All Out of Pretty

by Ingrid Palmer

  His eyes burn into me. “That’s why I get you, Andrea. I know you keep your secrets tight, too.”

  I bristle at his words. I can’t have Brick knowing too much about me—for his own good. “Look, stop saying that about me, okay? My life is no field of daisies, but it’s not as mysterious as whatever you’re imagining.”

  He waits, gaze steady. So I start lying.

  “My mom’s sick. Like, mentally.” When I say this, it doesn’t seem like a lie at all. “And her boyfriend, J—” I stammer, not sure I should use Judd’s real name. “—Jason…he’s a dick sometimes, but at least with him we have a place to stay, I get a decent school to attend. I mean, he makes me work every Friday and Saturday, which sort of sucks, but he pays me so I can’t complain.”

  “He pays you?” Brick sounds surprised, and I suppose it’s because I never have any cash on hand.

  “It goes straight into a trust for college.” The lies fly out, easy as pie. It’s disturbing how much I’ve learned from Ayla. “He says someday I’ll be glad he didn’t let me waste it on clothes and movies.”

  “Hmm,” Brick says, chewing his lip. “This Jason, he’s a decent guy?”

  “Well, he’s not that nice about anything. But he takes care of Ayla—er, my mom. Like I said…no field of daisies, but it could be worse. I mean, I couldn’t take care of her and go to school too.”

  “Does your mom get help? Counseling or something?”

  I shrug and look away. “She takes medicine.” Again, I’m not technically lying. Some of those pills she and Judd play around with are prescription narcotics.

  “I’m sorry, Andrea. That’s gotta be hard.”

  Nodding, I say, “I’m sorry for you, too.” After a moment, I ask, “Can you please not tell Chloe that we talked about this? I already mentioned something to her and…I don’t want her worrying about me.”

  “Sure, of course,” he says easily.

  “Really? Because…she said she couldn’t keep secrets from you. You’d disown her or something. I thought it was mutual.”

  “What? Like she has to tell me everything?” Brick moans and rakes a hand through his hair. “Oh, that girl. I should’ve known she’d take it that way. Jeez, I don’t want her thinking she can’t have any privacy. I just want her to come to me when she needs help. Am I that overbearing with her?”

  I raise my eyebrows and press my lips together.

  He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I’ll talk to her.”

  There is nothing more for us to say. We’re both spent and a little edgy. We stand up and I give Brick a hug. It seems like the thing to do, after all we’ve been through in the last five hours.

  “Thank you for dinner,” I say. “And everything.”

  “Hey, I’ll walk you home. It’s pitch black out here,” Brick insists, eyeing the woods.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Come on, Andrea. I’m a Southern gent, remember?” He grins, teasing.

  “Yeah, and I’m a big girl who can take care of herself,” I snap too sharply. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  His mouth falls open. Before he can speak, I take off down the path toward Judd’s. I sprint the whole way, crunching leaves under my tennis shoes. Tears seep from the corners of my eyes, slither across my cheeks, and trickle into my ears. I don’t want to be mean to Brick, but he needs to know when to back off. I already told him way, way too much.

  Chapter 32

  On Monday, there’s no school because of some district-wide education conference—the teachers’ turn to get smart. While the rest of the student body rejoices, I wake up worried about being home all day. When Judd finds out I’m off, he makes me work in the shed for three hours, but at least he’s in a decent mood. In the afternoon he lounges around reading his Island Travel magazine, caressing Ayla, and dreaming of Fiji. Guess I’m off-duty.

  Right now Ayla is asleep on the couch and Judd has been occupied in the bathroom for the past half hour. I’m sitting at his kitchen table inhaling sliced peaches and reading a novel for English when I hear a knock at the front door. Before I can get up, Judd flushes and goes to answer it. I assume he’s talking to one of his desperate junkies out there—until the visitor’s voice carries into the kitchen and makes my food stick in my throat.

  Chloe!

