From Where I Watch You (6 page)

Did he see my private things? Did he take anything?

My intention was to work on contest designs—Valentines—but I end up sketching the daisy-adorned teapot sitting at the end of the counter. The baking part and design comes easily. The problem is getting to San Francisco. Plane tickets cost serious money. I could ask Dad for it, like Noelle suggested, but then I’d have to talk to him, and I really don’t want to waste my breath. Besides, I need to stockpile stuff all year so that when summer comes I’ll have a big supply of short answers to his questions. I’d rather earn money at Crockett’s.

I turn the page in my notebook and see two old notes. The very first and second.

Wear more green, it brings out your eyes.

Back then, I didn’t know the notes would be a regular thing.

Hmm, leaving the top button of your blouse undone for me?

After that one I made sure all of my shirts had high necks.

A reflection in the window startles me.

“Sprinkles,” Charlie says, sitting down next to me with a smile.

I sip my tea quickly.

“Just got off and saw you head over here,” he says. “No cooking today?”

I hear the snark in his voice and I’m not sure if he’s intentionally trying to piss me off. “Baking. I am a baker, not a cook,” I tell him.

“You’re not avoiding me are you, Sprinkles? You kind of ignored me back there.”

“I didn’t see you,” I lie. “I think you better get back. I can smell those crusty dishes from here.”

Charlie laughs, but I still keep my eyes on my notebook. My right hand is on the page with the shoe cookie because I don’t want Charlie to see it. I want to disappear because I can feel my face burning up. But a big part of me wants to ask him where he’s been today.

“I’m off, Sprinkles.” He grabs the contest postcard poking out of my notebook. “What’s this?”

I try to grab it back but he holds it just out of my reach until I give up, unwilling to make a spectacle of myself. Charlie reads it in silence and then hands it back. “So you’re sneaking off to California to compete in a baking contest, huh?”

“I’m not sneaking anywhere. I can do what I want.” What the hell? I know it will come to that, because Mom won’t let me go, but how does he know I won’t tell her?

Charlie sits back down on the stool next to me. Another quarter inch and his knee would touch mine. “Sure you can.” He pauses. “What time does the bus drop you off?”

“Huh?”

“The bus? After school?”

“Um, I don’t know. Around three.”

“Right. I can tell you that every afternoon around three o’clock, your mom starts asking all of us questions. If we’ve seen you come in yet. By the time you actually show up, she’s asked me probably five times. So I’m betting you haven’t told her about this contest, have you?”

I stay silent.

“You don’t think she’ll let you go?” he asks.

I say nothing.

“Why so secretive?” he prods.

I pull the notebook closer and rest my arms on it before I look at him. “How about you, Charlie? You’re the secretive one.” I’m pushing him away but I feel this pull inside, wanting him here next to me. When he doesn’t answer, I keep going. “What happened? You left freshman year, loved by everyone with an XX chromosome, and possibly an XY chromosome—I mean we do live in the city. Then one day—poof! You disappear?”

Charlie turns and looks out the window.

I continue. “What? Now you can’t talk?”

“Maybe when we get to know each other better, I’ll fill you in,” he says.

“Don’t bother,” I say, yet I still hold the promise in his words.

“You’ve changed, Kara. I guess it’s hard not to, I mean with what happened. Your mom seems . . . she’s, uh, taking things well. She’s nicer than I remember.”

He throws this out so casually, like the fact that Mom is different is a good thing. What does he know about anything? I turn away from him and dig into my bag, hoping he’ll just leave. “I have homework.”

As he slides off the stool I feel bad, and wish I could say something to keep him there, but I can’t. I sit there, cookie designs forgotten, chewing on a red pencil and staring out the window.

A trolleybus passes by and the overhead wire shoots out sparks. Passengers stare out the window or bury their heads in books. One guy’s asleep with his head against the window and his mouth hanging open.

A boy I don’t know strolls past, stopping to read the cluster of garage band posters stuck on the glass, but I see him eyeing me. His eyes flick back to the posters and mine go back to my sketches. When I peek again, his eyes meet mine and he moves on. It’s nothing. I’m being paranoid.

always watching you.

June: Thirteen-Year-Old Carrot’s
Summer
Fun
Before High School

Splash.

“Don’t you wonder if his dick hurts when it hits the water?” Gaby asks.

She says this a little too loud. One of the lifeguards is walking by. An older high school boy. He smiles at us. Gaby’s the only one of us with the nerve to blow him a kiss.

“You’re really gross, Gaby,” I say.

“Hey don’t lez out on me, you guys. Am I the only one who appreciates dick around here? I need new friends.”

With that, Jen grabs her hand and I kiss her cheek because she’s always accusing us of being gay anyway.

“Eww, get off me, psychos! You two better enjoy this because it’s the only dick you’ll see until you’re twenty, I’m sure!”

We are all laughing now and I hop into the water and dive under and when I come up for air, Nate Hansen is right there, smiling at me. My eye stings from the mascara. The sun makes it worse and I have to squint even more.

I start laughing because I’m a royal idiot and I’m nervous because we just ogled his junk. At school I would never be nervous talking to him—in fact, at school, he’d probably be too nervous to talk to me. But like the dork that I am I swim away and hope he never knows we were watching him.

When I pop up again, Jen and Gaby are pointing and laughing.

I cover my chest with both hands. “Am I nipping out?” I hear my voice come out a little higher pitched than normal.

“No stupid, your face!” Jen hollers.

“Raccoon much, Kar?” Gaby asks.

I wipe my eyes like I always do when I come out of the water but this time mascara comes off on my palms. My friends bust up laughing again, pointing and whispering.

“I don’t see what’s so hilarious!” I yell.

