by Seven Steps
“Thank you for the heads up, Regina, but I’m sure that Jake and I will be fine.”
Regina paused. Her eyes slid to me, then Ariel, then back to me. Her lips quirked up at the ends.
“You have twenty-four hours. End it, or I will end you.” She gave us one final warning stare before walking back to the video game section where she presided over the boys who were crammed on to the couch.
She didn’t look at us again.
“What a jerk!” Ariel said. “Who does she think she is, anyway?”
I let out a breath. “She’s Jake’s sister.”
“Yes. Sister. Not master.”
“What do you think she meant by twenty-four hours?”
Ariel waved the comment away. “Who cares? Whatever she has planned, we’ll be ready for her. Remember, there are three of us and only one of her. As long as she doesn’t bring reinforcements, we’ll be fine.”
I couldn’t help but smile at Ariel’s comment. She was the first one to fight for one of us but she was also the first one to laugh. My heart squeezed a little knowing that I was lying to her when she’d done nothing but be a good friend to me.
“And don’t think that you’re off the hook. I’m still pissed that you didn’t tell me you were going out with Jake. Why wouldn’t you say anything? I’m your best friend.”
I smiled nervously, hating that I was lying to her when our friendship had always been so honest. But I had to. She would thank me later when she and Eric were vacationing in Cabo with their three kids and their dog.
“It just, kind of happened,” I replied, my voice going up a few octaves. “I didn’t have time to tell you. But now you know, so…”
I cleared my throat.
She took my hand and squeezed, her eyes gazing deep in to mine.
“Why do I feel like you’re hiding something from me?” she asked.
I tried to speak, but the words didn’t come out. I wasn’t a liar, but it seemed that Jake had turned me into one in thirty minutes or less. This had to be some sort of record.
“Friends don’t keep secrets from each other,” Ariel said.
I closed my eyes, trying to breathe though my chest was tight. I wanted to tell Ariel everything but I couldn’t. Not now.
“Jake saw me today and asked me out. I said yes. That’s it.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
I let out a guilt-ridden laugh.
She raised an eyebrow, as if she wasn’t quite sure that she believed my story.
“Are you sure that’s all that happened?” she asked, peering deeper in to my eyes.
I pretended to examine something on the back of my hand. “Positive.”
Her eyes went to the ceiling, then back to me.
“Okay then. I’m going to pee, then we can watch your new boyfriend play pool ... I guess.”
I nodded and watched her disappear in to the bathroom.
She didn’t believe me. Helen Keller could’ve seen that. Why did I do this? Why did I think that I could pull this off? That I could hide something this huge from my best friend. I wanted to tell her, but I couldn’t. But I should have. But I-
As my mind circled the drain of my lies, Cole marched across the floor, heading straight for Jake.
He must’ve been in the weight room, because his jet-black hair was plastered to his head with sweat. His wide chest bulged beneath his sleeveless shirt. I couldn’t keep my eyes from roaming over his amazing body.
When did he get so … hot?
He walked right past me and cornered his brother by the pool table. The two traded words, then headed out the door. I heard yelling but I couldn’t make out what they were yelling about. After a few minutes, Jake reappeared.
Cole did not.
What was that about? Were they fighting over what Jake and I had done?
I was so deep in my conjectures that I didn’t notice Ariel coming to stand beside me.
“Do you have to pee?” she asked.
I shook my head, my eyes still glued to the door that Cole had stormed out of.
“Then you’d better get back to your boyfriend.”
Boyfriend. Right. I had a boyfriend now. A temporary fake one, but a boyfriend nonetheless.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I’d better get back to my, uh, boyfriend.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Shouldn’t you be happy about this? This is Jake Winsted we’re talking about. Remember? The boy you’ve dreamed about since I’ve known you. Why aren’t you doing backflips?”
I forced myself to smile, though inside I was having a full-on misery party.
“I don’t know. I’m tired, I guess.”
