Taking Flight (12 page)

“Sixteen?” I guessed.

“Fifteen,” she corrected. I waited for her to tell me about it, but she didn’t.

“No story?” I asked.

She shook her head, her eyes shifting to the screen in front of us. The movie would be over any moment now.

“Not yet,” she said, and it felt like a promise.

Chapter Eight

“We should play twenty questions.”

“No way!” Cammie looked horrified by my idea, and shook her head as she circled me on Aerosmith’s back. We were out by the stable, momentarily avoiding responsibility together while the rest of the Marshalls tended to the other farm animals. It was Saturday, which meant farm work for the whole family, and Cammie’d spent the past hour trying to talk me into doing some of it. I’d obviously refused. “Twenty’s way too many.”

“Ten, then,” I suggested, pointing the stick in my hand at Cammie and Aerosmith and slowly turning to keep my eyes on them.

“No. Put the stick down; what are you even doing right now?”

“Defending myself.”

“I’m not gonna make you ride him again,” Cammie sighed, rolling her eyes at me. “You look like an idiot.”

“So, like you do all the time?” I taunted, grinning at her. “What about three questions?”

“Why do you wanna ask me questions? I’m not telling you how I lost my virginity, just so you know.”

“I wouldn’t ask that anyway,” I told her. “Too personal. Stop circling me, dude, it’s creepy. I feel like prey.”

“He needs to be walked,” she argued.

“He’s not a dog. Tell me why you hate Maddie. Is it because she’s not popular? I didn’t take you for that much of a snob.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Then what’s with telling me I need to be more socially savvy? Seriously, that’s one of the most pretentious things I think I’ve ever had said to me in my life. And I’ve met some pretty pretentious people.”

She sighed, and Aerosmith slowed to a stop. I tossed my stick to the ground and folded my arms across my chest as she replied, “You’ll find out for yourself; you don’t need to hear it from me.”

“If I’m gonna find out for myself, I might as well hear it from you. I’m starting to think you just don’t approve of anyone who isn’t in your little clique.”

“That’s not true. Tell me who else you hang out with. Did you find anyone to sit with at lunch?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Two people. Fiona and Nate.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, and Aerosmith started circling again. I reached down and retrieved my stick, and she shot me a look. “Oh, c’mon.”

“He’s like Hotel California,” I declared. “Once you’re on him, you can never get off.”

“You got off just fine! I helped you get off.” She flushed abruptly, and I snickered.

“Nice word choice. Soooo… Fiona and Nate, then.”

“I actually don’t know who you’re talking about. What are their last names?”

“I don’t know. I never asked. They probably don’t know mine, either; it just wasn’t ever said.”

“What do they look like? Who do they hang out with?”

“They hang out with each other,” I told her. “They’re dating. They’re black.”

She paused, confused. “Wait… you sat with them?”

“If you seriously have a problem with that, we can’t be friends,” I told her, my tone even. “Really.”

“I don’t. It’s just… unorthodox.”

“So?”

“So nothing.” She shrugged. “I just don’t know anything about them because our groups typically don’t mix.”

“What, black people and white people?” I asked incredulously. “How do you live like that, Cammie? Is everyone just completely ignorant? I mean, I know you’ve lived here your whole life, but you
do
realize the race relations in this town are what’s
actually
unorthodox, right? Like, they sit alone because everyone thinks like you do.”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m racist,” she told me quietly, and I could sense she was getting defensive.

“I didn’t say you were. But this town’s what, ninety-nine percent white? How many of those ninety-nine percent do you think ever bother to wonder what it’s like for the other one percent? The same goes for any other majority-minority situation. I mean, I’m not much better; I only sat with them because they just looked nice and they were a small group that was easier to approach, but I think Collinsville would be a much nicer place to live in if people gave this stuff some thought every once in a while. Like…” I hesitated, and then pressed on. It was only a matter of time before the subject came up, anyway. “…what do you think it’s like for gay people here?”

