“What happened last night…” Lisa said. “It’s not what you think.”
“How do you know what I think?”
“I didn’t … you know.” Lisa avoided my eyes, examining her nails. “I left right after you.”
“Still,” I said, rinsing my bowl. “What were you thinking?”
“Jealous?” Lisa wiggled her eyebrows and then screamed when I squirted her with the sink sprayer.
“I ran into Foley last night,” I said, sighing.
“See? You’re not perfect either.”
“We talked,” I said. “I didn’t stick my tongue down his throat.”
I didn’t cheat.
Lisa opened the freezer. “Can I have a waffle?” she asked. “Hey, Katie, you want a waffle?”
While Lisa waited for the toaster, I went to get dressed. I struggled into my bathing suit—still damp from yesterday—and dragged my hair into a ponytail. Adam’s oxford—it still smelled like him—frayed cutoffs, flip-flops. I was searching for my sunglasses when Lisa’s sister started howling in the living room.
“What are you oh-ing about?” I asked, running into the room.
“This guy on TV! He has a tapeworm in his eye!”
“I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be watching that,” I said, turning off the TV. My sunglasses were on the end table. I grabbed them as Lisa tossed her sister a waffle on the way out the door. Katie liked to exaggerate, but she was right—it was stupid hot. I started sweating the minute I stepped outside. “Did Trent slip us something last night?” I asked, locking up. “I think I tripped.”
“You weren’t tripping,” Lisa said, fluttering her fingers in my face. “Last night was freaky.”
“So there really was a staircase in the woods?” I said. “I didn’t dream that part?”
Nibbling the crispy edge around her waffle, Lisa said, “You didn’t dream it.”
Katie was halfway down the block already. Jogging was out of the question. My knees were killing me. I bribed her to wait with the promise of gum. Sixth-graders will do anything for gum.
“I know I’m being paranoid,” I said. “But I swear someone followed me home.”
Lisa cocked her head. “That’s funny. Adam said he felt weird, too, like we were being watched.”
I stopped. “Adam?”
“He walked with me to Cutler.”
I lowered my mirrored glasses and trudged on. I hate sun. It gives me a headache. And Lisa was wearing too much concealer. It made her hard to look at. I told her her face looked orange.
“You’re in a mood today,” she said. “You’re being weird. Bitchy weird. What’s wrong?”
The hiss of air brakes made me jump. The Route 5 on its way to the mall. The driver waved. I waved back. Marty. He’s one of the good ones. He’s always been nice to my mom, not like some of the other guys who gave her a hard time after she got promoted to supervisor. My dad used to work for the bus company, too, as the head of maintenance, until he had his meltdown. The last I heard, he was working as a night security guard in some office building downtown.
“Are we going to Trent’s tonight?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess. Gabe’s off at four.”
“Did you tell him you lost your necklace?”
We sidestepped a broken bottle and hurried past the sleazy bar with the blackened windows. I hate the blocks between Brandywine and Sumner. It’s this pocket of sadness in the middle of our neighborhood. My mom said it’s spreading from downtown, that it used to be different. Now even the stores are depressing: payday loans and pit bull breeding and rent-to-own furniture. A couple of girls on bikes went by. Katie waved, but they ignored her. When we reached Pinewood, we crossed the street out of habit. It had been a long time since we’d been this aware of the woods. I shivered despite the heat. The three of us kept our eyes on the sidewalk. No one said anything. Lisa and I were kids again, holding our breath to pass a cemetery. And then a horn honked, breaking the spell. Rachel in her fumy hatchback.
“Where you headed?” she asked.
Lisa pointed to the sign for Hillhurst Park and said, “Pool.”
“You and Trent patch things up?” I asked. Not that I cared. I just wanted Lisa to squirm.
Rachel lowered her stereo. “Yeah, we’re fine. It was nothing.”
“See?” I said, nudging Lisa with my elbow. “I told you it wasn’t serious.”
Lisa whacked me with her bag, and I wheeled on her. “Bug,” she said flatly. “Got it.”
“I’ll catch you tonight at Trent’s,” Rachel said.
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my arm. “See you later.”
