Counting to D (18 page)

If Eli started dating Sophie, maybe I’d be less neurotic around him too. “Okay, let’s get this party started.”

We could hear the music from halfway down the block. People I’d never seen before milled around the yard, smoking. I clutched Nate’s hand and walked toward the front door.

“Welcome, the keg’s in the kitchen.” A basketball player who wasn’t Eli or Brice greeted us in the foyer.

The keg?
I knew there would be beer, but even thinking about trying some made my stomach turn. I turned to Nate. “I love this song. Do you want to dance?”

We headed into the living room, where the furniture had been pushed back toward the walls. The bass pumped through the floor. Nate put his hands on my hips, and we swayed to the beat. Neither of us were good dancers, but it didn’t really matter. Couples were pressed together, lying on couches, leaning against walls, blocking the hallway. “Thanks for coming here with me.” My hips moved against Nate’s. I rose onto my tiptoes and kissed him.

We didn’t sneak off in search of an empty bedroom. We didn’t grope each other in front of a roomful of strangers. But Nate kissed me back. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Kaitlyn tugged on my arm a few songs later. “Nate, can I borrow your girlfriend for a minute?”

Nate smiled at me in a way that screamed,
I told you you’re popular,
as he pushed me toward Kaitlyn. “Sure, just bring her back in one piece.”

“So are you having fun?” Kaitlyn danced me through the throngs of people.

“Yeah, I am.”

“Sophie totally wants to hook up with Eli tonight. Can you work another math miracle where one plus one equals one?”

“I can try.”

We headed through the kitchen, thankfully avoiding the keg, and stepped out onto the back patio. I saw Eli standing by a group of other guys, laughing and joking, while Sophie sipped from a red plastic cup on the outside of the group. Kaitlyn pushed me toward them. “Go work your magic. I need a drink.”

I walked into the center of the circle of jocks. “It’s my algebra bitch.” Eli put his arm around me. “Guys, this little lady deserves all the credit for us winning tonight’s game. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have been able to play.”

Several of the other guys started checking me out, giving me the urge to squirm away. “It’s all about the hearts and happy faces.”

“Damn straight.” Eli raised his red plastic cup in the air and then chugged its contents. I’d never seen him drunk before. I definitely liked him better sober.

Eli’s arm was still around me. Instead of asking him to leave the other guys, I just started walking away from them, steering Eli after me. He leaned into me, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He smiled at me, and for a half a second, I was worried he was going to kiss me. Then he pulled himself back and asked, “Hey, where’s your boyfriend?”

I’d never thought I had a real shot with Eli, and now that I saw him in his natural element, I was glad I’d picked Nate. “He’s inside.”

“Oh, I probably shouldn’t have my arm around you, should I?”

“Probably not.”

Eli let go of me, but since I wasn’t headed back toward the house, he continued to follow me. I sat down on Brice’s patio furniture, right next to Sophie. “Hey, Sophie.” I acted like we’d been friends for longer than two hours.

“Hi.” Her ivory cheeks flushed scarlet. She wasn’t even looking at me.

“You guys are friends?” Eli glanced between us. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah, we’re friends. Sophie’s actually who invited me tonight.”

“Awesome.”

Sophie was still blushing, but Eli was seriously drunk. I doubted he cared about her ability to navigate a conversation. “I should probably go find Nate, but you two should talk.”

“You were really great tonight,” I heard Sophie say as I walked away.

In the kitchen, Kaitlyn and Jessica were both standing next to the keg. “How did it go?” Kaitlyn asked me.

“They’re talking.”

Jessica pumped the keg, filling two red plastic cups, one for her and one for Kaitlyn. She grabbed a third from the stack. “You want some?”

“No, thanks, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” Jessica turned to address a drunken guy stumbling toward her, and I was instantly forgotten. She batted her eyelashes and leaned in toward him. “Jordan, what can I do you for?”

Jordan’s eyes passed quickly over Jessica before settling on me. “You can pour me a drink and introduce me to your friend.”

“Oh, yeah, this is Sam. She’s new.” Jessica pretended to smile but it came across more like a scowl.

“Hello, beautiful.” Jordan put his hand on my back and stepped in way closer than he needed to.

“You smell like turpentine.” I said, like a complete and total idiot.

“Yeah, good call. I’ve got this huge project due for art on Monday, so I was painting all afternoon. I must have spilled some turpentine on my shirt when I was cleaning up.”

