Rule #9 (13 page)

“Don’t you need a ride home?”

“Nope.” He takes the sheet of paper we’ve been doodling on and rips it in half. He hands me a perfect lily; then he’s gone. He’s taken my doodle with him, a young pollywog sketching a football on a chunky easel.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I beg Gaby for extra hours during my mom’s absence. Gaby won’t give them to me. In fact, she gives me fewer hours, which means she’s in on something with my mother.

Fine.

Most nights, I stay after school to avoid the house and the people who live there. It’s difficult to avoid my father. He arrives at my school every day for football practice as I’m leaving—or should be leaving.

Some days I stay at the school and some days I don’t. When I don’t hide in the library at school, I head to the public library, Vianna’s house, or Pollywog’s. I don’t go home, my home, the one where my father and his new wife don’t live. My house feels empty without Mom.

I always make it to the Trask house for dinner. Alicia’s an amazing cook, and even though I feel like I’m crossing over to the Dark side, I don’t want to miss these meals. Most nights after dinner, my father rushes to his den to look at football videos taken of the Stallions’ next opponent. I help Mr. Morales clean up while trying to ignore him. He’s always talking. The man never shuts up, and even though he doesn’t lecture or anything, a person can only take so much. I grab the plates from the table and put them on the counter next to the sink.

“So, hijita, tell me about school, what classes do you like?” Mr. Morales rinses each plate, then hands them back to me one at a time.

“English,” I say, taking the plate and putting it in the dishwasher.

One-word answers don’t bother him. He continues: “I love to read. What are you reading?”

“Truman Capote.” I walk to the table and bring him the serving bowls.

“Oh, I like him.”

“I hate him,” I say, hoping this will quiet the old guy up.

“I enjoy Harlan Coben,” Mr. Morales says.

“I read one of his books.
The Woods
. It was intense.”

“I haven’t read that one,” he says while he hand-washes what doesn’t fit into the dishwasher, which leaves me with nothing left to do, since Alicia has silently worked around us, scrubbing down the table and counter.

“I have it at my house. I’ll get it for you.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

Why am I talking to him? And why did I let the conversation change from one-word answers to
I’ll loan you a book
? I should have run to my room to hibernate like I do most nights. It’s been pretty easy to steer clear of my father and Alicia. Dad is focused on football. Alicia has a job, but I don’t know what she does. Something with kids. I think she works for the state. She doesn’t talk about it. She spends many nights going through work files.

I need to keep my distance from all of them. It has kept me out of trouble, and it will save me for when my mom comes home and they push me out. They’ve got to be sick of me. But then there’s the Jack thing. Alicia is connected to him, so I need to be careful. Why? Do I like him? Yes, so far. Does he like me? I don’t know. I mean, we haven’t really gone out or anything. The night at the coffee shop doesn’t count, I don’t think. Holding hands to make Sidney go away doesn’t count either. Do those pencils count? I haven’t seen him in a couple of days. He’s not going to gym class anymore. I think he switched classes. And he’s absent at lunch. He makes me crazy.

I wonder how close Jack is to Alicia, with his sister being Alicia’s friend. Do they talk? How long have they known each other? I could ask her where he’s been, but that would mean I’d have to be friends with my father’s wife. I don’t know if any boy is worth that. And, even if he was, would Alicia really want anything to do with me? I’m the daughter, the threat.

“So deep in thought,” Mr. Morales says.

I forgot he was standing there in the kitchen with me. Can the old man help me decipher my so-called relationship with Jack? Probably not.

“I have homework to do.” I take the steps two at a time to the room I sleep in.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I don’t see Jack all for the third day in a row. School is hell. I used to love the block days without first period, but they suck when Jack isn’t around. And now I have to deal with Sidney at lunch. She stops by my table and leans in. She’s pushing the limit, showing her black lace bra. When she leaves class, she unbuttons her shirt to show her cleavage, then, before she walks into another class, she buttons it up. She acts like we’re not aware. Trust me, the entire school is aware. “Where’s your boyfriend?” she asks.

“I don’t know, Sidney.”

She grins and then responds, “Funny, I do.”

I turn away from her and look at my friends. Vianna shakes her head, then continues working on her computer. She’s working on a section for the yearbook. Natalie glares at Sidney, then pops: “Why don’t you take your scrawny little ass back to your side of the room?”

Sidney puffs air out of her nose, keeping that stupid little grin on her face. She leans back sideways and takes a look at our backsides. “I’ll do that. There’s more room on my side. Looks like you’re starting to take after your mom, Natalie.”

Vianna turns her computer and shows it to Sidney. “I was going to put this in the yearbook.” It’s a photo of Sidney and her group of friends raising money at a car wash. Sidney looks like she should be in a magazine. Her hair is perfect, her clothes are perfect, and I highly doubt she did any work that day. “But you are nasty and mean. I’m thinking that we don’t need reminders that you existed after we leave this place.” Vianna slowly and deliberately drags to the picture to the recycle bin and then empties the trash before turning the screen away.

Sidney stomps off.

“Were you really going to put that in the yearbook?” I ask.

“No, but she doesn’t know that.” Vianna winks.

