Speed of Life (11 page)

“They say on their website that there's a lot of financial aid,” I tell him.

“Yeah, well . . .”

He lets his words hang there until I realize what he means: they don't give financial aid to rich boys. I resist the urge to tell him that if it was me, I'd rather borrow the money than go to Stanford and study something I know I'll hate. But I don't want advice from him on how to run
my
life, so I keep my mouth shut.

“I can work on cars on the side,” he says.

“I guess.”

Suggesting that David get financial aid reminds me that Natalie's not the only thing keeping me awake at night. There're all those forms. I know I could go ask Ms. Spellerman for help filling them out, but she never remembers who I am and . . . I don't know. I guess I don't want her to think I'm totally stupid.

“You know my sister, Amber?” I ask David, proving just how stupid I am. Of course he knows her. He met her at the library.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I'm really good at fixing cars . . .” My face is heating up, not because I'm bragging but because I hate asking for help. I open the microwave and start scrubbing all the gunk off the insides so I don't have to look at David. “And Amber . . . well, she's really good at forms and stuff.”

“Right . . .” Out of the corner of my eye I can see he's stopped sweeping and is staring at me.

“And I'm . . . not. I mean, I can do it if I have to, but the application for McPherson? And all the financial aid stuff? I don't want to screw it up, you know?” My face is really hot now, and I practically stick my head in the oven to hide my blushing, like it's a matter of life or death.

“Amber won't help you?” he asks.

“I told you at the SAT class—​she doesn't know I'm applying.”

“I guess I thought you would've told her by now.”

“Not yet.”

“How come?”

I sigh. “It's a long story.”

I'm already feeling guilty enough about the lies I'm telling Amber; I don't want David to know about them too. I force myself to look at him. Okay, maybe not at him, but at a spot near him. “But I was thinking if you could, you know, look over my application and my essay and stuff, before I send them in, that would be really good.” I spit this last part out all in one breath.

He shrugs. “Sure. No problem.”

“I could trade you something. Show you some car stuff, or—”

“It's not a big deal. Whenever you've got it ready, I'll have a look.” He says this with an easy smile, and I realize he's not so bad after all. Actually, I've known that for a while, or I wouldn't have asked him.

“I've got the essay in my car,” I say.

“Great. I can help with the financial aid too, if you want.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

Some of the pressure that's been squeezing my shoulder muscles loosens. “Thanks.”

He can see I'm embarrassed and makes a show of looking around the room. “Okay, that's all the cobwebs. Now, what do we do with this?” He holds up a dead spider by one leg. If he thinks he's going to make me squeal like a girl, he obviously doesn't know me very well.

“Put it on the top of the Christmas tree,” I say. “It'll be the angel.”

He laughs and tosses the spider in the trash.

The more people I ask to do favors for me, the more balls I have to keep in the air. It's one thing to juggle the SAT review class, the applications, financial aid forms, and letters of reference; it's a whole other thing to keep Amber from noticing my new secret life. But so far, so good. She's insisted on coming to this Christmas party, so at three thirty, I head over to the Glass Slipper to pick up her and Nat.

Amber's inside helping Aunt Ruby decorate the tavern for the holidays, which is really not my thing, so I decide to wait in the car. For once I'm actually early, and I take the opportunity to study my SAT workbook. I missed one class when we were sick and I need to work harder if I'm going to figure this shit out.

It's just now getting warm inside the car and I can't bear to turn the engine off, so I leave it idling and settle into my seat. The book is open on my lap, and I start going over some vocab questions. I'm doing a half-assed job, though, because I don't have anything to write with, and between the warmth from the heater and being up all night with Natalie, who wouldn't stop crying for no apparent reason, the words start to swim in front of me. I try to keep my eyes open, but they blink heavily, threatening to close. It reminds me of that episode of
The
Flintstones
(Gil loves that show when he's stoned) where Fred's really sleepy and so he props his eyes open with toothpicks. Only he's so tired that they snap, breaking in half, and Fred falls asleep anyway.