“You’re tired? What does that even mean? What’s up with you? I swear that if Eric ever showed up out the blue and kissed me, I’d sprout wings and fly.”
Her face was so happy when she spoke about Eric. So dreamy. Yes, some of that happiness was for me, but some of it was just the thought of Eric. It boosted my resolve. I was doing the right thing.
We walked up to the pool table. Eric leaned on his pool stick while Jake lined up a shot. Kenny Jennings, local drug dealer, quietly leaned one bony hip against the table. His ever present black bookbag was wider than his body, making him appear even skinnier.
“Hey. It took you long enough,” Jake said with a teasing grin that I’d seen on his brother before. “I thought you fell in.”
It was so weird having him talk to me. Almost as if my Avengers poster came to life and Chris Hemsworth showed up in my bedroom, Thor costume and all.
Come to think about it, that would probably be less weird than how I felt right then.
I swallowed and tried to act like everything was cool.
“Your sister came to visit me,” I said, quiet enough so that no one else could hear. “She said that we have twenty-four hours to break up or else.”
He waved my comment away, his gaze focused on somewhere behind me. I turned to see what could possibly be more interesting than his fake girlfriend’s impending murder. A dark-haired kid had approached Kenny. The two walked away, disappearing around the weight room wall.
Really? He was ignoring me to witness yet another Kenny Jenner misdemeanor?
Incensed, I whipped back around to face him.
“Jake,” I hissed.
His attention turned back to me, his mood significantly darker than it was a moment ago.
“What?” His voice was harsh, more like a bark. I took a step forward, refusing to be intimidated by him.
“Your sister. She threatened me.”
“She’s all talk. In a few days, she’ll forget about it.”
“Didn’t her and Dana get into a fist fight outside of the school a few weeks ago?” I asked.
“Yeah, well, that was different.” He leaned over, lined up a shot, and pushed his pool stick forward, sending a red ball flying.
“How was that different?”
“Because Dana stood up for herself. You shouldn’t have that problem.”
My hands fisted and a growl escaped my mouth.
“Jake, either you stop insulting me and rein in your sister or else our deal is off.”
He rolled his eyes and grinned at me as if I was the world’s biggest fool.
“Is it?”
His chin jerked to Ariel and Eric.
Eric’s eyes had latched on to Ariel’s, a slow smile spreading on to his face like butter on warm bread.
“Hi,” he said, extending a hand. “Eric Shipman.”
Ariel looked star struck for a moment. Her arms were limp at her side, a silly grin on her face. Eric didn’t seem to mind, though. His warm smile remained, his eyes on her.
After a few, dazed moments, she finally snapped out of her trance. Her cheeks reddened and she put her hand in his.
“Ariel,” she replied softly.
Their hands pumped between them, their eyes locked, their smiles full.
“I’ve seen you around,” Eric said. “You’re on the swim team, ri
ght?”
I could see patches of red on Ariel’s neck. I was sure that on the inside, she was melting into a puddle.
“Yeah.”
“I went to your last meet. You are the fastest girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You should be in the Olympics or something. You’re amazing.”
Ariel’s cheeks turned beet red and she let out a high, nervous laugh.
Eric’s smile only widened.
Was this part of Eric and Jake’s act or was this something real?
With the way that Eric was grinning at her, I couldn’t be sure.
A crack sounded as Jake’s stick hit another ball and sent it flying in to a corner hole. He straightened with a self-satisfied smile. His eyes found their way to Eric and Ariel, then he glanced at me with a sly grin.
“Chill out, Brenda. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”
So, this was a trick. A game. Ariel had become a pawn and I had put her on the board. But with the way that her and Eric were whispering and smiling, I couldn’t tell her now. That time had come and gone. I had to ride this out and pray that Eric was not planning on hurting my friend.
Before I could ream Jake on all the reasons my name wasn’t Brenda, he spoke up again.
