Rule #9 (12 page)

I slide into my favorite chair with my pad and pencils. Josh brings me a latte, I slip him a Lincoln. Then I complete my sketch of the bride and groom. I’ve been working on this piece since the wedding. The bride in her cream dress, her auburn hair done up with perfect tresses falling around her face. Her smile warm and thoughtful, she radiates love toward her husband. Her deep brown eyes look up at him, huge and adoring. The flowers are all roses with a single gardenia hiding in a perfectly cut bouquet with bright green stems. One would have to look really close to see the flower.

The pollywog groom looks happy and content, loved and in love. He stands tall, holding his arm out for the new love of his life, his eyes only looking into hers. The world around him doesn’t exist. The sadness that surrounded him for months vanished. The guilt and pain erased. A new chance, a new beginning, if he allows himself the second chance.

After weeks of starting and stopping I’ve finally finished it. I tear it out of the book and walk to the counter slap it face down. “My gift to Pollywog’s.”

“But you have never left them before…” Josh says. He tried to look at a print once. I told him the deal. My dad had to see them first. Now that deal is off.

“Things change, Josh,” I say. I walk back to my seat and grab the rest of my belongings.

“Hey, Massie,” Josh calls out. “This lady wants one of your sketches.”

I stop. My body slouches. I should be excited but I’m not. I want to go home, wherever that is. I turn. Josh stands next to a woman holding the drawing of Pollywog Linebacker.

I finished it the night of the game after we went to the Burrito Bar, I couldn’t sleep. Vianna passed out when we arrived home. The alcohol had worn off, and she collapsed. Natalie spent the remainder of the night texting Tyler. I sketched. It took forever to complete. I couldn’t get his eyes right. And they had to be perfect. I was going to keep it but I didn’t want everyone to see it. I don’t know why, but I just didn’t. Now I regret leaving it here. I want it back.

“You did this?” the woman asks, deep black hair full of curls pinned up, showing her perfect cheekbones. Her voice is calm but unsure. I can’t tell if she likes it or if she doesn’t believe that I actually drew it.

“Yep. I did.” My shoulders are still drooping. My mother would’ve poked the middle of my back, causing my spine to straighten—if she were here.

“That’s my baby brother.” Her smile fills the room. Then I realize who she is.

My spine straightens. The coffee in my gut churns. It’s like the milk from my latte turned sour and it wants to find a way to come up. Alicia’s friend stands in front of me, the same woman from the game. Jack’s sister?

“Wait, you’re Joel’s daughter,” she says, still holding on to the sketch.

So much for staying incognito. My disguise is uncovered. I don’t like to tell people that I draw the pollywogs. But I don’t confirm or deny my identity.

“I’d like to buy the print,” she says. Smile still there.

Crap. I don’t want her to take that home. Jack will see it. That’s all I need, him to see what I’ve sketched. I like him and all, but this is kind of stalker-like, and I don’t want him to think—

Too late. Jack walks up behind his sister and looks down at the print.

“Nice.” He looks up at me and grins. “So you like my pecs?”

“You’re conceited.” I’m really thinking
conceited prick
but, considering the company, I better think before I speak.

“He’s full of himself and a shitass.” His sister pops the back of his head. “By the way, I’m Lily.” She holds out her hand. I slowly take it. She shakes with a firm but soft grip. “You’re Massie, right?”

“Yep.” I slide my hands into my pockets and rock back and forth on my heels.

“Alicia talks about you all the time. She thinks you’re an angel.”

I cough on my spit, actually choke on my spit. Is Lily the sidekick in the team of destruction? Or is she really, genuinely nice? Did Alicia really say that? I don’t ask.

“You and Jack don’t look anything alike,” I say.

Their hair color doesn’t count. Besides, his is lighter with gold flecks at the ends. Lily’s thin wrists and soft features contradict her brother’s wide shoulders and gruffness. It’s not just that she’s a girl. Jack and Lily are different. Her eyes are big, dark, and exotic. His eyes are green, emerald, sharp, and currently locked onto me.

“Technically I’m his stepsister. My mom married his dad. But as far as I’m concerned, he’s my baby brother and always will be.” She ruffles Jack’s hair. “Even if he’s a shitass.” 

I’m not sure what to say about this so I don’t go there. “You can keep the print. It’s on me. Since you’re Alicia’s friend. Besides, it didn’t take me long to draw.” I need brownie points since I’m stuck in that house for three weeks. Too much can happen in three weeks. And Jack will never know how long it really took me to sketch that thing.