The next thing I know, the passenger door's opening and cold air swoops in. I start, looking around. “What? Oh, Amber, hey.”

“Hi, Crys.” She pushes the seat forward and loads Nat into the back, and then she climbs in front. I'm still blinking, trying to shake off the drowsiness when Amber plucks the SAT review book out of my lap. “What's this?”

“Huh?”

She flips through it. “The SATs? What do you have this for?”

I'm not usually good at lying to my sister, even when I'm on my game. I mean, we know everything about each other, but lately I've been getting so much practice that a lie flies out of my mouth without me really thinking.

“It's David's. He left it in my car.”

She glances over, giving me a skeptical look, but then she buckles her seatbelt and settles into her seat. “What was he doing in your car?”

“I was quizzing him. On a break at work.”

That has to be the lamest lie ever, because why would we sit in my car instead of using the break room?

Instead of calling me on it, Amber smiles and raises her eyebrows. “Tell me the truth. What's going on with you two?”

“Nothing.”

She's grinning. “Yeah . . . I don't believe it.”

And then it occurs to me,
Why not let her think something's going on?
She's gotten there on her own, so it's not like another lie. Still, it seems pretty dangerous because it's not like I can ask him to pretend—​what about his girlfriend? Maybe I can let her think I'm interested and that's it . . .

Instead of answering right away, I shift into reverse, back out of the parking spot, and head to Jimmy's. “It's nothing,” I say again. “But we did go out for coffee a couple of times.”

“On Tuesdays, right?” she asks. She's still smiling, so I go with it.

“Yeah.”

“I knew it! You could've told me. Is that, like, the only night you two both have off from work?”

If I say yes, then this gives me a free pass to keep going to SAT review. “Yeah, we both have Tuesdays off. But, Amber, it's mostly just a car thing. Nothing's happened.”

“. . .Yet.”

I feel my face turn red even though I don't like David that way. “Just don't say anything at the party, okay?” I ask.

“Mum's the word,” she says. “You know me. I can totally keep a secret.”

“Yeah, I know. You're the best that way.”

God, I suck.

When we get to the gas station, I unload Natalie, who's sleeping in her carrier. As we go in, we pass David on his way to help a customer. Amber gives me an exaggerated wink, and I know I've asked for trouble now, but it's too late to do anything about it.

Friends and family were invited to the potluck, but I'm the only one who brings anyone. Dirk shows up long enough to get his bonus and then leaves. Rosa has to cover the counter and keeps popping in and out for the egg rolls David picked up and the cupcakes Amber made. Raul loads up a plate and eats in a corner by himself. The rest of us sit around the table, talking and stuffing ourselves. Amber maneuvers herself so I'm next to David and gives me another look, which I pretend not to see.

Natalie gets to try a bite of frosting, which she really likes, and whines when we won't give her more. We try distracting her with some refried beans Amber squeezes out of one of the quesadillas Rosa brought, and the baby loves those, too.

“You're asking for it,” Jimmy says. “They're volatile.”

“Yeah. Give her something else, Am, or you're on diaper duty all night.”

Amber hands Natalie a piece of a tortilla to gnaw on, keeping an eye on her so she doesn't choke. The baby gets her hands into everything these days, and it's a battle to keep her from grabbing stuff off the table. We have to pass her around so me and Amber can take turns eating.

Raul gives Rosa a break, and she comes in and scoops up Natalie out of Amber's arms. Nat smiles and gurgles as Rosa lifts her into the air, clucking at her and saying something in Spanish in a squeaky voice. I think I hear the words for “baby” and “beautiful,” but even after a year and a half of studying it in school, it's still a foreign language to me.

“You look exactly like your mama, don't you?” Rosa says in English. She lifts Nat up high again. “Except your eyes. You must have your daddy's eyes.”

