SSDTU 2 - He’s So not Worth It

by Kieran Scott

  But I couldn’t say any of this. So instead I said, “Remember when you and dad renewed your vows?”

  Her eyes instantly looked sad. She dropped her hand and turned away from me. “Ally—” She sounded fed up, at the end of her rope.

  “Mom, I’m just asking. Do you even remember that? Because it wasn’t that long ago,” I said, following her toward the sliding glass doors that led to the deck outside my and Quinn’s rooms. “You guys were really happy. I know Dad screwed up, but don’t you even want to talk to him?”

  “He didn’t just screw up, Ally,” she said, giving me a look that made me feel two inches tall.

  “For the past two years you’ve been telling me that I have to find a way to forgive him. That he didn’t mean to do what he did,” I said tersely. “But now that he’s back, you won’t even talk to him. You’re such a total hypocrite.”

  I’d never said anything that harsh to my mom in my life, and as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. But instead, I turned around and walked out of the room, trying to escape before she reacted.

  “Ally, get back here,” my mom said quietly.

  I kept walking and jogged down the stairs. Cooper was waiting in the living room, the TV remote in his hand, a Wimbledon tennis match playing on the big screen.

  “This TV is sick!” he said, his eyes bright.

  I grabbed his wrist as I raced by. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Startled, Cooper dropped the remote. It clattered on the glass coffee table and an odd squeak escaped Gray’s throat. We had just made it to the glass door that looked out over the main deck with the infinity pool, and the beach, when my mother reached the loft railing one story above.

  “Ally!” she shouted. “This conversation isn’t over. Not by a long shot. We’re going to talk about this later.”

  I slipped outside and slammed the door as hard as I could. Every inch of me clenched in humiliation.

  “Sorry about that,” I told Cooper. Then I looked down at my hand around his arm, and released it, embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He held the ends of his towel with both hands. “My mom can be a bitch too.”

  “My mom’s not a bitch,” I said quickly.

  He shot me this look like whatever, which somehow made me feel foolish. And also made me wonder what his mother was like.

  “Well, thanks for giving me an excuse to escape,” I said.

  “No worries.” He placed his hands on the railing and looked out at the empty beach below. It was low tide, and the waves were gently lapping the shore. “Damn. This is beautiful.”

  I stared at his profile. Suddenly I wished Jake could see me right then, standing out here, looking out over the ocean with this perfect beach boy. I bet he’d regret not apologizing then. He’d regret the fact that he’d yet to call.

  “Yeah, but maybe we should walk up the beach a little,” I said, glancing warily at the house.

  He shrugged. “Works for me.” For a second he leaned back, clinging to the railing with his feet planted, then looked at me mischievously. “Race ya.”

  And he was gone, jogging down the wide wooden stairs in his flip-flops with a teasing laugh.

  “Cheater!”

  I ran after him, letting the wind whisk away the last bits of my anger. I could deal with my mother later. For now—just this once—I was going to pretend it was actually summer.

  Daily Field Journal of Annie Johnston Friday, July 2

  Position: Corner table at Jump.

  Cover: In need of caffeine to aid in plowing through summer reading list.

  Observations:

  8:35 p.m.: Subject Jake Graydon stares out the window from behind counter. Uniform: black T-shirt, khaki cargo shorts, brown Jump apron. He pulls out his phone, checks it, puts it back.

  8:40 p.m.: Subject Shannen Moore walks in. Uniform: patched denim cutoffs, deep red tank top, flip-flops, aviators. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees Subject Jake behind the counter. (Query: Is it possible that Shannen didn’t know her BFF was working here?)

  Shannen: Oh. Hey. You work here?

  (Assessment: Guess so.)

  Jake: Um, yeah.

  Shannen: Oh.

  Subject Shannen places her bag down on the counter.

  Shannen: Let me get a latte.

  Subject Jake grabs a cup. Drops it. Dives for it. Grabs it. Fumble recovered. Subject Shannen narrows her eyes.

  Shannen: Actually . . . make that a vanilla soy latte. With whipped cream. And cinnamon.

  Subject Jake doesn’t move.

  Shannen: Also a bialy. Everything. With low fat cream cheese. Unless you don’t have everything, and then I just want plain, but with the cranberry cream cheese. But don’t put too much on. And I don’t see any chocolate chip muffins. Can you check in back and see if they have any? But I’ll take that vanilla soy latte first.

  Subject Jake looks at her over his shoulder. (Assessment: He’s imagining a gruesome death scenario.)

  Shannen: Please.

  (Assessment: Someone is no longer someone’s BFF.)

  “What is the definition of the word . . . ‘obsequious’?”

  I stared out the bay window in my room. It looked out over the kidney-shaped pool in our backyard. The ancient woman next to me cleared her throat, then made this choking sound. She spit up something into her mouth, and swallowed it. I was about to vomit.

  “Mr. Graydon? Obsequious.”

  The pink flash card fluttered in her spotted, gnarly fingers. I looked at the word. How did she print in such perfect block letters when every inch of her body was constantly shaking? She had all this excess skin under her chin and it hung so low it covered the collar of her flowered shirt.

