The Cutting Room Floor (13 page)

Tori looked so small that it makes me want to go back in and help her. Just like I wanted to help Dez, all those years ago when his mom’s boyfriend got rough with him.

Instead, I freeze. I do the same thing I did with Dez when the yelling began behind closed doors—I chicken out and head for home.

My walk quickly becomes a run.

To this day, I’ve never asked Dez what happened during that time.

Just like I’m sure I will never ask Tori.

DEZ

FLASHBACK SEQUENCE
EXT. DESMOND AND HIS FATHER RIDING IN THE CAR—DAY

POV shot as seen from young DESMOND’S eyes. We see DESMOND’S hands run across the dash, play with the radio, roll down the window. We see his father as DESMOND looks up at him. His dad smiles and sings to the radio. We see the passing neighborhood through the car window. It’s well-kept, with tree-lined streets, families walking, kids riding bikes.

JUMP CUT:

The camera moves to DESMOND’S POV in current time. We see him looking out his car window. It’s the same neighborhood, years later. Homes are boarded up, yards are overgrown, rusted-out cars sit in driveways on cement blocks. DESMOND runs his hand over his beat-up dashboard.

JUMP CUT:

Young DESMOND sees an auto parts store out the window as his father pulls the car up. DESMOND walks into the store with his dad.

JUMP CUT:

DESMOND pulls into the same store in current time—now a dingy, worn building.

END FLASHBACK

After rehearsal, I go to the auto parts store. My car smells like a fast food joint and I’m low on fluids. Plus, Mom needs a bunch of stuff for her car. It reminds me of all those mornings with Dad before he left. He was always tinkering with the cars. I must’ve been about four years old when I started helping him. My stomach turns at the memory.

Inside the store, Mr. Michelson is taking down his campaign signs.

“Hey, Mr. Michelson,” I say. “You still have a few weeks to go. Why are you taking down the signs?”

“Oh, Desmond.” Mr. Michelson rubs his head. “I’ve decided to withdraw my name from the race.”

“Why?”

We both know he didn’t stand a chance—but still, why quit now?

“Mayor Devlin has this thing wrapped up.” Mr. Michelson fakes a smile.

“You don’t know that, not yet.”

“It was my own fault,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I should’ve known.” He talks as if to himself, like he’s forgotten I’m here. Then he looks up at me and clears his throat. “Now, what can I get for you?”

This news will only add fuel to the fire in Riley’s investigation, so I’m not going to be the one to tell her. I give Mr. Michelson a sympathy smile and gather a fuse, coolant, oil, window wiper fluid, and a stack of those tree-shaped air fresheners.

It’s still early when I get home, so I hit the garage. Bernie’s already in there with Mom’s car hood up.

“Great minds,” I say, holding up the bottle of oil—identical to the one Bernie just emptied.

“Desmond.” Bernie peeks out from behind the hood, his face and hands filthy. “Almost done.”

I hate myself that I feel a sense of disappointment that I didn’t get to Mom’s car first.

It’s stupid.

Once Bernie’s finished, he comes over to my car and leans under my hood with me as I pour in the coolant. “I got a fuse and wiper fluid too,” I tell him.

“You’re a good man, Dez,” he says, draping an arm around me. “I took care of it, but hey, keep the extra in here. Those things don’t go bad.”

I nod and close up my hood.

“This one, on the other hand … ” He pats my battered Beemer and laughs.

“Hey, even the Mona Lisa’s falling apart,” I say, doing my best Tyler Durden impression.

“Let me guess,” Bernie says. “
Reservoir Dogs
?”

“
Fight Club
,” I correct him, ready to head out.

Bernie props himself up against my car. “Got a sec?” he asks, which is code for
Let’s talk
.

Shit, what does he know?

That’s where a guilty conscience will take you every time. To paranoia town. I feel my back bead with sweat and I’m sure he’s going to bust me for something.

“Ah … sure, yeah,” I say.

“I want you to know that I appreciate the things you do around here. Helping your mom, it’s really great.”

My guilt melts away. This has nothing to do with my meddling.

“I don’t know any other way,” I say.

“I know, and I don’t think your mom could’ve done it without you.”

“It was just me and Mom for so long, I had to pitch in.”

There was no choice.

“I’m here now, Dez.” Bernie pats my shoulder. “And I don’t mean that in a way that says I want to take your place, or your Dad’s place, or any of that. I’m here to help, to put in my third.”

“You do help, Bernie. A lot.”

I want to tell him more. I want to tell him how nice it is that I never have to worry about Mom anymore, how I like having him around, how things are good now. It’s too bad my mouth can’t form the words.

“Good,” Bernie says, and I’m happy the few words I did give him are enough. “I’m glad. I know you and your mom are like a well-oiled machine, but I want you to take a breather. Stop worrying so much. Dez, this is your senior year and you’ve been spending way too much time at home. Go out, have fun.”

“Wait—you’re telling me to go out more?”

It’s completely pathetic that he has to tell me to get my lame ass out of the house.

But also … it’s pretty cool.

“Yes, I know, I can’t believe it either. How many parents have to
tell
their kids to go out?”

It rolls off his tongue so easily. I don’t think he even realizes what he said, that he thinks of me as his kid.

For some strange reason, that feels good.

The next morning Riley sends me a text that says her dad’s driving her to school. She needs more time because of a wardrobe malfunction.

Things, they are a changin’.

