Charmed (2 page)

Chapter Five

This is a Rob’s-not-coming-home night. It’s five in the morning. I can’t sleep because even though I’m sure Rob the Slob is out screwing around, you never know, he might be bleeding to death in some car crash or something. I turn on the light and look in the mirror. Ugh. Cody Dillon has his eye on me, and I’m not worth having an eye on. That much is for sure.

I go to Mom and Rob’s room and use the makeup she left behind. She taught me how to do it, and I’ve been watching her all my life. It’s still hard to look good but not slutty. It takes me three tries to get the eyeliner right. Lipstick’s easy. Blush is where you can go really wrong. Too much and you either look mentally ill or cheap. Too little and the rest of the makeup looks cheap. By the time I’m ready to leave for school, I’m looking pretty good if I do say so myself.

I borrow a pair of Mom’s jeans. She says mine are too baggy. Her’s are the kind that show your belly button if you wear the right kind of top. At first I put on her little T-shirt that says “kitten,” but it’s too big in the chest because her tits are huge. I liked the way it showed my belly button, though. My tummy’s nice and flat, not like Margaret’s. Hers is doughy and lumpy. I hook a small gold hoop on my belly button, just to see what it looks like. Maybe when Mom comes back I’ll ask if I can get my belly button pierced. I’ll wait until after the blowout over Rob, though. I’ll wait until she’s feeling sorry for herself because she doesn’t have a man, and then I’ll ask and she’ll say yes. She’ll probably offer to do it with an ice cube and a sewing needle. I might let her, just to prove that I’m brave. Then again, I might not.

I take the shirt off and put on one of my own, the tightest I can find. I need a different bra. Sports bras make me look like mono-boob. I’ll ask Rob for some money. He has to give it to me. It’s Mom’s money, and if he’s pokered it all away by the time she comes home, there will be no question about which of us she picks. Mono-boob will have to do for now, though. Mom’s bras are way too big.

Chapter Six

I never see Cody Dillon with those two girls anymore. Margaret says they dropped out too. She says they’re crackheads, living in some skanky apartment downtown. When I ask her how she knows that, she just says, “People.”

“People, what?”

“People say.”

She probably just overheard it in the bathroom. Margaret doesn’t know people who would know that kind of thing. She could barely even say crackhead without wincing.

I put Mom’s kitten shirt in the dryer a couple times and it shrinks enough for me to wear. That’s what I’m wearing when I’m teaching Margaret how to smoke. We’re hanging outside the corner store, and it’s all dead boring until Cody Dillon drives by in his Jeep and waves while Margaret gracelessly hacks a lung out.

“Margaret! There he is! He just waved at me. Did you see that?”

Margaret recovers. “That shirt looks dumb, you know.”

Okay, two can play this game.

“Dumb? Are you sure you’re not jealous because you’re too fat to wear a shirt like this?”

Her mouth gobs open. “Izzy?”

“Margaret?” I watch Cody Dillon drive away.

“Here, I don’t want it.” She hands me the cigarette and stomps off. She is fat. It’s a fact.

I finish the cigarette and start another one. Cody Dillon drives by again. This time he stops.

“Come on. Get in.”

Who’s he talking to?

“Isabelle?”

That’s me.

“Getting in?”

I climb in. It’s so warm I get goosebumps. I was cold standing outside in the kitten shirt, but the only jacket I have is the babyish puffy one that makes me look chubby, when really I’m as skinny as you can get without being anorexic.

Cody Dillon puts his hand on my knee (HIS HAND ON MY KNEE!). “Want to go for a drive?”

I nod. He takes his hand off to shift gears. He can drive a standard. That’s cool. His Jeep is cool. It’s jacked up, with off-road tires and a skull with devil horns as the gearshift instead of a plain old knob.

“Where do you live?”

I tell him and he heads there. I pray Rob the Slob isn’t home. His car is gone and Tuck is on his chain. Thank God.

“Whose dog?”

“Uh, mine, I guess.”

