It Looks Like This (7 page)

Every Sunday we have a big dinner in the afternoon, like two o’clock. We have it whether Toby and I go to church or not.

Lately we’ve been inviting Terry. Mom and Dad know I don’t see him much besides church so they don’t mind. Plus they think he’s a good influence on me.

I guess he is.

He comes home with us from church and eats dinner with us and maybe we hang out a bit, and then Dad drives him home.

Dinner today is roast chicken, lemon sauce, garlic mashed potatoes, steamed cauliflower.

The cauliflower is for me, I know. I used to hate it but then it kind of grew on me a year ago. Mom started making it for me once she noticed that I was eating it more often.

She’s good about stuff like that.

It’s quiet for a while. There’s just the clinking of forks.

Then Dad says, You playing any sports, Terry?

We usually don’t talk that much at the table, but Dad likes to keep conversation going when we have company. I guess that’s sort of his sales rep instinct.

Terry goes to a different high school, up in Laurel Pointe. He’s on the freshman baseball team there. Dad already knows this but is asking anyway.

Terry says, Yessir.

He always addresses Dad like this, and Dad lets him because I think part of him likes it.

He says, I’m in baseball at school. We’ve only had a few practice sessions so far, but I think I’m getting along all right.

Mom says, Oh, that’s great!

Dad smiles.

He says, You think he’ll take you on varsity next year?

Terry smiles and looks at his plate and says, Oh, I don’t know.

But then he looks back up and there’s this sort of light in his eyes.

He says, But there are always a couple sophomores that skip JV. Like the really good ones. Maybe even three this year . . .

Terry looks over at the wallpaper, trailing off, thinking about his chances at baseball.

He looks back down after a while.

He says, But yeah, I dunno.

Dad watches him the whole time, that strange smile still on his face, his own fork dangling just above his plate. A drop of lemon sauce falls from the tip and lands on his mashed potatoes.

He says, Well, don’t count yourself out yet. I bet you could be one of those two or three next year.

Mom says, I’m sure if you keep up your practices, you’ll do just fine.

Terry smiles at his plate.

There’s another of the pauses between conversations, more clinking of forks. I wait for Dad to say something. He always will.

After a while, he does:

That was an interesting sermon.

Terry nods to himself a bit while he chews, as if thinking, and says, You think so?

Dad says, Yes, about that passage, and then about the courts and all those states. Very thought-provoking.

Toby says, I thought it was kind of weird.

Dad looks at her and Mom frowns.

She says, Toby.

Toby looks at her with an expression that’s supposed to look innocent but doesn’t. She says, What?

Mom’s eyes dart to Toby just for a second and she says, There’s no need for that.

Toby shrugs and says, Well, it’s true.

I can tell Mom is wondering if Toby is saying this to annoy Dad or to annoy Terry. Terry’s dad doesn’t help write the sermons or anything, but his family is very close to the pastor’s. It’s a church family, even more connected than we are.

It’s the kind of family Dad probably wishes we were.

Toby and Terry don’t get along very well. They’re not like enemies or anything, but they get under each other’s skin. It’s weird because Toby likes all my other friends, and her friends are usually pretty cool even if they’re too girlie and excitable sometimes.

Terry keeps poking at his food, and it looks like he’s trying to decide whether to say something. He knows Toby likes to push his buttons, but sometimes he can’t help himself.

But Dad cuts in before Terry gets a chance.

He says, Toby, eat your dinner.

Toby rolls her eyes. She picks at her food with her fork, moving a piece of chicken from one side of the plate to the other.

Dad watches her a bit to see if she’ll say anything else. And for a while it looks like she might too.

Instead she gives him a look that only she can, one that I don’t think Dad would let anyone else give him. Then she goes back to her chicken.

The rest of dinner is silent.

Terry and I walk Charlie after dinner.

I let Terry hold the leash because he likes to. He always says he wishes he had a dog at home but his mom is allergic, so he likes hanging out with Charlie when he comes over.

Charlie pulls at the leash left and right, going from tree to tree, but Terry’s used to him now.

He says, Your sister didn’t like the sermon much.

His voice is reserved and I decide he’s not annoyed about it anymore. Terry is good at keeping control of his feelings and not letting things bother him. He might at first, especially with Toby, but after a while he treats any argument with her like a casual debate.

He’s pretty mature for his age.

I say, Yeah, she usually doesn’t like the sermons.

He says, Is it just the church in general?

I say, Yeah, I think so.

Charlie lifts his leg in front of a signpost, then bounds across the sidewalk to sniff at a clump of weeds. Terry’s arm and the leash follow like a divining rod.

Terry says, What did you think of the sermon?

I don’t know how to answer at first, so I’m just quiet.

Terry doesn’t pester me, he just waits. He knows that I don’t talk that much and that when I don’t answer right away, it doesn’t mean I’m ignoring him.

Dad usually gets impatient when I do that, though.

Finally I say, I dunno. I mean I kind of didn’t get it either, but it’s Pastor Clark’s job to say what the Bible says, right?

Terry nods.

Then he says, What do you think about the whole faith-getting-rid-of-sin thing?

I shrug.

I say, I guess that’s what I’ve always been taught.

Terry says, But do you believe it?

I think about it for a bit.

Then I say, Yeah.

Terry nods again. Neither of us says anything for a few seconds, maybe a minute.

Charlie pulls side to side, side to side.

Then Terry says, I hope so.

I look at him, then back at Charlie.

I say, What do you mean?

Terry’s forehead is scrunched together. He looks uncomfortable but determined to say what’s on his mind.

