What boy really wants to brush some crazy girl’s hair in the morning because she can’t do it herself?
And in a few years, Dillon will graduate high school at the top of our class and leave for college.
I’ll be lucky if I pass the ninth grade.
“I got you something.” The boy next door opens his backpack and pulls out a long yellow feather. “The art kids are making something with them.”
As happiness buzzes inside me, I say, “You stole it?”
“They had a lot. One won’t be missed,” he says, handing it over to me.
Holding the quill between my fingers, I rub the feather across my lips; soft fibers slide along my mouth and tickle my nose. Dillon reaches out and pushes my shades to the top my head like he does every time we’re alone together. As I look up into his beautiful green eyes, I think about what Pepper Hill said and wonder why I didn’t come up with it myself.
After everything he does for me, giving him this is the least I can do.
“Dillon?”
“Yeah?” He stares as his gift passes my lips.
“Do you want to have sex?”
Shocked and beyond red in the face, Dillon side-eyes me the entire walk from the library to my math room. Before he continues to his honors English course, his mouth opens like there’s something to say, but he snaps his lips shut and practically shoves me into class before walking away.
I take a seat in the back and pull out the book to a class I don’t have a chance of passing before the end of the year.
“Did you get any makeup work done, Penelope,” Mrs. SheBlendswiththeRestofThem asks.
Tearing one assignment I managed to complete from my three-ring binder, I hand it over but don’t bother coming up with an excuse as to why the other practices are incomplete. Mrs. NoName taps her brown leather pump on the dirty tile floor and shakes her head.
“This isn’t going to cut it, Miss Finnel,” she says in a disappointing tone.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
Other students notice our educator isn’t at the front of the classroom instructing. They look over their shoulders, glancing back and forth from Mrs. InsertNameHere to me, hanging on our every word.
“How many chances can I give you? Why isn’t education a priority? Do you care about your future, Penelope? Do you want to go to college?” Disappointed goes on and on.
I watch her thin lips move, but I don’t listen, only nodding when she pauses for a response.
“Blah, blah, blah, blah.” Mrs. Blah jabs her finger into the assignment I gave her. “Blah. Blah.”
“Yeah, ma’am,” I say, distracted.
“I’m going to have another discussion with your father.” She blinks quickly, throws her hands up, and walks away.
Mrs. PolyesterSkirt has a run in her stockings.
One by one, my fellow scholars face the front of the classroom, open their math books to page blah, and start today’s lesson. I attempt to keep up, but like my earlier lecture, finding X and rounding to the nearest tenth bleeds into a bunch of … blah.
“Mrs. Bixby is such a drag.”
Two desks over on my right, Joshua Dark sits low in his chair, flipping a blue pen between his fingers. Near black eyes look back at me, surrounded by olive skin and short spiky hair. He’s occupied the same seat all year long, but Risa told me to avoid the reservation kids, and Josh Dark is their leader.
Smiling politely, I pretend to busy myself by solving the ratio of whatever.
“Do you understand this shit?” He picks up his belongings and moves to the desk right beside mine. “Need help with that stack of late work?”
He smells like cloves and cinnamon gum, and I notice gold specks in eyes I thought were black. Larger than any other boy in our grade—even Dillon—Josh’s arms are triple the size of mine. When he reaches over for my overdue assignments, his hands are almost the same size as the sheet of paper.
“Damn, girl, you are behind.” He picks up his pencil and answers all my problems.
When the hour’s up and it’s time to go home, Joshua Dark has finished more than half of my makeup work and packs the rest with promises to have them done by tomorrow.
“No big deal,” he says, lifting his backpack over his massive shoulder when I thank him.
I don’t ask why he’s in this math class if he’s such a smarty-pants; his menace to society reputation precedes him. Rumor is he beat up the principal at his old school, and he deals drugs to small children at playgrounds. Mathilda Tipp said she heard he and his gang robbed a bank once, but going by the moth-eaten holes in his shirt and old shoes, that’s probably not true.