Lisa smiled uneasily. “Later.”
All three of us clutched our ears as Rachel peeled away from the curb. Two months and she still hadn’t mastered stick shift. Katie lowered her hands to her hips and threw us a suspicious squint.
“Why are you guys fighting?” she asked.
“We’re not fighting,” I said.
Shrugging, she snapped her gum and marched on.
Lisa’s breath on my neck made me shudder. “It was a mistake,” she hissed. “Wait till you slip up, Kolcun.”
My mom calls the pool at Hillhurst the Polio Pit—whatever that means. It’s not like a real pool, with diving boards and slides and ladders for getting in and out. It’s more like a pond with a concrete bottom. Chlorinated or not, it’s kind of scuzzy and today it was crawling with kids. Lisa and I claimed a spot in the grass, away from the mothers with their screechy voices. Katie whipped off her cover-up immediately. I hate feeling like everyone’s watching you undress, even if they’re not. Lisa held up a towel to hide me while I stripped, then slathered her sister with triple-digit SPF. I’m all about the tanning butter. I like my ghostly skin, but I also like how I look after a week at the pool, especially my legs.
We watched Katie splash around for a while and then dug through our bags for our phones. Lisa cursed. She’d left hers charging on her desk. I stuck one of my buds in her ear as a peace offering, but she plucked it out and handed it back. It was going to be one of those days, the kind where the two of us are completely out of sync. It’s better to ignore each other. I put on the playlist Adam made me and stretched out on a towel, closing my eyes. The first song was all tribal drums and jangly guitars. I fell asleep before it ended. When I woke, the sun had shifted. Lisa was sitting with her chin on her knees and had this angry, faraway look.
“Hey,” I said, tickling her back with her bathing suit string. “I’m sorry about the Trent thing.”
“It’s not you,” she grumbled. “Stupid Larry.”
Stupid Larry is Lisa’s stepdad. Her real father suffers from the same disease as mine: deadbeatitis.
“He totally went off on me last night,” Lisa complained. “Said he doesn’t care what my mother says—from now on he wants me home by ten. Said I shouldn’t be out ‘tramping’ around. Can you believe him?”
I didn’t say anything—didn’t even crack a smile—but Lisa swatted me with a magazine.
“I’m going to the Snack Shack,” she said. “What do you want?”
“Sour gummies,” I said. I ran my tongue over my teeth. “And a toothbrush.”
Lisa fished her wallet from her bag. “Keep an eye on Katie,” she warned. “She’ll try to sneak over to the deep end.”
I checked my phone. Adam had sent me a text on his way to work. It was his first day washing dishes in the hospital kitchen. Lisa and I were the only ones without jobs. Actually, Lisa had a job—watching Katie. Their mom works nights and sleeps days and can’t afford to send Katie to day camp. Me, I had no excuse.
“Hey, Katie!” I shouted over the pool and the noise. Three separate girls—none of them Lisa’s sister—stopped bobbing and stared. I waved them away. “Not you! Katie Grant!”
I knew she’d heard me, but she ducked under the rope of red-and-white floats. The water was up to her neck. I waded in after her, my skinned knees burning from the chlorine, and bumped into a kid spinn
ing in circles, making waves with his arm. A kid doing a handstand kicked me in the face. “You’re dead, Katie!” I called, pogoing out to the middle. Katie’s blue lips quivered when I grabbed her wrist.
“Noooo!” she pleaded. “I’m looking for Ryan! He said he was going to be here.”
Her pruney fingers swiped at the bangs plastered to her forehead. I plucked a blade of grass stuck to her cheek, looking at her sadly. I knew exactly how she felt. Foley was famous for saying he’d be one place and ending up in another. How many times had I searched for him at Fun Nights or parties or football games? Not Adam, though. He was always right where I wanted him, right where he said he’d be.
My knees had quieted, so I splashed around with Katie until I saw Lisa coming through the pines. She’d kill me for leaving our stuff out for anyone to steal. I waded out and toweled off and watched her peel away toward the picnic area. Same bouncy walk, same white-blond pigtails, but it wasn’t Lisa. I watched Not Lisa flirt with a shirtless guy kicking around a hacky sack. By the time the real Lisa came back, my bathing suit was dry.
