Where I Live

by Brenda Rufener

  The guys, eager to hear my explanations, make the partial truths sting what’s most tender. My heart.

  “At this hour?” Seung says and extends his arm out the window. “Your phone, milady.” He leans across Ham. “Get in. We’ll take you home.”

  But Seung, I’m already here.

  I climb into Gold Nugget’s backseat and rub my hand against the worn leather. I could use a little luck right now. The heater blasts and stirs smells from the bacon-infused air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. According to Seung’s dad, boys love bacon, but Seung quit eating meat months ago.

  As we circle the high school parking lot and pull toward the second exit, Deputy Boggs arrives for the first watch of the night. There are always two. One at ten thirty, the other at three in the morning.

  Finally I exhale and whisper, “I don’t want to go home.” If I’m sleeping outside tonight, then at least I want to stretch out the time and have fun with my two favorite people.

  Seung taps the brake before reaching the highway. He switches off the turn signal and whips around in his seat, eyes smiling. “Where do you want to go, Linden Rose?”

  Cue the stomach cartwheels. “I don’t know,” I say, locking eyes with Seung. “Drive around, maybe. I’ll give you gas money.” I reach into my bag, but Seung swats my hand.

  “No way. My car. My gas money.”

  “You two do what you want,” Ham blurts, “but I need to get home before eleven.”

  Seung laughs. “And if you aren’t home by eleven? What happens? Hammy goes to bed without a story time?”

  I smile and my shoulders start to relax. These guys make me feel good on every side. Like I’m part of something. They’re the reason I get up in the morning. Well, them, and the fact that if I don’t get up I will go to jail for breaking and entering.

  “I could get in trouble,” Ham says. “I just don’t like to risk it. My parents believe I’m a certain way, you know. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “Ham, I’ve known you since second grade,” Seung says. “You have never been in trouble. And it’s not that you don’t do anything trouble-worthy. I mean, your mouth never stops.”

  I sigh. “Please don’t argue. Let’s make this a fun night. A night to remember.”

  “Turn right,” Ham snaps. “I’m going home. Expecting a phone call and need to be alone when I get it.”

  “With pleasure.” Seung cranks the wheel and the tires squeal.

  “Who’s calling?” I ask Ham, a little hurt by his lackluster acknowledgment of making it a memorable night.

  He shrugs and mumbles something I can’t make out, so I ask again. “Hammy? Who’s calling?”

  “A friend,” he snaps.

  Seung chuckles. “All your friends are in this car.”

  Ham scoffs. “This might surprise you, Seung, but I’m making new friends.”

  We pull into Ham’s picture-perfect Tudor. Amber lights circle the drive. Seung stops in front of the stone steps that lead to the arched entryway.

  Ham climbs out of the car. Before shutting the door, he says, “I’ll see you assholes in the morning. No offense, Linden.”

  “None taken.” I climb out of the backseat and move to the front. “See you tomorrow, Ham Hock?”

  He smiles. “Definitely.”

  “Hey, Hammy!” I call after him. “I think it’s great you’re making new friends. Just promise you won’t forget about the old.”

  Ham skips up the steps. “Never!” he shouts, and fumbles in his pockets for his house key.

  Even though Seung’s irritated with Ham, he waits in the driveway until Ham is safely inside the well-lit foyer. Ham turns and bids us adieu with both middle fingers lifted high above his head.

  I laugh while Seung eases out of the circular driveway, navigating the fountain that sits in the middle of a spread of weather-wilted pink petunias and stubby green shrubs.

  “You tired?” Seung asks, eyes fixed on the road.

  “Not even close.” And although I push my head against the seat and exhale, my exhaustion is mental, not physical.

  “Slushies and Triangle Park?” Seung asks.

  “You are always inside my head.”

  “I am?” Seung’s face performs a contortionist act and I smile to myself.

  We drive to the only twenty-four-hour convenience store within a two-hundred-mile radius. It’s smack-dab in the middle of town, a mile from the high school. We mix every flavor of slush into twenty-two-ounce cups, sneak a few bonus gulps before filling up again, and make small talk with Mr. Q, the owner.

  “Staying out of trouble tonight?” Mr. Q asks, ringing up our slushies and Seung’s oversized bag of M&M’s, which I’m expecting him to share.

