Lennon's Jinx (9 page)

Mrs.
Nowak, Zoe’s mom, stands and hugs me before I take my seat. “Good to see you,
Lennon.”

Mr.
Nowak shakes my hand. “Lennon.”

“Would
you and Currie like to come over for dinner tomorrow?” She understands our home
situation all too well. She fed Currie and me for many years and taught me how
to cook and change diapers when Currie was first born. I owe Mrs. Nowak a lot,
and she’s a great cook.

“Actually,
I’d like to borrow the girls tomorrow evening for a little shopping in Chicago,”
I say. Currie’s probably right about Jinx. It’s doubtful Jinx owns a dress
that’ll match our suits, and it gives me a reason to spend tomorrow night with
her instead of just an afternoon of tutoring. “I’ll take them to dinner before
I drop Zoe back home.” Even more time.

“Shopping?”
Mrs. Nowak knows I don’t subscribe to retail therapy, though for Currie nothing
works better to cheer her up after a rotten day of Mom ignoring her, like she
did tonight.

Mrs.
Nowak will pull twenty questions on me if I don’t tell her what for. I don’t
mind. My mom would never be interested enough to ask. “We added a girl to our
band, and we’ve got the Winthrop wedding this weekend.”

“Oh.
I didn’t realize Katie had settled down.”

“Don’t
worry,” Clive says. “She hasn’t.”

Mrs.
Nowak smiles at this. Katie is a wild child. She’s been in the local papers
more than Lindsey Lohan has splashed the tabloid front covers. If she can leave
Clive alone on her big day, the band should do well.

“It’s
no problem if you take the girls,” she says. “Oh shoot, I have reservations at
the American Girl Place for lunch tomorrow.”

“Don’t
they have school?” I can never keep up with this. It wouldn’t be the first time
I showed up for school and we had the day off.

“The
next two days are in service for teachers and for your school as well.”

That’s
right. I’d forgotten that we had the days off. Teachers get more time off than
postal workers. “I’ll take them to American Girl. It’s no problem.” I’ve had
many lunches with the girls and their dolls.

“Would
you pick up Zoe in the morning? That’ll free me to take Brea shopping for a new
dress. She has her first date this weekend, and I’d really like to help her.”
Brea is Zoe’s older sister and a sophomore at my high school.

“If
I can get our new band member out of bed, I’ll be there early.”

“Give
us a call in the morning. Can Currie spend Friday night with us?”

“What
about…” It’s hard for me to say the words without choking on them.

Mrs.
Nowak covers my hand with hers. She knows this upsets me. I can’t imagine what
it does to her. “Zoe’s chemo starts Saturday morning.”

“I
have a gig on Friday, so Currie spending the night would work out. Do you want
me to get her Saturday morning before you leave?”

“If
it’s okay, she can come with us that morning. Zoe likes Currie to be there.”

“No
problem.” Currie will want to be at the hospital with Zoe, so I’ll cancel the
babysitter. I hate Currie going along, even though it helps Zoe. The treatments
are rough on both of them.

Clive
tugs on my jacket sleeve. “Let’s go to Sammy’s after the show tonight.”

“That’s
a good idea,” Susan says, curling into Danny’s arm. He grins dopey-eyed at her.
Sucker.

“We
don’t have class tomorrow morning,” Danny adds.

“I
can’t.” And they know why. I have Currie to take care of.

“It’s
okay,” Mrs. Nowak says. “We’ll take Currie tonight. It’ll be good for Zoe.”

“I
don’t want to—”

Mrs.
Nowak pats my hand. “Please. You won’t be imposing. Go have fun.”

“You
hardly ever go with us,” Clive says. “Come on.”

The
lights dim letting us know the show is about to start. I think of Currie
becoming sick and the thought tears me up inside. I don’t know how the Nowaks
deal with Zoe’s illness, wondering whether she’ll live or die or how long the
treatment will last.

When
the curtain opens, Currie and Zoe pose on each side of Bailey. They perform to
Ravel. It’s beautiful. Zoe and Currie take advanced classes, and this piece
showcases their talents.

Bailey
dances really well for a girl that’s top-heavy. She always looks like she’s
about to tip over. I prefer jazz and hip-hop, but I don’t mind taking the girls
to the Chicago Ballet, even when the guys call me ACDC. I took dance until I
was twelve and couldn’t take the guys harassing me about playing a real sport
like football or hockey. Honestly, it gave me the opportunity to hold girls and
talk to them instead of hanging out in sweaty locker rooms with a bunch of
guys.