  “Um . . . annoying?” I guessed.

  She sighed, and a mouthful of onion breath hovered over my room like a toxic cloud.

  “It means dutiful . . . servile.” She placed the flash card down on the pile of words I’d gotten wrong. It was a lot bigger than the ones I’d gotten right. But now I’d remember “obsequious.” Because it was what I was being right now.

  In my lap, my phone vibrated. Even though it was loud, she didn’t notice. I glanced at the screen. It was a text from Hammond.

  Where r u dude? Get ur ass down here already.

  I texted back.

  Can’t. Stuck w Shale’s SAT tutor.

  Thought u were talking 2 ur mom.

  I did. No dice.

  The old lady lifted another card. I took a deep breath and held it. Then texted again.

  Have u seen ally?

  There was no response.

  “What is the definition of . . .”—cough, phlegm rattle—“mendicant?”

  I brightened slightly. I knew this one. “Begging . . . or a beggar.”

  She smiled. Her front two teeth were brown. “Good!”

  The card went on my correct stack. My phone vibrated.

  Not really. She’s avoiding us.

  I let out a frustrated sigh. I don’t know what I’d been hoping for. That she was sitting around moping? Asking about me? Why would she be doing that when she’d basically told me she couldn’t give a shit about me right before she left? I still couldn’t figure out what I’d done so wrong that day. If she’d given me five more seconds, I would have explained everything. I would’ve told her why I kept the whole thing about her dad a secret. And maybe she would have forgiven me. She would’ve had to. Because I didn’t really do anything wrong. It was all Shannen.

  My teeth gnashed like they did every time I thought about Shannen lately. We’d been having the perfect night until she’d gone and effed it all up. Me and Ally were this close to being together like a real couple. I’d never even wanted that with anyone before, and the second I did? Gone.

  The door to my room opened behind us and I quickly shoved my phone under my leg. The old lady tutor might have been hard of hearing, but my mom wasn’t missing a thing lately with the mood she’d been in. The other day
she’d called me out because I’d left my damn Xbox on pause overnight. Like we had any problems paying the electric bills. It was like she was looking for ways to get on my case.

  “How’s it going in here?” she asked.

  I didn’t acknowledge her, but tutor lady smiled as she turned haltingly in her seat. I could hear her bones creaking as she moved.

  “Fine, fine. He’s coming along,” she said.

  What? Seriously? Maybe she could only remember that I’d gotten the last one right. I sat up a little straighter.

  “Good! I’m glad to hear it,” my mother said. From the corner of my eye, I saw her smooth my bedspread. Guess Marta, our cleaning lady, hadn’t done a good enough job that morning. “See, Jake? I knew you could do it if you just focused.”

  Right. Whatever you say. But I wasn’t about to contradict her. I knew an opportunity when I saw it. And this was an opportunity to make a deal. To maybe get a chance to see Ally. I turned in my chair, hooking my arm over the back. My phone dug into my thigh as it slid toward the edge of the seat.

  “Hey, Mom, I was thinking . . . since I’m doing so well . . . maybe I could go down the shore tonight? Just for the rest of the weekend,” I added quickly.

  She stood up straight and let her hands fall heavy at her side. “Jake, no.”

  “But Mom—”

  “You have to work this weekend,” my mother said. She picked up my sandals and tossed them into my closet.

  I cursed the day I’d left my schedule on the kitchen counter. My mother had made a copy on the printer in the office and tacked it to the damn refrigerator.

  “I can get someone to cover my shifts,” I said. “Please. Mom! I’m missing everything.”

  “This is not about getting someone to cover for you,” my mother said, closing the closet door with a bang. “You have responsibilities now, Jake. You need to learn to honor them.”

  My fingers clenched into fists. Suddenly my room felt insanely small. Like there was no air. Like the ceiling was slowly lowering above my head. Everyone I knew was down the shore—sleeping late, playing volleyball on the beach, eating Bay Village pizza every day, and wakeboarding while the sun went down. But me? I was trapped in my tiny cell, breathing in noxious onion fumes and learning words no sane twenty-first-century person ever used in actual conversation.

  “This sucks,” I said, slumping back in my chair. As I moved, my phone hit the floor. And vibrated loudly. I lunged for it, but my mother was too fast. She plucked it off the carpet and checked the screen. Her face went ashen.

  “Your mom blows,” she read.

  My heart curled up and died. “He didn’t mean—”

  My mother’s mouth was a very thin line. She turned the phone off and dropped it in the pocket of her white shorts. “You can have that back when we’re done here. Meantime, I think I’ll call Hammond’s mom.”

  My face was on fire. “Mom, come on. Don’t.”

  “I think she should know the kind of language her son is using, don’t you?” she said.

  I swear old lady tutor laughed. Or maybe she was just choking again.

  “As for you, Jake, maybe we were unclear on what ‘grounded for the summer’ means,” my mother continued. “The sooner you accept that this is your life for the next two months, the better off you’ll be.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from pointing out that she’d let me go to the movies with Chloe. Maybe she was unclear about what “grounded for the summer” meant. I mean, she was the first one to blur the lines. I was just trying to make them blurrier. But if I said anything, she might go the other way. She might not let me go to the movies again, and then I’d really be screwed. So I just kept my mouth shut and slumped a little lower.

