He beamed. "If I had one she'd be fine."
Foiled again! One was married, one single. The rumor around town was
that the single one was a homosexual.
She grinned. "Just testing. I knew it was you!"
"No, you didn't." He winked. "I hear you're engaged. That's very
nice, Lauren."
Her father the blabbermouth. This was obviously no secret.
"Have you seen my dad? He seems to have left early again."
"Didn't notice him go."
She had a ton of homework. Perhaps it was just as well her father
wasn't around, they would have started talking, she'd get home late,
and then she'd have to work all through dinner.
She'd never told her father she knew about his secret stash of
Playboys. She'd never told her mother either.
"Your mom ordered light bulbs," Mr. Blakely said. "Since your dad has
left.
"Il take them," she volunteered.
He handed her a large brown supermarket bag piled high. When her
mother ordered she did it in bulk, imagining it saved her money.
The package wasn't heavy-merely cumbersome. She slung her schoolbag
over her shoulder and grasped the paper bag with both hands. "Bye, Mr.
Blakely."
"Goodbye, Lauren. You're marrying into a fine family. One of the
best."
I'm not marrying into anything, Mr. Blakely. I am merely getting
engaged. Temporarily. Because I can't stand the fuss of wriggling out
of it. Because I'm always trying to please people. Because I hate to
hurt anyone's feelings.
Because I'm an idiot!
Crash! Some jerk ran right into her at the swing door and her package
fell to the ground, followed by the sound of breaking glass.
"Shit!" the jerk said. No "Sorry." No "Excuse me." Just a short,
terse "Shit!"
She waited.
"You should look where you're going'," he said rudely.
She was outraged. "I should?"
"Yeah. You walked into me."
"I did no such thing."
"Sure you did."
"No, I didn't."
They stared at each other, two furious strangers.
He was skinny and not very tall, with jet black curly hair, a pale
complexion, a slight indentation in the center of his chin and intense
green eyes. He wore a grubby white T-shirt under a frayed denim
jacket, indescribably filthy torn jeans and battered sneakers.
She felt a shiver of excitement. "Aren't you going to help me pick
everything up?" she asked, wondering who he was.
Nick returned her stare. Not bad. A bit square-looking. Hardly his
usual type. But he was horny. God, he was horny!
"Okay," he mumbled, bending to help her.
"What about the broken bulbs?" she asked, finding two smashed ones.
"Get the store to replace em, you're on their property," he said,
trying to decide how long it would take to screw her. Small-town
girl.
Possibly a virgin. Definitely more than one date.
He leaned closer, catching a whiff of her scent. She smelled like
lemon soap, no cheap dime-store perfume. And her hair-long and
shiny-was some sort of reddish brown color. He checked out her body.
Slim but definitely acceptable.
"I can't do that," she said primly. "You have to pay for them."
He laughed. Not a very nice laugh. A sarcastic Who do you think
you're talking to laugh.
"Sweetheart, I got enough to buy one pack of smokes an' that's it."
"Am I supposed to pay for them?" she countered.
"No." He nodded over to the counter where Mr. Blakely was busy with a
customer. "I told you-go talk to old fatso. He'll give you back your
money.
"Don't call Mr. Blakely that," she whispered furiously.
"He can't hear me."
"Maybe he can."
"What's he got-X-ray ears?"
Just as she was about to reply her father appeared, hurrying down the
stairs that led from his office.
"Daddy!" she exclaimed, forgetting about the green-eyed stranger for a
moment.
As soon as Nick heard the word "daddy" he was out of there. He'd
learned at an early age to stay as far away from fathers as possible.
"Where have you been?" she asked, grabbing her father's arm.
"Upstairs, working."
"But I went upstairs. The shade was down, the door locked."
"Nonsense. What's all this?" He indicated the mess on the floor.
Flustered, she looked around. The boy who'd so rudely crashed into her
was gone. "Oh, I dropped Mom's light bulbs."
Phil chuckled. "What's the woman doing-stocking up for the next three
years?"
Lauren giggled, they were conspirators in her mother's excesses.
"You know Mom," she said.
"Indeed I do," he replied. "By the way, Lauren, I haven't had a
private moment to tell you how happy I am about your engagement.
