On the Fence (7 page)

Chapter 15

I
wiped my feet on the mat and opened the back door. The kitchen was dimly lit by the light above the stove. I shut the door slowly, locked it, then turned around. Gage sat on the counter with a bowl of cereal. I jumped, catching the scream in my throat before it came out.

“You scared me.”

He looked at the door behind me, then back to me. “What are you doing and why did you have a goofy grin on your face when you came in here? You sneaking around? Is there some boy I need to beat up?”

My cheeks flushed involuntarily. Nobody knew about my fence chats with Braden, and I planned to keep it that way. “No. I’m not sneaking around. I was walking around the yard because you wouldn’t run with me tonight and I couldn’t sleep.” Before he had a chance to analyze that statement I turned it on him. “Did you just get home? Dad is going to kill you.”

“No. I’ve been home. I just got hungry.”

I pulled a bowl from the cupboard and poured myself some Cocoa Krispies. He slid over a little and I joined him on the counter.

“Are you saying you’d tattle on me if I’d just gotten home?”

I took a bite of cereal and nodded. “Yes. I’m tired of being the one in trouble. Maybe he’d make you get a job.”

Gage flashed me his smile. “Ooh. You think Linda would hire me? I could help girls pick out clothes. I’d be good at that.”

“Flirting with girls is not the same as helping them, Gage.”

He shrugged. “Dad would never make me get a job anyway. I’m his favorite.”

“We all know Nathan is his favorite.”

“True. Well, I’m positive I was Mom’s favorite.”

My spoon stopped halfway to my mouth and my eyes darted to his. It wasn’t often the word
Mom
was used in our house. Gage was only a year older than me. I thought there was no way he could remember any more than I did.

“Were you?” I asked in a voice just above a whisper.

He tousled my hair and slid off the counter. “It was just a joke, Charlie. I’m sure Mom didn’t have a favorite.” He placed his empty bowl in the sink. “But if she did, it was me. Who could resist this face?”

“Me, for one.”

“Oh, please. You are the most easily persuaded. You do anything I ask.”

I kicked him in the side and he let out a grunt. “In your dreams.”

“No kicking.”

I kicked him again, but this time he grabbed my foot. “Seriously, that hurts. If you didn’t have massive legs, I’d let you kick me.”

“Massive?”

“Have you seen your thigh muscles lately? Your soccer coach is going to be so happy.”

I yanked my foot away from him, sloshing milk onto my hand. I wiped the milk on my sweats and took another bite. “Did she ever go to any of your games?”

“What? Who?”

I could barely swallow my mouthful of cereal. “Mom. Did she ever go to any of your soccer games?”

“You think I remember? I was seven when . . .” He trailed off. It’s not like he needed to finish. I knew. We all knew how that sentence ended.
When she died.
When her car slid off the road in the rain and into a ditch. And normally that sentence tightened across my chest and wouldn’t let go for several minutes. But today, my brain clung to the first part of his statement. He didn’t remember. Just like me. So we were just too young to have any real memories. Or . . . or nothing. We were too young.

“I’m going to bed,” he said.

I nodded, kind of regretting pushing the Mom topic. This was why I didn’t do it. It had a way of turning even Gage sad. I wished I hadn’t gotten a bowl of cereal because now I felt like I had to finish it. And instead of the giddy feelings I’d brought inside after my talk with Braden, my stomach hurt. Gage paused, took a breath like he was going to say something, then stopped. I held my breath in anticipation, but then his eyes drifted to the back door. I worried he was going to put two and two together about Braden and me. So I did the only thing I could think of. I flung a spoonful of Cocoa Krispies at him.

Saturday morning arrived, much to my stomach’s dismay. It bombarded me with nervous flutters the likes of which I hadn’t known since trying out for the basketball team my freshman year. I knew I couldn’t get out of lunch with Amber and her friends today. But if I went they would find out I was a fraud. That I knew nothing about anything they’d want to talk about. Girls like her didn’t give me the time of day at school. Granted, I’d surrounded myself well, with my wall of brothers on one side and my teammates on the other, but girls like Amber didn’t really mix with girls like me. We had nothing in common. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I pulled some of my “cute” clothes out of the back of my closet and threw them in my backpack to change into at work.