  I almost knock over my chair scrambling down the hallway, where I find Judd leaning against the doorframe, chatting into the sunshine like he’s Mr. Congeniality. On the doorstep, Chloe looks so cute with her little pigtails and innocent eyes. She has no idea that she’s talking to the local drug lord. When she sees me rushing up behind Judd, her shoulders pop up in excitement.

  “Surprise!” She beams. “Can you believe this weather? It’s like summer again.”

  “What are you doing here?” I demand.

  Chloe’s face falls. She glances at Judd, embarrassed. “I stopped by to say hi.”

  “Don’t be rude, girl.” Judd gives me a little shove. “Miss Chloe and I were just gettin’ acquainted. She lives over on the Masterson Farm.” He is smiling and playing dad, or stepdad, or whatever. But I know better. He’s telling me that he knows where to find her—he’s warning me.

  My heart pounds as I slip past Judd. “Let’s talk outside,” I say to Chloe, who looks confused by my less-than-ecstatic reaction to her arrival.

  Pulling the door closed, I lead her to the pile of firewood across the driveway. “How’d you know where I live?” I ask, perturbed.

  “I followed you home the other day, since you’re always so secretive.” She says this proudly, like she’s some genius spy.

  Now I’m really annoyed with her. She has no idea of the danger she’s in, or how she has messed up my world. “Wow,” I say. “That’s so…stalker-ish.”

  Chloe stares, her mouth open and her eyes hurt. “I’m not stalking you. But you never invite me over, and you block your phone number when you call—”

  “I told you my mom was sick!” I explode. And then things get real quiet.

  “Doesn’t look like she’s around. And your stepdad doesn’t seem to care that I came by,” she argues quietly.

  I cross my arms. “He’s not my stepdad. He’s just Ayla’s boyfriend, and he can be a real ass.”

  “Seemed nice to me.” She crosses her arms right back.

  I want to pull out my hair. My voice is downright nasty when I snap, “Look, I like my privacy, okay? I don’t like having friends at this house.”

  “Right.” Chloe laughs harshly. “All those friends of yours, beating down the door. Sorry I bothered you.”

  She turns away, flipping her little brown-and-white-striped pigtails indignantly and stomping into the woods. I’m still so flustered by her appearance in Judd’s domain that I just want to let her go. I want her far, far away from him. But I can’t. I can’t let her think I’m turning on her like everyone did last year.

  “Wait! Chlo…” I call out, but she doesn’t stop. I jog up behind her and catch her in the first clearing. “I’m sorry,” I breathe, touching her shoulder. “You just caught me by surprise.”

  “I thought we were friends,” she says, dropping her arms. Her eyes are wet and my chest tightens. “Friends go to each other’s houses. Are you embarrassed by me? You only want to associate with me in the cover of the woods?”

  “No!” I’m about to point out that we eat lunch together every day, but she isn’t done raging.

  “What, then? I’m too young? Too ugly? You don’t want me around because you’re so darn pretty and I’m not?”

  “Don’t call me pretty,” I snarl, and it startles her into silence. I know I must tread very carefully with my words now. I glance back at the house. “Listen, my mom’s boyfriend…he’s not always that nice.”

  Chloe’s face sobers and she waits for me to say more.

  “It’s like, he thinks we owe him f
or letting us live here. And I’ve only been here a few months. It just doesn’t feel like home. So it’s weird to invite people in, you know, like I’m imposing on his space. It has nothing to do with you,” I assure her, grabbing her hand.

  She lets me squeeze her fingers, but she’s still miffed and wants me to know it. Angry Chloe is almost adorable, like a fluffy bunny trying to scowl.

  “And stop saying you’re ugly, Chlo. You have no idea…You’re beautiful.” I mean this, even though she complains about her pointy features and skin problems. But on her, it doesn’t matter. She is beautiful—she’s like an angel. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had.

  Chloe pulls her hand away and makes a circle in the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “You don’t have to suck up that much,” she says. Then she moves in for the kill. “I’ll forgive you on one condition—you go to the dance next weekend.”