I see Amber tense, and my stomach clenches too. We have a rule to never talk about Natalie's dad. The thing is . . . we don't know who he is. It sounds kind of slutty, and I guess in a way it is, but it's one of those things—​a drunken party at Jade's house to celebrate Labor Day. We try to think of it as a good thing, though. It means we never have to share Natalie with some guy we barely know.

“You should grab some food,” I say, taking Natalie from Rosa.

“Yeah, okay.”

The tension in Amber releases and she slumps back in her chair. I roll my shoulders to ease the strain in them, and a second later we're all talking about Christmas plans. Crisis averted.

We head home around six o'clock, and David walks out with us. At the car, I remember the McPherson essay, but I hesitate because of Amber. David knows it's a secret, but she's gonna think it's weird if I give him something, and haven't I already acted suspiciously enough today? I really need to get his opinion, though, so I grab it out of the glove box.

“Here's that paper,” I say, giving him a look that I hope reminds him to keep his mouth shut about why he's reading it for me. Amber's busy buckling in Nat and doesn't look up.

He nods. “Thanks. I'll give it back to you on Tues—”

“Whenever's good,” I say.

Amber apparently
is
paying attention—​I can see her grin at the mention of Tuesday.

“Night, Crystal,” he says. “See you, Amber.”

“Bye,” we say.

“What was that you gave him?” Amber asks as I climb into the driver's seat. “A love letter?”

“Shut up,” I say, laughing. “It's a paper I wrote on Mustangs. He wanted to read it.”

She nods. I lost her at “Mustangs,” so I'm safe for the moment. But the fact that she doesn't press me actually makes me feel even more guilty. There's a little knot in my stomach, and it's growing bigger with every lie I tell my sister.

We drive home, and we're unloading Natalie when a rattling car comes around the corner and backfires, making us all jump. Bonehead starts barking as the car slows in front of our house. “Shit,” I say. “Take Nat and go inside. I'll deal with him.”

“Are you sure?” Amber asks.

“Just go.”

As Amber passes our landlord, who is now striding across the frosty grass toward the driveway, he tries to stop her, but she keeps walking, so he heads for me.

“You got the rent?” he demands.

I lean against the side of the Mustang, trying to be cool and unconcerned. I'm usually the one who has to deal with the landlord, but it still makes my heart pound. It's not like I think he'll kick us out, but there's no way we could find somewhere else this cheap to live, so it stresses me anyway.

“Your car sounds like shit,” I tell him.

“Yeah, I know. If I had the rent money I might be able to get it fixed.”

“You should let me take a look at it.”

“Nice try.”

The only light out here is from the neighbor's porch—​the streetlight burned out a couple of weeks ago. My stomach's tight because I can't read his expression. “I'll get you some money on Friday.”

“I've heard that before.”

“Yeah, I know, but school's out for Christmas. I'll take Gil in to work to get his paycheck and make him sign it over to you. And then I'll drive it over to your house myself.”

“How much?”

“Four hundred.”

“That doesn't even cover September. What about the rest?”

I shrug. “I'll fix your car. Bring it by tomorrow.”

“My old lady's gonna kill me if I don't get more than that out of you.”

He knows me and Amber have jobs and money of our own, but we took a vow never to pay our parents' bills or we'd be broke. We buy most of our own food, gas, and insurance— ​and pay for everything for Nat as it is. We'll never escape if we give in and take over Mom and Gil's debts. The least they can do is pay the fucking rent.

“I'll hit Mom up too,” I say. “Maybe she's got something saved for Christmas presents.”

If I think this will earn me any sympathy, I'm sadly mistaken. Not that it should, really. I mean, the place is a dump, but this guy is owed his rent. He lights a cigarette and blows out the smoke. I inhale deeply. It's not the same as actually smoking, but I'll take what I can get.

“What time should I bring the car over?” he asks.

“Eleven?” That'll give me enough time to go and get some filters and fuel injector cleaner for his car, which should stop it from backfiring. If it's the plugs or wires, he's on his own. I'll change those for him, if I have to, but they're too expensive for me to shell out for.