Between
the next performance, Clive whispers in a snarky tone, “Shouldn’t you let Jinx
know you’re going to show her how to dress in the morn? I bet she doesn’t get
out of bed until late afternoon.”

Thanks
to the kitten ordeal I almost forgot, so I text Jinx now. I don’t get a
response, not that I’m expecting one.

After my audition, I pick up a
latte, head home, and shower. I scrub with a scouring brush until my skin is
raw and in some places bleeding. Oh God, He touched me. I feel the panic pressing
on my chest. If I have an attack in here, that will be far worse. I could pass
out, hit my head on the tile, and kill myself, then Step-monster would have to
rescue me. That sends spiky chills up my spine.

Feeling
dizzy from lack of oxygen, I sit down in the shower and hug my knees to my
chest. If only I could take back the night I screwed up, I’d still be with
Zach.

The
clown horn on my phone honks at me. It also buzzes until it slides off the
counter and lands on the hard tile instead of the rug. Shit. I get out and wrap
a towel around me. Its warmth and thickness feels good against my butchered
skin.

I
pick up the phone. Several hairline cracks splinter across its face. Dammit. I
can’t afford a new one.

The
cracks fragment the text from Lennon so that I can barely read it. He wants to
take me shopping, so I can buy a dress for the Winthrop wedding. At what time? And
I don’t have any money.

Damn
him. What’s wrong with using my clothes? And why did it have to be his band?

I
cinch my robe on tight, run to my bedroom where I close and lock the door, and immediately
call Rena.

“How
dare he tell me how to dress,” I say after telling her about my audition and
the job.

She
giggles. “The Winthrop daughter is getting married. The wedding has to be perfect
for Daddy Winthrop, even if it won’t last.”

“It’s
not funny,” I say.

Katie
Winthrop has seen her share of backseats. She was a senior when we were
sophomores. Every guy in school chased after her, except Zach and Lennon. “Why
do you always take Lennon’s side?”

“You
joined his band. Put up or shut up.”

I
let out an exasperated breath. No sense talking to Rena about Lennon when all
she sees are stars.

“You
can go back to your job at the mall,” Rena teases.

“I
so love folding women’s underwear.” Lounging on my bed, I scan my room. The
dresser drawers are open, and the clothes normally piled at the bottom of my closet
are scattered on the floor.

“Dammit,”
I say, getting up to check my stash. I pull out the Takamine and feel inside
the sound hole. Phew. My weed is still taped inside. Getting stoned is
sometimes the only way I can make it through the day.

“What’s
wrong?” Rena asks.

“Step-monster
went through my things again. I don’t need Mom ragging on me, too.”

“He
didn’t find anything, did he?”

“No.
I’m safe for the moment.”

“Why
is he out to get you?”

“Probably
because he goes out of town when Mom’s not here and he wants something to hold
over my head.” Amongst other things.

God,
I need a distraction from Step-monster and Lennon’s fashion control
freakishness. “Let’s go clubbing tonight.” Mom’s out of town and the less I see
of Step-monster, the better. Two birds, one stone.

“I
don’t know. I have a ton of homework.”

“Come
on, Rena,” I say. “We don’t have school tomorrow. You have the whole weekend
plus Thursday and Friday to do it. Iz and Gabby will want to go, too.”

Rena
hesitates. “Don’t you have a kajillion songs to learn before this weekend?”

“I
won’t have even a fraction of them memorized whether I take one night off or
not.”

“If
you want to play with the big boys…”

“Puh-leeze,”
I beg. “We’ll have fun. We could take the train into Chicago, so we won’t have
to drive. I have to get away from Step-monster.” That seals the deal every time.

“Okay,
but you can’t get as hammered as you did the last time. I can’t carry two
people home.”

Iz
is normally the lush in our group. She drinks enough for two of us. I’ve only gotten
really drunk once since the night I lost everything precious to me. “That’s
because Zach was at the same party. You know I’m mush around him.”

“You
broke up two years ago.”

I
don’t mention it’s been about the same time since she last dated Byron, and she
still hasn’t gotten over him. “I know. I can’t help that I still like him. I
promise to keep walking-straight sober.”