“Charlie, can I talk to you?” my dad called from the kitchen as I headed for the front door.

“Sure.” I wheeled back around and poked my head through the kitchen doorway. For a second, panic rushed through me, thinking Gage had told my dad about me roaming the yard at one a.m. But then I remembered this was Gage. He wouldn’t tell on me.

“You’ve been working hard,” my dad said, gesturing toward the bar stool in front of him.

I sat down. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I think we’ve both proved the point. I know you have basketball camp starting soon.”

I nodded. Four weeks. And I’d been wondering if it was going to be a fight to let me go.

“Have you earned enough to pay off your most recent ticket?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you take it easy until camp starts?”

“I don’t have to work anymore?”

“No.”

I smiled, excited that I could have my summer back, but then Linda’s face flashed through my mind and I felt guilty. “I can’t just quit like that. I should probably give my boss a couple weeks’ notice.”

“That would be very responsible of you.”

I didn’t want to be responsible. I wanted to quit. Before I had to go out today with the girls I had nothing in common with. “Okay. Thanks, Dad. Um . . . I’ll be home a little later today.”

“You have a longer shift?”

“No . . . I’m going out with a coworker after . . . if that’s okay.”

“Do I know him?”

“Oh, it’s a girl. Me and a couple of girls are going to hang out.”

My father gave me the most bewildered look in the world, not helping my confidence at all. “And do what?”

“Whatever girls do.”

He laughed. “You have no idea what that is, do you?”

“Sure I do . . . sort of.”

“Well, try to at least look like you’re having fun.”

“Thanks.” I slid off the stool.

“What’s in the bag?” My dad pointed to the backpack I held at my side.

“Um . . . just . . . girl stuff. You know.”

He lowered his brow for a moment, then his eyes went wide. “Oh. Right. You got that covered? Everything good?”

I tried not to laugh. “Yep. All good.” My dad, trying to explain my period to me on that fateful day four years ago, was an experience I’ll never forget. He sounded like a science book. He fumbled through the technicalities, then bought me some pads and left me to myself. I had to read the instructions.

I exited the kitchen and crossed the living room. On my way out the front door, I slammed into Braden, who was coming in.

“Shoot,” I gasped, flying backward.

He grabbed hold of my arms, preventing me from falling. Something he would’ve never done pre–fence chat. He would’ve let me fall on my butt and then I would’ve tried to sweep his legs out from beneath him. Our eyes met for the briefest of moments and then he quickly released me. As if realizing he’d breached some unwritten rule, he grabbed my arm, bent down, and threw me over his shoulder.

Walking to the couch, he unceremoniously plopped me down on my back. “There. If you’re going to fall on your
butt
,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he said the word, “choose a better place.”

Instinct taking over, my hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist before he could walk away. This is where I would’ve placed a foot to his ribs or a head to his stomach and then felt like I had won. Instead, instinct didn’t follow through and I froze, lying on my back on the couch, holding his wrist. It was strong and familiar. His skin was lighter than mine, and I studied the way my fingers looked against his skin.
Disengage,
my brain yelled,
this is Braden, Gage’s best friend,
but my hand wouldn’t open.

A flicker of confusion passed across his face, then a softening of his brow, almost like he wanted to lean closer. But then he tightened his jaw and dropped an elbow down on my stomach. It wasn’t hard, but unexpected, so it knocked the wind out of me. I took a gasping breath of air, relief flooding through me.

“I think that’s two to zip, sistah,” he said, inches from my face, then stood up and walked away.