“You know how to play pool?” he asked, his eyes moving from me to somewhere over my shoulder. He was obviously looking for Dana, to see if she was watching. From the way his smile turned seductive, I was sure that she was.
How did I get myself into this?
I shook my head, letting him know that I, in fact, did not play pool.
“Here. Let me show you.”
My stomach tightened a bit but I did what I was told. Jake briefly explained the game then handed me a pool stick. He ushered me to his side of the table and stood behind me, helping me line up a shot.
His nearness made me feel warm all over.
It’s fake, I reminded myself. It is just for show. It’s not real.
I repeated my mantra as Jake patiently showed me how to hit the ball just right so that it went in to one of the pockets. He laughed when I hit the ball too soft and it didn’t go anywhere at all. He hugged me when I hit the ball too hard and it went flying off the table. When I finally hit the ball and sent it into one of the pockets, he whooped and he gave me a high five before pulling me to him and kissing me on the temple.
Though his hugs felt nice and my treacherous body greedily pulled him closer, my mind and heart told me that it was not me he was hugging. It was Dana. I’d seen him hug her all over school and it was always the same. First a hug. Sometimes a kiss followed. Always one hand on her upper back and one hand on her lower back, right above her butt. He was showing Dana how replaceable she was.
I was his gun and he was using me to wound her, hug by hug, kiss by kiss. For a fleeting moment, I felt bad for her until I remembered that she had just done the exact same thing to him.
It was Eric’s turn to take the pool stick but he told Jake that he could go again.
He and Ariel were speaking excitedly about an upcoming concert. He asked her a question that I couldn’t hear. Something that made her pause and smile. He held out his hand for a low high five. She slapped it and they both laughed.
Was that real? Was Eric actually interested in her? If not, he was an amazing actor.
16
I walked into my half-unpacked apartment to the smells of spaghetti sauce and garlic bread. I sniffed the air, my mouth watering. Dad must’ve come home early and started dinner.
“Dad?” I called out, walking toward the kitchen.
My stomach rumbled so loud that I was sure the neighbors heard it. All I’d had to eat today were Daddy’s blueberry pancakes, half a salad and a soda.
“Dad, I’m home!”
I stopped by Mojo’s bed and gave him a pat on the head. He looked up at me with tired, happy eyes. Then, as if realizing that he wasn’t being mean to me, he dropped his head and shifted so that his butt was to me.
What was with this dog? What had I done to him to make him hate me so much?
I let out a breath, picked the dog up—which earned me a frustrated woof—and kissed him on his brown head.
“You are going to love me whether you like it or not,” I said. The curious creature squirmed and bucked so hard that I nearly dropped him. I put him down and he immediately retreated to his bed and gave me the butt treatment again.
Great. I had to carry this dog around the neighborhood because he refused to walk and he treated me as if I had leprosy. Just my luck.
I stood, going for the leash to take Mojo out for one of our walk/carry adventures when I noticed something odd. All the pee pads were dry. In fact, there wasn’t a spot of poop or pee in the whole place.
Had Mojo learned to use the toilet since yesterday? Come to think about it, the pup looked tired. Exhausted. As if he’d been walking all day. But that wasn’t possible since I just got home. Then again, Daddy was home early. Maybe he walked Mojo?
“Dad!”
Something clanged. A dropped pot, maybe?
“In here, honey!” he called back. I could hear the fluster in his voice. Dad was a good cook but the act of cooking stressed him out. Today was the first time ever he’d cooked twice in one day. Typically, I cooked dinner or we ordered take out whenever he got home from work.
I dropped my bookbag by the kitchen entrance and stepped over the threshold just in time to see Daddy twisting off the top of a green can of parmesan cheese and dumping the contents into a pot of red sauce. I smiled. Cheesy red sauce and pasta was one of my favorite dishes. It was almost as good as blueberry pancakes.
My stomach rumbled.
“First breakfast, now dinner?” I stepped deeper in to the kitchen and placed a kiss on Daddy’s rough cheek. “What’s the occasion?”