“What took you so long?” I said. “Where’s my candy?”
“Forget the candy. I’ve got something better.”
She opened her fist. Wow, a marble, I thought. Big deal. But then she nudged it with her finger. Blue iris. Pupil black as night. My heart thunked.
“I went to find my necklace,” she said lightly.
“Have you lost your mind?” I shrieked. “You could’ve been attacked!”
Lisa rolled her eyes—I was overreacting. But I wasn’t. We’d spent our whole lives avoiding the woods for that exact reason.
“It’s not as scary during the day,” she said.
I looked to the tree line. “Did you find it? Your necklace?”
She shook her head wearily. “No. He’s probably got my flip-flop, too.”
“Who’s got your flip-flop?” Katie asked, crashing belly up-on my towel.
Lisa quickly hid the eye in her bag. “Nobody,” she said. “We brought you here to swim. Go.”
Katie pretended to shiver. “I’m cold. I want to go home.”
“She’s bummed because Ryan didn’t show,” I said.
Lisa packed her sunscreen and sunglasses. “Maybe his house got a flat tire.”
I tugged my towel out from under Katie and she rolled across the grass.
“I hate you both,” she hissed.
“If you’re nice to me,” Lisa said, “I’ll let you in on a secret.”
Katie sat up and folded her arms over her chest. Lisa glanced around like she was up to something illegal. “You know that story about the guy who lives in the woods? Banana Man?”
Katie’s eyes bulged. “You guys know about Banana Man?” she asked.
Lisa slung her arm over her sister’s shoulder. “You think you and your little friends made him up? He’s real, girly-girl. We found his house. You want to see it?”
Katie pulled back. “Are you crazy?”
I ducked a Frisbee headed for my face. “Yes, she is,” I said.
Scrunching up her nose, Katie whispered, “He’s a prevert.”
“It’s ‘pervert.’” I corrected, walking toward the bike path. “But yeah.”
“Did you see him?” Katie whispered.
Just as I was about to shake my head, Lisa nodded.
“He’s super creepy looking, with rotten teeth and slits for eyes and an ugly purple birthmark on his forehead,” she said with wide eyes.
Katie made a questioning face. “Like Larry’s?”
Lisa nodded. “Exactly like Larry’s”
When we got back to their house, all the shades were pulled down to keep the sun out because their mom was sleeping. Katie took the phone in the bathroom to call her friends—My sister saw Banana Man!—and Lisa and I crept down the hall to her bedroom. My hair was a wreck. Lisa dug the eye out of the bottom of her bag and set it on her nightstand. It rolled toward the edge. Propping it against her alarm clock, she commanded it to stay.
“You’re not seriously going to leave that there?” I asked.
Lisa smiled. “It’s my … what do you call things that protect people?”
“A talisman.”
“Yeah. One of those.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Lisa’s room was one big collage of “found objects.” Orange pylons and pink flamingos, street signs and random letters from marquees. My favorite was the collection of wigs she’d liberated from the theater department. While we were fixing our makeup, an engine hummed past the window. The garage door creaked. The screen door slapped against its frame.
“Lisa!”
Larry was home. Lisa barely tolerated her stepfather, but he was always nice to me. He wasn’t a bad guy—just a little strict. Stricter than her mom. Mrs. Grant let Lisa get away with a lot—way more than my mom.
“Hey, Trace.” Larry waved from the counter where he was going through the mail. I call Lisa’s mom Mom, but I never know what to call Lisa’s stepfather. After ten years Lisa still calls him Larry. Katie calls him Dad. My mom needs to find someone new, too, but I hope she never remarries, at least not until I’m old enough to move out.
Larry tossed a magazine to Lisa, then crept up behind Katie and took a huge bite out of her ice cream sandwich. “You guys have fun at the pool?” he asked.
Frowning at her nearly empty wrapper, Katie said, “It was okay.”
Larry cocked his head as she headed for the trash. “Is that Lisa’s old bathing suit?”