What was wrong with me? I silently thanked him for calling me his
sistah
. It reminded me of our history. Our years of history. I clenched and unclenched my hand. It felt hot. Every inch of me felt hot. I needed to stop the way my body was reacting to Braden lately. We were friends. Too close to ever want to explore these stupid new reactions and risk losing him forever. I stood and practically ran out of the house.

If I thought the previous week of makeup was bad, this week was nothing short of torturous. Two hours! I kept track this time. How could a person spend two hours working on my face? Granted, there were a lot of questions and much more makeup. I could see my eyelashes when I blinked. It was weird. But two hours? I could’ve played an entire basketball game in that time, with time-outs, halftime, foul shots, and everything.

Her friends from last week met us after the session was over.

“I’m going to wash my face,” I said, pointing toward the back. Maybe they would forget about me and leave while I was gone.

“No way. We are going out as the beauty queens we are,” Amber said, grabbing my arm. “You look amazing. Don’t touch my work of art.”

Or not.

Chapter 16

W
e sat in the corner booth of a café, drinking iced drinks and talking. Well, Amber the Olympic talker was doing most of the talking, but I was surprisingly entertained. And not just because a Cubs game was playing on the television mounted in the corner. We talked about the last books we’d read and the subjects at school we struggled in (math for me). I was actually able to contribute to those conversations. So maybe they weren’t much different from my teammates and me. Then we moved on to boys.

“I swear all they think about is food and sex,” Savannah said.

I laughed. “No. That’s not true. I have three brothers. They actually do have other thoughts.”

“Like what?”

“Like everything. My brother Nathan took ten minutes to call a girl the other day.”

“Why?”

“Because he was overanalyzing it and was insecure. And my brother Gage uses humor to cover how he really feels. And Jerom, he worries about everything.”

Amber smiled. “Awesome. Charlie gets to be the Guy Interpreter now.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I’m ready for a title or anything.”

“And speaking of guys that need interpreting, I can no longer ignore that table,” Amber said.

“I know,” Savannah said, “they are totally staring.”

“I thought we were just pretending they didn’t exist,” Antonia added.

“Who? What?” I asked.

They laughed. “Those guys,” Amber said.

“Okay, they realized we noticed them,” Savannah said. “I give them two minutes before they walk over here.”

“Two minutes is kind of generous,” Antonia said.

I still hadn’t looked. What if they were friends with my brothers?

“See, I told you,” Antonia said.

This time I looked and saw a guy walking our way. He grabbed a chair by the back on his way and slid it across the tile floor until it rested right in front of our table. Then he sat down. I didn’t know him. This made me happy.

“Can I help you?” Amber said, cool and professional.

“We wondered if you ladies wanted to join us.”

“Sorry, girl time,” Amber said. “Which obviously means girls only.”

I wondered if Amber and the others had guys hit on them like this all the time. It was a first for me to be on the receiving end of this exchange, and I found it amusing. I held back a laugh and waited to hear what line he’d deliver. I could probably give him some pointers. My brothers were experts. Right now he was playing the Gage of our group. Gage could never hold himself back. He had to jump in with both feet, even though Jerom and Braden would tell him to play it cool for a while.

I wondered who this guy was interested in. Probably Amber. She was the prettiest, with the typical Barbie-doll look—blond hair, blue eyes, perfect teeth, tan. Or maybe Antonia; she had the most beautiful shade of mocha skin.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Oh, I see how it is. You should’ve hung up a sign that said ‘No boys allowed.’”

I gave a little laugh. He shouldn’t have pulled out the injured-ego play so early. It was not endearing. What he should’ve done was said something like,
I can hold my own in a girls’ club, try me.
Maybe my title should’ve been Moderator instead of Interpreter. I decided to help him out because it was obvious he needed it. And he was pretty cute, just a little clueless.

“I bet he’d fit right in with the girls’ club,” I said, and everyone looked at me.

“For sure,” he said, a smile lighting up his face.

“Let’s test him. Four questions every girl would know. We each get one. If you answer right, you get half an hour.”

