The Truth about Us

by Janet Gurtler

“Braxton says you’re out of my league,” he mumbles. He picks up my hand and holds it in both of his.

  “Stella thinks you’re out of mine. And so does your mom.”

  “No,” he says. “My mom thinks the opposite.”

  I shake my head.

  He leans closer. “She does. But you know what?” he asks softly. “I just realized I don’t have anything against PDA.”

  His lips press against mine softly and for only a second, but my head spins and my body melts.

  When he pulls back, all the coherent thoughts have officially disappeared from my head. I lean against him, and we kiss deeper and longer. Nothing else in the world matters.

  “Get a room,” one of the workers having a smoke at the back of the building yells, and the others gathered with him laugh and whoop.

  Flynn straightens his back, and we pull away from each other. “Sorry,” he says. “I think I got carried away.”

  “Or was that me?” I ask with a grin.

  We sit there like two big dorks, staring at each other without saying anything. We probably look like we’re having a staring contest. I smile.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. You make me smile,” I say. “I feel…connected to you. Is that weird? Do you think I’m weird?”

  “Not weird. Well, maybe a little.” He holds up his finger and thumb, showing a small measurement. And then he reaches to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I feel it too,” he says softly. “So we’re both weird.”

  “Kyle said you had a lot of girlfriends.” As soon as it leaves my mouth, I regret it.

  He stares into my eyes but doesn’t deny it. My belly blazes with jealousy. I chew my lip, trying not to let it bother me.

  “I’ve never had a real girlfriend, you know,” he says and brushes my hair back again. “Not a real one. Not like this.” He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. Kisses my knuckles one by one.

  “Good,” I whisper and link my fingers into his and lean forward. “Me too.”

  He leans in to meet me, and our lips brush together. I inhale and close my eyes. We kiss and we kiss, and I don’t want to stop. I could kiss him until both of us stopped breathing and die happy.

  “Jess!” a voice calls. An angry bark.

  Dazed, we pull away from each other. I look over and my cheeks flare up. “Shit. It’s my dad.” I sit taller. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  His hands are on his hips, and his face is red and contorted as if it’s about to explode off his head.

  “It’s time to go home,” he snaps, completely ignoring Flynn, looking right past him.

  “I’m taking the bus,” I holler, and my voice sounds stupid, shocked, and embarrassed. My temperature rises from the way he’s staring at us like we’re doing something wrong. It’s not wrong, I want to shout.

  “I came to drive you home.” He looks ridiculous in his expensive suit with the tie that probably cost more than my entire outfit, including my not-cheap sneakers. I notice the way he turns his nose up at the people hanging around the shelter. The way he looks at me and doesn’t look at Flynn. I know him, and he’s not going to go away.

  “Shit,” I mumble, picking up my book and tucking it under my arm. I stand up and wait for Flynn to stand with me. He stays seated.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “Go.”

  I look down and shake my head. “No. Come and meet him.”

  He glances at my dad, who is busy pretending Flynn doesn’t exist.

  “Let’s go,” my dad commands.

  “Flynn. Come on.”

  Flynn looks at me long and hard as if he doesn’t want to deal with this, like he wants to walk the other away, but then he jumps to the ground beside me. I take his hand but it’s stiff in mine as we walk toward my dad.

  Dad’s face doesn’t change. He shows no expression at all. No reaction or welcome for the boy I’m bringing over to meet him.

  “Dad,” I say, “this is Flynn.”

  The redness in Flynn’s cheeks and the way he’s rubbing at his neck breaks my heart.

  I look to my dad and frown, trying to shame him into acknowledging Flynn properly. “Dad,” I repeat. “This is my friend Flynn.”

  Flynn is taller, so Dad has to look up at him. I’m sure this bugs him even more. He acknowledges him with a man nod but doesn’t smile.

  “Nice to meet you,” Flynn says. He pulls his hand away from mine and sticks it out to my dad.