#

At the end of my day, I sneak in the front door of the Trask home and find Alicia curled up under a beige throw, crying on the couch. She has papers in one hand and tissues in the other. I step back, hoping she doesn’t discover me, but Buster gives me away. He leaps off the couch, then slides to the front of the house, barking. Loki stays curled on Alicia’s lap.

“Oh, dang it, what time is it?” Alicia drops the used tissue into her lap and looks down at her watch.

“Six thirty.” I don’t move closer. I look to the stairs and eye the door to my room, only my feet stick to the floor like suction cups on a Nerf gun. I can’t move.

“I didn’t make dinner.” She attempts to stand.

“Don’t worry, I’m not hungry,” I say.

I would help her but I can’t cook. My mom can’t either. My mom and I live on salads, turkey sandwiches, steamed vegetables with pasta, and yogurt. When there isn’t food at the house, I live at The Burrito Bar. I eat the frozen dinners my mom has stashed only in an emergency.

“Your dad needs to eat,” she says. She moves the papers to the side and picks up the dog from her lap and gently sets Loki on the floor. The sound of the garage door rattles the house. The flood in Alicia’s eyes overflows. This time she sobs. Uncontrollable sobs. I don’t think she’s getting any air.

I hear my father’s footsteps enter the kitchen, and then the sound of binders hitting the kitchen table followed by keys. My dad walks into the living room. “Alicia? Are we eating—” he stops talking once he sees the red in her eyes and the liquid falling down her face.

My father rushes to his wife and pulls her into his arms. He looks at me, confused.

I shake my head unknowing. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

Alicia points to me and tries to talk.

My dad blows up. “What the hell did you do, Massie?”

“I didn’t do anything. I just got home.” I back up.

“Dammit, Massie!” He lets go of her and tosses his baseball cap onto the floor. “Alicia has tried so hard to make this transition easy on you. She’s the one who picked out all your bedroom crap. I thought we could just use the twin bed we had from the apartment. She insisted you receive the next biggest room after ours. I wanted to use it for a den. Alicia’s own father has a smaller room than you. Alicia’s always hounding me to leave you alone. To give you space. She accused me of forcing her on you. And now you’ve made her cry.”

I don’t even try to fight back. I run to my room and shove my things into my suitcase. Alicia’s sobs are no longer audible when I reach the bottom of the stairs, probably because I can’t hear anything through my own crying. I go straight to the front door. I’m not going through that battlefield again.

The garage door remains open. Dad forgot to shut it. I throw my suitcase in the trunk, hop into my car, slam the door shut, and then I peel out of this hellhole.

My dad races out the front door and chases me. I flip the rearview mirror up so I don’t see him when I look back. Crap. I forgot the dog.

There are a few things I can count on with my father:

1. He’s an idiot.

2. He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s an idiot.

3. He’ll go out of his way to cover up his idiocy.

I drive my butt home. I don’t care that I’m alone. It’s safe and my father will leave me be, at least until my mom finds out. This will take a few days. My father will not tell my mom that I burned rubber getting away from him and his over-hormonal wife.

Crap, Alicia’s probably pregnant. Isn’t that what pregnant women do, cry all the time? That’s what Natalie’s stepmom did when she was pregnant.

I shiver when I open the door. My mom left the heat at fifty degrees. I pump up the thermostat and stuff my body underneath the covers to my mom’s bed, which doesn’t help much. I wish I had a heating blanket.

#

The buzzer on my phone jolts me awake. It’s dark but warm. I grab my phone and look at the time. I don’t need to look to see who’s texting me, since I changed my father’s ring tone to an alarm sound.

Text from my father, 7:14:
Where are you?

Not telling.

Text from my father, 7:29:
I’m not mad anymore

Good for you.

I fall back to sleep.

The wind wakes me several times throughout the night. Each time I want to go back to my dad’s house but I don’t. I will not be the one to give in. Not this time.

The sun wakes me this time and I look at the clock, realizing that I’ve more than overslept. Shit! Wash face, brush hair and teeth at the same time with two different brushes. Shit! At the same time I slap foundation on my face, I search in my closet for something to wear. Mascara is applied in front of the mirror only because my mother would kill me if I applied it while driving. I don’t care that she’s in London, she’ll find out somehow if I do it.

My car is parked in a two-car garage that is missing all traces of a man’s presence. Which means the tools and random beer signs are gone. My mother has replaced them with personalized signs. One has a pig in the middle of a circle with a slash through it. Another sign states, “MY GARAGE, MY RULES!” And the last sign reads, “I want my own personal space.” This is where my mom shows her passive-aggressive hate toward my father. I love the garage.

I’ve missed too much of my first class to try and get to school without taking a hit on my attendance. There’s no way my mom will excuse this, and I won’t ask my dad for anything. At least I can still hit Pollywog’s and buy a latte without arriving late to my second class. I tap the garage door opener in my car. Nothing. The garage won’t open. I push it harder. Sting. It’s my father’s garage opener.

I pull out the correct device from my glove box and push the button. The garage opens easily. I release the brake and let gravity roll the car out slowly.