The prints usually sell anywhere from twenty to sixty dollars, depending on the time I spend and the color added. Josh decides the retail value. I can’t. They would go out the door free if I had my choice. The owner of Pollywog’s makes ten percent of the sale. It all started when the he spotted one. He loved them and thought I should try to sell them. So, after showing them to my dad, I would put them on cardboard, wrap them in plastic, and leave them to be sold. I haven’t earned a ton of money, but I like the extra cash now and then.

Lily folds a wad of money into my hand. “I’m paying the asking price. Although I think you should’ve asked for more.”

“Do I get a model’s fee?” Jack asks.

Lily pops Jack on the head again. “Get your ass in the car.”

Once they leave, I unfold the two twenties. “Really, Josh? It’s not worth that much.”

“She was right. It’s worth more. I’ve never seen that much detail…I take that back. The one you drew of Gaby, that one was amazing. I could've sold it a dozen times over.”

Pollywog Gaby is still my favorite. It took me months to complete her, but when I finished it I caught her essence. Her lashes long and perfect, her eyes wide and bright, showing what she loved most. If you looked close enough you could see her mother in her eyes—her mother as a pollywog, that is.

Pollywog Gaby now hangs behind the counter at Julian’s Second Time Around wearing a ball gown with her hair up. She looks like Grace Kelly—Pollywog Grace Kelly—all royal and beautiful, with cowgirl boots. Yes, with cowgirl boots. And a chunky wooden saint bracelet. Across her chest in script lettering a tattoo reads,
Don’t Say Die, Say Damn
. I gave the sketch to Gaby after she gave me my new look. She was my favorite until I drew Jack. Crap, I just sold my favorite sketch. Crap.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I’m thankful for the bathroom attached to my room. It makes my morning ritual easier since I don’t have to share. Not that my morning ritual is a big deal. I even shower at night so I can sleep in longer.

I head downstairs way too early, not wanting to run into anyone in the kitchen. Alicia told me to make myself at home, but it’s weird going through her refrigerator. What if I take something that isn’t up for grabs? For breakfast, I grab a yogurt and a banana. I make sure and pick the fat-free blueberry because there are three of those.

I tiptoe to the garage, hoping to sneak away without being caught. I don’t want to talk to anyone. But Mr. Morales is still hanging up tools. “Good morning, Massie,” he says.

I jump. The yogurt drops, the top breaks and the insides splat across the floor. “Crap,” I say. “Sorry. I mean, good morning.” I stop talking. I don’t know what to call him. “Mr. Morales.”

“Going to school?” he asks. He grabs a dustpan and a cloth and sweeps the creamy mess into the black tray, then dumps it into the trash. He turns and digs into the garage refrigerator. He pulls out a regular raspberry yogurt. “Take this one. I stash the good ones out here so your dad doesn’t eat them all. I don’t like the fat-free stuff. Have a good day, hijita.”

I still want to know what this term
hijita
means, but I don’t ask. Instead, I make a mental note to look it up later. “You, too.”

I can’t get out of the garage and to school fast enough.

After I pull into the student parking lot but before I can maneuver my way out of my car, I find lead cheer Sidney Jacobson standing at my window staring at me. I stare back at her. She doesn’t move.

I roll down my window. “Can I help you?” She may intimidate most girls. Not me. I don’t care what club she belongs to or how popular she is or isn’t. I don’t want to be on the squad, so I’m good.

“I just want to make sure you’re aware, I like Jack.” Sidney doesn’t move her bony little ass out of my way.

I shove the door open, almost knocking her over. I don’t look to see her reaction. “I think the entire school’s aware.” I reach in the back seat for my backpack and poncho. The loose grey rayon piece goes over my head, and then I fling the pack over my shoulder. I shut the door with my butt before walking toward the building, head up and back straight.

“I don’t think you understand,” Sidney follows quickly, shaking her ass. Tiny steps. Tiny shakes. Irritating.

I don’t need this crap first thing, and especially not from Sidney. I stop. I move my backpack from my right to my left side, hoping she’ll stop shaking. “What is there to understand, Sidney? You like him. I get it.”

“Do you?” she stops.

I keep walking. “You like him and you want everyone to know he’s yours. I get it,” I say. Then I raise my hands up in the air like she’s got a gun pointing at my back and I’ve given up. Only thing is, I haven’t given up. I just want her to shut up.

Tiny steps, tiny shakes, moving quickly trying to catch up with me. “I wanted to make sure we’re clear,” she says.

