Flyaway (7 page)

Finally I push the paper away. "What do I need to know this stuff for, anyway? It's not like I'm going to be a physicist or something."

Rick gives me a gentle smile that crinkles the corners of his cat eyes. "What
are
you planning to be, Stevie ?"

Oh, God. There it is: The Question. When they asked us in kindergarten what we wanted to be when we grew up, it was easy. A policewoman. A movie star. An astronaut. But now I know you don't get to be one of those things when you can barely make it through school and your mom can't even pay rent on the cruddiest apartment in Ballard. Mrs. Watkins is always bugging me about The Future and am I going to take the SAT and apply to college. But how can I think about that when I don't even know where I'll be living next week?

"No clue," I admit.

"There must be something you care about, something that makes you really happy."

What makes me happy? When Drake doesn't call for three days straight. When we don't have to pick up and move one more time.

Rick takes one look at me and says, "Tell you what: Let's move on to a different subject."

Gladly.

We switch to Biology, which seems completely pointless, and then U.S. Government, which is the world's biggest snoozefest. To save myself from death by boredom, I imagine Rick and Mom together. I see them getting married and him buying us a humungous house and taking us for rides in his Maserati. I'm just starting to plan our trip to Hawaii when he raps his knuckles gently against my head.

"Hello. Anybody in there ?"

Turns out I was in outer space when he gave me my assignment for Thursday, which is to write a review of a book I've read recently. I tell him I can't even remember the last time I cracked one open.

"Perfect," he says. "Now is a great time to start. Your homework is to find a book that interests you and read it."

Homework? I can't believe it. Here it is, almost the start of summer vacation, and I'm stuck in a library doing homework.

He stacks the textbooks into a neat pile. "I'm going to let you hang on to these. No pressure or anything—open them up and flip through them if you feel like it. Just to get back into practice."

If he wasn't so danged nice, I'd give him my "whatever" look, but instead I dredge up a smile. "Sure."

 

After Rick leaves, I consider hanging out in the library to look for a book, but the thought of staring at all those titles makes me tired. So I lug the textbooks back to Aunt Mindy's and shove them under the guest room bed. Then I slide out of the dress and pull on a pair of sweats. The afternoon sun is streaming through the window, so I lower the blinds.

To take my mind off Rick's questions about The Future, I close my eyes and go to our NTD House. This time I make it a funky little place out in the country. It's got furniture made of logs and sticks, and there's a real tree growing in the living room. I laugh but get so into it that I grab a piece of paper and a pencil and start to draw.

I'm just putting the finishing touches on the second bathroom, which has a shower that looks like a waterfall, with water tumbling over rocks, when there's a knock on the guest room door. "Stevie ?" says Aunt Mindy. "Can I come in?"

I look at the clock; I can't believe it's after five.

"Hang on," I tell her. I fold up the NTD House drawings and stick them between the pages of the math book. "What do you want?"

Worry lines crease her forehead. "Can I sit down?"

I scoot over and make a spot for her on the bed. The way she's picking at the maroon polish on her thumbnail makes me nervous.

"It's about the intervention. Things are moving a little faster than I expected."

My throat goes dry. I swallow hard.

"I got on the phone with Uncle Rob this morning, and we lined up an intervention specialist. I gave him the name of that Drake fellow, and we were planning to try to track your mom down at his place this weekend. But she beat us to it. She called me at work today and asked to borrow some money."

Of course: It's almost the first. The day our rent is due.

"I said I'd meet her at the apartment tonight at eight. She doesn't know that Uncle Rob and Dave, the intervention specialist, will be there too."

Typical Aunt Mindy move, getting everybody to gang up on Mom when she's least expecting it. I hug my legs to my chest and frown. "You lied to her."

"Now, sweetie, don't look at me like that. I'm only trying to do what's best for your mom."

"And you think what's best is playing a dirty trick on her?"

She reaches out to put her hand on my shoulder, but I jerk away.

"I'm sorry you're upset. But Dave thinks we need to take advantage of this opportunity, and he's had a lot of experience with these things. Anyway, I didn't come to ask your permission. I came to ask if you want to be there."

