Look what you’ve done, Lake.
“Hey,” Val said. “What’s wrong?”
I turned to her. She was lying on my bed, Birdy under her bare armpit as she absentmindedly picked at the blue fur. “You’ll get deodorant on her,” I said, frowning.
“She doesn’t mind.” She puckered her lips at the stuffed animal and crooned, “Do you, Booby?”
“It’s Birdy.”
She took the toy out from under her and walked it along the bedspread. “You should’ve named her Booby, though.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what she is. A blue-footed booby.”
“She’s a pelican.”
“This is not a pelican.” Val gaped at me. “You should know that. You grew up by the beach.”
My heart panged in my chest. That couldn’t be right. She had always been a pelican, and that didn’t just change. “Why would you say that?” I asked.
“Exhibit A.” She tapped her head. “I’m a black hole of useless information.” It was true. Val was always pulling random facts out of her ass. “But even if I weren’t, see exhibit B. Blue feet.” She showed me Birdy’s webbed feet which were, in fact, blue like her beak. I’d just assumed she was colorful because she was meant for kids. “Plus, the tag says ‘Blue-footed Booby.’”
My eyes dropped to the comforter. Had I been so blind that night at the fair that I hadn’t even seen what was right in front of me? Maybe I was kidding myself thinking Manning was looking forward to tonight. What if he blamed me for what he’d lost? Tiffany certainly did. What if he wasn’t happy to see me at all? Was there any other explanation for why he’d never responded to my letters, had never bothered to even call?
I couldn’t think that way.
Tonight was not going to go wrong. Manning would see me, and just like that first day on the lot, we’d be drawn together. We’d know the truth without saying it—Manning was doing what he needed to until I was eighteen. Nothing else mattered until then.
Val was suddenly standing in front of me, my shoulders in her hands. “Hel-lo? What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, clearing my thoughts away. “Nothing.”
“Not nothing. You’ve been moping since the day I met you, and I’m not going to let you get away with it anymore. Why does this pelican-turned-booby bother you so much?”
My mouth wouldn’t open. It was too weird to say out loud. I’m in love with a man my sister calls her boyfriend. If you hadn’t lived the story like I had, it sounded awful. Val was as open-minded as anyone I knew, and even this was asking for a lot of understanding.
“Is it about a boy?” she asked.
“How’d you know?”
“It’s always about a boy. Corbin?”
“No.”
“So there’s another boy.” She tapped a light fingertip on my shoulder, studying me. “Why don’t I know about him?”
I wriggled out of her grasp and went to my closet for running shoes. “Because he’s not a boy.”
She gasped. I could feel the delight coming off her in waves, even with my back turned. “He’s older?”
“Yes.”
“Older than Corbin?”
“Yes.”
“I need to know more.”
“I can’t tell you.” I sat on the edge of my bed to lace up my sneakers. “If I could, I would.”
“Please. This is too juicy. Is he in college? Is he a teacher? Is it Mr. Caws?”
I made a gagging noise, then giggled. “I’m not going to tell you.”
“I’ll tell you all my secrets.” She leaned back against my dresser. “Hmm. In sixth grade, I peed my pants at my desk and didn’t tell anyone so the next person sat in it.”
“Oh my God, how disgusting.”
“I know.” She laughed. “All right, here’s a good one. It’s not funny, though. I wasn’t completely honest with you about the first guy I slept with at my old high school. I told you it was no big deal, but I actually really liked him.”
“You said it was with a stranger.”
“I was embarrassed. He stopped talking to me after and rumors spread.”
Once in a while, Val reminded me of Tiffany. Mostly tough, but their weak spots were arguably more sensitive than other people’s. Val also had issues about her dad, who’d left her mom when Val was entering high school. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It’s fine. It taught me some things about men.”
“Like what?”
“Mostly that they’re immature . . . which is why I’m excited about this older guy.”
“It’s not . . . we’re not, like, together or anything.”