It had been eight years since I’d smelled that mix of alcohol and art supplies. In the back of my mind, I heard voices shouting and doors slamming.
2, 3, 5, 7…
“Maybe you should have changed your shirt. It’s kind of giving me a headache.”

“Ooo, shot down,” One of Jordan’s friends called from the other side of the room. “Access denied.”

Jessica handed Jordan his drink. “She has a boyfriend anyway. But I don’t, and I think art supplies smell sexy.”

“You do?”

“Maybe you could paint me sometime. I’ve always wanted to be a model.”

“Cool.” Jordan and Jessica left the kitchen together.

The smell of turpentine lingered in the air, and above the general party noise, I heard a door slam in the distance. I slid backwards into the corner of the kitchen.

“…One-thirty-nine, one-forty-nine, one-fifty-one, one-fifty-seven…”

“Samantha, oh my god, please don’t turn autistic on me. You were just starting to be fun.”

I opened my eyes. Kaitlyn was standing in front of me. Her bright-blue eyes widened as she chewed on her lower lip. The room was full of teenagers laughing and joking. My dad was eight years and a thousand miles away.

“You’re okay, right? Jordan didn’t do anything? Why the hell are you speaking in prime numbers?”

I forced all mathematical sequences back into my head where they belonged. “Where’s Nate?”

“Yes, Nate can handle this. Not me.” Kaitlyn grabbed my arm and dragged me into the living room. Nate was sitting on one of the couches on the side of the room looking totally bored. Kaitlyn pushed me toward him. “Your girlfriend just went all autistic, and I’m way too drunk to handle it right now.”

Nate’s brown eyes blinked up at me. His brow furrowed, but one corner of his mouth twisted upward. I crawled onto his lap and hugged my knees against my chest. His arms circled around my back and legs, hugging me into an even tighter ball. “You’re okay.” His breath tickled my neck. His lips caressed my ear. “You’re okay.”

I buried my face in his chest and inhaled his scent. He smelled clean, a mixture of fabric softener and soap. No alcohol. No paint fumes. Only Nate.
239, 241, 251, 257…

“You want to talk about it?” Nate gently rubbed my back.

“I’m okay. I just… Can we leave?”

“Yeah, of course.” He helped me to my feet.

I
rested my head against the cold window of Nate’s car. My eyes closed. My knees held tight against my chest. I knew I was safe. But numbers still swarmed around me, buzzing in my mind.
683, 691, 701, 709…
I rocked myself back and forth, focusing on the stability of the numbers building in my head.

The next thing I knew, I was planted on Nate’s couch, and his mom was handing me a cup of tea. Nate sat beside me, so I leaned into him and hugged my knees into my chest, not quite ready to take the tea. Mrs. Larson set the cup in front of me on the coffee table.
859, 863, 877, 881…

“Nate, what happened?” It was Mr. Larson’s voice.

I pulled my head away from my knees long enough to see Mr. Larson sitting in the seat across from us. I didn’t have the energy to come up with a suitable lie. But Nate told the truth. “We went to a party after the game. Sam’s been tutoring one of the players in math, and she wanted to make some more friends. Neither of us had anything to drink, and I thought she’d be fine. But something set her off, and she’s been like this ever since.”

“Have you seen her act like this before?”

“Not really. I mean, she zones out and does this rocking thing pretty often, but it’s normally easy to snap her out of it.”

…1,153; 1,163; 1,171; 1,181…
Who counts by prime numbers into the thousands? I was acting totally autistic. That’s what Nate and his dad were thinking. Well maybe Nate’s dad was thinking I needed to get shipped off to the loony bin, I didn’t know.

I forced myself to sit up. “I’m snapped out of it. Sorry. I’m okay, really.”

“Samantha?” Mr. Larson’s voice was firm. “Is something bothering you?”

“No, maybe, yes. I don’t even know.” I picked up the teacup, grateful for a distraction.

“Did something happen at this party? Did somebody hurt you?”

“No. The party was totally fine. It just reminded me of something that happened a long time ago.”

Nate set his hand on my knee. “Oh my God, you never want to talk about your dad. I thought that was just normal teen angst, all-parents-are-bad stuff. He didn’t…?”

