by S. Walden
“Who is she?” I asked.
“Huh?” Dad gathered the dinner plates and took them to the sink.
“Who is the woman you’ve been working out for? And will she be there Thursday night? Is that why you’re so insistent on going?”
“Brooke, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dad replied, but he wouldn’t turn around and look at my face when he said it.
I jumped up from the table. “Oh my God, Dad! I want to know!” I squealed, and just like that, Beth, my nightmare, my guilt, all dissolved to nothing.
Dad finally turned around, a silly grin lighting up his face.
“Did you completely forget about fall conferences, Brooke?” Dad asked.
“What?”
“With your teachers,” he clarified.
“No, I didn’t. You met with Mrs. Hayes,” I said. “She’s older than dirt. And married.”
Dad chuckled. “Yeah, I met with Mrs. Hayes. But then I popped into English class.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Just spur of the moment kind of thing.” He looked proud about it.
“Where have I been? Why didn’t Ms. Manning say anything to me?”
“Because it’s not your business,” Dad said lightly. “At least not yet.”
“Oh my God! Did you ask her out?!”
“No. I introduced myself, and she seemed to know more about me than I did. I assume you had something to do with that.” Dad smirked.
I grinned.
“I didn’t know she lives around here. She goes to the Y, too,” he said.
“So now you go to the Y,” I said.
“I’ve had a membership for months, Brooke.”
“Ha! One you’ve never used!” I held up my hands, fingertips touching in a steeple-like gesture. I felt like Mr. Burns, devising my plan.
“Stop right there,” Dad said.
I dropped my hands. “Oh Dad. This is the cutest and most disgusting thing ever!”
Dad laughed. “So will you go Thursday night? She’s gonna be there. We’re gonna work out together.”
“Oh, I’m not missing this for anything,” I replied.
***
I have to admit that Family Night at the Y was pretty fun. I ran a mile with Dad around the indoor track before we moved on to the weight machines. Ms. Manning showed up during Dad’s set on the biceps machine, and he asked me to increase his weights.
“No, Dad, I’m not doing that,” I said.
“Brooke, come on,” he begged, but I shook my head. I would not be responsible for his injury.
“Hi, Brooke,” Ms. Manning said, approaching us.
“Hi,” I replied, and giggled.
She ignored it, and Dad shot me a look. I shrugged. “You’ve got another set.”
Dad completed his curls as he talked to “Johanna.” She was “Johanna” now, and I wondered what she’d say or do if I called her by her first name. It was obvious Dad was trying to impress her, lifting his weights and contracting his biceps for all it was worth. I snickered.
Clearly, they were attracted to each other, and while their whole show of outward affection was embarrassing, I couldn’t help feeling a little proud. I talked up my dad incessantly to Ms. Manning, but I didn’t think she heard a word of it. Still, it wasn’t all me. Somehow, be it curiosity or craziness, Dad found the courage to go to her classroom and talk to her.
I spotted Kaylen hanging around the outskirts of the weight room and excused myself, making a beeline for her. I didn’t know Ryan’s family were members at the Y.
“Hey,” I said, and she grinned at me.
“I cannot believe you’re dating my brother!” she squealed. No “hello” back; just right into it.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because he’s my brother! Totally gross.” Kaylen scrunched her nose at the idea.
I rolled my eyes. “Are you guys members here?”
“Yeah.”
“You came for Family Night?”
“Duh.”
I exhaled. “So your brother’s here?”
“Gross. And yes he is. He’s in the pool.”
“The pool?” I had to catch my breath.
“Yes, Brooke. The pool.”
“Thank you, Kaylen,” I said sweetly, and made my way to the opposite end of the building.
Ryan was in the far lane, and oh my God, he didn’t have a shirt on. Obviously. In all our make-out sessions, I had not once seen him shirtless. Yes, I ran my hands over his arms and chest from time to time, but there’s a big different between feeling and seeing.