  After a second too long, a second that shows his feelings as clearly as if he’d refused to shake his hand at all, my dad presses palms with Flynn. Bubbling rage stands up the hairs on my arms.

  “Let’s go,” Dad commands me.

  My stomach burns. Flynn averts his eyes. As if he accepts my dad’s treatment of him. My anger reaches out toward him as well. What about his words earlier? It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Well, that includes my dad. No matter what an arrogant prick he’s being.

  I don’t know what to do to make this awkward and infuriating situation any better. Other than disown my dad, grab Flynn’s hand, and run.

  “I’m taking the bus,” I say between gritted teeth.

  “No. You’re coming with me.” Dad grabs me by the elbow, and I try to shake him off, but he holds on firmly.

  Flynn watches, his eyebrows drawn together. “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  Dad makes an angry sound in his throat, but I nod at Flynn to let him know I’m not about to get physically beaten or anything, because he looks kind of worried.

  “Okay. I’ll see you soon,” Flynn says softly, and he meets my dad’s gaze, nods once. “Nice to meet you,” he lies and then turns and heads in the opposite direction.

  My hatred for my dad grows, but he shoves me, forcing me to walk ahead of him the other way. “What the hell, Dad?”

  He keeps pushing at me until we’re past the shelter and the curious eyes of the people hanging out and watching. When we’re past them, he hisses, “You have no business getting involved with boys like that.”

  He doesn’t look at me as we reach his Tesla Roadster, which he parked arrogantly, taking up two spots.

  “Boys like that?” I say. “Oh my God, are you trying to be cliché? You don’t even know him.”

  He lifts his keys to automatically start the engine and unlock the doors.

  “Get in the car.”

  “What are you doing here, Dad?” I ask again.

  He grits his teeth. “That woman phoned me. That Stella. Suggesting some inappropriate behavior might be going on.” He stomps around the front of his car and opens the passenger door. “Get in.”

  Betrayal stabs at my soul. Stella called him? Some of my fight knocks out of me. “It’s not inappropriate. We like each other.”

  He waits for me to get in, his hand still on the door. “You are not dating a boy from the shelter.”

  “Why? Because he’s poor? Or half Asian?” I ask.

  “Neither,” he snaps. “You’re a volunteer. You don’t get involved with these people.”

  My stomach grinds with anxiety, a sick feeling rolling around my belly. “What are you afraid of?” I ask. “That if I like him, I’ll end up on the streets?”

  “You’re on a short leash, Jess. Don’t push me.”

  “You don’t even know him. Or his situation.”

  “I don’t want you dragged in over your head. You’re doing this to piss me off,” he yells. “Put a stop to it. Immediately.” He leaves the passenger door and goes to open his own. He clenches his teeth. “Get. In. The. Car.”

  “You’re giving yourself a lot of credit. Did you ever consider that maybe he’s a nice guy? And maybe I like him?”

  “No,” he snaps. “I haven’t.”

  I consider running, going the other way, never go
ing home. But where would I go? What would I do? Dad has control over me. So I get in the car, my whole body shaking with anger. I slam the door as he gets into the driver seat and pulls on his seat belt.

  “You can’t tell me who to date,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t answer. He turns the car on, shoulder checks, and pulls out on the road.

  “You don’t even know him,” I say. “He’s a good person. You think I can only date boys whose fathers make as much money as you do?”

  “Don’t, Jess.”

  “You always like to tell us how you grew up without money. Made it on your own. Maybe Flynn is the same.”

  “Why don’t you ask your mother about boys like him?” he snaps and runs the car through a yellow light.

  I gasp and stare at his angry profile, my mouth open. Shocked.

  “You have no right,” I finally manage. “No right at all to imply that about him.”

  He’s quiet, his mouth tight. He must know he’s gone over the acceptable line, but he doesn’t take it back. He doesn’t apologize.

  “Flynn is nothing like the boys who attacked mom. Nothing. His mom and family use the shelter because a white man gambled away their money and left them bankrupt. Flynn works and looks after his little brother and helps out around the shelter because he feels so bad about using it.”