  “Us?” Seung answers. “Always.” He pulls out his wallet and swats my hand away. I make a mental note of what I owe him. Gas money. Slushies. I don’t care what Seung says—I repay my debts.

  “Say hello to your mother and father for me, Seung.”

  Seung nods at Mr. Q and holds the door open for me when we leave. I crinkle my nose at him, but he either doesn’t see me or pretends not to.

  I punch the numbers on the car stereo but can’t find a station powerful enough to seep into the walls of a town filled with fifteen hundred villagers. So we sit in silence, the occasional melody of unified slurps filling the air.

  Triangle Park is at the end of Main Street, at the bottom of a hill, before the road splits into highway. It’s a plot of land in the shape of a triangle. Nothing fancy like most places in this town, but it’s our park, our place. It was called a park before parklike structures were built, such as picnic tables and grills perched on top of pipes. We pull into the entrance, and Seung’s headlights reveal a truck and motorcycle in the gravel lot lined with railroad ties. I recognize the jet-blue bike right away. Reed Clemmings’s new ride. He won’t be alone like he was at school, blocking my exit, flashing his too-perfect teeth and watery puppy-dog eyes. Where Reed is, Toby typically lurks. And where T.P. is, Bea is bound to be. My stomach flip-flops. A tiny part excited to see Reed, a giant part dreading to see Bea. What if another fight breaks out?

  Seung squints to see who is sitting on the picnic tables. “You sure you want to stay?”

  Well, I guess so. I mean, didn’t you see Reed Clemmings? Sexiest man alive. Sitting right there.

  I wish I could think this way about Seung. But we’re close. Not strangers like Reed and me. I want to tell Seung it’s time to take our friendship in a new direction, drive straight through the fence, break all the limits. But I’ve built a protective barrier to hide who I truly am.

  “I don’t care,” I mumble, and climb out of the car, marching toward the playground. “We could swing until Deputy Boggs, or his posse member, stops by to enforce curfew.”

  Seung jogs up behind me and beep-beeps his car alarm. We pass a picnic table, and Reed says, “Hello, Linden Rose,” but his voice is surreal and the words don’t resonate. Reed Clemmings saying my name? Out loud. In front of people. Maybe we’re on a first-name basis since I saw the tear in his eye. I nod, trying to push down the smile spreading all stupid-like across my face.

  But my smile retreats as fast as it arrived when I look toward Reed and see Bea’s friend Beth piggyback him. Where Beth is, Bea is. I glance over, and as expected, Bea is sprawled across a table on her stomach. Toby sits on her butt like he’s just conquered prey.

  “There’s your girlfriend,” I whisper to Seung, nudging his rib cage with my elbow. “One of Two, remember?” I wink.

  On cue, Bea shouts, “Hi, Seung!” And Seung actually lifts his hand and waves back, then jogs toward the swing, his shoulders bigger and broader. I roll my eyes and trot along behind Seung and his newfound confidence. I blame vegetarianism. Weight lifting. The universe.

  We swing until our butt cheeks are numb from squeezing them into child-sized seats. We won’t admit it, but our eyes are still focused on the picnic tables—well, at least the corners of our eyes.
>
  Sometimes I think my friends are all I need. The two I have now, anyway. It wasn’t like I was a friend magnet at my old school. Sure, there were girls I sat with at lunch and talked television with, but they didn’t know me like Ham and Seung do, or at least who I’m pretending hard to be. Of course, I’ve never attended a single school for longer than a year. My mother always moved us when the knocks on the door grew too loud to ignore.

  The guys came along when I needed friends the most. Ham and Seung took me in when I knocked. Never asked questions, never judged. Fifteen hundred people in this town and I had the privilege of meeting the perfect two. Now I’m falling hard for the perfect one.

  Seung shifts in his swing and I smile, my heart woolly and warm.

  Toby stands and reaches for Bea’s hand to help her to her feet. He growls something at Reed and pushes Bea behind his back. She stands poised with a hand on her hip, while the boys raise their fists at each other. It’s hard to tell who wants to jab first. Everyone in their group is punch-drunk. All four look confused.

