Ink is Thicker Than Water (Entangled Teen)

by Spalding, Amy

  After I give Finn a bath and read him three stories of his choosing and one that I make up about Marvin vs. a pack of wild pirates (obviously, the pirates are no match for Marvin), he’s finally ready to sleep. I don’t want to say I’m anxious to spend time with my boyfriend because that probably makes me both a bad sibling and babysitter, but honestly, I’m anxious to spend time with Oliver. And I’d just seen him the day before. And from the next room all evening. I am in some Serious Like with him.

  “He’s asleep,” I say, walking into the living room, where Oliver is flipping through the channels.

  “It’s a lot of work,” Oliver says. “I would have killed my parents if they had a kid four years ago.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably the normal reaction, but I was just really excited. I figured my mom couldn’t have more kids because I was a miracle or whatever.”

  Oliver brushes my hair back from my face and grins, the special Oliver grin reserved just for me. “You were a miracle?”

  “Yeah, Mom and Dad thought they couldn’t have kids, that’s why Sara’s adopted, but then I happened, to everyone’s shock. So I guess Dad was the problem, because no one seemed that surprised when Mom got pregnant with Finn. Sara was totally horrified at first, but I figured it’d be cool, and it is.”

  “Except for when you get stuck home on a Saturday.”

  I shrug. “Sort of, sure. Maybe this makes me a huge loser, but I still had fun.”

  He turns that into a joke about how much fun we could be having, so of course we start making out. Everything in my head has sort of turned into a pro/con list regarding sex with Oliver, except I can’t actually think of anything to put on the con side. I mean, am I will be someone who’s had sex really a con? My brain just can’t really wrap around it, like here is this major life step I can totally take, but it would change this fundamental thing about me.

  Though, really, is lack of sex a fundamental thing?

  “Have you had sex with a lot of girls?” I ask him when we pause for air. Also I want to get my lip balm from my purse. “I don’t care, I just wondered.”

  “Not a lot,” he says. “Unless you think two is a lot.”

  “Two is definitely not a lot. Was one of them Sophie?”

  “Well, yeah,” he says, like, duh, who wouldn’t sleep with Sophie? I’d probably at least seriously consider it if it was an option. “Is that a problem?”

  “No, I’m just nosy.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?” I remember the time we made out in his room, and I told him I didn’t normally freak out about sex. Of course that would catch up with me. “No girls at all.”

  “You’re hilarious.” He smiles, though. “And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. People are allowed to have privacy.”

  There are definitely two choices right in front of me: tell the truth and look like an idiot or lie and therefore, look like one later when I have sex with Oliver. I hate both of these choices.

  “Hey, kids,” Mom calls to us as she walks inside. “I didn’t get a chance to eat dinner, so I brought home Vietnamese.”

  I’d eaten when Finn had, but just soup and a sandwich, so I’m thrilled to take a summer roll and a big serving of lemongrass chicken. Also, obviously, thrilled that I’ve managed to escape further discussion or distortion of truths regarding my virginity. Oliver watches me loading up my plate but doesn’t say anything until Mom dashes upstairs to peek in on Finn.

  “Your mom’s cool with me being here?”

  “I told you.”

  “I thought she’d be out later. My parents really wouldn’t have been cool with me hanging out alone with a girl back when I was sixteen.”

  “Right, back in the olden days. Mom doesn’t think it’s the end of the world if people have sex, so what else is she worried we’ll do? The liquor cabinet’s had a lock on it ever since Finn helped himself to whatever that purple stuff is.”

  “Oh gosh.” Mom laughs as she walks back into the room. “I’d forgotten about that. How long did it take us to clean that purple puke out of the carpet, baby?”

  “Let’s not talk about that while we’re eating, Mom.”

  “I think I’m going to head out,” Oliver says.

  “I hope I didn’t scare you off with the puke talk,” Mom says, but Oliver assures her she didn’t, gathers his books into his backpack, and walks to the door. I jump up and walk him outside to his car.