Cammie was so dumbfounded by what I’d just said that she actually did a double-take. Aerosmith slowed to a stop, and she stared at me, unspeaking.

“I mean, that’s gotta suck, right?” I continued hastily. I could feel myself getting nervous. “Living in a small town like this, where everyone’s super religious. I bet you can count the kids that’re open about it at your school on one hand. The rest probably hide or fake straight. It’s not like that in a lot of other places, you know? I mean, do you even know any gay people, Cammie? And if you don’t, have you ever even thought about the fact that you don’t?”

She cleared her throat at last, and nudged Aerosmith forward again. Something about what I’d said had caused her to completely clam up, because for all my talking, I got only one word in response.

“Maddie.”

*   *   *

I called my dad that night, using the phone in the kitchen while the entire Marshall family watched television in the living room. It rang, and rang, and rang, and then went to voicemail. I tried again and got the same results.

“C’mon, you idiot. Pick up,” I hissed into the phone on my third try. David finally came over to me to watch me dial a fourth time.

“Is he busy?” he asked.

“He’s never busy,” I said quietly, pressing the phone to my ear again and listening to it ring. “He’s probably just dr— asleep.”

The phone rang a few more times, and just when I was sure it was about to go to voicemail, I heard the click of it being answered. A sense of relief washed over me. “Hey—”

My dad cut me off. His speech was slurred. “Stop. Calling.” And then the call died with another click. I swallowed hard, unmoving for a moment, then shook my head and handed David the phone back.

“I thought he answered, but it just went to voicemail again,” I told him stiffly. “I think maybe I’ll go take a shower.”

I was gone before he could reply, taking the stairs two at a time. A minute later, I was stripping down and stepping under the hot spray, choking back a lump in my throat as I slowly cleaned myself off. I wouldn’t cry over something as silly as a phone call with my idiot dad. I wished I’d just called Caitlyn again. She might’ve been at some stupid party, but at least she’d want to talk to me.

When I was finished, I returned to Cammie’s room to find her inside. For once, there was no Bible or Physics homework in her lap. Instead, she had my mp3 player.

“You can listen to that, but it doesn’t mean I’m reading the Bible,” I joked, sitting down on my bed and facing her. She gave me a faint smile, which wasn’t unexpected. I regretted bringing up the gay thing; she’d been weird all day since. It wasn’t worth having what I’d already suspected about Maddie confirmed, and it was unpleasant knowing that Cammie’d probably wanted me to stay away from her for that reason. I wasn’t used to having my good impression of someone ruined by homophobia, but I was afraid that was going to be the case with Cammie soon. I wondered if she sensed that, and if that was why she was acting so strangely.

She handed my mp3 player back, and as I accepted it, I asked her, “So since I’m not going to church tomorrow, do we have plans?”

“My dad’s actually staying back with you this time,” she told me. “I think he might have something planned, though, yeah.”

“Oh.”

I stared at her, and she cleared her throat suddenly. “But, um… it wasn’t me that made that decision, you know. It was my dad, just now. I’d stay back otherwise.”

“Really?” I asked her.

She nodded, smiling at me again. “Really.”

“Okay. Good to know.” I slid under my covers, Cammie turned the lamp on her nightstand off, and we didn’t say anything more.

*   *   *

David woke me up around noon the next morning, and as I stirred and blinked the sleep out of my eyes, I thought maybe I was imagining things. But I was wrong.

He stood at the edge of my bed, athletic shorts and a T-shirt on, an armband around one wrist, and a tennis racket in his hands. I stared at him. “…No.”

“Everything once, Lauren,” he chided, beckoning me out of bed. “There are some courts close by, and it’ll be good for you to get out of the house.”

“I was out of the house all day yesterday. I can’t play tennis. I’m not athletic,” I insisted, shaking my head wildly. “No. No way.”

“I do this regularly every summer with Cameron and Scott,” he explained. “You don’t have to be good at it; it’s not about that. It’s about spending time with your family.”