“I’ll
hold you to that, so that you can help with Iz.”

“I
will. I’ll call her and Gabby.”

“I’ll
pick you up in a half hour.”

I
press End and listen by the door. Step-monster is still milling about the
kitchen. He had better leave shortly, or I’ll be stuck here for the night.

My
closet and now my floor are stuffed with clothes I’ve already worn. After I
make some
mula
, I’m going shopping. I dig through and find my royal blue
suede skirt, matching tights, red stilettos, and a red shimmering top. It hides
the fact my chest is almost a sinkhole. If I ever get rich, I am getting a boob
job.

While
I’m pulling up my tights, I stare at the photo of Zach and me at Navy Pier. It
sits on the nightstand by my bed. I miss him. We were sewn together at the hip
after I moved here at the beginning of sixth grade. He had his own band, and he
loved my dad’s weekend warrior band. Zach had noticed them on YouTube before we
moved here from Kansas.

I
wanted to join Zach’s band. I still do. The other members don’t want a girl, so
Zach jammed and wrote music with me whenever he was free. We should’ve been
each other’s first on my sixteenth birthday, but he hooked up with Kelly shortly
after our breakup.

If
I hadn’t gotten so drunk that night, a few weeks before my birthday, we’d still
be together. It hurts every time I look at his photo, but I can’t seem to take
it down.

I
peek out to search for Step-monster. He’s not in the hall, so I sneak back into
the bathroom where I apply enough foundation to hide my freckles and the bruise
yellowing my cheek. It still hurts. I combine shades of copper and pink to my
eyes then ruby red to my lips and plenty of mascara to bring out my green eyes.

After
scrunching my now straight hair, I tiptoe back to my room, slink inside, and
lock the door. I slip into my shoes. Lord, I hate being short.

My
phone honks again. It’s another text from Lennon, so I ignore this one. What
else does he want?

I
can’t believe I walked into his warehouse today without a clue, but the band’s name
wasn’t listed in the paper. I knew Lennon had a band. Everyone does. Even Zach
thinks Lennon’s Indigo Blues Band is totally fly. For a while, I thought he had
something for the big guy the way he gushed about him. Everyone else does.

Lennon’s
band is so incredible I’ll never fit in if I don’t learn to read music. Clive’s
as big a ho as Lennon, and Danny mentioned a girl named Susan. I hope that’s
his sister. He’s temptingly cute.

I
mess with my hair some more. It’s my best feature, and I’m getting used to it
being straight.

The
clock next to Zach’s picture ticks away the time. Rena will be here in another twenty
minutes, and Step-monster hasn’t left. I sit on my bed and chew my nails. Damn
Him. He needs to leave now.

A
photo of my dad sits opposite of Zach’s. He’s holding me and his guitar in his
arms. I was five or six at the time. It’s one of my favorite pictures of us
together.

When
I was little, I’d crawl onto his lap while he played guitar. The hum of the
mahogany body vibrated against my stomach, tickling and warming me inside. Dad
gave me my love of music. It started on his lap, listening to him sing, feeling
the music swirl inside me.

“Why
did you have to die?” I ask, picking up the photo.

Under
a mountain of medical bills, we moved here, closer to Mom’s family after Dad passed
away. I know it was hard for Mom, but did she have to marry Step-monster?

Searching
for my suede jacket, I stand on the stool to tear through the shelf above the
clothes rack. The coat is jammed between two boxes. As I tug it out, a box
tumbles to the floor, flies opens, and dumps its contents.

The
porcelain dolls are strewn onto the carpet. I gasp at the sight of them and fall
off the stool. As I lie on the floor, Pip, Lindsey, and the clown stare blankly
at me. Their glassy eyes mock and judge me just like they did on that night. The
knocked-over lamp had lighted up their painted faces as He rolled me over, so
that I saw their disapproving glares. While He slammed inside me, the dolls
watched. They freak me out even now. I can barely remember mumbling “no” to Him
just before I passed out.

I
hurriedly stuff them back into the cardboard. This time I pull tape from my
desk drawer and seal the box shut. I’d throw them away, but my dad gave them to
me, which makes it all the worse. I’m sure he’s disappointed in me, his baby
girl, the tease.

After
stowing the box on the top shelf, I jump onto my bed and squeeze the pillow to
my chest, trying to block the scary images of the dolls out of my mind.