I don’t count on Lily. She’s sitting on the stairs of my front porch wearing flared jeans with peach flats that match her faux cardigan. The scarf that’s looped around her neck ties the colors of her jeans, the sweater, and the white cami underneath with a splash of red. She’s skimming through something on her e-reader. The sun shines and the south wind brings in the warmth to the morning. I roll down my window. Lily doesn’t look up. Instead she lifts her mug and sips her coffee while reading.

My choices: I can take off and pretend I don’t see her, or I can stop and step out of the car. I choose the latter. Not that I have a choice. My mom always gives me choices, or what she calls choices: choice A, clean your room, or choice B, she’d clean my room. Which would mean that she would decide what stayed and what went. I chose A. Choice A, you can complete your homework, or choice B, my mom would take my phone away. That was a no brainer. I chose A. Choice A, you can find a job over the summer, or choice B, she would find fun and exciting work for me to do around the house. Her idea of fun would include cleaning tile with a toothbrush, pulling weeds, deep-cleaning the kitchen. I chose A, which also gave me Gaby. Choice B is never really a choice—not a good choice anyway.

So seeing Lily sitting on my porch made my decision/choice obvious. I put the car in park and walk over to her. Lily still doesn’t look up from the tablet. She hands me the extra cup that hides behind her. She pats her hand on the cement. What she means is: Choice A, you can sit next to me, or choice B, you can sit next to me. I sit. My mom would love Lily.

“Everyone’s worried about you,” Lily says.

“Doubt that.” I sip the latte. It’s perfect. I can tell Josh made it and it’s made with whole milk.

“Your dad is, but I told Alicia to let him stew for a while. He probably deserves it.” She closes the cover on her tablet and looks at me. His smile is contagious and I can’t help but relax. Yet I wonder…is this a trick?

Lily looks at her watch, “I gotta run. Have a good day at school.” Just like her brother. There one minute, gone the next.

After a grueling day at school because I didn’t get much sleep, because the wind kept me up all night, I swore I heard the front door open and I worried about my dog; I’m ready to take on my father. I work my way down the steps toward the commons.

“Good luck.” Natalie stops and hugs me through the railing that divides us. Then she shoves her way up the stairs through the thick crowd. “Call me.”

It’s a maze trying to find a way out of school at the end of the day. Freshman hurry toward their lockers to get to the bus in time. It’s nice having a car and not having to worry about the bus thing. I scan the area for my father. My predictable father is MIA. He’s always at the bottom of the stairs at three p.m. sharp, hurrying the players to the weight room military style. I step off to the side and set my books down and retie my shoes.

Andrew pretends to trip over me.

“So how’s the thing with the redhead?” I ask.

“Gingers.” He shakes his head. “They’re complicated.”

“Did you break up?” I ask.

“No, we’re good. She’s just…” He pulls his Mesa University cap off and places it back onto his head backwards. “A pain in my shitake sometimes.”

“Have you seen my dad?” I look around.

“No, but his truck’s here, which means I better get my shitake in gear. I don’t need extra laps today.” Andrew head tilts back. “See ya.”

“Hey, can I have the top off your tea?” Andrew tosses it back my way without looking.

Fact: “Porcupines float in water.”

That’s stupid. I plant my butt on the stairs. I can feel the aquatics forcing their way out and my throat feels like I’ve got strep. I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I’m supposed to not care, remember? My father may not like public conformations unless it’s football related—but he always makes an appearance to show that he’s in control of the situation. He really doesn’t give a shit.

“Hey,” a voice says in that sweet drawl. I look up and of course it’s Jack. I finally see him and the waterworks have started again and I’m sure the mascara has started to run. He probably thinks I’m a complete drama queen since he always catches me crying.

“Are you okay?” He leans down and is about to sit next to me. God, I love the way he smells. I never thought cinnamon and coconut would smell so good together.

I can’t let him sit down. He can’t be late for practice because of me. “Go.” I point. “You’ll get extra laps.”

He hesitates at first, but I keep my finger pointed toward the weight room.

I stand and walk toward the student parking lot. I give up on my dad. He’s probably already inside the gym blowing that stupid whistle.

And just when I think the day can’t get any worse, Sidney finds me in the parking lot. “So you know, we’re talking more,” she says, keeping her pace so she is right next to me. Gone are the tiny steps, gone are the tiny shakes. Her only goal is to make her point, even if it means losing what she thinks is her signature walk. The guys like it because her boobs jiggle but they also make fun of her when she does it. I keep moving.

“Jack and I. We’re talking more. Rumor has it he’s going to ask me to homecoming. So you know.”

I yank open the door to my car, pitch my pack onto the passenger’s seat, and climb in. I slam the door. She stands outside my window. What does she think, I’ll roll it down? I need air. I shove my key in the ignition and rev the engine. This frightens her and she steps back. I look at her and smile—okay, I smirk, snicker, and leer. She’s not amused and I don’t care. I rev the engine one last time, then put it in drive and slowly drive away. I’m not stupid. The security guard is sitting at the end of the lot in his car. A ticket from him would get me front-row seating on the bus with the loud freshman. No thank you.