“Kara, you’re such a babycakes,” Gaby says.

“Yeah, Kar. And you need waterproof mascara, duh!” Jen adds.

They both laugh again and I grab the edge of the pool, watching the water slide back under the ledge. It gets sucked into that unknown place where pool water goes, and I want to get sucked in with it.

“Kara, baby, come over and I’ll teach you how to do makeup. We’ve been doing it a little longer, you know?”

I’m so sick of them calling me that and pointing out the fact that they are older and practically a grade ahead of me.

At that moment, Trevor Dall stops by and squats behind Gaby and Jen. He balances himself by resting a forearm on each of their shoulders. I know they are both dying because they both have it bad for Trevor.

I can’t hear what Trevor says but he smiles, giving my friends equal attention while they hang on every word, and look years older than me with their painted nails, perfect makeup, and lip gloss. Gaby and her sisters foil each other’s hair. Both of my friends have been to the tanning bed a few times before school let out.

I look down at my own one-piece and pale skin spotted with random splotchy sunburns. My stringy, wet hair squeaks as I pull my fingers through it. Cold drips trickle down my back. The pool is full of kids, swimming and having fun. My friends have traded in Marco Polo and playing dolphins, for bikinis, boys, and fake tans.

No one notices as I climb out of the pool. Even when I’m walking home in my sundress, my flip-flops squeaking and farting from the water, I think I’ll hear Jen or Gaby yelling for me.

But I don’t.

Well, I’ll show them and Kellen I’m not the baby they think I am. I just have to figure out how.

7.
The cookie monster waits.

..........................................................

A bone-shaped copper cookie cutter with a red ribbon tied around it waits at my counter, and I smile until I see the blue-gray envelope stuck through it. My breath rattles as I pull it out and rip it open.

Do you ever wonder why?

I watch the note float to the dirty floor. Around the corner the dishwasher roars and swishes, the noise not helping the throbbing in my head. Raul and Charlie aren’t around so I check the bathroom, the supply closet, and the fridge. All empty.

Picking up the note off the floor, I jam it into my pocket, forcing myself not to open the doors to the café to see if any psycho is out there, eating Mom’s Jesus soup. I take a breath and walk calmly through the doors, and see Noelle at our table. Her back is to me and she’s texting. I can’t tell her about the notes because I’m afraid she won’t believe me, and she’ll spin it into some big joke—Kara and her secret admirer. I can’t trust her or anyone with secrets.

Not this one, or the other one. Not ever again.

Mom stops me at the same time two ladies stop her.

“Oh, Meg—”

This is how it always starts, “Oh, Meg, my gout is gone because of your soup!” or “Oh, Meg, I found Jesus in your soup . . .”

Oh, barf.

My mother, the touchy-feely, born-again loony, of course, throws her arms around them. I think they all would’ve liked my old mom better. That mom didn’t pay me a lot of attention but at least she was normal.

I slip away.

“Kara, where are you going?” Mom asks, her chin on the crying lady’s shoulder.

“I have to pee, Mom.”

Someone sitting at the counter catches my eye, and when I pass by he swivels around, like he’s trying not to let me see him. And even though his Mariners cap is pulled down low over his face, I’m pretty sure it’s that guy I’ve caught checking me out at school.

I feel a tug on my shirt and when I turn around, Hayden gestures to me.

“C’mere, got one for you. Check it out.” He pats the seat next to him so I sit, but that makes me even more jittery.

He rubs his hands together, elbowing me in the shoulder a little. “You’re gonna love this one. Watch.” He presses a key on his laptop.

Some guy tries to Chippendale dance for his girlfriend. I’m embarrassed for the guy, and maybe a little for Hayden, too, for his glee. I’m also afraid to look and check around for Mom because I know she wouldn’t approve of the video in her café. The guy takes off his pants and twirls around. His girlfriend bursts out laughing because Mr. Chippendale has a big hole in his underwear.

The video ends as I’m waiting for something funnier to happen.

Hayden laughs.

I laugh a little, just watching him laugh. When he shows me this stuff I barely pay attention. Usually I’m overly focused on sitting so close to him and making sure I don’t look or say something stupid.

“Nice, Hayden. Don’t you have, like, tons of homework? Do your parents know you waste so much study time on YouTube?” I never know when it’s time to get up and leave; I don’t know if he wants me to stay there or get lost. Of course I always want to stay.

He reaches back and his sleeve touches my cheek. The sweatshirt smells like the fabric softener Mom buys, like it came right from the dryer. I think it’s kind of cute that he cares enough to use fabric softener when he obviously has to do his own laundry, since he lives on campus. For the weirdest reason it makes me want to do his laundry. What the hell? I can’t even stand to do my own laundry.

Hayden shakes his head. “Fun, Kara. It’s all about balancing fun with the work. Don’t you like to have fun? Don’t you want to have a break from the serious stuff in your life? I watch funny shit on YouTube. How about you? What do you like doing for fun?” His breath is warm on my face; his lips are so close to mine. For a moment we stare at each other. He looks at my eyes and then my mouth and back again.

“I bake.” It comes out as a whisper. Because of the way he looks at me now.

Hayden keeps silent while he stares at me for what feels like five minutes. “So dedicated. I love that about you, Kara. But that’s not fun. That sounds like work. What do you do to cut loose?”

I’m about to answer but Hayden’s eyes flick across the room and back to mine. He sits up straighter and ruffles my hair like I’m his pet dog. My head tingles until I feel two finger jabs in my shoulder. When I look up I face a giant stink eye, rimmed in overdone kohl.

“Hey, babe,” Hayden says. “What took you so long?”

I slide out of the booth before Babe hexes me with voodoo or something. “See ya, Kara,” he calls behind me. I feel like his little sister.