He was in the middle of a swim stroke. I don’t know the name. He was bobbing in and out of the water, arms circling overhead. He stopped at the end of the lane on the far side of the pool and pulled himself up onto the ledge.
Dear God in heaven.
He was beautiful. I thought it was unfair how beautiful he was. Why does God do that? Make some people so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at them? Meanwhile the rest of us look like a bunch of frumps in comparison. I studied my workout clothes. I actually wore a cute outfit, and I thought I looked okay, but when I gazed at Ryan, watching the water stream, curving this way and that over his taut muscles, I instantly felt ugly. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t take my eyes off his chest. I wanted to be crushed underneath of it. And I didn’t want him to dry off first before he crushed me.
My feet moved instinctively, and before I knew it, I was standing over him.
“Well, if I would have known you were coming, I’d have brought my bikini,” I said.
He looked up sharply, staring at me as though he’d been caught. And then his face relaxed.
“Hey, Brooke,” he said.
“Wow. Goggles and a cap and everything,” I said. “You’re hardcore.”
“I guess,” he replied, holding the swim accessories in his hand.
“So what was that last stroke you were doing?”
He stood up and walked over to a bench to grab his towel.
“The butterfly stroke,” he said.
“It looks hard,” I replied, watching him dry off his arms. Now I understood the arms. No wood chopping. Swimming instead.
“Not my favorite.” He wrapped the towel around his waist.
“Do you swim a lot?”
He nodded.
“How come you don’t swim for the school?” I asked. Not that I particularly wanted him to be a part of our swim team.
He smirked. “You’re full of questions, aren’t you?”
“Just curious, is all.”
“Well, you know what happened to the cat,” he teased.
“Lame,” I replied, rolling my eyes, and he laughed.
“I swim for fun. I don’t swim to compete. I just do it for me,” Ryan said.
“But you look so good at it,” I said. “I mean, not that I know the first thing about swimming, but you looked really good. Good enough to eat. I mean compete! Good enough to compete!” I stared at his chest.
“Oh, Brooklyn,” Ryan said, grinning and shaking his head. He knew what I wanted and decided to be generous. He wrapped me in his arms and held me close against his naked chest. It wasn’t Y appropriate, and I didn’t care. I refrained from kissing his pecs, however. I had some class.
I let myself get lost in his muscles. If I concentrated hard enough, I could feel each one, pressing into my shoulders, pressing into my face, my back. I was engulfed in them, and the slightest movement made them contract, made me heady with sexual want. His skin was smooth, smelling of his essence mixed with a hint of chlorine from the pool. Chlorine? No salt system? This gym was old school.
Ryan released me when his sister approached.
“I’m so grossed out right now,” she said. Such a drama queen. But sweet, so I didn’t mind.
“What do you want, Kaylen?” Ryan asked.
It was funny the way he said it, like he was already exasperated with her and she’d only just arrived. But it wasn’t mean-spirited.
Instead, he seemed to secretly enjoy his sister’s interruption, and I thought in that moment that he loved her very much and wouldn’t mind if she kept interrupting him for the rest of his life.
“You promised you’d show me how to use the weight machines,” Kaylen said.
“I know.” Ryan didn’t move. He was teasing her.
“Well?” She put her hands on her hips.
“Well, what?” Ryan asked.
“Are you coming?”
“Coming where?”
“Ryan!” She stamped her foot in consternation.
He smirked. “Ohhh, you wanted me to show you now?”
Kaylen looked at him flatly. “Funny, Ryan.”
He chuckled. “I’ve gotta change first. Why don’t you two go in there and I’ll meet you in a minute?”
I wanted to follow Ryan into the changing room, but I think that would have gotten me in major trouble. I followed his instructions instead and walked with Kaylen to the weight room.
“Ryan really likes you,” Kaylen said as we hung around the door waiting for her brother.
“Does he?” I felt my heart flutter.
“Mmhmm. Did you guys paint a picture together?” she asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“Just curious. Ryan told me but I didn’t believe him because he can’t draw or paint or do any of those kinds of things,” Kaylen said. “And the picture’s pretty, so I didn’t think he helped you.”
