The Right and the Real (12 page)

“Hey,” he said.

I kept my head down like I hadn’t heard him. He had that same deep, scary voice from the other night. Not the guy who had been trying to break in, but the one who had scared him off.

“I been waiting for you,” he said. “Stub told me you in that room now. I wanna talk to you for a sec.”

I knew I was the only one in the hallway, so I tried to look up at him like I wasn’t terrified, but I could barely lift my head. He resembled every scary inmate in every prison movie ever made. I decided that just because he wanted to talk to me didn’t mean I had to talk to him, and I tried to turn the key, but my hand shook so badly, I accidentally pulled it out of the lock and dropped it.

“Hey, chill, girl. I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he said. When he bent over to pick up the key, I saw his bulging biceps was bigger than my thigh. If I hit him with my purse, would it knock him down long enough for me to run away?

“I just wanna talk to you,” he said, handing me the key.

“Okay,” I whispered, my left hand clutching the pepper spray.

“I’m LaVon. Who’re you?”

“Ja—Jamie.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Ummm…I rented this room.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he said. “You a runaway?”

“No. I’m…just…I’m on my own.” I checked over my shoulder to see if I had a clear shot at the stairs in case I needed it.

“Yeah, well, this ain’t a place for a little girl like you. You get me?” he asked.

“Yeah.…”

Perspiration dripped under my armpits.

“I advise you to go home to Mommy and Daddy,” he said.

“I can’t.”

“Okay. Whatever.” He shrugged. “Your funeral. But in the meantime, bang on the wall between us if anyone fucks with you. I’ll take care of it.”

He reached for my hand, and I jerked it away, swallowing back the rising scream when I realized he was only going for the key.

“You see what I mean?” he said. “You about to have a heart attack just talking to a nice brother like me. You radiate victim, and that’s gonna get you into all kinds of trouble.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“That pepper spray shit in your hand ain’t gonna save you,” he said, “’cause you’d probably drop it. Relax. I’m trying to help you with the door, man.”

“I’m…I’m sorry,” I said again. I tried to look him in the eye, but he was wearing silver wraparound shades like all the rappers on MTV.

He shook his head as if he didn’t know why he’d bothered. Then he turned the key in the lock and pulled it out, handing it to me. “I’m goin’ straight,” he explained, “so ’cept for game nights, I’m in by ten.”

“Game nights?” I asked.

“Got me a job hawkin’ beer at the basketball games at the Rose Garden,” he said. “The Blazers suck this season, but people still like beer.”

“Oh.”

“Knock on the wall if you gotta go out at night,” he said. “I’ll walk you downstairs.”

“Thanks…uh…”

“LaVon.”

“Thanks, LaVon.”

“No problem, Ja—Jamie,” he said. Before he walked off, he smiled a big wide Cheshire Cat grin at me and shook his head again like he didn’t think I’d survive the night. I tried to smile back as if I were totally confident and he didn’t know a thing about me, but I think my attempt was pretty pathetic. I slipped into my room, locked the deadbolt, put the chain in place, and collapsed onto my cot. A shudder escaped, and for a second, I couldn’t tell if I was going to laugh or cry. And then I did both.

KRISTA HELD UP A VINTAGE NINETEEN-FIFTIES
tangerine-colored coat. “Yes?”

“For you?” Liz asked. “Or the show?”

“Me.” She undid the gold buttons, and when the coat fell open, we saw it had an intricately embroidered lining. “Very nice.” She slipped it on.

“Definitely,” I said.

Krista twirled in front of the thrift store mirror. “I think so too,” she agreed.

Technically, we were spending our Saturday morning hitting all the downtown vintage shops for scarves and other accessories for
West Side Story,
but so far, all Krista had bought was stuff for herself. She took the coat off and slung it over her shoulder.

“Okay, sorry, Jamie,” she said. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you. Tell us more about your hot date last night.”

I shrugged and ran my hands over a lime green lambs wool sweater. I’d already dished about the romantic restaurant, and I didn’t want to tell them how the night ended.

“I told you,” I said, “we had a really nice dinner and then we went for a walk up to the bridge.”

They looked at each other and then grinned at me with big, knowing smiles. “So why are you blushing?” Liz asked.