We idle in the driveway. It starts raining. I don’t want him to come in. The house is dirty, and all our stuff is old and rotten and lame and cheap and not even remotely cool.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

I shake my head. “We should probably go. My mom’s boyfriend will be home soon and the last time I got caught skipping he kind of freaked out.”

“Let’s take the dog with us. He looks bored.”

Tuck’s sitting on the porch, staring at us. I let him off his chain. Cody Dillon whistles and Tuck leaps into the Jeep.

“In the back, boy,” he says. Tuck hurls his big happy self into the back.

We drive to the river and walk along the railway tracks in the rain. We share a joint. Cody Dillon throws a stick for Tuck. It’s like we’re boyfriend-girlfriend, on a date. I wonder if his buddies dared him to do this. I wonder if I’m a bet. Does that make me a prize or a challenge? I don’t want to ask. Either way, it feels good right this second. If right-this-second lasted forever, that would be okay by me. Margaret doesn’t know what she’s missing.

Chapter Seven

Margaret and I hand out candy at my house on Halloween. Rob is at a poker game and isn’t likely to come home. Margaret brings the candy because Rob still won’t give me any money. I wrote Mom and ratted on him about him hoarding the money and not fixing the taps in the bathroom. The dripping is driving me mental. She called on the radiophone and told me I’m old enough to work things out without her. She has no idea the crap he pulls.

“Don’t be a baby, Izzy,” she said.

“I’m not! He’s the one acting like a kid. Some nights he doesn’t even—”

“Look, Izzy. I’m up here, you two are down there. Do me a favor and work it out. Okay?”

I’m working it out all right. Out of his wallet. Five dollars at a time, but only when he’s won at poker and won’t miss it. Cigarettes and tampons aren’t exactly free. The last time I stole tampons, I almost got caught. I think the only reason the shop cop let me go was because he was embarrassed, or he felt sorry for me, or he’s lazy, or all three.

Margaret says she’ll buy me tampons. She says, “Wouldn’t you just die if you got caught stealing tampons?” I tell her I don’t want to talk about tampons on Halloween when there are bunches of little kids coming to the door looking all cute and innocent.

The trick-or-treating dies down about eight, and then it’s just older losers, paper bags over their heads, or towel capes, maybe Dracula fangs or face paint if they’re really trying. Very lame.

It’s almost eleven. The lights are out. We’re in our pajamas watching
Children of the Corn
, which we do every year. Margaret is scarfing down the leftover candy, which she does every year.

“You should stop, Margaret. It’ll make your zits worse.” She has a million zits, at least, all in various sizes and states of disgustingness. “And it’s not going to help you lose weight, either.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Do you want to be fat, Margaret?”

She scowls at me, ready to lecture me about how plumpness runs in her family, when the doorbell rings and Tuck starts barking. We sit up. Maybe it’s because it’s so late, or maybe it’s the movie, but we’re spooked.

“You go, Margaret.”

“No, you go!”

“We’ll both go,” I say. We hold hands and creep to the door. I look through the spy hole. It’s Cody Dillon, dressed as himself.

“Look!” I whisper.

Margaret looks. “Don’t you dare open—”

I open the door. “Nice costume.”

“Nice pajamas,” he says. “Hi, Margaret.”

“How do you know my name?” she asks.

“Isabelle talks about you.”

“Isabelle?”

“That’s what he calls me,” I say. “Come in.”

Cody Dillon is in my house (IN MY HOUSE!).

“Nobody has called her Isabelle since forever.”

“I guess that makes me special, huh?” Cody Dillon is sitting on my couch (MY COUCH!). I wish it wasn’t so skuzzy. I wish I had real clothes on. I wish Margaret would go away. Tuck gets up on the couch and stares at Cody Dillon with adoring droopy eyes.

“I love this movie,” he says.

“What’s he doing here?” Margaret whispers. “Did you invite him?”

I shake my head.

“Then tell him to leave!”

I shake my head again. Cody Dillon is rolling a joint in my living room (MY LIVING ROOM!). Margaret and I stare at him. He lights up and pats the couch. “Come sit beside me, Isabelle.”