I laughed. “Well, he did. Maybe he’ll take up painting with me,” I suggested.
“If he can find time in his video game schedule,” Kaylen replied.
I grinned and waved as Ryan approached thinking I didn’t mind if his gaming schedule left little room for painting as long as he included me when he played.
Sixteen
“Good afternoon, Ms. Manning,” I said, sliding into my usual seat. I was fifteen minutes early for class. I didn’t feel much like eating in the cafeteria. I knew this was Ms. Manning’s planning period and thought I’d like to chat with her instead.
“May I help you, Brooke?” she asked.
“Yes, you can, as a matter of fact,” I replied.
She drew in her breath and stared at me.
“I would like to know what you’ve done to my father,” I said. “Because all of a sudden he’s running and stocking the fridge with disgusting healthy food and singing in the shower. Yes, I heard him the other day singing in the shower. And it was terrible.”
Ms. Manning giggled. A grown woman giggled. I raised my eyebrows in disbelief.
“Brooke, I’m not discussing this with you,” she said.
“Ms. Manning, come on! Did he ask you out on a date?”
“None of your business.”
“Do you like him?”
“Brooke, please.”
“Am I gonna get A’s on all my papers in your class from now on?”
“Brooke!” She looked outraged, if a person can look outraged when she’s smiling.
I thought I’d keep goading her.
“I just figured that if you’re gonna marry my dad someday, I should get A’s in your class. Seems fair to me. I set you up.”
“Who said anything about marriage?!” she cried.
“Ms. Manning, these are progressive times, but I’m old school. I cannot allow you to live with my father in sin. You have to be married first before you live together.”
“Brooklyn Wright! This is completely inappropriate!”
I smirked but kept quiet.
“Now, if you choose to stay in here until class starts, then you have to be quiet. I’m grading papers. I don’t have time to talk about your father who happens to be taking me out this Friday night.” She didn’t look up from her work, but I saw the tiniest smile playing on her lips.
“Got it,” I replied, and thought about all the advice I needed to give my father before his big date.
***
I weighed my options. I really didn’t have options, but I pretended to. It was completely unfair, but I had to stop being so freaking selfish for at least one night out of my life. I would have had the house to myself—Ryan to myself—and the thought left me feeling desperate and empty. And then I remembered Melanie and Taylor, two girls I was positive would be at the party, and I couldn’t throw them to the wolves. I had information, and I had to act on it. The worst timing possible, but then I thought maybe this was character building. I would not sacrifice those girls to sex they didn’t want just so that I could have the sex I wanted.
“Cal’s having a party, and we’re going,” I said to Gretchen over the phone Friday afternoon.
“We are?” she asked. “Why?”
“Because I know some girls who will be there, and they happen to be players for the current game,” I replied. “I want to keep an eye on them.”
“Ohhh,” Gretchen said. There was a pause before she continued. “You know, Brooke, you can’t keep them all safe all the time.”
“I know, Gretchen. But I can in this instance. I know who will be there, and I have a pretty good idea what will happen if I’m not there to stop it.”
“So what happens after that? You’ll keep attending parties? Thwarting these guys’ plans? Eventually they’ll get what they want. You can’t be everywhere at once. You can’t go on their dates with them. You need to take this shit to the media.”
I sighed with frustration. “Gretchen, I’m working on it. But I’m not ready to expose anyone yet. I don’t have enough information. Will you please be patient?”
Gretchen huffed. “How do you know Cal even wants us there? I mean, after that date and all?”
“He invited me,” I replied.
“He did?”
“Yep. Today after school,” I said. “He seems to think the date went rather well.”
Gretchen burst out laughing.
“Is he deluded?” she asked.
“What do you think?” I replied.
Gretchen grunted. “He makes my skin crawl. I don’t know how I’ll face him after what you told me.”