  His lips are pressed together so hard they’ve disappeared, and he doesn’t look at me. I cross my arms and stare out my window, barely keeping in my rage. We drive the rest of the way home in angry silence. I clutch the plant book to my chest and rub the tiny monkey in my pocket.

  When he turns onto our street, Dad opens his mouth. “I have to go back out of town for a couple of days tomorrow. I told Stella you would work the rest of your shifts. You are to show up for your assigned hours only and come right home immediately after. I’ll be checking in to make sure you’re obeying.”

  I don’t say anything. That’s what he wants. Silence. Compliance. He thinks he’s gotten his way. He hasn’t. He pulls into our driveway. The oversized stupid driveway.

  He shuts down the ignition, not pulling into the garage. “You may think you can handle poverty, Jess. Welfare. Handouts. But you can’t. You have too much going for you to hang out with a boy who believes the world owes him favors.” He shuts off the car.

  My hands shake with rage. “He works harder than any of the privileged boys who live in this neighborhood.”

  “You’re privileged,” he tells me. “You live in this neighborhood. I thought working at that place would show you how good you have it.”

  “So you’re saying you want me to develop a work ethic? Like Flynn has?”

  “Don’t twist my words,” he growls as a car pulls up to the curb of our house. Nance’s car. Great. “It wasn’t meant to be a dating club,” he says. “There are plenty of boys around here.”

  I reach for my door and open it. I hate my dad so much right now, I can’t even.

  “If you don’t listen to me, you won’t be working there at all,” he says. “I told Stella you would honor your commitment, but I can take that back.”

  I get out and slam my door again, holding my book close.

  He climbs out the driver side and reaches into the backseat for his briefcase. “Don’t tempt me, Jess. I hear anything about you and that boy, and you won’t be going back.”

  The rage inside me explodes. “You are such an…asshole,” I hiss under my breath. I can’t help it.

  I see in his eyes that he heard me as Nance opens her car door and climbs out. “Hey, Mr. W. Jess-I-cup. What’s up?” she shouts, not yet aware of the tension between us.

  “Watch your mouth,” my dad hisses in a low voice. “And that’s it. You’re not going back to that place.”

  “Fat chance,” I tell him.

  Nance bounces up the driveway, holding a plastic bag. She looks back and forth at my dad and me and raises her eyebrows.

  “Hello, Nance,” Dad growls as he spins on his heels, carting off his briefcase. I lift my middle finger at his back as he goes.

  “Trouble in paradise?” Nance asks as he disappears inside the house.

  “So not paradise,” I snap.

  “Apparently not.” She thrusts the bag, which has a heavy lump on the bottom. “My mom baked a pumpkin loaf for you guys. I think she’s making a peace offering.”

  “Asshat.” I take the bag with my free hand.

  “My mom?” she asks.

  “No. My dad.”

  “What’s up with Pops-erello?” she asks.

  “He’s an asshat,” I repeat.

  “Yeah. You said. But I mean, besides that. What are you two fighting about?”

  I peek inside the bag at the loaf. Nance’s mom used to send loafs over a lot after Mom was attacked. She’s a baker, not a talker.

  “He showed up at New Beginnings. Out of the blue. To give me a ride home. Check up on me. Whatever.”

  “And?” she prompts.

  I sigh, some of my anger starting to turn inward. “He saw me kissing a boy.”

  Her eyes widen. “At the shelter?”

  “Flynn,” I admit.

  “Flynn the summer fling?”

  I chew my lip and look at the sidewalk. An old woman with a scarf around her head, as if she has cancer or something, walks on the sidewalk toward us with a small black dog. The dog stops in front of the house and lifts a leg to pee on the lilac bush.

  “He came to see you at work? You’re actually seeing this guy during the day?” she asks. “You never once saw Josh during the day.”

  I look away from the dog, back to Nance. “Because Josh is a douche bag.”