I realize that’s the understatement of the century when I catch up with Riley during study hall. Normally we get to spend our free period in the film classroom, but Homer wants to make sure we’re not letting our other studies fall behind so he insisted we go to study hall this week.

As I walk in, I see Riley. She’s sitting alone and staring at the clock.

I freeze.

She doesn’t just look good. No, this is something else entirely. Her hair falls in loose waves down her back and her face almost sparkles. She’s wearing a little gray dress with tall boots. It’s like
girly with attitude
and I can’t take my eyes off her. The dress is fitted on top, hugging her in all the right places, and it flows out at her knee. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Riley in a dress, and even though most of her legs are covered, the few inches of skin above her knee has me blowing out every last bit of air in my lungs.

She is off-the-charts model gorgeous.

It’s just an act right now, of course, but as Riley says, life imitates art. I’m hoping that’s the case, because I definitely like what I see.

I clear my throat and close my mouth, trying to pull it together before taking the seat next to her.

“Hey,” I whisper, wondering if I should say something about her new look or play it cool.

Fuck cool.

“So what was the wardrobe malfunction?” I ask. “Because you, my friend, are a work of art today.”

“Really?” She scrunches up her nose.

“No lie. What’s the occasion?”

“Today is the big scene, and I want to kill it.”

“And the wardrobe malfunction?” I ask, trying to keep my mind from roaming in the gutter. I imagine the Janet Jackson episode where her shirt was ripped open during the Super Bowl.

“These damn things,” Riley says as she holds up her hands. Her nails are decorated in black and silver polish.

I usually don’t notice things like nail polish or makeup or what have you, but all of this on Riley? I’m starting to see the appeal.

“I could barely get dressed this morning,” she grumbles. “Everything took twice as long. Really, Dez, it’s such hard work being a girl. I’m exhausted.”

She tells me about her morning, acting it all out. By the end, we’re both doubled over laughing. Mrs. Moser shoots us a wicked snarl.

We take out our books and folders and pretend to study. But when Riley grabs her book, the black nail from her pointer finger flies off and lands on the floor. Her face turns bright red and she looks at me and groans, “What the hell?”

I start to chuckle. I can’t help it.

Riley slams her hands down on the table and pushes herself up to collect the runaway fingernail. As she drags her hands away, another nail pops off. And then another.

Now I’m busting a gut. The look of disgust on her face makes it even more comical.

Flustered, she looks around and begins collecting the fingernail remnants and shoving them into her pocket. I’m laughing and shaking so hard, Riley punches me in the shoulder and Mrs. M. shushes me again.

Sorry
, I mouth to Mrs. M. I point to the door. She nods, so Riley and I head out to regain our composure.

“So much for my new look,” Riley says as we sit down in the hallway against the lockers. “Who am I trying to kid with all of this, anyway?”

“Well, the nails might not be your thing.” I bump her with my shoulder. “But I’d say the rest of it is working pretty damn well.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t know, though. Those nails are awfully entertaining.”

“Glad I could be the source of your entertainment,” she says, but now she’s laughing too. “Why would people wear these things? I don’t get it.”

We sit there laughing together until Libby finds us.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hi,” Riley answers. “What’s up?”

“Same ol’,” she says to Rye, giving me the cold shoulder. “What about you? You’ve been MIA the last few days.”

“I know, I’ve been busy with the film and homework and—”

“And shopping, from the looks of it,” Libby interrupts. “And hanging with the Rollers. I hear you’re going to Tori’s Halloween party.”

“You know why I’m doing this,” Riley says.

“Yes, for your art. I know. It just seems you’re enjoying it a little too much.”

“Please don’t make it harder than it already is, Libby.”

“Okay. Then why don’t you come with me to the community center on Thursday? It’s yoga night, with the instructor you love.”

“Uh, no, I can’t make it.” Riley looks at me. “Dez and I are working on the film. I’m sorry.”

I nod, following her lead.

“Oh, okay.” Libby clenches her jaw.

I hold my lips tight to keep from smiling. It’s nice to be on the inside for a change.

“Maybe next week?” she asks.

“Sure, maybe,” Riley says.

“Well, good luck with the film and everything.” Libby walks off, tail between her legs.

Once she’s gone, I look at Riley, my eyebrows raised. “So, we have plans on Thursday?”

“Yep.” She bites one of her black fingernails. “You okay with that?”

She knows she doesn’t even have to ask.

RILEY

I feel bad lying to Libby and blowing her off, but I need space to figure things out. It’s not like she needs me anyway. She’s seeing Jake now.

I manage to pull off the rest of my fake nails between third and fourth period. It’s awesome to have the use of my hands again. I might have to agree with Dez, though. Despite the fingernail fiasco, I think the rest of my beauty transformation is working. It’s been a quick jump from social death row to new
it
girl
.
I guess that’s what a pardon from the mayor’s daughter will get you.

“Hey girl,” Caleb says. He circles before landing next to me at our lab table in Biology. “This new?” He touches my shirt.

“Nah, this?” I ask, pulling his slouchy beanie over his eyes.

“Nah,” he says, peeking out from under the hat. “You look good today, Riley.”

“Thanks.” I try not to blush.

Mr. Taylor greets us to let us know it’s time for class to begin. It’s a lab day, so he writes our assignment on the board and tells us to get to work.

Caleb ignores him and faces me.

“The makeover is impressive.” He readjusts his hat.