly blue eyes at Cody. “You coddling her doesn’t help.”
I’m right behind them, ready to scoop up Hannah if Cody and Shelby throw down. Instead, Cody says, “I’ll hand her over if you promise not to punish her. It was my fault. I wasn’t watching her closely enough.”
Shelby snorts. “Yeah, I noticed how much help you are.”
Cody’s teeth grind, but all he squeezes out is, “Promise.”
“Fine, I promise.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have left Hannah with you anyway. You’ve always been completely useless.” The stress and volume she puts on the last word makes me flinch. Other shoppers eye us carefully.
Very calmly and slowly, Cody places a clearly upset, lip-quivering Hannah feetfirst on the tile floor. Then he spins on his heel and sprints toward the nearest exit.
“Don’t bother,” Shelby says when she sees I’m about to take off after him. She takes Hannah by the hand and pulls her close. “You’ll never get a real boyfriend carrying that kind of weight around.”
“Just shut up, Shelby.” I push past her, wishing I could say other, more hurtful things. But Hannah’s here and for better or worse, Shelby’s her mom. “We’ll meet you at the food court in two hours.”
Kait comes out of the store with her bag of books. She looks from Hannah to Shelby to me and says, “What happened?”
Shelby handles the explanations, because I’m out of there.
I find Cody outside the Gap outlet, staring at his own reflection in the oversized window. Other shoppers are like ghosts behind him. Even me. I approach cautiously. He sees me in the window. Doesn’t turn.
“I hate your sisters.” His voice is whisper soft, but I hear him loud and clear.
For some weird reason, I feel defensive of Kait. She’s really trying, buying those books and thinking about the baby before she’s even born. But there’s no excuse for Shelby.
“Thanks for sticking up for Hannah.” I stand beside him, cross my arms over my stomach. “You’re the reason I didn’t turn out like them. If Hannah has any kind of chance at being normal, she’s gonna need you, too.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t know.”
I inch closer to him until our arms are touching. “Well, I know. And the truth is you’re the best. And Shelby’s a bitch.”
He finally smiles. “Yeah, you’re totally right.”
Linking my arm through his, I drag him into the store. “Come on, let’s do some damage on that credit card.”
“Wa-ay too girly,” Cody says from behind me. “Jackson’ll never wear it.”
I sling the pink polo I’m holding against his chest. “For me, dork.”
He takes it from me, holds it up to my face. “Maybe, but I have a better idea.”
Before I know it, I’m in the dressing room with a pile of clothes. None of which I can afford and only a few of which I picked out myself. Cody assures me his mom won’t notice another fifty bucks on the card as long as we buy some stuff for Jackson here, too. Against my better judgment, I let Cody buy me a little spaghetti-strap sundress, all yellows and blues, with peek-a-boo sand
als and a canvas bag. At the counter, he finds a pair of metallic flip-flops in the same shade of blue as the dress in the bargain bin and adds them to our pile.
“The dress is way hotter on you than those shorts from the sales rack. And you should definitely stay away from crew-necks, Abby. How many times do I have to tell you? Scoop or V, scoop or V.”
I let him lecture me because he’s paying, but I’m not really worried about necklines. The truth is, I’ve got more important things on my mind. Like how the sundress is the perfect outfit for launching the One True Love Plan and that now I’ll be able to save some of my back-to-school clothing money for the New York Fund. Thank you, Barbara Jennings and your generous Visa card. Thank you very much.
Cody and I search the food court for my family. We find Kait sitting by herself at a table for four. The remains of a Big Mac meal litter the tray in front of her. I dodge some mall traffic and cut to her table. Cody follows.
“Where’s everybody?”
Kait folds a napkin in half and dabs at the special-sauce splotch on her protruding belly. “I don’t know. Shelby took Hannah to Supercuts. I was hungry. She said she’d meet us here.”
“And here we are.” Shelby slides into the seat across from Kait. Hannah runs up and grabs my leg.
