Skater Boy (9 page)

“What was that trick you did over the barrel?” I ask as we walk out from under the parking deck.

“It's technically called a Frontside Ollie one-eighty,” he says. “Which basically means you jump and then do a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn so when you land, you're backwards.”

“Oh. Cool,” I say. “Sorry, I wish I knew more about skateboarding.”

“That's okay. I wish I knew more about poetry,” he replies. “And I hope you'll let me read yours someday.”

He wants to read my poetry? Wow. He is way too good to be true. I mean, what boy would want to read poetry? Like, willingly, without being required to in school?

He leads me up a steep hill and turns right at a crumbling monument. I look around at the neighborhood, a little nervously. It's real bad. Again, like major ghetto-ish. Narrow streets lined by decrepit old apartment buildings with peeling paint and trash-filled front yards. Mangy pit bulls growl behind chain-link fences. Two guys in a corner alley talk in low voices and I see one pass something to the other in the most secret of ways.

“Oh my God.” I nudge Sean. “I think they might be dealing drugs,” I whisper. I've never seen an actual, real-life drug deal before. I wonder if I should get my can of pepper spray out of my purse, just in case.

“Just ignore them,” Sean says, as if it's no big deal. As if that kind of thing happens all the time. And maybe it does in this neighborhood.

The wind picks up, whirling debris around the street. A piece of paper blows into my leg and I pick it off gingerly, hoping it doesn't have any weird germs on it.

“Whoa look at her,” I cry, as we turn the corner. I watch as a heavy-set woman in a red wig and gold miniskirt parades the sidewalk, waving at cars. Julia Roberts,
Pretty Woman
, she is not.

Sean frowns and turns to look at me. “Where did you say you lived again?” he asks.

“Um, East Oaks,” I say, feeling a little ashamed for some reason.

“You live in East Oaks?” he asks. His voice is as incredulous as if I just told him I turn into a green ogre every night à la Princess Fiona in
Shrek
. What's up with that? “I mean, I knew you went to Sacred Mary's, but I had no idea that …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I figured you lived over near Starr or something.”

“So I live in East Oaks.” I shrug. “What difference does it make?”

“Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.”

“Why not? Of course it is. I want to meet your mother,” I protest.

Great. I'm once again stereotyped ‘cause my stupid parents have money. Like I asked to be born into their family. Last I remember, babies don't get much of a choice whose pregnant belly they get beamed into.

“Okay. Fine,” he says, running a hand through his curly blond hair. “We're almost there.”

I fall in step silently, cursing my big mouth. Why did I have to act all suburban nightmare around him? Shocked by a drug deal. A prostitute. Who am I? Heidi on the mountaintop with her grandfather and goats? I'm acting like such a pampered princess all of a sudden. If Starr were here, I'd definitely earn back the Barbie nickname at this point.
Stupid, Dawn. Real stupid.

Sean stops in front of a two-story gray apartment building with a rotted-out front porch. “Home sweet home,” he says sarcastically, climbing up the steps. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Gone is the sweet, cute voice he normally uses with me. In its place I hear a weary sarcasm, laced with defensiveness. Not good. I want to reassure him somehow that I'm not here to judge his lifestyle. That I like him for who he is, not what he has, but I'm afraid if I say anything else, he'll revoke my visitation rights altogether.

He yanks open the squeaky, rusted screen door to the left and we head inside the first-floor apartment. My nostrils fill with a warm, spicy smell, mixed with something that's a bit too ripe. We walk through a darkened hallway and into a small living room with sunken, ripped couches and peeling wallpaper. A bearded twenty-something with dreadlocked brown hair sits sprawled on one sofa, glazed eyes staring at the old television set in the corner. He has a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

 “Hey, Turd, did you bring me my cigs?” the guy calls, not taking his eyes off the television.

Sean rolls his eyes, but reaches into his pocket and tosses a soft pack of Marlboros at him. The guy looks up to catch them and his eyes fall on me. He misses the cigs.

“Ooh, who's this little succulent suburban?” he asks with a lecherous leer.