  “I ordered sushi for dinner,” my mother said. “When you’re done here, you can go pick it up.“

  “Fine,” I said through my teeth.

  “Keep up the good work, Mrs. Tate!” my mother said as she walked out of the room.

  When she closed the door behind her, I swear I heard the sound of prison bars clanging.

  That night, after an awkward dinner, I lay on my stomach on my bed with the door of the deck open, listening to the waves and reading Wuthering Heights. It was the first of the four books I’d have to read off my summer reading list if I wanted to start off AP English on the right foot in the fall. I lazily turned the page, trying to stop my brain from going where it kept wanting to go.

  To Cooper’s tan, wet abs.

  I shivered, giggled, and buried my face in the book for a second, inhaling that musty Orchard Hill library scent. Then I cleared my throat and straightened my face. I’d just pretend I was in class. That I had a teacher staring me down and I had to concentrate. That would keep me from—

  Cooper’s smile. His wet hair clinging to his forehead. His arm muscles flexing as he grabbed for me playfully in the water. God he was hot.

  I pushed myself up onto my butt and was about to slide back into the pillows, when there was a quick, authoritative rap on my door. My heart caught.

  “Come in?”

  Gray opened the door wide and stood on the threshold. He wore a salmon polo, unbuttoned one button too many, and crisp, gray flat-front chinos. “Ally, I’d like to talk to you.”

  Oh. Great.

  I swallowed hard. “I’m actually right in the middle of this chapter and it’s an assignment for school, so—”

  “This will only take a minute.”

  He stepped inside and half closed the door. Still, I felt trapped. I laid the book aside, lifted my chin, and waited.

  “It’s about your mother,” he began, placing his palms together. “She’s . . . very upset with you.”

  I felt a flash of anger. I knew how my mom was feeling. I’d known how my mom was feeling every day of my life from the day I could talk. I didn’t need him to tell me.

  “No. You know what? That’s a cop-out,” he said. “It’s not just your mother; I’m very upset with you, too.”

  “Excuse me?” I blurted, pressing my hands into the mattress.

  “Look, I realize you’re going through a lot right now, with what happened at Shannen Moore’s party and your dad coming back out of nowhere, but when I invited you and your mother down here for the summer, I was not expecting to be sharing my house with a sullen, rude teenager for two months.”

  My jaw dropped. I shoved myself up off the bed, standing on the far side—as far away from him as I could get. “Oh, well I’m sorry if I’m not living up to your high expectations!”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said. He took a second, squeezed his eyes closed, and scratched at his forehead. Apparently he’d never had to give Quinn a talking-to, perfect as she was. My very existence seemed to have stumped him. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited. “Look, what I meant to say is . . . this is just no way to behave . . . taking your disappointment and . . . and anger out on the rest of us. Now, I know that your mother isn’t quite ready to talk about the situation with your dad, so if you need someone to talk to—”

  “You?” I practically screeched, backing up a step. “Are you kidding me? You want me to talk to you?”

  His face dropped a bit. “Is that so hard to imagine?”

  “Uh, yeah!” I shouted. “You are not my father.”

  The words hung in the air for a long moment. I heard a creak down the hall and wondered where my mother and Quinn were, whether they were listening.

  “I’m aware of that,” he said tersely.

  “Oh, are you? Because it doesn’t seem that way, what with you coming in here for this little heart-to-heart,” I said sarcastically. “I only came down here because I didn’t want to be away from my mom and because I didn’t want to deal with all that crap at home. I did not come down here because I want to have some kind of relationship with you.”

  His skin turned all blotchy. I’d never really seen Gray angry, but I had a feeling that I was about to get my first eyeful. “Well, I’m sorry to tell you that I’m n
ot going anywhere. And as long as your mother and I are together, you’re going to have to have some kind of relationship with me.”

  “We’ll see,” I snapped.

  He shook his head, fed up, and turned to go. His hand was on the side of the door when he looked over his shoulder at me, his expression condescending.

  “You know, you didn’t seem to mind me so much when I was introducing you to Rick Morris the other day,” he said. “I think it’s about time you take a look at your conduct and decide if this is the person you really want to be.”

  He closed the door behind him, having gotten in the last word, and I let out a frustrated screech. What did he expect me to do? Turn down an intro to the scout from one of my top schools? I wasn’t a moron. I just didn’t need another father. What a total asshole, trying to make me feel guilty.

  Well, guess what, Gray? You lose. Because I don’t feel guilty. Not at all. In fact, all you’ve just done is made me more determined than ever to get rid of you.

  I grabbed my phone and speed-dialed my father. I got his voice mail.

  “Dad? It’s me. I was just wondering when this grand master plan of yours to win Mom back is going to kick in. Because whatever you need, I’m here. Call me back.”

  I hung up the phone and threw myself down on my bed, hands on my temples.

  Just breathe, I told myself. Just breathe. . . . Everything’s going to be fine. Everything will be okay.

  Unfortunately, no matter how many times I repeated it, my heart refused to believe it.