I sit beside him. Margaret stays by the door, arms crossed. Tuck stinks. I wish I’d given him a bath. I pass the joint back to Cody Dillon.

Margaret shakes her head. “I’m going to bed.”

Cody Dillon puts his arm across my shoulder (Um, hello, God? I believe in you as of right now) and we finish watching
Children of the Corn
together. When it’s over, he does the following:

1. Pulls me onto his lap!

2. Puts his hands under my shirt and squeezes my mono-boob!

3. Kisses me, WITH TONGUE!

Then he’s all cool, giving Tuck a little wrestle on the floor and then leaving like he comes over all the time and French kisses me and none of this is a big deal at all.

“See ya,” he says, and then he’s gone.

Margaret comes out and rewinds the tape to where she left in a huff.

“I was spying, you know.”

“Then you saw him kiss me?”

“You better be careful.” She turns the volume up. “He might have herpes or something.”

“You’re just jealous, Margaret Pritchard.”

She pauses the movie and looks me straight in the eye. She’s so serious it makes me giggle. “I am 100 per cent absolutely swear-on-my-father’s-grave not jealous of you, Izzy McAfferty.”

Whoa. She means it. She only swears on her father’s grave for real. I watch her out of the corner of my eye. It looks like she’s totally into the movie, but I think she’s just pretending to watch it so she doesn’t have to explain why she’s not jealous. If she had to explain, she couldn’t. I’m sure of it. I mean, come on, who wouldn’t want to sit on Cody Dillon’s lap? Well, Margaret, maybe. She is pretty heavy.

Chapter Eight

The next time Cody Dillon finds me when I have a spare, we’re just about out of the school when Mrs. Singh stops us. To look at her you wouldn’t think she was a very scary principal; she’s short and old and wears bright-colored saris that make her look cheerful to people who don’t know any better.

“What was our agreement?” she says. I have no idea what she’s talking about. I think back to the last time that I got caught skipping. There was no official agreement or anything, unless she means my promise not to ditch classes. “Do I need to bring out the contract you signed?”

Cody Dillon shakes his head. “No, ma’am.”

“Good, now go.” Mrs. Singh opens the fire door. Cody Dillon winks at me and then takes off across the field. Mrs. Singh lets the heavy door slam shut, the bang shuddering down the empty hall. She locks her hands behind her back and starts walking. I follow her, figuring we’re headed to her office.

“I don’t tend to give dating advice to my students,” she says as we walk, “but I must say that you can do better for yourself, Izzy.”

What am I supposed to say to that? She’s just an old cow who doesn’t know anything about me.

“I don’t have time to sit with you and talk today,” she says as we near the office. Inside, several important-looking people track her approach. “But I want you to know that if you ever want to talk, for any reason, my door is open, okay?”

I nod. What would be worse? A nice chat with her or my spider creep father?

The next day Cody Dillon comes and gets me for my spare, and we go out to his Jeep and smoke a joint. He says that old bag Singh made him sign a contract swearing he wouldn’t set foot onto school property unless it was to arrange for his return as a student. I’m just about to ask him why he dropped out when he leans over and kisses me. We make out for a while and then smoke another joint.

That makes the afternoon all fuzzy and nice. I’m better at French when I’m high. My accent is flawless and I can figure out the verbs without trying very hard. Margaret won’t talk to me when I’m high. She says I’m foggy and dumb and giggle too much, but really it’s nice. The cool girls seem plastic and cheap when I’m high, and I don’t stress out about what they think of me or that they whisper “white trash” under their breath when they pass me in the hall. When I’m high, I’m mellow, and nothing bothers me much.

It’s a good thing I’m high when Mom shows up, unannounced. Margaret and I go to my house after school and there’s Mom’s car in the driveway. I can tell her about Cody Dillon, my boyfriend! I run into the house expecting hugs and kisses. There’s Mom, on her knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor.