  “You really don’t have to go because my mom’s home.”

  “No, I know, but it’s like your family time, and…I don’t know.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I don’t do that well with moms. If she only gets little doses of me, she’ll still think I’m good enough for you.”

  “Oh, right, like Mom would ever think you’re good enough for me.” I laugh and wrap my arms around him, rising up into Tall Enough to Kiss mode.

  Okay, we accidentally kiss for like ten minutes, but Mom doesn’t even tease me when I walk back inside. Maybe that’s why my resolve goes down and we have a conversation like: Me: Maybe I should go on— Mom: Oh! Did— Me: No, but— Mom: We can go to the doctor next week.

  But then the previous week’s events kick in. “Can I just go on my own?”

  “Oh,” she says, like she’d never even heard of people going anywhere on their own, much less a totally personal sort of doctor’s visit. “Sure, Kell-belle. If that’s what you want.”

  What I want is to be out of the house tonight and to have had more hours at the shop that week and for Sara to be home or at least on her way. I just have to settle for Tuesday afternoon at the gynecologist.

  Of course on Monday morning, Kaitlyn tracks me down regarding what she must have seen as an important matter. She is seriously bad at this whole not-being-friends thing that she’d been the one to initiate.

  “So is Dexter’s brother actually your boyfriend?”

  “No, he’s my guy prostitute, that’s why I had to start working at Mom and Russell’s shop. His rates are—”

  “Stop it,” she says. “Why can’t you ever be serious?”

  “Why do you care?” I spot Mitchell across the hall and make a beeline—well, a straight line and not some kind of crazy curlicue path an actual bee would take. “What’s her problem?”

  “She’s not that bad,” Mitchell says, which makes me elbow him. “What? She’s not. Everyone had fun on Friday.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask.

  “Nothing. What’s with you?”

  “You always make fun of Kaitlyn, too.”

  Mitch shrugs one of his slow, slow shrugs.

  I don’t even know why I want to pick a fight except that every sane person should hate her with the same burning passion I do. “Don’t you care that she’s mean to me?”

  “She’s mean to you?” he asks, like, hello, Mitch, welcome to life! “I just thought you guys fought all the time. Girls, uh, seem to do that.”

  I don’t want to call him sexist because basically it’s true.

  “Well, uh, sorry about Kait.” He sort of pats my elbow, like it’s a safe area to touch as a friend. “That guy seemed cool and all. Except for shaking my hand. What was that?”

  “Oh my God, I know.” We exchange grins, and I’m suddenly glad more of my friends have met Oliver now. I’ve needed people to occasionally make fun of my boyfriend with.

  I wave good-bye to Mitchell and round the corner, where Paul practically runs right into me.

  “Hey,” he says, like it’s some big surprise to see me and that I didn’t see him practically choreograph this collision. “Everything cool after Friday?”

  “Everything’s great,” I say.

  “I just got around to reading your latest article,” he says. “That’s the most I’ve ever thought about laptops.”

  “Mission accomplished, then.” I sort of wave and duck into my class, where Adelaide immediately starts asking me opinions about different cover stories for next month’s Thanksgiving
issue. I don’t care that much, but it’s way better than dwelling on Kaitlyn or Paul or you know, anything else stupid in my life right now.

  The Ticknor Ticker

  Lacking Laptops

  By Kellie Brooks

  We’re supposedly living in the 21st century at Ticknor Day School, where our library features a digital room and all classrooms feature computers that can directly display on a projection screen. The Ticknor Voice even has one iPad Mini for its use, though I’m still low enough on the totem pole to have never used it for anything.

  So what I don’t get is that if we’re living in such a technological wonderland, why aren’t we allowed to bring laptops to school? Instead of typing up my notes confidently, I spend classes desperately scrawling down everything I think my teachers say and then spend my evenings decoding my own handwriting. And hand cramps and carpal tunnel syndrome are real things. I don’t have a serious hand condition yet, but with all of this frantic writing, could it be far away?