  My expression hardens, but Chloe pops up and down on her toes, begging, “Please, Andrea. Brick is threatening to drag me there by my nose, and he’s got my mom and dad backing him. He’s, like, the most annoying cousin ever. Just because he’s all charming and popular at school with his little southern accent, he thinks I’m his goodwill project. Like he’s got to save me from spending my entire adolescence hiding in the woods. Well, maybe I like the woods!”

  While she rants, a smile spreads across my face. It still feels foreign, but I’m getting used to stretching my cheek muscles more often. “Brick’s right,” I tell her. “You should go.”

  “And so should you. And now you have to because you really hurt my feelings.”

  I stare at her pleading face, but know I can’t commit. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I really can’t.”

  “Why not? Give me one good reason.”

  “You know why. I have to work Friday night. If it were any other day—”

  “Stop right there.” Chloe’s hand shoots up. “The DJ had a scheduling issue so student council moved the dance to Saturday night. Ha! You have no excuse now!” Her eyes practically dance with victory.

  My eyes narrow. “You tricked me.”

  “Yep,” she says proudly.

  I consider what she’s asking me to do and whether or not I can pull it off without Judd knowing. Then I decide I owe her. I owe her so much more than one stupid night at a dance.

  “Fine, I agree to your terms,” I say. “But only if you promise not to stop by again unless I specifically say so. Trust me on this, okay?”

  “Okay,” she agrees reluctantly.

  “And don’t pick me up on Saturday. I’ll walk to your place after Judd and Ayla go out.”

  “Yeah, they’d probably be annoying, huh? Taking pictures and stuff? My mom will surely have her camera ready to document this historic event.” Chloe growls, which comes off as comical.

  I shake my head, but refrain from telling her she couldn’t be more off-base. “Just don’t come to the house. Or I won’t go to the dance at all.” I squint so she knows I mean business.

  “Okay. Deal, deal, deal. Yay! And Brick will be so happy you’re coming with us!” Chloe sings out and dances around in a circle. I watch her in dismay and wonder how someone like me ever became best friends with such a quirky little sprite. Then I allow a laugh to escape my lips.

  Judd ruins the moment. The front door opens and his voice scrapes out like gravel against a chalkboard. “Almost dinnertime! C’mon inside now.”

  Chloe stops dancing to wave at Judd—a little less enthusiastically than before—and gives me a quick hug before skipping off into the trees. I walk back to the house and slink past Judd’s body looming in the doorframe. “Want anything special for dinner?” I ask, keeping my voice mild.

  “Lasagna,” he replies, following me into the kitchen. I hate how he walks so close, his footsteps echoing in my ears, his tattooed arms within easy reach of my hair, my neck, my wrist.

  Good thing we buy frozen lasagna. All I have to do is tear off the wrapping and stick it in the oven. While I get things ready, Judd leans against the counter and watches me. “So you made a friend,” he states.

  “Not really. She’s just some freaky girl who clings to me because no one likes her.” I hate saying the words, even though I’m doing it to protect Chloe. But Judd sees through my bluff.

  “You just be sure that she don’t come snoopin’ around here again. And no sharing secrets about your dear old stepdad, either. Sure would be a shame if somethin’ happened to the little Masterson girl.” His threat seeps through my veins like ice.

  “Don’t worry, she doesn’t know anything. And she’s not smart enough to figure it out, so leave her alone,” I snap.

  Judd doesn’t take kindly to my tone, and he lets me know it by grabbing the back of my head. His fingers press painfully against my skull. “Just you be sure,” he whispers softly, then releases me with a jerk. He gives me a menacing look before settling onto the couch to watch TV. I resist the urge to spit in his lasagna, but only because I want to eat some too.

  While the lasagna bakes, I go upstairs and lie down on the pale pink sheets to fret. It’s almost November now, but the attic room is hot again, due to this Indian summer we’re having. The heat makes me languid and drowsy, and before I know it…I’m eleven years old, riding my bike home alongside my new friend Delaney. It’s late August—a warm, sunny day. We have plans to make lemonade, pull out the slip-n-slide, and spend a blissful afternoon on the lawn deciding who to invite to my upcoming birthday party.