  I force my eyes on Seung, refusing to see Bea’s abuse or abuser, right there in my face.

  I know Bea is someone else’s problem. Not mine. Besides, it’s not like I can help her, even if she’d let me. I’m not exactly good at saving other people, even the ones I love.

  “Get out of my face!” Bea shouts, and I drop my eyes and kick at the dirt. I can’t look at her. I refuse to feel what she makes me feel.

  Principal Falsetto should do more than make a few phone calls, shout a couple of warnings. When Bea showed up in her office at the end of last year with bruises on her wrists, arms, face, the principal didn’t do shit. At least not that I could see from my trajectory. Now it’s a new school year and Bea’s already paid Falsetto a visit. I wonder how bad it’s going to get before someone does something.

  “Quit acting like a little bitch!” Toby shouts.

  Seung digs his heel in the dirt, cranes his neck, and says, “That guy’s a real little bitch.”

  A screwed-up batch of friends, if that’s what you want to call them. Bea and her shadow, Beth. Toby Patters and his football-shaped head. I wonder why Reed insists on hanging around after Bea dumped him. Hasn’t he stomached enough?

  Sometimes Bea and Toby look like the perfect couple. Bea seems happy, part of the time. But she’s also great with masks. Probably why Principal Falsetto doesn’t make more of a move. Bea’s mask fits her face snug with no gaps, like a tight, white glove on a hand, preventing her skin from showing through. Maybe Bea keeps Reed around for protection. Maybe she’s afraid of being alone with her own boyfriend. Maybe I should just make an anonymous phone call and get her help.

  Reed shouts something about sloppy seconds, and I cringe.

  “Shut the hell up!” Toby shouts, his shadow monstrous.

  Bea cackles and my brain buzzes with images I frantically shove into dark corners covered with year-old dust. Eyes swollen shut. Neck wrapped in thumbprints. On the floor, an earring post that looks like it’s been dipped in blood.

  Bea laughs again. Beth parrots Bea.

  Finally Reed tells them to hush as he spews lines from Mr. George’s assigned reading. “It all ends in tears anyway,” Reed wails with his face toward the sky. Somebody’s just discovered Jack Kerouac.

  A beer bottle clanks against a metal can, then another, and another. One misses and rolls in front of our swings.

  The night is basically a comedy of errors designed to ping-pong my mind from the pain of my past to the fact that tonight I’ll be sleeping outdoors. But my stomach is full of food, thanks to Seung’s mom, and I’m in the company of the guy I adore, so shit could always be worse.

  “I don’t know why everyone worships that guy,” Seung says after our swings slow. We rock back and forth with our feet grounded.

  “Because he’s perfection personified,” I joke. But I don’t think Reed is perfect. He’s just being what everyone believes he should be. A football-throwing, motorcycle-riding cliché in a small town obsessed with football and motorcycles. And this year he thought he’d expand on Mr. George’s reading list, suck down some Jack Kerouac, and grow his hair out.

  “I know you have a thing for Reed Clemmings,” Seung says.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’d be weird if you didn’t.”

  “Well, then consider me weird.” I blow a kiss at Seung.

  He smiles and kicks the gravel with his heel. “I already do.”

  Reed announces their departure by spreading his arms and shouting, “The park is yours, beautiful people!” He then bellows, “The only people for me are the mad ones,” and his voice trails off because he’s too drunk to remember more lines from On the Road.

  The foursome walk toward the steroidal truck, and the girls hop into the cab. Reed zigzags behind. When he reaches the truck, he leans against the grill until Toby arrives for a tête-à-tête in front of the headlights. Toby jabs his finger eye-level with Reed. There’s a long pause before their shadows pat each other’s backs, making room for their drunkenness to fix what needs mending. When they split apart, Reed slides onto his bike and Toby swings into his truck. They synchronize the revving of engines. Low bass meets high rocket whirl.

  “Good-bye, Seung!” Bea shouts, leaning the shitty half of her body, the half with no heart, outside the truck window.

  There’s that wave again. Damnitall, Seung.

  “A complete bunch of asswads who should not be driving drunk,” Seung says, but I know he’s not referring to Bea. He hates Toby, and Reed by default. If I had a dollar bill for every time Toby told Seung he should move back to his motherland, I wouldn’t be homeless, or worried about scholarship money to pay for school. I could also afford to hire someone to kick T.P.’s ass and rescue Bea anonymously.