“Shut up,” Sean says automatically, leading me by the elbow into the next room. “Don't pay any attention to him,” he says loud enough for the guy to hear him. “That's my loser brother Jerry. He's under house arrest for selling weed. See that device on his ankle?” We turn and he points to Jerry's lower leg. “If he leaves the house, it alerts the police.”

Sean's brother is a criminal? Under house arrest? I swallow hard. What have I gotten myself into? I take a deep breath.
Be cool, Dawn. It's no big deal.

Yeah, right. It's a huge big deal. My parents would kill me if they knew I was here. I mean, I gathered Sean wasn't exactly rich, but I had no idea he had
America's Most Wanted
living in his house. I am never, ever going to be allowed to date this guy. Ever. The Evil Ones will send me to a nunnery, fit me for a chastity belt, and ground me for a millennium before they let me date Sean.

This sucks.

We head into a tiny kitchen/dining area combo where a short woman with graying black hair and a plump, rosy face is stirring something on the stove. She's wearing a faded pink housedress that doesn't do much to hide her rotund figure. Must be Sean's mother, though I don't see much resemblance between her and the tall, thin skater. She turns from the stove as she hears us enter.

“Sean!” she cries joyfully, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. He kisses her back. “And you must be Dawn,” she says turning to take me in. “She's so pretty, Sean!” She pulls me into a big, squishy embrace. She's so soft, it feels kind of nice. Nothing like my bony mother's half-hugs.

“Mom, this is Dawn. Dawn, Mrs. McNally, my mother,” Sean says, a little wearily.

“It's so nice to meet you, Dawn,” Mrs. McNally exclaims, releasing me from my hug. “Sean has told me so much about you.”

I suppress a guilty grimace. Sean's had actual convos about me with his mother? And here I haven't even told my parents we're dating. Does this mean I'm a really bad girlfriend?

“Are you hungry?” Mrs. McNally asks, sizing me up. “Would you like some dinner? You're so skinny. Just like my Sean.”

I glance over to Sean, who seems a bit mortified, so I hurry to jump in.

“I'd love something to eat, Mrs. McNally,” I say.

She claps her hands together in delight. “Oh, good. I was hoping you'd say that. I made enough food to feed an army.” She giggles. “Then again, we have an army to feed, so that's a good thing. Sean, go call your brothers and sisters.”

I soon realize she's not kidding when she says she has an army. At Sean's call, half a dozen kids and teens of various ages swarm the tiny dining room and find their places at the table. It's amazing they all fit, but somehow they do, albeit a bit squished. I can't believe so many people live in this tiny apartment.

I take my seat beside Sean and dig in.

The menu is simple, spaghetti and meatballs, but delicious. At dinner, the McNally family fight and laugh and argue. Even occasionally threaten to throw food at one another. I think about the formal, elegant dinners my parents subject me to on a nightly basis. Their indignation when I spill a miniscule drop of food on the pristine white tablecloth. They'd be horrified at the noise and the mess of this supper. But I love it. It's so full of life. So refreshingly different from what I'm used to. I'd love to have a family like this—have sisters and brothers to tease and be teased by. A mother who laughs and doesn't judge or condemn.

But just as I'm starting to relax and enjoy myself, the questions start.

“So do you live around here, Dawn?” asks Patti, Sean's fifteen-year-old sister. She tosses her long brown hair over one shoulder. “I don't think I've seen you at Woodbury.”

“I actually go to Sacred Mary's,” I mumble. Here we go.

“And she lives in East Oaks,” Sean chimes in, his voice laced with sarcasm. I glance over at him, hurt. What is his deal? He's supposed to be on my side.

“Oh, wow. East Oaks!” Susan, the twelve-year-old, exclaims. “I love those houses. They're so huge. Do you have a pool? Do you have servants?”

Sean's fork makes a squeaking noise as it scrapes against his plate. I bite my lower lip, wanting to crawl under the table and die of embarrassment. I know if I answer the affirmative I'll only make things worse. But then again, it doesn't seem fair that I should have to lie. Why should he make me feel embarrassed about my life? It's not like I chose it.

“Well, we have a housekeeper named Magda,” I say carefully. “Though she's more a member of the family than a servant.”

“Ha! A member of the family who slaves away in the kitchen and does all the laundry,” snorts Jerry, the jailbird. “I wish I had one of those.”

