Circles (2 page)

Somebody at the top of the stairs held the door open for her, and she murmured “Thanks!” as she passed inside.

Chapter 2

The girl was moving so quickly that Mark had to press up against the door or she would have knocked the books out of his hands. “Thanks!” she said as she whizzed by, and he looked angrily at her little, skinny back and restrained himself from yelling after her, “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

He carried his books down the stairs, crossed the street, turned the corner, and stopped. Carelessly—he tried to make it seem carelessly—and slowly, he pulled the car keys out of his pocket before inserting them into the lock. Dope, he said to himself, you’re on the wrong side. He smiled foolishly at a woman who was stepping out of the car in front of his, but she was busy locking her car—one of those little subcompacts—and didn’t notice him.

He still wasn’t used to driving around by himself. He’d only moved in with his father five days ago, and this was the third time his father had simply tossed the car keys to him and told him to take the van. No fuss, no worry, no nervous questions.

He walked around to the driver’s side, opened the door, and slid inside. His hand trembled as he put the key into the ignition, and he sat still for a moment, savoring the surge of power that swelled up inside of him.

Why had he waited so long to move in with his father? Why? His mother’s teary face appeared inside his mind, and he tried to ignore it. She still had Marcy and Jed to look after. And it wasn’t as if he were going off to Tibet. He’d call her, and go over on Sundays sometimes. She knew he’d never neglect her.

He started the engine, and listened to it growl. He liked the van—it made him feel manly to drive something so big and rugged. His mother drove a little Chevy Nova, and she fussed over it and babied it and coddled it as if it were another kid. She hardly ever let him drive it alone—not without a bunch of instructions and restrictions and arguments. She still treated him as if he were twelve years old like Marcy, and not sixteen and a half. She didn’t like him driving at all, and kept showing him all the latest figures on teenage deaths on the highway. He smiled grimly, remembering how she had refused at first even to sign the permission form for him to get a permit. Now he could smile, but then, when he was fifteen and a half, he hadn’t smiled. He had simply decided that maybe he would be happier living with his father.

He put the van in reverse, and backed up a few inches. That woman who had parked in front of him hadn’t left him much room. He tapped her bumper on his first attempt to pull out. Nothing serious but the car shuddered. It was only a little subcompact. He backed up again, and then pulled out easily.

His father had always said he could come and stay with him anytime he wanted. Ever since the divorce seven years ago his father kept repeating that he would be welcome anytime he was ready to make the move.

Mark stopped for a light, opened his window, and leaned one elbow on it. Of course, when Mark first suggested it his mother had said no way! She said his father was irresponsible, undependable, selfish, and didn’t mean what he said anyway. “That man never changed a diaper or fed a bottle to a baby in his life,” she kept saying, Well, Mark didn’t need a diaper changed anymore, and he didn’t drink out of bottles either, but it had taken over a year before she had finally agreed. “You’ll be back,” she told him. He knew he would not.

His father’s apartment—his now, too—was only a mile or so from the library, and he didn’t want to stop driving. So he passed the street where they lived, and headed out towards the ocean. His father wouldn’t mind if he stayed out a little longer. His mother, on the other hand, would start fussing if he was fifteen minutes late.

He turned onto the Great Highway, and increased his speed. It was cool, and the ocean breezes rippled across his head. A new life for him, that’s what it was. A new life in a big, magic city. He’d felt confined out in San Leandro. It was foggy up ahead, and he frowned. Fog. That was the only part of living in San Francisco he wasn’t going to like. There was too much fog. The last few nights had been so foggy that he hadn’t been able to see much through his telescope.

But his father had insisted that the winter skies were usually clear. Mark also knew that there was an amateur astronomer’s group here in the city that held monthly meetings and had star parties up at Mount Tarn. He would get in touch with them in the next day or so. Back in San Leandro, aside from Mr. Benson at school, he hadn’t found anybody who was really interested in astronomy.

At Sloat Boulevard, Mark reluctantly turned and began heading back to his father’s—no—back home. It was his home now. Sure, some things seemed a little strange, but he would get used to them. His room was tiny, hardly more than a closet, and the place was pretty sloppy, and—this was kind of embarrassing but he was sixteen and a half—he knew he was interfering with his father’s love life.