Amber smiled, seeming to like this game.

“I’ll start,” I said. “Name four makeup items.”

The girls scoffed. “Too easy.”

“For a girl,” he said. I agreed. I didn’t think my brothers could name two.

He looked up, biting his lip. “Okay, um, that black stuff you put on your eyelashes.”

“Official names,” I said.

“Wait, I’m thinking.” He slapped the table. “Mascara?”

“Good.”

“Then there’s”—he pointed to his lips—“lipstick.”

“That’s two.”

“Cheek color.”

Amber laughed. “Is that your final answer?”

“No. It’s . . .” The other guys wandered over. “Cheek stuff, guys,” he said. “What’s it called?”

“No help from your friends,” Antonia said.

“Maybe we should let them put their brains together,” I said. Especially since one of the guys who walked over was hot and I wouldn’t mind him hanging out for a while. They huddled for a minute, whispering, and Amber giggled. “This is fun,” she said. I checked out the score on the TV while the guys were busy.

“Okay, we have an answer,” he announced. “Blush.”

“Very good. That’s three. One more.”

“Did you already do mascara?” Hot Guy asked.

“Yeah, and lipstick.”

“
Is
there anything else?” the other guy, a redhead, asked.

“So much more,” Amber assured them.

The original guy snapped his fingers. “Oh, oh, what about that brown stuff they use to cover their zits and stuff.”

Antonia gasped and I laughed. “What’s it called?”

“No idea.”

Hot Guy studied me for a minute and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “What’s the stuff on their eyelids?” he asked. I had almost forgotten I had stuff on my eyelids. Stuff all over my face.

“Shadow something . . . eye shadow!” the first guy yelled. “Passed.”

“You still have three more questions, and that was the easy one,” Amber said.

“Bring it.”

The redhead grabbed another chair. There were three of them and four of us. How did that work, I wondered, when we were odd-numbered like that? Hot Guy hovered by my side of the booth, and since I sat on the end, I scooted over and offered him the seat next to me. He took it. He smelled really good, like cherry ChapStick and something clean . . . laundry detergent, maybe.

“My turn,” Amber said. “Name two updo hairstyles.”

“Updo?” the first guy asked.

“Yes, hairstyles where your hair is up instead of down.”

“Ponytail,” Redhead said.

“Okay, I’ll count that. One more.”

“What’s that twisty one called?” the first guy asked.

They all shrugged. I had no idea what it was called either. It was sad that I was following their thought processes more than the girls’, who were laughing smugly.

“What about the librarian ball thingy?”

“A bun. It’s totally a bun. Next question.”

Antonia was quick with her question, as though she’d thought of it the minute she heard the game. “What is the sheer second skin we wear on our legs like pants?”

“Nylons,” Redhead answered without a second thought.

The other two looked at him and groaned.

“What?” he said. “I was in a play.”

“Then you should know all these answers.”

“Whatever.”

“Okay, last question,” the first guy said, looking at Savannah. She pursed her lips together as though trying to think of something they would never guess. Then her eyes lit up. “Who wrote
Pride and Prejudice
?”

Everyone went instantly silent.

“A little help here,” the guy next to me said under his breath.

“Absolutely no idea,” I said.

“Shouldn’t all the girls in the group be able to answer the question as well?” he said aloud, calling me out.

“I assure you every girl will know the answer to that.”

I tried to give Amber wide eyes, telling her not to make any such assurances.

“Then if all of you can’t, we win by default?” he asked.

“You are such a punk,” I said, and he smiled, his eyes lighting up.

“Yeah, okay,” Amber agreed to his addendum.

I raised my hand in shame. “I don’t know the answer.”

The guys cheered, and Savannah huffed playfully and threw a wadded-up napkin at me.

“Sorry,” I said, holding up my hands to fend off the other napkins that came flying my way.

“So, what do we win?” Hot Guy asked.

“We get to hang out for thirty minutes,” the first guy said. “They weren’t going to give us the time of day.”