  The administration claims we cannot use laptops in class because they could not “prevent the use of unauthorized websites and programs by students,” which we all know means they’re afraid we’ll look at pornography. I don’t understand why anyone would want to look at pornography at school when really that’s something people probably enjoy more in the privacy of their own homes.

  So it seems an unduly harsh restriction not to allow any laptop use when likely only a very small percentage of Ticknor students would fall into the group of people who don’t mind looking at porn in public. Most of us just want to take better notes without any hand cramps.

  Chapter Twenty

  I actually get to work at the shop that night after school, because even though Sara is still at Camille’s, Mom and Russell have found someone else to watch Finn (probably Russell’s mom). Weeknights are pretty slow, but they still need someone at the front desk all the time. Luckily, no one cares if I’m on the shop computer.

  Oliver McAuley: What are you doing this weekend?

  Kellie Brooks: probably babysitting and working. what’s up?

  Oliver McAuley: Roommate’s going on some road trip. You could come over.

  “Kell-belle?”

  I minimize my chat window and look up at Mom. “What?”

  “Can you run down the street and pick up dinner?”

  Normally, I’m thrilled for any errand that takes me away from the desk for a few minutes, especially when everyone’s too busy to babysit my half-block stroll and I can spend my walk imagining how Dad’s head would explode if he knew.

  But I’m getting asked to have sex. Can I just brb that?

  “Kellie?” Mom waves a couple bills in front of my face. “Go, we’re hungry.”

  So I have no choice. I bring the window back up.

  Kellie Brooks: brb. getting dinner.

  I don’t even have time to grab my phone, just rush down to King & I, pay for the giant order I assume is going to function as lunch tomorrow as well, and get back to the shop as fast as I can. I help dish out the food so Mom and Russell can scarf it down during a break, and finally sit back down with a carton of pad see ew. Oliver has signed off, but at least I have an email from him.

  TO: kellbelle@familyink.com

  FROM: mcauleyol@slu.edu

  SUBJECT: (no subject)

  If you’re not ready to have sex you could just say so, not invent an excuse to avoid me.

  Okay, here it is, the second time I think Oliver is sort of crazy. The third? Does it count that maybe he’s done something like murder someone and I don’t even know? Should I know? I should, shouldn’t I?

  I probably do look like I’m lying to get out of it, but normal guys don’t just fly to Crazy Land so quickly, do they?

  “Kellie?” Mom walks over, Thai iced tea in hand. “Baby, you haven’t restocked anything up front tonight. I know it’s slow, but that’s exactly what we need to use the slow time for.”

  I know I’m slacking off because I’m so distracted by Oliver, not that Mom is expecting too much out of me. So I keep myself busy for the rest of the night making sure there are enough gloves, plastic wrap, and cups for water, and don’t get back online until I’m home.

  Adelaide Johansson: What do you think about a green issue?

  Kellie Brooks: like green paper?

  Adelaide Johansson: NO. An entire issue devoted to environmental matters. You could write the green policy humor piece we talked about.

  Kellie Brooks: sounds fine to me.

  Kellie Brooks: do you think oliver’s sort of weird?

  Kellie Brooks: crazy i mean.

  Kellie Brooks: no, i just mean weird. do you?

  Adelaide Johansson: Well YES.

  Adelaide Johansson: But so are you.

  Adelaide Johansson: Green paper is actually not a bad idea, as far as gimmicks go.

  My Friday is somehow free of both work and babysitting, but I still feel weird enough about Oliver that I don’t think it’s necessary to ask him to do something. I’m sort of hoping he’ll reach out to me first and be all charming and adorable and hilarious, the way I like him, but that doesn’t happen. Since I don’t want to give up my freedom, I stay out after school, and after working on a potential column at The Beanery, I decide just to walk around for awhile. Yeah, there are other things to do if I just drove a little, but with all the cute shops and quaint restaurants lined up in nostalgic fashion, I guess I’m not totally immune to my town’s charms.