“You have a crush. Who doesn’t? Is it the good kind of crush? Like one you want to act on or one you don’t? There’s a difference.”
“Definitely the first one.”
She went over to my closet. “Well, you never dress sexy at school—your closet is sad—but I guess that’s because he already graduated, huh?”
“How can a closet be sad?”
“Do you have anything red?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe a sports bra. How come?”
“Hmm. Red makes men horny. It’s, like, biology. Plus, it looks great on blondes.” She held out a knee-length, maroon corduroy skirt. “This is kind of red, but it’s also . . . hideous.”
“It’s from middle school. I meant to take it to Goodwill, but—”
“Perfect.” She held it up to her waist. “Cut it and wear it next time you see him.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. With a pair of Mary Janes or clogs or something, you’ll be all legs. He’ll forget his own name.”
I took the skirt, examining the button-down front and plummy color. It never would’ve occurred to me to do anything other than donate it. “Okay. Thanks. Anything else?”
“Nope. Just be yourself.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
“What? I’m serious. You’re smart and beautiful. You hold all the power—haven’t you ever watched your sister?”
My mood dimmed. Val had only been around Tiffany a few times, but I guessed that was all it took to see her charm. I wasn’t really in the habit of emulating her—if anything, I was genetically predisposed to do the opposite of whatever she did—but in this case, I could see Val’s reasoning. Tiffany had spent the last year getting to know Manning while I’d stayed here, getting further away from him.
Val picked up her backpack. “I have to go record Wings for my mom or she’ll flip. When are you seeing this guy next?”
I turned away so I wouldn’t have to lie to her face. “Not sure. I’ll let you know.”
“’K. Later.”
As Val’s Beetle rumbled down the street, I picked up Birdy and held her to my chest. I could almost convince myself I smelled campfire in the woods, sweat and sawdust on Manning’s skin, lingering smoke on his clothes. As comforting as Birdy was, she would never be the real thing, and in just a few hours, that’s what I’d have. Manning—big, strong, and real, right in front of me.
8
Manning
Back against the wall, cigarette in hand, I watched the parking lot for Tiffany’s car. I’d stood like this lots of times on the other side of these walls, but today I didn’t see any orange jumpsuits, fried grass, or cracked concrete slabs. Just freedom.
I had a plastic bag with the contents of my life. Wallet, a check for what was left in my store account, and two-hundred dollars gate money. I’d filed Lake’s unread letters away within my paperwork. Everything else I either left behind for Wills or trashed—except my dad’s confession. The paper was worn from the number of times I’d read his letter. I wanted to memorize it. There was no worse thing in my life than what was in those pages—but also no better motivation for me to work toward becoming the opposite of my dad.
Tiffany was late. Maybe she wouldn’t show at all. I closed my eyes, rested the back of my head on the brick, and tried to imagine what I’d do, where I’d go,
but all I saw was Lake. Waiting for me at the curb. Opening her arms to make it all better. In the back of my mind, I knew there was a small chance she’d show up today. She’d always shown her youth in her persistence to get what she wanted, at least when it came to me.
I heard Tiffany’s car before I saw it. I lifted my head as she came speeding around the corner, her BMW thumping as she flew right over a speedbump and then slammed on her brakes.
She parked in a loading zone and hopped out. “Babe, you’re free!”
Before I could think, she was running at me, all blonde hair, her skirt flapping up. She jumped, and I caught her with an ooph, my arms locking around her. I moved her hair aside so it wouldn’t catch on my cigarette. As soon as I got a whiff of her shampoo, I buried my nose in her neck and surprised myself with a long, fat sigh of relief.
Babe, you’re free.
This nightmare was over.
She pulled back to look me in the face. “There must be so many things you want to do.”
With her skirt up around her hips, and her pussy pressing warmly on my crotch, the first thing that came to mind was sex, but I couldn’t let myself think too hard about it without getting us into trouble. For fuck’s sake, she could probably wiggle a little harder and I’d come in my pants. “Yeah.” I patted her ass. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
She slid down and led me over to the car.
