Perfectly Good White Boy (8 page)

Which reminded me.

“Where's Otis?” I said, since he hadn't come to the door to greet me. That was always his habit. At least, it was at our old house. Here, Otis was as disoriented as me, except instead of eating cereal out of mixing bowls and drying his body with Pokémon beach towels because we couldn't find the normal towels in any of the boxes, Otis had taken to hiding behind the furnace things in the basement or under my mom's bed, and running away along the highway, eating garbage and making me freaked out that he was going to get hit by a car.

“He's somewhere,” my mom said, distracted. “So which one do you like, then?” She pointed to the cards again.

I motioned toward one of them and then yelled, “Otis?”

“That was the same one Steven liked,” Krista said, frowning, as if that had some meaning. Like it was a man conspiracy. I went into the living room, where Otis's dog bed lay empty by the fireplace. Of all things, the rental had a fireplace. Brad said it didn't work, though.

“Mom, did you let him out and forget to bring him in?”

“What? No, he's inside. Check my office,” she said, not even looking up from the table. “He's been going in there lately.”

I found Otis under the office desk, between stacks of my mom's psychology books. He looked happy, was thumping his tail. And he got up and followed me to my room like nothing after that. But it was weird. Otis was almost twelve years old; we'd had him since I was in kindergarten. He was part German shepherd, part something else the vet and my mom could never settle on. He was big and furry and kind of fat, but he was great. He jumped on my bed and lounged for a minute, licking himself in all his gross places, and then, while I was in the shower, something else must have caught his dog-attention, because he was gone when I came back to my room.

I put on clean boxers and opened the window above my bed. It was still hot, even though it was now technically fall. The rental didn't have air-conditioning. Our old one had it. Our old one had everything good, really. Everything good, except for my drunk father.

Even a shitty house out on the freeway, with trash tossed out of passing cars getting caught in the fence, and semi trucks roaring by all night long and the goddamned muddy yard and gravel drive making everything look like we were hillbillies cooking meth or something, even that was better than living with my dad when he was drinking. But it still wasn't great.

I considered, pretty intensely, for a period of three to four minutes, doing my homework. But then I just got into bed. Because at the moment, I felt like doing nothing. Which meant one thing, really.

Doing nothing, jerking off; they were kind of the same for me. Not because I felt really sexual, necessarily. Mostly I jerked off for no real reason. Because I had a hand and it could go easily down my boxer shorts. And because, why not just do that when all else failed? I lay in bed, listening for everyone to shuffle out—Brad honking the horn of his truck in the drive, Krista's girl shoes making pointy clacks on the linoleum, Steven-Not-Steve jingling his car keys. I waited until I heard my mom call down that she was going to bed, and I yelled back “Good night,” and then, finally, I could do it. Finally.

I'd worked myself up decently when my phone buzzed from across the room, still in the back pocket of my jeans. The little sound it made when I got a text. My hand froze midstroke. I listened again. In case I'd just imagined it. I didn't think it would buzz again. Then it did.

Of course, even though my hand was all covered in lotion, I still got up to look. I couldn't resist. It could have been Hallie texting again. I'd never replied, but that didn't stop me from thinking she'd text again.

Buzz.

I got up, wiped my hand off on a T-shirt lying on the floor, picked up my phone.

But the texts were from an unknown number.

don't tell anyone about that okay? pls?

Next one:

this is neecie from work btw

Like I knew any other Neecies!

The third:

sorry to bug you. nobody can know. he'll get really mad. pls don't tell anyone Sean

I stared at the screen. I kind of hate texting, because my phone's an old piece of shit and my thumbs are giant. And worse still, my hand was all slippery. So I just hit the call button on her name and let it ring. Figuring she wouldn't pick up, because that's why you text, right? Because you don't want to actually talk to anyone?

But of course, Neecie picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It's Sean.”

“Hi.

“How did you even get my number?”

She sighed, very loud. “From the staff phone list that Wendy gives out.”

