Handcuffs (18 page)

When I get home, I sit at my desk and read the thirty-eight responses to Marion’s poisoned pen. This is what I type.
Marion is hoping that the sort of contest she writes about here will catch on, then maybe someone will make a $20.00 bet
and some sucker will try to get into her size 12 jeans.
I read over it twice and then slowly backspace over it. Who am I to point out that Marion has big thighs? Who am I to talk about virginity?

Besides, if I did post something, Marion would just delete it.

I think about all the ways Marion has been pulling my strings lately. She thinks she has a Parker puppet. I can feel her trying to make me dance to her tune. I had a little bit of pity for her before, but now she’s just starting to piss me off.

23

F
riday afternoon, three days later, my mom reluctantly says I can go to the library to work on the report about the Byzantine Empire. Raye picks me up.

“So you want to drop by and pretend you need to borrow his graphing calculator just so you can see what he’s up to on a Friday night?” she asks. She’s suggesting, without actually saying the words, that I’m a loser.

“Raye. I need that calculator.”

“Parker, I have a graphing calculator at home. All you had to do was give me a call.”

“Why do you have a graphing calculator? You aren’t even in advanced math.”

“Algebra two is advanced enough.” Raye jerks the steering wheel like she’s totally annoyed with either me or the car. I’m betting on me. “You know that needing to drop in to check on a guy you aren’t even technically going out with is borderline pathetic, right?”

“Right.” I ignore Raye’s tone because I don’t want to think about what she’s saying. “Raye, he makes me happy. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“You don’t seem very happy right now.” Raye clenches the steering wheel. “Do you want some gum?”

“No, Raye,” I sigh. She pulls into his driveway and stops to apply some pink lip gloss. She doesn’t say anything, but I know there’s no way she’s going to sit in the car and wait for me.

I knock at the side door to the basement, like I always do, and after a few minutes, he comes to the door, halfway dressed and muttering something, like he always does. He has the phone pressed up against his ear. I follow him inside and Raye follows me.

“Look, I’ll call you back later. Parker’s here. Yeah, Parker. No.” He hangs up without saying goodbye. He gives the phone his pissed-exasperated look. I know, suddenly, without a doubt, that he was talking to Kandace Freemont. I hesitate for a second. I could ask to use his phone and check the caller ID. But he will totally know what I’m doing because he—well, he just will. Raye will know too. And anyway, I don’t need to look at the phone, because I know who he was talking to.

Still, I could figure out whether he called her or she called him. That makes a huge difference. My chest feels all tight again.

“Um, the calculator,” I say in a small voice. I called him on the way here. He knows why I am, allegedly, here. Even in the dimness of his technologically advanced cybercave, I can see Raye rolling her eyes.

He goes to his desk and grabs the calculator, slides the cover onto it, and then offers it to me. Is this it? He’s going to hand it to me and then we’ll just leave? I feel my face getting warm.

Then he says, “Do you have to go right now? Do you want something to drink? I have Dr Pepper.” He gestures at the minifridge that his mom keeps stocked for him.

“Sure,” I say. Anything to get this visit back in the universe of normal.

“Oh my God,” Raye says. “Is that my brother’s lava lamp? The one he was going to throw away?”

I sink into the floor and disappear from sight. Um, no, that’s just what I wish I could do. It’s one of those weird melty goo lamps that they sell in the novelty store at the mall. I knew when I took it that it would be perfect for his room, it’s totally retro, and I love the dark purple color. But even as I open my mouth to explain, the reality that I didn’t have any money to buy him a Christmas present hits me, and I’m just floored.

Yeah, floored. I just figured out what that expression means. It means too heavy to pick yourself up off the carpet. Flattened. All the lame people say that with gifts it’s the thought that counts, but it isn’t true, not when you’re taking something that your best friend’s little brother was planning to throw away. And then you go and put it in a gift bag with Rudolph on it and give it to your boyfriend who went to boarding school and drives a Saab.