“You know, Izzy?” she says, no “hello’” or anything. “We might not have much, but we can take pride in what we do have.” She rinses the rag in a bucket of grungy water. I see the kitchen in a new way. Not the let’ssee-how-bad-it-gets-before-Rob-freaks-out way, but the Mom’s-going-to-kill-me way. Moldy unwashed dishes in the sink, Tuck-hair everywhere, mystery gunk stuck in the spaghetti sauce on the floor that I never wiped up, dried egg like a giant smear of snot on the window from when Rob chucked one at me for lipping him off. There’s even bits of shell stuck up there.

“Hi, Linda,” Margaret says. “Want some help?”

“Go home, Margaret.” She doesn’t even look up. “Izzy is very grounded.”

Margaret waves goodbye. I want to giggle. She looks so sad, like a little kid when a big kid snatches her favorite toy. Aw, c’mon, Mom, I want to say, it’s not so bad. Hey, guess what, Mom? I have a BOYFRIEND! I sit at the kitchen table, chin on my hand.

“Well?” Mom throws the wet rag at me. It lands in my lap. I look like I’ve pissed my pants. If I wasn’t stoned, I’d be furious. But it seems kind of funny. I grin.

“Wipe that look off your face and get busy, young lady.”

“Yes, sir!”

“And take off my shirt.” She glares at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Stealing my stuff? And get out of my jeans while you’re at it!”

I change into my own clothes and go to help her, but she’s decided she doesn’t want my help. She sends me to my room, and I hear her muttering to herself, cursing me and Rob. When Rob comes home, the blowout I’ve been waiting for happens. It doesn’t go the way I want it to.

“That little creep owes me over a hundred bucks!” he yells while she’s ragging him out. “She’s been stealing it right out of my wallet! What are you going to do about that, huh?”

Mom storms down the hall. I get ready to list all the crap Rob’s pulled, starting with him not coming home some nights. My mother is a very jealous woman. Prepare for meltdown. She flings open the door.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Rob’s behind her, arms crossed. Smug pig.

“He’s cheating on you, Mom! He sometimes never even comes home!”

Mom whips around, nostrils flared. That’s right, your turn, Rob the Slob. Arm thyself.

“What’s she talking about?”

“Hey, whoa.” Rob puts his hands up. “So I stay at one of the guy’s houses now and again. You want me to drive drunk? The kid’s looking for a way to come between us, babe. She’s playing you. Can’t you see that?”

“Izzy?”

“Mom! It’s true!”

She’s coming into my room now. This is very, very not good. She picks up an ashtray.

“Roaches?” She dumps the ashtray onto the floor. “You’re buying drugs with my money?”

“My money,” says Rob.

“Answer me, Izzy!”

I can’t believe it. She’s buying Rob’s crap. I nod in total stunned disbelief, but she thinks I’m admitting to spending her money on pot when I really get it free from Cody Dillon, as much as I want, thank you very much.

“Get out!” she screams. “I can’t believe the mess I come home to!”

“Aren’t I very grounded?”

“You heard your mother,” Rob says. “Get out!”

“Fuck off, Rob! This is all your fault!”

“Oh, that is it!” Mom yanks me up and drags me toward the bathroom. She thinks she’s going to wash my mouth out with soap. Oh yeah? I don’t think so. I tear away and run out of the house into the pouring rain. Tuck follows me. I keep running until I get to the gas station two blocks away. The guy grins all slimy at me when I ask to use the phone. He makes me beg before he lets me, the creep.

I call Cody Dillon’s pager. I’m not allowed over at Margaret’s anymore, not since her fat-cow mother blamed me for the missing booze and the cigarette burns on the carpet, even though it was both of us. Well, maybe it was mostly me, but still.

Cody Dillon comes and rescues me (RESCUES ME!). He takes me to his apartment (HIS OWN APARTMENT!) and runs me a bubble bath. He lights a bunch of candles and turns the light off. He sits on the floor and keeps me company. He says I can stay here as long as I want. Um, hello, heaven? Izzy McAfferty has arrived, in case anyone wants to know.