“Oh.” I always got that list; Wendy updated it whenever someone was hired or quit, but I never looked at it. I only had Wendy and Kerry's numbers in my phone. There was no one else who worked my job that I could call to sub in for me, anyway.

“Hey, sorry to bug you about this, but it's really important you don't say anything.”

“About what?”

“You heard me on the phone behind the store, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, about who I was talking to.”

Great. We'd have to go through this dumb little quiz game, circling around the situation.

“Right. Tristan. Tristan Reichmeier. Hockey guy.”

“Shit.”

“I won't say anything,” I said, sitting down on my bed. Otis started scratching at the door, and I opened it up for him. He instantly jumped up next to me and started snuffling around my crotch.

“Goddammit,” I said, pushing him away.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I can't hear very well on the phone,” Neecie said. “Sorry. That's why I texted you.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Well, thanks, Sean,” she said. “I know it's weird, but just . . . thanks.”

“Is he like your boyfriend or something?”

“What?”

“Your boyfriend,” I said, louder and clearer.

“No,” she said. “It's not like that. It's kind of . . . I don't know. It's just like, you know. Hooking up. I guess.”

“You have sex with him?” I said. Blurted, really. Whoops.

“Umm, well . . .,” Neecie said. “I guess. If you want to put it like that. Yeah. But it's just sex. Not a real thing or anything. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Neither of us said anything for a minute. I was being silent, punishing myself for blurting. I worried for a minute that she'd hung up. Like she was one of those people who don't say goodbye and just hang up when they're done talking. Brad was like that.

Then she said, “I mean, it's just stupid drama. And it's, like, no big deal to me that you know. But it'd be worse if other people found out. Just Ivy knows, so far.”

Ivy Heller was this girl Neecie was always hanging around with. She was one of those chicks who barely talked but always dyed her hair weird colors like purple or blue and then, if you looked at her for one second, being that you couldn't really help looking, since most people don't have purple or blue hair naturally, she'd give you a shitty evil glare like you were being discriminatory or something.

“Sean? You there?”

“Oh, sorry. Yeah. Don't worry, it's cool. I won't say anything. I mean, I don't really know the guy, anyway.”

She didn't say anything. I wondered again if she'd hung up. I wondered if she'd even heard me.

“Hello?”

“Sorry,” she said. “I'm here.”

“What's your name short for?” I asked. Because I'd just thought of it. Blurting still happening, I guess. But it occurred to me, talking to her, imagining her on the other end, what she was looking like, and whether her family was around her, like her mom and dad or whatever, and wondering what made them name their baby daughter Neecie. Like, it had to be a nickname, obviously. Nobody named a baby “Neecie.” It'd be like naming a baby “Bill” or “Vicky” or something like that.

“What?”

“Nothing, it's nothing,” I said.

“Okay, well . . .”

More silence. I didn't know if I should bother repeating my dumb question. Now that I was super curious.

“I have homework, so I better go,” she said. “Again, sorry to bug you.”

“It's fine.”

“Okay. Bye then.” Then she clicked off so quickly I felt a little surprised. Weird. Neecie was weird. And not just her name.

Then, it was like I'd just drank a whole can of Amp. I just felt hyper. Like I could run around the goddamn block. Except we didn't live on a block anymore.

So I rolled on the floor and did some push-ups. Then some crunches. Just to knock off some of the hyper feeling. I hadn't talked on the phone to a girl in a million years. A girl not Hallie. With Hallie, we usually texted, not talked.

The floor was crumbly and gritty and gross, but I just laid there, breathing hard, Otis trying to lick my face, human sweat being like the sweet nectar of the gods for dogs, I guess.

Just sex?
I couldn't fit it in my head: Neecie was too nerdy to have sex.

I laid on the floor for a long time. Imagining Neecie Albertson having sex. Jesus. It wasn't hard to picture, actually, me being me, and The Horn and all.

I got up, brushed the crap off myself from my nasty carpet and got into bed. But still, I couldn't wash out the whole Neecie Albertson sex thing.