“You’re not my family,” I reminded him sourly.

“You understand my meaning,” he said. “Besides,” he gave the racket a cheesy swing, “don’t you want to see how much skill I’ve built up this summer? Scott’s really been giving me a run for my money over the past couple of years.”

“Not really.” I let out a deep sigh, rubbing at my temples. “God, you’re like the dorky dad from every sitcom ever. What a nightmare.”

“Indulge me this one time.” He smiled at me. “If it goes terribly, we’ll make it a one-time thing.”

“It will.” I slid out of bed, avoiding his no-doubt triumphant expression, and half-heartedly moved to rummage through my suitcase. I took out my muddy sneakers, paused abruptly, and then glanced back at him. “Is it too late to just go to church?”

“Yes. C’mon, we won’t be gone long. What’s your favorite food; do you like milkshakes? Maybe we can grab something on the way home afterward.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my suitcase, finally locating a tank top and shorts I could wear. “I like milkshakes,” I mumbled.

I could feel his grin at my back. “Good. We’ll do that.”

A half hour or so later, I was turning a tennis racket over in my hands, trying to figure out how to hold it correctly while David bounced a ball in front of himself on the other side of the court. “Ready?” he called out. “I’ll send you a soft one!”

“No,” I said, quietly enough that he wouldn’t hear. He tossed the ball into the air and then tapped it my way. It bounced once, over the net in the middle, and then dribbled its way to me at about knee level. I swung at it sideways, my racket slicing through the air and missing completely. The ball bounced past me, and I grimaced at the pain in my arms.

“That’s alright!” he insisted, giving me a thumbs-up. “You almost got it; let’s try it again!”

I eyed him warily, trying to figure out what exactly the point of this was. I could’ve slept in today. He was being such a…
dad
.

He tossed the ball into the air and tapped it to me again, and I missed it completely for the second time. That happened again on the third try, and the fourth, and I only got more and more frustrated with each attempt. This was stupid.

David wouldn’t give up, though, and tapped the ball to me for a fifth serve. It bounced once, twice, three times…

I gripped the racket with two hands, my teeth gritted tightly and my anger and frustration building quickly as the ball came closer. I reared back and swung the racket hard, like a baseball bat. This time, it connected, and the ball went soaring over David’s head and over the fence confining the court. He watched it fly past, and once it was out of view, he turned toward me and stuck both arms in the air, like he was signaling a successful field goal. I raised my racket into the air triumphantly. “I hit it!”

“Great job!” He gave me an encouraging nod. “Now let’s try to keep the next one in the court.”

We actually only spent another hour or so playing after that, and, in retrospect, it was easy to see that playing tennis hadn’t been the point of our adventure out of the house. But I did get good enough to hit the ball about half the time. Unfortunately, even when that happened, it almost never went where I wanted it to. But David didn’t complain, surprisingly, even though I could tell he did a lot more running after tennis balls than he was used to.

We picked up milkshakes from a fast food place afterwards, and sat outside at a picnic table, an attached umbrella shielding us from the sun. I was thankful for that; today was a hot day, and I was sweating way more than I was used to after the tennis court.

“So that was your first time with tennis?” David guessed, eyeing me proudly from across the table. “You did very well for having no experience.”

“I bet you say that to all the misfits,” I dismissed, sipping at my shake without meeting his gaze.

“Not quite. Most of them haven’t given me the time of day yet at this point.”

“I don’t have the energy to argue with you people,” I admitted. “I’m too busy bumbling my way through my first week here. I totally blew the rebellious phase, huh? I’m straight into zombification.”

“We appreciate it more than you can imagine,” he said. “And I’m not just talking about Wendy and me.” He hesitated for a moment before he continued. “Cameron and Scott always get a bit wary before we take in a new child. Understandably, of course. I don’t mean to put too much pressure on them, but it can’t be helped in some respects, obviously. You’re… a welcome change from the difficult—as you called them—
misfits
of the past.”