  She ignores that. “Why is he hanging around the shelter?” Her voice rises. “Sounds serious for a fling.”

  “He’s not a fling,” I say, tired of her using that word, tired of dealing with everyone’s prejudices. My dad. Her. Me.

  “What do you mean?” she asks slowly.

  The little dog starts barking. “Hush, Fredrick,” the woman says, and she smiles at me apologetically.

  I look back at Nance. “He’s more than that. I like him. I like him a lot. And to be honest…” I take a deep breath. “His mom works, and he has a little brother. They lost their house and…everything. Once in a while, Flynn brings his brother to the shelter. To eat.”

  “What?” Her voice raises into a shriek. The little dog growls, and then the woman pulls his leash and they trot off. “He uses the shelter?” She makes a face and sticks her tongue out, disgusted.

  “It’s no big deal, Nance. It’s not their fault. They’re getting back on their feet.”

  “Uh, yeah. It kind of is a big deal.” She crosses her arms, glaring at me. “Is that why your dad is pissed at you? God, Jess. I don’t blame him. You can do better than a guy like that.”

  “He’s not a guy like anything. You’re being judgmental,” I tell her.

  She raises her eyebrows. “Uh, sorry. I hate to point out the obvious, but hanging out with Soup Kitchen Boy isn’t going to win you any popularity contests.”

  “I didn’t enter any contests,” I tell her. “I don’t care about that stuff.” I shove the plastic bag toward her. “And I don’t like pumpkin loaf,” I tell her.

  She frowns and refuses to take the bag. “Take the stupid loaf,” she says. Her nostrils flare and her brows furrow deeper. “My mom made it for you.”

  “Shit.” My brain hurts. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I like her pumpkin loaf. It’s not that.” Ugh. I hate myself for trying to keep everyone happy. I have to stand up for myself. And for Flynn.

  “It’s senior year,” she reminds me.

  I’m sick of hearing that. I don’t want to spend an entire year trying to impress other people, worrying about an image I don’t even care about.

  “What about Hunter Bell?”
I ask her.

  Nance doesn’t flinch. “He has an expiration date. You have to end it, Jess. Figure out who your real friends are.”

  I stare at her.

  “You’re right,” I blurt out. “You’re so right. And I like Flynn. I don’t give a crap about dating the right boys or wearing the right clothes. Not anymore.”

  Nance looks me up and down, slowly and dismissively. I want to say something to make it better, but I resist. An invisible door between us slams harder than the car door I slammed earlier.

  “Yeah, I should go,” she says, her voice chilled as if I’m pretty much dead to her. And as if she doesn’t mind. “Jennifer is having some people over. I left a message on your house phone. You can go ahead and ignore that. Obviously, it won’t work with your plans.” She turns to her car. “See you around,” she calls.

  I watch her drive away, smelling the fumes of smoke from the bridge I just burned as she goes.

  chapter seventeen

  Dad is in his office with the door closed. Mom is in her bedroom with the door closed. Allie isn’t home. So, the usual. I take the house phone to my room and place my cherished book on top of my dresser. I pull the monkey from my pocket and gently sit him on top of the book. Despite everything, I smile. They’re both amazing.

  Sitting on my messy, unmade bed, I stare at the phone, trying to work up my nerve to make the call I want to make. With a deep, deep breath, I finally dial the number and hold my breath, waiting.

  “Hello?” The voice on the phone line is quiet.

  “Penny,” I say.

  There’s a pause. “Jess?” she asks.

  We both know it’s me. Caller ID.

  “How’re you doing?” I ask.

  “You know. Okay.”

  Awkward. So very awkward.

  My voice chokes, and I cough. I miss her so much. “Do you still hate me?” I ask, trying to make a joke of it.

  She sighs. “I never hated you, Jess.”

  “Really?” My heart is pounding faster than it should be. “I’m really nervous,” I admit. She’ll understand. Penny always understood me.

  She sighs again. “What do you want, Jess?”

  The words sting and my heart sinks. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. I mean, talk.”