“No. Nothing like that. I wasn’t abused or anything. My dad was great, right up until he left, and every time I smell turpentine, or alcohol, or acrylics, it’s like he’s leaving me all over again.”

Nate’s dad wasn’t going anywhere. He was sitting across from me, brow furrowed. “Can you tell me what happened?”

I took a deep breath. And then another. Nate’s dad wasn’t scary. Nate’s arms were holding me tight. I was safe. I pushed the numbers into the farthest corner of my mind and took a breath, and then another. What was I supposed to say?

I closed my eyes and listened. The grandfather clock in the Larsons’ foyer ticked out an even rhythm. The overhead lighting buzzed quietly. I could hear Mrs. Larson moving in the kitchen, the clink of an ice cube falling into a glass. She was probably pouring herself a glass of water, but I knew that sound of ice cubes in glass. I’d heard it before. I’d heard it all.

“I hear things,” I tried to explain. “I can’t help it. I wish I could turn it off, but I can’t. I hear everything; I remember everything. Nate acts like having an audiographic memory is a cool parlor trick, but it sucks. I just wish I could forget. I wish I could close my ears the way I can close my eyes.”

“Did you hear something when you were a little kid? Something you weren’t supposed to know?”

“Yeah, I heard something I wasn’t supposed to know.”

I loved my dad. He was larger than life. My mom worked all the time, so for years, he was my entire universe. Everything about him was colorful. He painted a new mural on my bedroom walls every couple months. He was always drawing or painting or sculpting something, creating his own private universe. And if I was good, if I could sit quietly enough, he’d let me in.

I was his muse. He drew me every day, sometimes more than once in a day. His pretty girl, he used to call me — his pretty little girl. I liked it, the constant attention. But sometimes it wasn’t fun. He drank a lot, starting as soon as he woke up in the morning. He always had a drink in his hand.

He’d drink and draw all morning. Posing me in different positions, weaving me into his universe. Then, usually around mid-afternoon, he’d pass out. Then I was free to move, to live, to be a little girl, not just an image trapped in a canvas. I loved my dad, but he scared me too. When I was with him, I knew that I had to look perfect, to be perfect. And if I wasn’t, I had to lie so he’d think I was perfect.

A couple months after my seventh birthday, my lies caught up with me. I wasn’t perfect — I couldn’t read, and now everyone knew. And everyone freaked out. I was tested and retested until I felt like nothing more than a failed lab experiment. My mom tried to stay calm, to tell me everything would work out, that I’d be okay. But not my dad. He never lied to me and told me I’d be fine. He just poured himself a drink.
Clink clink
went the ice cubes into the glass.

“Randolph, put that bottle away. Your daughter needs you sober right now. Samantha needs you.” My mom didn’t think I could hear. I was in my room, but the door was ajar, and my parents’ shouting was loud. And I had always been an excellent listener.

“No, she doesn’t.” My dad’s words were slurred but loud. “She’ll be better off without me. You take care of her.”

A door slammed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I dunno. New Mexico? Yeah, I’ve always wanted to paint the desert.”

“You’re leaving?” My mom’s voice cracked. I pulled my pillow over my head, not wanting to hear any more.

“She doesn’t need me right now — she needs you. She’ll be better off without me. You take care of her. Get her all the help she needs. Don’t let her grow up to be like me.” His voice broke and rose to a higher octave. “Please, don’t let her grow up to be like me.”

Another door slammed. And then he was gone. The End. No more dad.

My mom filed for divorce, and I never had to ask why. My parents had fought before that too — their marriage hadn’t been perfect. But I still knew the truth: my dad didn’t walk out on my mom — he walked out on me. I’d never really been his daughter, only his muse. But I’d loved him, even though he hadn’t loved me. The second I stopped being perfect, he ran away to paint the desert. I’d heard his parting words loud and clear,
Please, don’t let her grow up to be like me.

Nate’s fingers gripped my arm. He’d transformed from worried to angry, and I realized I must have been thinking out loud. “How could he do that? It doesn’t make any sense. You must have heard wrong. Parents don’t abandon their kids just because they can’t read.”

I opened my eyes and saw Dr. Larson studying me. He didn’t like my story either, but he wasn’t as upset as Nate. I guessed he’d heard it all before. He knew that not all parents are perfect, and he wasn’t as naïve as Nate. “What did he mean when he said ‘Don’t let her grow up to be like me’? What was your dad saying?”