My jaw drops a mile. For sure I want Mom to get some help, but I'd be nuts to let Aunt Mindy drag me into this lame setup. "No way."

"You could make a big difference, Stevie."

I can't see how. Mom always does whatever she wants. And how could I look her in the eye when I'm the one who ratted her out in the first place?

"I'm not going," I tell her, and turn away.

I spend the next couple of hours staring at the ceiling. At first I worry that not showing up at the intervention will be a big mistake. I picture Mom framed in the window of Drake's house with the skin of her cheeks stretched tight and those dark circles underneath her eyes.

Then a sharp claw of anger rips at my gut. If Aunt Mindy had kept her big nose out of our lives, none of this would be happening. Let her do the dirty work.

At seven-thirty Aunt Mindy pokes her head in and says, "Wish me luck." I feel cold and hollow, like someone scooped my insides out, and I wonder if I should have kept my mouth shut about the whole thing. There's no way I can sit here all night, thinking about what's going on at the apartment. As soon as I hear her car pull away, I try out my new cell.

"Hey, Tonya. That party still happening? Because I think I might be up for it after all."

 

By the time the bus gets me to Tonya's, the party's hopping. Lights blaze in every window, and people are spilling onto the front porch. I jostle my way through the maze of sweaty bodies. Everyone's shouting to be heard over the rap music on the living room sound system; they've got it turned up so loud every beat feels like a minor earthquake. The whole place reeks of beer. Even if it is the last week of school, only Tonya and Doug could get this many kids together on a Tuesday night.

"Stevie!" Tonya's waving a bottle at me from across the room. Her hair is a mass of ribbons, a different color tied to each dreadlock.

I surf through the crowd till I'm standing beside her.

"Isn't this awesome?" she says. "Like, everybody's here. All of Doug's friends, and guess what?" She leans in close, and I can smell the alcohol on her breath. "The Professor said he'd show."

I'm glad I took the time to change into my red vinyl skirt, leopard print top, and white go-go boots. The pair of dangly bead earrings Mom made really pulls my look together.

I grab the bottle of rum from her. "Give me that thing."

I take a big swallow, and for a moment, my throat feels like it's on fire. Then a warm feeling spreads across my chest. I take a second one. I forgot how much better this makes you feel, how it puts you somewhere outside yourself.

"Go, Stevie!" Tonya says and claps me on the back as I take a third swallow and then a fourth. She shouts something about mixed drinks and disappears toward the kitchen. I wedge my way back into the crowd. Someone hands me a beer, and before long I'm dancing and laughing and doing a fine imitation of a party animal, if I do say so myself. I keep looking around for the Professor, hoping he's catching my act, but I don't see him anywhere.

An hour or so later I'm standing by the speakers, swaying to the tunes and nursing a beer, when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, beautiful."

I open my eyes and there's this guy I recognize from school. Cole, I think his name is. He's one of those blond jock types, the kind that doesn't usually give me the time of day. But right now his watery blue eyes are staring into mine.

He takes the plastic cup from my hand and sets it on one of the speakers. "Let's dance."

Before I can say anything, he pulls me into the sea of gyrating bodies. There's not much room to move, so we just kind of stand there, inches apart, grooving to the beat.

He brings his mouth close to my ear. "I like the way you dance."

I smile at him. I kind of like the way I'm dancing too. The music fills me, swiveling my shoulders and hips. I can almost imagine I'm Mom.

His gaze slides up and down my body. "Sweet."

It feels good to have him look at me this way, like I'm something special. And I don't mind that some of the girls from school, the ones who whisper about me behind my back, are seeing him look at me too.

The song ends, and a slow one comes on. Everyone around us couples up.

"Well, thanks," I say, and step away.

He grabs my hand. "Uh-uh. You're not getting off that easy."

He pulls me in close. With my face buried in his chest, I can feel the steady thump of his heart. I wonder what the Professor would think if he saw me dancing like this. But the Professor's not here, and I like the sensation of Cole's arms around me, so I decide to go with it.

As we shuffle side to side, his hand moves along my back, sliding toward the gap between the bottom of my top and the waistband of my skirt. When his fingers touch skin, I draw in a sharp breath.

