Changing Michael (16 page)

“I know what it means,” he said, uncomfortably.

I didn't point out that he was the one who'd asked.

“You don't . . . have anything, do you?” his father asked.

“What?”
Have anything? What's he asking for? Beer? Meth?

“Nothing. Never mind,” he said.

He looked me over again. There was something about the way he did it that reminded me of Michael—the way he'd looked into me just before he let go and told me about his dreams.

So I let him. I figured I had nothing to lose. I didn't have much left to try anyway—just a push-him-down-and-run-into-Chrissy's-room plan, and I wasn't big on that one.

“So where did you say you wanted to go?” he asked.

And that was that.

As soon as I stepped into the apartment, Chrissy's door suddenly closed.

“Must be windy in here,” I said, hustling down the hall before he could change his mind.

“Yeah,” he said, watching me go.

I knocked on her door.

“What?”

“Hi, Chrissy. It's Matthew.”

Three seconds
.

“Who?”

“Matthew. Michael's friend?”

Two seconds.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” I said. “Can I come in?”

“I guess so.”

She was sitting on the bed, trying to look as if she hadn't been listening.

“What's up?” I said, sitting down next to her.

“Nothing.”

She was a little red and wouldn't look at me.

“You look guilty,” I said. “You hiding some guy in here?”

“No,” she almost shouted. She was smiling now.

“You probably have plans today, huh?”

Five seconds.
“What?”

“You're probably busy today, huh? Probably doing something with one of your boyfriends?”

“I don't have
boyfriends
,” she said. It was the loud denial of an elementary school girl, secretly pleased that someone thought she was grown-up enough to have a boyfriend.

“Yeah, right. You might be able to fool your dad, but I know better.”

She gave me a look. “Well, I don't,” she said.

I studied the walls for a minute.

“Well, anyway, I was going to the aquarium today,” I said. “I thought maybe you might want to come with me. If you're not doing anything.”

She smiled down at her hands.

“Is my dad going?”

“I think he has a few things he wants to do. Is it okay if it's just you and me?”

Five seconds.

“How are we going to get there?”

“I brought my car,” I said.

“You can drive?”

“Sort of.”

She was quiet.

“Have you ever been there?” I asked.

She nodded.

“What do you like best?”

“The seahorses.”

“They have seahorses there?” I pretended.

She stood up and launched into a dissertation on the seahorse: the different types, their preferred environment, their dietary needs, and a measured opinion of the cutest. I did my best to say, “Really?” and “Wow!” and “No way!”

(Did you know that the male seahorse carries the eggs in his pouch? I didn't.)

She sat down in front of her girly mirror to brush her hair, still talking. I looked over and saw her father in the doorway.

“She really likes seahorses,” I said.

“Who knew?” he said, heading back to the living room.

The only break in her monologue occurred while she was putting on make-up—I watched her apply lipstick and use a little brush on her cheeks. I wondered where in the world she'd learned those tricks—probably not from Dad. I felt a little uncomfortable sitting and gawking at her, so I stood up and wandered toward the living room.

She was out before her father and I needed to make awkward conversation. I found myself caught up in her face for a moment and began to understand why he was all cramped-up about her going out with strange guys.

“So, what time would you like us back, sir?” I said, trying to sound like a nice young man.

Chrissy was standing a few feet away staring at the closed front door.

“How about three?”

“Four?”

His face got all frowny.

“Okay, three it is,” I said. “You ready, Chrissy?”

Her face got red and she dropped her eyes, staring down at the floor. Not only did she look angry, she looked like Michael.

I tried to figure out if I'd said anything to upset her, but then her father saw his opportunity and ran with it.

“You don't have to go if you don't want to, honey,” he said, quickly.

“We could probably go another time, maybe,” I added, making sure the possibility seemed remote at best.

Chrissy was silent.

“It's a little too much for her right now,” her father said to me, reaching for his daughter's hand. “Come on, hon, you can stay here with me.”

She let him take her hand, but when he tried to lead her from the door, she shook herself loose.

“I'm going,” she said, looking up at him.

“Are you sure, hon? Because you don't need to feel like—”

“Dad!”

“Okay, okay,” he said, raising his hands in defeat.

Her face was flushed like Michael's, and her eyes had the same look he got when I pushed him too hard.

“Come on,” she said, tugging me out the door.

“Back at three!” her father called after us.

“Four?” I tried, again.

“Three!”

Chrissy marched down the hallway without looking back. I followed her down the stairs and around the landings. She pushed her way through the doors and finally came to a stop when she realized her feet were on the sidewalk.

She was breathing hard. I hung back for a minute. If someone had come along at that moment, I'm sure they would have thought we'd had a fight and I was trying to get my girlfriend to come back inside.

I pulled up next to her.

“We don't have to go,” I said. “I just thought you might like to get out for a while . . . you know, without your dad.”

“I'm not scared,” she said.

“I know you're not.”

“And I'm not stupid,” she said, turning on me. “You think I'm stupid.”

“No I don't.”

She turned away.

“I don't hang out with stupid people,” I said. “Well, except for Michael.”