“Occasion?” he asked. “I need an occasion to cook for my little girl?”
I raised an eyebrow. He was being evasive again. What was that about? When did Daddy and I start keeping secrets from each other? First the other night with the suit and now tonight with the dinner. My heart anxiously skipped a beat as I looked around the kitchen. The dishes were piled up, the counters spotted with red and brown globs and the garbage can had overgrown to monstrous proportions. All this mess couldn’t have been made in just one dinner preparation. Had he been home all day? Why wasn’t he at work?
“Did you walk Mojo today?” I asked.
He nodded, his back still to me. “Yup. Mojo and I are getting quite acquainted with each other. He’s pretty smart for a puppy. And fast. Boy, can that dog run! Like Grandpa’s dog, Wilber. You remember Wilber, don’t you?”
I smiled. “The fastest dog in North Carolina.”
“That’s right!”
I took a wooden spoon from atop the stove, dipped it in to the simmering sauce and casually blew on it.
“No work today?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Not today, dear,” he said. He searched the counters for the pot holders. Whenever he cooked, he misplaced the pot holders at least once every ten seconds. I spied them on the kitchen table but continued my prodding.
“Did you take a vacation day?” I asked. I sipped the cooling sauce. It was seasoned to perfection.
“Nope,” he said. “I got fired.”
I gasped, choking on the sauce. Taking a step back, I hacked in to my elbow until I could breathe again. I was choking, drowning in red sauce and worry. I took in a deep breath, trying to keep calm.
“You were fired?” The question came out rougher than I wanted it to.
He nodded, not looking at me, still searching for the pot holders as if they were more important than our future.
A million scenarios raced through my head at once. Us begging for discarded bagels on the streets. Sleeping out in the cold. Living in an abandoned freight car with all our belongings tied in a handkerchief at the end of a stick.
“Why?” I asked, already knowing t
he answer.
“A customer complained, apparently.”
My blood boiled. “You’ve been doing your experiments again.”
He finally found the pot holders and rushed back to pull the garlic bread from the stove.
“I thought that the compound would be right this time.” His voice was frantic. Like my heartbeat. Like my anger. Like my confusion.
He said he would stop. Why didn’t he stop?
Grabbing a knife from the side board, he viciously sliced the garlic bread into even chunks as if he didn’t hear our entire world crumbling to dust.
But I heard it. I heard it loud and clear, and it made me sick to my stomach.
My father, Maurice French, was raised on a horse farm in North Carolina. At night, when other boys dreamed of the big city and beautiful girls, my father studied chemistry. His life’s dream was to become a chemist so that he could create alternative fuels. Especially car fuels. Daddy tried to follow his dream by going to community college and studying chemistry but the dream was deferred by a beautiful brown-skinned woman who hoped for a family. And so, Daddy married my mom and fell in to a comfortable life as a mechanic. Then Mom died and Daddy’s experiments began.
I didn’t know at first. After all, I was only ten and it was beyond my young comprehension to understand why my father kept losing his job. It wasn’t until I was fifteen that I finally figured out that my backyard chemist father was testing his mixture in other people’s gas tanks. Sometimes, the clients didn’t notice. Sometimes, the engines exploded. Either way, it always ended the same. In a firing. He’d conducted his experiments state wide until no one would hire him. Now, we were in New York and he was doing it again. Again!
I closed my eyes to keep my cool. To keep from screaming at him.
“Daddy, you promised no more experiments.”
“I know. I know.”
My mind went a mile a minute, fueled by worry. Where would we get money for rent, or food, or train fare? How could he stand there slicing bread when we were about to be out on the streets? What were we going to do?
My eyes pinned to his back that moved erratically around the kitchen, draining pasta, mixing it with the sauce, adding the meatballs. I wished he would turn around and talk to me instead of doing this too busy to care act. It was annoying. Especially when I was freaking out.