Oh, we’re clear, all right. She likes him. In her mind, Jack is off-limits. And Jack stays off-limits to everybody but Sidney until and only until Sidney tires of him. Even though I think he’s a little arrogant—and cute, even kind of adorable when he’s not being arrogant—there’s no way in hell Sidney Jacobson’s going to tell me what to do.

Sidney and I arrive at the entrance of the school at the same time. We’re not really together but it looks like it. I can see Jack on the other side of the glass door. Sidney rearranges herself, so I suspect she sees him too. Tiny steps, tiny shakes, perky boobs front and center. I wonder what kind of push-up bra she uses. It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t shove my stuff in front of any boy’s face, even if I had it to shove.

Jack notices us. He looks frightened. Sidney has that effect on people.

I push open the door, flip-flops flopping, backpack swinging, and my poncho on lopsided. It’s too late for me to care what I look like. Once I reach Jack, I grab his hand and pull him toward senior hall. “You owe me one, stud.”

He latches on and pulls me closer. “I think we’re even.” We round the corner. I let my hand soften so Jack can pull away. He doesn’t. Instead, his grip tightens.

“Trying to run off?” he asks.

“Queen of the squad is gone. My work here is done,” I say. “That is, unless you didn’t want her gone.”

Now Jack pulls me toward what must be his locker. He drops his books on the ground and turns the combination lock. “What if I wanna hold on to your hand?”

“I have cooties.”

He pushes my hand away, then makes a face. “Girl cooties. I always forget about those.” He rummages through his locker, trades out books, then nudges his locker door shut with his elbow. He slides his hand back in mine and winks. “I’ll take my chances.”

#

I hum, waltzing around the consignment shop. The beginning of my three weeks in hell with my dad, his new bride, and the old guy—and I hum.

“Stepmom must not be too bad,” Gaby says.

I don’t answer. Instead, I straighten the scarf on the mannequin—while humming.

“It’s a boy!” Gaby’s voice bursts. “Not that little jerk Blake?”

“No.” I smile.

“It’s about damn time.” She claps her hands together.

“Oh, stop. It’s not a big deal. I don’t even know if I really like him.” I take the hat off the mannequin. “Any cute sandals come in?”

“You can’t fool me. The last time you dressed that mannequin, you were all angry. I liked it. Not you being all angry. I liked the outfit. I liked how you let your feelings out. And I sold the entire ensemble to an angry girl who had been dumped. Everything but the boots; they weren’t her size. Lucky for me.” She clicks the boot heels together; she’s wearing them over a pair of skinny jeans. Then Gaby continues scrutinizing the outfit I’m working on. “Looking at this, you really like him.”

“I don’t know how you can tell that from an outfit.” I finish with a silver bracelet that has hearts dangling from it.

“Trust me,” Gaby says. “I can.”

I straighten the outfit, then head to the back of the store to organize the shoes. The bells on the door ring. I look at my watch. Six forty-five p.m. Fifteen minutes and Gaby will change the sign to “Closed.” But Gaby will let this customer stay as long as they want. I don’t like leaving Gaby alone at night, so I’ll stay too.

“Aren’t you a handsome thing.” Gaby says this to every boy who’s drug into the store by his mother. I wait for Gaby to pull out a box of trucks and lead the child into an area that she has blocked off for kids. I imagine the boy’s face lighting up. The mother can now spend more time in the store and hopefully more money. And Gaby won’t worry about the kid destroying the store.

I don’t hear the rattling of the box. I can’t see because I’m sitting on the floor pairing the last of the shoes. I do see two enormous feet stuffed in athletic shoes beside me. I look up. Jack towers over me. He hands me a small box wrapped in pale blue wrapping paper. He sticks his other hand out. I grab hold and he pulls me to my feet. The side of my face bumps his chest. I smell the menthol soap and tropical shampoo. He’s wearing long basketball shorts and a matching loose sleeveless Stallions athletic shirt. There’s no doubt the boy works his biceps.

I move my eyes and survey the pale blue box. “For me?” I shake it.

“No, for me.”

I stop shaking it and hand the box back to him.

“Why, thank you.” He takes the wrapped gift back. “When are ya off?”

“She’s off now.” Gaby dims the lights, switches the neon sign off, and grabs the bank bag. Jack and I follow her out the door.

I hesitate outside of the store. “I swear, if you come back here and open back up alone, I’ll be pissed.”

“I have a date.” Gaby smiles as she locks the bolt. She struts over to a black pickup and climbs in. I can see the outline of the man in the truck. He’s large, like his truck and the cowboy hat that covers his head.