I can’t look at either of them, and I can’t think of anything to say.

“Parker, really, you need to cash that check that’s in your jewelry box. I don’t understand why you’re going around not even being able to buy . . .” I see her frustrated gesture, she can’t think of anything specific to use as an example. That’s how it is when you’ve been best friends with someone this long. You know what she is saying with her hands when she isn’t saying anything aloud at all. “We go to the mall and you follow me around and say ‘That would look great on you, that would look great on you,’ and you never even buy your own cookies.”

I look at my scuffed black Doc Martens that I bought because they remind me of his sexy scuffed black shoes, only smaller and cuter. I look down and imagine that I will never be able to look him in the face again. I am completely humiliated.

Raye gets it, she has put together that I gave him her brother’s discarded lamp, but she doesn’t
get
it. She just keeps talking. That’s Raye’s way of dealing with the world.

“I mean, if you didn’t have any money, it would be different, Park, but you have that check. Your parents wouldn’t have given it to you if they didn’t want you to have it. They’re probably waiting until you cash that to offer to give you more.” Raye shakes her head, like I’m some kind of evolutionary riddle. She knows how bank accounts work, that you have to have money in the account before you can write checks, but she can’t fathom writing a check that you don’t have the funds to cover. She doesn’t know that I unplugged the night-light in my bathroom to save electricity, and that every night when I set my pink and silver alarm clock I worry that the numbers won’t be illuminated in the morning, that the entire house will be powerless and dark.

I am totally unable to think of a way to shut Raye up or to make this look normal, or to ignore it. I stare down. There is a glossy travel brochure sitting on his desk. I pick it up. He takes it from my hand and clears his throat. I could be wrong, but I think he’s trying to shift the focus too. He knows what’s going through my head.

“My parents are planning this big trip for spring break. Scuba diving or something. I told them I thought I might have other plans, that I might stay here.” I don’t know what he’s expecting of me. There are about a million things in his eyes, and I don’t know how to react to any of them.

“We need to get to the library.” My voice sounds stiff. Emotionless.

“Parker.” Raye is aware now. She doesn’t understand why I’m so upset, but she knows I am and is worried.

She walks toward the door.

“I’ll take that Dr Pepper,” I say. My voice sounds close to normal—I mean, asking-for-a-drink normal.

“I had my mom buy them because I know that’s what you like,” he says. I honestly prefer Pepsi, but I don’t say anything. I look up to see why he’s still standing by the desk and not heading to the minifridge. He reaches out and squeezes my arm. Raye is opening the basement door and looking outside, giving us a bit of privacy.

“I like the lamp,” he says. I know, in that instant, that even if he talks to Kandace Freemont on the phone every night from five p.m. until seven-fifteen, I will love him forever.

There is a resigned comfort in the hopelessness of it. I recognize the fact that I no longer have control over myself. I love him, even if he will never say it back to me. Even if there is some crazy bet concerning my virginity like Marion reported? I can’t even think about that. I take the drink and follow Raye, though all I really want to do is stay here and stare at him until my eyes fall out of my head. Usually I don’t like feeling out of control, but I could get used to this, it’s almost addictive.

Raye walks outside ahead of me. He takes my hand and squeezes it, but we don’t kiss. I gesture toward Raye, outside, and he gives a little nod, and I pull myself away and walk out. I want to kiss him, but I don’t want to take that step back into the relationship with Raye outside the screen door rolling her eyes. I step out and he closes the door. I imagine he’s already on his computer before we take our first steps back toward Raye’s car.

His neighbor’s dog is barking like crazy.

“I guess they’re back from vacation,” I say, thinking out loud.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She looks at me. She doesn’t like that sort of response. “The neighbors, I guess they’re back. It was . . .” I stop and look across the yard at the dog, who is throwing himself against the fence. “It was their hot tub.”