Lisa told Katie to go change and then dug a grape Popsicle from the freezer. I wanted a Popsicle, too, but I just stood there awkwardly. Larry rolled his eyes at me—My stepdaughter has no manners—then marched to the fridge and asked me what flavor.
“Last one,” Lisa said, squeezing past Larry and the freezer to get to Katie. With the rolled-up magazine, she swatted her sister’s backside. “Didn’t I tell you to change?” she said. “Do it. Now.”
Larry crushed the empty Popsicle box and frowned. “Someone’s in a mood,” he said.
“Someone doesn’t appreciate being called a tramp,” Lisa said.
Larry’s face reddened.
“What’s for dinner?” Katie asked. “Can we have tacos?”
My cue to leave. The last thing I wanted was an invitation, not with Lisa this way. “I better go,” I said. “My mother left me a list. If it’s not done, she won’t let me out later.”
“We’re meeting at six,” Lisa said. Sucking her Popsicle, she glared at Larry, daring him to contradict her.
“Six,” I echoed.
It wasn’t always like that—so tense. Only when Larry tried to put the reins on Lisa. On normal days, I preferred being at their place. Friends’ families are always better than your own. Better food, better houses, better parents. I should’ve stayed for tacos. An hour later I was kicking myself for rushing home to clean the bathroom.
“I don’t care if the toilet sparkles,” my mother said. “You’ve been out every night this week.”
Scowling at the reconstituted onions on my burger, I used a ketchup packet to scrape the bun. Fast food again. My dad always liked the other burger place better. He used to sound like a commercial when he’d talk about the superior taste of flame-broiling. Flame-broiled fake meat is still fake meat. When I was a kid I loved the stuff, especially the chicken nuggets. When my dad had a meeting, my mom would bring home the twenty-piece to split, or else she’d make us fish sticks or potpies. Always something my dad didn’t mind missing. It was like a food holiday. Until that last year, when it got to be every day.
“I thought we’d go for ice cream,” my mom said cheerily.
“No thanks.” I bunched my wrappers, tossed them in the trash, and went to brush my teeth.
Lisa was stupid. I’d take Larry over my mother any day. At least he was consistent. You knew what to expect and what he expected of you. My mother’s randomness made me crazy. She had no reason for keeping me home.
I floppe
d on my bed—anger ringing in my chest—and turned on the TV. Everything was either stupid or half over. I was painting my toes black when my mother poked her head in the door.
“Hey, Trace?” she said. “Adam’s here.”
I capped the polish and heel-walked out to the living room to find Adam parked on the edge of our couch, checking his phone. He’d come straight from work. He wanted to know if I’d eaten.
“My mother says I can’t go out,” I said, loud enough for her to hear me in the kitchen.
Adam squeezed my shoulders and half smiled. “We can hang out here.”
I glanced around our pathetic living room: sad plaid couch and corduroy recliner. The dinky television I had to squint to see. Every surface covered with pictures of Scott and me. If you spun around fast enough, you could watch us grow up. “That sounds fun,” I said flatly. “Hear that, Mom? Adam doesn’t mind hanging out here. He hasn’t had dinner, though. Can you make him something?”
My mother dropped something heavy and huffed. “Just go,” she said wearily. “Please go.”
The knot in my chest slackened. I could breathe again. I was glad I hadn’t called Lisa. She’d be waiting at the corner with Gabe. I skipped into the kitchen and cautiously kissed my mother’s cheek. “I love you,” I said. My mother shrugged. I felt like a jerk. Staying home wasn’t supposed to be punishment. She wanted to spend time with me. When I told her I’d be home early, she looked vaguely appreciative, so I didn’t tell her why: Lisa’s new curfew was ten.
I felt even worse when we all stopped for cones.
“You’re dripping.” Lisa laughed, lapping up half my sprinkles. It was my favorite time of day, with the sun low in the sky and the whole night ahead of us. Adam sucked down a vanilla-chocolate twist and ordered a chili dog. Gabe lumbered to the window for another cheeseburger. There was a dopey-giant quality about him that cracked me up, especially when he chased Adam into the street with the mustard dispenser and then hung his head in shame after the woman running the window yelled at him.
What We Knew Page 3
