Ballads of Suburbia (16 page)

“You're leaving us, aren't you?” he asked softly.

I couldn't bring myself to face him. I just whispered “See you later,” and headed out into the bleak dawn.

OCTOBER 1994-JANUARY 1995
[FIRST SEMESTER OF JUNIOR YEAR]

W
HEN
I
LEFT
A
DRIAN,
I
PROMISED
myself I would never even think about falling in love again. And for the first month of my junior year, I did a pretty good job keeping myself distracted. At Scoville, I spent the majority of my time with Liam, Maya, and Christian. After their fight on Labor Day, Maya and Christian finally decided that they were better off as friends. There was some tension at first, but eventually that dissipated, and it was just me and my best friend and my brother and his best friend. Life was simple and comfortable. I felt at peace for the first time since the divorce.

Then one afternoon in October while we watched Liam and Christian skate, Maya dropped a bombshell.

“I was on the phone with Christian for three hours last night,” she confided.

“Oh?” I arched my eyebrows. “Thinking of giving him another chance?”

She shook her head adamantly. “No. I'm not capable of being more than friends with him. The whole not-wanting-to-talk-about-my-mom thing is too much of an issue,” she reminded me. “Actually”—her lips curled into a devilish grin-“we were talking about you.”

“Me?”

Maya's eyes danced. “Christian's been pining for you. Apparently he was worried I'd be upset about it, but I think it's perfect. You're my girl best friend; he's my guy best friend. I told him I'd give you his number and that if you hadn't given up on men, maybe you'd call.”

“What? You're trying to set us up?” I sputtered, horrified. So horrified I was blushing. Had she known I once had a crush on him back when I'd visited Scoville with Stacey?

“Christian's a really sweet guy, Kara,” Maya said, growing serious. “And you deserve a guy like that after the crap Adrian put you through.”

“Adrian didn't put me through anything. We had a fling and the fling is over,” I snapped defensively. It was easier to pretend I hadn't had any real feelings for him. “And I'm not interested in getting involved with anyone right now, particularly not your ex.”

“I don't even consider Christian my ex. We're friends. That's really all we ever were. And I want him to be happy. You guys would make each other happy.”

I studied her intently, searching for signs that her smile was forced or she hid deeper emotions about Christian, but she seemed genuinely enthusiastic about pairing the two of us up. Regardless, I maintained, “No. Relationships are messy. I don't want one.”

“Just call him. Get to know him a little bit.” Before I could object, Maya whipped out the black Sharpie she used to draw pictures on her jeans. She grabbed my right arm (knowing it wasn't the one covered in scabs and scars), flipped it over, wrenched up my sleeve, and scrawled Christian's number in huge print.

But that night when I sat down on my bed with the phone, rolled up my sleeve, and prepared to dial, the ink on my forearm reminded me of Adrian's tattoos. It'd been a month and a half since I'd left him and I hated having random thoughts about him, especially since he didn't appear to be thinking of me at all.

It seemed that Adrian knew things were over between us when he woke up and I wasn't there. He'd actually disappeared for a month right after Labor Day. I didn't know if he'd run off to New Orleans again or to find Wes in L.A. or if he was just holed up somewhere doing heroin. Those were the popular theories that circulated, but with Adrian anything was possible. After he reappeared, he avoided me. I knew why I wasn't speaking to him anymore, but I wondered why he'd let me go so easily.

The conclusion I came to was that he hadn't called or even waved to me at the park for the same reason he'd never officially asked me to go out with him: I meant nothing to him.

Was I seriously going to put myself through that again with a different guy?

I tugged my sleeve over Christian's number and was placing the phone on the floor when it suddenly rang. Spooked, I dropped it, but managed to recover and grab the receiver.

“Kara?”

I recognized Christian's slightly cocky tone, but played dumb. “Who's this?”

“Christian. But I'm not calling for Liam, I'm calling for you,” he added quickly.

“That's funny, Maya gave me your number and I was considering calling you.”

“Yeah? Great minds think alike, I guess. How are you doing?”

“Okay.”

At first, my awkwardness from early high school resurfaced and I could barely muster one-word responses to his questions. After all, I was talking to the cute boy from the Amoco station that I'd crushed on before I regularly hung out at Scoville Park. But then I reminded myself that I'd changed drastically in the past six months. The girl I'd been wouldn't even recognize me. I had friends. I'd sort of been in a relationship. I could handle a conversation with Christian.

Once I regained my confidence, Christian and I talked until three a.m. I untangled all the necklaces I was wearing and painted my nails while we conversed. He fixed and ate a turkey sandwich. We both took our phones to our windows so we could smoke. He heard the music playing in my room and guessed, “Bad Religion?”