I held open my hand. “Keys.”
“You want to drive?” she asked nervously. “Do you remember how?”
The thought of getting into the passenger’s seat made the collar of my starchy, puke-green release-shirt feel tight. I’d had enough of other people having power over me. There was no way in hell I wasn’t driving us out of here. “Keys,” I repeated, and she handed them over.
The car was already muggy just from sitting idle a few minutes. I had to push the seat all the way back before I got in, and my head still touched the roof. Immediately, I rolled down all the windows, turned on the A/C, and got to adjusting all the mirrors.
Before long, air blew ice cold on my face. I’d showered before leaving the facility, but I was already hot, horny, and sweating. I needed things—a cold beer, a monster burrito, and a good, solid, knock-me-out-cold fuck.
I shifted the rearview mirror again, envisioning Lake in the backseat, pretending she’d come to greet me at the gates. She hadn’t, though. Knowing how persistent she could be, maybe that meant she’d accepted the way things were between us. I was glad. She was too fragile, like a little bird. My little bird. I didn’t want her anywhere near here. Even so, I couldn’t stop thinking it—she hadn’t come.
“Manning,” Tiffany said gently.
I snapped out of it, looking over at her. “Yeah?”
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive? You’ve been sitting there staring out the windshield for five minutes.”
“Yeah.” Don’t think about Lake. Not like this, when I was feeling a little strung out. I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “It’s a long drive.”
“I know. I’ve made it lots of times.” She wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure you’re okay? Should we stop for anything? Are you hungry? I’d want sushi first thing. Have you ever had sushi?” She paused. “Are you listening?”
“Yeah. I don’t want sushi. I think—I’m feeling a little zoned out.”
“You’re probably, like, overwhelmed. Let’s just go home. We shouldn’t eat anyway. We’re going to my parents’ for dinner, and we might spoil our appetites.”
It took a moment for her words to register. Sleep, food, sex. That was all I wanted. The necessities. I turned my head to Tiffany. “What?”
“My mom’s making ribeye for you. She wanted to welcome you home.”
If I knew Lake, she’d have a hand in that. My first meal as a free man, and Lake would be the one to make it. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It was almost too much to take. “I don’t know. I have to meet with my parole officer tomorrow, and I’m exhausted.”
“I know. That’s why we’re eating early.”
“What about your dad?”
“He’ll be there,” was all she said.
“I could eat right up until the steak was served and not spoil my appetite,” I said.
“Then should we stop for food?” Tiffany asked, sounding confused.
“No. You have some of my stuff at your place?”
“Mostly what I could move in by myself, like clothing.” She reached over to squeeze my bicep with a wink. “But I’m not sure it’ll fit anymore.”
After a three-hour drive, we hit a Target for the essentials, and then Tiffany directed me to her place. Palm trees lined the entrance to a complex of bi-level, standalone apartment buildings. Each cluster of beige stucco buildings had covered parking and access to a gated pool.
Tiffany’s place was on the ground floor, underneath an outdoor staircase for the neighbor above her. Reddish-pink bougainvillea grew around the entrance and over the brick wall of her back patio.
She let us into the apartment. From the doorway, I looked around my new home. Or, at least, the place I’d be staying until I figured out my next move.
“It’s nice, right?” she said, dropping her keys on the breakfast counter. “I mean, it’s nothing special now, but we’ll fix it up.” I stepped inside with my plastic Target bags of boxers, undershirts, some new clothes, and toiletries. She brushed the arm of a couch in the center of the room, the same dark brown as the front door, then fluffed some blue throw pillows. Her TV sat on the ground. “I can make a few dollars go a long way. I wanted to wait for you anyway, to see what you like.”
There was nothing too personal about the apartment, but it was bigger and nicer than mine had been before I’d gone away. For fuck’s sake, it had a second room. Even growing up, there’d been no spare space.