Hot Guy met my eyes. “Now we get the time of day?” My heart gave a flip.

“Apparently.”

“What does the time of day entail?”

I shrugged.

“Names, definitely names,” the first guy said. “And phone numbers,” he seemed to add on a whim.

“No way. You earned thirty minutes . . . and names. I’m Amber.”

“I’m Dustin,” the first guy said. Dustin had floppy blond hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. He looked like a guy I played softball with a few years back.

“Antonia,” she said with a small wave.

“Savannah.”

I gave a head nod that I stopped short. “Charlie.”

Redhead waved. “I’m Luke and . . .”

He pointed to the guy sitting next to me and was about to say his name when Hot Guy looked straight at me and said, “I’m Evan.” Evan had beautiful olive skin and deep brown eyes.

“So where are you ladies coming from?” Dustin asked, and I turned my attention away from Evan and back to him.

“A makeup session,” Amber said at the same time I said, “Work.” I did not want to tell these guys what we’d been doing. I was embarrassed. If I could’ve convinced them we had been playing soccer with that much makeup on, I might’ve.

“We work with makeup,” Antonia said, covering for me.

It took a second to realize that these were guys, not my friends. Guys who were trying to pick us up, not ask us if we were interested in a pickup game. They weren’t looking to make fun of me.

“That’s what I meant,” I said. This brought lots of questions about what exactly we did. My eyes kept drifting to the game on the television as the guys asked the stupidest questions ever. The Cubs were down by one and it was the bottom of the ninth. I groaned when Castillo struck out, leaving only one more chance to score. And everybody knew Borbon was not a clutch hitter. Most people in this area were Giants fans, but we were A’s all the way, which was why I was voting for the Cubs.

“This is their last chance to score,” Evan said, pointing at the screen. “They have two outs.”

I almost said “Duh” but bit my tongue. Jerom’s voice echoed through my head:
How hard is it to let a guy feel useful every once in a while?
So instead I just nodded, because I couldn’t bring myself to say “Please tell me more.” But for some reason he must’ve thought that’s exactly what I meant, because he started explaining the game to me in layman’s terms, saying things like “The guys in the white shirts really need to put that ball over the fence and then they’ll be a shoo-in for the playoffs.” I almost said “Actually, they aren’t anywhere near making the playoffs this year, but at least it will end their three-game losing streak and let them win back a little dignity and some much-needed confidence.” But again, probably not letting him feel useful.

“There, now the coach is telling the pitcher what to throw.” The camera had focused in on the coach.

I knew for a fact that Posey, the Giants’ catcher, called the games. And even if the manager was calling the pitch, as many did, he’d be giving the signals to the catcher, not the pitcher. It was killing me not to correct him, but my brothers would’ve been so proud that I didn’t. The inside of my mouth tasted a bit salty from my teeth clenching down on my cheeks, though.

“You like to watch baseball?” Evan asked.

“Yeah.”

“My dad has four season tickets to the A’s. Maybe we could double sometime with one of your friends.”

I tried to contain the rush of joy that burst in my chest. “Yeah, I have a friend who would love you forever if you took us,” I said, thinking how Braden would owe me big for this. Then it occurred to me, quite suddenly, that Evan probably meant one of my girl friends sitting at the table, not one of my guy friends.

“Yeah?”

I crossed my arms in front of me, realizing I had gripped the edge of the table in my excitement. “Um. I mean, yes, I can probably find a friend to come.”

He grabbed a napkin from the holder. “I guess maybe I should get your number then so I can arrange that.”

I told him my number and he wrote it down, then tucked it in his jeans pocket. Amber gave me a head tilt that seemed to say I gave that away too easily. But she was too busy talking to know I’d just scored A’s tickets. Sure, I’d have to go with Mr. I Will Impart All My Mediocre Knowledge of Baseball to You, but considering he was hot and nice, that was definitely a sacrifice I was willing to make.