I told him ding, ding, ding, he'd won a brand-new convertible and wasn't he excited. He told me no because his dad had one in their garage. “Midlife crisis?” I asked.

“For the past fifteen years,” he replied wryly. He moved closer to his speakers and asked me, “Can you name that band?”

I guessed Pavement and was informed I'd won an all-expenses-paid trip to Florida. I told him that I was thrilled because I'd never been. Every year, my parents promised we'd be able to afford Disney World soon, but now I was too old and they were divorced.

Toward the end, I agreed to hang out with Christian that coming Saturday afternoon while he watched his five-year-old sister. I knew he and I had chemistry. I knew “watching his sister” meant that while she napped or whatever, we'd make out. I was resigned to it. I would just let it be physical, not emotional, because that was how these things worked. Then, as the conversation wound down, he surprised me.

“I didn't like the way Adrian treated you. He uses girls. I'm not like that and I definitely wouldn't do that to you.”

“What do you mean?” I stammered. For the first time that night, my fingers danced over my scabby arm.

“I mean…” Christian faltered slightly, his words losing that characteristic swagger as he rushed them out of his mouth. “Kara, would you go out with me?”

After Adrian, it seemed so official and almost embarrassing, like a throwback to the fifties, when a guy gives a girl his class ring and they go steady. After Adrian, it should have meant the world to me. But I couldn't let it. “I don't know…”

“You aren't still with Adrian, are you?”

“No!” I snapped. Then my voice grew softer. “It's got nothing to do with Adrian. It's just me. Since my parents got divorced. Or maybe before that, watching them fake it. It got to me or something…” I trailed off. I'd never talked to Adrian about those feelings.

Christian's voice was comforting. “It's okay. I know exactly what you mean. Seeing my dad's relationships with women makes a good relationship seem impossible. And when your parents let you down, it's hard to trust anyone. But please, say you'll still come over Saturday. As a friend.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

C
HRISTIAN'S SISTER,
N
AOMI, ANSWERED THE DOOR
wearing a pink dress made of polyester nightgown material and a plastic tiara in her blond hair. She stared at me, then turned to her brother and declared, “She is pretty as a fairy-tale princess!”

I wondered if there was a new Disney movie out that I didn't know about where the princess had turquoise bangs and wore ripped jeans and lots of eyeliner. Regardless, I thanked Naomi, adding, “I think you make a better princess than I do, though.”

She beamed before informing me solemnly, “My brother likes you a lot.”

Christian's face glowed redder than his hair and he laughed nervously. “That's the last time I confide in a five-year-old.”

I blushed as well, but couldn't help smiling when Naomi protested, “Why?”

Christian shook his head and took Naomi's hand, guiding her away from the door. “Why don't you let Kara in and change out of your Halloween costume so we can go to the park?”

Naomi clapped enthusiastically, crowing, “The park! The park!” She ran a few laps around the living room like an excited puppy before skidding off in the direction of her bedroom.

“I should follow and make sure she picks something appro
priate.” Christian smiled at me and jerked his head toward the couch. “Have a seat.”

I sat, but my eyes roamed the living room. It felt about as welcoming as a dentist's office. The decor looked like it'd come straight out of a magazine: expensive leather couch, glass coffee table-clearly not the place where Naomi regularly spent her time. Kids seemed like an afterthought to Christian's dad. He only had one photograph of each child, the most recent school picture, and probably updated the same frame on a yearly basis. There were no family shots, no pictures of Christian and Naomi as infants like the ones that cluttered the mantel at my house.

I hadn't been allowing myself to think about my dad in the four months since he'd left-thinking of him meant I cared, and I didn't, dammit!-but seeing how Christian's dad decorated, I couldn't help but wonder what my father's apartment looked like. Every week he called and invited Liam and me over. We always refused. His apartment was probably sterile as an OR, and unless he'd slipped a few photos out of the family albums while packing, he didn't have a single picture of me or Liam.

Before I could get too depressed, Christian and Naomi reappeared.

Christian lived three blocks from Scoville, but for some reason, I never thought we'd go there. It was bizarre being in the one tiny corner of the park I rarely spent time in-the playground. I usually only ventured as far as the bathrooms, housed in a small brick building that separated the playground from the wide green lawn that I treated like my own backyard. And I'd smoked pot in those bathrooms…with Christian on a couple of occasions. Thinking of that as I tramped through the sand with Naomi, I felt guilty, but it soon passed. As the afternoon progressed, it felt like that had happened in a different lifetime, a different world.