Raye starts to laugh, loud, like she can’t stop herself. “Look, Park, I’m sorry, I really am. Half the girls at our school would kill to be you right now, but it still sucks, you know?” She stops laughing and I can tell by her expression that her thoughts have gone serious. “Do you want to talk about this money thing?” I do not want to talk about this money thing, but before I have to force out a reply, Raye says, “Oh. My. God.” With even more emphasis than when she saw the lava lamp.

“What? What, Raye?”

“Look who just came out of Erin Glasgow’s house!” I peek around her and there in the driveway, getting into a gray Ford Explorer, is Kyle Henessy. “What the crap is he doing there?”

I seriously doubt I’ve run into Kyle two times in the last year, and now I’ve seen him twice this week. We just stand there and watch as he waves toward the house and drives away.

“It wasn’t a break-in or he wouldn’t have been waving,” I say.

“Parker, your deduction skills are astounding. C’mon, we have to go see what’s up.” She pulls me behind her across the neighboring lawn and up the front steps. We ring the doorbell.

Erin answers the door. She is one of those cute petite girls, though, sadly, not one of the ones with short stocky legs, as I know since he has a direct view of her pool from his upstairs bathroom window.

“Hi, Erin.” Raye has this way of acting like she knows everybody, even if it’s just from seeing them twice between classes. I, on the other hand, always wait to see if the other person has any idea who I am and might choose to acknowledge me before I feel comfortable calling them by name, or saying anything at all. “We just saw Kyle Henessy leaving and we were wondering what he was doing here.” Raye also likes to get straight to the point.

“He’s tutoring me for my ACTs,” Erin says. “What’re you guys doing here?”

Raye ignores this perfectly good question and pushes on. “Do you have a view of your neighbors’ hot tub from your house?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Case closed,” Raye says to me. To Erin she says, “C’mon, Erin, you go to Allenville. Don’t tell me you haven’t looked at your tutor’s little sister’s blog lately?”

“No. I haven’t.” We just stand there and look at her stupidly. “My little brother demolished my hard drive. He was downloading porn or something. I should get it back next week. Why? Is there something about me on that stupid blog?”

“No . . . just some pictures taken from one of your windows. Um, I guess we’ll see you around.”

I want to say something nice to Erin, something to make our visit seem a little less rude, but I can’t think of anything. I’m speechless and Raye is dragging me away. “I didn’t even know Erin had a brother.”

“Maybe it’s some kind of elaborate lie. Maybe she’s got some kind of thing going with Kyle Henessy.” Yeah, right. Like she would go anywhere with him. She’s hot, and he’s a geek.

“Raye, are we really going to the library?”

“Yep. We gotta find everything we can about the Byzantines.” Raye has her driving face on, which means she doesn’t want to talk.

When we get to the library I’m not surprised to see Ian Sanders sitting at a computer pretending to do some kind of intense and intellectual work. Something so important that he just closes out of it when he sees us coming through the door. Raye obviously told the cheating bastard to meet us here. I wish desperately that I had someone meeting me in the library and, since that is not the case, that Ian would go away.

Ian is a genuine blond. I’m not saying he’s stupid. I’m saying he has this golden hair, like a halo. Some of the basketball players dyed their hair blond last year, but they couldn’t achieve the same look. Natural, golden, gorgeous blond. I don’t like Ian. He doesn’t look right with Raye either. He looks all cute and boy-next-door, and she’s wearing big earrings and green eye shadow today. No wonder he doesn’t appreciate her.

Raye sits at the computer next to him, and they start whispering to one another. I don’t use a computer. The library ones all have information filters. You can’t get to anything good. In my school notebook, I flip one page past the boring notes on the Eastern Orthodox Church and make a note.

Figure out how to make a bunch of money.

Make Marion Henessy Pay.

My plan to get Kyle to do something about Marion’s blog doesn’t seem to have been successful. I need something better than stupid pictures of my sister.