Staring down at her, I’m struck by how much she looks like Shelby and Mom. The bowl cut is trimmed, and now her light-blue eyes dominate her rosy face. “Abby!” she sings, “Abby, Abby!”
“Hey there, Hannah-doll.” I hug her with one arm. “Nice haircut.”
“Mom, too!” she squeaks at me.
“Just a trim,” Shelby says, fingering the ends. “Terence was working today.”
“Shelby!” Kait and I say together. Terence is psycho-ex #2. Hair stylist and stalker, all in one. Thankfully, #1 moved to Taos a year ago, but Terence was harder to shake. He still cruises by the house a few times a month in his Windstar, but at least he’s stopped calling at all hours of the night.
“What were you thinking?” I ask, hefting Hannah up to my hip.
“He didn’t charge me for Hannah or my trim,” Shelby answers, as if she is entitled to freebies, and riling up a semi-retired stalker is no big deal. “Shouldn’t we head back to the car?”
Kait stares across the food court, and her face goes from mopey to giddy in two seconds flat. I follow her gaze and see Mom and the Guitar Player in the pretzel line.
Shelby notices, too, because she says, “Give it up, Kait. He’s with her now. Believe me, the competition’s over and the winner’s been announced.”
“You would see it as a competition,” Kait complains. She rubs her belly like it’s a crystal ball. “But we’re going to be a family. This is his baby.”
“Says you.” Shelby’s knowing grin stretches across her face.
Kait points a french fry at Shelby. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Shelby snags the fry and pops it in her mouth. “It means, you say the baby’s his. We all know there’s another guy who’s just as likely to be the father.”
Before, their bickering was just the normal Savage-family backdrop, but at this, my attention sharpens. Because I know exactly who the other guy is, and I happen to be holding a whole bag full of shorts and T-shirts for him.
“She’s due in mid-September,” I point out. They both look surprised that I’ve joined the conversation, but what I said is true. And September minus nine equals December, which is when Kait and the Guitar Player first hooked up. Not November. Not Jackson.
“Again, according to Kait.” Shelby shifts in her seat, sees Cody, and looks the other way. “I guess we’ll find out when the baby’s actually born.”
“Let’s just go,” Cody says as Mom and the Guitar Player walk up. She’s swinging an enormous Victoria’s Secret bag between them, the bright pink stripes glinting in the fluorescent lighting. The Guitar Player has one pretzel in his hand and Mom is taking bites out of it as he feeds it to her. God, give it a rest already. That bag better be filled with scented hand creams and body sprays, because the idea of her and him and smutty underwear is too much for me today.
Chapter 5
Only the second day of school and already it’s started. Cody and I are walking from our lockers to home-room on Tuesday when someone rams us from behind and slams Cody against a trash can.
“Watch it!” I yell, even though I can’t see who it was.
Cody wipes trash juice from the side of the can off his new boot-cut jeans. His face shows more than distaste for the gross. He is afraid.
I hand him a tissue out of my backpack. I’m pretty sure it’s clean. “Don’t worry. It was just an accident.”
He nods but doesn’t look at me. The tissue turns a splotchy brown, and he throws it away. “It’s not the only thing.”
“What else? Why didn’t you tell me?” I promised Cody this would stop, but really, I’d just hoped it would all go away.
“Didn’t want you to worry.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a drawstring bag. “It was in my locker this morning.”
I peek inside. “What’s Mr. Manly doing at school?”
My sisters gave me a dildo for my fourteenth birthday. I still haven’t figured out if it was a joke, a girl-power thing, or just a statement on the sad state of teen sex in the new millennium. Whatever it was, Mr. Manly is still in his gift bag, hidden under my bed.
Cody shakes his head like he can’t believe he wants to laugh. “It’s not Mr. Manly.” He urges me to lean in. “Look closer.”
This dildo is definitely not Mr. Manly. This is Mr. Manly’s older, bigger, black brother. “Oh my God. Why would they give this to you?”
He digs in his backpack. “It came with a card.”
Maybe this will keep you at home.
I give Cody a hug. “It’s just some jerk. Ignore them.”