I was hoping for a smile but didn't get one. I got this instead: “I'm not going to have sex with you.”

“I don't . . . Why do you—? . . . I'm not . . .”

“I know a lot more than you think,” she said.

“I'm sure you do.”

She folded her arms and looked down at the sidewalk.

“Why did you come up here?” she asked.

“I just thought you might want to hang out. With someone your own age, I mean.”

Why do I sound like a parent?

“You're older than me,” she said.

“Not as old as your dad, though.”

She nodded at the sidewalk.

“I have friends,” she said. “At school.”

“I'll bet you do.”

“I'm not some retard just because I go to a different school.”

“I know that.”

“And I don't want to go if it's just one time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't want to go if you're not coming back.”

I felt a little stab in my chest and quickly shoved it into the smelly little bathroom in my head.

“I'll come back if you want me to,” I said, weakly.

She studied my face, just like her father had, just like Michael had. I guess she was okay with what she found, because she suddenly turned back into a shy little girl.

“Where's your car?” she asked.

“It's right over there,” I said, pointing to a parked police car across the street.

“You're not a cop,” she said.

“Don't make me arrest you,” I said, leading her around the corner and down the side street.

“Why aren't we going in your police car?” she said, smiling.

“I'm undercover,” I said, unlocking the doors. “They need my help at the aquarium. Some kind of mystery.”

“No they don't.”

“I have a talking dog and a van,” I said.

“No you don't.”

She told me she knew the way.

“Sounds good,” I said, wishing my phone wasn't in the glove compartment.

Looking at the clock, I realized it was lunchtime and I was starting to get hungry. Not a good thing. I get kind of pissy when I get hungry, so I was going to have to watch myself.

“They have a dolphin,” she said, opening her window just a bit, then closing it again.

“Oh yeah?” I said, the same way I'd answer a little kid who told me she lived on an anthill.

“They do,” she said, glaring.

Oops . . . I'm going to have to be careful.

“You mean like a stuffed dolphin or something?” I said.

“No. A real dolphin, in a swimming pool.”

“Oh . . . Can you ride it?”

It took her a few seconds to process.

“What?”

“Why is it in a pool?” I said. “So people can ride it?”

Five seconds.

“You don't ride dolphins,” she said.

“Do you eat them?”

“No!”

“I like swordfish,” I said. “Is there a restaurant in the aquarium?”

She crossed her arms and glared out the window.

“Sorry,” I said. “Just a little hungry. How many seahorses do they have?” I asked.

No response.

“I remember seeing something on the news about their seahorse collection,” I said.

Five seconds.

“It's the biggest in the world,” she said, still looking out the window.

“Not in the world,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, a little louder.

“So how many?”

“A hundred and eighty.”

“No way!”

“Well, they're not all seahorses,” she said, warming up a little. “They have sea dragons, too.”

She was fine after that. I'd explain to you the difference between a seahorse and a sea dragon, but I stopped listening once I realized a sea dragon is about the same size as a seahorse. Anyway, I just wanted her in a good mood. Who wants to drag a pouty girl around all afternoon?

Eventually, we saw a few signs for the aquarium and followed them. I didn't want to pay a hundred dollars to park in the aquarium lot, so I was pretty happy when I found a spot nearby. Ten minutes after that and we were closing in on the harbor, on our way to the aquarium just like any other couple. I kind of liked the cover. I felt like shaking someone's hand.

Hello there, I'm Matthew, heterosexual male. This is my girlfriend, Chrissy.

She chattered about seahorses while I played tourist.

I perked up a little when I noticed the guys with silver food carts.

“Want a hot dog?” I said.

“No thanks,” she said, slipping right back into her lecture.

I don't know what I was thinking. I really should have gotten some food, either at my house or on the way up. Even the gasoline/dead fish smell coming from the water was somewhat appetizing. But all too soon, we were taking a little footbridge over a slice of water that dropped us about fifty yards from the aquarium.

The building itself, unlike the others scattered nearby, was certainly . . . unique. At first glance, it looked as if the builders had accidentally collapsed the whole thing just as they were finishing up, then shoved the whole mess together before the boss could see. As we got closer, I decided the contractors involved in the waterfront renovation had used the site of the future aquarium as a junkyard. Then, once they were wrapping things up, someone realized they'd probably need to do
something
with all the extras—either slap them together or haul them out.

The solution: Bring in a giant crane, hire someone with very little time or patience, then slide, stack, and shove everything closer together and call it a building.

Standing in line for tickets, I stared up at a couple of glass triangles, several slabs of cement about the size and shape of a submarine, and a deflated trapezoid glued to the front for good measure.

Unique.

The line to buy tickets wasn't long, and we were inside before I had time to make a side trip to the nearest food cart. We talked a little, mostly about fish, but occasionally I was able to steer her toward something else. Like school.

“Do you like school?” I asked.

It was such a dumb question I almost punched myself in the face. Was I some random adult trying to have an uncomfortable conversation with a teenager?

“Yeah,” she said, “it's okay.”

“What do you like about it?” I asked, again immediately disgusted with myself.

“I don't know.”