Housebreaking (32 page)

“I didn't get any calls.”

“Did you check?”

“Of course I checked. What did you want?”

“I thought we might go out.”

“Out?”

“A movie or something.”

“Like a date? Why are you acting so weird?”

“What's weird? I thought we could go out, that's all.”

“Let's go tonight.”

He shook his head, his eyes on the phone, working with his thumbs. “I don't feel like it tonight. My stomach hurts.” He scrunched his face and farted again.

“Aren't you going to say ‘Cheeseburger, cheeseburger'?”

“It doesn't smell,” he said.

Actually, it did. It smelled awful. She pulled her turtleneck over her nose. “Once more,” she said, “and I'm leaving.”

As she did her schoolwork, she was aware of him staring at her. He stared for a full minute, longer—until, finally, she lowered the book and said, “What?”

“So where did you go last night?”

“Why are you obsessing about last night?”

“I'm just asking.”

“Shut up. I don't want to talk about it.”

“Why not? Something happen?”

She ignored him.

“Because I heard you gangbanged B-Ray and his cousin.”

She felt her skin go cold. “Did he tell you that?”

“Not exactly. I mean, he wasn't the first.”

“What does that mean?”

He laughed. “Everybody knows, you moron.”

“You're a fucking liar.”

“And you're a major slut. Take a look.” He held out the phone. She could see her profile. She was lying facedown on the bed, her ass bright white, most of the picture darkness and shadows, a lamp glowing yellow in the corner.

“How did you—”

“Check out this one.”

She looked at the picture—and turned away immediately. She stuffed the book into her bag and went out the back door. By the side of the house she bent and threw up on the grass. She felt dizzy, her mouth filling again with bile. She would scratch his eyes out when she saw him. But, no. She wouldn't see him, she wouldn't go back to school, she couldn't go back to school, she would never go there again.

His voice came out of the darkness.

Em.

What do you want?

If number two pencils are the most popular, why are they still number two?

Seriously? You're telling jokes?

Yep.

Not funny. Not funny at all.

Okay. How about this one? What did the green grape say to the red grape? Breathe. Funny, right?

No.

Come on, admit it. You smiled.

I don't like jokes. You know that.

That's because you can't remember them. Even the ones I just told you. You probably forgot them already. You're the amnesia victim of joke telling.

Can you believe anyone would do that? I mean, what is the point?

Boys are creeps.

Trust me, I know.

Not all, though. Some of us are okay.

Yeah, the dead ones.

Ouch. You really know how to hurt a guy.

Sorry.

And besides, I'm not dead. I'm incognito.

You're in a casket buried in Fairhaven Cemetery.

Says you.

An oak casket that cost six thousand dollars. I saw the bill.

Wow. Somebody overpaid. Mom and Dad should have shopped around, gotten a few estimates. Maybe a secondhand one.

She wiped her eyes.
Okay. That was almost funny.

Better than my one-liners?

Much.

The rain started, drenching her all at once. She hurried toward home with her arms wrapped around herself. At the intersection up ahead, she saw her mother walking with Sheba. She called out, but Audrey kept striding up the street and tugging Sheba's leash, not letting her sniff or pee or do the things she liked to do on a walk. “Mom!” she called, her voice cracking, the tears starting to fall. “Mom, wait!” She expected her mother to turn and notice her, but she didn't. Emily hurried after her, squinting against the rain, lugging her book bag. She was about to call out again, louder this time, when her mother turned up someone's driveway. A moment later the front door opened and she disappeared inside the house with the dog.

Emily reached the end of the driveway. What was going on? Her mother had no friends in this town; she had no social life whatsoever. All she did was read novels and burn through Netflix, the unlimited plan, piling up stacks of red envelopes for the mailman. Who did she know in that house? What was she doing in there? Borrowing a cup of sugar?

The house was dark except for a first-floor room around the side. After a few minutes, Emily crept across the lawn, staying in the shadows. In the yard, she maneuvered around some bushes and stood on her tiptoes, looking into the lighted window. The curtains were half-open. Inside, in the den, the fireplace was blazing. Audrey was standing in front of the fire, talking to a middle-aged guy with curly salt and pepper hair. He turned his back to Audrey and stared out the window with a blank look on his face. Emily froze. He seemed to be looking directly at her, but after a moment she realized he was not seeing her; she was invisible in the darkness beyond the window. Behind him, Audrey slipped out of her clothes and stood naked in a pair of fuck-me panties. She bent and put on black high heels. The guy turned around and embraced her, kissing her and reaching around to fondle her butt.

Emily felt like banging on the window and screaming,
What the fuck,
Audrey?
Soon her mother was pulling at the guy's pants, the both of them sliding to the floor. Emily found her way out of the bushes, wiping her face, the snot and tears. She ran home and waited in the den. She stared at the dark TV screen, registering nothing.

An hour and a half later Audrey returned, subdued, the dog hyper.

Emily looked up from the couch. “Your face is red,” she said.

“Does this mean you're talking to me again?”

“I'm making an observation about your face.”

“Would you like some dinner? I made tofu earlier.”

“Where did you go?”

“For a walk.”

“You were gone a long time.”

“Have you finished your homework?”

“You know what, Mother? I think I prefer not talking to you.”

She went into the kitchen and found the plate of tufu and rice and took it into her room. A minute later came the sound of the shower from Audrey's bedroom. Washing off the sweat. Scrubbing away the dried semen.

This is un-fucking-believable. Can you even begin to believe this?

Poor Mom.

Poor Mom! Daniel, are you joking? First she flushes my stash, then she sneaks out for a quickie with the neighbor?

Maybe they were just making out.

Sure.

She's lonely, Em.