  My cell phone rings while I’m rummaging at Euclid Records to check out some old vinyl. By now I guess I’m not really that surprised to see it’s Dexter calling. “Hey.”

  “Yo. Talk to Sara lately?”

  “Nope,” I say. “You?”

  “Negative,” he says, the Dexter quality of his voice very much dimmed. Impossibly, I think he’s falling apart more over this than I am.

  “Do you want to hang out tonight?” I ask. “I’m at Euclid Records.”

  “Cool, I’ll be there in a jiff,” he says and hangs up. I finish checking for sixties stuff I’ve been looking for, and by then Dexter’s walking in.

  “Hey, lady.” Dexter is wearing his uniform shirt (tie askew as always) but with jeans and Converse today. “What’s the haps?”

  Only Dexter can get away with saying something like that.

  “Just looking for a few things,” I say.

  “Yeah, Ol’s said your music taste is pretty eclectic,” Dexter says. “But like that’s a really hot thing.”

  “It is a really hot thing,” I say instead of getting all embarrassed or melty hearing that. Okay, in addition to getting a little embarrassed and completely melty. Does this mean I can stop feeling weirded out by Oliver?

  “Clearly,” he says. “Are you buying anything? I say we take off for some fine chow.”

  “Sure,” I say. “We can get whatever fine chow you want.”

  Dexter isn’t satisfied by the billions of places we could have walked to, so instead we get into his car and he drives to the City Diner, which is crazy packed on a Friday night.

  “Things sound cool with you and Ol,” he says.

  “Yeah, I guess they are.” It comes out a little shorter than I’d meant, but I worry if I don’t go for the brief version, I’ll blurt out that sex is coming down the pipeline and the previous almost-sex has me more than a little nervous about it.

  “Dexter, if you had your place to yourself and you asked a girl to come over, and she said brb because she had to get Thai food, what would you think?”

  It’s a regretful question the second it’s out of my mouth. First of all, Dexter isn’t stupid and will understand this is not a hypothetical and is in fact about his own brother. Secondly, he’s dating my sister, so this is double-TMI territory.

  “I’d probably think she was trying to get out of it,” Dexter says.

  “Sometimes people really do need to go get Thai food,” I say.

  “Sex is usually more important than Thai food.”

 
“Usually.”

  Dexter laughs. I laugh. And we somehow both know we’re going to stop talking about my hypothetical sex with his actual brother.

  “So Sara even around much these days?” Dexter asks.

  I fiddle with the corner of my menu. “Definitely not.”

  He takes off his glasses and rubs his temples. I can just tell from that and him bringing it up at all that he’s worried about this, but at the same time it’s still tough thinking of someone like Dexter worrying about anything. “Think she’s gonna cut me loose?”

  “I have no idea what she’s going to do about anything,” I say, which is probably no comfort at all. Still, I care way more about my family than his relationship. Priorities. “Sorry, I just—”

  “Honesty’s cool.” He shoves his glasses back on. “What’s she said to you?”

  “Probably less than to you.” I can’t sort out if I feel better or worse about Dexter being as left out in the cold as the rest of us are. If Sara leaves her boyfriend behind, it doesn’t exactly seem likely that everything else won’t change, too.

  I mean, I don’t look down on all change; some of it brings me things like Oliver and the discovery that I don’t totally suck at everything, and some of it is just necessary to get through life and somehow emerge a grown-up. Losing Sara isn’t on either of those lists, though. Normally, I can separate stuff into different rooms in my brain, the crap to worry about locked away while I’m out having fun. Lately, the hinges have all come loose.

  After we eat, Dexter wants to go to the bar upstairs from the Vietnamese place with the best spring rolls, but I’m not in possession of a fake ID, and I am a little nervous that if we somehow successfully get in anyway, I’ll never get home before one a.m. Worrying about curfew is really sucking the life out of me.

  We drive back to Webster. The music’s off, but Dexter’s tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel with his hands.

  “Whoa, is that ‘Baba O’Reilly’?” I ask, because it sounds a lot like the drum part to one of The Who’s songs.