Stock is an upstanding boy with traditional values, his family is first
class." A pause. "Your mother and I are very proud of you."
Shit! If a stranger could say it she could certainly think it.
I guess I'm engaged, she thought gloomily. No way out. For now.
retha Mae had arranged to get him into Bosewell High in midterm.
"Cyndra goes there," she informed him.
"Who's Cyndra?"
"She be your sister, boy, an' don't go forgettin' it. Good-lookin'
girl, that's her problem. An' I don't want it bein' yours, seein' as
you all be sleepin' in together."
Wasn't it bad enough he had to squeeze in with Harlan and Luke?
He cadged a couple of bucks off his father and made his way into
town.
They'd stayed in some one-gas-station towns in their time, but Bosewell
took the prize. He explored Main Street, wandering into the hardware
store, where he bumped-literally-into a girl he considered making out
with for a moment, but then her father appeared and he was out of there
fast. She wasn't his type anyway, too cleancut.
The waitress in the drugstore was more like it. Mid-twenties, big
knockers and a slight squint.
He slid up to the counter and ordered coffee.
"Black?" she asked, hardly taking any notice of him.
He winked to get her attention. "With cream, sweetheart. Lots of
it."
"You new in town?"
"Howdja guess?"
"Cause if you wasn't you wouldn't be tryin' to hit on me. You'd know
Dave was my husband." She jerked her thumb at the shortorder cook, a
burly man about ten years older than her with muscles to spare.
Nick refused to give up. "He keep you happy?"
She raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "Does Mommy know you're out?"
They both burst out laughing at the same time.
"Louise," she said. "Welcome to Bosewell."
"Dave's a lucky guy.
"And you're a fresh kid. What you doin' here anyway? Passin' through
on your way to reform school?"
"My old man moved us here."
She poured him a cup of coffee, adding a generous amount of cream.
"An' what does he do?"
"Fucks up a lot."
Louise sighed. "Don't we all, dear. Don't we all."
"I gotta go to school," he said, gulping his coffee. "But I wanna work
nights an' weekends, score some bucks. Go
t any ideas?"
"What do you think I am? An employment agency?" she said, smoothing
down her gingham apron.
"Just asking'."
She softened. "Maybe Dave'll know of something'."
Her attention was taken by a group of high school kids who came
crowding in making a lot of noise. She moved over to take their
orders.
Nick checked them out. He was used to joining new schools halfway
through the semester, it was always the same deal. The other kids
regarded him with suspicion and there usually was some jerk who tried
to start a fight, while most of the girls pretended they didn't notice
him-although they did.
Every time he had to prove himself, every fuckin' time. It meant
pounding the shit out of the school bully and screwing the prettiest
girl. Somehow he always managed to do both.
He had one golden rule. Don't play fair. It worked good.
One of these days he'd be out of school once and for all, the routine
was getting him down. Exactly how many times did he have to prove
himself?
The group was asking Louise about him and staring over. A couple of
the girls nudged each other. A big guy with a blond crew cut made a
smart remark and they all laughed.
Instinctively he knew that this was the guy he'd have to deal with.
Tough shit, big guy. I'll give you a shot in the balls that'll take
you all the way to Miami and back.
Louise returned and filled his cup.
He nodded toward Mr. Crew Cut.
"Don't mess with him, honey," Louise warned. "His daddy owns most of
this town."
"Yeah?"
"You better believe it." She brushed a strand of lank brown hair out
of her squinty eyes. "Lemme go talk to Dave, his brother George runs
the gas station. You know anythin' bout cars?"
"If it stops I can fix it. That good enough?"
"We'll see, lion. We'll see."
Back at the trailer it was the same old scene. Primo sat glued to the
television, burping, Swigging beer and picking at a bag of pretzels.
Aretha Mae stood in front of the kerosene stove, her shoulders slumped
as she heated up two-day-old meatloaf-a gift from her employer, who
allowed her the choice of throwing old food away or taking it home.
Harlan and Luke played outside, kicking around tin cans and jumping in
and out of the skeleton of what was once a car.
Nick strolled outside and joined them. "One of these days I'm gonna
get me a Cadillac," he said. "A goddamn red Cadillac with leather
seats an' lots of chrome."
"Can we ride in it?" Harlan asked, believing every word.
"Sure. Every day if you like."