“What? I’m not.” I felt my face go a deeper shade of red. The softness of the green sweater I’d been touching had reminded me of the cave and how good Josh’s hands had felt against my skin. I was totally busted. I laughed. “Nothing else…well…” I couldn’t keep back the smile.

Liz and Krista gave each other another look and then they posed with their hands on their hips and their eyes wide. I knew what was coming. Every time one of us had boy gossip, we would break into that song “Summer Nights” from the musical
Grease.
Usually we were safely ensconced in one of our bedrooms but being in public never, ever deterred my friends.

“You guys, don’t!” I said, laughing. But it was too late.

“Uh well-a, well-a, well-a huh,” Liz sang at full volume. “Tell me more, tell me more…”

“Was it love at first sight?” Krista joined in.

“Tell me more, tell me more…”

“Did he put up a fight?”

They skipped all the rest of the lyrics and just kept singing the “tell me more” part.

“Tell me more, tell me more,” Liz sang. “How much dough did he spend?”

“Tell me more, tell me more. Could he get me a friend?” Krista asked.

I ran down the aisle between the musty clothes, giggling and
trying to get away from them, but it encouraged Liz, and she danced after me, just like the Pink Ladies in the movie.

“Tell me more, tell me more,” she belted out.

I was laughing so hard, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I careened around the end of a tall shelf in the household section and almost ran smack into a wiry lady with gray hair and a name badge that said
FRIEDA
. She glared at the three of us as Liz and Krista crashed into me.

“This isn’t a playground, girls,” she said.

“Sorry,” we mumbled.

We followed Krista up to the counter, where she paid for her coat, our heads down so Frieda wouldn’t see us laughing. Then we burst out onto the sidewalk, cracking up so hard, purple mascara tears ran down Krista’s face.

“You guys are so bad,” I said, shoving them.

“Us?” Krista demanded. “Your face was bright red!” She put her arm around my shoulder. “I bet you and lover boy never even made it past the cave.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I’ll never tell.”

“Does he still respect you?” Liz joked. “Do you think he’ll call? Did he kiss you good night on your front porch until your dad blinked the lights?”

My face fell. I tried to shake it off, but they noticed immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said, forcing a smile. “Come on. We still have lots of stores to check out.”

Krista grabbed my shoulder and turned me to face the two of them. “What happened when he took you home?”

“Nothing.”

They stood there, waiting.

“Fine,” I said. “He didn’t take me home, okay? We were in my car anyway.”

“And?” Liz asked.

“And…and we lost track of time, so we were really late, and Derrick texted him to say his dad knew he hadn’t gone to the basketball game, and…well…Josh made me drop him off a few blocks from his house, and he just ran off. That’s it. No big deal. We were late.…”

All morning I’d told myself that if I wanted to stay Josh’s girlfriend, then that was how it was going to have to be. Sometimes I might have to hide behind a pile of smelly mats. And from time to time, maybe he’d have to run off without saying good-bye or pretend he didn’t see me in the hallway. We had to protect his scholarship at all costs, didn’t we?

“So why are you so upset, if it didn’t matter?” Krista asked.

“I’m not,” I said.

“This secret thing is bullshit,” Krista snapped and walked off.

Liz and I hurried after her. “I know,” I said, “but—”

“But nothing, Jamie,” Liz told me. “You’re worth more than that.”

The rest of our shopping trip was a bust, and after an hour, we’d given up and I’d taken Krista to her dad’s and dropped Liz off at home, saying I’d see them on Monday. I’d slacked off in school for the last two weeks, and the homework had really piled up, so back in the motel, I got out my English notebook to review the essay assignment and get started. Half an hour later, I hadn’t done anything because my mind kept wandering to money. I tore out a clean piece of paper from my binder, drew a chart, and filled in how much I might earn at my job, versus my expenses. I could tell right away that without
picking up extra shifts at the Coffee Klatch, I’d be broke within four weeks. Crap.

One minute, I was calmly strategizing, thinking about what a great story my teen hardships would be on late-night television someday, and the next, like a pot of water coming to a slow boil, starting right down in my gut, this huge surge of fear and pain pushed its way up through my chest, slamming against my heart and into my throat. In a split second, I went from a girl with a plan to a gasping and sobbing mess. Tears streamed down my face, and my chest heaved as I struggled for breath. My body shook, and I pulled the comforter up to my face, burying myself in it, trying to muffle the sobs. I banged my fists against the pillow. I couldn’t do this on my own.