Then I felt like jerking it again. Which was pretty gross of me.

But then the channel switched to Hallie again. The first time she'd given me head. We were at her house; I'd been lying on her bed, the one with the big purple blanket, in the same position I was now. And we'd had a dumb fight just before it happened too. But I couldn't remember what we'd fought about.

The only part I remembered was how it was basically the best feeling in the world. Total relaxing luxury. Not having to do anything at all but lie back and feel it. Feel
everything
.

And when it was over, it was just over. Nothing for me to clean up, no condom to ditch in the bathroom. And it was quiet, too. Hallie'd get up, without a word, and then come back, usually drinking a glass of water, and then she'd lay down beside me again and still not say anything. That first time she'd put her head on my stomach, her hair tickling me a little. She was always oddly quiet and peaceful after doing that, like she didn't need anything from me, like she was feeling as good as I was, though I doubted that was true. I didn't care, though. That first time, I remembered looking down at her and thinking,
I would do anything for you. Anything. Name it, and I will do it.

But then I couldn't jerk it anymore. Because then my eyes were just leaking, dripping down over my temples, into my ears, all over the pillow, and it was like I was being crushed from the inside, like my organs were failing. I sat up, then, and dropped to the floor and did twenty more push-ups, so fast I thought I'd choke. Otis didn't even move, just slumped his head on his paws as if to say,
Enough of your up-and-down shit, man. I'm not moving anymore.
Finally, I got back in bed. Otis settled his hot head on my shin, and I listened to the water heater kick on and scream for a million years until I finally fell asleep.

Chapter Five

We were in a stand of trees between two cornfields, me and Eddie and my grandpa and Brad. Deer hunting. It was earlier than fuck, the sun not all the way up, and it was kind of cold, but not as cold as Eddie was bitching it was, and though I didn't like smelling like the doe piss that Grandpa Chuck insisted we had to wipe all over us, and I was sick of Brad telling everyone what to do every second, it was good to be here. I loved deer hunting, especially with my Grandpa Chuck.

Eddie was nervous. He wouldn't stop whispering questions about what was going on, and I didn't exactly know the plan, either, because this was Brad's deal. Brad had been out hunting a couple of times this season but hadn't bagged one yet, so he was extra bossy. I was just glad we weren't at the same farm where I'd met Hallie last year.

“You two, up that stand over there,” Brad said, pointing at me and Eddie, then at a tree down at the edge of a frost-covered cornfield.

“Why do we have to go up?” I asked. The wind was kicking up and it'd be worse in the tree.

“Don't be a bitch,” Brad said. “You can't track for shit, and you know it.”

“I'm a better shot than you,” I said.

“You can't be still for one second, though,” he said. Which was true. We just stared at each other. Eddie looked back and forth at us.

“Grandpa's on the south end,” he said. “Once he crosses the road, you're cleared.”

I nodded. Then I nudged Eddie and we headed toward the deer stand.

“We have to set up a deer stand?”

“No, there's one up there,” I said. “The guy who owns this land? He leaves them up for people.”

“Jesus,” he said, struggling to catch up with me. “Your brother's all professional.”

“He's a dickhead,” I said. “He takes all the fun out of it.”

“What's it mean, to be cleared?”

“You can't discharge a firearm across a road; that's illegal. Technically, that little road there?” I pointed. “Where probably just the farmer and his family go across once in a while? That counts as a road. But, still, it's kind of a big deal, and the guy whose farm this is? You have to respect their safety and whatnot. Which isn't, you know, hard to understand. So Brad means, once we see my grandpa, we know he's flushed anything ahead and we can come down.”

“Oh. Do you always do this, in the middle of a farm?”

I stood at the bottom of the deer stand, motioned to Eddie to go first.

“Sometimes. It's a fuckload easier than tracking through woods,” I said. “Plus, there's corn and crap for the deer to eat. Makes sense. And it's less noisy, too, for us. Less stuff to give us away. Plus you can see better from up high, too.”