"Let's go outside," he whispers.

We wander into the backyard, where a bunch of guys are hanging out by the keg, downing tequila shooters.

"How about one for the lady?" Cole says.

The guys hoot and holler when I slam down three of them. Cole tries to hand me another beer.

"I've had enough."

"Go ahead." He slings his arm tight across my shoulders. "I've got you covered."

I feel safe and warm tucked close to him, so I take the beer. But the cup has a hard time finding my mouth.

He uses his finger to dab away the liquid that dribbles down my chin. "How about a little kiss?"

He doesn't wait for me to answer, just smashes his lips against mine. Then he slips his tequila-soaked tongue in my mouth and starts swishing it around. His breath is hot and noisy.

The guys form a circle around us. "Get in there, Cole!" one of them yells. They all laugh and cheer.

I'm not feeling special anymore. In fact, I'm feeling dirty. I try to pull away, but my legs are rubbery and he's holding me so tight.

With his mouth still squashed against mine, he grabs my butt with one hand and slides his other hand under the front of my top. The mob of crazy-drunk guys presses in so close, I swear I can hear them slobber. I feel like a trapped animal. I try to twist out of his grasp, but his hold tightens even more, and he works his hand up under my bra.

Just when I'm scared things are going to get even uglier, someone moves up behind Cole and grabs his shoulder.

"You want to let her go ?" says a low, calm voice, and I know it's the Professor. He yanks Cole off me.

"Hey, what's your problem?" Cole says. "I'm just giving her what she wants."

I try to argue, but nothing comes out of my mouth. My whole body is shaking.

The Professor gives Cole a shove. "Grow up, loser." Then he puts his arm around my waist and leads me toward the house. The crowd of guys parts to let us through.

"You okay?" he asks me.

I nod and readjust my bra.

"Let's get out of here. I'll drive you home."

"Gotta say bye to Tonya."

We stumble back into the house. It's gotten even more crowded, and we have to weave our way through throngs of kids, most of them wasted out of their minds. We run into Doug in the hallway. I'd wondered where he'd been hiding—he usually hangs out by the keg.

"Hey, Prof," he says, "How's it goin'?" He looks at us through bloodshot eyes, but he doesn't sound drunk. He nudges the Professor. "Come back to my room for a minute, if you get a chance. I got something to show you."

"Go ahead," I say as I spot Tonya.

The Professor smiles down at me. "I'll meet you out front in ten minutes."

Tonya's in the kitchen with Laura Rogers, this girl from school. They're standing at the table, stuffing their faces with chips and onion dip. From behind they look hilarious, with Laura's sleek blond hair next to Tonya's crazy dreads. Tonya thinks Laura is cool because she spent a few days in juvie. I think she's an idiot. I move in closer, trying to stay clear of the smoke that drifts from Laura's cigarette.

"And it was in, like, the creepiest part of town," Tonya's saying. "I mean, there was a friggin' toilet in the front yard. So we hid behind this garbage can and—"

Laura nudges her and points her thumb toward me.

Tonya swivels. Her face goes bright red. "Stevie! I thought you were out back."

I just stare at her, partly because I'm mad and partly because the room is spinning.

She puts her hand on my arm and steers me away from Laura. "I'm sorry, okay? I know I said I wouldn't—"

"I'm leaving." I'm pissed at Tonya—and myself. I was an idiot to think coming here would help me forget about Mom. It's like she's following me everywhere.

"Don't leave. Hey, it's only two-thirty. We're getting another keg, and this party's about to start rocking."

I pull away from her. "Going home."

***

And then I'm in the passenger seat of the Professor's Subaru, smelling his pine-scented air freshener and staring at the stale corn nuts on the floor. It takes forever to get back to Aunt Mindy's, because I keep forgetting where he's supposed to turn. He finally stops in front of the house. He kills the engine and opens his window.

The cool air's sobering me up a little. At least enough to notice that he seems nervous. He's usually so laid back, but tonight he keeps scratching at his cheek and jiggling his left leg.

"Thanks for getting me out of there," I say.