Josh walks behind me out of class and then towers over me in the hallway. Passing me a crumbled piece of paper, he says, “If you need help with tonight’s homework, give me a call.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask as his seven digits burn in my hand.
Bad news nods toward the classroom and says, “Bixby’s a bitch.”
I roll my eyes. “She’s nothing compared to my English teacher.”
“Mr. Koster?” he asks. “Bald, fat, and smells like—”
“Colby jack cheese,” I finish his sentence.
“Exactly.” Josh laughs. “I have him, too. First period.”
We compare schedules and discover we share the same teachers at different times during the day. While exchanging strange encounters we’ve had with each of them, I don’t notice the hallway’s empty, and we’re the only two students left until Dillon comes looking for me.
“We’re waiting for you, Pen,” he says, out of breath.
Josh takes a step back, losing the smile. Dillon grabs my hand, moving between the dangerous, bank robbing, homework maestro rez boy and me.
“Sorry,” I say, squeezing his fingers.
Dark eyes fall on me. “You apologize a lot.”
Rolling mine, I introduce trouble to kindness. “Dillon, this is Joshua Dark. He helped me with my math assignments. Josh, this is my boyfriend, Dillon Decker.”
There is no response from either one of them at first, but kindness shouldn’t be confused with weakness.
“Stay away from my girl.” Bad, blonde, and bold squares up, showing a side of himself I’ve never seen before.
Unfazed, Josh smiles and walks away, saying, “See ya, Penny.”
My dad stares at me like I just told him there’s a dental theories’ seminar for nerd dentists like himself he wasn’t invited to.
No, better than that.
His face reminds me of that time he realized a grown man had stolen his lucky molar spreader from his office after an extraction and was forced to buy a new, unlucky one.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” Dad clears his throat, shutting the door so that Mom doesn’t hear our conversation.
Sex is natural, it happens, and it’s a part of becoming a man. Dad told me all of this when he was naming parts on a plastic uterus, and now he wants to know if I’m ready. I wasn’t ready for hair to grow on my balls, but that happened.
I wonder how many M&M’s Coach Finnel will give me if I make Pen smile during sex.
Those should count as double.
“Considering Penelope’s condition, Dillon, committing to a physical relationship with her isn’t very wise.”
“She’s sad sometimes,” I say, swallowing my anger. “Not dying.”
Pulling the rolling chair out from behind his desk, he sits and takes his glasses off. Dad pinches the bridge of his nose before continuing. “There’s more to it than that, Dillon. Especially in children, and that’s exactly what the two of you are.”
“I’ll be fifteen in five months,” I say, sitting straight to seem taller, even though I stand nose-to-nose with this man.
I wait for my father to present a pamphlet on depressed teenagers or a plastic model of the human brain and prepare myself for a lecture about things I don’t want to hear. Instead, he unbuttons the cuffs on his light blue dress shirt and rolls up his sleeves.
“Your friend is very sick, Son,” he says in a serious voice. “And it’s an illness she won’t likely grow out of.”
“I can deal with it,” I insist. Penelope’s mine to deal with, and I know her better than he or anyone else does.
“No, I don’t think you can.” Dad leans back and crosses his arms.
Sitting in front of a wall covered with framed degrees and other awards he’s received from his field of expertise, there’s no doubt the man who gave me life is smart. I give him a hard time but take the advice he gives me more times than not.
This isn’t one of those times.
“You’re a little young to be in such a serious relationship, but it’s obvious it makes you happy. Until lately, it’s remained mostly innocent.”
Listening to him talk—like he knows what being with the girl next door is like—makes me want to pull his two front teeth out with a pair of rusty pliers. Without Novocain.
“Since the Finnels moved in, your mother and I have witnessed your priorities slowly take the backseat for Pen. We’re well aware of how intense first love can be, but I think it’s time we intervene.”
Pushing my hand through my hair, I exhale a frustrated breath. “Risa’s in love every other week, and you don’t say anything to her.”