“I know, but you’ve got to play it cool. Don’t mess this up for me, Gretchen,” I warned.
“I won’t! Calm down. It’s just frustrating knowing something so horrible about a person and feeling powerless to do anything about it,” Gretchen said.
I thought for a moment. “Yeah. How do you think those girls feel?”
“You think the others are drugging girls as well?” Gretchen asked.
“I do.”
“How many do you think there are?”
“Well, I can’t find any concrete evidence on Parker yet. He’s a sneaky son-of-a-bitch. But I think he’s one. And I think this Tim guy is another. Actually, I know he is.”
“How?” Gretchen asked.
“A girl at school told me,” I said.
“She did?!” Gretchen sounded shocked.
“I was disgusted by what she told me. It made my heart sick.” I recounted the conversation with Amelia, leaving out her name. Gretchen and I sat in silence for a time.
“That poor girl,” she whispered. “She won’t come forward?”
“I think maybe she would if others would. Strength in numbers kind of thing,” I replied.
Gretchen sighed. “I’ve never gone to a party with any other purpose than to get drunk and have fun. This feels weird.”
“What feels weird?”
“Going to a party with a mission,” she said. “I want to help these girls, Brooke. I want to protect them.”
I smiled. “I’m glad. But Gretchen? Please don’t punch out one of the guys. It would kind of mess up the whole covert thing I’ve got going on.”
“Gotcha. No punching,” she said.
After we hung up, I went to pester my dad about his night out. I listed off all the appropriate behaviors for a first date, and the inappropriate ones.
“Brooke, I’ve dated in the past, you know,” he said patiently.
This was news to me. I thought he knew Mom since b
irth, started dating her in middle school, and married her right out of high school.
“You have?”
“Funny,” Dad replied. “I dated quite a few ladies in college.”
“Gross. Don’t tell me anymore,” I said.
Dad chuckled.
“What time are you picking her up?” I asked.
“Seven.”
“And are you wearing what we discussed?” I raised my eyebrows at him, daring him to object.
“Brooke, you spent three hundred dollars of my hard-earned money on that outfit,” he replied. “Yes, I will wear it.”
I used Dad’s credit card after school on Wednesday to buy him a pair of dark wash straight-legged jeans, fitted collar shirt, and a casual tweed blazer for his date. I was proud of myself for getting everything on sale. Dad, on the other hand, was pissed and wanted to take it all back.
“Just try it on first!” I demanded. “You’re not going on the first date you’ve had in a trillion years looking like a typical nerdy dad!”
Dad relented and put on the outfit.
“Five years, Brooke. It’s been five years,” he said, walking out of his room and standing in the hallway looking lost.
I think for the first time in years he felt stylish, and it made him uncomfortable. Then the more he moved around in his new clothes, the more confident he became. It was interesting watching the transformation unfold before my eyes. From dork to dashing in ten minutes.
“I’m ashamed this cost so much,” he mumbled, fingering the fabric of his coat.
“Dad, these are classic pieces. They never go out of style. You can wear them forever,” I explained.
“Oh, I can, huh?”
“Absolutely.”
I stood in front of the full-length mirror assessing my outfit: skinny jeans tucked into knee-high brown boots accessorized with large buckles around my ankles and upper calves. My favorite boots. The heel was the perfect height. They were the only shoes I owned with a perfect heel, adding two inches to my 5-foot-4 frame. I wore a floral button top with a fitted cranberry color corduroy jacket. I looked cute and casual, long straight blond hair pulled back with a thin, clear headband. I wore gold hoop earrings and gold bangles on my wrist. It was my version of a police uniform. I was ready to serve and protect.
I informed Dad that Gretchen and I were hanging out. I failed to tell him we would be attending Cal’s party. I figured he didn’t need to know. It would only confuse him. I felt mildly guilty lying to Ryan, though. He asked if I was free tonight, and I told him I already made plans with Gretchen. He seemed oblivious to my lie that we were having a girls night at her house, and it only made me feel worse.