  I vividly remember the day—the balmy breeze, the way my insides felt like they were filled to the brim with sunshine. We dropped our bikes in the driveway and raced inside Gram’s house. I scrambled to the top cupboard for the lemonade powder while Delaney grabbed the pitcher from under the sink. My body froze when I heard the retching noises coming from downstairs. Delaney missed them because she was talking, but I knew immediately—Ayla was back.

  I left Delaney in the kitchen to finish the lemonade while I ventured downstairs alone. Our basement had a bathroom, a pull-out couch and a sitting area in it, along with stacks of my toys and games. Ayla knelt in the small bathroom, hunched over the toilet, while Gram perched on an upside-down garbage can and rubbed her back. No one saw me in the shadows.

  “It’s just the flu,” Ayla told Gram, wiping the sick off the side of her mouth.

  “Are you sure? You said you’ve mostly been sick in the mornings. If there’s any chance you might be pregnant, you have to tell me,” Gram insisted.

  “Why, Mama?” Ayla said scathingly. “So you can buy this baby too? There’s no price tag big enough to make me go through that again.”

  “Oh, Ayla, what made you so bitter?” Gram said and started to cry.

  Seeing this, my eyes went wild with anger. How dare Ayla come here and upset Gram again! I charged into the bathroom, startling them both, and began slapping Ayla on the head and shoulders. I screamed at her to leave, to leave and never come back, because I hated her…we all hated her! She only made people sad and she should never have been born.

  Gram wrapped her arms around my flailing little body and pulled me out of the bathroom while Ayla laughed viciously. “I should never have been born? That’s the pot calling the kettle black,” she hissed and turned back to the bowl, heaving again.

  Gram dragged me up the stairs to calm me down, and I didn’t even think about Delaney until we got to the kitchen and saw the pitcher of lemonade leaking all over the floor and only one bike out in the driveway—mine.

  “Ayla ruins everything,” I sobbed. Gram held me tight as tears poured down my face.

  “She’s sick, baby. She’s just sick. She’ll get better one day.” Gram’s voice was soft, but firm. And I knew that no matter how much I wanted it or wished it or willed it, Gram wouldn’t send Ayla away. She would never give up the fairytale.

  Somehow I miss the oven
buzzer that signals the lasagna is ready, but I don’t miss Judd’s voice at the bottom of the stairs hollering, “Girl! Get your lazy ass down here before I belt it!”

  I scramble into the kitchen, where I spoon the lasagna onto three plates and try to quiet the old memory that’s still fresh in my mind. Ayla is eating dinner for once, so Judd allows me to sit at the table, too. This happens every so often now. I still attend to Judd’s every demand, but I prefer this setup to eating my own portions cold after I’ve served and cleaned up his meal. It’s more nerve-racking, but less time-consuming.

  We eat in silence. Judd indicates that he’s finished by tossing his napkin onto his plate. Then he looks at Ayla and says, “Let’s go out tonight, baby.” It sounds more like a command than an invitation.

  Ayla isn’t in the mood. “You know I’ve got a big day tomorrow,” she says through half-slit eyelids.

  Judd’s face hardens and I lean back on instinct. “I guess you’d better sober up, then.”

  Ayla shrugs and lethargically brings a forkful of lasagna to her lips. Scowling, Judd stomps into the bedroom to change clothes. A few minutes later he leaves the house, alone.

  Once he’s gone, I breathe easier. I clean up the kitchen and join Ayla on the couch because it’s too hot to go back upstairs. Since Judd is withholding the stronger stuff, she alternates smoking and drinking from a wine bottle she had stashed under the cushion. We sit there staring at old music videos on the muted television. On screen, girls in skimpy clothes slither-dance through nightclubs, frolic in ocean waves, sloppy-kiss tough guys on motorcycles…it’s all sex, drugs, and passion. I don’t know anyone who actually lives like that, except maybe Ayla when she was younger. But I have a feeling it wasn’t so glamorous.

  Suddenly, the words explode from my mouth.

  “What’s his name, Ayla? The man you had sex with to conceive me?” I ask it that way on purpose. There’s no father in this equation.