  Reed backs his bike out of the parking space and turns parallel with the road. He waits for Toby, who sits in his truck fumbling for the right song, revving the engine. Reed must get tired of the wait, because he spins his back tire and heads toward the hill.

  “What’s Toby doing?” I ask, squinting at the headlights.

  “What asswads do best.”

  And before I can clarify what it is exactly that asswads do, Toby pounds the accelerator and drives straight for us.

  I fall out of my swing, landing on all fours in the dirt. Headlights blind my vision.

  “Run!” I scream, as much at myself as at Seung. I scramble to my feet and lunge in the direction of the picnic tables.

  The engine revs. Guitar riffs roar. Tires squeal.

  I reach for a bench, grab on, and flip around. Seung rocks back and forth on the swing, calm and composed. His body shines like chiseled onyx in the headlights. What the hell is he doing?

  “Seung! Move ass! RUN! RUN! RUN!”

  But Seung’s like a mountain. He digs his heels into the dirt and grips the chains of his swing. He refuses to budge.

  The truck plows toward the swings, bouncing up and down as it hits lawn divots. The bumper shoots a plastic garbage can through the air that lands inches from a picnic table.

  “Seung!” I shout, climbing on top of the table and waving my arms. “Move!”

  The girls scream, “Stop!” and Toby yells what sounds like a Yee-haw. Drums on the stereo beat their chorus, and I slap my hands against my face, peeking through my fingers. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod!”

  Do I charge at Seung? Grab him by the shirt? Drag him to safety?

  Before I have time to react, Seung stands, lifts his arm in the air, and flattens his palm like he’s trying to do what? Signal a stop? Holy shit. He’s signaling a stop.

  And it works. Toby twists the wheel and sends up a cloud of dirt over Seung. The truck hits a railroad tie but doesn’t stop. Toby leans out of the window and shouts, “Go back to China and stay away from my girl!” and then cranks the wheel and drives toward the road.

  When the dust storm clears, I see Seung back on the swing, coughing and sweeping off his face.

&n
bsp; I race toward him and grab the chains on his swing. “Are you okay?” His hair is gray under the yellow of the streetlight. I reach toward his head to brush off the dirt, and he grabs my wrist.

  “Of course I’m okay, Linden.”

  I wiggle my arm out of his grip. “Then why the hell didn’t you run?”

  Seung stands and pats dirt off his jeans, then his shirt. “I’m done running,” he says. “Time to stand up and fight for the shit I want.”

  And before I can clarify if the shit he wants includes Bea or me or something totally unrelated, he stomps off toward Gold Nugget.

  Chapter Five

  SEUNG IS SILENT WHILE WE drive, except when he tears open the bag of M&M’s. And when he asks if I’d like to replace my slushie, since I dropped mine on my shoe, scrambling to avoid becoming Toby Patters’s hood ornament.

  I shake my head, still in shock. “Have to get home. You can drop me behind the school.”

  The boys believe I live in a trailer park on the other side of the high school. Why do they believe this? Because I’m Linden. Liar and Friend.

  “No way,” Seung says. “It’s a mile from your house. Unsafe.”

  “Oh, now you’re suddenly concerned with safety?”

  “I’m concerned with your safety.”

  My stomach jumps. What was Seung doing back there? Trying to get my attention? Or was it Bea’s?

  “Were you peacocking back there?”

  Seung shakes his head. “I don’t even know what that means.” He cracks the window. “That asshole tried to run us over. I’m not dropping you off at the school. I’m making sure you get home safely.”

  “That racist asshole doesn’t know the difference between Chinese and Korean. I think I’ll be okay.”

  “Nope. Not happening.” Seung taps the turn signal.

  “Well, I need fresh air. I want to walk.”

  Seung argues, “We sat in the park for over an hour. Lots of fresh air, Linden. Open your window.”

  “I need time alone to think after your escapade.” I take a deep breath and try to slow my words, my lies. “If my stepdad hears a car pull up, I’m dead for sure.” Untrue. No stepdad. Not even a dad. Just a dead mom and dead grandmother.