I chased Naomi until I was out of breath. We went down the slides until my legs were sore from climbing the undersize lad
der that led to them. We seesawed until my butt hurt and took turns jumping off the swing until my knees ached. Then I rested on a bench and watched Christian lazily push Naomi on a swing, both of them all smiles.

I saw exactly how different Christian was from Adrian. I couldn't imagine Adrian as a kid; I just saw him miniaturized in a child-size leather jacket, dwarfed by long brown hair, sitting on the other side of Scoville puffing away on a cigarette, a rotten apple at eight. But Christian transformed in my mind, despite the scruffy Manic Panic “Vampire Red” hair. I could picture him as a kindergartner, the same age as Naomi, with naturally blond hair like hers, but worn in a bowl cut that hung in his hazel eyes. I wanted to return to childhood with him, that carefree time when the world felt safe and simple. Forget making out, smoking, and doing drugs, we could play tag and tease each other about cooties and-

Naomi's squeaky, high-pitched voice broke into my fantasy. “Why doesn't Daddy ever take me to the park? Mommy says that Daddy loves his girlfriends more than us.”

She was resting her face against the chain of her swing, trusting Christian to push her slowly and evenly. Christian coughed a smoker's cough and cleared his throat, eyes pointed at the statue where he and my brother usually ground concerns like this into the concrete with their skateboards.

“I'll tell Daddy to bring you here tomorrow,” he said sweetly, without answering her question. He stopped the swing, ending our refreshingly innocent afternoon. “Naomi, you look cold and it's getting dark. Let's go.”

Naomi slumped off the swing with a trembling lip. “I don't wanna!”

Christian suggested, “We can play Candy Land…”

Her mood swung like a pendulum. She was clapping and smiling again, asking, “Kara, do you want to? Kara, will you stay?”

“Sure.” I let her tug me in the direction of her house.

If the park had tired her out at all, she didn't show it. She soldiered on, making it through several games of Candy Land (during which she cheated unabashedly), two slices of pizza, and halfway through a movie-she chose
Cinderella
after learning it had been my childhood favorite.

When Christian carried her upstairs at nine, he told me I could stop the tape, but I remained engrossed, watching Cinderella's fairy godmother magically prepare her for the ball. I reveled in my little-kid moment until Christian returned.

“I love Naomi to death,” he said, “but I really need a cigarette. Wanna step outside?”

As much as I didn't want to be that girl again, I did crave a smoke. And I couldn't go back to being five or even twelve when I still believed in happily ever after. If I watched the end of
Cinderella,
my newfound cynicism would spoil my happy childhood memories. Maybe it had happened too fast or for all the wrong reasons, but I'd grown up. So I followed Christian to his backyard.

I hadn't brought a jacket and shivered slightly when we stepped into the cool October air. Christian's arm snaked around my waist, pulling me closer. “Cold?” he asked.

“No, just…adjusting.” His scent enveloped me: smoke, sweat, and something sweet I couldn't quite place that made it different than Adrian's. As much as I hated it, I kept comparing everything about him to Adrian. Being close to Christian made my stomach somersault like it had with Adrian, but the ways Christian touched and looked at me were different, softer.

We sat on the swing set in the center of the backyard. Christian leaned over and lit my cigarette for me. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, glanced at how close his butt was to the ground, and shook his head.

“You've outgrown it,” I commented.

“Nah, I've always been too big. This is Naomi's. My dad buys her stuff to make up for not spending time with her.” Christian's smile disappeared when he mentioned his dad. He clenched his jaw and pressed his lips into a straight line, staring off into the distance like he had at the park.

In an effort to cheer him up, I taunted, “Did Naomi tire you out too much for one last competition? I let her win before, but I can definitely jump farther from a swing than anyone.”

Christian brightened immediately. “You're on.”

We dropped our barely smoked cigarettes and pushed off, kicking up dirt. I stared at the moon intently, pumping hard. I swung to the point where I could go no higher, the chains squeaking, my swing threatening to flip over the bar. Glancing at Christian, I grinned and let go. Skidding across the grass, I nearly crashed into the picnic table.

But I stood up straight and turned to face Christian. “I win.”

“Oh yeah?” Christian leapt off his swing. He knocked into me when he landed, wrapping his arms around me so I wouldn't fall. “I demand a rematch.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that I always win,” Christian declared with a cocky smile.

I smiled back at him, but pulled out of his embrace. “You're pretty arrogant, you know that?”

Christian held on to my hand, still smirking. “But it amuses you, right?”

I shrugged, wandering toward his house.

He released my hand, but only let me get steps away before calling, “Hey, Kara, will you go out with me?”

My shoulders slumped. Mild flirtation I could handle, I was even finding it fun, but I still couldn't do this dating thing. “No,” I said quietly, all the playfulness drained from my voice. “I just can't.”