He stopped at a stop sign, and two women hesitantly swayed on the curb, watching him. Magnanimously, he motioned for them to cross, and they smiled and nodded at him as they passed. He smiled back, and kept smiling once he started driving again. His father would probably let him drive almost any time he wanted. Probably even on the Sundays when he visited his mother out in San Leandro, he guessed his father would simply toss him the keys and let him take the van. Wouldn’t she be surprised when he pulled up in it? She’d probably say his father was just being irresponsible to let him drive it. Well, it didn’t really matter what she said anymore. All he’d have to say was that it was okay with Dad.

This Saturday he would start working in his father’s hardware store, and he would continue to work there every Saturday, and a couple of afternoons during the week as well. Maybe his father would need him to run errands with the van—make deliveries, pick up stuff. He’d do whatever his father asked him to do. He liked the idea of working in the store.

Mark turned off the avenue and onto his father’s— his street. No problem parking—there were two spots up near the corner. He backed into the smaller one just for the practice. The van handled like a dream. He turned off the motor, pulled up the emergency brake, and patted the dashboard lovingly. He should have moved in with his father years ago.

His father was sitting in front of the TV, watching Monday night football, when he came in.

“Close game,” he said, smiling up at Mark. “They sacked Montana four times—but nothing can stop him.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mark laughed uncomfortably. He hated football, but fortunately his father didn’t seem to know it. His father proceeded to give him some of the details of the game, and he tried to look interested.

“I guess it’s too late to go out for the team?” his father said.

“Uh—what?” Mark asked.

“At school, I mean. I guess they’ve held all the tryouts already for the football team.”

“Oh, right!” Mark agreed quickly. Then he added, “You know, Dad, I’m not really much into football.”

“You’ve got the build,” his father said approvingly. “If I’d had a pair of shoulders like yours I could have been a first-string player in school instead of sitting on the bench most of the time.”

Mark shifted around under his father’s scrutiny and tried to change the subject. “The library’s pretty good here,” he said. “They have a whole bunch of books on astronomy I’ve never seen before.”

“Great! Great!” said his father, nodding at him and smiling. “Oh, I was also going to say I could take you to the game this Sunday. I’ve got an extra ticket.”

“I thought you and Lauren were going. I thought you said all the tickets were sold out, and you only had two.”

His father grinned foolishly. “It’s all over with Lauren. That’s why I’ve got the extra ticket.”

“But Dad , . .” Mark began. He wanted to tell his father that he hoped it wasn’t because of him. He had a feeling that maybe Lauren used to stay over, before he moved in with his father, and he wanted to say that he was sixteen and a half, not a baby anymore, and that he understood all these matters. No sweat, he wanted to tell his father. He understood, and it was okay, and he wanted his father to know that he wasn’t a prude, and that he’d feel lousy if his father had broken up with Lauren because of him.

Not that he liked Lauren especially. Not that he liked her at all, as a matter of fact. She was kind of a silly, over-made-up woman, who laughed a lot and looked at him in a bold, scary way.

“No, no,” his father said. “It didn’t have anything to do with you. I know that’s what you’re thinking, and it just isn’t so. Besides, you’re old enough to understand. You’ve probably even got a girl of your own.”

“No!” Mark felt his ears growing warm. “No. I mean ... not now.”

His father nodded. “You’ll meet plenty of nice girls at school. A guy with your looks won’t ever have any trouble. But anyway, about Lauren, I’ve been getting tired of her. She spends money like it was water. The last straw was her birthday. I asked her what she wanted and she said a pair of shoes. So I told her to buy herself a pair, and I’d reimburse her. I figured fifty, sixty dollars—okay, maybe a hundred tops. So she went and bought herself a pair of fancy French shoes. She paid two hundred and fifty dollars for them. And they were on sale. That did it!”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars?” Mark repeated in horror.

“I’m not kidding,” his father said grimly. “That was the last straw.”