Cody’s body quivers. “I can’t do it again—not this year, not anymore. Abs, I’ve got to get out of this place.”
“We’ll tell someone. A teacher, or the principal. They’ll make it stop.”
On soap operas, teens are only taunted for being uncool, which usually a makeover from a do-gooder character can cure. With Cody, it’s not that simple and I understand why he’s so afraid to come out. If this is how they treat him when they’re not sure, how much worse will it be when they know?
“No one can help me. I don’t even know who it is.”
I have a hunch. When you’ve known someone your whole life, you pretty much know what they are capable of. Sean Evans and Craig Phelps are my two main suspects. They tortured the fetal pig in Bio last year, making it dance with its dissected insides hanging out. To Cody, I say, “We won’t know unless we try.”
“No.” He stands up straight, takes the drawstring bag, and stuffs it into his backpack. “It’s bad enough what they think. I won’t have my teachers looking at me weird, thinking I’m . . . you know.”
But you are. I don’t say it, because just the word gay makes him wince. There are only three openly gay students at Union High, and they’re mostly left alone. I don’t know why Cody is singled out. Last year, he dealt with graffiti on his locker, and stupid shit like having his underwear stolen during PE and then returned the next day with a hole cut in the butt. The brush-bys in the hallways, the whispered hate. It escalated in the spring, but no matter how much I begged, he wouldn’t tell anyone but me.
The bell rings. We’re late. And because Cody swears me to silence, I lie to my Biology II teacher, Mr. Kimball, about having female problems. He lets it go, and I wonder what excuse Cody is giving his teacher.
Mr. Kimball asks us to get our textbooks and open to chapter four. There is a full-color blowup of a fruit fly on the first page. Ugly little buggers.
“Perhaps those of you who took Bio I with me last year remember the famous scientist Gregor Mendel and his ground-breaking experiments with pea plants?” Mr. Kimball asks in what is clearly a rhetorical tone, because he plows ahead without even looking to see if anyone
is raising their hand. “Or perhaps not. There has, after all, been a summer recess, which I suspect has had an adverse effect on your memory.”
He pauses to allow time for us to laugh, then shushes us with one of his trademark looks. “Since genetics is a special interest of mine, I thought we’d jump ahead in the text and start this year off with an in-depth study of Mr. Mendel’s Laws of Inheritance and how they shaped genetic research. From there, we’ll finish off the unit by bringing it all to the present with a look at what’s happening in genetics today.”
“Like cloning?” someone in the back asks.
Mr. Kimball dances his eyebrows. “And so much more!”
“Will all this be on the AP test in the spring?” Lucas Fielding, who was in Bio I with me last year, asks. He has a new haircut—shorter around the ears and a little messy on top— that’s way more flattering than the flattop he had last year.
Mr. Kimball’s lips thin. He’s that weird age men get when they’re old, but you can’t really tell their age. Forty? Fifty? He clears his throat and says in his always scratchy voice, “Never fear, Mr. Fielding, you’ll be amply prepared for the Advanced Placement exam.”
Lucas’s shoulders relax and he flips to page seventy in the book. I use the eraser on my pencil to turn a few pages. Charts and more charts. It’s going to be a long semester.
“Two more weeks.” Cody kicks rocks out of his way as we walk the mile from our bus stop to home. Two more weeks until he’s driving and dust up our noses as we trudge along in the August heat with overweight book bags is a thing of the past. My Bio II book alone weighs about twenty pounds. I should’ve left it in my locker, but something tells me I’m going to need a lot of boning up on my genetics tables if I’m going to pass this class.
A car slows down behind us. Cody tenses.
“Get in.” It’s Jackson in his ’98 gray Corolla. “Too hot to walk in this.”
I worry for a second that he’ll peel out as soon as we open the doors, a trick he thought was oh so funny when he first got his license, but he doesn’t. We climb into the back of the car, which Jackson has turned into an arctic zone. The A/C is so loud I can barely hear the radio.
Fancy White Trash Page 4