A small smile cracks Dad’s sorry resolve. “Your sister is a free spirit, and I mostly support her journey through self-discovery.”
“She’s a pothead and a high school flunkie,” I reply, rolling my eyes. Guilt instantly smacks me in the mouth, and I don’t say another word, afraid of the sting.
Knowing that my dad might be right bites, too.
“And you’re normally not, but your progress report arrived in the mail yesterday.”
A few disappointed teachers warned me that my grades were sent home for my parents to see. Every day since then I’ve checked the mailbox, hoping to swipe it from the postman’s bag before it was delivered, but all that arrived were bills and grocery coupons. Deciding my instructors are rotten liars, I gave stalking the postman a rest.
Wrong move.
“Your mother also mentioned noticing your bedroom light on at all hours of the night, which would explain why you’re late to school so much.”
My pulse throbs in my fingertips as I say, “I’ll work on my grades, and I won’t be late anymore.”
Dad slips his spectacles back up his narrow nose and blinks behind the thick lenses. “I’ve never felt like I need to enforce any kind of strict rules with you, Dillon. And I like Penelope, but...”
Before the gavel lands, I stand and rush to the door, saying as I go, “I’ll let Pen know we can’t have sex. Thanks for the talk.”
Dipping out the front door into the May sunshine, I cross my driveway and then the Finnels’, careful not to step into the oil stains Risa’s Beetle has left on the concrete. As I step onto the neighbor’s front porch, I don’t bother knocking before I walk inside. The “ring the doorbell before you enter my kingdom” Nazi isn’t home, and Sonya says I’m welcome into her home anytime.
“She’s upstairs,” Penelope’s mother says from the kitchen, licking what looks like brownie batter from her finger.
Taking each step slowly, I decide that I’m never going to my dad for advice again. What does love have to do with sex, anyway? And who is he to judge Penelope’s sadness? He’s the guy who cried every time I lost a tooth as a child because he said my teeth were so perfect the Tooth Fairy didn’t deserve them.
“Bad news,” I say, pushing open Pen’s bedroom door.
“Shh.” She holds her finger to her lips.
I stop in the doorway, brightening the dark, stuffy space. Her walls glow orange from firelight burning from dozens of tea light candles she lit and placed all over. The blaze starter sits crisscross in the center of her bed, palms up on her knees with the tips of her middle finger and thumbs touching.
“Huuummm.” Penelope’s eyes are closed, and her bare face is expressionless.
Enough flickering candles to burn the entire house down cover every flat surface in the room. I quickly count a row of twenty on her dresser in front of her stereo, another ten sit on the windowsill, seven burn on the nightstand, and three twinkle on top of her English book on the floor beside a huge pile of clothes.
“What the heck are you doing?” I ask, closing the door behind me. Before we burn alive, I blow the candles out and open the bedroom window to let some air in.
“Hey!” she exclaims, falling flat on her back. “I was so close that time. You need to respect the dead, Dillon.”
Waving a purple pillow under the smoke detector so it doesn’t go off before the smoke clears out, I ask, “Close to what?”
“Summoning Kurt Cobain’s ghost. I want him to use my voice to communicate to his fans one more time.”
Throwing the pillow to the corner of the room, I sit on the edge of the bed, satisfied that I’ve saved the entire block from a fiery death.
In an old band T-shirt with a few plastic rosaries around her neck, Pen has the rocker’s albums at her side and his music quietly playing in the background.
“You shouldn’t light so many candles or offer your body as a vessel to lifeless musicians,” I say.
“He wouldn’t be dead if his wife didn’t kill him.” Disappointed brown eyes look up at me.
“Didn’t he shoot himself?” I ask.
Pen waves me off. “You’ve come with bad news?”
I nod and say, “My dad said we shouldn’t, you know … do it.”