“You do,” teases Ben, Patti's twin. “She's called Mom.”

“And you don't even have to pay her!” Susan adds with a giggle.

I think my cheeks are going to melt off my body, they're burning so bad. Why did I have to open my big mouth? Of course I'm not going to be able to explain to them that I really care about Magda. That she's the one I turn to when The Evil Ones are driving me crazy. That she's like a second mother to me. They'd never understand.

“Not Magda Rodriguez?” Sean's mom pipes in, effectively taking control of the conversation from her rambunctious children.

“Uh, yeah, that's her,” I say, cocking my head at her. “How do you ... ?”

“I figured,” Mrs. McNally says, nodding. “She told me she's been working for some rich family up in East Oaks. She lives down the street from us. You know the blue house on the corner of Elm Street, Sean? That's where Magda and her children live.”

Sean stares at his plate and doesn't answer. He looks mortified. And why shouldn't he be? We've just established that my family's servant is his family's neighbor. Not like it should make a difference, but I know it does. To him, at least.

The conversation turns and I'm off the hook. But Sean barely says a word during dinner, just shovels pasta into his scowling mouth. I've barely taken my last bite when he suggests he drive me home. Like he can't wait to get rid of me.

Gah, this hurts.

After saying goodbye to the McNally clan and promising to come back and visit soon, we exit the house and climb into his battered Ford pickup truck.

“I love your family,” I say, hoping to put him at ease. He inserts the key in the ignition, still not looking at me, and the truck sputters to life. I persist. “Your mom, especially. She's so nice.”

Sean doesn't answer. He throws the car into gear and pulls out, staring ahead at the road.

I can't believe this is the same guy who danced with me at the rave. Who told me dreams are never stupid. Who wanted to read my poetry. He was so warm and sweet and cool then. What the heck happened?

Not being able to bear the cold-shoulder treatment, I decide to call him on the carpet. “Okay, dude. You were completely silent all through dinner. What's wrong?”

“You don't have to patronize me,” he says at last, in a tight voice.

“What?” I ask, genuinely taken aback.

“I know what my family's like. You don't have to pretend you're all cool with it.”

Huh? What's he talking about? I mean, I know the money thing is bugging him, but his family?

“But I'm telling you I loved them,” I say, confused. “They're so lively and fun. They're great. I wish I had brothers and sisters.”

His frown deepens. “Yeah. You think it's cute. You can go slumming. See how the other half lives. Then you return to your East Oaks mansion and laugh to your friends about your Adventures in White Trash. Like, oh so
ghetto fabulous
,” he says in a mocking tone.

I stare at him, horrified and hurt. “How can you say that?” I ask, swallowing hard to keep from crying. “I'm nothing like that.”

“No?” Sean's frown twists into a grimace. “Okay, then. When we get to your house, invite me in.”

“Wha-what?”

Sean nods as if he's proven some point. “Exactly. You won't invite me in ‘cause you're ashamed to tell your parents about me.”

“I'm not—”

“You are. In fact, I'm willing to bet my skateboard you haven't even told them you're seeing me. And that if you did tell them, they would ground you for all eternity.”

God, how do I argue with him when he's hitting the nail on the head? But this is so not my fault. It's not me and what I think, it's them.

“How about my mother asks your mother over for tea?” Sean says, continuing his tirade. “You think your mom would come by and hang out with mine? ‘Cause I can have my mother call her tomorrow and set up a date. Maybe she could meet my convict brother while she's at it.”

I can't breathe. I seriously can't breathe.

“Sean, please don't—” I beg, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Face it, Dawn. This isn't going to work. You're a cute girl, but we live in two different worlds.”

“It doesn't matter,” I sob, desperate to get a word in. “We're not defined by our parents. We could make this work. I really like you.”

“You like me now. I'm a novelty. I'm different from the other guys in your neighborhood. I'm dangerous and by dating me you can rebel against your parents. But think about the long-term, Dawn. Seriously.” He pulls up to a red light and turns to look at me. I drop my eyes, unable to face his angry, hurt expression. “It can't go anywhere. You have a brilliant future ahead of you. And I have nothing.”