The next morning he rode the bus to school with Aretha Mae. She told
him where to get off and handed him a dollar.
"What's this for?" he asked, not wanting her charity.
"In case you need it," she replied stoically, staring straight ahead.
He wondered what the going rate was for maids in Bosewell. Or maybe
her employer piled her up with old food and clothes and considered that
payment enough.
Bosewell High was a pale gray concrete building with green lawns on one
side and an enormous parking lot on the other.
Clusters of students headed toward the imposing front entrance, most of
them coming from the parking lot.
Nick felt the usual hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried
to ignore it. Stay cool. No nerves. Don't let the fuckers get you
down.
Without having to ask, he found registration and made himself
official.
The school secretary ran a disapproving eye over his grubby uniform of
jeans, T-shirt and jacket. "While we have no dress code here at
Bosewell High, we do expect our students to look clean and well
groomed," she said. "That means washed and pressed clothes at all
times. And no torn jeans."
"Yes, ma'am." Hopefully he'd never have to see her again.
"Classroom number three, Mr. Angelo. Your teacher will tell you what
books you need."
"Thank you, ma am.
Old cow. He could charm her if he wanted to.
Who wanted to?
hh . . . feast your eyes on him!" Meg nudged Lauren excitedly. "Now
he's what I call gorgeous!"
Lauren glanced up from her desk, her mind elsewhere. "Who?" she asked
vaguely.
"Him. Standing by the door. He must be the new student. Dawn spotted
him yesterday at the drugstore and she's in love."
"Dawn's in love every day."
"I know. But this one is-oh, I dunno-so sort of moody-looking."
Meg jumped up. "I'm going over to welcome him."
Lauren looked over at the door. And then she looked again. Meg was
talking about the boy she'd run into at Blakely's hardware store.
The one with the green eyes and smart mouth.
"Who is he?" she asked.
Too late. Meg was halfway across the room, while Dawn was fast
approaching from the other direction. Lauren sat tight. Let them make
fools of themselves if they wanted to. He wasn't that great. Just
different .
Meg was speaking to him now, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed. Lauren
watched her go for it. They were best friends, had been since
elementary school, but sometimes Meg was too impulsive. She should
have waited, let him come after her. Well-known fact. Boys liked to
chase after girls, not the other way around.
Meg was pretty, with fluffy yellow hair and gray eyes. She was ten
pounds overweight and on a permanent diet. Her two front teeth were
crooked, which sometimes gave her a rabbity look.
Dawn Kovak on the other hand was a tramp. She had dyed black hair,
prominent breasts, and wore too much makeup. She didn't look sixteen,
she looked thirty.
Lauren observed them both in action, her best friend and the school
dumpas Dawn was nicknamed.
He'd probably go for Dawn with her black hair and big breaststhey
always did. Meg had "virgin" written all over her.
Surprisingly he chose Meg, allowing her to lead him to the only vacant
desk, listening as she chattered on, giving her all his attention.
Lauren felt the smallest shiver of jealousy. Which was ridiculous
really, because she certainly wanted nothing to do with him. She was
engaged to Stock Browning. She was very very busy, thank you very
much.
Hmm. . . maybe she should go over and greet him?
No need. Meg seemed to be doing a perfectly wonderful job of making
him feel more than welcome.
She stopped watching and opened up her English Lit book. Concentrating
was not easy. She couldn't help glancing up to see what Meg was
doing.
Meg was heading back to her desk with a triumphant expression.
Just as she got back, their teacher entered the classroom.
"He's fantastic!" Meg whispered, sitting down, a silly smile lighting
up her face. "And he's asked me out."
"He has?"
"Yep. Tonight."
"Where?"
"Who knows? I'm meeting him in front of the drugstore at eight."
"Your parents'll never let you out on a school night."
"I'll say I'm over at your place
studying."
"Meg, you don't know anything about him, how can you go out with
him?"
"Holy cow, Lauren, you sound like my mother."
"I do not!"
"Yes, you do."
"Girls!" The high-pitched tones of Miss Potter, their English Lit
teacher, interrupted them. "Will you be joining us today?" she
continued sarcastically. "Or shall we set up a table for two outside
so that you may carry on your conversation uninterrupted?"
American Star Page 5