I wanted to eat dinner with my dad every night, not live on pizza pockets from 7-Eleven. Everything was such a mess. I ached for my old, easy life. No one else had to deal with this crap their senior year. Krista hadn’t eaten a Happy Meal in years. I’d had three this week. If it was only food I had to pay for, I might survive, but there were all the things you don’t think of, like toothpaste, shampoo, and washing my clothes downstairs in the laundry room, which cost about a million quarters.

I rocked on the wobbly cot, the tears giving way to anger, and I wiped my face on the comforter, leaving big streaks of black mascara. Why had Dad fought so hard for me back in third grade, only to abandon me now? Deep inside, I knew it wasn’t me, and he’d been brainwashed, but that didn’t change the fact he’d dumped me for Mira and the church.

“Dammit!”

It was that stupid church. If you could call it that. It was a cult. I bashed my fist against the wall and tossed aside my stupid financial
plan. I kicked at the thin mattress, ripping it off the little cot and flinging it across the room. It smashed into the lamp, knocking it off the dresser, and the bulb shattered. LaVon’s door opened. I heard his footsteps in the hallway and then a light tapping knock.

I stopped, frozen.

“Hey, Jamie,” he said, “you okay?”

I didn’t answer.

“I know you’re in there.”

I still didn’t say anything.

“Want me to break down the door?” he asked. “I can, you know.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just leave me alone.”

I could tell he was still standing outside, listening. After a minute he walked away and his door shut. I grabbed my purse and shoved at the boxes, tumbling them to one side. Once I could get out, I squeezed through and ran down to the parking lot.

I should have gone somewhere to cool off, maybe walk around the mall or something, but the anger boiled up inside me, and I couldn’t be rational. I drove too fast through the narrow side streets of my old neighborhood and screeched to a halt in front of our house. He could not do this to me. I wanted an explanation. A compromise. Something. The Teacher wouldn’t let me sign the Pledge now, but I refused to accept this as our new life.

I ran up to the front door and just barely managed to keep myself from barging right in. Instead, I rang the bell. When no one answered, I began to knock. Movement in the front window made me look up, and I saw Mira step back behind the drapes.

I banged on it harder. The rage I’d been suppressing climbed to the surface, and I was almost surprised I wasn’t strong enough to knock the door in. I had to see my dad face-to-face. If I could look
him in the eye, I knew he couldn’t turn me away. Since he wouldn’t answer, I tried using my key, but they’d obviously changed the locks.

Frustrated, with fresh tears sliding down my face, I ran around to the back of the house, but that door was locked too. I kicked hard at the old plastic pet door the previous owners had installed, and I heard it crack. I kicked it again, and again, not satisfied until it splintered and fell off.

And then I heard a voice coming through the hole. “If you don’t leave,” my father said, “we’ll be forced to call the police.”

“Oh, really?” I dropped to my knees and yelled into the pet door. “What will you tell them? Will you say you kicked out your seventeen-year-old daughter because you joined a goddamned cult and they told you she’s a sinner? Maybe you’d like me to tell them how I slept in my car because I didn’t have anywhere to go?” I thumped on the door for emphasis. “Are you listening, Dad? I never thought of you as a coward, but if you won’t come out and talk to me, then I guess I never knew you.”

A murmur of voices floated out to me, and I stopped to listen, but then it was silent.

“Who do you think would be in trouble with the police?” I shouted. “Me? Or you?”

He still didn’t answer.

“Somehow,” I said in my most patronizing voice, “I don’t think you can legally kick me out, but it’s not like I’m a lawyer or anything, so I can’t exactly take that chance and turn you in, can I? I mean, the last thing I want is to be sent to live with dear old Mom. Sounds fun, but I think I’ll pass.”

Silence.

By now the tears had dried up, replaced again with the white-hot anger. I pounded on the door with both fists to make sure I had his attention. “But, hey, Dad? Don’t worry about me because I’m not on the street anymore. Nope, I’m living it up in a luxury motel now. You know, the kind that rents by the week? Hell, they probably rent by the hour. Hey, maybe I can turn a few tricks to earn money to pay for food. That’s a great idea.”