In any case, I had more pressing things on my mind. I set the bags on a glass-top kitchen table and turned to Tiffany. The last thing I’d wanted to do was a Target run, but now that it was out of the way, the first and only thing I wanted to do was sink myself into a woman. “Show me the bedroom.”
“Come.” She motioned for me to follow her across the apartment to a door at the end of the hall. The bed was good, white and fluffy, twice as large as the twin I’d had at my place, and flanked by light-wood nightstands. Compared to a jail cell, it was the Taj Mahal. My limbs wouldn’t hang off the edges of this one.
“I picked white for now,” she said, “but I figured we could get some blue in here. Think beachy but masculine. Maybe even an ocean theme with turquoise—you know about Tiffany blue, right? The color of a Tiffany’s box? That would be funny. Or if that’s too girly, there’s nautical with sailboats . . .”
Not blue. I couldn’t do blue. It reminded me too much of endless skies, crystal-clear water, Lake’s eyes . . . “Anything but blue.”
She turned to me. “Sailboats are for like a kid’s room, huh? I’m rambling. I’m a little nervous. This is weird.”
“Yeah, it is.” I came into the room, tilting her chin up for a kiss. “Don’t worry. This part won’t be.”
She softened but took my hand. “I’m sure you’re dying to, you know, which is why I told my mom we’d do an early dinner. I figured we could come home and spend all night catching up.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Seventeen months inside, and you’re asking me to wait? You think I’m superhuman?”
She pouted playfully. “Just a few hours. I guess I could call and tell them we’ll be late, but they probably already started—”
They. Lake’s cooking. If there was something worth postponing sex for, it was that. I imagined her moving around the kitchen like she had that first day we’d met, slicing avocado a little too carelessly because she couldn’t keep her eyes off me. Telling me, an adult man seven years older than her, that I shouldn’t drink beer and operate heavy machinery.
I planted a kiss on Tiffany’s mouth. “No, don’t call. I can wait.”
“Okay.
We’re supposed to be over there soon, and we should probably shower.”
By we, she meant me. I’d been sweating since I got out. No, I’d been sweating since I’d been taken in. Since I’d left that courtroom at the dead of summer, I’d been perpetually hot, inside or outside, even in winter.
Tiffany left me alone to change and clean up, which was good, because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my hands to myself otherwise. Need burned through me, a heat I’d never felt, even as I turned the water stark cold. I had to be skin to skin with someone. I wanted to see how Tiffany and I got on after we’d been circling this for so long. Even if she wanted romance, I could do that, I just had to fuck before my head exploded.
I wouldn’t be able to wait much longer.
9
Lake
I’d misjudged my measurements.
In Tiffany’s mirrored closet, I turned, inspecting the results of my afternoon. I’d taken a ruler and a pair of scissors to the corduroy skirt, but it had come out shorter than I was comfortable with. Tiffany wouldn’t think twice about exposing so much leg, and Val probably wouldn’t, either. They knew about boys, and tonight was too important to mess up.
Mom had bought me a pink bra from Nordstrom with Tiffany’s discount she’d thought was “so cute.” Well, cute wouldn’t cut it, so I put it under a skin-tight, white baby tee I’d found in the back of Tiffany’s dresser. The hem stopped where the skirt started, a sliver of skin between the two.
As the steaks marinated downstairs, I sat on the bathroom counter and slathered my tanned legs in lotion. I plucked any stray eyebrow hairs and inspected my pores. When two car doors slammed out front, I straightened. They were early. Given Tiffany’s track record for tardiness, I hadn’t expected that. But could I complain about that? I hopped down and quickly swiped on mascara. I heard voices in the foyer. Damn it. I didn’t want to miss a second, especially not watching him come into the house, see the dining table set for him, smell the steak. The only heels I had were from the Homecoming dance and barely two inches. They didn’t match my outfit, but there wasn’t time to raid my mom’s closet. I tried to buckle them on so quickly, I kept fumbling, convinced I heard Manning’s sturdy footsteps moving to the kitchen.
Somebody Else’s Sky: Something in the Way, 2 Page 9