I headed toward the front gate, prepared to leave, but he grabbed my hand once more. “On what grounds?” he mimicked.

I shook my head.

“Listen, I told you the other night, Adrian is stupid for—”

“Adrian isn't and wasn't anything to me.” I yanked my hand away and glared into Christian's eyes. “You don't really know me. We've had, what, like five conversations and you think you like me so much that you want to go out with me?”

Christian's confident grin faded completely. “We've had more than five conversations, Kara. I know you better than you think. I know who your favorite bands are…” I rolled my eyes. “No, listen,” Christian continued, “I know you're too smart to be hanging out with all of us losers at Scoville Park. You're a genius according to Maya and you're writing a brilliant screenplay—”

“So you picked up a few things from my best friend. It doesn't count!” I snapped. The mention of the screenplay, which I'd given up when I left Adrian, since the notebooks and original idea were his, only served as a stinging reminder of why I shouldn't get involved with another guy. When we'd inevitably break up, I'd stand to lose more than just him.

“Kara, wait,” Christian begged. “Please. I just want a chance to know you and make you happy—” The back gate slammed. We'd been so involved in our conversation that we hadn't heard the garage door.

“Hello?” a deep male voice called.

Christian's father strode over to us. He was well dressed, handsome in that rich-architect way-tan, buff, and clean-cut like a Ken doll. He extended his hand, introducing himself to me and chiding Christian for not doing so. His friendliness was slightly creepy, though. I could smell the whiskey on him and sensed that if I were five years older, he'd probably be checking out my boobs.

“You should go out now, have a good time,” he suggested to Christian, patting him on the back. “I already had my fun.” He smiled at me, all pearly white teeth. “A couple rounds of golf and beer does an old guy like me in. You'll need to be with Naomi tomorrow afternoon, though, Christian. I have to have lunch with Denise. She hates it when she doesn't get to see me all weekend.”

Christian growled, “Forget Denise, your
daughter
hates it when she doesn't get to see you all weekend. You know, one of her two weekends a month.”

“Naomi and I will watch cartoons in the morning, let you sleep in.”

“She wants to go to the park with you. She misses you.”

Christian's dad waved him off, fumbling for the back door. “Just go out and have a good time, Chris. Don't worry about it. Jesus.”

Christian stormed off so fast that I had to jog to keep up with his long, sharp strides. Our moment from before his father showed up was forgotten.

“That's my asshole dad,” he told me after we'd gone a block in silence. He lit a cigarette and exhaled hard.

“My dad's an asshole, too,” I sympathized.

That's all that we said to each other until we got to Scoville, which, at night and without Naomi, had lost all its luster and magic. It was just the place we went because there was nowhere else. We passed the playground without even looking at it. Beneath the yellow lamplight, I saw Mary and Jessica sitting on the steps of the soldier statue. Christian stalked past them without a word. He did stop at the top of the hill when he noticed Liam and Maya sitting together in the grass. It didn't seem like a romantic thing, but their knees were touching and they whipped around simultaneously.

Seeing it was us, Maya visibly eased. “Oh, hey,” she said.
“It's one of the last nice nights, huh? We didn't feel like being at home.”

“We didn't either,” Christian echoed, nodding hello at my brother as I shot Maya a quizzical look that she ignored.

“I was telling Liam that in Florida, at the beach, I could see the stars.” Maya squinted like there might be something to see in the purplish black sky, but the streetlights kept it too bright.

“I was telling Maya that we should run away there.” Liam snuck a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, appearing pleased that she did the same.

“Hey, it's warm there,” Christian agreed.

Maya added, “I'd rather live on the beach than at a hotel.” She'd been in Oak Park for nine months and work still wasn't finished on the house her dad had bought. I guess he wanted it perfect as possible to make up for her mom's absence.

Christian and I were lowering ourselves to the grass when Mary and Jessica strode down the path nearby. Mary loudly remarked, “Christian just wants Kara because she slept with Adrian. He likes her for the same reason he went out with Maya and Cass. She's a slut.”

Jessica's shrill giggle filled the air.

Before Maya or I could respond, Christian darted through a flower bed. He grabbed Mary by the front of her shirt, his other fist raised. “Don't think I won't hit you because you're a girl,” he growled maliciously.

“Christian…” Jessica pleaded. Her haughty smirk vanished, green eyes widening.

Christian ignored her. “Apologize to them right now!” he demanded of Mary.

Mary's lip was quivering, which made her underbite look more pronounced than usual. She whispered, “I'm sorry,” staring down at Christian's hand, so close to her throat.