“I could buy a new telescope mount with two hundred and fifty dollars,” Mark said.

“That’s right,” his father said. “I told her if it was for something worthwhile—for a tape deck or something important—but just for a lousy pair of shoes. Wait, I’ll show them to you.”

His father jumped up and hurried out of the room. When he returned he was holding up a red snakeskin, high-heeled sandal with one hand, and cradling a shoe box with the other.

“Here—just look at what she paid two hundred and fifty dollars for, on sale.”

He held the sandal out to Mark, who picked it up by one thin strap and held it out, away from him, as if it were something unclean. Mark shook his head and murmured, “Mom never wears shoes like this.”

“Crazy,” his father said. “Absolutely crazy.”

“But Dad,” Mark said, handing the shoe back to his father, “why do you have the shoes and not Lauren?”

“Because,” said his father, carefully parting the tissue paper that lined the inside of the box and settling the shoe into it, “I let her know what I thought. I mean I gave her the money—I did say she could buy whatever she liked—but I also let her know what I thought of somebody who would go out and spend two hundred and fifty dollars for a stupid pair of shoes. She said I was cheap and I said—well, it doesn’t matter what I said, but she gave me the shoes. Actually, she threw them at me. Thank God she didn’t damage them. I want my money back.”

“Oh,” said Mark, “are you going to take them back to the store?”

His father put the box down carefully and closed the lid. “I did already but they don’t want to give me a refund.” He smiled at Mark. “But you know your dad, Mark. He doesn’t take no for an answer. I’m going back tomorrow, and you can be sure I’m going to end up with that refund.”

Mark smiled back. “Do you want me to go along?”

“No, no, son, that’s all right,” his father said. “But I will take you to the Forty-niners game this Sunday. Don’t forget. We have a date.”

Mark retreated to his room, opened the window, and looked up at the sky. Although it was too foggy for him to see anything at all, he knew that tonight the lovely Corona Borealis would be shining in the western sky, the Big Dipper in the north, and Orion over in the east. The thin row of stars in Orion’s belt made him think of the thin strap on that ridiculous red high-heeled shoe.

He rested his head on one hand, and thought about the shoe. No girl he’d ever care about would wear a shoe like that. No! The girl he’d care about would have to be a real person—interested in astronomy or something serious. Not one of those silly, giggly girls. She’d be a no-nonsense person, somebody you could talk to. She wouldn’t wear a lot of makeup or dumb high-heeled shoes.

Not the girl he’d like. The girl he’d like would have to be somebody you could talk to, smart, serious, and interesting. She wouldn’t be giggling all the time, and looking at him with that bold, embarrassing look Lauren had. And she certainly would never wear high-heeled, expensive French shoes.

Mark hadn’t met her yet, but he knew she wouldn’t.

Chapter 3

Beebe bent over and tied the shoelaces on one of her running shoes. Then she leaned back in her seat in the back of the auditorium and listened. Dave Mitchell/Romeo was rehearsing up on the stage with Todd Merster/Benvolio. He was saying:

“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;

Being purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;

Being vcx’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears:

What is it else? a madness most discreet,

A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.”

Her lips moved along with the words, but Dave was saying them too quickly and finished before she did.

“Slow down,” Mrs. Kronberger said to him. “Try it again.”

This time Beebe whispered them along with him out loud. There was nobody else sitting in the back of the auditorium to hear her. As far as she was concerned, this was the most beautiful passage in the whole play because it described so well how she felt about Dave Mitchell.

“A madness most discreet”—that’s exactly what it was, because it was almost more than she could bear and yet nobody knew how she felt about him. Not her mother, not Wanda, certainly not Dave Mitchell.

“A choking gall.” Yes, that too, because so many times when she met him in the hall, or saw him in class, or even here at rehearsal, so many times, when she’d practiced some cute or funny or charming words— they could never rise out of her throat. They died there while she only managed to choke out something inane and colorless.

“A preserving sweet.” Yes, her feeling for Dave was a preserving sweet. Her daydreams about him had gone on and on for nearly a year now. They were preserved, and they were very, very sweet.