I lean back on the driver’s side of my car and Jack stands in front of me. I look around. There is not another car in sight. “How’d you get here?”

“Lily brought me.” He flips the wrapped gift into the air.

“And how did you know I’d be here?”

“I saw the car. It does give you away.” He leans closer, and the coconut scent from his hair fills my senses, along with cinnamon gum. He taps the box on the top of my car, then links his thumb into a loop on my jeans, which makes me wobbly.

I clear my throat. “Edna does stand out.” My fingers rub the car door like she’s a pet.

“Edna.” Jack looks right, then left of me, checking out my ride. “I like it. Wanna go out for coffee?”

“You shouldn’t drink coffee during football.”

“I don’t. Water for me. Vanilla latte, whole milk for you.”

Oh, I’m sure my father loves him. I should stay away from this one. But how does he know my drink? I’m gonna kill Josh. Okay, maybe not.

I look up and take a deep breath in. Exhaling may cause our bodies to connect. A chance I’m willing to take. And if he leans in a tiny bit more, our lips will have no other choice but to touch. Do I want the kiss? No, I don’t want the kiss. Arrogant boy, I remind myself. Cute but arrogant football player. Cute football player. Arrogant. I wonder what those lips feel like. Arrogant boy that my father would like.

Or would he drive my father absolutely insane?

“My truck’s in Kentucky.” Jack wraps his arm around me, and I’m ready to lean in. Then he opens my door.

Does he think he’s gonna take over and drive? This won’t happen. Blake tried several times to drive Edna. Never happened. Jack waits for me to plant myself in the driver’s seat before closing the door. He grins, shuts my door, and then gets in on the other side. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking. I drive to Pollywog’s with the wrapped box still staring back at me…and still no kiss. Not that I want one or anything.

Josh eyes us over his glasses. He looks like Mr. Selke when he catches people texting in class. “Regular or decaf?” Josh asks.

“Decaf and shut up,” I say. Something I would never say to Mr. Selke.

Josh pretends he’s mad. His dry sense of humor took time to get used to. Now I know he’s just messing with me most of the time, so it’s fun to poke back.

“Jack? Water?” Josh asks.

Wow, he’s so much nicer to Jack. Not that this bothers me. If Josh all of a sudden started treating me this way, I would actually think something was wrong. Jack and I hijack a table stuffed in a back cubby. It’s quiet unless the bathroom is busy or if people come in and out of the Pollywog’s through the back door. We sit across from each other. Jack pulls out the box and hands it to me. But he doesn’t let go.

In his ornery voice, slow and deliberate, he says, “We’re gonna share this.”

I stare at him.

Think, Massie. Say something, Massie. Anything, Massie.

I’m an idiot. Why do I let this boy do this to me? Friends share things. I share stuff with the girls all the time. Why should this be anything different?

Because I want that kiss.

Jack tears a piece off of one end of the box, his face all serious. I tear from the other side, keeping my facial expression tense, like his. We look like rich old people who never smile because they’re trying to look polished or something. That ends when we tug back and forth. A small smile appears on both of our faces. Finally a box of seventy-two Aristocrat colored pencils appears.

They cost him a small fortune. They’re just like my father’s treasured pencils, the ones I can’t use. I tried to convince my mom into buying me the same set over the summer. She refused because she thought I should take art classes first. I didn’t want my passion to become a chore.

“So I can’t draw frogs. But I can draw trees, flowers, mountains—really, any landscape.” Jack plops a new sketchbook onto the table. I don’t remember seeing him carry it in.

“They’re pollywogs, not frogs,” I say.

“What’s the difference? They’ll turn to frogs one day.” Jack pushes the wrapping aside and takes out a charcoal-colored pencil from the box.

“Okay, so what’s your point?” I open the book to the first blank page.

“Don’t have one. I thought you might like better pencils, ones that blend better. That’s all.” The tip of his pencil touches the paper and that’s all it takes.

Jack and I doodle on the same piece of paper. He talks and I listen. Jack has been drawing and painting since he was little. His mother gave him one of those plastic easels when he turned three, and he hasn’t stopped drawing since. “I draw more in the off-season. It calms me.”

“Football players are not calm,” I say.

“Football’s my release. When I don’t have it…” He pauses. “I don’t know where to let the anger out.”

“Yeah, slamming your fist into an SUV at a wedding isn’t the best thing to do.”

He looks embarrassed and I feel stupid for saying anything.

“It was my mama. She…” He pauses. “We got into a fight. That all.” Jack looks down at his phone, then stands. “I gotta go. See you tomorrow?”