He says, There are just a couple things that I have trouble with.

He pauses.

He says, Like, sin things.

He pauses again, then opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something more, but stops.

I wait a second before I prod him.

I say, What kind of sin?

It’s like he’s been waiting for me to ask. He says, Porn.

I don’t say anything, I just nod. I get the sense right away this is a bigger deal to him than to me.

For some reason I’m a little disappointed.

It’s November.

We’re learning about light in Art class.

Mr. Kilgore has put an old-fashioned teapot on his desk. It’s pale blue, squat, with yellow flower designs running in a circle along the top.

He has us draw it, and then after twenty minutes he shines a light right on the front and has us draw it again.

I’m halfway through this second drawing when I glance over at Victor.

I don’t know why, I just do.

I notice Victor look away right when I glance over, but our eyes meet for a split second before he turns. He was looking at me.

He’s at his table with Tristan and Fuller, but they’re not talking to each other. Everyone’s concentrating on the teapot.

Except Victor.

I mean he’s drawing it now, but he does it like someone going through the motions, as if he knows he’s being watched.

I look at the side of his face, his small ear, his short sideburn, his dark skin, black hair. I know he knows I’m looking at him.

I think about how he’s been ignoring me lately, and I wonder if he and Tristan and Fuller just got bored making fun of me.

Then Mr. Kilgore speaks.

He says, Mikey, do you want to pay attention to your work?

I start in my chair. His voice is loud and unexpected in the stillness of the room. I look up, and he’s peering at me over his glasses, mustache quivering. He looks annoyed.

I say, Yeah, sorry.

A couple kids snicker. But not Victor.

Mr. Kilgore says, Let’s get back to drawing, then.

On my paper, one teapot sits next to part of another, which seems to glow in certain places.

I look over at Victor again, just for a second.

He’s still drawing.

Then I turn back to the teapot.

I get to French class early, like usual, and Sean is there, like usual.

He smiles just a little and nods when I walk in. It’s just him and me and Madame Girard in the room.

Madame Girard is at her desk, going through a bunch of papers.

She doesn’t look up when I walk in but says,
Bonjour, Monsieur Matthis.

That’s me.

I mumble back,
Salut.

I’m looking at Sean, though, and he’s looking at me. For a minute we look at each other that way and it’s like we’re alone, Madame Girard too busy with her papers to notice, lost in thought at her desk while Sean and I share some secret something. I think about how we’re staring too long, how it’s past the point where it’d get uncomfortable with anyone else, and for a panicky second I wonder if I’m being weird, if I’m the one staring and Sean is wondering why, but then I see the slightest upturn in the corner of his mouth and I know it’s not true.

I break the contact and sit down, one ahead and one to the right of him. And then the world goes back to its normal speed. Kids walk into the class, and it gets louder and louder.

The bell rings, and Madame Girard gives her papers one last examination and then stands up beside her desk and looks at her class for the first time.

It’s quieter now but not totally quiet.

Madame Girard tells us we’re going to start our semester-end projects.

Everyone groans.

She talks about the timing. The semester ends in six weeks, which is a pretty long time. This is going to be a big project.

Everyone groans a bit more.

Madame Girard smiles at this. I think she’s enjoying it.

Then she tells us what she calls the good news: While we’re welcome to work on the projects alone, we can team up with a partner in the class.

There’s some murmurs at this.

Slowly, casually, I turn my head over my left shoulder.

Sean is already looking at me, his eyes locking on mine.

He smiles.

Ronald and Jared are talking about Kelly Ramirez when Sean walks up.

Ronald’s had like a huge crush on Kelly the last few weeks and likes to talk about her whenever he gets a chance.

He says, Her lips are plump as shit. Like berries.

Jared says, Berries?

Ronald pokes at his meat loaf. He shakes his head.

He says, And her boobs are just, like . . .

He trails off, distracted by thoughts of Kelly Ramirez’s boobs.

He says, Amazing. Just amazing.

Ronald looks up at Jared, who is watching him.

Jared takes a bite of his cookie and chews for a little.

Then with his mouth full, he says, What happened to Leah?

Ronald shrugs. He says, Leah’s old news. Kelly’s where it’s at.

Jared says, You don’t have a chance.

Ronald takes a forkful of meat loaf, unfazed. He’s heard this before.

He says, I got a chance.

Jared says, Kelly likes really muscular guys. She dated like every athletic kid in middle school, and she’s doing it again in high school.

Ronald says, Dude, I got a chance.

Jared says, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with a skinny kid.

Ronald says, I’m not as skinny as you. Plus I’m gonna start working out.

Jared says, She’s dating Tim Gruetske right now. His arms are gigantic.

I say, You’re gonna work out?

Ronald burps.

He says, Yeah. I got a membership to the Y.

I say, The one on Terbocker Street? How?

Ronald says, My mom has a membership. They let you add a family member for half price. I think Mom kinda liked that I wanted to do it, ’cause she’s always trying to get me to eat healthy anyway.

Jared says, You’re gonna work out with your mom?

Ronald says, I dunno. Yeah. Maybe. Or actually, she takes weird classes there and doesn’t really lift weights or anything. So while she does that, I could do my thing, you know?

Jared says, Does she know you’re only doing it to get Kelly Ramirez, which by the way will never happen?

Ronald says, Or I could just bike there whenever I want anyway. It’s pretty close.

I say, What kind of workouts are you going to do?

Ronald says, I dunno, stuff to get my muscles bigger. Bench presses, dumbbells, that kind of thing.

I think about this for a while.

I say, Have you ever worked out before?

Ronald says, I went with my uncle once, just —