Is that what you call it? I can think of another word.

You know how Dad is. He takes her for granted.

He's an asshole, is what you mean.

No. He cares about us.

Seriously, Daniel. Since you went away, he's changed. He doesn't care about anyone. And now she's, like, Mrs. Robinson.

That doesn't even make sense.

You know what I mean.

Down the hall, the sound of the shower ceased.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY
her mother pronounced that she was grounded for a month: She wasn't allowed to leave the house except for school. Emily
glared at her but didn't respond. “And if I catch you sneaking out, because that's what you'll do, then it'll be another month. Understand?”

Was she joking?
Grounded?
The concept was a little anachronistic, like sock hops and the hula hoop, wasn't it? Emily found it humorous, almost. Humorous except that Audrey wouldn't drive her to the mall, wouldn't drop her at Starbucks or let her walk around at night in the town center, wouldn't let her do squat. How much time could she spend on MySpace without losing her marbles? She checked about ten times that day to see if anyone mentioned those pictures. So far, nothing.

Hypocrite
, she nearly responded.
Adulteress.

By Monday morning she couldn't stand being trapped in the house with Audrey anymore. Besides, she had to see Billy and get his phone and delete those pictures. B-Ray too. She hoped Billy had lied about
everyone
knowing. Maybe he was just jealous, trying to get back at her for going off with B-Ray. B-Ray was a total asshole to take those pictures. She couldn't believe how stupid she'd been—to have a crush on him all those weeks, without even knowing anything about him. He was a macho creep. How had she not known that? Talk about stupid—she'd stayed up all night doing coke with him and his jerk-off cousin
after
they'd already snapped those pictures of her, while she was passed out. Still, B-Ray wouldn't tell or show anyone besides Billy, would he? As for the cousin, he didn't even know her name, so who could he tell? No, it was probably just B-Ray and Billy, texting back and forth, their usual junior high bullshit. Maybe they were the only ones who'd seen the pictures. She decided to risk school.

She got dressed and went out to the car. While waiting for Audrey to unlock the door, Emily glanced up to see
him
, the boyfriend, cruising down the street in his wannabe Hummer. He was staring straight at her.
Gawking
. Emily raised her hand and flipped him off. He stared back, openmouthed, dumbfounded, which pleased her.

Fuck you, old man. Go fuck someone else's mother.

As soon as her mother dropped her at school, she went to the courtyard to find Billy Stacks, who was standing around the anchor with the usual crowd, shivering in place, blasting hip-hop. No sign of B-Ray. She beckoned to Billy with one finger, and after a while he came over, dragging his feet, his laces undone. He was wearing bright yellow basketball sneakers with black socks. He said, “What's up, gangbang?”

“Don't call me that.”

“Why not?”

She tried to play it off. “Because two guys isn't a gangbang, dumb-ass.”

“You should know.”

“And if you call me that again, you won't be getting laid for a long time.” She paused. “Nice socks, by the way.”

“Nice reputation.”

She ignored this only because she needed to get to the point. “Where's B-Ray?”

He shrugged. “He's your boyfriend. Go find him yourself.”

“He's not my boyfriend. He's an asshole.”

“Whatever.”

“Can I see your phone?”

“What for?”

“Cause I left mine at home.”

He shuffled his feet, looking down. “Not my problem.”

“Don't be a jerk. I forgot to tell my mother something. I have to call her. It's important. I'll give it right back.”

“One minute,” he said. “I want it back in one minute.”

“Fine,” she said.

He passed it over. She checked to make sure it was unlocked. When he turned to rejoin his reject friends, she bolted. She ran into the building without looking back and went up to the second-floor music wing. At the end of that hallway, past the band room, were the individual practice rooms, which were soundproof. You could lock the door from the inside. She liked them for the sound-insulated quiet, a good place to chill away from the masses. In one of the rooms, a kid was honking on a saxophone; in the next, a guy was beating the drums. She tried a few doors and found the last one open. She slipped inside the tiny room without turning on the lights. She closed the door behind her and sat on a wooden bench in front of an upright piano.

She opened his phone and clicked on his in-box—
98% filled
, according to the meter. She scrolled down, snooping through texts, but mainly looking for anything from B-Ray. She found them, finally, two texts from last Saturday. There was a photo attached to the first text, and four more photos attached to the next. He hadn't CCed anyone on either text. The pics went to Billy alone, she was relieved to see.

She forced herself to click on the photos. One was a close-up of her tits. Another was a shot of her crotch, her legs spread open. Pale flesh, it could be anyone. But in the other three you could see and recognize her face. The worst one—she nearly got sick looking at it again—was the shot of her face with her eyes half-open, zombielike, and one of their dicks lying across her cheek, poking into the side of her mouth.

The first text said:

This is B Ray, yall. U get my leftovers Stack, to bad for U.

The second text said:

Yo, tell me this bitch deserves this!!!!! U see how big har hole is! Its from me!

From the nearby rooms, the muffled instruments seemed to get louder, a nonsensical collision of tom-toms and fast sax lines—two of the geeks from the jazz band practicing their parts.
Har hole
. Was that a misspelling? Or had he typed it that way on purpose? Was this some new slang—
har
meaning whore, like
ho
? Or was he just clumsy with his thumbs, as well as being a scumbag?

She deleted the photos one by one.

She checked Billy's sent mail to be sure he hadn't forwarded any of the photos, and went into My Pictures in case he'd saved them. He hadn't. There was one picture of her—he'd taken it in his bedroom that first afternoon—but she was clothed (black cardigan, blue and white tube skirt). She double-checked, looking for hidden folders. Pictures of his mom and dad, little brother, friends, a few other kids she recognized from school, his cat—that was it.