The spirit caller sits up, and her long, wavy hair falls behind her slender shoulders. Crucifixes hang low over the roundness of her chest. Three days have passed since she mentioned losing our virginity to each other. Since then, thoughts about the girl who sometimes cries for no reason invade my brain in a new way.
I memorized the shape of her lips and how the top is plumper than the bottom. She has freckles dusted across her chest, and some fall in the form of a diamond right under the hollow point at the base of her throat. Long eyelashes sweep along her pale cheeks when she blinks, and I like the way she talks out the corner of her mouth.
When we kiss, I’m more aware than ever of the way her developments push against me, and how her fingers lace around the back of my neck. Pen took my hand under the table at lunch the other day and placed it on her bare thigh. I was too afraid to do anything, and my fear was the only thing that stopped me from slipping my palm up and down her leg like I wanted to.
“What do dads know?” she says, brushing the back of her hand across her forehead. Her shirt creeps up as she lifts her arm.
Jumpiness bounces in the pit of my stomach. I close my eyes for a second, chasing away thoughts of bare navels and yellow panties peeking out from under jean shorts.
“He’s kind of a doctor,” I say, swallowing hard.
“But he doesn’t know about us,” she answers easily, resting her chin on my shoulder. Penelope looks up at me from under her dark lashes.
This girl’s closeness makes my palms sweat, and my heartbeat picks up.
“We love each other, right?” she whispers.
It didn’t make sense when my dad mentioned it before I dashed from his office, but hearing the word love from Penelope’s lips makes everything seem clear.
I’ve loved her since bubblegum bubbles and moving trucks.
I love her for red heart-shaped glasses.
I love her because of the way she looks flying on my handlebars.
I love her.
“What’s wrong with Penelope?” Herbert asks, nodding his head toward sorrow’s form under a tree in the school courtyard.
Pen has her face hidden between the knees she has pressed to her chest. I knew today was going to be tough when I pulled her out of bed this morning and saw dark circles under her eyes and tears rolling down her pale cheeks, but it’s getting worse as the day goes on.
Veiled behind blue lenses, she’s not invisible; the world is. She’s not speaking to anyo
ne but me, and when I picked her up from class before lunch, she was asleep with her head down on the desk.
“Nothing’s wrong with her,” I say sharply. My friends don’t know. They haven’t put two and two together and realized Pen’s not normal.
Joining my girlfriend under the old oak, I kneel down beside her.
“I don’t think I can go to class, Dillon,” she says. Her voice sounds hollow between her legs.
“One more class and we can leave together.”
She shakes her head, turning to the side so I can see her face. Liquid grief slips from her eyes, and her lips tremble when she says, “I’ll go find my dad. He’ll let me sleep in his office.”
“You’ve made it through most of the day. Another hour is nothing,” I say, drying her face with my fingertips.
Lifting hopelessness to her feet, I tuck her under my arm and walk toward the English building where Pen’s last course is. I watch her smaller green Chucks step beside my black and white ones as I talk about things that make my girl happy. Like ghosts and the feathers I keep taking from the art studio.
She holds on to my shirt when we reach the last class on her schedule.
“This is it, and then we have all summer, okay?” I say, peeling her fingers back from my clothes before kissing her knuckles.
“I’m not going to pass this class in one day. It’s not a big deal if I skip.” Penelope’s bottom lip quivers. She lowers her head so I can’t see her face.
The pang in my stomach I get when she gets this depressed kicks in, turning my insides out. Instead of doubling over and crying out like my girl does when things get too bad, I kiss the top of her head and push some of her frizzy hair behind her ear.
I’m about to walk down the hall toward the honors English class in the next building I’m passing by the skin of my teeth when Joshua Dark walks past us and opens the classroom door. He holds it open with his foot and says, “You coming in, Penny?”
She looks up and halfway smiles at the boy she’s been warned over and over again not to talk to. I almost change my mind and tell Pen we should ditch and go home now, but when she nods her head and steps away from me, the words are stuck in my mouth. Before she’s too far, I grab her hand and squeeze her fingers.
True Love Way Page 9
